#big scary monster who is only gentle with their smaller soft-hearted human

[lordsooga]

Tagged by @arkon-z !!! Thank you!!

3 ships: Kohga and Sooga, OBVIOUSLY. They got me with the carefree and goofy but powerful leader and his fiercely stoic, loyal, and competent second in command. Come on, Master “except for me of course!” Kohga refusing to leave Sooga even after they just watched Astor pull the life out of all his other soldiers. Sooga’s “Then in that case, I’ll protect you even if it costs me my life.” COME ON!!!!!!

Revalink. Look, they work so well together. They complement each other. They have so much in common. They don’t know that about each other. They would change each other for the better. There is no way Revali just hates Link or is just jealous of him, he would NOT be out there trying So hard to get Link to acknowledge him.

We’ll do one non-zelda ship. As a treat. 

Fuck it. It’s Bowuigi. They GOT ME okay, I like big monsters with tiny soft men!!!!!

First ship: Fuck. Good question. I remember kinda liking OoT link and zelda/link and sheik when I played as a kid??? It was mostly as friends, though. I wasn’t super into shipping when I was a kid. I think i shipped two of those creatures in drawn to life, though lmao

Last song: idk why but i havent listened to any music in daysss. all i can think of is Spillways

Last movie: Oh my god.........it was morbius

Currently reading: It has been a hot minute since ive read a real book 💀 the current fics im reading, though, are @/zariyari’s ghiralink fic Now Get Us Out of Here which i am enjoying a lot ehehe. I’m also in the middle of a Majima/Kiryu one. I’m eagerly awaiting more to @/ginneke’s revalink fic A Seed of Song, and, god damn it, soon I’m gonna start @/heleentje’s Moonlight fic.

Also special mentions to @/ghirahimbo’s fics Blind, But Now and Pinesong which i’ve been meaning to read forever now

Currently watching: I’m waiting for all my current favorite shows to make new episodes T__T so right now im trying to finally finish the new JoJo season

Currently consuming: A delicious udon dish

Tagging (if you feel like it, no pressure!!): I’ve not done one of these on this account before :0 so im not sure who likes participating in these types of things. But @jaybirdsdelight @insanespiders @theobergmynt @ginneke @heleentje @zariyari @chaozrael if any of yall would like to!

[zeldareference]

hello, im someone who is Very normal, so Very Very Normal. and Common about horror!sans and horrortale.... so im gonna give my thoughts bc this is also something ive been pondering...

id say it happened as, like, a sort of slippery slope in a way???

i believe that when people started making horror designs where he was, like, very big and looming n stuff it was mostly bc they didnt know the lore of horrortale, or at least hadnt read the comic, so they js saw an AU where all the monsters were a lot scarier, unhinged, and even "beastly", n they started making fanart and fan designs of horror!sans with only that vibe in mind and nothing else, which led to designs where he looked (and/or acted) a lot more beast-like and monstrous compared to other sanses..

that, ofc, doesnt really work in the context of horrortale, bc the only reason why the monsters even look (and partly act) the way they do is bc they eat all the humans that fall down, and that changes something in them, HOWEVER, eating humans is something that horror!sans refuses to do, and which is also the reason why he looks mostly normal compared to all the other monsters in horrortale, so, yk, in all truth he should js look like a kinda fucked up classic, or maybe a wider classic or smthn like that according to his reference sheet (LMAO) (although.. shouldnt he look, like, maybe slightly smaller considering he hasnt eaten anything in i think 7 years...?? or maybe js like u said, look like a sticky wet rat 😭 maybe thats why he looks so "pointy"?? or maybe thats js sour apple's artstyle lawl)

howeverrrr, these fan designs r what i think made the main fanon horror!sans happen, like, id say ppl saw this big and scary looking sans and went "hold on!! what if.. gentle giant trope..." which, if we're being COMPLETELY honest, horror!sans doesnt fit at ALL 😭 he is NOT gentle and he is NOT a giant, hes a short asshole who loves making cruel jokes and messing with aliza for fun, but in fanon, i think bc of his "rounder" appearance caused by the previous fanon, he's usually interpreted as, like, the softer kinda chill one of the group, the kinda soft-hearted one, or the one whos js there to watch stuff happen... which, again, doesnt really fit the character we've been presented in the horrortale comics

im not saying fanon is bad tho!! if u like fanon horror better than canon horror then thats completely fine, its all abt js having fun anyway 🤷 and i also dont blame those artists for getting the design or the personality ""wrong"" or smthn, not everyone is gonna do a 10 hour deep dive into the canon of an AU js for a fanart or a tiktok or smthn LMAO

I need someone who's Very Normal, Totally Normal, about Horror Sans and Horrortale to explain to me how they think canon Horror turned into fanon Horror.

I like both, I'm just extremely curious. For everyone else whose fanon is different from their canon, it's usually due to the exaggeration of already present traits. Oh, Swap energetic but small? Blueberry is a child. Oh, Fell looks like he could be angry, give him constant anger issues (note: I know we didn't have more than fell's design back then). Oh, Killer and Ink make jokes sometimes, make them constantly unserious.

But Horror?

(Art by sour-apple-studios)

This guy? He carries himself like a wet rat. A sticky wet rat, and I mean that affectionately. I love you canon Horror.

How did he turn into the equivalent of a big dog that goes "Boof"?

Again, I'm just curious

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

when the wolves come out

(everyone loves a little fluffy h/c and bonding, right? also yes that’s a 1D reference. no I will not apologize for it)

I’m not doing a tag list cause I honestly don’t have the energy for that but if you follow the ‘geraskier beauty and the beast au’ tag you’ll see every one of these. I’m also gonna add a masterlist to my pinned post

also please please comment. that’s the stuff that keeps me writing. please.

---

“Get away from him!” Geralt roared. He clutched the hilt of his silver sword with both hands and charged forward. Several dark and horrible-smelling masses of fur had Jaskier backed up and trembling fiercely against the trunk of an ancient oak. Wolves. They’d surrounded him while he was taking a walk and now the young human knew his time had come to an end.

Geralt could pick out the bitter aroma of Jaskier’s potent and all-consuming fear even over the scent of the wolf pack and he noted that the boy’s blue eyes were wide and unblinking. Jaskier was utterly terrified; paralyzed in place by the threat of certain death. 

“Jaskier!” the Beast called, drawing the attention of several wolves away from their current prey. “I’m coming, Jaskier! Don’t move!”

“Geralt, no! Don’t come any closer! You could be killed! Stay back!” 

The trained monster-slayer nearly stopped in his tracks. Nearly. 

No one had ever been concerned for his safety before. Usually they were too busy panicking to care who got hurt and who didn’t; they just didn’t want to die. Jaskier had told Geralt to stay back. Jaskier had begun to care for him and his wellbeing. 

The Beast finally grew close enough to do some kind of damage. He raised his sword and brought it down on the first wolf. The creature dropped to the ground and its packmate leapt, already opening its wide maw to bite at Geralt wherever it could reach. There hadn’t been time to put any armor on and the white-haired Witcher grunted in pain as the wolf’s sharp teeth sunk into the meat of his shoulder. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier cried. The young man ran forward, brandishing a pointed tree branch at the other wolves. He swung it in wide circles, batting the animals away as well as he could in an effort to reach Geralt’s side. “Fight back, my Beast! Please!”

Geralt obeyed. He cut down the wolf whose pointed teeth had torn his shoulder before taking on another two starving and half-crazed canines. The last handful of wolves, seeing their comrades bleeding out in a snowdrift, raced back into the forest with their tails between their legs. When he was sure it was safe, Jaskier reached out and wrapped his arm around Geralt’s waist. “Let’s get you inside so I can take a look at that wound.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be fine when I say you’ll be fine,” Jaskier admonished. The acrid, burnt-coffee scent of fear was gone from the boy completely. Now there was only the soft, gently invasive scent of worry, like mint and chamomile. Comforting. He cares very deeply, Geralt realized as he was half-carried back to the door of the keep and bundled into a comfortable armchair before the sitting room fire. Jaskier cares about me and wants me to live. He’s worried about my health. He...he...

“Jaskier, really, it’ll be okay.”

“Hush,” the human frowned. Geralt saw tears gathering in the corner of Jaskier’s eyes and he wiped one away with the pad of his thumb. “Don’t move please, Geralt. I need to get bandages. And warm water.”

“Just get the warm water. The bandages won’t be necessary.”

“How else will I keep you from bleeding all over your clothes?”

“I’m already halfway healed, see?” Geralt smiled, glancing down at holes in his shoulder where the wolf’s teeth tore through. They were already growing smaller and closing up. “Witcher magic.”

Jaskier was shocked. “You’re...you’re a Witcher?”

“Did you really think I was some kind of cursed Prince like the stories say?”

Jaskier stood and moved to the doorway, “I don’t care what you are, Geralt.”

Then he disappeared around the corner.

---

Geralt lay with his head on Jaskier’s outstretched legs. The young man paused his reading, his eyebrows crinkling together. “Beast,” he whispered, “Why did you ask for a consort?”

“Kaer Morhen is so lonely in the winters,” Geralt sighed. He glanced up, meeting Jaskier’s curious gaze, “People are scared of Witchers but since there are so few of us left...I thought they would ask for a willing volunteer. I thought I would have someone waiting with luggage for me to court them. I could have dealt with someone who was slightly frightened but totally willing. I’m sorry that they stole you away and offered you up to me like that, little bird.”

“If you think about it in the right light,” Jaskier mused. “It was almost romantic. You could have been the big, scary monster everyone warned me about. You could have eaten me alive or left me there for the wolves. Instead you gave me your cloak and carried me all the way home.”

Geralt’s heart stuttered in his chest. Home? “Do you consider Kaer Morhen your home?”

“I do now, my Beast. My Geralt. It was frightening at first but the village elders could not have made me happier in their stupidity. I am very content to be here with you; to be courted by you.”

“Hmm,” Geralt blushed lightly and nuzzled his way back into the crease of Jaskier’s hip. The accidental consort of Kaer Morhen had quickly discovered that his betrothed loved nothing more than being petted and caressed. The Beast would lay his head on Jaskier’s lap and nose his way into the crook between Jaskier’s hip and thigh and stay there for hours. His consort would play with his hair, sing to him, and read to him from any book he fancied. It was heaven. “Sing for me, little bird?”

“Am I to be your caged lark, now?”

“Never,” Geralt growled. “You can always leave if you’d like.”

“I’d rather stay,” Jaskier smiled, placing a reassuring hand on the back of his Beast’s warm neck. “I would rather stay and be wooed and courted by my gentle Beast.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier began to run his hands through Geralt’s soft white hair, braiding it and picking it apart as he sang:

“I'll sell my rod, I'll sell my reel, I'll sell my only spinning wheel, To buy my love a sword of steel; Is go dte tu mo mhuirnin slan.

