#Undertaker's final farewell

[st4rbwrry]

━━━ 𝑝𝑟𝑎𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ 𝑚𝑒. a.h

warnings 𑄽𑄺 6.4k. fem reader, lowercase intended, she/her pronouns, murder mystery, aki is a chef, oral [ f + m.], sneaking away, marijuana use, praise, fingering + finger sucking, aki's tongue is pierced, sexual acts happen quick, mentions of depression, brief mention of emotional/physical abuse, reader is desperate for help/attention, parental neglect, grooming, minors aren’t allowed.

━━━ ꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎'𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 .ᐟ ꒱ ; another old piece of mine i never fully finished and now posting yrs later!

“okay, i'm out!" aki is shouting as he tosses his white chef coat over his shoulder, book bag on the other, the cool breeze of spring blowing through his raven hair the minute he opened the tall glass door that led to the front of the restaurant. his friend, also a coworker, is busy, in the mix of gathering dirty dishes and clearing trash bins but still sends him a farewell, a quick, 'see ya tomorrow. good job today!' till he's off to his bus stop. he was thankful he got out early, just before five in the afternoon meaning the sun hadn't set yet.

he sighs, extremely worn out, in dire need of a steamy hot shower and a greasy pizza while laying in the comfort of, finally, his own apartment he worked entirely too hard to gain. the commute to his place in brooklyn, new york became rather annoying due to rush hour traffic at this time. having to take the bus then switch to the 'n' train, hopping off and walking fifteen minutes until he finally reaches his destination. his second goal was to afford a vehicle to save him money instead of wasting it on expensive monthly metro cards.

aki's lived here his entire life, growing up in the bronx, not much different. he loved new york, but not their uppity expenses. the fact that he's paying nearly two grand for a 600 square-foot apartment with no in-unit laundry nor a gym at that, was nonsensical. did he want to reside here forever? yes. he'd feel homesick if he ever were to leave. having the opportunity to travel seemed like a much better alternative, that way he'd still have his home but be anywhere in the world doing what he loved, and that was cooking. aki hayakawa was twenty-six years old, earning his master's in culinary arts at the culinary institute of america, also known as the C.I.A.

his ultimate dream was to open his restaurant, which he would name after his tragically deceased mother. a terrible accident in which he dreads the memory of. falling endlessly into a black hole, hearing nothing but the sound of his own fear, the breaking of his bones when it interacted with brick interior, the feeling of his heart thumping excessively against his chest as he continued to drop deeper like a rock that was chucked down an empty well. this emotion he knew all too well; failure. when he lost his mother, it felt as if the world crumbled beneath him, malicious dark vines slithering up to grab him by his ankles and pull him down a bottomless pit of nothingness.

he tasted the agony, the anger, the sadness, and even the hate from the fact that she was gone and never coming back. countless tantrums, anxiety attacks, and depression summed up the apathy of it all. it took him six years to realize that drowning in pain would never help him gain the strength that he knew she wanted him to have. by letting her witness the pain he was going through from above, he was hurting not only her . . but himself. so to overcome the tragedy, he kept himself busy with cooking. going to school, earning his degree, and the current job he had with his best friend since middle school.

school was probably the greatest thing he'd ever done to reinvent who he was as a person. cooking is a delicate yet challenging obstacle to undertake, yet, it's so therapeutic to him. the nature of it all, being able to witness what he can do for many people, bring laughter and happiness—it's a beautiful thing. when aki was small, he and his mother would give back to people all the time. whether they were donating clothes to the homeless, or feeding small pigeons pieces of bread on a sunny day as they flew to the gray pavement, awaiting a feast. they always cared about others. they would experiment a lot, going to food markets just to come home and whip up a good meal which they would then donate to the less fortunate. that's when he learned how humble he felt to give back to those in need.

he wanted to show his mother his achievements, to push himself and become a world-renowned chef, just like gordon ramsey—without the aggression. he wanted his name plastered on articles for his extraordinary talent, talked about on tv, in fact, given his own cooking show on foodnetwork. aki grew up watching that channel, an obsessive enticement his mother could never break the young boy from. he was making recipes at the age of twelve, and learned how to cook at eight. eggs were the first thing, usually everyone's first, then as time progressed, he grew from simple pasta dishes to revitalizing gourmet meats, and anything french. just recently he schooled himself on how to create wine. every day he learned something new, and that was the beauty of culinary.

"hayakawa! come here!" star yells as soon as she sees the tall man emerge through the front door, ready to start his morning shift, raspy voice laced with slight panic, instantly making the man run to her out of worry.

"what's wrong?" he furrows his brows.

"look who just fucking walked in," she grabs his bicep, pulling him closer to the front counter. aki curiously follows where her finger points, seeing a slim man with black curly hair dressed properly in a white and black suit. silver and sapphire rolex on his wrist, his pale green eyes scanning through the lens of his glasses at the menu while he sips his water. expensive.

"i have no idea who that is," aki blinks, making star gasp.

"he's alexander bodari, one of my favorite authors of all time. remember the novel i told you i was reading, about this girl who was kept in this lunatics basement and almost murdered?"

aki's eyebrows raise. "the book dylan bought you for your birthday, right?"

"yeah! that's him. oh my fucking god, i'm so nervous, whew," star begins to fan herself, nearly having a breakdown. aki grabs her shoulder and chuckles.

"chill out, star. you don't have to serve him if you don't want to."

"of course i do! i just. . . can't," she frowns.

"you can, you've done it many times before. this isn't the first celebrity we've come across."

star sighs, nodding. "you're right, i can do it."

"good girl," aki smiles, patting the top of her head. star catches his wrist and scowls.

"fuck off."

"aki," another voice calls to him, this time it's the head chef, also known as his boss. aki greets him with a small, 'good morning, chef' before waiting for his response.

"i'm guessing you know that alexander bodari is here," lane says, arms crossed over his broad chest. aki nods. "i want you to cook for him."

aki and star share a glance of shock.

"uh, why me. where's dylan?"

"he's not feeling well so i gave him the day off. you're the only one here that's near his level, and he's a higher-up man, so i want you to cook for him. star will cater to his needs. we're kinda short-staffed today, and i trust you two will handle it properly."

"yes, chef," they say in unison.

star was only a waiter, working here for four years while aki earned his position two years into her time. the last thing the woman could do was cook, ironic since she worked in a restaurant with very talented people. lane would've asked her in a heartbeat if she was as skilled as aki. aki was known for making dishes at the top of his head, so if anyone asked for a special, he was the one to ask. before they began to serve anyone inside, aki gave star a small prep talk before sending her out. eventually, she got through with taking his order without stuttering or sweating. when she walked back into the kitchen, actually shoved the doors open with a joker smile on her face, aki cocks his head at her.

"you—"

"he wants your special!" she screams, doing a goofy dance, and skipping in her spot.

aki's face drops. "are you deadass?"

"yes! when he was looking at the menu, he saw your four courses on the back and chose your mom's stew! fucking a, man!"

aki is still frozen, weakly giving star their signature handshake, smile slowly easing onto his face. "my mom's stew? seriously?"

"yeah. chop chop, get to it."

aki was persistent. no one's ever ordered his mother's stew, which made this day very special for him. even if the dish was only on the menu for a month, it still meant a lot to him. he made sure there were no distractions, taking a tender chuck roast and cutting them into cubes, seasoning them well while throwing in worcester sauce, balsamic vinegar, garlic cloves, bay leaves, and beef broth. making a slurry with flour and water to thicken the stew. adding onions and potatoes. it was a simple yet fulfilling dish he looked forward to every sunday.

"deep breaths," star whispered as she carried the steaming tray of stew plated professionally on a porcelain oval-shaped bowl. in a way, it felt like she was telling not only herself but him. it's a rarity that people order his courses, and serving this to an author, a bestseller, a man worth millions, made him giddy. he was cheesing like an idiot, pushing star out the double doors to the dining area.

although as soon as she walked out, that's when doubt clouded his gut. did he put too many seasonings? is the meat tender enough? what if he doesn't like it? will he write about it on his author blog? god, he hoped the potatoes weren't hard. he had only tasted the broth, it tasted just like his mother's. what if. . .

"aki," star walks back in, an even wider grin on her a-symmetrical face this time. he blinks, realizing that he's been standing here for three minutes now. "he wants to see the chef."

he's dumbfounded. "me?"

"no, lane. yes, you!" she's squealing like a girl, and sometimes he forgets she is one, even underneath her blunt features and boyish sense of style.

he's clearing his throat now, strolling mindlessly towards alexander bodari's table, greeting himself and waiting for his constructive criticism.

"you're aki hayakawa?" the man questioned, lifting his glasses back onto his face.

"yes, sir."

"i just have to say," alexander chuckles, softly clapping his hands. "this may be one of the best stews i've ever had."

the tenseness in aki's shoulders relaxes, and he's sighing with relief, alexander noticing and laughing. "i'm really glad to hear that, sir."

"did you create this on your own?"

"it's actually my mother's recipe. it's my favorite. every time i make it, it reminds me of her."

"that's really ironic because this reminds me of the stew my mother used to make," he grins. "yours is the first that i haven't seen carrots in."

aki laughs. "my mom hated cooked carrots."

"mine did too," he fixes his collar. "is this your restaurant?"

"no, no. i'm just a cook here. i plan on opening my own soon. i already have my master's."

his brows raise. "wow, that's amazing. wow old are you?"

"twenty-six, sir."

"well, you're definitely going places," he compliments and aki feels even more satisfied. "say what, i'm having this pre-book release, about a hundred guests. i was wondering if you would like to cater the party. i'll pay you however much you want."

it's like the whole world collapsed on his chest. he'd never gotten an opportunity like this, especially this big. to cook for so many famous people at once was a blessing. he could really show off his skills if he took this offer . . . and did. after thanking him, exchanging contacts, and then handshakes, aki lets the man finish his meal before jogging back into the kitchen to scream about it to aki, lane, and the rest of the crew. alexander offered star to come along to serve, but unfortunately she couldn't, seeming as she'd be out of town for family matters that day.

alexander, of course, knowing she was a big fan signed a copy of his book she already had in her bag and letting her know she could help the next time he had an event. that made her happy enough. the two of them couldn't wait to finish their shifts today, taking the train to star's place and planning dishes all night, even cooking them to get them just right. alexander was hosting the party at his penthouse down soho. and aki had a week to prepare himself.

୨♡୧

cashmere sweaters, silk gowns, and jewelry that most likely cost more than his savings account roamed the lovely terrace of alexander bodari's home. every inch of it screamed filthy rich. rows of tables were set outside, the dark night sky making the moon shun brightly amongst the glass centerpieces filled with calla lilies and moss. white cloths, sterling silverware, and porcelain dinnerware. the terrace itself was elegant; freshly cut bushes trimmed as squares, a marble three-tiered italian water fountain placed in the middle. roses, dandelions, tall plants ranging from bamboo, snake plants, and pothos. alexander was very in touch with nature and his spirit. it's crazy he writes about the things he does.

speaking of, the book he was presenting that would be released in august was titled, 'to riven a magnolia.' he wouldn't quite reveal what it was about yet, wanting it to be a surprise, but did read an excerpt from the novel. aki only paid half attention, big words throwing him off plus he wanted to set the food table properly so guests could take what they wanted after his reading. aki didn't go all out since only seventy-two people were available to make it, and he didn't want any meals that would make anyone too full to converse, so he kept it simple yet exquisite. each guest received a slice of japanese fluffy cheesecake with a side of strawberry and mandarin orange tanghulu. beef wellington, and a six-sided cream garlic bread.

he received praise all night long. people gasping and thanking him for the food, giving him all sorts of compliments making the man blush like a child. at one point he held both sides of his face in his palms when a woman and her husband approached him to talk, way too shy, and the woman flirting with him didn't make it go away. eventually, her husband dragged her out of his sight. the night went on, classical music played as people sipped their champagne and talked about their wealth, their yoga classes, their thousand dollar dogs, golf, marketing . . . aki hopes he never becomes this way.

as he's pouring an elderly lady a glass as she rambles about baking, he notices a woman he's barely seen all night. he's disoriented, eyeing this girl leaning up against a vintage roman painting reaching the ceiling once the lady departs. brown eyes; the first captivating part of her body he captured. they appeared lonely, bored perhaps as they scanned through the crowd of people, soon landing on another pair, his own. the godly woman stared at him longingly. aki had no business nearly losing his shit under her gaze. wow. she was truly stunning.

one feature that stood out the most were the freckles scattered from the bridge of her nose to the swell of her cheekbones. pretty. her black hair styled protectively in butterfly locs that grazed her collarbones, seeing the industrial piercing hiding behind a piece. her lashes were long, naturally extended. heart-shaped lips were full and pouty, the upper lip brown while the lower, salmon pigmented. an emerald satin mini dress loosely clung to her alluring brown skin. cowl neckline, ruched waist, and an open back partially revealing the red dragon tattoo painted on the side of her hip. black suede gucci heels strapped prettily around her ankles, showcasing her white painted toenails. a three layered gold necklace on her chest. this woman, you, were the rationale of celestial.

it was the moment you smiled at him, tilting your head slightly to the side while tapping your ombré acrylic nail amongst the glass of your champagne, calling to him while he thoughtlessly followed, that aki would realize he had made one of the worst mistakes in his life.

"you're pretty."

it's the first thing you say when he walks towards you, offering a piece of cheesecake with a cheeky smile. aki is taken aback, chuckling nervously, palms already clammy the minute he approached you.

"pretty?" he's perplexed.

"that's what i said," you say, taking the gold fork from his palm and cutting a slice to taste, widening your mouth while maintaining eye contact. the man swallows.

"uh, i've never gotten that before. thank you."

you're too busy eyeing him to say a thing. even if he dressed in simple black skinny jeans and same color tee, a silver necklace tucked beneath his shirt, sable combat boots, and a white apron around his waist . . he looked damn good. his eyes were blue, somewhat smoke gray, dark hair long and straight, the top half tucked into a small messy bun on the back of his head. a few loose strands swaying around his cheekbones. he was tall, shoulders broad, forearms and hands slightly veiny. you gazed at his hands holding the plate for you, wide and rough, fingers long.

"you don't seem to be enjoying the party," he says, knocking you out of your daydream.

you hum with displeasure. "he's a fake."

aki furrows his brows. "sorry?"

"alex, he's unoriginal. most of his novels are stolen by people he pays to keep quiet," you side-eye him while downing the last drop of your champagne, slowly licking your lips. his eyes flicker there for a split moment.

"how do you know?"

the question makes you quiet, tapping your glass. "think of it like this; everyone starts off as a cocoon. eventually as time goes by, we evolve into butterflies. the cocoon represents our innocence; the purity and unawareness of what's to come in life. once we sprout into butterflies, we become tarnished, facing the real world and learning to adapt to its cruelty. life can be beautiful, but it's always painful no matter how happy or dismal we are. it's our choice to fly in the direction we want for ourselves even when the harshness of life beats us down. butterflies only live for so long. we disintegrate after inhumane amounts of stress, loneliness, or tragic events that take a toll on us, removing the power of staying beautiful. we show beauty to the public but don't feel it when everything around us is falling apart. but we can't make life harder on ourselves by dwelling on what we can't have rather than pushing for what we can have."

aki is speechless, half-understanding what you meant. "are you saying alexander is a butterfly that can't fly?"

"he's more like a mosquito, latching onto those who want to sprout into a butterfly but sucks the nutrients from them for his pleasure. he's a fraud. he'll never be a butterfly because he simply can't."

"did he steal from you? is that why you resent him?"

"no," you bluntly state, although aki doesn't believe you.

he takes the fork from you, cutting you another slice before holding it towards your lips, waiting for you to bite. you looked like you needed it. the drowsiness in your eyes may have indicated that you were tipsy. you giggle, shaking your head before he feeds you, your big eyes captivating him more. "is there something you want?"

"you."

aki nearly chokes and he's not even the one eating, your bluntness throwing him in a spiral of emotions.

"am i beautiful to you?" you lean closer, aki swallowing, scanning his surroundings. most of everyone remained in the living area, the two of you far behind a wall near the glass door of the terrace. he could smell your scent better, a sweet smell of caramel. soft skin shimmering with glitter.

"very."

"so what's stopping you? you got a girlfriend or somethin'?"

"n-no, it's just. i barely know you."

"that's part of the thrill," he watches as your small wrist turns and your palm is flat outward. "come upstairs with me."

like any man would, his feet walked on their own, stupidly following behind you up the black marble staircase, hand in yours as his eyes watched your hips switch.

"what's your name?" that should've been the first thing you asked, idiot.

"[♡]."

"i'm aki."

"i know who you are."

that's right, alexander introduced him to everyone after his reading right before supper. things felt like they went too quickly. aki didn't know who he was at this moment, completely floating out of his body and letting you take over like a spell. he was entranced. one thing leads to another, you're locking the door to one of the four bedrooms here. aki's sitting on the bed while you walk around, talking to him more about anything. his age, his aspirations in life. nonsense, basically. until he notices something.

a room with an open bay window revealing the late-night city of new york, stars in the sky, skyscrapers high. the breeze is warm, the air making the fabric of your dress rise just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the pink thong you wore. he's gulping, your legs shifting and a grin coming on your face as you see the tint of red blush across his cheeks. you're leaned against the window, toes pressing into your other foot, a gold anklet with the first letter of your name clasped on your skin. your shoes were off, and in between your two fingers sat a blunt, maybe about three inches now since you were too busy talking, letting it burn away.

once you flick it out the window, you fully turn to face him, sharp nails skidding up your thighs teasingly slow until the hem of your dress rises fully, and he's staring at the belly button piercing you have. your thick thighs, your curves, and your nipple when you moan and lift your arms to stretch and one of the straps falls down your shoulders.

"oops," you're pouting, and aki's had enough. he got it now. he understood why you wanted him to come up here. the liquor buzzing in your veins, and going straight to your clit like a drug. you wanted him the moment you saw him. you needed him, for more reasons than one.

aki was always one to put a woman's pleasure before his own. so when he saw you drop to your knees to crawl towards him, dainty hands trailing up his clothed thighs until you're undoing his belt and he's biting his lip. . . he was drawn in further. pulling him out of the confinement of his jeans, holding his pulsating dick in your hand, darting your tongue out, and pressing it flat to the aching head. he's squeezing his eyes shut when he's deep in your throat after a while, moaning around him and twisting your hand along as your mouth glides. his hand is in your hair, gathering some of it in his large fist while leaning back a bit to see those gorgeous eyes of yours stare into his, slightly watery. he liked that. he liked you.

"nnn, baby. like that," he's throwing his head back, jaw slacked as he tried to keep his voice down, not daring to let too much slip out regarding the guests below them. eyes back on you, he's watching as your hips gyrate in the air, desperately needing to be touched.

it's so foreign, this level of intimacy. it's been so long since he's had his dick buried deep in anything. sure, he masturbates like any other human being, but it's a rarity. he's so consumed in work that by the time he goes home he's knocked out in slumber, not even thinking about grabbing his fleshlight to fulfill his pleasure. the last time he had sex was at the beginning of his freshman year of college. it was some girl in his cutlery class who invited him over for late-night drinks, leading to more than just that. it was frequent until he realized he was failing courses because of the distraction and had to get back on track, so, he called it quits.

now he's pulling you up, feverishly pressing his lips to yours in a messy kiss, lips smacking, tongues bumping. you're keening when his thick fingers clasp around your throat as you straddle his waist, clinging to his shirt you eventually pull over his head. it's as if the both of you forgot that people were here and might hear you, but neither of you cared. aki's not even scolding you when you're moaning too loud the second he has you beneath him, your clothing still on, barely, and his jeans and briefs clinging to his ankles, your knees to your chest as his hot mouth latches around your puffy clit, back arching off the plush mattress.

the metal from his pierced tongue rushing against you as he holds the back of one of your thighs to keep them up, grunting and swallowing your arousal. you're whining so much it has his dick twitching, pulling on his hair not helping either. you're rocking your hips with urgency, legs twitching after he lifts his head to spit, collecting his saliva with two fingers before curling them into you, holding your stomach down while he shakes his fingers. that alone has you convulsing around him, tears in your eyes as you whimper his name and squirm helplessly, his lips kissing your inner thighs.

coming down from your high, aki's already propping himself behind you, turning you on your side while he laid on his, leveraging your head with his forearm underneath your neck, fingers in your mouth you suck while glaring at him. he curses, monotoned voice rasping, "don't do that."