“I'll dye my petticoats, I'll dye them red, And 'round the world I'll beg my bread, Until my parents shall wish me dead; Is go dte tu mo mhuirnin slan.”

“I could listen to you sing forever, little bird,” Geralt murmured. He was purring again, a sound that Jaskier loved and adored. “I love hearing your voice.”

“And so you shall,” the younger man smiled, and leaned down to press a brief kiss against Geralt’s temple. “For as long as you wish.”

[saintheartwing]

Undertale: Frost

Author's Note:

This was a story I had always intended to write, but never really found the time to. Now I've got more time to, having settled into my new job, working at a brand new hospital. With this story, I intend to be fairly historically accurate to the times the tale takes place in, and the cultures as well. I'll try hard to be respectful, and to be understanding, but I recognize I will make some mistakes. Don't hesitate to let me know what you think, and point out what you like and where I can improve. This story will be covering some very tough, hard subject matter, and I won't really shy away from it though I'll try to not create anything so dark it gets an M rating. Above all else, I want the story to FEEL real, and to feel like the people within actually, truly lived. If I can tell that story, and make you enjoy it, and make you perhaps think a little about the big issues within this story...I'll be happy.

Seriously, nothing makes a writer feel better than knowing people read their work. So please. Don't be afraid to comment or review. And so, without further ado, I give you my vision of the past. I give you...Frost.

————————————————-

The sun softly lilted over the quiet city of Lincoln, England, the skies above filled with soft, lilting clouds as a gentle zephyr blew through the hair of those walking into the cathedral. It was the tallest building in the world, towering higher even than the Great Pyramid of Giza, with a magnificent central spire reaching to the heavens above in the center of the large church, and smaller spires at the front, its big, huge double doors open and letting all inside.

Even the monsters.

They passed their way into the cathedral's south entrance under the "Bishop's Eye", an enormous, beautiful stained glass rose window, a companion piece to the "Dean Eye" on the north where people would be exiting. This was, of course, deliberate, for the South represented the Holy Spirit, whilst the North stood for the Devil. The Bishop gazed out at the south, to invite in, whilst the Dean gazed out to the North to shun. The Cathedral, therefore, looked upon both Heaven and Hell…metaphorically speaking. All were welcome inside, but when they left by the North, they'd be reminded to be wary of the guiles of the evil one.

And there…there she was. One of the biggest reasons people had decided that perhaps letting the monster race into the town of Lincoln wasn't such a bad idea. She was clad in her plain robes, but her white fur shone beautifully, her eyes closed as she sang for the assembled crowds making their way into the church. The backup choir behind her harmonized along with her powerful yet soft voice, a voice likes that of an angel that instantly drew your attention. Though she had little tiny nubs for horns atop her faintly goat-like skull, and her finger's nails were somewhat pointed, the cute, large feet, the little sweet pot belly you could see, and her voice, the VOICE! All of that was disarming. Even her eyes weren't scary, though red in color, they were very close to brown, and came off as more soothing than sinister as Toriel, proud member of Saint Mary's Cathedral, sang for the masses, as Father White watched in his own soft robes not far away from the pulpit.

As Toriel sang, her cross necklace glinted in the light filtering in through the stained glass windows of the cathedral, and people were practically hypnotized as the words lilted through the air. Her words brought to mind soft grass in a valley, of the wind blowing through flowers, with petals dancing on the wind. It made you think of warm rays of the sun that faintly kissed your skin, and a tenderness that was rare to find on Earth.

"She's one of the good ones, without a doubt." Said Tobias's father as the young lad with the cute smile and rosy cheeks quietly watched her, blushing a bit more as he gazed at her face.

"She's, um…quite a lovely singer, yes." He finally murmured out.

"If only ALL the monsters had as fine a voice as this "Baphomine"." Tobias's father James commented with a sigh as he put his arm around his wife Marietta. Quite a few of the inhabitants in the church nodded at this quietly murmured remark, though Tobias flinched at this, and it comforted him to see quite a few people turning to give James a rather irritated and angry look. "Remember, Tobias. In the service of the lord, even beings as lowly and wretched as monsters can be made almost human. Truly, the church's mercy is a thing to admire that even such beasts can be admired in some way."

"Well…beasts can't talk…" Tobias muttered. "I've not ever heard a dog or cow or frog speak."

"Oh, they can imitate our language much like they imitate our songs, but I doubt they really understand it. Much like how a…PARROT can imitate human speech but not comprehend it. They're merely following our lead, my son." James reasoned. Tobias held his tongue, though for a brief, dark, horrible moment, he imagined kicking his father in the shins.

At last, Toriel had finished her song and bowed, as people clapped in the aisles, and Father White moved forward, nodding his head at Toriel, taking the young, teenage monster's hands in his. "Bless you, Toriel. Bless your heart. And bless all of thee for coming. The Lord be With You."

"And also with you." The masses repeated back.

"We profess our belief in the Lord, Jesus. For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, so that whomever believed in him should have eternal life. This is the Gospel of the Lord."

"Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ."

Father White's thick black hair fell about his face as he his slightly scraggly-bearded face looked out among the throng. His blue eyes flitted very briefly over to Toriel before he spoke, loudly and firmly. "Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees! Hypocrites! For thou are like whited sepulchers, beautiful upon the outside, yet inwardly rotten, full of dead men's bones and all uncleanliness. Though thou appear outwardly righteous, within thee is hypocrisy and iniquity! The Gospel of Matthew, one of my absolute most favorite parts of all the New Testament. Every one of thee should know it. Matthew, one of the 12 Apostles, wrote this fine Gospel primarily for a specific audience. Do any here know who they were? Come, please. Raise thy hands. This is a safe place for all who want to believe, and you won't be judged or mocked if you get it wrong."

Tobias slowly raised a hand up, before anyone else, and when Father White pointed at him, he spoke as clearly as he could, Toriel's eyes looking right into his own. "Was the gospel written for the Jews, Father White?"

"Yes. Matthew makes mention of more Old Testament sections than any other gospel, and he saw Jesus as King of the Jews, who fulfills the prophecies within the Old Testament. He wanted Jewish people to be able to welcome Him into their hearts, and to convince them with that which they themselves held dear, the holy words and prophecies and lessons they took to heart. By showing them this, and the miracles Jesus performed, Matthew hoped they would welcome Jesus. Let us pray upon this."

He bowed his head, the people in the Cathedral following suit as Toriel bowed her own head. Come about 45 minutes later, the service was over, and she was nodding as people left the Cathedral…before quickly rushing over to one particular person. Or rather, one particular monster.

"Careful!" She quickly ushered the burning, constantly-on-fire Pyrope away from a tapestry just in time. Phew. Now the depiction of Christ on the cross wouldn't go up in flames! The big, coal-like, large-mouthed monster's head hopped up and down on the coiled, rope-like chest, stomach and lower body of his frame, wearing fancy sandals as the fiery hair he had slightly flared up before it cooled down at the sight of her worried face.

"My apologies." Percival Pyrope remarked, the burning fire upon his round, black, eyeless face turning into a very thin layer of fire, his "normal" state when he wasn't excited. The Pyrope and monsters much like him who could accidentally damage the church had to sit rather separated from the throngs of humans. Didn't want them burning down the church!

"Its alright, really. You've been VERY well behaved, thank you so kindly." Toriel said warmly, bowing at Percival Pyrope as he left the church and Toriel, in turn, walked over to Father White as he looked over a big copy of the Bible at his podium. "You were very, very considerate to use Matthew in today's sermon." She said, as Father Michael took her hands again and shook them.

"Anytime, Toriel. You are as a shining light in our church, and welcome here anytime you desire. You'll never be turned away from here." Father White insisted kindly as he briefly peered over Toriel's shoulder, taking notice of the fact that…yes. There he was. Little Toby had stayed behind and was nervously rocking back and forth on his feet. "May I help you, Toby?"

"Um…may I have confession, sir?"

"Of course. Come this way." Father White led Tobias off across the church and towards the booth used for confession as Toriel, in turn, made her way out of the church and towards the local inn to get lunch.

Though many of the townsfolk smiled a little at her, or bowed their heads, others quietly shuffled out of her way, a few muttering nervously, looking a bit pale as she entered the inn and sat down at a table, the innkeeper sending a server over to her as several people she'd not seen in town before glanced in her direction.

"…oh. Those. Let's…not stay. I'm not hungry at the moment." One of the men grumbled as his friends nodded, the bartender sighing a bit as he watched them leave, Toriel quickly digging into her robes pockets.

"Here, I'll pay a little extra to make up for your lost business."

"A pleasure doing business with you, then!" The innkeeper remarked with a big grin as he nodded at the server. "Hannah, give Ms. Choir Girl anything she'd like!"

"Not a problem at all…" Hannah said with a nod as she stood by Toriel. "So what do you want?"

"I'll have the usual." Toriel remarked as Hannah nodded, going off to get Toriel her salted meat dish she so adored, combined with a nice local ale as Toriel, in turn, took something else out of her pocket…silver shine polish for her cross necklace, a creation of her own design she'd made by herself. In fact, she made quite a bit of good money selling her artistic creations, and used a bit of the proceeds to help the church. It was only fair, she felt, given how they'd let her join, the first monster in Saint Mary's-

Toriel sniffed at the air, turning. Oh. A man behind her was looking over a pie that had been served to him and he tilted his head to the side as he examined it. "I wouldn't eat that if I were you, sir." Toriel spoke up softly as the man glanced up at her, then at the pie. "It smells…" She sniffed at the air. "Yes, I think whomever baked it didn't quite use proper butter."

"You can tell from smell?" The man asked. He HAD looked irritated looking at her but now his expression was one of wonder. "I had no idea. Is it because you Baphomine part goat?"

Toriel inwardly flinched, but she said nothing outwardly and shook her head. "No, no, my kind aren't part goat, we just resemble them somewhat. Much like how a statue only resembles a living being, but isn't truly one. And, uh…we'd prefer being called "púca", good sir."

"Pooka? That's…Irish, isn't it?" The man inquired, wearing a thick robe that looked quite fancy and having a short moustache and beard. He looked very nondescript otherwise as he sniffed the pie. "Well, I'll take your word for it. Thank you very much, Miss…um…your name?"

"Toriel."

"Do you have a second name?"

"Oh, no, we monsters don't always have that either."

"I'm learning so many things about your kind! My name's Hugh, by the way." He said with a small smile as, at last, Toriel's own meal arrived. "Please, sit with me. I'd like to know more about you and your kind. I don't mean to impose, but I've heard so much, and I'd like to come away from this knowing you and your ilk better."