"do what?" you hum, wrapping your lips around them again and moaning.

aki clenches his jaw, lifting your right leg to open you up before slipping inside, hearing you gasp as you adjust to the stretch. both of you groan in unison, turning your face to the side to kiss him while your nails clawed at his hip, then his ass as he rolls into you, too horny to be gentle and snapping his hips hard against your ass, grunting, "i heard you, girl," and drilling faster. your eyes scroll to the back of your head, aki swallowing the breath out of you as he sucks on your bottom lip and chokes you, the two of you whining in each other's mouth, muffling the noise although the skin interaction didn't cease.

he's brutal, a different person when in this form of bond. dropping your leg and reaching between to rub at your clit, heavy breaths on your neck as he hides his face there. you can easily smell the citrus scent of his shampoo, his scent overall a main attraction when he stepped toward you. . . like lavender. when he's nearing his climax, he gropes your chest, slurring, "be a good girl and cum all over me, baby. can i feel it this time?" and you nod, doing just as he says, his taunts and praises making your gut swim with butterflies.

you try not to scream as he licks and bites your neck sloppily, dazed. instead, you grab a pillow nearby and stuff part of it in your mouth, aki's face hovering over you as tears leak from your eyes and you cum hard, harder than you ever had. aki holds you close by your waist, taking a few more pumps before he furrows his brows and slowly pulls out, cumming on your flush skin with a hiss. by this time, his hair had fallen down his face completely, and even in your fucked out state, you reach up to rake through it with a lazy smile. aki chuckles, kissing your forehead before building the strength to find a cloth to clean you up. luckily, there's an en-suite bathroom, giving him access to warm water and toiletries.

fixing his posture in the mirror, he's rubbing his face and adjusting his clothes to appear as he did when he arrived; neat and professional. although what he just did wasn't so classy of him. he fucked some woman he barely knew at a millionaires home. work, he was working. not here for personal pleasure. he wanted to slap himself for being so easily enraptured. no one had to know about it. he only hoped not a soul downstairs heard what went on.

he's good to go, done scolding himself and turning off the bathroom light before stepping out. he finds you perched up, sipping a miniature bottle of crown royal you found in the bedside mini-fridge, sniffling your nose and blankly staring out the window. aki comes forward, gently grasping your thigh and gliding the wet cloth over your skin, the silence awkward.

"dandelions.”

aki's eyes slowly drift to your face, staring in confusion. "what?"

he notices how eerily slow tears built up in your eyes, gripping the bottle harder before exhaling. "dandelions," now you're finally looking at him, the coldness on your face making him anxious. "that's where his body is."

your voice is like vanilla. it's one thing about you that he grew infatuated with. it's one of the many reasons he was captured by you, brought to where he was now. standing at the bedside as he watched tears pool down your broken face. body? what body?  he grew cold, nervously eyeing you as you sniffled, standing to fix your hair, dress, and walking around the bed to slip back into your heels.

“wait," he goes to grab your arm when you try to walk out the door. "what the fuck are you talking about?"

the deadness in your eyes scares him even more, and he's panicking when you say, "alex."

“alexander?!" he shouts, dragging you away from the exit, hands on either side of your shoulders as he eyes you, his own wide. heart pumping drastically. "what did you do? where is he?"

"by the dandelions on the terrace," blunt, again. as if you aren't phased at all by his reaction. "follow me."

he's stunned, unable to fully process what you were telling him. he already assumed the worst when the term 'body' came to light. though his heart raced heavily in his chest, his feet blindly dragged in your direction. cautiously watching your every move in case he had to protect himself. fuck, he didn't have any weapon. then again, he's sure he could easily handle you, knock you out if he needed to. lock you in a closet and alert the hundreds of guest just below their feet. that's right, there are still people here. and if you mentioned alexander, how the fuck and when the fuck did you have the time to . . . kill him? 

"[♡]," he began to speak your name, but your head was in the clouds, ignoring anything that came out of his mouth as you cut into a passageway that led to a grand master bedroom, then facing the terrace you spoke of. he was nervous, your neck turning to eye him as you step onto the gravel, blankly staring down at something. he couldn't see from where he stood, matter of fact, he didn't want to see.

"he's here," you say. "he's here."

aki has no choice but to advance forward, wanting to squeeze his eyes shut from the upcoming scare of a human’s body. and not just any human, the alexander bodari. a flaccid arm sticks out from beside a bush, palm facing the sky, details of a struggle bruised into his hand as the skin in the area seemed peeled. aki’s heart drops the closer he gets, hand covering his mouth as he stares down at the lifeless body laying in a pool of blood. the aluminum wire draped around his neck stained with blood gave aki the answer he needed when it came to the cause. you strangled him to death. the question remains; who are you and how were you affiliated with alexander? most importantly, why’d you kill him?

“i don’t understand,” is all he can get out.

“the proof is in his first novel,” you utter, and he’s still confused. “the story about the woman who’s trapped in the psychopaths basement? it was about me.”

aki couldn’t grasp the thought of you being the woman from the novel star always talked about. that you had been the victim of his story. that it was a real life phenomena. that he met you, slept with you, and now you want him to, what . . . cover up a murder in a house filled with two hundred guests?

“he painted this image as if he was the most prestigious man on the planet. he made money off of real events. events that played out by torturing me, and using me to get his ‘creative juices flowing.’ he needed a test subject. he was a sick man who deserved to die,” tears pour down your face, the anger in your tone thick and pent up from years of pain and sorrow. “he was my father’s partner. my father despised me simply because of my resemblance of my mother and my rebellion against him. when he died from heart failure, in his will, he married me to alex.”

“that’s fucking. . . sick. i didn’t think that was possible in this day and age.”

you scoff with agreement. “yeah. he watched me grow from a preteen to making me his wife. sick bastard for sure.”

aki wants to vomit from this information. still unable to wrap his head around any of it. his hands sit on his hips as he stares up at the sky and blows a raspberry, try to keep his nerves together. you watch him with sadness, and maybe regret. you weren’t intentionally planning for this to happen. though part of you wanted someone to save you. to see the real you and rescue you from this torment.

“i know this is probably the last thing you expected to happen. i apologize for dragging you into this. i just didn’t know what else to do. i felt hopeless. and i refused to let his popularity run by making another fortune of a sick novel.”

“did he attack you?” he asks.

“he didn’t,” you clarify. “i think i just finally snapped. granted, tonight of all nights wasn’t the correct setting.”

aki makes a face that reads ‘fucking clearly’ as he rubs both palms down his face. he doesn’t know whether to run and call you insane or feel sympathy for a victim. but, murder is murder. and now, standing here with you, that’d make him an accomplice. as scary as that was, he couldn’t risk his future career. but he was stuck in a pickle. he wanted to help you.

“there are clear signs of struggle, so we have to make it look like an accident,” aki suggests, but immediately, you shake your head in disagreement.

“they won’t believe that. he’s one of the wealthiest men in new york. it’ll be a huge investigation.”

“then the only answer would be to tell the truth,” he finalized.

“the . . truth?”

aki nods, pulling you toward him and stepping away from the body, chills still going up his spin and goosebumps on his arms. “listen to me, you can tell the world exactly who you are and what he’s done to you. you have proof. transactions, marriage certificate, i’m sure there’s documents for days in his computer that can prove what he’s put you through. there’s evidence somewhere.”

“and if i tell the world, who’s to say they’ll believe me?”

“i believe you,” aki says. your eyes fill with hope, and thankfulness. “people will have their opinions, but we know the truth. do you have anyone else that can be your alibi?”

you think long and hard, until it hits you. “the maid. she’s been working for him ever since i moved in after my father died. she’s fed me, helped me heal wounds . . even get rid of his unborn child i lost after too much stress.”

“jesus christ,” he bows his head in disbelief. “where is she now?”

“luckily, the kitchen. the woman with the braided red hair. she promised me she’d always protect me. after his book succeeded he became nicer to me, gave me a ‘real’ marriage. she was like his mother, always scolding him when he raised his voice at me or wouldn’t let me live my life. it’s all so depressing.”

“okay. it’s okay, you’re going to be okay,” aki comforts you as you begin to sob once again, cradling your head in his chest.

the night ends in the blink of an eye. aki takes you into another room and wraps a blanket around you as you sit on the edge of the bed and wait for the police. he finds the woman you spoke of, pulls her to the side and informs her of the tragedy above. she herself looks relieved. not at all shocked by what played out, as if she knew you’d go through with it. aki guesses he truly was a horrible man. and to think he would’ve worked for him in the future. the police arrive shortly after the woman goes to check on you, insuring that everything would be okay, and that she’d stick to the full story. the police instructs everyone the leave the premises, aki being questioned for a full hour, this home becoming a crime scene, and all of their faces full of black ink on the daily news the next morning.

aki will never forget the chilling smirk on your face as they removed alexander’s body from the terrace. it was . . haunting.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Series Synopsis: The story of how you, the bastard daughter of the Hiiragi clan, gain power in a country at constant war — and how, just as quickly, you lose it, too.

Chapter Synopsis: The morning after your encounter, you meet a strange gardener with an even stranger name. That night, you strike a risky deal with the ninja.

Series Masterlist

Pairing(s): Otoya x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.0k

Content Warnings: sengoku period au, character death, angst, sad ending, implied abuse, lots of political content, violence and war, the characters will probably be ooc a bit (as is to be expected when you put a bunch of soccer freaks into the warring states period), they are all morally questionable AT BEST, i promise i don’t hate your fav if they act heinous it’s just that someone has to, the prose here is so purple you might confuse it for reo mikage, i may or may not include original characters, i do try and do a bit of research but this is a bllk reader insert fanfic so please keep your expectations for historical accuracy and whatnot at a minimum, possibly a bit suggestive eventually

A/N: hello eita nation i hope you all are doing well on this fine day!! as i am sure you will be able to tell by this chapter i was born to be w karasu and forced to be w otoya 😩💔 JKJK dw guys there will be no second lead nonsense going on here trust 🤞🏻

When you next awoke, it was to a sore back and a rough feeling in your mouth — a dehydrated and papery sensation to your tongue, which lay heavy against your palate. You sat with your elbows digging into your thighs, your cheeks warm against your palms, your nightclothes clinging to your body in a film of sweat.

Last night had been the worst of them all, though it had begun so wonderfully. How had your mind thought of such horrible circumstances, in which you had promised Reiji’s life in exchange for your own? That assassin, or ninja, or whatever he had called himself…why had you dreamt of him? What did any of it mean? This was the first terror which had not culminated in your mother’s death. Were they evolving in nature? Would it now be your own demise which you saw?

Staggering to your feet, you began to ready yourself, clinging to the daily routine as a sort of stability. It hadn’t been real. The assassin, Yukimiya’s betrayal, none of it had been real. It had only been a dream. He would awaken soon, that Mister Kenyu Yukimiya, and he would be as kind and gentle as you had remembered, and once the negotiations were completed, he would marry you and take you to his manor and you would finally be freed of the names L/N and Hiiragi alike.

Dipping your fingers into a pot of herbal treatment, you swiped them across your face and waited for it to soothe your frayed nerves and inflamed skin. The treatment was a rare luxury that you had been given by your father — he spared no expense when it came to your beauty, for your face was a man’s first greeting and last farewell, and if an alliance was to be made, then both needed to be pleasant. After waiting for the prescribed time, you soaked a clean rag in water and dabbed it away, careful to ensure that you did not rub too harshly and undo the effects entirely.

During this process, you saw that there was something unsightly on your neck. Furrowing your brow, you leaned closer to your mirror, angling your chin away from the mark and rubbing a finger against it, hissing at the contact, which stung more than you had anticipated.

It was a shallow wound, so ugly and precise that it could only have been made by a blade. Falling backwards, you scrambled away from your dressing table, looking wildly around the room, searching for any signs of disturbance.

There was nothing. Of course, if he had been hired by a clan as high-profile as the Yukimiyas, and for such a delicate undertaking, then it stood to reason that he would not – that he would not have left anything behind. Anything but the fright which curled over your heart like a fist and the laceration on your neck, which had almost spelled your death.

Despite your efforts to convince yourself otherwise, you were now faced with the fact that it had not been a nightmare. You really had almost been killed. You really had promised your half-brother’s life away to that person — your half-brother! How could you have done that? You were the one who had killed a star, the one who was a bastard, the one who was unwanted. If Reiji died, then the Hiiragis would be lost, left without an heir, at a time when your father was far too old to produce another. And you — you were nothing. If you were to die, then what? It would not matter to anyone.

You could only stare at your reflection in the mirror, at the scarlet stroke against your neck, and wonder at the grave evil you had committed. You had to tell someone. At the earliest convenience, you had to warn your half-brother and father about this plot against your family. If they knew, then they could increase their defenses, protect the manor until the Yukimiyas and their retainers were dealt with, until that ninja was found and brought to task.

Reiji cared not for the propriety of knocking nor announcing his presence, not when he was in a fury, as he was today. He stormed into your room while you were lost in your thoughts, stopping with his hands very near to your throat, as if he had considered choking you but found no merit in it at the last moment.

“What did you do?” he said.

“I know not of what you speak,” you said.

“Yukimiya,” he spat, the name falling from his lips like the venom of a snake. Well, Hiiragis were serpents, weren’t they? You understood that comparison better than anyone. “He has vanished in the night. What did you do to him? How did you chase him away?”

“You believe that it was my doing?” you said. “That I, whether out of malice or ineptitude, drove him away?”

“What else could it be?” he said. “The cursed daughter of the Hiiragi…do you know what they call you in the village? The laughingstock you are? Perhaps it is that he came to know of your vile nature and was duly terrified. For that I cannot blame him, though it was a cowardly act to flee without warning. Now, an alliance is all but impossible, and it is your fault.”

“I cannot claim to even understand the affairs of the daimyos,” you said. “So how could I have meddled with them?”

He was blaming you. His own would-be murderer had been foiled, wholly thanks to your actions, yet he was accusing you of a crime, of dooming an alliance which had only ever been a farce. You wanted to tell him these things, tell them to him well, but something made you pause before the words could come.

“Insolent witch,” he said, and then his eyes zeroed in on the column of your neck. “You have been injured?”

You wished that he was asking out of concern, but in fact it was nothing but an appraisal. Were you, his father’s precious asset, damaged in some way? Or was this injury some clue towards Mister Yukimiya’s flight from the estate? These questions flickered across the pale seas of his irises, and you pursed your lips.

You could say it now. You could tell him what had happened, the truth of it, and you sensed that he might believe you. Reluctantly, unwillingly, and perhaps not entirely, but he might believe you enough that he would take the threat seriously. The manor would be fortified within the hour. An army would be amassed and sent to the Yukimiyas before the moon’s cycle was complete. You had that power. You could save your half-brother, save him as well as yourself.

Though, would it be fast enough? The ninja could be anywhere. He could even be in the manor already, and you were certain that your betrayal would not go unnoticed if that was the case. You’d be dead as soon as you tried to warn him, and Reiji’s end would inevitably follow.

Something coiled in your stomach, something like a pit of serpents which writhed in a frenzy as you came to a sure conclusion. It was not an attractive one, but you were so certain of it that, in that moment, it became an unavoidable truth.

No matter what you did, Reiji would die. It was written, was set in stone, and you could not change it even if you wanted to. Your choice, then, wasn’t between saving him or not saving him — he was no longer a person that could be saved. The one who still could be, the one whose life hung in the balance — it was you.

“I rolled onto a stone,” you said. “I have since cast it from the window. I am saddened to hear of what happened with Mister Yukimiya, but I swear to you on my life that I had no involvement in it.”

“What good is your life?” he said. “Swear on something of a greater value.”

“Then I swear it on yours,” you said. “I am telling you the truth.”

“I shall have you banished if I find you are lying,” he said. “Banished or executed. To make such a claim on my honor...you are shameless to say the least, Y/N.”

He left with a flourish, his robes billowing behind him, the painted screen obscuring his figure as he stalked away. You swallowed as you watched him leave, your cut burning with the sin of the lie.

The manor was in a disarray after Kenyu Yukimiya’s disappearance, and it was all you could do to sneak some food from the kitchens and then tiptoe outside to the gardens to eat. Reiji’s anger would be pale in comparison to your father’s, and though your father was less likely to turn his ire upon you, he was not the sort of person that one preferred to be around when he was in such a mood.

Sitting on a bench swing, hidden from the path by a grove of ginkgo trees, you pushed off with your feet so that you could sway gently as you ate. The rocking motion must’ve been something like being on a boat, you believed, though you could not know for yourself. You had never left the manor, were not allowed to, and so the ocean remained a mystery, albeit a beautiful one.

Still exhausted from the previous night, you closed your eyes once you were finished with your semblance of a breakfast, folding your hands in your lap, though you did not allow your head to loll back as you longed to. You could not sleep in such a place, but this dignified form of repose would be acceptable even if you were caught by Reiji or your father.

“Are you asleep, lady?”

What felt like only moments later, you were startled to consciousness by a voice which was as tentative as it was foreign. Your eyelashes fluttered open, slowly and then all at once as you realized a man your age stood before you.

“Ah, who are you?” you said, still blinking the grogginess from your vision. He was dressed in the garb of a gardener, and true to form there was mud flecking his uniform, but for some reason he held a wooden sword at his side. When he realized you had noticed it, his face reddened, and he bowed his head in surrender.

“You may punish me as you see fit, Miss Hiiragi,” he said.

“Excuse me?” you said, genuinely confused. “I was only asking your name because I found you unfamiliar…and do you mean to mock me with that address? Miss Hiiragi?”

He had an open and honest tone, with a twang of a simpler accent than the one which you had grown up around. His features were fine, still unweathered from the sun and wind, angular in a way which belied his true youth, and both his hair and his eyes were dark, though they had an iridescence to them — like crow-feathers or beetle-wings. It was impossible to describe the effect, for when you listed these attributes in your mind, it felt as though you were speaking about someone quite plain, but all in all he actually had a pleasant appearance. One might even consider him handsome, if they were so inclined.

“Mock you?” he said, his knuckles white against the grip of the training weapon. “I did not. Is it — is it that you are the Lady Hiiragi? I beg your pardon for the offense. ”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re new, are you not? When did you get here, and from where are you from?”

“I am,” he said. “I came this week, from a village nearer to the river. My father is — was a foot soldier in the employ of a samurai, but he was killed in a skirmish, and so I was sent to study in a temple.”

“This is not a temple,” you pointed out. He gave you a wry grin.

“It wasn’t a life I found suitable,” he said. “I left as soon as I could, and I have been in search of work ever since — whether as a foot soldier like my father, or an even less glamorous occupation, it mattered little to me. Lord Hiiragi was the first to hire me despite my name.”

“Your name?” you said.

“Tabito Karasu,” he said.

“The traveling crow?” you repeated. When he nodded, you could not stop yourself from snorting. “Is that really it? It cannot be. Surely you jest!”

“It is a title as much as it is a moniker,” he admitted. “I was only ever known as Karasu before my father died, as he was before me. It was after I escaped the temple that people began to call me Tabito. The traveler. The crow without a home.”

“You tell a good story,” you said. “Though I fear I cannot take you at your word quite yet, Tabito Karasu.”

How could you trust him? Karasu, whose arrival coincided exactly with the Yukimiyas’ plot and the ninja’s threat, who held a sword in his hands despite his status as a gardener. He was not your assailant from the previous night — you would not forget that voice so soon, and anyways you believed the ninja had been slenderer than Karasu, leaner and of a smaller frame, at least based on the way his body had felt against your own. Yet it was not an impossibility that they were in league, that Karasu was meant to observe your actions and report back to the ninja, so it would be folly for you to lower your guard.

“Because of the sword,” he said. “And my error in addressing you. I apologize for both, Lady Hiiragi.”

“Lady Hiiragi is dead,” you said. “The mother of my half-brother. He tore his way out of her womb and left her a lifeless husk. You are lucky my father was not around to hear you call me that; he’d have your head for the assumption. You were closer when you referred to me as Miss Hiiragi, though not exactly on the mark. Have the other servants truly not warned you about me?”

“They shun me,” Karasu said. “I could not tell you the reason why. Perhaps it is that they have not warmed to me yet. Perhaps they never will.”

“Servants take after their masters,” you said, taking pity on him. “Those in the Hiiragis’ service will not accept you, an outsider, until you have proven yourself to be one of them. If that is the extent of your ambition, then I should advise you to keep out of trouble — if it is possible for a person like you, traveling crow.”

You gestured at the sword. His fingers twitched, but he did not relinquish his hold on it. You were not sure whether he was embarrassed or angry; regardless of which he felt, he straightened his back, standing with the pride of a samurai, which was incongruous with his humble background.

“You were surprised that I had not been warned about you,” he said. “Yet I cannot see anything about you which would merit warning.”

“Supposedly, I am cursed,” you said. “Y/N L/N, the daughter of a servant, whose birth was marked by the death of a star. The laughingstock of the village and the manor alike, I am told. But Lady Hiiragi died before she could give my father a legitimate daughter, so I have in some sense adopted that role.”

“I see,” Karasu said. “Will you be consoled if I tell you that I have in fact heard some whispers in the kitchens about you? However, they painted you in a far more monstrous light. I was expecting the infamous Miss L/N to be an altogether hideous beast, but you are entirely a normal girl.”

“It is good to hear that my notoriety has not faded any,” you said bitterly. “Enough about myself, though. What are you doing in these gardens with one of the samurai’s swords? Is your work not of a tamer nature? There are no enemies to slay amongst the flowers, I am sure.”

“In this season, gardening is an easy task, so I have an excess of free time. I spend it training, for it is as you said — this is not the extent of my ambitions,” he said.

“That sword is not yours,” you said. You waited for him to deny it furiously, but to your surprise, he shrugged and then nodded.

“It is not,” he affirmed. “That is why I told you you can punish me as you see fit. I have stolen from the Hiiragis for my own personal gain, and I do not even feel guilt for my actions. It will be better for my constitution if you make me regret it; I am certain I will not without your intervention, and indeed I shall continue in the manner I have been should you leave me be, so I shall take whatever punishment you dole out with gratitude.”

You let out a delighted laugh. He was a brazen man, this Tabito Karasu, though he hid his boldness under a guise of duty and deference. Uncrossing your ankles, you stood and smiled at him, not out of submission but in recognition. He eyed you warily, but you swept past him, continuing on the path back towards the manor, though not without looking over your shoulder at him one final time.

“Consider yourself lucky that it was me you stumbled upon and not Reiji,” you said. “Verily, I remain unassuaged as to the truth of your identity and motives in coming here, but whatever the case may be, I have no desire to see you bloodied and beaten. Continue as you have been, then, though I implore you to be more and more careful. A snake never lets a bird out of its jaws once it has it there; you’d do well to remember that you are one such bird, Tabito Karasu, and you have found yourself in a nest of serpents with eager mouths.”

He might’ve thanked you, fallen to his feet and groveled, even, but you did not give him the chance to, and neither did you think it to be in his character. You left him standing by the ginkgos, the wooden sword balanced expertly in his hands, a thoughtful expression on his face as he swung it against the trunk of one of those ancient trees, over and over until you were well out of sight.

“Miss L/N!” Anri said, as soon as you re-entered the manor. “There you are! Lord Hiiragi has summoned you to his study. I have turned the estate upside down searching for you!”

“I was having breakfast in the gardens,” you said, omitting your conversation with Karasu. “And then I suppose at some point I fell asleep. It is harder to have nightmares in the sunlight, so it was a peaceful rest, which I have not had in some time. I’m sorry for the trouble.”

You both walked at a brisk pace towards the study, which was at the heart of the manor due to its importance to the lord. Anri’s face was flushed, though she had no reason to be worried; were it anyone else who had been summoned, she’d have been blamed for the tardiness, but it was you, and if there was anything the Hiiragis enjoyed, it was finding fault in any and all of your actions.

Your father sat cross-legged on the floor at his desk, a brush stained with ink in his right hand, the damp bristles wavering over a piece of rice paper. He was not writing, however, and as you watched, a droplet of ink splashed onto the pale expanse of the blank sheet, blooming into a black mark the size of your thumb. He scowled and returned the brush to its holder, balling up the ruined paper and tossing it in the wastebasket.

“Lord Hiiragi,” Anri said. “I have brought Miss L/N.”

His gaze snapped up to meet yours. “At long last. What was the cause of your delay, daughter?”

“I thought you would be far too preoccupied with other matters to care for my whereabouts, so I entertained myself in the gardens. I see now that it was a misguided assumption,” you said, kneeling on the floor across from him.

“Has Reiji informed you, then?” he said.

“Of Mister Yukimiya’s disappearance? Yes, he told me this morning,” you said. “What shall we do now?”

“I have sent a carrier pigeon to the Yukimiya estate demanding an explanation,” your father said. “Until then, we do nothing but wait.”

“An explanation? Have you not the slightest clue what might’ve driven their decision?” you said incredulously.

“It would be unwise of me to jump to conclusions,” he said. “An alliance is our end goal. If we move too hastily, then we risk losing that.”

The Hiiragis were a great clan, and their power was coveted by many simply due to the sheer amount they had. Should your father command it, the Hiiragi army could bring even the Yukimiyas to their knees, though it might take a toll on their forces. Yet it remained not to be an impossibility, and you could not understand why your father did not see the need to act at once.

“We ought to make a show of strength,” you said quietly, softly, knowing that, as always, your father would dismiss your suggestion in turn. “What the Yukimiyas have done is a grave insult to the Hiiragis, even if it was not intentional. Should we not, then, remind them of who they parley with?”

It was your attempt at warning your father. You could not call him to arms and tell him that the Yukimiyas had all but declared war upon your family, not with the ninja’s threat looming over you, yet neither could you stand by idly and watch the destruction of the Hiiragi clan — a clan which had never treated you well but was yours nevertheless.

“The relationships between daimyos are too complicated for you to understand,” your father said. “You are thinking entirely too simplistically. We cannot bare our fangs at every ruffled feather; we’d exhaust our resources before doing anything of significance. It is just as likely that Kenyu Yukimiya grew frightened of his future bride as it is that the clan has some or another scheme up their sleeves. Our duty is to rule out any other explanation before we ready ourselves for war.”

Of course he would say that — to him, Mister Yukimiya’s disappearance was still a mystery. An abnormality. He didn’t know what you did, that the entire purpose of the visit had only been to assassinate Reiji, your father’s only heir. If he had that knowledge, then he would surely take your side, but how could you give it to him in a way that did not invite further questioning?

“Can we not make preparations in the meantime?” you said. “The worst is that we will have to dismiss the army, but it’d be better if we are ready, should the Yukimiyas prove traitorous.”

“Were it that simple, I’d already have done it,” your father said coldly, in a voice which meant that he would not entertain further discussion on the matter. “Every single movement that the daimyos make is subject to scrutiny. Gathering forces in earnest will not escape unnoticed by the peasants, and from there, word will spread. The conflict will grow far more than it needs to.”

You wanted to tell him. You wished that you had the ability, that you could lean over that desk and shake him by the shoulders. You are a Hiiragi, you would shout if you could, behave as a Hiiragi must. His forebears would not have been so cautious, so cowardly — your father’s insistence on peace, on alliance, would’ve been admirable in another time, one that was more conducive to such goals, but now it bordered on witless. Of course he did not know the extent of the situation, but even then, as a daimyo, and the head of the Hiiragi clan besides, he was supposed to be ready to take action at any moment. He was supposed to give up anything for the honor and justice of his family.

“Very well, father,” you said. “I apologize for meddling. It was not my place.”

What else could you do? It was your week of terrors, after all. Even if you could say something, even if you did not live in fear of that ninja and his kunai, you doubted your father would believe you. What man would summon an army at the word of his ill-fated daughter? Perhaps the witless one was you, for thinking that speaking to him would’ve had any effect on what was to come.

“Correct,” he said. “Focus on your own shortcomings — of which there are many. Leave the work of the clan to Reiji and I, who are doubly well-suited to it.”

“Yes, father,” you said, standing and bowing. “By your leave.”

“Study today,” he said, a command, not a request. “If your body and face are not enough to keep a husband, then your mind and conversation must make up for them. Do not take lunch; study until supper, and then go straight to bed, so that you do not appear haggard when the next suitor comes.”

“As you wish, father,” you said, bowing at him one more time and then exiting the study, your nails digging into your palms so hard you were shocked that they did not come back bloody.

After the third hour of study, the characters swam before your eyes, endless blurs which you could not hope to decipher. You spent more time gazing out at the gardens, admiring the butterflies and wondering if that strange boy was still practicing his illicit swordsmanship, than you did actually working. It was not to your detriment; you were already far better-read than most your age. It had not been a lack of education which drove Kenyu Yukimiya away, and furthering your knowledge of history and the arts would not by any means change what had occurred or prevent its repetition.

The sight of Anri made you faint and queasy, but in a grateful way, for she in that moment represented a liberation from your torment. You were glad, too, that it had been her sent to fetch you and not your half-brother, who surely would’ve jeered at you in a manner you did not at present have the wherewithal to face with decorum.

Dinner was terse and strained, beginning and ending without conversation. Your father and half-brother both exchanged glances frequently, as if they were in on some private secret that you could never comprehend even if you were to hear it. There was a camaraderie between them, a relationship you could not hope to have with either, so you supposed it wasn’t out of the question, but this time, you did not feel as put-out as you once might’ve. You, too, had secrets of your own now, secrets which were far riskier to hold than anything they could’ve kept from you. It vindicated you to think that, in some sense, you had something over them both, despite their superiority.

“There will be more suitors,” your father said when you got up to return to your chambers. “The Yukimiyas are not the only clan in the area, and far from the most powerful. Another man will come for your hand soon enough, daughter, and when he does, you must ensure that he does not run with his tail tucked as Kenyu Yukimiya did.”

From what you knew of him, Kenyu Yukimiya had never tucked his tail a day in his life. He didn’t seem the type. You wagered he had pranced all of the way back to his estate with his head and spirits high at the success of his clan’s half-baked plot.

“Yes, father,” you said, sounding like a lost bird which could only repeat one mournful note. Yes, father, yes, father. When you were with him, it was all you could say. He huffed and then waved his hand at you obliquely, a clear dismissal that you would be hard-pressed to refuse.

Scurrying back to your room before Reiji or your father could call you back and place more inane demands on you, you readied yourself for the night, watching your window in fear all the while. What if you had not done enough? What if, in attempting to warn your father, you had revealed too much? What if this was your final night alive? Your heart pounded like drums in your ears, so fast and harsh it felt as though it might leap out of your throat.

Crawling under your blanket with trepidation, you lay on your back with your eyes closed, though sleep did not come readily. This was not a surprise — no person could rest in such conditions, when every breath they took had the chance of being their last.

“Don’t open your eyes.”

The voice was the same, and before you knew it, a familiar kunai was pressing against your neck. This time, though, it was the flat of the blade which he held to your pulse, so that it was more a reminder meant to intimidate than anything.

“It’s you,” you said.

“Hello,” he said, oddly cheerily. “Are you surprised?”

“No,” you said.

“I am,” he confessed. “I thought you would’ve run to your half-brother as soon as the sun rose into the sky, bawled to him all about your terrible experience and used the cut on your neck as proof. Yet you didn’t; in fact, when he approached you about it, you lied.”

“I suspected you remained in the manor, or nearby. The moment I told Reiji anything, you’d have killed us both,” you said. “No matter how swiftly my father raised his forces, it would not be enough to save us. Save me.”

“What a sad business it all is,” he said. He seemed unnecessarily amused, though then again, he had been like that last night, hadn’t he? Your plight was nothing but a pastime for him. Spiderwebs crisscrossed the back of your eyelids as you cursed him internally. “Your father, I mean. Ignoring his poor daughter like that…I’m sure he’ll come to regret it one day. It’s admirable that you tried for as long as you did.”

“My father — did you follow me the whole day?” you said.

“That gardener boy is handsome,” he said instead of answering the question. “Do you fancy him? It seemed like you did.”

“How did I not notice you? The entire day, and yet I had hardly a clue that you were there at all,” you said, your skin crawling at the thought that he had kept such a close eye on you without you noticing. He hummed thoughtfully.

“It’s my trade,” he said. “Why would I tell you my secrets? Suffice to say you will never know when I am there and when I am not; neither will you ever realize just who is willing to betray you for a few coins.”

“Do you mean to kill my half-brother tonight?” you said.

“Not particularly,” he said.

“Why do you prolong this?” you said. “Won’t the Yukimiyas be upset with you?”

“They’re the ones who erred first, so they can’t be,” he said. Though you could not see, it felt like he must be shrugging flippantly when he said that. “The Yukimiyas know better than anyone the value of patience. They’d wait for years if that was what it took for me to complete the job in the way they specified.”

“But you could complete it at this very moment, should you so please,” you said.

“Of course, I could do many things,” he said. “Yet I have found some diversion in this manor, and as I am so rarely excited by anything nowadays, I have decided to indulge myself in this new interest for as long as it keeps my attention.”

“And what might that diversion be?” you said. He poked you in the forehead.

“How far will you go, I wonder?” he said. “Most of the highborn, especially those altruistic ladies, are willing to give up their lives at the slightest provocation. I have never met any noble so reluctant to part with their existence as you. To think you would even give up your own half-brother, bastard as you are, for it! It’s interesting. It’s definitely interesting, that you add nothing of value to this world, and yet you are the one so determined to remain a part of it.”

“That’s all?” you said. “My life and how I lead it is nothing but an experiment to you?”

“An experiment, or a game, or a gamble,” he said. “Whatever you want to call it.”

“Yet games and gambles are better played with pairs,” you said, an idea forming in the back of your mind, one based solely on his curious personality, your last effort at salvaging something of this mess you were in. “There is no equality in things as they are.”

“Do you have a proposition?” he said, voice ticking up with intrigue. You swallowed, your throat bobbing against the metal of the kunai.

“If, within a moon’s cycle, I can find you, then you must change your allegiance and become mine,” you said.

“Yours?” he said. “Not the Hiiragis’?”

“Mine,” you repeated. “I have nothing to my name. Can I not at least claim your loyalty if I manage such an arduous task?”

He scoffed. “Very well. And what if you do not succeed?”

“It will be as we initially agreed,” you said. “I will give you leave to kill my half-brother, and then I shall help you escape this estate unharmed.”

“Alright,” he said, not even taking a moment to mull it over. “This game is even more exciting than the one I conceived of. I have a stipulation, though.”

“What is it?” you said.

“You cannot search for me in the night,” he said. “Once the moon rises, you must keep your eyes closed until daylight.”

“Do you mean to continue visiting me, then?” you said.

“It’s lonely, living in a place where no one can know you exist. Speaking to you is the only method I have of staving off that isolation,” he said.

“I accept your stipulation,” you said after a moment of consideration. It was a relatively harmless request, wasn’t it? You had no plans of running around the manor in the middle of the night, anyways.

“Try your hardest, Miss L/N,” he said, removing his kunai. “Though you must know that I only allowed this because I am assured of your failure.”

You exhaled. To some, this might have seemed a dangerous proposal, but in your mind, it was the only thing you could do. Besides, if you failed, then was there even a consequence? None that you were not already prepared to handle. Your half-brother’s death was something that, only hours ago, you had decided was inexorable. You had grieved it already, so it mattered little to you if you saved him or not.

That wasn’t why you were doing it, anyways. It was for yourself more than anything; you could not bear the paranoia of knowing that he was your enemy and was ever-present, ever-waiting with that kunai of his. You wanted him on your side. You wanted this ninja to belong to you, for you had this inkling that you would be a different kind of invincible if you had him, a kind of invincible that you could never dream of being otherwise. With him, you could reach the status which your father and half-brother enjoyed by virtue of their birth alone.

“I won’t fail,” you said, though you were unsure if he was gone by this point or not. “I cannot.”

There was a soft sound, but you could not tell if it was a chuckle or the wind blowing against the window. Either way, after that it was silent, and you knew he had finally left you alone.

[inlovewithregencyera]

A letter from Maximilian Worthington to Frederick Worthington:

July 8th, 1817

Often, I am haunted by the fear of judgment for expressing my emotions so freely, save for you alone am I truly able to confide in. Today was extremely hard for me because it would’ve been Mama’s fiftieth birthday. I remember her death so clearly in the back of my mind, just as if it were yesterday. I returned from my daily ride, shortly before the usual dinner. I picked Mama a handful of daisies hoping to lift her spirit as she had been so melancholy with the loss of my dear sister the year prior. I hastily walked up to her chamber, knocked, and received no answer. Knocking once more and still hearing nothing, I entered the room, only to find her lifeless body limp and sprawled across the bed. I screamed for Father, who rushed from his study, and upon seeing his dear wife, collapsed and was immediately consumed by tears. His scream was heard all over Ivyhurst, as Isabella came immediately from the drawing room. We were all overtaken by grief, and sprawled on the floor in our despair. Miss Hurst, Bell’s governess, gently took the poor desolate girl away from the scene. I attempted to console my dear Father and it seemed my mind had gone blank. I don’t know how long I sat there with him weeping into my arms, perhaps it was an hour or two because when I looked out the window the sky was pitch black. Papa refused for anyone to come near her body, and told Reverend Smith to be damned to the depths of hell. When the funeral furnisher and undertaker finally arrived, he could not part with the corpse of his beloved Phia and therefore attacked both men who tried to get her. Because of this, he was given one last night alone with her, and he didn’t sleep. He held her in his arms and wept into her bosom the whole night, begging God to do the irreversible and take him instead. He said it wasn’t right that a man's sweet little daughter and now his beloved wife must go before him. I sat with Bell the whole night who cried herself to sleep in my arms. I didn’t sleep and had no more tears to cry, so I just sat there with my right leg joining my heart in numbness. At the crack of dawn, Father called us to embrace Mama’s lips and say a last farewell. I knew this kiss would be the last I should ever bestow upon on the woman who held all my affection. In the evening, she lay in the chapel with all the servants and the few people she held dearest to her heart around her coffin. The only person missing was you, as Papa blamed the entirety of your household for her demise, thus you were forbidden from coming. The daisies I picked for her were placed into her hands, and that was my final gift to my mother. She was taken to Thornfield before nightfall, to be reunited with the vessel of her daughter just as her spirit had been. Papa refused to watch her be put into a grave as he said he would jump into it with her, and Bell and I knew our hearts couldn’t handle that same sighting we saw less than a year ago with the death of our Elle. I watched the hearse head for the gates, and before it left, I kept telling myself that it was a nightmare. I hoped it would return with haste and bring back my nurturer, my savior, my most cherished Mama-but it never did.

[astrology-bf]

May DWC Day 2: Embrace

@daily-writing-challenge

(Companion piece to Day 1's prompt, written from the other point of view.)

Ifan Kaleid was not having a good day.

The weight of recent events had taken an equally heavy toll. Every victory was bought at a steep price, and right at the moment where he seemed he might finally be granted a reprieve– 

Don’t think about it.

Ifan allowed himself a few tears in private, and spent longer than he usually did each day in prayer, but otherwise completely buried himself in work. Favors for Aymeric, tasks from Alphinaud, requests from Tataru; anything to keep his mind off the recent past, tense present, and uncertain future. Anything to feel like he was doing something.

Today, however, it seemed his usual sources of distraction had conspired together to deny him that outlet. All three refused him any work, and all three insisted he rest with palpable worry in their eyes and words. 

Rest means time to think. Don’t think about it.

So he’d simply smiled to hide his gritting teeth, then sought out Eloin at the levemetes. Frustratingly, that too proved fruitless - the flood of adventurers in the wake of Ishgard's recent opening had exhausted all but the most trivial or most dangerous assignments. Ifan managed to conceal his disappointment with a loud laugh, then bade the elezen farewell with the intention of stomping off to the Forgotten Knight and getting himself plastered.

As he turned to leave, Ifan locked eyes with an odd, armored man leaning against a nearby wall. He was staring.

Ifan sized the stranger up instinctively. A midlander; roughly his own height, likely a marauder or warrior judging by the ax slung across his back and the dark-plated armor he wore. Definitely easy on the eyes, at least by Ifan’s standards, but otherwise unremarkable save for the fact the man was openly gawking at him. The poor concealment of his fascination was matched only by the fumbling attempt at hiding his stare when he realized Ifan was looking back at him.

…Heh. Cute.

He wasn't sure what compelled him to walk over and introduce himself. The man's awkwardness was endearing, certainly, and Ifan felt a little bad at how embarrassed he looked. Or perhaps Ifan was just so desperate for a distraction that he'd approach a complete stranger for conversation. His name was Ardbert, it turned out. And he had eyes like the sky.

Ifan felt his frustration fade as his attention fixated on his new acquaintance. He could tell from his first glance that the other hyur himself was a man of many travels, but what struck Ifan the most was the weight Ardbert seemed to carry. It was as if he'd taken the mass of the whole world upon his shoulders.

It was an uncomfortably familiar burden. It pained Ifan to see another sharing it, especially as it reminded him of Ysa–

Don’t think about it.

So, entirely on a whim, Ifan teased the warrior. He saw the pall of that weight pull back a bit in Ardbert’s smile, just enough to hint at the man beneath; someone earnest, fun, and full of love. Ifan felt a thrill in his chest ease the pressure constricting it, and so he kept on doing it: teasing him. Sharing stories. Cracking jokes. Ifan watched Ardbert blush, grin, and laugh. And Ifan rewarded the warrior’s own good humor with a mirth he’d almost forgotten how to share, let alone enjoy himself. A mere three drinks ended up turning into several hours of lively conversation.

"No shit?" Ardbert exclaimed, staring in disbelief as Ifan described the grueling tasks he'd been made to undertake to earn the favor of the Company of Heroes. “All that, and the feast was for -you-?”

"Aye. Even today I still wonder if the food was actually worth the trouble!” Ifan laughed as he raised his tankard to his lips, finishing the last of his current drink. “Mm… Still though, I'd do it again just to see the glee on Shamani's face. It’s rather funny how a mere grape vine can spark so much happiness."   