Toriel nodded, and she moved her meal to his little table, sitting across from him. This wasn't the first time this had happened, and probably wouldn't be the last, but she didn't mind, not really. If it meant a better understanding of her people and of her, then this was fine. It reminded her of a story that Father White had said, of somebody seeing someone on the beach, picking up starfish and tossing them into the sea. The second person had admonished this starfish saver. "Look, there's hundreds of these, you'll never save them all. You can't think you're making a difference." But the other man had simply smiled, picked up another starfish, and tossed them off into the ocean, saying "It made a difference to THAT one."

Toriel would be that Good Samaritan. And Mr. Hugh would be yet another starfish. As she began to speak about her kind, she felt something almost familiar in him. Almost-

Ah. Now she realized. His hair. It was rather like that of her friend off in Wales. She wondered how he was doing.

As it were, winter was soon to settle in Wales, and the first quilting of clouds passed its way towards the ramparts of the castle on the hill. The sun's rays were being slowly but surely obscured by the greying blanket that was making its way over the inhabitants of the castle as the guard nonchalantly sat on its ramparts, keeping their eyes peeled. They had their weapons close at hand, ready to snatch up at a moments notice, bows had fresh drawstrings put in them, the spears had been finely shined and armor a-glinted in the few remaining rays of light that burst through the clouds above. A light wind ruffled through their hair as they looked about at each other, ready to make their move. The only question was…who would break first? Their opponent was crafty and calculating and-

"HA."

Lord Llywelyn Ap Iorwerth was smirking in delight, and he picked up the winnings from the men, shaking them about in one hand and looking supremely smug. His moustache quivered in that way it did whenever he was especially pleased with himself, his cloaked frame rising up as he put the winnings from the dice roll in his bag and shook it about in the air, his thick Welsh accent audible for all the men gathered about to hear. "Hear that, me lads? THAT'S the sound of success."

"Just wait." One of the men grumbled as his buddy scratched the bald patch in the midst of the spiky hair on either side of his head. "We'll get our money back soon enough. Another round!" He insisted, shaking his fist defiantly at their lord as his ponytail flopped off the side of his shoulder, his bowman friend adjusting the bag of arrows he had slung around his back. "How about it?" He asked as he turned to another pal.

"…I dunno, Arthus." The somewhat shorter, tubbier spearman shook his head as he plucked a bit at the stringed lute as had in his lap at the moment, humming a bit, his rather large chin slightly bouncing as he hummed a few bars, playing some more of the lute. "I think I want to cut my losses." He said, the slight wind in the air a-ruffling his somewhat poofy hair.

"Dylann is right. Ol' Bowen's up for anything…but not a second pounding at the dice." Bowen the Bowman said in his oddly low voice as he sighed and hung his head, shaking it back and forth. Sitting not far away two knights glanced at each other briefly as they stood on opposite sides of Lord Llywelyn, one with a half-visor esque helm who's lower half was slightly dotted with little holes, chainmail on his arms and legs as he hung his own head in dice defeat. His comrade, who wore a helm that was smooth and square-like and with a slightly jutting-out front with plate armor on his arms, but not his legs shook his head too.

"Gawain and I aren't interested in losing again."

"Iolo, come now!" proclaimed Arthus, looking rather mortified. "That's two week's pay you've lost!"

"And I don't want to lose another two weeks." The plate-mail having knight commented. "My dear "Artie"…one must know when to cut one's losses."

"Perhaps Elisud wants in?" Arthus asked as he and the others turned to the young lad who was looking out over the ramparts, who hadn't joined in the fun at all. Elisud, though being the youngest there at age 16, looked far older than he really was. He was already showing the beginnings of a five o'clock shadow with the faintest sign he was going to have quite the beard/moustache combination. He also had a bit of a receding hairline, his hair wafting about in the wind somewhat as he looked across the long stretches of grass to the east.

Elisud turned to look back at them, a slightly surprised…even annoyed…expression on his face. "Um…well, it is just…I mean, I've been told gambling is a sin, good sirs, and I don't want to sin. I AM going to be a Friar."

"Exactly. A Friar. You Franciscans have to take vows of chastity, poverty and obedience. Nothin' in there that says you can't GAMBLE, that ain't one of the 10 Commandments!" Arthus laughed.

"Besides, if you're concerned about the money…just give it back to these fine gentlemen. You can call that "charity"." Lord Llywelyn said with a smile at Elisud as he rubbed the back of his neck. Elisud had been training to be a self-taught Friar for weeks now, he'd read book after book about what it took and he wanted to establish a Franciscan monastery in Wales, there weren't ANY in the entire land and he wanted to be the first.

"Well…okay." He said at last before glancing back across the grass. "But are you absolutely sure we don't need to worry about them?" He wanted to know as he looked back over the long stretches of green at the distinctly white-skinned, odd mixture of ugly and cute that was sitting about 100 yards away from them. He'd been watching that froglike creature for a good ten minutes, and he'd been most unsettled at how it was just STARING at them all.

Froggits, they were called. They looked much like their namesakes, but there was…SOMETHING underneath their little bodies that peered out, some kind of bug of some kind that people suspected allowed the frog-like top to call forth flies to buzz forth and attack the monster's target. The fact that they were only about a foot tall made them a bit more worrisome to deal with than a normal frog, but still…

A frog monster with big stupid eyes that could summon a couple flies or so to buzz at you wasn't too intimidating. At least, the men clearly didn't think so as Dylann plucked at his lute some more and began to play a tune, the men sniggering all around.

"Elisud, it's a damn froggit. They're not scary!" Bowen said as he tapped his foot along to Dylann's tune, the others beginning to hum along as their Lord strolled over to Elisud to look over at the froglike creatures as well. "I mean, a good, hard shot from an arrow will send them scampering away."

"You could kick one into oblivion." Said Sir Iolo as Gawain nodded his agreement. "They're not as dangerous as the Melusine or the Baphomine race."

"Their magical skill's pathetic." Arthus commented. "All they do is summon flies."

Elisud glanced about. "…do any of you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Dylann asked as he stopped fooling with the lute, tilting his head to the side.

"Sort of a…buzzing noise?" Elisud murmured, looking over at the froggits, eyes a little narrowed. "Are they trying to summon their flies?"

"I don't see any over there." The lord remarked as he gazed upon the froggits as well, tilting his head somewhat.

"Really, don't worry, Elisud! The foolish froggits may have numbers but that is all they have. Should any attempt to get within reach of the castle, we shall let loose our arrows on them and they shall perish from the onslaught." Sir Gawain offered to Elisud. "Now come, come!" Gawain rose up too and clasped Elisud on the back. "Try a liiiiittle bit of gambling. You've got a good month to go before you leave us and get started on building the monastery. You can live a little."

"And it's of course an honor to build it with your permission…and money, Lord Llywelyn." Elisud added with a bow. "But if thee don't mind my asking, why did your wife want to help me set it up?"

"I suspect that papal decree from Pope Honorius III has gotten her very grateful towards the Church." Lord Llewelyn mused aloud. "Who am I to deny her? Now come, come! You want to win this gold, don't you?" He asked, shaking the bag about, making it jingle with its many coins. Elisud smiled warmly and sat down on the ramparts as his lord did the same, and Sir Gawain and Iolo began to hum merrily, Dylann beginning to sing as he so often did whilst Bowen and Arthus got out their own respective instruments from nearby bags, a flute and a viol, playing along with Dylann as he closed his eyes and sang joyously.

The song wafted through the air as Elisud and Lord Llywelyn rolled their dice, eager to keep the fun going as the minutes went on, the singing making the group practically glow with a kind of warm, soft light that brought a smile to Elisud's face. Still, even though he was enjoying their singing immensely, he couldn't bring himself to join in, whenever he tried to open his mouth to join in the revelry, he felt himself choke up, his neck tightening.

"If only I had a bit more bravery in me." He sighed sadly. Still, he didn't mind. It was just…nice…to enjoy his time with his wonderful, wonderful comrades here, and nice to have such a good, sweet lord.

"Alas. Snake eyes." His lord sighed as he hung his head, Elisud cheerily holding up the bag of gold he'd just gotten.

"Winning!" He giggled as he held the top open and, one after the other, poured out the winnings for everyone else to take hold of in their palms. "Here you are everyone. My sincerest compliments." He remarked before an idea came to him and he made his way towards the eastern rampart's wall, holding up the still-remaining coins in one hand. "Hello? Froggits?"

The frog monsters ALL turned to look directly in his direction.

"Look, if I were to give thee some coins, would thoust please leave?" Elisud inquired, the rest of his group looking a bit stunned by this, whilst his Lord sighed somewhat. The froggits glanced about at each other, and then "harrumphed".

"Mayhaps they don't have anywhere to put it. Ah well." Lord Llywelyn said with a shrug. "Not everyone welcomes the virtue of charity." He remarked as Elisud walked over to him, giving HIM the last bit of gold he had left, a look of surprise popping on the ruler of Wales's face.

"You didn't have to give me any of it back, I lost it, fair and square." Lord Llywelyn remarked.

"You're already giving me so much, sir." Elisud insisted with a beaming smile. "I could NEVER thank thee enough for that but at the very least I can give you a bit of coinage. Mayhaps use it to buy your wife a new dress with my compliments and deepest gratitude?"

Then he heard it once more. "There it is again!" He groaned, looking left and right. "That BUZZING noise. Don't all of thee hear it?"

The others glanced around, then Bowen sighed as he rose up, readying his bow and arrow and peering down over the ramparts, looking down the walls. "I don't see any silly froggit flies trying to climb up the walls." He called out. "You sure you're not a-hearin' things, Elisud?" He inquired as Elisud rose up, looking about, holding a hand to his ear and closing his eyes.

"The sound is coming from…over…there." He said, gesturing off towards the west as he quickly made his way to the far side of the castle, strolling over a connected pathway bridge, finally arriving at the other side…and his eyes bulged wide with horror. "OH MY GOD!"

Oh his God indeed, for now he saw what the buzzing noise was. The froggits on the eastern side had been a distraction, for a much larger frog that was a good three feet tall and with a crown upon its head stood there, eyes burning like coals, its mouth looking almost like it had been sewn shut, ready to burst open and let loose a horrific, soul-shattering croak. Underneath its body were burning, sickeningly bright eyes, and sweeping all about it…was a SWARM of flies that were sweeping along the grass, barreling towards the castle.

"SIRS! SIRS! We've got a MASSIVE, crowned Froggit to the west!" Elisud cried out. "He's unleashing a swarm of flies upon us all!" Elisud cried out as the men in the courtyard below and on the ramparts immediately bolted upright. Cries rang out as they took hold of their weaponry, Lord Llywelyn seeing the froggits on the east racing towards them.

"They are trying to ensnare us in a pincer movement! We must strike back! Ready your positions! Take aim with your bows, my bowmen and fire, fire, fire! Get me some boiling oil to keep them from getting inside the castle!" He roared out as Elisud reached into the folds of his robes, readying the small crossbow he had by his side as he got out his small little quiver of bows. He drew the string back, readying the bow as he took aim, then cringed. No, no, he could maybe hit a FEW flies but he'd never be able to do any proper damage.

"Light your arrows!" Lord Llywelyn yelled as he and others held up torches, the arrowmen lighting up the arrows they were ready to fire as Elisud did the same, nodding at his lord. "We'll be able to strike more down this way! Here they come!"

The flies had almost reached the castle, that horrific, foul, unnatural buzzing filling the air as the Final Froggit let loose a big, loud, ear-splitting GRRROAAAARRRKKKKK of a noise, and Lord Llywelyn cried "FIRE!"

THWOOSH-THWOOSH-THWOOSH! Arrows soared forth, rapped in burning flames, barreling down at the flies, others aimed at the onslaught of froggits. The screeches and cries of dying Froggits was oddly human in how they sounded, it was SCARY how much a frog's cry was like a man's. But down they went all the same as the bowmen kept firing, big, large, burning chunks getting torn through the ensuing flies. The horde broke again and again, the attempt to break through the castle defenses appeared to be failing.

But Elisud could see a distinctly smug look on the Final Froggit's face. He kept hopping leisurely towards the castle, and the flies kept coming. Elisud didn't know why he was so smug and cheery but-

Then he realized why as he reached into his quiver and found out that he'd run out of arrows. And evidently, so had most of his friends! The men were clearly out of arrows and now they were trying to pour down boiling oil as the flies soared towards them…but the flies could dodge these far more easily than the arrows, soaring up, away from the boiling oil to shoot down at the men.

"AGGGHHH!" Elisud could see his comrades being swarmed by loads and loads of flies. Though the Froggit assault from their front line had failed miserably, the Final Froggit's flies were succeeding very well. They tried to swat and slash and bat at the insects sweeping all about them, getting in their eyes, biting at their flesh, but though they knocked several of them down, it was proving nigh-impossible to kill the little pests.

Only those who'd put on armor had some degree of protection as they were being kept from being bit…until the flies got into their hoods, forcing folks like Gawain and Iolo to rip their helmets off as quickly as they could, spluttering, coughing, digging at their eyes, the flies trying to eat their eyeballs out!

Elisud gasped in horror, surrounded on all sides by his beset friends, the screaming of the dying and the hurt and the terrified all around him. He had to do something. ANYTHING! Anything at all! He had to get rid of all of these flies! He turned, seeing the Final Froggit now atop the ramparts, a distinctly smug look on its features as it stuck its tongue out mockingly at him.

"Not so high and mighty in your castle NOW, are you, humans?" It inquired as Elisud felt a shudder go over him, the frog-like monster gazing right at him as…something unexpected happened.

In fact…three things happened in quick succession.

PING! A big, green heart manifested in midair in front of Elisud, and the Final Froggit sneered at him again, Elisud's eyes widening.

A powerful, yet oddly soothing and tender balm of emerald light rose up around Esliud's frame as his vibrant verdant eyes sparkled.

And he covered his face and his head with his arms, flopping onto his knees, wanting the flies and the froggy monster to just go away, as an enormous, pulsating, throbbing shield of green light cascaded forth, shooting out from his body. THA-THWOOOOM! All of the flies around him, and the Final Froggit too, went sailing through the air, the other flies dissolving away in midair as the Final Froggit's concentration was shattered by the sudden burst of what could only be described…

As MAGIC. Pure Green Magic…from a Soul of Kindness.

TRHROMPH. He hit the ground, groaning, the men gazing in amazement, fear and wonder at Elisud as he looked down at his hands, which slightly glowed with the same green light as the shield, the Final Froggit quickly hopping away from the castle as fast as his little legs could carry him, not wanting to stick around to fight a MAGE as Lord Llywelyn approached Elisud, and the obvious question came from his lips.

"Elisud…how in the name of everything holy did you do that?"

"I haven't any idea." Elisud whispered. "…what did I just DO?"

"That's MAGIC, my boy. Magic, right there. No doubt about it!" Gawain whispered, bite marks all over his cheeks and left side of his face, whilst poor Bowen was missing one of his fingers, nibbled off by the flies as he had his hand wrapped up, and was cringing in pain. "I've only heard stories of the wonders of the mages."

"Does anyone know anything of what green magic does?" Dylann inquired as Iolo rubbed over his eye. He had a VERY nasty wound, the flies had tried to eat it out of its socket and had eaten the eyelid away.

"It's healing magic. Shielding magic. The sign of a compassionate and kind soul." He whispered as Elisud's mouth fell agape. "Perchance he could heal our wounds."

"I can…try." Elisud murmured.

"Try to think of how you used it just now. What was going through your mind?" Lord Llywelyn asked, putting a hand on Elisud's shoulder as he bit his lip.

"I…just wanted that monster to leave us alone. That thought flared in my mind, in my heart. I just wanted him to GO, and…and something erupted up inside me."

"Concentrate then on…Bowen, for starters. Bowen, your wound!" Lord Llywelyn proclaimed as Bowen raced over to Elisud, the others watching on in awe, as Esliud held onto Bowen's hand. "Think only of healing his wound. Try to picture his healed hand in your mind. All of you, stay silent! Let him focus. Let him breathe. Let him feel the swell of healing light within." The lord reasoned as Esliud took in deep, long breaths, as he closed his eyes, his hands feeling over Bowen's injured hand, picturing the flesh growing back.

Slowly but surely, he felt the surge a-swelling up in him but…no, no, it was more like a soft ripple. A gentle wave, a balm that soothingly slid from his hands in a tender green aura, as Bowen's finger began to grow back, good as new, right before their eyes.

"Tis a miracle." Bowen softly whispered, tears brimming in his eyes. "Tis truly a blessing from God himself that you'd gain this power, at our most dire hour! There can't be any other explanation!"

"Now, now, Elisud has other wounds to treat. But once he has finished, we celebrate." Lord Llywelyn proclaimed firmly as he gently patted Elisud's back. "Esliud, your hands were meant to heal, that much is true. And we'll celebrate tonight with a glorious feast in your name."

"I don't know if I deserve it, sir. Anyone with my gift would surely do the same." Esliud said humbly as he blushed somewhat.

"Then we'll celebrate to God's grace, that allowed us to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. Sound better to thy ears?" Lord Llywelyn asked as Esliud warmly smiled back.

"I don't think God would mind that at all, sir. Nor would I. You all honor me with your faith in my new skills, I only hope I can do right by you." He insisted with a bow of his head.

Meanwhile, the Final Froggit had made his way far across the expanse to the west, and had found refuge within the forest, a deep, dark woods indeed. The lack of sun from the quilt of clouds above made the only light from within be illuminated all the more as a burning figure stood in powerful armor, sitting on a big, gigantic dolmen, surrounded by a host of other creatures, all of whom were radically different from each other. There were creatures with only one eye and nasty, foul horns, the eye in the center of their gigantic head. It would blink every once in a while, and shift, and the one eye became two tiny ones with a little, smirking mouth. Another being would have been adorable in its tiny little winged armor, save for the coldness that emanated from its helmet as it spun a spear about. A big, hulking, horned knight of a monster had a gigantic Morningstar resting upon its shoulder, and it turned to the burning, humanoid being in armor, clearing its throat.

"The Regimental Leader of the Froggit Squad's Welsh Platoon 1 is here, sir."

The Final Froggit was allowed to pass by the towering behemoth of a monster as the burning being folded his arms over his chest. Upon examination, the being was…just barely an adult. He looked eighteen, really, with fire for skin, for hair, and lacking a proper face, save for two yellowish, intense spots that resembled eyes.

"How did it go?"

"…miserably." The Regimental Leader sighed. "I'm very, very sorry Lord Grillersby. They had a mage with them. One blast of his shield scattered my flies and sent me flying, and my divisions…well…I have no divisions. They crumbled from the onslaught of arrows, and are now but dust in the wind."

"That is very unfortunate." Grillersby, better known as "Grillby" to his friends, sighed as he hopped off the dolmen and paced back and forth. "Still, we need a good foothold in Wales and killing their king would finally teach the humans they can't keep pushing us around. He's the weakest and easiest to get to of all the rulers of these islands. If we can't get to him, we certainly won't be able to get any of the others!"

"What of the one they call Cu Chulainn, sir?" The Regimental Leader asked as everyone else drew in a deep, harsh breath. "Has Melusine not proven effective against him?"

"You would THINK." Grillersby grunted. "…you would think. Unfortunately, it would seem the rumors are true. He's as a demon on the field of battle. Sigh." He hung his head. "I'm going to have to write back to poor Asgore and let him know the bad news. And that means he's going to have to give his Father the bad news. And I'll have to deliver it myself to ensure the letter isn't intercepted before it gets to our dear skeletal friends in England..."

[ridiasfangirlings]

Title: Moon in Water 6/6

Fandom: K Project

External: AO3

Ratings/Warnings: T

Summary: A run in with trouble on a dark night lands Yata on an island that shouldn’t exist, with the first human he’s ever seen in his life. Except that everything about Fushimi is different from what Yata’s heard humans should be…

Notes: I started this for Sarumi Fest last year, so fittingly I’m finishing it for the fest this year. Please enjoy the final chapter ^^

“I’ll come back for you, all right?”

“You can’t, Misaki.”

The moon cast long shadows on the ground and Yata glanced back at the figure sitting on the rock. The small glowing blue gem on the bracelet gleamed softly, a light on the dark. Yata had held onto that wrist all the way through the forest, past danger that he knew he couldn't even fully grasp the shape of. They had emerged from the dark of the trees largely unscathed in the end, aside from a few small scratches and cuts. There was nothing but open sky between them now, and even so Yata felt as if he wanted to reach out again, keep hold of that thin wrist and make sure this person stayed in the light.

“Why not?”

“You saw him. That guy.” Hunched shoulders, fingers playing with the shining beads. “Everything that’s mine gets…”

“Gets…?” Yata prompted but his companion looked away instead, biting his lip.

“It’ll all be destroyed. He’ll be here soon, and he won’t—you can’t stay with me.”

“But…aren’t we friends?” Yata reached out a hand, fingers spread wide. “I want to play with you more!”