Ardbert chuckled through his grin, gazing across the table at Ifan. The evening rush had largely dispersed, allowing them to lower their voices and enjoy a more sedate discussion. "Seems to be a common thread in these tales of yours; making people happy. I can see why Hydaelyn chose you." he remarked.

…Fuck.

Though the warrior couldn’t possibly have intended it, the mention of the Mothercrystal was sufficient to bring Ifan back to reality. He felt his smile fade a little as he remembered that he wasn’t just another adventurer having a drink with a peer. Ifan hadn’t been one of those for a while now. Despite his efforts, Ardbert seemed to notice the shift in mood.

 "Ah... fuck." he muttered apologetically, rubbing the back of his head and giving Ifan a sheepish look. "Sorry. Didn't mean to spoil–."

"You didn't." Ifan interrupted. He gave Ardbert a firm look. "Trust me. I feel a lot better now than before we started talking, it's more..." He crossed his arms and leaned forward on the table, and his lips twisted as his eyes flicked to the candle sputtering between them. 

Don’t.

He chuckled humorlessly. "...Don't worry about it. We should talk about lighter things, hm?" He said as he looked up at Ardbert with a forced smile.

Ardbert didn't return it. Instead, he reached across the table and grasped Ifan’s hand. The mage blinked. "Ifan,” he said gently. "C'mon. Sitting on a problem just lets it fester. Mind you, I’m not saying you have to share it with me in particular… But I promise not to judge whatever it is that’s bugging you.”

The earnestness in Ardbert's voice made Ifan's breath catch in his throat. His fingers flexed under the warrior's, and he shifted a little where he leaned. Suddenly he felt rather shy.

Don’t you dare.

"I..." he started, looking off to the side rather than meet Ardbert's gaze. He swallowed. There was a trembling silence. "It keeps happening." Ifan said hesitantly."People keep dying or sacrificing themselves, and I just have to watch. I don't know if I'm doing it right. Being... whatever I am. A hero? A weapon? I just–" 

Stop it. Don’t put this on him. 

Ifan caught himself with a sigh. He shook his head, regretting speaking. It was too weighty a problem to expect Ardbert to have any answer for.

But then he felt Ardbert's grip tighten in a squeeze, and Ifan closed his eyes without realizing he was squeezing back. "Well... from where I'm standing..." said Ardbert slowly, "You look like a man to me.”

Ifan opened his eyes. Ardbert was smiling now. The mage couldn’t sustain his frown upon seeing it.

“A good one, at that. Just in a bad place.” Ardbert continued. “Can't say if you're doing all the other stuff right, but... You impress me, Ifan. For whatever that's worth."

There was a long pause. "...It's worth a lot, Ardbert. Thanks." Ifan answered in a thin voice. 

The pair leaned against the bar table together in silence, Ardbert's hand atop Ifan's. Once more, the mage found himself lost in the color of the warrior's eyes.

They’re so bright…

The sound of clattering crockery brought them back to reality. 

Ifan blinked and looked over at the server who'd nearly dropped a stack of plates, while Ardbert noticed that he'd been holding Ifan's hand and withdrew his fingers with an awkward clearing of his throat. "...Gods. What hour is it?" Ardbert asked with a weary laugh that was met by a smile.

"Too late, I think." Ifan replied as he stood upright and stretched. "A few more than three drinks, I daresay. But not a moment of it wasted, if you ask me."

"Likewise." Ardbert said, straightening up himself and rolling a shoulder before downing the last of his own tankard. "Let me walk you home. You said you were staying higher up in the city, right?"

"Walk me home?" Ifan asked, surprised. "You don't have to."

"You're right, I don’t. I'm offering because I want to." Ardbert replied confidently. 

Ifan knew he was lying. It was a poorly concealed excuse to make sure the mage didn't have a chance to mope. "...Alright. Didn't realize you were such a gentleman." Ifan teased. He smirked as Ardbert's cheeks reddened.

"Pff. Tch. Feh..." Ardbert rubbed the back of his head again and issued a series of nonverbal admissions of bashfulness.

Even so, he still smiled.

-----------------

The walk home was quiet, in contrast to the vigor of their earlier conversation. Ifan pointed out a few of the sights on the way to the upper tiers, but otherwise he and Ardbert seemed content to savor each others' company in gentle silence. They took a detour as they ascended to the Pillars, heading to the overlook near Fortemps manor to take advantage of the view offered by a clear night. Only when wind picked up with a faintly bitter chill did either speak again. 

"...Thank you, Ardbert. Really. Tonight has been..." Ifan began, then hummed as he failed to find the words. "Good. It's been good."

"Really good." Ardbert agreed, giving Ifan another smile. "I needed this too, believe it or not. And I'm glad to have met you, Ifan. Even if I've made an utter ass of myself the whole night." he added awkwardly.

Ifan laughed. "You weren't that bad. No more than I usually am." he replied. "But I'll see you around, aye? Take care, Ardbert."

Ardbert nodded. He reached up with a grin, extending his fist towards Ifan for a little bump. "You too. See you around, hero."  

Ifan returned the fistbump with a grin of his own, then turned towards the manor. He took a step, then another, hearing the clicks of Ardbert's boots on the stones as he walked away.

*Clink*. *Clink.* *...*

Ifan was already hesitating in his third step when he noticed the absence of the warrior’s footfalls. He turned… and Ardbert was staring back at him with near perfect synchronicity, as if Ifan was looking through some sort of mirror. Both sported a look of hesitation on their face, as neither seemed to be willing to be the first to leave.

One moment passed. Then two.

Ifan felt himself grinning. Then he was laughing, as was Ardbert. They laughed, pouring each of their frustrations into the raucous melody until both of them were in tears.

"...Nophica's tits..." Ifan cursed and chuckled as he wiped his eyes. "Guess you were right about me being strange."

"No... No. You're alright." Ardbert managed through the aftershocks of his own laughter. He walked forward towards Ifan with a sad, weary smile on his lips. "Bit strange myself. And I reckon we're just both a bit more wound up than we care to admit, yeah?"

Ifan nodded and took a deep breath in an effort to compose himself. He looked up at Ardbert, matching the warrior's expression as his fingers threaded together in front of him. Ardbert's smile widened further as he gazed down at the mage. ThenIfan felt a brush of cool leather on his cheek; Ardbert had raised a hand to sweep aside a few strands of ash brown hair that had fallen in front of Ifan’s eyes, and his knuckles were lingering on his face. Ifan's cheeks burned despite the chill. His eyes went to Ardbert’s lips.

The warrior seemed to snap out of his fancy, blinking at the realization of where his hand was. His own face reddened, and he made to pull away apologetically.

"...Sorry, I--" 

His hand had barely left Ifan's cheek before the mage had closed the gap between them and pressed his lips to Ardbert's. The warrior's apology was lost, and the wide-eyed shock at the sudden contact lingered only moments before instinct took over. Ifan felt Ardbert's hands grip his back as the other hyur returned the kiss, and he let himself relax into the warrior’s arms.

You’re in mourning. You’ll regret this.

Ifan ignored his misgivings and pressed himself up against Ardbert’s bulk. He tasted like the ale they’d been throwing back, of course, but Ifan kissed him until he could commit what was unique about the other man to memory. There was a faint saltiness, like a coastal breeze. A slight hardness, like iron. It amazed him how soft Ardbert’s lips were. The warrior clearly wasn't experienced with kissing, but more than made up for it with enthusiasm; more than that, Ifan found the slight bashfulness that was present even in the most insistent lashes of the Ardbert’s tongue beyond endearing.

Ardbert gasped as their lips parted. His face was flushed a deep scarlet, and Ifan could feel his heart pounding through the fingers that hand unconsciously crept up to caress Ardbert’s neck beneath his gorget. "Ifan…" he breathed.

“Ardbert…” Ifan echoed, gnawing on his lower lip as he gazed up into Ardbert’s eyes.

"Ifan." The warrior repeated, gloves curling into the fabric of Ifan's clothes. Ardbert’s fingers were trembling. "Do you, uh… Mind if we...?" 

After a moment’s pause, Ifan hummed. “It’s funny…” he said, leaning forward for another kiss as he did so. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

[belit0]

Heyy, can you write about indra coming back to take his lover with him after like 2-3 years of his fight with ashura?

Of course! there is no way to refuse anything to do with Indra. I'm a little rusty, so bear with me while I get back in the game….

I allowed myself the freedom to adapt it a little bit to my own idea, I hope you like it!

TW: none Pairing: (Otsutsuki Indra / Fem! Reader) SFW

It's been 3 years of hard fighting, that's news to no one.

All the inhabitants of the area fled as soon as the conflict started, consisting of two large groups facing each other, Indra and Ashura at the forefront of the dispute. Eventually, as time passed, soldiers fell on the battlefield, one by one, succumbing to various injuries.

Some gave up because of hunger, cold, and the environment, choosing to flee. Those who tried on Indra's side, encountered endings far more tragic than what the battlefield itself would have brought them, facing their commander directly, only to be killed by the sword of the one they supported.

Numerous attempts were made by Ashura, trying to negotiate and end the slaughter, as it not only annihilated the area of the fight along with all its underlying villages but also took the lives of thousands of soldiers who lent loyalty to one of the two sides.

His eldest brother was relentless in his conviction, choosing to die in combat rather than surrender to his enemy.

Time passed, and only two fighters were left standing after the first year of the war. Family, eternally opposed by miscommunication and resentment, destined to ruin each other's lives regardless of the outcome of their confrontation.

It only ceased when Ashura decided to take his own life in front of him, permitting not only the pleasure of victory but also the satisfaction of seeing the one who snatched what was his, who destroyed his destiny and replaced it with violence, fall.

Ashura never fought with the desire to win and never pursued the goal of defeating his brother. He answered every attack with all his strength only to avoid premature death, yet always harboring the hope of reaching his soul, of finding the Indra with whom he grew up, who understood him from beginning to end. Realizing that this would never happen, that the war could drag on for another 5 years, if necessary, he opted for the option that would give peace to them both.

A self-inflicted throat cut, just as another day of fighting was about to begin.

While that meant triumph for Indra, it did not come without a bitter taste, a sense of his younger brother making it easy for him. He had fantasized about the moment he would pierce his heart with his sword, the final words he would utter with contempt on his face as he fell lifelessly to the ground.

Both clans were practically destroyed after the end of the battle, finding the destruction of Ashura's descendants unnecessary. Yet undertaking the journey back home became the most difficult part.

What was home?

What was Indra returning to?

What would be left after three years of absence?

It wasn't where, it was to whom.

“Home” was not a physical place, but a person. His, person.

She had promised to wait, remaining away from the battlefield to ensure her survival, under direct and strict instructions from her beloved. Indra could not afford to lose her, anything but her.

The place where he had sheltered her was recondite, remote, hidden, difficult to access, and under his personal power. The same place where he had stayed years after initially losing to his brother, plotting and planning how to strike back properly.

The path would be arduous and complicated, long in the making, and hard to execute. It hurt him knowing she had no way of telling the outcome of the battle, that she could do nothing more than imagine he would be the one to win. All she could do was wait and hope, praying he would eventually walk through their simple door into the little hut where he had left her on their farewell day.

He promised to return, yet there was no certainty.

Days were all the same, hours passed slowly, and while (Y/N) had managed to build a daily routine that helped keep her sane, uncertainty lurked every day.

Dread at the thought of her man having lost the battle long ago, his body being covered by dirt in a forgotten war field for months, that no one would come looking for her, that he would never return… a daily companion.

She had begged and begged Indra to forget the matter, they could start from scratch somewhere where no one would know about them, build their own village and clan, and redeem their reputation.

He could never even consider it.

His honor had been put at stake, his ego had been bruised, and in the face of it, he could only fight back, act, and do. Start a war and hope to return home.

The night they parted was something permanently etched in (Y/N)'s mind. Unprecedented passion in the darkest shadows of the room, lit only by a few candles providing a timid light to their naked bodies, covered lightly by tangled sheets.

She had cried, and he had wiped away each of her tears, promising in vain everything would be all right.

She had pleaded, and he had refused her every attempt, claiming he would be the conqueror.

Frequently, anger was her greatest companion in her terrible loneliness. Since Indra left, she could not avoid a feeling of apprehension toward him. Why could he not desist from his stupid and long-standing anger, an unnecessary war? Why should he risk his life for it?

She never understood. Nevertheless, she supported him.

Millions of mundane thoughts began to monopolize her mind, eventually. Tending the garden, cooking, washing, keeping the house spotless for possible and unforeseen arrival, tending to the animals of their small flock, and making sure everything was in order.

She stopped dwelling on him constantly, stopped resenting him, stopped holding him in her mind all the time, moving him to the depths of her thoughts, where she kept her most beautiful and cherished memories alive, immaculate.

She chose to trust, to believe.

Someday he would come back and everything would be all right.

A chicken escaped from the pen. The greatest entertainment (Y/N) was having during this gray day.

When chances are scarce, you have to find ways to amuse yourself, right?

The weather did not lend itself to going for a walk in the woods, as it was threatening to pour a terrible rain at any moment. Conditions like this forced her to stay indoors, tending the fire so that it would not burn out and keep the hut warm.

Of course, she could find something else to do, yet it was the chicken escaping that she found most interesting and enjoyable. Forgetting her other possible hobbies, (Y/N) she decided to catch it before the rain came down.

Armed with courage and determination to solve the problem before she got completely soaked, she set off through the forest, looking carefully at the ground and searching for the trail of her little target.

The damned thing had speed and had soon moved away from the sector where (Y/N) keeps the animals, the ones she uses as therapy and occasional food when protein is needed.

"Damned little audacious one... where are you?"

The first drops were starting to rattle against the leaves, the ground was dampening and thunder rumbled angrily in the sky.

"Shit! Of course, you couldn't select better weather for this... no, of course not... it's not like we spent days of absolute sunshine and warmth! Fuck!"

The rain took its time but began to descend with a rush. The ground turned to mud, a curtain of water covered her immediate view, and her clothes clung uncomfortably to her body.

Bad idea, after all.

She opted for abandoning the foolish illusion of rescuing the chicken, which it could manage on its own in the weather, and if it was lucky enough to survive, it might even return on its own in search of some corn kernels. This had become very ridiculous.

She set off back to her hut but found herself disoriented amidst the noise of the rain and the lack of visibility. She had suddenly lost her own footprints on the ground because of the water and had no way to trace her way back.

Feeling desperation sink into her chest, hyperventilation followed close behind. The fire had been left burning in the cabin, if any brace were to jump out it could mean losing absolutely everything!

Finding the way back was critical and necessary and it had to happen now!

Turning around in her unleashed anxiety, looking for marks on the nearby trees to give her direction and trying to hear animal noises to get an idea of where she was standing, she began to run without any direction.

Rain lashed the leaves mercilessly, thunder stunned her eardrums, despair crowned her mind, her steps were erratic and incoherent, with the only objective of advancing to who knows where, and BANG!

She fell helplessly to the ground, hitting her back against the cold mud. Her vision became double from the blow, and she didn't understand if what she was seeing was an illusion.

A man, her man.

Dressed entirely in war armor, still stained with dried blood, hair loose and completely wet, full of marks and scratches on any part of skin his armor allowed to be visible. In his right hand he carried a sword, and in his left, the chicken, which he held by the legs, head down.

He looked at (Y/N) with the same perplexity as she looked at him, not understanding whether what was happening was real or not.

Neither said a word for what felt like minutes, with the storm and chicken noises being the ambient sounds of the scene.

"(Y/N)...?"

Her name came from his lips trembling and incredulous as if he found it hard to believe that the one who lay dumbfounded on the ground was his beloved, and life was reuniting them in this situation.

"In..Indra-a..?"

He pounced on her, sending the poor chicken flying through the air, who ran away as soon as it sat up on the ground. A deep embrace brought the two of them together, amidst cold metal and freezing water in between.

"The... the chicke-e-en!"

(Y/N) exclaimed, still astonished and in shock.

It was Indra's deep laughter that finally brought her back to reality, wrapping her arms as best she could around him, holding her beloved after years of separation, fear, and uncertainty.

"No need to worry about anything... I'm back."

They remained in that position for what felt like hours, simply sensing each other's presence, nothing mattering.

Not the storm, not the cabin, not the chicken.

[spinef0ryou]

Interview with Ville Valo in Metal Hammer magazine, words by Alexander Milas. Transcript under the cut

It’s a gloomy November evening in London and inside the crystalline bowels of the Universal Music tower there are dark goings-on under a winter moon. An arcane gathering of power-brokers, decision makers, and tastemakers, has convened to hear the first, dulcet tones of a new record in its entirety - a lyrical and melodious exsanguination called Neon Noir. Less an album, the subject of tonight’s attention is more like a swan song played in reverse or a departed loved one’s voice playing in the wind. We’ll get to that.

There are no robes here, such vestigial ornaments long since done away with to provide anonymity on public transportation, but the importance of these proceedings is in no way diminished. This is how the music industry in all its mysterious dealings determines where and when its various powers are to be invoked - an Illuminati-like network of aligned hands is this rogues' gallery of journalists, label managers and festival promoters. Even the helmswoman of the gazette you hold in your verv hands can be seen lurking in the shadows.

At the centre of the dim chamber stands a lone, flat-capped figure, his chiselled visage peculiarly, vampirically unchanged by the many years since he first graced the cover of an international publication such as this, and let it be said that he was never a stranger to these folios.

If anything can be said of Ville Valo's appearance it's that he could teach anyone half his age a thing or two about self-presentation - and, for the record, they'd be 23 at time of publication. Svelte, casually besuited and elegantly understated in his attire - all different hues of black, obviously - he's been affably chatting with the gathered conclave with such fluidity and confidence that anyone would think it's something he does every day, and anyone who knows his incongruous penchant for reclusiveness when off the stage would suspect that maybe he's changed since we saw him last.

For the record, he does not, and he has not. Ten long years have passed since His Infernal Majesty's final release, the career summation that was 2013's Tears On Tape, and it has been five years since Him played their final note on the second of two sold-out nights at the London Roundhouse in December of 2017. Their concluding song was the aptly chosen, syrupy dirge of When Love And Death Embrace, and the mortuary pallor of its refrains couldn't have been better matched to the forlorn mood of that distinctly funereal moment.

For many, it was a farewell to one of life's few constants: Him were less like a band and more like a comforting gothic world to those who fell prey to its blackened enchantments, and as if further affirmation is needed, no one in the field of music has since emerged to even remotely fill the heartagram-shaped hole left in Ville's wake. As the lights in the venue went up to reveal no shortage of streaked mascara, it would have been impossible to surmise whether we'd ever hear from Ville again - such was the finality of that tour and the deathly vibe of that night.

More desolate still was the long silence that ensued after the 26-year adventure he spearheaded under an iconic banner designed by his own hand. Eight records, ten million sales and countless fans getting heartagram tattoos of variable quality were the tallies of Ville's musical ledger.It was over. Him was dead. Their founder was gone. And then, quietly, headless blooms began to flank his headstone.

First came the news that he was blowing off the cobwebs to undertake a tour of Finland to record and perform songs by the late, beloved Finnish singer-songwriter Rauli 'Badding' Somerjoki, with Somerjoki's old band, Agents. The project smashed the charts in Finland before they eventually disbanded.

More silence followed until March 2020, when an unheralded EP was released under a new banner, VV complete with an updated reimagining of the famed heartagram. A portent of what was to come, Gothica Fennica Vol. 1 was far from alien to anyone familiar with Him's long-established sound, but it also bore the hallmarks of a songwriter unbound by the restraints of collaboration or co-writing. As the world smouldered, it was a hopeful omen that perhaps not everything had been lost to the pandemic.

We retreat from the listening session to a quieter room to shine to shine a neon light on the story of the rebirth and toil that followed, a res-erection-

Ville shoots a look as if to say, 'You're not gonna write that, are you?' Well…

“‘Promo tours are like Bullet-point for my Valentine.”

Ville has sunk into his armchair, a body deflated. We've just been talking about the sometimes less-than-rock'n'roll demands of album promotion, and how while just 10 years have passed since Him's final release, a lifetime of change in the industry's inner workings has followed. It's Thursday and Ville's already done the rounds in Berlin this week, plus a big photo session, too - rumour has it that a smoke machine for a cover shoot triggered a confrontation with security here yesterday. Whoever the photographer was that bolted the door shut so the shoot could continue remains a mystery at the time of going to press.

But despite Ville's tiredness after two days of media-based pokes and prods and his first international flight in five years, he's still exhibiting a remarkably playful way with words: the product of voracious reading and self-confessed Anglophilia that can make it easy to forget this is his second language, although as we'll soon discover there are some words that resist translation.

We're reflecting on how many times he's appeared in the pages of Metal Hammer. I produce a photo from many years gone by, taken by Mick Hutson. It's Ville, looking like a goth deer caught in headlights, sitting in the back of a limo between the late Dimebag Darrell and Mötley Crüe's Nikki Sixx on his way to the Metal Hammer Golden God awards. He smirks.