“Friends…” A shake of the head. “I don’t have any friends.”

“Yeah you do! I’m your friend!” Perfectly convinced, and wide eyes stared back at him. “If there’s a bad person after you I’ll rescue you! I’ll take you super far away and he won’t ever find you!”

“Take me far away…” There was something wistful in that tone that made Yata almost want to cry even though he wasn’t certain of the reason why. “You can’t. He…has something that’s mine. I can’t leave without it.”

“Then we’ll get it back! I know lots of good tricks for finding things. And if it’s you and me we can do anything!” Yata believed it completely. Hadn’t they made it the whole way through the forest together, made it safely away from the uwabami and hidden from the scary man with the shadowy monsters? If it was the two of them, Yata was certain they could take on anyone, no matter if they were small and weak. Together, they were strong.

“You can’t. Even if it’s us…it’ll all break.”

What will break? Yata was confused but didn’t ask, because he wasn’t sure he’d get an answer.

“But if I leave we might not see each other again.” The idea made Yata scrunch up his nose. Just when he’d found a friend, and now…

There was a sound from above them, wind whistling by, and they both looked up. A figure could be seen silhouetted against the moon, wide feathery wings and familiar braided hair.

“Mama!” Yata waved his hands and wondered if she could see him even in the dark.

“Here.” The bracelet was held out to him and Yata looked at it curiously. “She can see you when the stone shines.”

“But isn’t it yours?”

“Yeah, but…” Kicking at the dirt. “It’s not important. He’ll break it eventually anyway. So you keep it.”

“All right…” Yata held out his hands and the bracelet was dropped into his open palms. A bright smile lit up his face as he held it close, the gem glowing blue against his skin. “It’s pretty! The color’s like your eyes.”

The blue eyes widened again and Yata reached for his hand.

There was another gust of wind and Yata looked up, waving the bracelet in the air. He could see his mother’s shadow stop and then turn, arrowing straight towards him.

“Misaki.” Yata heard the voice behind him, soft and sure. “My name — my true name is —”

“Look, she saw us! I’m sure if Mama’s here we can—” Yata whirled back to look at his friend, hand still outstretched, but where his companion had been there was only a small pile of leaves. “H-hey, where…”

Before he could say anything more his mother’s wings folded around him and he was pulled into her arms, her head against his and a grateful sigh in his ear.

“Misaki….!”

–

“Misaki. Misaki.”

The soft but insistent voice dragged him from his dream and Yata’s eyes blinked sluggishly as he tried to remember where he was.

“I’m up, I’m up…” He shook his head, trying to erase the remnants of the dream that he could still feel lingering on the edge of his mind. Unconsciously one hand touched his bare wrist and a different memory came rushing back, blue stones falling into the grass and a shadow in the water. Yata’s face twisted in a grimace as he sat up, trying to stretch out his sore cramped wings. He’d fallen asleep in an awkward position against some of the taiko drums Totsuka had set up for the ceremony, wings draped carelessly around him, and there were flower petals in his hair.

Anna was staring back at him with an odd expression, her hair braided and plaited atop her head and decorated with flowers and kanzashi. The tips of her white wings had been dipped into some kind of gold dye that Kusanagi had received as a special offering and the red sigils that had been drawn on her forehead and cheeks stood out starkly against her white skin.

“A-Anna…” Yata sat up straight, swallowing a curse. “S-sorry, I fell asleep…” He laughed sheepishly, looking down at his hands.

It had been three days since he’d last gone to see Fushimi. He’d returned to Home Nest after their last talk angry and confused, going straight to his own nest and sleeping without a word to anyone. He’d spent the last few days throwing himself into the preparations for Anna’s ceremony, helping Totsuka and Kusanagi prepare everything while avoiding Anna herself, who seemed to be staring at him in concern every time he caught her eye.

The ceremony had finally begun that evening, just as soon as the sun had set, and per tradition was to last until sunrise when Mikoto would officially hand over control of Homra to Anna. Though the moon was still visible above the sky had lightened considerably since Yata last remembered looking, and it was clear that he had been asleep for several hours when he should have been celebrating with everyone else.

“Misaki has been tired lately.” Anna sounded concerned and Yata gave her a shaky smile.

“Well, we’ve been real busy and…and it’s not just me, Kusanagi-san’s been working hard, and Totsuka-san too, so I can’t slack off!” He laughed and it sounded painful and fake to his own ears. There was a small jangling of jewelry as Anna reached out and placed a hand on Yata’s wrist.

“Misaki is troubled.” Her eyes were half closed and her hands pressed together as if rolling dough, fingers entwined, white skin along white skin, and then a small hint of red as a tiny marble formed in her palm. She held it up to her eyes and Yata had to stop himself from stepping back as she turned her gaze on him. “Something painful happened?”

“Anna, you don’t have to—” Yata started to protest and Anna lowered the marble, staring at him with an open expression.

“Tatara says if something hurts you should share it with others,” she said quietly. “So it doesn’t grow big inside your chest, like a walnut that becomes a tree.”

“Ah…” Yata’s expression shifted, eyes lowered and his mouth a thin wavering line. “It’s—I thought somebody was my friend but they were lying to me all this time. Or…I guess he was? I mean — we haven’t known each other long but it felt like — like I should know him? Or like we’d been friends forever even though we only talked a little. He always acted like a jerk but then sometimes he’d smile at me, you know? And I felt proud because I made that guy smile. So I don’t get it. He couldn’t have meant that he was — but then what the hell was he talking about? If he’s in trouble I could help... but that guy isn’t the type who asks for help when he needs it.” Yata clenched a fist. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Misaki knows.” Anna’s hands closed over Yata’s fist, gentle fingers on taut skin. “That person has something important of Misaki’s, right?”

“Wait, you mean…my name? You could tell that?”

“Not that.” Anna shook her head. “He gave it back. Misaki’s been missing part of it since the first quarter moon. But now it's whole again.”

“He…gave it back to me?” That didn’t make any sense either. From what Fushimi had said, and from what he and that asshole Munakata had shown, just holding Yata’s name would have been enough to control Yata any way he wanted. If Fushimi had really been planning something — trying to eat him, or toying with him — it didn’t make sense that he would give the name back after everything.

“I can see it.” Anna held up the marble to her eye again. “Misaki’s name is whole. But the red string hasn’t faded. It connects here.” She touched a finger to his chest, above his heart. “A very old, almost forgotten feeling. But it remains there, strongly knotted. Tied to that person.”

“To…Anna, so—so you remember I told you about Fushimi, right?” Yata asked quietly.

“I saw a dream.” Anna moved the marble from palm to palm and it grew bigger with each passage of her hand until she needed both to hold it. “There was a name written on the moon. Someone was chasing after it and it kept shedding pieces and growing smaller, like a vegetable being cut. Finally that person’s hand managed to reach it, but it was too late. A monster rose up from the ground and swallowed the name and the moon. Without the moon there was only a long, long sleep. A red moon ate the sun, and the sun ate the moon, over and over. A sleeping child grew claws and teeth and tore at the earth, but he could not grasp what had been taken from him. That person cannot take back his own missing piece. It must be given.”

“I don’t get…” Yata’s voice trailed off as the memory of a familiar sullen voice seemed to echo in his ears, as clear as if Fushimi was right beside him. “There are things that are part of you, and that the world sinks into you. Your name, the wind blowing your face, the moon shining its light on you. If you lose it, you can’t be yourself anymore.”

Of course. Of course. Yata felt like an idiot for not having figured it out on his own, from the moment he’d seen the reflection of the nue in the water of the pool.

Someone had taken Fushimi’s name.

“Anna!” Yata’s head shot up, face determined. “How do I get it back for him?” Anna closed her eyes, shaking her head.

“The words were written on the moon,” she said quietly. “That was all I saw. I hoped…Misaki might understand the rest.”

The moon…? Yata’s mind flashed back to the dark pool again, to the white moon that had been reflected where a red one should be. Then…is that where his name is? In the water?

There was no way to be sure, but…it was the only idea he had, the only thing he could think of. If he could get Fushimi’s name back that would break whatever spell or curse had turned him into the nue, and then Yata could kick his ass for being such a stupid idiot who had to push Yata away instead of just fucking asking for help like a normal person.

“But how am I supposed to get the reflection of the moon out of the water?” Yata murmured to himself and Anna reached out and took his hands in hers, tugging him lightly so that found himself lowering down onto one knee.

“Misaki will find a way.” She leaned up, wings flapping a little to help keep her balance as she pressed her forehead against Yata’s. “Something precious was left behind. That person has been clinging to it all this time.”

“Is it…okay?” Yata asked quietly. “I mean, it’s your induction ceremony, and…”

“If Misaki is needed there, you should go.” Anna smiled gently. “So you won’t have any regrets.”

“Right.” Yata gave her a shaky smile. “Thanks, Anna. I’ll be back soon, all right? And I’ll have that guy with me.”

Anna only nodded, a thoughtful expression on her face, and Yata finally turned away from her, spreading his wings. In moments he was in the sky again, flying towards the island whose location he already seemed to know by instinct, as if some beacon there was guiding him back like a lighthouse in a storm.

–

The sun hadn’t risen yet by the time Yata reached Fushimi’s island and as he circled the pool Yata could still see that white moon gleaming in the water, bright and full despite the way the actual sky above was starting to lighten.

How do I get it out? Yata dipped a hand into the water just above the reflection of the moon. It rippled under his touch and there was a strange tingling feeling that spread throughout his body, as if he’d stepped inside a ringing bell, but once Yata raised his hand the water steadied and the reflection still remained, full and whole as always.

Yata glided low and then landed right at the edge of the water, staring down. The pool was deep and dark and it was impossible to tell how far down it went. Yata felt a surge of frustration — how the hell was he supposed to remove a reflection from the water? And even if he did, who knew if that really was where Fushimi’s name was hidden, or how Yata gave that back. Fushimi had said it himself, hadn’t he, and Munakata after that: name magic wasn’t tengu magic. Even if Yata had been someone with powers like Totsuka or Anna, trapping a name was beyond him.

“Misaki. Didn’t I tell you never to come back?” A cold voice made him turn. Fushimi stood directly beneath the torii gate, arms crossed, an almost weary look on his face.

“Why didn’t you tell me, you asshole?” Yata snapped back. “It’s your name, right? That’s why you transformed. Something stole your name.”

A momentary look of surprise crossed Fushimi’s face before it twisted into a frown as he gave a harsh bark of laughter.

“So you figured it out? It’s not hard if you know how magic works, Misaki.” Fushimi shrugged, taking a step forward. “This doesn't change anything. A sacrifice is still a sacrifice. Now that you’ve found out the game you’re no use to me anymore.”