"It was a playground, wasn't it?" he says of the Ville of yore. "Oh my god, that was a weird one. I remember Dimebag - he'd been up all night, and there's me stuck in the middle. I gave my Golden God award to Zakk Wylde's daughter. He told me she was a huge fan and I'd had a sip too many, so…”

And let it be said that by the time Him went stratospheric - a runway stretching between 2000's Razorblade Romance and 2003's definitive Love Metal - there were few publications that weren't peppering their pages with images of Ville. photogenic but, more importantly, hilarious, his wry and dismissive self-regard tempered the styled polish of his many covershoots. In a time when emo was king, Ville brought something current but gleefully out of step with fashion, musical and otherwise, but he persevered because, arguably, beyond the music he possessed that rare quality that escapes so many whose trade is on the road and in music studios. He was interesting, and Him and their legion of fans were their own movement. For a time, if you ever stood at the back of one of their sold-out shows, it looked something like Beatlemania directed by Tim Burton.

“What would you say to yourself back then?” He smiles and takes a moment before replying.

“It isn't a horror movie thing, but my oldest self has whispered to my younger self many times. You know, I could have done stuff way wiser in the sense of trying to become more successful in terms of money, listening to record companies or whatnot, because people had a damn hard time trying to figure out what we were all about. I wouldn't do anything differently because then I wouldn't be here - that's the beauty of it."

And, tracing the course of what Ville did, what he's doing now, there's little to suggest that anything has changed in terms of his resistance to the common methods of self-promotion. In a time of compulsive micro-blogging and algorithm-feeding content, the official 'Heartagram' Instagram account posts at roughly the same rate as the Vatican. Be it about the preservation of mystery or a refusal to play the game, let it never be said that he didn't do it his way.

“I’m a slow learner. I only learned about the eggplant emoji yesterday! But as for those whispers, it's something to do with the nonlinearity of time," he continues. "I had some foresight to the pandemic, though, and found myself a house with a photography studio which I turned into a music studio. It's one big room that enabled me to spread around all the weird pieces of kit from all eras - sort of my creative central. During the pandemic, that's all I did. There was no rhyme or reason, I just thought it was time to move on and do something different. It could have been my older self whispering to my younger self in the middle of the night, like, 'Now's a good time. You'll understand it better in a few years.' So yeah, it could be one of those things."

We notice a white wall in the corridor is covered in dozens of Sharpie signatures from fellow artists who’ve passed through. Some are small, while pop groups Bastille and Westlife have gone big with huge cubital letters. Unimpressed, Ville reaches for a glow-in-the-dark V sticker from his breast pocket and wryly sticks it up at the top. Always a rebel.

Was it hard to decide which direction to go in after Him?

“Musically, I'm a pair of bell-bottoms," he says. "If you want to follow hits, you're always going to be too late. Music and art is essential for my wellbeing, it's the air that I breathe - it's natural for me, but at times I've felt like a human among the lizard people, an infiltrator from another galaxy. The only thing I can do is the thing I can do."

Of course, it raises the question of how VV and indeed Neon Noir came about. That Ville has always presided over every detail of his music is no secret - there's never been a doubt as to whose vision it all was, and the ending of Him is just as important as the beginning we're here to discuss. As anyone who's seen the end of a relationship will know, the signs of impending demise can appear long before the cracks emerge, and the conclusion of Him was no different. To paraphrase a singer named BB on the prologue to VV, the thrill was gone...

"Expiration is funny when it comes to bands," he says matter-of-factly. Whatever wounds may have been inflicted, they have long since closed, and he's at ease when prompted on what went down.

"It didn't happen overnight - we'd started having trouble after Tears On Tape. Gas (Lipstick] had left the band and we found a new drummer, which was fantastic for a time, but we just couldn't find it in ourselves - a new album. We started working on ideas, but they didn't sound very good. The adult way to approach things is that if it's something you really do love, you have to love them enough to let them go when the right moment comes. The spark was no longer there, so timing-wise, it was good - I wouldn't have minded it to happen a little earlier because now I see the end of my own career in the distance. I never wanted it to feel like a job. You'll see bands touring where it quite clearly is. Something so central needs to be full of passion and laughter and joy and tears - dramatic, like a pint of milk."

Dairy funny. Have you been in touch with the guys since then, we ask?

"I haven't been in touch with Gas in more than 10 years," comes the reply. "And Linde [Mikko 'Linde' Lindström, guitarist] is quite a solitary fellow who's not a big talker anyway. But Mige [Mikko 'Mige' Paananen, bassist] was a bit of a Rick Rubin on the album. He was like this weird guru that came by every three months and gave me a stamp of approval, like, 'Yeah, this is fine.' He's one of my earliest childhood friends and one of my best mates still, so we keep in touch - that's rare. It's been 35 years or something..."

It was that relationship that provided something of the lifeline that Ville needed. He describes the feeling after Him's final show as something akin to phantom limb syndrome, where amputees report sensation in appendages that are no longer there.

"I felt like an outsider, an outcast," he says. "[I felt like] I didn't understand myself, and that the world doesn't understand me or that I didn't belong. It's a profound feeling, you know, to existentially feel that you don't understand the world or your place in it. Funnily enough, how I got through that was writing. The pandemic really painted everyone into a corner. I wasn't suicidal, but there was a tinge of depression as well, not seeing tomorrow or the worth of the day after tomorrow. People reacted in different ways. I forced myself back to music, and music gave me the gift of song once again. I was able to pull off a couple of Sabbath rip-offs, so that made me feel better. That was a big deal."

Ville will go on to animatedly recount how the loss of purpose and trajectory coupled with the worldwide shutdown was in some sense the perfect reset post-Him, and while he hit a very low ebb, it was precisely the kind of downtime he needed and hadn't had since Him's formation when he was just a teen.

"There was no scheduling, nobody to communicate with about what I was working on, so it was very unfiltered intuition, straight to tape or whatever recording medium, and I found myself having goosebumps like I'd never had before. Well..." his eyes impishly go to the ceiling, "musically, at least. I'm scared of stuff being really repetitive - it's nice to enjoy a binge watch on Netflix, but you're never gonna get the time back. That doesn't mean, 'Don't do it! But enjoy the now, take advantage of the time. That's what we'll be doing when we go on tour with the band next year, challenging myself to do lots of things and not step into a sort of zombified existence. People are so distracted…”

At the beginning of the Divine Comedy, the main character - Dante Alighieri's Pilgrim - wrote of finding himself in a dark wood halfway through the walk of life; the straight path, lost. It was a roundabout way of describing the confusion that can come with middle age, but in his mid-4os and with the deep shadows and brilliant highlights of an illustrious career in the rear-view mirror, I wonder aloud if the same could be said of the current predicament.

Dante's come up because, as is often the case with Ville, the subjects of language and literature are never far away. I ask him to elaborate on that tinge of depression he's mentioned, and he says one thing. and lets it hang in the air: "Kaiho."

Sorry?

"Kai-ho," he says again, slowly. It's a Finnish word, he explains, that defies direct translation but describes the twist of emotions he was detangling in the wake of a lifetime on the road and in the limelight. "It isn't a negative feeling. It's a bittersweet reverie. I think Finnish people find it profoundly positive as well, because it also means that you have lived, you have loved and that you experience things that actually make a difference, at least to you personally, hopefully, for the people around you."

Did you struggle?

"I had a month where I didn't get out of bed," he states.

"Around that long, at least. I was pretty worried about it. I forced myself up and back to music through conversations with mates, you know, getting my spirits up a bit, but it was a weird feeling. It's not like you can't get up. You just don't want to get up. You don't want to do anything and you can't really do anything: just super-tired, some form of post-traumatic stress after all the years. It could be that it took a while for it to hit, and it coincided with a pandemic. I wasn't able to do anything, so my body and my mind told me to get the sleep I missed back in the day. Thankfully I slept it off, but life doesn't get any easier. It's getting more complicated, more bittersweet - a tough combo. A pint half full, half empty…”

Of course, the wrought-iron melody of Neon Noir's various paeans to love and loss wouldn't seem correct if they came from a place of emotional buoyancy, but if the slump Ville describes really was just making up for lost sleep-time, he's making no bones about his desire to get back to work.

"I'm not thinking about the end, but what I do realise is that, thinking in logical terms, it's going to be really weird if I'm 60 and still in it, which means that I have less than that in terms of album cycles. It starts to get a bit scary because I've done music all my life, but then again, thinking like that makes me smile."

So how does a 46-year-old's vision of love change from, say, a 20-year-old's?

"Well, maybe we haven't had that 'one true love' in the traditional sense in Shakespearean drama: the overwhelming one that takes over everything. You can't compare relationships and you shouldn't - different times, different people, different chemistry, different reasons. Music is still at its best when it's a soundtrack to important events."

So how does Neon Noir reflect your own life?

"It's very sincere - it encapsulates things. The indecisiveness on whether I belong to the camp of Black Sabbath or Depeche Mode, the constant struggle with good and evil. Run Away From The Sun is the first song I wrote and I didn't know if I had a song in me at all, but I had to start from somewhere. I had all these ideas. I started to do it and follow my intuition. I wasn't in a rush, I had no deadlines - I didn't even know if I was going to continue, and that was the most fruitful ground, because it felt real and unadulterated by pressure…”

As new as it all is for Ville, there are some things that have remained unchanged, or perhaps present is a better word. The heartagram was, after all, the gothic bat-signal of the early 00’s onward...

"It was everything Him stood for," he says. "I just wiggled that one line and realised it has my initials, and that was the reason I called the project VV, and I liked that it had a 'V for Victory' kinda vibe to it, and visually it had the traditional aspect to it, a current iteration of the same idea. It's symbolic, because I didn't want to force myself to take a completely different route musically. I'm not an actor, and Him all happened very organically. I was finding my voice, or whatever you want to call it, through Type O and Black Sabbath back then, and I still am."

From the mood in the room it's a welcome return indeed. It seems that for the first time in a lifetime he's found his path -with the help of a little neon to hold back the darkness.

LIGHTS OUT

Ville Valo reveals the dark secrets behind new album Neon Noir

01: ECHOLOCATE YOUR LOVE

"I was enjoying a documentary on the navigational skills of bats and imagined their nocturnal courting calls bouncing eerily between the walls of the abyss in a gothic ping pong-fashion. To make sure I was communicating this musical vision clearly, I included a cowbell in the middle eight, just because whenever one can, one should."

02: RUN AWAY FROM THE SUN

"The light at the end of the tunnel can sometimes shine so bright it’s scary, and my running-away skills have been highly developed over the years by sweeping most of my issues under the carpet. There are also a few church bell samples ringing among all the 80s-inspired synth sequences, only to make sure the ever-fickle balance between good and evil doesn't err on the side of Skywalker."

03: NEON NOIR

“ A cheerful memento mori if there ever was one, and my first guitar solo on record. The working title was 'Vangelis Halen' and I think I managed to get fairly close in marrying the claustrophobic beauty of Blade Runner with the reckless abandon of VH, in a sort of funeral-car-crash-in-slow-motion-type setting.”

04: LOVELETTING

“ An ode to the setting sun and a tale of dancing on the razor's edge between holding on and letting go. A moribundle of joy in a patchouli garden, with handclaps."

05: THE FOREVERLOST

"The Finnish tourism board should definitely include ‘Nyctophile Shangri-La' as a tagline promoting Finland from now on instead of the worn-out Santanic slogans of yore. A menace-à-trois between Andrew Eldritch, Jaz Coleman and Peter Hook.”

06: BABY LACRIMARIUM

“Quite a traditional love song written by someone who takes the Poe in poetry a wee bit too seriously. A study on blocked tear ducts and The Cure."

07: SALUTE THE SANGUINE

"None of the ways out are easy, so taking the road less travelled is always the preferred method. 'If I could only say the same about the music,’ mutters the little Devil on my shoulder."

08: IN TRENODIA

"A world-building exercise at its bleakest, 'Trenodia' representing a highly modified utopia lit by every shade of blue, with a suitably melancholy soundtrack played at the wrong speed."

09: HEARTFUL OF GHOSTS

"Heartful Of Ghosts is essentially a heart-wrenching tale of paranormal love and supernatural betrayal. Sonically, this lies somewhere between a lava lamp and acupuncture... with fangs.”

10: SATURNINE SATURNÁLIA

"Saturnine Saturnalia is romantic doom and gloom at its very finest, and probably the most Sabbathian moment there is on the album. I dug out my Excalibur - the deranged fuzz pedal and vintage army flask-combo that Mige of Him built me many a moon ago - and tended to my tinnitus with gusto.”

11: ZENER SOLITAIRE

"Imagine if this was Phil Spector's ghost reinterpreting Goblin's soundtrack for Dario Argento's movie Suspiria in glorious lo-fi."

12: VERTIGO EYES

"When you meet someone whose eyes are as hypnotic as watching the Vertigo logo spinning on your turntable, you're either in love or your drink has been spiked. This is a nod to the ghosts of the past, present and future, and a suitably hallucinatory way to end the record."

[for-valour]

On the morning of February 6th, 1952, King George VI died in his sleep of a coronary thrombosis at Sandringham House. He was only 56. These clips are some of the last images of the King, as he anxiously waved goodbye to his beloved daughter, Princess Elizabeth and her husband Prince Philip, as they embarked on the Commonwealth tour that Bertie himself was supposed to undertake before becoming too ill to travel. The King looks so very worried here, pacing around the tarmac with a deeply furrowed brow. I honestly believe he knew in his heart that it was his final farewell to his darling Lilibet. How I hope that 'Us Four' are all having the warmest heavenly hugs today for sweet Bertie <3

gifs made by @for-valour

[teecupangel]

The ink-stained parchment lay before me, bearing words of importance. It held a message that needed to reach distant shores, far beyond the reach of my current abode. The task was clear—I had to undertake a voyage, braving unknown lands and treacherous seas, to ensure the safe delivery of this precious missive.

With the letter safely tucked away in my bag, I embarked on a grand adventure. The road unfurled before me, winding through verdant landscapes and bustling towns. Each step carried me closer to my destination, yet the distance seemed vast, the expanse of the world unfathomable.

As I traveled, I marveled at the sights and sounds of foreign lands. The air was scented with unfamiliar fragrances, the language spoken by the locals a melodious symphony that danced upon my ears. The customs and traditions of these distant realms intrigued me, offering glimpses into lives so different from my own.

Days turned into nights, and nights into days, as my journey pressed on. I encountered fellow travelers along the way, their stories intertwining with mine for fleeting moments. We shared meals, exchanged laughter, and bid each other farewell, knowing that our paths diverged as swiftly as they had converged.

The physical distance between me and the intended recipient of the letter seemed inconsequential compared to the emotional chasm bridged by those written words. They held the power to convey sentiments that transcended borders and time, reaching into the depths of the reader's heart.

Through rugged terrain and unpredictable weather, my resolve remained unyielding. The letter, a testament to love, friendship, or perhaps a plea for forgiveness, grew heavier with each passing mile. Its contents were etched in my memory, their weight echoing in my thoughts.

Finally, after countless trials and tribulations, I arrived at the edge of the known world—the place where the letter would find its final purpose. The distant land, with its foreign customs and unknown faces, embraced me in its arms. The letter, once entrusted to me, was now ready to continue its journey, to convey its message to the one who shall receive it.

With a mixture of anticipation and trepidation, I stood before the local post office—a humble abode where dreams and stories converged. I handed over the letter, its journey nearly complete. The postmaster, with a kind smile, assured me of its safe passage, knowing the significance it held for both sender and recipient.

As I departed from that distant land, a sense of fulfillment washed over me. Though the journey had been arduous, it had been imbued with purpose and meaning. The letter, a vessel of emotions and words, had been delivered to its intended destination, bridging the distance between hearts separated by miles and oceans.

The receiver by the name of Teecupangel opened the mail and pulled out the letter, inside it says "HayDes where they are both birds"

(I have no regrets)

After a brief confusing mistaken identity incident compounded by the sudden traveling and moving weak bones unused to such travels nowadays had to endure, the alchemist known by many names has finally gotten used to the new atelier. A large cauldron with liquid swirling in colors of golden sands and azure time ready to be filled with many alchemic materials sits over a fire on the right end of the main room. Next to it is a small chalkboard that has been written on and erased so many times it has forever been whitened by the residue of the previous words clinging to it now written with a new list of the materials that must be added to the cauldron before the end of the week so that the alchemist might be able to peddle next week’s wares to the archives.

On the table near the cauldron lies two synthesized items of a kind of glass bomb, its clear glass surface showing the swirling golden flames made of high-quality gunpowder, inspired by a recipe from a group of professional alchemists only known as IW. One of the bombs seemed to have been placed in an apparatus of some kind, an alchemic tool used to rebuild already created synthesized items so they may be checked and materials may be added or changed if necessary.

A final step needed to ensure the quality of each synthesized item before they are peddled to the archives.

By the back of the main room, next to the large chest filled with materials picked or ordered by the alchemist were seven or eight cauldrons of varying sizes all stacked on top of each other, each bearing a little post-it with different numbers that seemed to be ‘0808’, ‘0812’, ‘0816’, ‘0826’ or ‘0828’. One of these cauldrons seemed to have the phrase ‘?w b 1012’.

On the left wall of the main room of this atelier, there appeared to be smaller cauldrons all lined up with a smaller fire already crackling over a small cauldron. There was the shining sounds that alerted the alchemist that it was done and the liquid inside the cauldron turned into a puff of multicolored smoke. All that was left inside was some kind stuffed teddy bear that seemed to have come from the nightmares of children. The alchemist grabbed the cauldron and hauled it off next to a box filled with small items that had been requested before and will be delivered today. The alchemist took the teddy bear and inspected it to make sure it was of good quality before placing it on the box. The alchemist walked back to the line of smaller cauldrons and took the closest to the fire before grabbing the next one and dragging it closer. The alchemist took the letter that they have placed inside when they had prepared the cauldron and placed the cauldron into the fire. As the cauldron heats, liquid of endless possibility slowly fill the cauldron while the alchemist opens the letter. The alchemist’s lips curved into a smile as they read the journey that this letter had gone thru all in the hopes that the writer’s request would be given even just a small item.

Then…

“HayDes where they are both birds.”

And the alchemist shuffled to the chest of materials to look for bird feathers and taco shells…

(And you shouldn’t regret anything about this ask. The whole introductory part made me smile and really made me wonder what you plan to ask XD)

You’re free to think of what kind of bird they would be although I was thinking of a House Finch when I was writing this, the ones with the red plumage since red is both a part of Haytham’s color and the color of the Assassins that Desmond has in his main outfit.

Haytham used to be owned by one Reginald Birch who had to let him go because he was acquired illegally and, well, Reginald Birch was in trouble with the government for other more serious crimes that he can’t afford a ‘loose end’.

Haytham was just minding his own business, trying to get used to the sudden freedom he had received, flying out of the way of larger birds of prey that he would sometimes see flying above him when he happen to hear singing. He flies to that direction, making sure to stay in the cover of branches and anything that would hide him from any predators above him and managed to perch on a branch that overlooks a small home with a well-maintained lawn with a bird feeder at the center, surrounded by bushes that held delicious looking berries.

The singing was coming from the bird feeder where a lone bird of the same species as him seem to simply be lazing around, hopping from the bottom part of the feeder to the top, sometimes even dipping a wing into the drinking water for a bit.

Almost as if mesmerized by the song, Haytham raised his wings to take flight and go to the bird feeder but then he heard a loud cry of a bird of prey that sounded quite larger than him.

He raised his head…

And three large eagles stare down at him as if warning him to not do anything foolish.

Unorganized Notes

Desmond is unofficially the pet bird of the house with the bird feeder. Every morning, a man with glasses and a noticeable British accent would do maintenance of the lawn and even pick up some berries to place on the bird feeder for Desmond to snack on. Whenever Desmond chirps his gratitude to him, he just goes, “Yes, yes, of course you’re happy, you bloody freeloader.”

The three eagles are the ones keeping the other birds from going to the bird feeder. Haytham has no idea what they’re deal is and they have no plans to explain anything to Haytham but Desmond seemed to know them, even calling them by their names. They’re all different kinds of eagles.

Haytham gets a crow friend named Shay who tells him the tea. Apparently, Desmond was also thrown away like Haytham although Shay don’t know the reason for that one. Anyway, Desmond befriended the eagles during his time looking for a place to live and they just… sorta stayed together? Anyway, the owner of the bird feeder only knows about Desmond and the three eagles usually hunt nearby and stuff.

Haytham thinks the entire thing is stupid and, really, don’t the damn eagles think that maybe Desmond would like some company?

“Of course, just not you.”

This does end with Haytham getting Shay to make noises that wil distract the eagles (Shay decided that getting chased by that asshole dog Gaultier would be a good distraction enough and started screaming for help once he was nearby all the while goading Gaultier just to be a jerk).

Haytham manages to dive into the bird feeder but one of the eagles realized it and let out a loud cry to alert the others so Haytham ignored precision and grace for speed.

And ended up diving straight to the water fountain.

From there, the eagles are powerless as Desmond and Haytham start to grow closer because, now that Desmond has seen and talked to Haytham, they can’t ‘make him go away’ (“You’re going to eat him?!” “Shoo him away.” “But eating was never off the table.”) because that would make Desmond sad.

They usually just talk while sharing the bird feeder as they learned about each other and Haytham totally ignored the glaring he could see behind Desmond.

Once they started getting close, they began to groom each other.

Haytham usually hides in the bushes and flies from one bush to another whenever the owner would come out. Desmond tells him that this ‘Shaun’ would be happy to find another bird using this large bird feeder but Haytham isn’t gonna risk it since the man always sounds so annoyed when he’s doing the daily lawn maintenance.

When they’re finally together, they began to sing at the top of the bird feeder and Haytham stays even after the man has come out. The man stares at Haytham for a few seconds before turning to look at the forest where the eagles have (disgruntedly) approved of Haytham and Desmond’s relationship, “You three finally decided that Desmond can have a partner?” There was three sets of grumbling bird sounds and the man nods as he said, “Yeah, I guess not.” (From inside the house, they hear a female voice shout, “Shaun! Stop pretending you can understand birds!”)

Sidebar: I was thinking of this kind of feeder:

[aphroditestempleimagines]

The Obsidianite Jewel

A fem!reader x Chevalier Michel Fanfiction

Chapter 18 -> Chapters Masterlist

Words: 3217

Warnings: language, violence, death, blood

Summary: It all started when your fiancé, Prince Gilbert, brought you to the palace of Rhodolite. He hoped he would find the secrets of the princes. Instead, he lost your heart to the brutal beast. However, Gilbert is not going to let your heart wander away easily

Chevalier stood alone outside the closed heavy door of the cathedral. He stared at its wood and iron frame, carved with depictions of mythology and built with the finest materials, befitting of the crown jewel of the Istidorian Church. His long white cape and usual robes were replaced by a black suit, roses elegantly embroidered on the chest with gold thread; he had not worn that thing in years. He took a deep breath. He had not known hesitation in his life, yet this feeling could be nothing but. He clenched the letter in his one hand, the white roses in the other. Everything would change once he crossed that doorstep. Everything would be real.

She would really be gone.

He pushed the door open. At the end of rows of cushioned benches laid the open coffin, filled with white flowers as if brought out from a fairytale. Yet this reality was the furthest thing from it, since the woman that rested inside was the light of his life, snuffed away too soon.

He manoeuvred his way among the crying people, held by guards in a row to bid their final farewell. James had placed Melville among them in order to let Chevalier approach from the family's seats. He thanked him with a nod, the guard returning a sorrowful look. It was strange how that single look of pity comforted him in his deep despair; perhaps it was another thing he had lacked when he had first needed it.

It had been a year since he had last seen her, so full of life and hope. The woman in the coffin looked nothing like it. Her skin was stuck on her frail bones, her eyes tired even in eternal sleep. All the makeup of the undertakers could not hide those things from him. She wore a white dress; he never attended her wedding so he could not tell if it was just a coincidence. Her hands held a bouquet of red roses. Chevalier reached for the petals. His breath caught. He would recognise that texture anywhere; they had been brought in from Rhodolite.

"How did she die?", he almost did not ask.

"Scarlet fever your Majesty", said Melville.

"That's a lie. There are no signs of that"

Melville lowered his head. "Broken heart", he finally confirmed Chevalier's fear.

It was the same. The same thing all over again. Had he truly become his father? Leading a good woman to die of this affliction? Yet the King had never loved his mother. He had loved y/n with all his heart's might.

He felt a tear slide down his cheek. Did he imagine it? People were staring. Irrelevant, they did not matter. But had he truly lost his composure? He tried to shake the tears away but only called forth more. His body was not responding. It was not that of a beast anymore, but that of a human. A human in pain. A human in loss. A human like her, like everyone else.

He leaned forward to place a kiss on her frozen forehead. He touched his own oh the same spot, his warmth never transferring as he had hoped.

"Come back", he whispered, "Come back"

He repeated those words again and again even as his eyes fluttered awake, the tears he had shed in his sleep watering his pillow. He brushed his fingers underneath his eyelid, gathering those peculiarities people called tears. He sat up on the bed and buried his face in his hands. He could not allow that dream to come true. He would not.

He walked to the main deck, where James chatted with Silvio, who manned the wheel.

"Wakey wakey sleeping beauty", James grinned, "I was just about to have Silvio here give you true love's kiss"

"Don't pull me into your weird fantasies, shithead", Silvio barked, "It's enough that I have to sail you all the way to bloody Istidor"

"If you did not want to owe me a favour you should had been better at playing cards", James smirked at him.

"We both know you cheated you bloody cod"

Chevalier let out a long sigh. It was a ridiculous idea to involve the Jangling fool to begin with. "How far are we from port?", he interrupted their continuing banter.

"Port?", James' face contorted in confusion, "We're not going to a port"

"Then well shall we-"

"Their castle has a beach enclosed between the walls", Silvio said, "And all this trouble because this crook is a criminal on multiple levels"

"Hey", James crossed his arms in front of his chest, "I'm starting to regret helping you set up the trade route"

"You didn't help jack squat!", Silvio fumed again.

Chevalier did not dally longer to listen to the rest of that pointless conversation. He climbed down and walked to the stern. In isolation he sat, his hands on the rail as he gazed at the trail of sea foam the ship left behind. Benitoite was long gone in the horizon on his right. They had sailed to the open sea instead of following the coast to avoid detection. It was crazy to think, but Chevalier had never been this far from Rhodolite before. It was like an invisible hand constantly quenched his heart as he was to far away to learn, let alone react, if disaster befell his people.

Did you ever feel that way? You must have. You have been the official heir to the throne from the moment you were born. Yet you travelled away from your homeland, to reside in what was basically the wolf's den.

Chevalier buried his face in his hands. Who was he to think he had any say in your actions? Who was he to claim he should be your saviour? Yet again, how could he stand on the sidelines? The thought of going against your choices made him more nauseous than the relentless sea. The thought of him even remotely resembling what disgusted him about your relationship with Gilbert...

Soon the ship turned and the horizon beyond which the land resided disappeared behind Chevalier. They must had reached their drop-off point. By nightfall, they were bidding Silvio goodbye as he and James boarded a boat to cross the small stretch of water to the shore below the Royal palace.

"Don't put your trust in him", Silvio grabbed Chevalier's arm before he boarded the rowboat, "He's not worthy of it. He always has another goal"

Chevalier did nothing but nod to Silvio's warning. The prince of Benitoite had not provided him with any new insight. He was well aware that both he and James were using each other; there was nothing else they could do when they had only met a few days ago. He trusted that he could help, but he never took as guaranteed that he would.

James rowed the boat inside a cave, hidden by unforgiving rocks underneath the cliff where the castle stood. They passed under a drawn iron gate, its spikes hanging menacingly above their heads. They docked in front of a small wooden door which James opened with a black iron key he wore around his neck. As he pulled it out, a small religious pendant was pulled with it; James was quick to tuck it back inside his black silk blouse. They climbed over a thousand steps to reach a network of tile-paved corridors. James lit a lantern on one of the walls and carried it along the way until they happened upon a glass wall, a large ballroom residing on the other side. James hung the lantern and pulled a small lever on the side, letting the glass door relax enough to push it open. They slipped on the other side and the young prince pushed closed the glass door, the ballroom's reflection concealing the path from which they came.

Chevalier's hand fell on the hilt of his sword. "Why did we come out here?", he asked.

"'Tis the only way out of that maze"

"I sincerely doubt that",

James let out a sigh. The low whistle of armour became louder and louder as the seconds passed. "Don't fight", James said simply before throwing his sword away and putting his hands behind his head. Soon after, a group of soldiers from the King's guard surrounded them. The eyepatched prince stood in shock on the steps behind them. "I caught an intruder", James said theatrically, "An enemy to the crown. Now isn't that worth reinstating me?". Gilbert smiled in satisfaction as the soldiers took Chevalier to the dungeons and James to the King's office.

Chevalier's blood was boiling as he restrained himself from annihilating his captors. He had not even let Clavis do something like that in his presence. He took a deep breath as the soldiers tossed him unceremoniously into one of the cells. After a while, Gilbert passed by to mock him. Chevalier looked at him with his icy blue eyes, never uttering a word to him. He looked around; perhaps he could escape. Maybe he could pick the lock like his idiot brother would and steal a sword from one of the guards. If he had a sword and he had his wits he would be as good as free. But such a thing would defeat the purpose of him coming all the way there.

"Pssst", a whisper was heard from behind him. Chevalier turned to see Melville's freckled face peak from the shadows that sheltered a hidden door on the back wall. Was this part of James' play?

He followed Melville inside another maze of corridors until they reached a wooden door. Melville pushed it open and they entered the King's study through a library. The guard gave a slight bow to the man sitting on a large armchair behind the book-ridden desk and returned to the hidden corridor.

"Take a sit", the man pointed at the chairs on the other side of the desk before returning to his paperwork.

So this was King Edward. He sat proudly, his back straightened, as he examined the papers in front of him with grace. His face was scared on the left. His great longsword was left on his side, always kept at arm's length. Chevalier looked around; all doors to the room were closed. He saw the chairs the King had offered him. They had no arms to them, as a King's chair should. This was a test like all the rest of his family liked to pull.

"I did not come here as a conversant of your Majesty", Chevalier dragged one of the chairs to sit next to the King, "I came here as Chevalier"

The King let out a light chuckle. "As Chevalier, huh?", he repeated, "And what could just-Chevalier dare request a King?"

"Your daughter's hand", he said.

"In case you didn't realise, the princess is already engaged", Edward dipped his feather quill in the ink and continued writing.

"I asked for your daughter", Chevalier said again.

"You did not ask for something different than what I said", the King lectured, "From what I've heard you're known to respect such things as duty and titles. My daughter is the crown princess. She will wed someone of her stature"

"From what I have heard, you, unlike me, do not hold titles and duty in the same importance when family is concerned"

King Edward let down his pen. He turned his serious gaze at Chevalier, the unwavering might of experience meeting the coldness of pride. "And what do you know about family?", he spat. He stood and walked closer to Chevalier. "Your father was a lecherous fool who prayed on women in response to his own hollow heart", he told him, "Your own mother resented you. You don't see the type to care about family"

"I care about your daughter"

"That is not enough"

The King took a step back, letting out a heavy sigh. He walked to the fireplace on the other side of the room. A portrait of a woman hung above it, recently brought to the room. She greatly resembled y/n but her hair was a different colour.

"Why did you call me up here then?", Chevalier asked, "You did not throw this charade in front of Gilbert's face to tell me to go back to where I came from"

King Edward placed his hand on the mantle. "You're here to be given a choice", he said, "If you want my daughter there are two ways to get to her. Either let Rhodolite become part of our Kingdom and marry her as the Earl of a prefecture or she forfeits her claim to the title and you marry her as a nobody"

"Neither is possible", Chevalier said, "But if you wish then I'll step down as King and travel here as my former self"

"I will not accept such a condition", said the King, "I gave you your options. Either choose or leave"

"Rhodolite is a nation that has been fighting against invaders for decades. I can't let it become a slave in the span of one night. I shall not."

"So you have chosen for y/n to come with you then"

"Let me be clear, I will NEVER ask that of her", Chevalier said determinedly, "Even if she agreed in the spur of a moment out of love for me she would ultimately regret it. I could never replace any of the things she's known her whole life. Not her home, not her family, not her birthright, not..."

"I know who you are Chevalier", the Istidorian King said, "I know you plan to go to war with the continent and unite the kingdoms in the name of peace". He turned to meet Chevalier's gaze. "I will not, do you hear me, I will NOT have you use Istidor in order to spread your tyrannical reign to the rest of the world"

Chevalier was regretting the place and time he had first uttered that plan. That damn plan. To his bleeding heart it appeared as a mere triviality. "Fuck that", he uttered for the first time in his life.

"Excuse me?"

Chevalier's brows furrowed as his eyes drilled into Edward's. "All I want is for me and y/n to be together", he clenched his fists, "I would not even care about proposing marriage or anything else if it weren't for our positions. I'd wait for her to feel free to move on. I would settle as her unnamed lover for a lifetime if it meant we would be an 'us'. But I understand who our ranks made us to be. I am aware of the barriers and the rules that have been placed to keep us in line with a standard. That is the only reason I'm here instead of her room asking her to stay with me"

King Edward's chuckle put a stopper on Chevalier's argument. "You really are a piece of work", he covered his face with his hand. He pulled up his chair and sat next to Chevalier once more. "I don't want y/n to marry Gilbert either"

Chevalier frowned. "What?"

"I know what Gilbert wants and that is to abolish the aristocracy and nobility from the world. Though a beautiful dream, I did not spend half of my life trying to convince the idiots in this country to let my daughter be the sovereign for Gilbert to come and dismantle her power"

Edward opened the drawer to his right. He searched between the papers and stamps and other trinkets he had shoved inside the small compartment instead of organising them until he found a small golden ring. "This is my House's seal", he handed the ring to Chevalier, "Not the King's, but my Family's". He stood and opened a cabinet between the library shelves. Unlike the rest of the room, the objects inside the cabinet were neatly organised and stored in small boxes. Edward took a blue velvet one in his hands and sat back down. Inside laid a gold medal on a blue ribbon. "This was my mother's", Edward said, "it is worn by the King's Consort or, in y/n's case, the Queen's consort. The ring I can give you with my blessing. But this, you have to earn in the eyes of the people's council"

"I'm assuming you have a plan for that", Chevalier's eyes narrowed,"Otherwise you wouldn't have brought me to see you"

Edward lifted the medal to eye level. He twirled it in his hand, his eyes glued to its shiny material. "I was not lying when I said that marrying you would cause problems.", he explained, "But in truth is the only solution I would accept is your abdication from the Rhodolitian throne and reinstatement as King Consort here"

Chevalier nodded his head. He was prepared to do this. A title, in the end, meant nothing in his eyes. "I simply request some time for a Belle to choose a new King before I leave", he said in earnestness.

The King of Istidor seemed enthralled by that answer. "You are a talented man", the King smiled, "It'd be a shame to clip your wings so soon". Chevalier responded with a frown to which Edward said "I'm not dead yet. You don't have to abdicate right now. Just in the future. Y/N would have to travel back quite frequently of course but other than that you are free to start your life together in peace"

"Would a mere promise like that be enough to convince them?"

"Which is why you need some back-up", Edward took a map from a small bin he kept next to his desk and spread it over the table. "Do you see that?", he pointed his finger at a mountainous region up north, "That is where my daughter is right now. A count that has a great dislike of me has organized a revolution. I want you to go there and help snuff it out, not by being a strategist but by being a leader."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"If you inspire the people then the people will follow you", the King said, "We keep pretend the nobles have all the power but in truth, especially in a Kingdom as large as this, they are merely ants compared to the number of lesser wealthy people. They are the true power in this country. If they want you here, the council will have to obey or be faced with widespread criticism and even violence"

Chevalier lifted his eyes from the map. "That is how you ensured y/n would be Queen isn't it?", he said, "You turned her into their hero"

"Now you're getting it", Edward gathered the map back into a neat roll before handing it over to Chevalier, "It's on you now, son"

Chevalier reached for the map. The moment he touched it he was pulled closer, close enough for the King to rest a fatherly hand on his shoulder.

"Do you know why I exiled my son?", asked the King. Chevalier shook his shoulders. "Because it makes men like Gilbert trust him", Edward said, "I don't worry about him betraying me. That is the kind of trust I expect from my family, and why I can never call Gilbert that. Question is...can I call you? I'd like to. My daughter loves you. You certainly don't lack in intelligence and capability. But I will not put you over her safety or her inheritance. So be careful not to stir up the wrong kind of trouble"

Chevalier nodded. He could do nothing else. And with that, the King led him to another path and gave him the directions to find his way out.

[daybreakrising]

@delusionaid: ‘ life , as i see it , is all about farewells rather than reunions . ’ (from Ayato for Thoma)

Thoma knows a thing or two about farewells.

He studies the board before him, feigning focus on his next move as he collects together the thoughts that Ayato's words have summoned to his mind. It is not uncommon for them to have meaningful discussions over a game like this - it is one of the rarer moments where they have some peace, a moment of reprieve from Ayato's complicated schedule and his own jobs to undertake. A chance for them to just sit and talk. So, he is used to such statements from the other man - expects them, even.

But they are usually prompted by something, and that is what concerns him. With the Sakoku Decree lifted and ships parting their shores for Sumeru, for Liyue, for Mondstadt, it has been playing on his mind that he would like to visit home. It's not something he has yet mentioned to anyone, but Ayato knows him. Even if he hasn't sensed the call to home that lurks in Thoma's heart, it wouldn't take much to assume he might wish to make the journey now that it is possible. He has, after all, spoken of his homesickness before.

"It doesn't have to be." He remarks at last, his tone remaining light, casual, as if this was simply any other conversation of theirs. "And not every farewell is forever, either."

Though his heart has yearned for the familiarity of Mondstadt more and more, the subject of home is no longer quite so simple for the housekeeper. Home has many meanings to him - it is both the place of his birth, the place that holds so many fond memories of family and friends, the familiar landscapes, the food he grew up on; and it is the place he has made his home, the life he has built, everything he has fought tooth and nail for. It is the man sitting across from him.

Yes, he aches for Mondstadt, but he knows that he would ache equally for Inazuma in turn.

"We've both said our share of farewells in life," he continues, lifting his gaze at last from the board to meet Ayato's. "Farewells that are forever. Farewells that cannot be taken back. Farewells that still sting with the pain of grief." He thinks of his mother in her last days. He thinks of the last time he ever saw his father, waving from the deck of a ship.

They understand each other. They understand that grief that still lies heavy in their hearts. He may not shoulder the kind of responsibility that Ayato does, he may not grasp the intricacies of Inazuman politics quite as keenly, but in this, they are equal.

"There is something so... final... about the word. It automatically conjures a feeling of loss. So, to that regard, I have a proposition for you." Deft fingers pluck a piece from the board, make his calculated move without breaking eye contact. "Instead of farewell, say goodbye."

His lips curve into a smile as he leans back, his eyes softening with a warmth that highlights his affection for the other. "Personally, I prefer see you soon. That promises reunion, don't you think?"

There is an unspoken oath in the housekeeper's words - one he thinks, hopes, Ayato will hear. If I leave, I will come back. I promise.

[pearlplusau]

Pearlplusau Chapter 10 Part 2 - The Farewell

Rose and the gems did one round of visits to witness the beauty of the planet one last time. They traveled in a group as they all wanted to be as close to Rose as they could. They went to the strawberry fields where most of the battle took place, the lunar sea spire, the deactivated communication hub, and pretty much anywhere with a stable warp pad.

They spent the whole day together, which hardly happened since the human came into the picture. They tried to cheer each other up by theorizing how Rose could experience human life through her baby and how the four of them would do their best to care for the child.

But on the inside, the gems were struggling. They were doing their best to keep up with their appearances and not let their forms flicker for even a moment. If Rose found out how dire of a situation the gems were in, it could ruin everything for her, and the gems didn’t want that.

None of their gemstones were damaged or cracked, but they were merely struggling to hold onto their forms together before they had to retreat into their gems. It was like holding on to the base of a hot kettle and the more they held on to it, the more it burned. They had to let go of the kettle when they could soon, or else their hands couldn’t take the heat much longer.

The gems were at their last stop, the Healing Spring, which was also one of Rose’s gardens. At the center of the garden was Rose’s fountain, overflowing with her healing lachrymal essence in a peaceful shade of pink hue. The healing paradise was one of the clan’s most crucial sanctuaries, especially during the rebellion. Sure, they could get the healing tears from Rose, but it’s not practical to depend on their leader every time a gem was damaged. That’s why there is a haven for wounded gems to heal themselves whenever it was needed.

It was another beautiful day in the spring. The healing substance in the fountain was working just fine along with the watering systems on the nearby greenery. Despite the healing tears at an arms’ reach, the gems knew it wouldn’t help much with their situation.

The gems sat around the edge of the fountain and admired its beauty. There were five Rose statues decorating the fountain. Four of them were life-sized sitting at the middle of each side of the square. A gigantic statue of Rose stood in the middle of the fountain, where the healing tears streamed from the closed eyelids, acting as the water dispersion. And finally into the water reservoir where the tears were stored. The running healing substance rippled through the surface where the reflections of the five gems were disrupted.

“As you all know,” Rose was sat on the edge of the spring, with her midsection so enlarged she could be giving birth any moment. “This is one of our most precious sanctuaries ever since it was constructed during the rebellion. I may not be able to bring any more healing tears to you in the future, but in times of incredible need, you can always visit here for a breather or two.”