“That’s not why I’m here.” Yata moved forward to meet him, refusing to lower his gaze. “I came to save you, Fushimi.”

“Save me?” Fushimi scoffed, shaking his head. “That was broken a long time ago, Misaki. Just like everything else. And you don’t even remember, do you? Even though to me it was the only good thing in the world. To you, it wasn’t even important enough for a memory.” He opened his hands then, and Yata saw the small familiar blue beads resting in Fushimi’s palm for just a moment before Fushimi tossed them away. “The sun is rising, Misaki. If you don’t want to be eaten, go away.”

“I’m not leaving,” Yata said firmly, bending down to pick up the fallen beads. They were still shining faintly and Yata's fingers clenched around them. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, and I don’t care. You’re my friend and I’m going to save you whether you want me to or not.”

“But…aren’t we friends?” A soft whisper on the wind, something rising from the depths of his memory for just a moment and then it flew away again, drawn out by invisible fingers, and Yata couldn't recall when he'd said those words, who he'd said them to.

“You’re going to die.” Fushimi’s voice was fierce and cold but there was an undercurrent of something like desperation that was impossible for even Yata to miss. “I won’t leave so much as your bones behind, Misaki. I’m going to destroy it all on my own. Bad luck, everywhere. So get the hell out of here and forget about me. It’s what you do best, after all.’

“Why the hell are you giving up so easily?” Yata reached forward then, roughly grabbing onto Fushimi’s thin wrist and holding tight.

“Let go of me, Misaki!”

“I’m not giving up on us, Fushimi,” Yata stated. “Let me help you, okay? I know you’re a stupid stubborn jerk, but you’re my stupid stubborn jerk and I want to save you. You know it’s time for our new King’s induction ceremony, right? And I left it. I left my flock during the most important time because right now there’s nothing that’s more important to me than fixing whatever the fuck is wrong with you!”

“You’re too late.” Fushimi’s voice was like a funeral bell, thick and heavy as he tore his wrist from Yata’s grip with an almost supernatural strength. Mist suddenly seemed to be gathering close around them and there was something pale and translucent about Fushimi’s skin. “Too late, Misaki…you’re far far too late…”

And then Fushimi was swallowed up the clouds as the sun burst over the horizon and bathed the entire island in bright yellow light.

“Fushimi!” Yata choked on mist that suddenly clogged his lungs as if it were thick smoke, his entire line of vision obscured. Yata swore and spread his wings, flapping hard in order to create a wind strong enough to blow the mist away, at least enough that he could see where he was standing. In the half light of the morning he could see that the island had already begun to change, just as he’d noticed when he’d come here the first time in the sunlight: as the mist poured out over the terrain everything suddenly grew more cracked and worn, as if years of disuse were catching up to it all at once. There was no sign of Fushimi whatsoever but the clouds still hanging low around him told Yata that Fushimi was probably nearby — the nue Fushimi, at least, and Yata took a careful step back towards where he knew the pool had to be.

He needed to figure out a way to get Fushimi’s name out of the moon and the moon out of the water, he knew that much, but Yata had no idea how to do it. If he just reached his hand in now, in the light, would it come to him? Or…

The prospect of diving in made him bite his lip, recalling how he’d almost drowned the first time. Water was an opposing element for tengu, and swimming to the depths in search of something that might not even be reachable was a poor plan even by Yata’s admittedly thin standards.

A sound cut through the mist, the high lonely bird’s cry that Yata recognized immediately, and he barely took to the sky in time to avoid Fushimi’s claws as the nue jumped at him. Fushimi’s eyes were glowing red, staring at him as though he was nothing more than a piece of meat, than prey. They weren’t Fushimi’s eyes at all, and the thought had barely crossed Yata’s mind before Fushimi attacked again, the thick striped legs and sharp tiger claws scoring deep gashes in the ground where they just missed ripping through Yata’s limbs. He cursed to himself as he pulled the wooden spoon from where it was still strapped against his back, lengthening it into a staff just in time to parry another attack.

“Fushimi!” Yata tried desperately, staff still held up in a defensive position. “Hey! It’s me, you idiot! I’m trying to help you!”

There was the bird call again, echoing and haunted, and all of a sudden the mist started swirling around Yata fast and thick, all but pinning him inside. Yata swung his staff once to disperse it and then jumped into the air, settling on the worn torii gate out of reach of the nue.

The nue, which was now between him and the suddenly clouded pool.

Now what? Yata thought, fingers clenching on the staff. He needed to get to the pool but he couldn’t do anything while defending himself from Fushimi, who was as fast and agile as he’d been the first time Yata had run into him, before Yata had known who the nue really was. He could try and lose Fushimi in the woods but Yata knew he couldn’t waste too much time on running around — he didn’t know how long it would take to retrieve Fushimi’s name and the possibility of being waylaid by who knew what else was hiding on this stupid island was high.

Suddenly the gate lurched and Yata gave an undignified squawk, clinging to the wood as he glanced downwards. Fushimi was slamming his body against the bottom of the gate, as if trying to bring it down. Another powerful slam was enough to make Yata lose his footing entirely and he opened his wings awkwardly as he half-flew, half-fell to the ground just along the slope of the hill. Fushimi was already approaching him, slow and predatory like a cat cornering a bird, and Yata couldn’t help but glance helplessly beyond him at where he knew the pool was.

He was being herded away and he didn’t know how to stop it. At this rate he would have to give up, and then Fushimi…

No. Yata’s hands tightened on his staff, teeth clenching. He didn’t even know why he was so determined — it wasn’t like they’d known each other long, and Fushimi had been in turns frustrating and annoying, mood swings and mocking words, and even in those few moments they’d connected Yata had always felt as if there was something…missing, in their interactions, as if he was constantly stretching for something that was always dangling just out of reach. But even so he wanted to keep holding his hand out, wanted to grasp that invisible thing between him and Fushimi, wanted to talk to him more, to see him smile again, to make him laugh. If he retreated now, they might never see each other again.

A thick dark cloud suddenly descended on him from above, obscuring his vision, and it was only instinct that allowed Yata to sweep his staff up in time to block Fushimi’s next attack. As it was he still found himself sent reeling, again rolling down the hill and banging his knees against hard cracked stone. He had barely managed to get to his feet when Fushimi was there once more in front of him, eyes burning, not a single sign of recognition in the monstrous face, and even as Yata reached for his fallen staff he wasn’t sure if he could parry the next blow in time.

“Misaki!” He heard the familiar voice in his bones, almost, and the moment Yata looked up a sudden burst of flame lit up the dark mist surrounding him. Fushimi hissed and dived back, muscles taut and still clearly on the hunt, eyes never leaving Yata’s as Yata stumbled to his feet and followed the source of the flames with wide eyes. Through the thinning mist Yata was able to make out a handful of figures descending towards him.

“Mikoto-san!” He recognized the flame red wings instantly — Mikoto and Kusanagi, and half a dozen other Homra members flying towards him, landing between him and the now wary Fushimi.

But…how? Yata’s throat felt dry even as his heart leapt with relief. Fushimi said you couldn’t find the island without knowing where it is…

“Misaki!” A rustle of beads and feathers and Anna landed beside him, a black fur stole wrapped around her shoulders.

“Anna…it’s not safe here, what are you—”

“We came to help Misaki.” Anna’s face was tired but determined, and suddenly Yata remembered how she’d pressed her forehead against his before he left.

Anna was a Diviner, and Yata was part of her flock. Of course she would know where Yata was, even if that location was hidden from the eyes of every other person in the world.

“I don’t know what to do,” Yata admitted breathlessly, eyes not leaving the figures of Mikoto and the others as they kept Fushimi at bay. “I know his name has to be in the water, but…”

“It can only be retrieved by hands that are truly willing to reach for it.” The voice came from Anna’s coat and Yata nearly jumped at the sound. Now that she was beside him he could see that it wasn’t a fur stole at all around her shoulders but a thin wiry fox, nine tails waving even in this form.

“Reisi knows this magic,” Anna said by way of explanation, and Yata furrowed his brow.

“Willing to…what the hell does that mean?”

“If it is trapped in the water, you must dive in.” Munakata’s voice was calm, despite the chaos around them. “Unless you are too afraid, Yatagarasu-kun?”

“I’m not—” Yata shook his head, steeling himself. “Anna…make sure they don’t hurt Fushimi, okay?”

“Mmm.” Anna nodded, touching his hand. “I gave an order, not to burn anything that doesn’t need to be burnt. So Misaki can go save his friend.”

“I-I’m off, then.” Yata spread his wings and leaped into the air without another word, arrowing straight for the pool. His wings flattened as he rose higher into the air, clearing the line of smoke and mist, and the pool below was murky and clouded. But even so Yata could just make it out – a wavering image of a pure white moon, deep within the water.

Fushimi… Yata swallowed, glanced back once, and then down again at the pool. You better be grateful for this, you asshole!

Yata drew his wings up close to his body and dived straight down into the water.

“What are you doing, little monkey?”

The words burned in his ears and his body tensed as he looked up from where he’d been drawing a sign in the dirt with a stick. A man stared down, teeth bared in a smile, white and sharp, and it made his entire body shake all the way from his ears to…

(Not mine, Yata realized, because it wasn’t. He was looking at things from Fushimi’s eyes, listening to Fushimi’s thoughts echoing in his own ears — his body was nothing but a thought, limbs he couldn’t feel, wings that were like a sketch of a thing that once existed along the back that wasn't there, he couldn’t ruffle his feathers or speak or breathe—)

(But he didn’t need to, because he wasn’t drowning. There was a moon shining just out of reach, and all that Yata was had been enveloped by the echoes of Fushimi’s memory.)

“I wasn’t doing anything.” The voice was dull and sullen, exactly Fushimi’s usual tone, but there was a noticeable tension along his shoulders, Yata could feel it, and his — Fushimi’s — feet shifted slightly, the smallest hint of nervousness. The man in front of him — Niki, the memory whispered, like the smooth hiss of a snake — smiled wider.

“Do want to play a game?” Niki clenched a fist and Fushimi gave the smallest yelp, involuntary, and Yata could feel the rush of irritation swelling in on him from all sides at the slip. There was a burst of pain and Fushimi’s hands and arms seemed to move of their own accord, wiping out the sign easily.

“Go away!” It was like the bark of a desperate kit abandoned in the snow, and Niki laughed.

“All right, all right, we’ll play!” Niki opened his hands, and small floating fires appeared there. “Let’s see if you can outrun these. All right, (—)?”

(It was like a sudden buzzing in Yata’s ears, something that had wiped out the name that had been spoken from even Fushimi's own mind, from his own memories.)