The gems nodded with gloomy expressions as they were fully aware of the implications of what she said.

“Promise me,” Rose implored, “That you’ll look after this safe space and take good care of them.”

The gems had their minds wondered elsewhere, but Rose took their silence as their agreed undertaking. She was very pleased as she believed the sanctuary and her garden would be very well taken care of and guided by her fellow gems.

Right after they left, rose petals bunched up and clogged the chambers. With the healing tears cut off to the fountain, the water slowly evaporated and dried up. Angry vines and other brambles started to surround the sanctuary, covering every inch of the garden and spring, desperately looking for a single drop of their master’s lachrymal essence to survive…

The once bright and hopeful sanctuary, only days after the gems’ departure, was transformed into a dangerous, dark, and dreadful maze filled with wild, directionless, and unguided brambles. The only source of light was from a skylight that shot down onto Rose’s fountain, hoping for their master’s return.

-

Today was the “Due date” predicted by Garnet. Rose stood in the middle of her room while the gems gathered outside of the temple cave. She wanted to say her final goodbyes with them one at a time.

Garnet was the first to enter the pink-clouded room. She stood right in front of her as she held onto Rose's hands. The pink gem turned over to the fusion’s palms and examined the two gems attached. The dark red gems gleamed as if the two individual gems were trying to bid farewell to the being who made them possible.

“Bounded by love.” She began while holding up her hands, “Garnet, I want you to take over this clan, lead this team, and protect this planet under my name. I also want you to be strong, not just for me and the gems, but for yourself too. We would never have made it this far without you. And I know, whatever the future holds, whatever comes in your way, you’ll do just fine with the gems at your side.

Garnet took a moment and swiped her sunglasses away, revealing three very watery eyes struggling with their tears. “It has been an incredible honor fighting alongside you and this clan.”

The two gems embraced one another, with Garnet on her toes and the abnormally enlarged midsection, they shared one last hug until it was time.

After the fusion left, the small purple gem with her thick, fluffy hair so long it reached to the floor, peeked into the room from the door.

For this goodbye, Rose was sat on the pink clouds while encouraging Amethyst to do the same. The small gem, now on all fours, was sulking her way in. She promptly collapsed, face first, right at the foot of the pregnant lady.

The depressed gem muttered something incomprehensive, but it sounded like “I don’t want to say goodbye.”

Rose couldn’t help but giggle at the playful sight of the earth gem despite the situation. “Oh my sweet, pure earth gem.” She said as she lifted her up by the arms, revealing a shielded expression from the depressing goodbye. As she pulled her into a hug, her guarded expression was softened into a quivering one just as a few moments ago. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened here. Don’t listen to what anyone says about the kindergarten. It’s your home, it’s where you came from. You might not be especially proud of that place because of its history, but you can’t define yourself solely of your place of origin either.”

She pulled her away from the hug and held her up like a soccerball. She did one of her favorite games with her: tossing her as high as she can till her laughs uncontrollably. As the goal was achieved, Rose continued while holding her like a little baby and bopping her nose. “You’re my fun, charming, and adorable Amethyst. No one can take that away from you, even when I’m gone. Be yourself, and be proud, okay?”

With her spirits lifted, literally and mentally, Amethyst went in for another hug before it was time.

The pearls were both called into the room after Amethyst got out. They were not expecting to be called at the same time, but they didn’t want to disregard/dismiss her last wish.

As both pearls got close to Rose, she motioned them both for their hands. Pearl held onto Rose’s left hand while Coral held her right hand.

She remembered an encounter with an old neurobiologist who explained to Rose the human brain. The human brains apparently can be split into two sides and contributes to different functions of the brain. The left side of the brain conjures logical and rational thought, contributing to something like a mathmatical intelligence. The right side of the brain, however, offers creative aspects of the human experience, such as art, imagination, and being fun in general. It can never be sure if the mind of a gem works the same way as a human’s brain. But one thing is for sure. The two of them, together, will be able to deal with any situation thrown at them.

“My pearls,” She said as she kneeled down to be on the same level and pulled them closer. “You two have been a part of my journey for so long, that it seems impossible to see how far you two have come. Pearl, you’re our strong logician and the best strategist I could ever ask for. I know you’ll be able to come up the best ideas for any obstacles to come. Coral, you’re creative, energetic, and you have always known how to make me happy, even in my worse emotional states. After everything I’ve done, you’ve both stuck with me all this time. You’re both caring, loyal, faithful, and the best friends a gem could ever ask for. And I want you to know, there is nothing in this universe that will make me forget either of you. The relationship between us will always hold a very special place in my gem.”

For a moment, there was only silence. Rose faced both pearls and found them both trying to contain themselves as best as they can. Rapid sniffles can be heard from Coral.

Was it something she said?

After some silent sobbing from each of them, Pearl was the first to pick herself up but struggled to speak, “I- We’ll miss you, Rose. We’ll miss you more than you could ever imagine.” Said Pearl while Coral nodded next to her.

Rose gently pulled both pearls into a hug.  Just as both pearls were done sobbing on the shoulders of their leader, Rose pulled them away and stood up. “It’s almost time. Gather the rest of the gems will you Pearl? I’ll be out in a minute.”

The white pearl took a shaky breath, but she didn’t deny her final request as a leader.

Coral stayed behind, knowing it was her last chance to talk to the reason of her existence. She whispered closely to her, “Rose, you won’t have to worry about us. We’ll take great care of everything.” She patted her big hands for assurance.

“I know you will.” Tears began to form at the edge of her vision once more. She wiped them off with the back of her hand and got up. “Come on, let’s go.”

The duo walked out of the temple to see Pearl with Garnet and Amethyst by her side. The gems were starting to prespire as the struggle of maintaining their forms was on the edge. They just had to hold it until they saw her off.

From a distance, they noticed Greg who was taking great interest in the van’s digital clock. He looked up just in time to see the gems’ final goodbye to Rose. "…I have faith in you. All of you."

KER-SPLASH

Oh, and just what Garnet’s predicted, her water broke just in time. Some type of liquid was streaming down her thighs and into a small puddle between her feet. While the other gems looked confused, Pearl looked disgusted and slightly mortified. She tried to not look paler than she already was. “Uh, Rose? I believe there is amniotic fluid coming out of your bottom, ergo your water broke.”

“Congratulations Rose!” Coral forced out a smile. “You’re in labor!”

Greg, who saw everything, rushed into scene. “Ohhhkayy, 7.21pm. Garnet’s timing was impeccable. Come on Rose let’s get you to the van.” He said as he helped her to the van. The rest of the gems followed in pursuit.

As they scuttled towards the van, there was a certain level of pain taking over Rose’s abdominal area.

“Oh wow.” Rose took a moment to register the pain. “That is an incredible pain for labour. Oh! It’s gone. I think it comes and goes every few minutes. Do all pregnant women experience this, Greg?” She asked as they got out of the beach. Her expression shifted between astonishment and pain as the contractions come and go.

“Y-yea, I guess.” He kept his eyes to the van. They’re almost there.

“Do the males experience this too?”

“Uh no us guys don’t-”

“Then why aren’t the women here worshipped for enduring this exruciating pain and labor to another lifeform?” Rose asked as Greg got her up the van. He rushed to driver’s seat, got up, and turned the ignition. The van didn’t start, so Greg tried again and again while muttering anxiously, “Come on, come on…”

Just as Rose was having the contractions, she realized the gems were just outside the passenger’s seat. Coral being the closest to the door while the rest of the gems stood back, looking very uneasy. She rolled down the window to bid her final goodbye to everyone. The engine finally roared to life after the dozenth attempt. “Finally!” Greg exhaled in reflief, “Alright, I know a guy who might be able to help us. Hang tight Rose!”

Before the van zoomed out of sight, Rose reminded the gems outside of the window. “Take care of yourselves and take good care of each other.”

With that said and done, the van sped into the town.

The gems, still teary-eyed, turned and carried each other back to the temple. They couldn’t take it anymore as one by one, different clouds of smoke went off, followed by the clinks of five gemstones.

End of Part 2

(A/N: I like to think that Rose didn't mean for the fountain to be empty and deserted like how it was when it was first introduced. Since the gems have known about the healing spring, I'm guessing they didn't do a good job at looking after it since they were occupied with Rose's final moments with them.

As for Rose's individual goodbyes, I had fun writing up the possible farewells for each gem Rose had prepared. Of course she would bring up the best aspects of the gems while preparing them for the worst send off in the world. Not to dismiss their feelings or anything, but to have their last moments with her to be the best moments.

Also, if you guys took note of the foreseened water breaking, it took place at 7.21pm. In military time its 19:21, and if you replace the numbers with the alphabet in its place, you'll know why its that specific hour and minute.

Lastly, the gems' forms being unstable and poofing at the end of Rose's departure had been a thing since the episode: Three Gems and A Baby. If you didn't know, all three gems had distinct looking forms before and after Steven was born, indicating the retreating into their gems and reforming with completely new forms.

Anyways, thanks for reading and I hope you'll stay tuned for my own take of Steven's birth/Rose's final goodbye.)

[wrestlingisfake]

Starting to see the discourse on whether Sting should have lost his retirement match.

I know the whole idea is that you're supposed to pass the torch on your way out. But that concept comes from a time when nobody would have imagined a man headlining big show three weeks before his 65th birthday. Realistically, the time for Sting to do the honors and give the rub to the next generation was ten years ago, when he still had something left to give. And he did that--on his way out of TNA, he put over Nick Aldis and EC3, and then in WWE he put over Triple H and Seth Rollins. His career was supposed to be done at that point--everything since then has just been a victory lap.

Look at the end of Undertaker's career. He went out in 2020 on a win, and the last decade of his run saw very few defeats. But in 2010, his final year as a full-time(-ish) guy, he put over Kane repeatedly, and his 2014 loss to Brock Lesnar was at the tail end of when "beating the Undertaker" really meant anything. Same thing with Hulk Hogan--I think he only lost one match (to Sting in 2011) after 2003, but by that point he was just a goofy old man doing a nostalgia act. It's hard to say he didn't "do the honors," though, when you look at the key losses he took in 2002--which is probably the last time he was truly relevant.

It might be nice if every pro wrestler finished up like Jushin Thunder Liger did--you're 54 years old, you can still go, but you can't keep up with the next generation, so you announce a retirement tour and end it by losing a good match to a key guy. But in the West, there's too much money in propping up the old guys until they literally can't walk. So you're going to keep seeing big names pass the torch in their late 40s/early 50s and then circle back for a "nobody's paying to see me job" farewell tour. We've already seen Steve Austin start do to it, and it's only a matter of time before the Rock, Adam Copeland, and John Cena go through the same pattern.

Is this good or bad for wrestling? We'll see. But anybody old-school enough to complain that Sting should have lost his final match would have already been complaining since 2020 that AEW is "killing the business" by letting top young stars sell Sting's offense. You're not going to convince me that any of those guys would be appeased if Sting put over the tag team that turned "killing the business" into a catchphrase.

[zennec-fox]

doing something fun

so, i'm sure some of you are aware of the website goblin.tools, which takes your to-do lists and breaks it down into easy-to-manage tasks. you might not know, however, that it has a feature called the Formalizer, which can rewrite your text in different styles. one such style is "More sarcastic".

you might also know that i have a fanfic, my 101 Dalmatian Street fan-season. so i decided, instead of updating the damn thing, i'd just put a couple of chapters through the Formalizer on the More sarcastic setting. enjoy the results.

[an excerpt from Chapter 1: The Human in the Room, Part 1]

Oh wow, what a stunning and mind-blowing sunrise in Camden. We simply can't contain our excitement for this ridiculously amazing morning, especially for those Dalmatians in that oh-so-special house on Dalmatian Street. Apparently, these Dalmatians had such an incredibly peaceful night of sleep, you guys won't even believe it. I mean, they escaped from Cruella de Vil's clutches and now they can bask in the glory of carefree naps. Like seriously, pinch me, I must be dreaming!

Wait, Dylan just finished counting the pups for the millionth time. Seriously, dude? Can we please pause counting, Dylan, and finally, oh I don't know, eat our breakfast? Oh, but of course, the pups are starving! Dylan, can't you just stop being so overly cautious?

Breakfast time! The pups literally sprint past Dylan to the kitchen, and all he does is sigh. Ugh, Dylan, could you be any more resigned? Seriously, breakfast should just magically appear before our eyes without any effort on Dylan's part.

Oh look, Dylan's paranoia resurfaces! He can't seem to let go of his worries about Cruella. Oh Dylan, sweetheart, she's locked up now! Can't you just move on and enjoy life? But no, Dylan just keeps torturing himself with all these hypothetical situations. Like what if Cruella breaks out of prison? Oh no! And what if her henchmen come after us? Oh please, spare me the drama! And you know what, Dylan? What if you suddenly turn into a flying unicorn? Gosh, I just can't handle your constant worrying!

Finally, Dawkins tries to comfort Dylan because the poor guy just can't seem to let go of his guilt. Come on, Dylan, you're supposed to be feeding the pups, not drowning in self-pity! Dawkins has to literally coax him out of his brooding state, reminding him that, lo and behold, he has pups to feed! Can't you see, Dylan? There's a world out there that doesn't revolve around your constant distress!

So the brothers enter the kitchen and guess what? Breakfast is served, folks! Dylan, the hero of the day, launches kibble from a hose into each precious dog's bowl. Oh, thank goodness for Dylan and his amazing kibble-pumping skills! Like seriously, son, you deserve a standing ovation for achieving the ultimate task of breakfast preparation. We are eternally grateful!

But wait, Doug, the world's most appreciative dad, just can't resist praising Dylan for another "perfect" breakfast. Wow, Doug, your enthusiasm is truly contagious! And thank you, Dylan, for providing such an impeccable culinary experience. You are a culinary genius, a true master of doggie nutrition!

Oh, here comes Delilah, the queen of time management. We must leave now because, you know, time waits for no dog. Farewell, precious pups, Delilah has dragged poor Doug out the door.

So now what? Dolly has to bathe the pups? Oh, what a dreadful task! Poor Dolly, she deserves a medal for undertaking such a burdensome responsibility. And Dylan, of course, vows to clean. How noble of you, Dylan! Cleaning up after everyone's messes is definitely the height of excitement. Ugh, the thrilling life of a Dalmatian.

[Chapter 4: De Vil's Advocate]

Oh, would you look at that, Hunter is complaining about the absolute garbage people throw into the canal. How original. I'm sure it's such a burden for him to clean up after the fantastic citizens of this fine city. Fergus, being the voice of reason, suggests that maybe Hunter could stop doing this thankless task. But no, Hunter just can't stand the thought of spending his precious alone time in his flat. God forbid he has a moment of peace without having to be the hero of the canal.

Of course, Fergus has an oh-so-brilliant idea for Hunter's entertainment. Why not smuggle Fergus and his gang of misfits into various shops? Because that's a surefire way to get banned from every corner store in London. But oh, wait, Fergus clarifies that it doesn't have to be corner stores. Restaurants, cafes, and even ice cream shops are fair game for their mischief. Yes, you read that right, they don't even eat ice cream, but they just want to enjoy the nuts. How utterly thrilling.

It seems the loneliness is getting to Hunter's head, as he suggests that maybe the entire Canal Crew could move into his flat with him. I mean, who needs a proper park when you can have a dingy flat to "wander around" in, right? What a generous offer from Hunter, but of course, Fergus politely declines because they are apparently part of the "natural order of things" in Camden. How profound.

But hold on a second, what's that? Trash is moving? Oh boy, Hunter has stumbled upon a squirming sack. How delightful. He quickly scoops it up and wades back to the Canal Crew as if he's some sort of hero. Do we really need to applaud him for rescuing a dog from the canal? How heartwarming. Fergus is understandably angry about the whole situation, as if he didn't see that coming a mile away.

Turns out, the sack contains a little German Shepherd pup. Poor thing is completely soaked and coughing, but at least he has Hunter, our savior, to thank for saving his life. Jaeger, as he introduces himself, is incredibly grateful and declares that Hunter is a "good human" and asks if he can live with him. Because, you know, a single act of heroism definitely makes up for all the other questionable actions Hunter has taken in his life.

Naturally, Hunter is taken aback by being called a "good human" because we all know he's been nothing but perfect. But hey, it's not like he had any other plans for his lonely life, so he agrees to take Jaeger home. Oh joy, now Hunter has a little buddy to keep him company in his flat filled with mystery cages. You know, the kind of cages you definitely don't want to ask about.

Time for some gossip with Fergus, who is regaling Dylan with the story of how Hunter helped him take revenge on Pearl. Such upstanding citizens we have here. Dylan, being the judgmental dalmatian that he is, doesn't approve and can't stand Hunter. Can you blame him? I mean, who wouldn't want to hang around Mr. H? Must be pure joy.

In a sudden turn of events, Jaeger comes crashing into Fergus, who happens to be best friends with Dylan. What a coincidence! Of course, Dylan has no idea who this little pup is, but Jaeger takes it upon himself to bounce on top of Dylan and annoy the living daylights out of him. Ah, the beauty of friendship.

After the chaos settles down, Dylan realizes that Jaeger has no collar. Oh, the horror! Is Jaeger part of the sacred Canal Crew? Absolutely not! But he sure thinks Hunter is a swell guy and wants to introduce him to his human. How adorable. Dylan, in all his wisdom, sniffs Jaeger and immediately realizes that they must go somewhere safe. Away from that monster, Hunter. Can't trust him, you know?

Fergus, now panicking, attempts to stop Dylan from taking Jaeger away, but instead tackles him to the ground. Way to go, Fergus. Meanwhile, Jaeger seizes the opportunity to run back to Hunter, the "good human" who saved his life. Convenient timing.

So, Hunter and Jaeger find themselves in a state of tranquility. Oh, what a touching moment it is, with Jaeger trying to catch his breath and Hunter scratching his head. Hunter, now filled with remorse, spills his deepest secrets to Jaeger. How he framed the dalmatians, took Dallas' fur, and even kidnapped them for his great-aunt. Such a stand-up guy, isn't he?

Jaeger, not quite understanding why a "good human" would do such terrible things, tries to console Hunter. How sweet of him. And with that, Jaeger declares that he likes Hunter. How heartwarming

[traditional-with-a-twist]

lvii. Beauty and Her Beast

<<Previous || first arc || second arc || third arc || AO3 || Next>>

Kiki enters the hunting lodge eagerly, her step light and quick, head up, eyes alert.

She is looking for him.

The lady knight would never betray her dignity with excitement, but she has missed Mitsuhide — felt his absence keenly, an unaccustomed space at her side, an ache that has worsened in inverse proportion to the healing of her bone.

Her arm is functional again, regaining its old strength with training and with time.

Time has not healed their parting.

Anger subsided into melancholy, invisible to almost all beneath Kiki’s implacable calm.

Then followed this dull discontent, punctuated with bursts of hot vexation when something brought him to mind — a maneuver on the practice ground, a remark he might have made, a thought she might have shared … if only he had been there.

...

Sometimes she misses him so much, she wishes him gone forever.

Better the certainty of a final and irrevocable farewell than the vexatious hope, repeatedly disappointed.

Kiki took refuge from the strain by renouncing him — casting him off in her heart, declaring the self-exile banished.

She cannot oppose his choice; therefore she affirms it, finding reasons to justify it, embrace it, declare herself satisfied.

If he will go, then she will wish it so.

She won’t think of him, but when she does, she will be glad that he left.

...

At a stroke, his letter swept all that aside.

It had arrived by royal courier, a brief but painstaking thing — perfectly in keeping with the feelings she could easily imagine as animating him.

That mingled sense of shame and duty, peculiar to Mitsuhide, runs through it all. 

He disavows himself, writes as if to strike himself from the record with the very hand then pens it, yet never more clearly has he shown himself honorable in the humility of addressing himself to her.

...

She took it in at a glance, knowing at first only that he had asked for her. 

Annoyance evaporated; her heart lifted. A cloud passed from her countenance.

It had lingered so long that all had forgotten what she looked like without it.

...

A second read apprised her of the circumstances, and her elation turns to urgency.

Mitsuhide had not made the request on his own behalf — of course he had not. He thought of himself first, never.

Kiki had expected something serious when he wrote; he was not a man given to trivialities, nor one likely to disturb a still pond (no matter how much it needed weeding) unless spurred to it.

Still, this news outstripped all expectations.

It answered a mystery — what had become of her friends since Shirayuki’s letters had stopped coming, since it was quietly known that the recently declared heir to one of Clarines’s largest and most prosperous estates had gone missing.

The answer was plain: nothing good.

...

Keenness of purpose mingled with brightness of anticipation, of pain relieved. She presented herself to request leave.

The first prince did not press her for explanations. “You have served well, Lady Kiki, at a time when others might have expected a greater claim on your attendance.”

He saluted her with an elegant hand; she bowed.

“Consider this furlough a token of gratitude for your dedication.”

...

As Izana spoke, he passed Kki a sheaf of papers, which she slid into an unmarked satchel.

Some would be written in code; others were not.

A good many were useless: disconnected excerpts from unrelated reports, taken at random from their proper context.

One contained her instructions for the task she had agreed to undertake, should a plausible occasion arise for her to leave the capital.

...

“Do not press yourself,” urged the prince with his half-lidded smile. “It is only your due.”

...

Kiki rode hard, eating up the miles between her and the origin of that letter.

She weathered the barrage of memories that emerged from the trees along with the hunting lodge.

The brightness of that time had crystallized like a colored pane of glass — fragile, fragmented, yet brilliant in the light of memory.

If she tried to hold on to it, the edges cut into her. She could embrace it only from a distance, and that separation was its own wound.

Another time, the hurt might have penetrated more deeply, but not today.

Hope was her shield, her ward against the doubt and pain of the past.

...

Her first misgiving came when she found the stable empty.

A dozen explanations flicked through her mind, hastening to account for the incongruity. 

She settled on none of them, but let them hover around her thoughts like a curtain, a layer of obfuscation between herself and the dawning possibility that she refused to countenance.

...

Resolutely, she turned and entered the lodge.

Silence greeted her.

The sitting room, the hearth – empty. The coals smoldered; a pot hung on the hearth, but there was no one there.

Kiki stopped.

She looked, and she listened — straining for any trace of her partner-that-was.

Nothing below, so she ascended, unwilling to give up the search, to relinquish her hope.

...

Upstairs, dim candle light flickered under one door.

Kiki’s chest tightened painfully as her pulse accelerated.

She laid a hand on the latch and eased it open.

...

Inside, a solitary figure lay buried in blankets. A flush of red hair left no doubt as to her identity.

Again they were meeting in an in-between place, somewhere on the journey from one home to another.

Then Shirayuki had met them with a confidence alien to her predicament; now she looked scarcely larger than a child, her stillness a mute appeal.

Beside her, there was no one.

Kiki stopped.

Her heart sank.

As it fell, she hardened it, cutting off the shock of dismay before it could immiserate her. She looked and understood and willed herself to feel nothing.

...

“Kiki…”

The voice, delicate as a bird wing, recalled her to sensation.

The lady knight heard her friend’s call, and a gladness tangled with concern kindled in response.

She stepped quickly to the bedside and knelt down.

Shirayuki smiled at her. “You came.”

The tightness returned.

Yes, she had come — for nothing! cried her injured self, the tender core of every human, who all long to receive love where it is given.

...

For a moment, Kiki struggled with herself.

She met the impulse to lash out in pain, and she mastered it.

Coolness returned; she regarded the situation dispassionately and recognized that she had not been summoned without cause.

...

“Yes,” Kiki agreed. “I’m here.”

...

A smile illuminated Shirayuki’s face, restoring a glow of vitality to it.

Gratitude welled up in her.

As was Shirayuki’s way, she sought immediately to share her happiness.

“Mitsuhide—” she began, but Kiki’s face stopped her.

She faltered at the blank look that overtook her friend’s features, the smile vanishing into a void.

“He… he’s not…?”

...

“He has gone,” said Kiki, colorless.

“But… you’re here… How did you find us if…?”

“He sent for me,” came the reply, “and now he has gone.”

...

Shirayuki gazed at her in confusion and real sorrow.

‘Oh,’ she said softly. ‘Kiki, I’m so –’

Her friend rose, avoiding the hand stretched out in consolation.

...

“You must be hungry,” Kiki said quietly. “I will bring you something to eat.”

[queen-ofsunflowers]

Free to Be Me: Yukiko's Castle Preview

Since these are still works-in-progress, it is likely that the following excerpts will change between now and the final draft! Please keep that in mind while reading. The following excerpts have been taken from Chapters 7 - 11!

(Something shakes Yu, and he can hear a voice on the edge of his senses. It’s that voice that snaps him out of it and wakes him up. Yu bolts upright, a cold sweat dripping down his face and panting heavily. That… That was definitely Yukiko.)

Dojima: Yu? (Yu scrambles back. It takes a moment and a little light for him to see that it’s just his uncle. He was probably the one who woke him up. Yu lets out a sigh.) Are you alright?

Yu: I um… (Yu nods. He notices the small sparks that are dying on his hands… and the marks on the wall.) I… I-I didn’t wake you, did I?

Dojima: No. I just got home when I heard the lightning from your room. (Yu looks down.) What happened?

Yu: J… Just a dream. I’m okay. I promise. …sorry about the wall.

Dojima: Don’t worry about it. It’s happened more often than you think. Just try to get some sleep. Alright? (Yu nods. His uncle finally leaves his room. Yu immediately scrambles for his phone. That dream felt way too real to be anything good. Yu has only one person that he can call and talk about this with. It takes a few seconds for Yosuke to pick up.)

Yosuke: Hello…?

Yu: Yosuke?

Yosuke: Huh? Dude, it’s the middle of the night. What’s up?

Yu: I… I uh…

Yosuke: You okay, man? (Yu shakes his head, realizing a little too late that Yosuke can’t see him.)

Yu: Are we sure that Amagi is okay?

Yosuke: Amagi? You mean Yukiko-san? Yeah. You heard Chie talking to her earlier.

Yu: What if something happened to her since then? 

Yosuke: Are you that worried that you—

Yu: Yosuke!

Yosuke: …

Yu: …I’m sorry.

Yosuke: …*Sigh* Nah, don’t be. Two people have died so far. You should be worried. I mean, I am too, but…

---

Igor: Our contribution will not be the control of your gift. (His… gift? It’s not a gift. It’s a curse if there’s no hope for Yu ever controlling it.) Instead, we will assist in the training you must undertake to control the magic that dwells inside of you naturally. At times, it may be hard to grasp, but you must master your fears to control the powers you possess. It is one of your chief sources of strength. You will do well to take it to heart. Theodore…?

Theodore: Yes… well… I—

Margaret: Master. Theodore and I have discussed this in length, and we believe that it would be best that he oversee our sister’s lessons while I tend to our young witch’s training.

Igor: Is this true? (Theodore, a bit nervous, nods.) I see… Very well, then. I will allow it. (Yu can see visible tension slide off of Theodore’s shoulders. Margaret clears her throat as she turns to Yu.)

Margaret: I will be the one to oversee the progress of your training, much like a teacher. Any time you wish to visit, simply insert that key into any lock. It will transport you here. While you’re here, no time shall pass in reality, so you may stay for as long as need be.

Yu: (nods) I understand. Thank you.

Margaret: I look forward to seeing how you will grow and what new powers you might develop. (Igor chuckles.)

Igor: Do you recall my words to you from before?

Yu: Um… You told me that this year would be important… and that if we don’t solve the mystery at hand, we may lose our future. …Right? (Igor nods.)

Igor: I meant precisely what I said. Defeat in battle is not the only way your journey may come to an end. Please, do not forget this. (Yu swallows something down, fist clenched at his sides. But he nods.) The next time we meet, you will come here of your own accord. *chuckle* I look forward to it. Until then… farewell.

---

Shadow Yukiko: Chie… *chuckle* Yes, she’s my Prince… She always leads the way… Chie’s a strong Prince… Or at least… she was. (Yu blinks, and even Chie seems stunned. Yukiko can’t look at her, doubled over with her head in her hands.) When it comes down to it, Chie’s just not good enough! She can’t take me away from here! She can’t save me!

Chie: Yukiko…

Yukiko: (pushing herself up) S-Stop…

Shadow Yukiko: Historic inn? Manager training?! I’m sick of it! I never asked to be born here! I never asked for everything from how I live to where I die to be decided for me! I’m so sick of it all! To hell with it!

Yukiko: That’s not true…

Shadow Yukiko: I want to go somewhere far away… I want to go anywhere that isn’t here! Someone, please take me away… I can’t do it on my own. I’m completely useless…

Yukiko: Stop… Please, stop…!

Shadow Yukiko: I have no hope if I stay and no courage to leave. So I just sit on my ass hoping that my Prince will come and rescue me! I don’t care where we go, as long as it's not here! Tradition? Pride of the town? What a bunch of bullshit! That inn could burn for all I care!

Yukiko: How dare you…?

Shadow Yukiko: That’s how I really feel. Isn’t that right… me?

Yukiko: N-No… (Yu can figure out what’s about to happen.)

Yu: Amagi, don’t—!

Yukiko: No! You’re not me! (Shadow Yukiko bursts into a vicious laughter.)

Shadow Yukiko: Ahhh, this feels wonderful~! It's building… more and more…! If this keeps up… I’ll… (She laughs once more, Shadows overtaking her and building her up into something terrifying. Yukiko screams, collapsing with her head in her hands. Webs come out from all different directions, cocooning the jorogumo and suspending her high in the air.)

---

Yosuke: Hey, Yu.

Yu: Huh? Uh… Morning.

Yosuke: Hm? Hey, isn’t that the Practical Magic teacher or something? Uh… I don’t have her class, so I don’t—

Yu: Amamiya. Um… It’s Ms. Amamiya. She’s one of my teachers in the afternoon. (Since Inaba was a town where Non-Mortals didn’t have to hide, the schools taught the children to control their abilities and as such, Yu’s elective courses were filled with magic classes. Practical Magic was his last class of the day. And Ms. Amamiya was steadily becoming one of his favorite teachers.)

Yosuke: Right, you’re a witch, so you kinda have to take those classes, dontcha? (Yu nods, Yosuke groans.) Way better than the extra P.E. lessons I gotta take… seriously, I could do without them.

Yu: That kid with her, though…

Yosuke: That would be her son. (Yu does a double take. Her son? But Ms. Amamiya looks really young.) I know, she doesn’t look like the type to have a kid. But it seems to me like the kid having a rebellious phase. (Yu hums.)

Yu: The murders might have every parent worried about their kids… (Yu can remember when he accidentally let it slip to his parents the other night about the murders. To say that they were worried was an understatement. It took everything Yu had in him to convince them to stay on assignment and that he would be fine with his uncle to watch over him.)

---

Teddie: Are you feeling better, Yuki-chan? I did what you said and I’ve been a very good bear!

Yukiko: I see… (She pats his head.) Good boy, Teddie!

Yosuke: Uh… So, like we told you on the way here, this bear… thing’s part of the reason we want to find the culprit. (Yu nods.)

Yukiko: Mmhm… I’m part of the group now, so let’s work together. Okay?

Teddie: Okay! I was thinking about that, too! So that’s why I got these ready for you, Yuki-chan! (Teddie produces a pair of pink glasses for Yukiko.)

Yukiko: Oh, so these are what everyone’s wearing. Thank you, Teddie. (She puts them on.) Wow, it’s like the fog doesn’t even exist…

Chie: Hey, how come you have so many pairs of glasses?

Teddie: I make them! I’ve lived here a long time, so I came up with a way to pass the time!

Yukiko: I see… but don’t you need a pair? (Teddie shakes his head.)

Teddie: I can see just fine through the fog! It doesn’t bother me at all. (Yu hums, thinking. Maybe it’s because Teddie’s lived here so long that his eyes adjusted naturally?) Didn’t you know?

Yosuke: Of course not. You never said anything about it! If you can see just fine, how come you’re making these glasses anyway?!

Teddie: I already told you! I get bored!

[hobbit-in-kuroshitsuji]

Kuroshitcember 2022 Prompt Nr. 24 -Christmas Special 2/3

prompt: Sebastian (and, more optionally, the servants) prepares the manor for the young master for Christmas Day.

You can find all prompts here!

All of these will be uploaded/archived to this blog's Ao3 eventually

📌Because I ended up not being able to participate in quite a lot of prompts lately, I decided to put together a 3 part little story for 23rd, 24th, and 25th of December, each chapter inspired by that day's prompt. I tried incorporating as many characters as I could <3 I hope you enjoy!! I hope I can keep up writing after Christmas though <3 these prompts have been amazing, and it's been so much fun participating <3

Summary: On Christmas Day, Ciel Phantomhive and Sebastian go to a workhouse to distribute toys and presents to the children. Meanwhile, the reapers realise that the children meant to die are being saved by a demon, and they don't quite know how to handle it, a little bit like how the Phantomhive servants have no idea how to handle preparing Christmas Dinner..... Chaos ensues. CW: kuroshitsuji spoilers (if you don't know about o!ciel and r!ciel, do not read this 3 parter!!), mentions death, suicide, anatomy study, workhouses - please be careful if you are easily triggered by real events that happened in the past. oh, if you don't ship Vincent/Undertaker, please don't send hate <3 it's just a fleeting mention, but still <3

“But sir, I don’t think you should leave it up to us-“

A gloved hand moved up into the air. It was a simple gesture, but one that stopped all of them from talking. Sebastian basked in the silence for a moment. Downstairs, the servants had all gone into a frenzy the second Sebastian admitted that most of the last minute Christmas preparations were going to have to be done by them.

“The young master and I have important business to attend to the entire afternoon. What little decoration are left to prepare in the dining hall has to be done by you all. Mey-Rin, set the tables for all 6 guests. Finnian, prepare three guest rooms, we have a few guests staying the night. Baldroy, please ensure the Christmas turkey is… not burned.”

‘Yes, sir’s had been said with little confidence at each order. Sebastian had a feeling that the second he and his master came back home, he would have to use his inhuman speed to fix everything…

With a sigh, Sebastian bid his farewell to the servants, leaving them in silence. Confused, they looked at each other. Christmas was a big deal in most estates in England now, and Sebastian had just… left the last preparations to them?

He never trusted them that much…

Something was up.

“Well then, we better get a move on,” Bard said finally, clasping his hands together. “Or else Sebastian’s gonna be in a mood when we get back.”

“Aye, we don’t want that, no thank you,” Mey-Rin was quick to agree, lifting her skirts slightly as she began to run off.

She didn’t get very far though, as the back door leading out to the gardens opened. Everyone instantly went on high alert. Instead of lifting her skirts, Mey-Rin pulled out two guns. Finnian grabbed whatever was nearest and prepared to throw it at the intruders (which so happened to be a barrel filled with flour), and Bard was quick to take cover –

But there had been no need for high alert. Instead of enemies, Agni and Soma arrived.

“The front door was locked!! So rude,” Soma complained as he burst inside. “Cieeeel!”

“Master Ciel is out with Sebastian, sir. And… you really shouldn’t be down here, it’s not proper, it isn’t,” replied Finnian as he gently put the barrel back down.

“So sorry, my friends,” Agni interrupted, spreading gentle smiles to each servant he saw. “My master wanted to surprise Ciel with an early arrival for Christmas. We’re all very excited for Christmas, you see. It’s one of the holidays we enjoy here in England.”

Mey-Rin put her guns away again, brushing down her dress and clearing her throat to return to her maid act once more. “We’ve been tasked to finish the last preparations whilst the master is out… and…” She glanced back at her friends, who nodded their heads in agreement to the question she’d asked with just a glance. “I was wondering if you could help us, Agni?”

The man lit up, earning a smile from Soma. “I would love to!”

…

“Although it was very last minute, the company has divided the breached warehouse’s toys to be sent out to plenty of workhouses in London. Money has been sent to the Foundation of Timmy. When we arrive, toys should be standing ready to be distributed by yours truly.”

Ciel listened, but didn’t show he was. His eye was glued to what he was seeing flashing by the coach, which he tried his best not to show any joy about – it was for children, after all. Out there, snow was falling in thick waves. In this weather, it wasn’t safe travelling in a coach all the way to the outskirts of London, but Ciel knew he would be safe.

He had Sebastian with him, after all.

…

Smiles, laughter, applauses, and oh so much merriment was all Ciel Phantomhive and Sebastian Michaelis experienced from the children at the workhouse. It brought back memories from the few times Timothy had ordered Sebastian to go visit with him, and for Ciel, it reminded him of the good deeds he could do despite being in a contract made by a devil. Revenge might be what Ciel wanted, but moments like these… when a child’s dream had come true, Ciel felt pleased he could offer that dream to other children.

He wondered if somewhere far away, his brother was watching over him, hating how Ciel had left him after all, yet also perhaps pleased that despite the grief, Ciel could now follow his dream and build an empire not based in his family’s wealth.

Well… technically his demon had helped quite a bit there but – Ciel chose to ignore that part on Christmas Eve.

Whilst Ciel occupied himself with handing out toys and shaking hands with kids grateful for what he was giving them, Sebastian snuck away from time to time to deal with… securing the perimeter. He knew that once he and his master left the premises, those child snatchers would return again and the workhouse would be, once more, an unsafe place. But at least this way, the children could have one Christmas Eve, and hopefully one Christmas Morning, where they were safe and happy… like all children ought to be during the holidays.

Such sappy feelings was not what the demon had in mind though. For him, it was all about vengeance for what they had once done to his former master.

Both demon and master came away from the workhouse pleased for different reasons – one for offering the gift of charity and happiness, and the other for being given the gift of bloody revenge.

“How old were they?” Ciel asked as the coach began to move once more. He waved at the kids until they disappeared from view, smile on his lips gone the second they couldn’t see him anymore.

“Some were your age, some were younger,” Sebastian replied simply, sitting with his back straighter than usual, feeling over the moon after some delicious violence.

“My age? But they were all…” Ciel turned his back on the workhouse as he straightened up in his seat. “They were all so small.”

“Improper nutrition and poor working conditions will stunt the growth of humans.”

“But I… I was always the small one.” Ciel put on an angry scowl, trying to keep his emotions away from his voice. The empathy and sadness he felt… it outweighed the good he had felt just minutes ago. “We should have given them food.”

“Do not worry, my lord. Someone else is handling that for us,” Sebastian said confidently, offering no more explanation upon Ciel’s confused looks.

…

“DON’T YOU DARE INTERFERE, RONALD!!” Grelle pulled Ronald away from the ledge by his collar, causing an un-dignifying sound to leave Ron’s lips. Hand over his sore throat, Ronald glared at his reaper friend. “He looks oh so magnificent fighting like that! Oooo!! The crimson colours splashed against the backdrop of white, innocence – YES, Sebas-chan, keep at it! ⭐.”

“Miss Sutcliff… We can’t just leave the demon to kill them. We’re here for the children’s’ souls, not theirs.”

“We can do whatever we like,” Grelle snapped. “Just look at him, Ronald. He’s so magnificent! Ooo what a Christmas gift! I will cherish this memory for many lonesome nights to come-“

“Oh too much… information.” Ronald stepped aside and away from Grelle a bit, leaning against his scythe. William was going to be beyond furious about this… And what could Ronald even say was the reason they didn’t do their job?

Grelle was too into that awful demon?

Well… that could work, actually.

Wiping away some drops of melted snow from his spectacles, Ronald turned away from the grizzly murdering of kidnappers, and walked to the other ledge. There, from the rooftop of a church, Ronald could see clearly as the children from the workhouse rushed outside to greet Ciel Phantomhive. They earned a gift each, and then whatever was spare was offered as toys to share. The gratitude and smiles of the kids was enough to bring warmth to the cold, undead heart of Ronald.

Yeah… maybe it wasn’t so bad that the demon was interfering with their jobs. They had souls to reap, at least, it was just not the right ones. Ronald would rather deal with paperwork than with the memories of these childrens’ short lives fresh in his mind. He saw plenty of gore and suffering… maybe, one Christmas Eve, it could be nice to have a break from it.

…

Agni had stopped three fires that afternoon, prevented Finnian from tumbling down the stairs twice as he carried far too many sheets in his immensely strong arms, and had caught Mey-Rin an uncountable amount of times whilst she tried hanging up decorations in the dining room from a tall, unsteady ladder.

Eventually, the food had been saved and guest rooms had been properly prepared, but the decorations were a bust.

This was not Mey-Rin’s fault though. Sebastian had stashed the Christmas decorations in a place no one knew where. It meant that what little had been present for Mey-Rin to use hadn’t been… entirely enough.

In other words, it was just one garland hanging around the top of the walls, and one sad ornament hanging from the chandelier.

“Oh dear…” Soma said as the five of them stood racking their brains to come up with a solution. As if on point, one of the napkins Mey-Rin had folded into a triangle stood atop the guest’s plates collapsed with a sad little ‘poof’.

“This is horrible!! We can’t serve the guests here! The Phantomhive Christmas Dinners are events no one can compete with!!” Mey-Rin burst out, pulling at her hair.

“Calm yourself, my dear miss,” Agni spoke. “We will figure this out.”

“Unless you know how to pull Christmas decorations out of your ass, I don’t see how,” Bard commented with a huff. “Let’s face it, the food’s gonna be the only good thing about this event.”

“No,” Soma said determinedly. “I will not see my dear bestest friend have a bad event whilst I am here to save the day. We make them!”

“Arts and craft!” Finnian exclaimed happily. “I love arts and craft.”

“That’s a beautiful idea,” Agni praised.

Bard wasn’t very convinced though… This was going to go very badly, he was sure of it.

__

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