Fushimi’s whole body jerked up at the sound of it, eyes wide, breath catching not of his own accord, and Niki laughed.

“I’ll give you a head start. What do you say?”

Something like terror welled up in his throat, terror and hatred and a bone deep chill like Yata had never felt before, and Fushimi ran.

The fires followed, and burned marks deep in his skin that didn’t disappear for weeks. Niki laughed.

Then Yata was himself again for just a moment, water washing over him and he could almost see his own hands outstretched in front of him before Fushimi's memories swallowed him up again.

He was ill, shivering on top of the cold offering stone. Someone had left plants there — herbs, Yata thought for a second, before Fushimi’s memories corrected him with poison ivy leaves and hemlock — and his head was spinning.

Figures moved around him, in and out of the shadows. Yata and Fushimi could both hear them, dimly, though only Yata could really make out the words.

“That’s his child.”

“Don’t touch him.”

“We should have known better than to let them stay here. That kind brings only bad luck and tragedy.”

“Where is he? He’ll come back as long as the child’s here. They aren't our tribe, we can't allow them to stay.”

“We should have cast him out long ago, the moment we learned what he really was.”

“You do that. I’ll watch. That one is too strong.”

“Has always been too strong. Even the child…”

“The child has your blood, doesn’t it?” This last directed to a woman, with cold eyes and sharp claws, and she turned away without even looking at the figure on the stone.

“Not mine.” Her voice was colder than the rock Fushimi lay on. “Even I couldn't break that illusion, that's all. Look at his color, his blood is all one with that man. No part of him is mine.”

Midnight, and Fushimi managed enough strength to crawl to the woods and vomit. Something tugged on him, pulling him back like a dog on a leash, and Niki was there reflected in the moon, watching.

“You’re no fun today, monkey. Hey, (—) aren’t you angry? They left you to die. Only Daddy came back for you. Daddy will always come back for you.”

Niki leaned in, whispered in Fushimi’s ear.

“Go warm things up for them.”

Something painful again, a sharp pull like a noose around his neck, and Fushimi stood.

A rush of images ran together, fingers dancing with flames, the sound of screams and a shrine bathed red and orange by fire, until finally there was only Fushimi standing there, alone.

Alone except for Niki, who stood beside him and smiled.

“Don’t worry. Papa will be with you forever. Isn’t that nice?”

Yata felt himself flailing a little under the water, lost for a moment, body tumbling helplessly down and he had the briefest glimpse of something white and shining before he was dragged back under into Fushimi’s memories.

Everything broke. Any toy he found, left for him in pieces. Any friend he made, chased away with fire and illusions and monsters set loose.

Fushimi wandered alone along the forest path, feet bare. Niki wasn’t around, but that didn’t mean anything. He would be there eventually. He always was, and there was no escaping that.

Something small and glowing caught his attention and Fushimi knelt down. There along the side of the path was a tiny glowing blue stone set in a bracelet. It had likely been left behind after the last one of Niki’s fires — another tribe had taken shelter in the old shrine again, and had stayed there for over a month before Niki chased them off laughing. A couple of them had smiled at him when they’d spotted him hiding in the trees, not realizing that just by Fushimi seeing them their fate had been sealed.

He reached down and picked up the bracelet, staring at the glowing stone. It felt cool against his skin, and the light was a little soothing.

Niki would break it, of course, so there was no point in getting attached to even something as small as this.

Even so, Fushimi slipped it into his pocket anyway.

(But that’s — Yata recognized the bracelet, hands he couldn’t see but still knew were there moving on instinct to touch his invisible wrist, the place where that bracelet had been for years until he’d given it to Fushimi. But the bracelet itself had been given to him by —)

(By —)

(By—)

Yata felt water entering his lungs and his body was heavy like a stone, pulled down further and further, and he could see the bottom of the pool at last — a great dark plain dotted with destroyed statutes and lit by a single pale moon. His feet hit the lakebed and dust billowed up around him, and made shapes like letters that floated away from Yata’s outstretched hands.

“I’m — ! I’m six years old.” A warm laugh, a warm smile. “Do you live in a bush?”

(The memory was dim and faded over, stretched thin like animal hide over a rock, and Yata felt it bubbling between his own  fingertips, just out of reach.)

“But…isn’t that lonely?”

[It’s not.] The words echoed, Fushimi’s thoughts filling the entire space of the world. [I’m not lonely. I’m fine on my own. I’ve always been fine on my own.]

“The most amazing guy I’ve ever met.”

[Not that amazing.] Heavy thoughts, a millstone dragging him down.  [I’m not. I can’t even hold onto —]

“I can’t leave you by yourself!”

[Why not?] True confusion, so strong Yata could feel it bubbling in his veins like blood. [Everyone else has. Everyone always does.]

“But…aren’t we friends?”

[I don’t have any friends.] Desperate now, as if Fushimi himself didn’t even believe those words.

“If there’s a bad person after you I’ll rescue you! I’ll take you super far away and he won’t ever find you!”

[You can’t.] But there was a sensation building up in Fushimi’s throat, hope and loneliness and longing, the desire to believe those words were true. Words no one had ever said before, not to him. No one ever came back for him except that guy. But bright eyes were shining down on him, a smile and a promise, and Fushimi took the bracelet from his wrist and held it out.

A flutter of wings, and Fushimi looked down at the small red feather left lying behind.

“W-wait, that’s—” Yata spoke without meaning to and water immediately filled his mouth, suffocating and cold and the world around him had gone bright bright white, the pale moon swallowing up everything around him.

“What did you find, little monkey?” Niki, smiling down at him, and Fushimi remained perfectly still.

“Nothing.”

“You were gone so long, and Papa couldn’t find you. The sarugami all killed each other before you could play with them.”

“I wasn’t doing anything. You know I wasn’t, or you would have made me come and play, right?” Almost a challenge, and instead of being angry Niki laughed.

“That’s right, (—).” He raised a hand and Fushimi’s body jerked as if held by an invisible leash. “Hey, monkey, where’s that bracelet you’ve been hiding?”

“I lost it in the water.” He kept his voice flat, and Niki laughed.

“Is that so? My poor monkey lost his prized possession in the water. Want to go look for it? I found an onamazu the other day and let it loose in the pool, you two can play!”

Niki laughed and Fushimi kept his head down, following obediently as Niki began to ascend the temple steps.

Behind them, hidden under an offering stone, was a small blood-stained handkerchief and a single red feather.

It wasn’t like drowning. Yata was still falling now, but falling up — not through water but through something else, dust coalescing around him still in characters that flew by too fast for him to hold onto, and there was a word he couldn’t read carved into the surface of the moon.

[I have to leave.] Fushimi was digging beneath a rock, desperate. His hands were red, and in the distance Yata could hear an odd sound that reminded him of the time he’d spotted a mountain beast eating a goat while searching a mountaintop. There was the vague feeling lingering in Fushimi’s memories that was almost like guilt and almost like relief. [The nue will eat me next if I don’t get out of here.]

Niki had thought he could control it. Another one of his tricks, dragging something onto the island that didn’t belong there. But it had slipped out of his grasp this time — the wrong name, he could almost laugh — and there was nothing left of that man now except memories that Fushimi was all too ready to forget.

[There.] He moved the stone aside and it was still where he had left it, his treasure — the handkerchief and the feather, both old and dirtied but still there.

[I’ll find him.]

[He said he would come back.]

[Together, we can—]

He was running up the hill as fast as he could go, clutching his treasures to his chest. If he used the feather and the name, and called — surely that person would answer. That person who had held out a hand to him, who had smiled at him, who had burned brighter than anyone Fushimi had ever seen. He only needed to call, and finally he’d be able to leave.

The moon above was growing larger the higher he walked up the hill, and the torii gate seemed small beneath it. He didn’t notice, white hands on red cloth.

[I don’t need anyone else. As long as it’s us two together—]

The moon began to laugh.

Fushimi stopped, stumbled, cutting his knees on the stones. The handkerchief in his hands writhed, turning pitch black as it slipped from his grasp and moved like a snake along the grass and stones, growing larger and longer, a shadow stretching beneath the moon that was too too large and the feather fell to the ground—

Fushimi cursed, fingers digging into his palm, and the rest of the world was drowned out by familiar laughter.

[A trick — I should have expected, I’m such an idiot, of course he knew—]

Everything seemed to be happening too quickly, so quickly that Yata could barely catch the pieces of memory that were glowing bright around him. Niki’s shadow, hands outstretched and laughing, still laughing — and then the grass beneath Fushimi’s feet began to glow and Fushimi whirled, something large on the horizon behind him backed by storm clouds — the shrine shook and crumbled, stones crashing into each other, statues falling to pieces into the crystal pool that had gone deep red like blood — and there were words written on the moon, words that slipped through Fushimi’s fingers as they were torn away — taken away, from everyone, his own mind gone blank with the name he hated so much and now couldn’t recall and his fingers were changing, skin peeling back to reveal white bone and behind him the nue opened its mouth wide—

And all in a rush, Yata remembered.

“I’m Yata Misaki! I’m six years old.”

Alone in a forest, lost. Blue eyes peering out of the bushes.

“Yeah, you don’t have wings! But I bet I could carry you!”

A small sullen face that looked like it never smiled, like it didn’t know what smiling was.

“Don’t worry about it. Just…don’t give your name to anyone here but me, all right?”

And hadn’t he been warned, then? The only protection someone like Fushimi could offer: “Don’t give your name to anyone here but me.”

“I can’t leave you by yourself!”

He hadn’t wanted to. It was rushing in on him from all sides now, memory after memory, his own feelings and Fushimi’s crashing together so hard it was almost painful, and in front of his eyes there was nothing but a sea of stars. He’d always planned to come back eventually. To see this person again. His first real friend.

“If there’s a bad person after you I’ll rescue you! I’ll take you super far away and he won’t ever find you!”

A promise. He could feel Fushimi’s emotions again, a surge of longing and hope and something so like pain it made his eyes water. All this time, Fushimi had been waiting on him to come back, and Yata had forgotten it all.

He could see the words again, the characters of Fushimi’s name slipping between pale fingers and suddenly Yata’s own hands were reaching too, grasping helplessly for the memories that had been torn away from even his own mind, swallowed up by the moon and the water — the final curse that had taken Fushimi’s name and erased it from everywhere, everyone, that had taken away those precious memories so swiftly and silently that Yata hadn’t even realized what had been stolen from him until now.

Yata’s head broke open the water’s surface and he gasped, dragging himself onto the shore, and looked around.

He was still on the island and yet he wasn’t. The entire sky was pitch black, not even a single star to be seen. The pool was glowing softly, the reflection of a red moon and a bright sun side by side in the water. The grass beneath Yata’s feet was cool and damp and sludge gray. The forest in the distance was a mass of black ghosts, branches outstretched like claws, and the torii gate loomed large above his head, stretching up into infinity beyond the atmosphere.

On the grass beneath the gate was a small boy of about six, with sad blue eyes and a thin frame, holding a temari ball that glowed softly with moonlight, embroidered with characters that Yata couldn’t make out. The threads seemed to have been smudged somehow, and there were sharp needles poking out from various places, piercing the child’s hands so that blood dripped down. Despite that the child didn’t cry, only stared at Yata with those too-familiar eyes.

“Fushimi.” Yata took a step towards him, and the child Fushimi stepped back. He looked just the way he had in Yata's memories, untouched by the curse of his father and the nue, not a mere human any longer. “Hey, it’s all right. I’m here now, okay? Sorry it took so long.”

“Go away.” The words were hollow, echoing in the unnatural stillness of their surroundings.

“I can’t.” Yata shook his head. “You’re the kinda guy I can’t leave alone, you know? We’re gonna go back together.”

“Can’t go back.” Fushimi’s eyes were dark, and Yata could see the reflections of the stars whirling inside them. “Can’t go forward. I have to stay here.”

“That’s wrong,” Yata said, forceful. “You can’t stay in one spot forever. It’s time to move forward.”

“I’m lost,” Fushimi said, and a cold wind blew past. The torii gate seemed to glow in the darkness and beyond it there was no longer forest but something else — a great dark silhouette that swallowed up everything in its wake, and a pair of glowing red eyes. The shadow of the nue growled softly, and Fushimi took a step back towards it.

“That’s not the way.” Yata reached for his arm and Fushimi stepped back, further under the gate, keeping his distance. The temari moon in his hands glowed softly, and the threads shifted and writhed like snakes.

“It’s the only way out.” Empty words, empty eyes, empty sky above. Fushimi’s body seemed somehow weary suddenly, like a child of famine staring at the desert around him.

“It’s not. Let me show you.” Yata took a careful step forward, and Fushimi took another step back.

“He’ll eat you. That guy…everything gets destroyed. Everything that’s mine, he takes and twists until it breaks. Because he named me, so my name belongs to him. I belong to him, forever.”

“He’s not here anymore,” Yata said. “I saw your memories. That guy’s dead. This is just a trick he left behind.”

“Even if he’s not here, I’m still his. There’s no way out for me.” Hands tightening over the moon, and more blood dripped down.

“Fushimi…” And the name sounded wrong somehow now, as if it wasn’t the one Yata should be calling. He found his eyes drawn to the moon again, to the twisted threads moving steadily beneath its surface, Fushimi’s blood staining it red. The stains faded after only a moment, swallowed up by the threads, and the moon pulsed with an eerie light.

“He…has something that’s mine. I can’t leave without it.”

Something was wrong.

It didn’t look right. Fushimi there, small and scared with blood on his hands and the moon with its hundreds upon hundreds of moving threads. The water beside him rippled, and Yata looked into Fushimi’s eyes again. Reflected in them he could just see it — twin moons, shining. Yata found himself reaching into his pocket and wrapping his fingers around the item he found there.

Small blue stones, still glowing with faint light.

“And if it’s you and me we can do anything!”

And then he was small again, a tengu just growing into his wings, six years old and still a bit shorter than the boy standing in front of him. Yata held out his palm, showing Fushimi the stones shining bright, the remains of the treasure he had held on to all this time even though the reason why had been stolen from him.

“If you’re lost it’s best to stay with someone else, right?” Yata grinned. “This time, I’ll show you the way!”

Fushimi’s eyes widened, breath catching, and another gust of wind blew by, so strong that it nearly blew the moon from out of Fushimi’s grip. The beast in the darkness behind him growled again, a distant rumble of thunder, and somewhere far far away was the faintest sound of mocking laughter. Fushimi’s ears twitched, body stiffening, but Yata remained there firm, wings braced against the wind, and hand outstretched.

“Let me take you home, okay?”

The wind rose around them, an angry howl, tearing at both of their clothes, but Yata didn’t move. Despite the gale the stones in his palm didn’t shift so much as an inch.

“Misaki.” The word tore itself from Fushimi’s throat like a cry and suddenly he crossed the space between them, one hand reaching for Yata’s as the other let go of the moon — which turned dark red as it hit the ground, now nothing more than a frayed bloody handkerchief and it didn’t matter because that wasn’t what Yata had been looking for, wasn’t what he’d come here for at all, and Yata wrapped his arms around Fushimi and held him close as the world was swallowed up by a blinding white light.

And then he was standing there in front of the now clear pool which no longer reflected anything but the exact sky above, the sun still bright and the sky cloudless and blue. Yata opened his hands and a sprinkling of stardust fell from his fingers, scattering into the wind. Even so, his hands shone with a soft blue light.

“Sorry I took so long, Saruhiko.”

He took a step forward and then another, half running and half flying as he rushed down the hill where Fushimi was penned in at the very edge of the forest, the rest of Yata’s flock surrounding him. He saw Mikoto look up as he came close, eyes darting first to Yata and then to Anna still standing back at the top of the hill below the torii gate. He gave a nod of his head and suddenly the flock scattered, feathers raining down, and then it was just Yata, face to face with the nue.

Fushimi gave a low growl, that lonely keen of a bird again, and this time it made Yata’s heart ache just a little as he took a step closer, hands spread wide.

“Hey. You were here a long time, huh? You should’ve just said something.”

Clouds were gathering around him, obscuring the landscape and everything else around them, until it was just Yata and Fushimi, face to face. He could sense it in the back of his mind, a soft sound like the ringing of a bell: Anna’s presence, reminding him that she was there. If he called for help she would have Mikoto and the others by his side in an instant, to help fight off the nue if need be.

Yata smiled a little ruefully, another step forward. It was weird, wasn’t it…all this time he’d been worried, that there was nothing to him but what his fists and his strength could do. But here he was, face to face with a monster, and he had no intention of fighting.

“I said I’d be back for you. Saruhiko.” The nue seemed to pause at the sound of the name, the red eyes dimming just a little. Yata took another step forward. “I know it kinda took me a while. You were here all this time, by yourself, waiting…but I’m here. That guy didn’t destroy us. We’re friends, right? The first friend I ever had. You don’t forget people like that.”

He was nearly within arm’s reach of the nue. Fushimi growled again, not the bird call but something low and guttural, like a wounded beast. Even so, Yata kept advancing, arms opened wide and palms flat.

“You’re the kind of guy who never says anything honestly, huh?” Yata smiled. “You could’ve just asked for help, you dummy. You didn’t have to chase me away. Nothing here is strong enough to break us. Even—even if I forgot…I’m back now. So don’t you dare disappear on me this time, you stupid idiot.”

Fushimi was backing up this time, closer and closer to the forest edge, but Yata didn’t stop approaching. He held out a hand, and he could almost see small letters dancing on his palm, tiny flecks of stardust glowing in the haze of the clouds.

“Come on, Saruhiko. Come back to me. We got a lot to talk about.”

The nue’s fur bristled like a frightened animal and suddenly it ran at him, mouth open, eyes burning, claws silver-bright even in the darkness.

Still, Yata stood his ground.

The characters in his palm suddenly began to grow brighter and brighter, so much that Yata had to throw up his other arm to cover his eyes, and he heard a sound like thunder in his ears—

—the sound of something unraveling, shattering, the cry of a bird and then—

—that hint of mocking laughter again, slowly, slowly, fading away.

When Yata opened his eyes again he was on the ground, having fallen to his knees without even realizing it. His palm was empty and the clouds had burned off, leaving him sitting alone in front of the forest that was suddenly growing green and verdant in front of him.

Something shifted in his lap, and Yata looked down.

“Saru…hiko…?”

“I didn’t say you could use my first name, Misaki.” Fushimi seemed unsteady on his legs as he stood, gray fur tinted with starlight as he shook himself off. Familiar blue eyes stared back at him and Yata couldn’t help but grin at the thin fox standing in front of him.

“You gave it to me, didn’t you?” Yata laughed. “If you didn’t want me to use it you shouldn’t have said anything. I mean…it was dangerous, wasn’t it?”

“As if an idiot like you could do anything even with my entire name.” Fushimi shook again and there was a small fall of stars as his body shifted, no longer a fox but the humanoid form Yata was familiar with — but this time there were black-tipped pointed ears on his head, and four tails waving behind him.

“You got more,” Yata said, looking at him. “You only had three tails last time.”

“Of course, moron, just because I was sleeping doesn’t mean I couldn’t age,” Fushimi snorted. “It took you long enough to get back here, Misaki.”

“Yeah, I know.” Yata couldn’t stop the fond smile crossing his face. “Sorry I made you wait, Saruhiko.”

“Tch.” Fushimi clicked his tongue as if annoyed but Yata thought he could see the faintest hint of red on his cheeks.

“Misaki!” Anna’s voice made him turn, waving his hands as he saw her and the rest of the flock flying down towards him. She took hold of his wrist as she landed, looking him over for injuries. Yata noticed that Fushimi seemed to tense a bit as the flock surrounded them and Yata moved a little closer to him.

“It’s all right Anna, I’m okay,” Yata assured her. “It takes more than a guy like this to take me down.”

Fushimi clicked his tongue again, crossing his arms, and Yata gave him a playful nudge in the ribs.

“Oh? So this is your Fushimi-kun.” Yata looked up and scowled as Munakata approached them, also back in his humanoid form with all nine tails displayed proudly behind him. He was looking at Fushimi with a keen-eyed expression that made Yata suddenly want to hold Fushimi even closer, just to make sure this bastard knew who Fushimi belonged to. For his part Fushimi was watching Munakata warily, clearly confused but on his guard. “A nogitsune. It’s been some time since I have met with one of your tribe.”

“Tch.” Fushimi clicked his tongue, tails waving, and he seemed to be moving a step closer to Yata without even quite realizing it. “Having a nogitsune in a fox tribe is bad luck, isn't it?”

“Only to those who believe such things.” Munakata's smile was thoughtful and interested, and Yata scowled at him, hand reaching for Fushimi's.

“H-hey, you haven’t seen the sun in a while, right? I mean, as you.” Yata smiled brightly at Fushimi, who immediately turned his gaze from Munakata back to Yata, ears swiveling with the movement. “Come on, I bet we can get a good view from the top of the hill.”

He tugged on Fushimi’s wrist and even though Fushimi clicked his tongue again he stepped forward anyway, eyes only on Yata, and there was something soft in his expression that made Yata's face feel warm.

The sun shone brightly down on them, and Fushimi’s hand closed tightly over Yata’s.