#but it’s still about freedom and it’s better than what we’re heading towards

[emergencybitch]

I really wish serious American Anarchists would stop and think for a moment and ask themselves if this rebellion and revolution of pure chaos they seem to get their rocks off to would actually be any better than what we have right now, when they refuse to consider that anarchy and the destruction that is sure to follow real attempts at anarchy will disproportionately harm disabled and chronically ill folk. Like? Do you understand we’re already struggling to survive with the resources we have? Do you understand we’re already being treated as second class citizens?

When your movement disregards that it almost ensures our death because you demolish the few systems set up to help us and our families, and halt the production life saving medical equipment, you’re condemning us to die faster than this current system is, right?

You’re killing us quicker than capitalism ever could. Your actions will result in a near genocide for disabled folk nationally.

Except they do know that, they just don’t care. They don’t care that millions will die, and they don’t care to pay attention to those who always die first. They claim their aim is freedom from oppression, but their movement actually speed runs the current systems end goal in disabled discrimination; erasing us completely.

And they don’t care because it’s the greater good to them. It’s necessary. They see it as liberation but those people already have a leg up on the rest. And you better believe that after disabled folk, those with mental illness and social disorders will be next. Trans people will become a target in the chaos that committed Anarchists strive for, because anarchy yields revolution and war. And that’s not an exaggeration.

But we’re a sacrifice to these people. And it’s wild because, as a person with a pretty debilitating chronic illness, with a father who has MS and a mother who’s had knee problems since the womb and diabetes that requires insulin injections, we’ve always been a sacrifice to the rest of the world. An after thought, or at its worst, literal vermin to be locked and hidden away.

And I’m tired of this world asking me to sacrifice my life, my families lives, and our mentally and emotional well being for the sake of the possibility of a better future, especially when they never have a plan for one anyway. And if they do, it never includes us. They don’t care whether we live or die, they don’t care whether or not their freedom includes everybody or if it just includes themselves. They don’t care that they sound just like the current system to us. It doesn’t matter to them, as long as their “greater good” is achieved.

You’re always asking us to pretend we don’t have a stake in this world too, like we don’t matter. Like we’re not human just like the rest of you. And I’m sick of it.

[sdr2lovemail]

Hi there!

I finally got around to request something for Bill ^⁠_⁠^

Could I get some Bill Cipher x reader headcanons during weirdmageddon? How would it look like being by his side as his s/o? I love this yellow triangle so much-

Have a nice day / night! <3

Being Bill Cipher's partner during Weirdmageddon! (GN Reader)

Notes: I'm surprised in all my time of being in the gravity falls fandom I've never written anything for it. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Unhealthy relationships

It’s all reliant on if we’re talking about canon Bill or a more fanon version where he’s capable of love. So I’ll write both!

Canon Bill would keep you around more as a plaything than a partner. A trophy, if you will. He’s taken over the world, the Pines were out of his hair, and all he needed now was a prize! And that little prize would be you! 

He will poke, push, and prod every one of your buttons until you give him a reaction. Getting angry towards him won’t do anything for you. It’ll just bring him to provoke you more.

Bill would give his henchmaniacs free rein to torment you as long as no fatal harm comes to your body.

Any privacy you thought you had is nonexistent. There are eyes everywhere. Literally!

Now, there’s another side I could imagine. It's a side that’s nicer but still nowhere near friendly. If you were a possible disciple of his, wanting to help him start the end of the world, you’d be treated slightly better. 

You’d be more like a servant than a trophy. He would give you more freedom in a way. Like sending you to do tasks that he can’t be bothered to do.

“Hey, disciple. Go run to the never ending forest dimension and send Mother Nature a message. She still owes me something.” There wouldn’t even be time for you to respond before he whisks you away with a snap of his fingers.

Now, moving on to a more romantic version of Bill!

Having been betrothed to the strongest being in the universe, you’ll be absolutely spoiled. Anything across the multiverse is yours. Bill can make it happen!

While he doesn’t need to sleep, he’ll set up a room just for you in the Fearamid. Ever seen a triangle-shaped bed? Well, now you have! The room would be decorated in the gaudiest decorations a demon could think of. I hope you like the color gold, you’ll be seeing it in your nightmares. The room would be soundproof as well. The party isn’t stopping just because Bill’s human needs some rest.

Affection with Bill won’t be typical by human standards. Rather than hugs and gentle touches, he’s a lot more aggressive. Punches on the arm, slaps on the back, and heavy-handed head rubs are more his style. But maybe if you beg, he’ll let you kiss one of his surfaces.

Trips to another dimension are always a fun date idea! You’ll be introduced to species and lands beyond your mortal comprehension. See anything you like here, go ahead and take it back to the Fearamid. What you want is yours to take!

Bill likes to go all out and party. He’s throwing the biggest and most chaotic wedding you’ll ever attend. Any guest that doesn’t bring a nice enough gift is either getting thrown into the worst dimension possible or turned to stone.

Good luck taking that ring off your finger, you’re bound to him for all of eternity!

[greenboyfriend]

choose something cold... (tarot card reading)

"what do you need to know?"

image 1: it's cold. I mean, really cold. but your blood is warm, even if your fingers are blue. where's your soul? image 2: a framed painting depicting a wintry landscape, complete with a log cabin, whose blue smoke trickles from its chimney and blends in with the world around it. image 3: three ornate glasses, made of ice. are those cracks intentional? or just by virtue of its design? image source not everything may resonate with you, and that's ok! take what does & leave the rest. don't force it.

1.・。.・゜✭

there’s an opportunity being presented to you. it may be a celebration of some kind, or just something that has a lot of excitement surrounding it. what i’m getting most of all is that this may be a chance to find freedom. with the seven of swords reversed, maybe you’re the type of person to handle your problems on your own, “lone wolf” style. there’s a million reasons why someone might do this, but for you, you’re afraid or distrusting in others. when you opened up in the past, maybe it didn’t end up so well for you, and this has made you keep things mostly to yourself.  however, the four of wands reversed tells us that this lone wolf energy is blocking you from fully enjoying yourself. “freedom”, in this sense, is the freedom from yourself, or rather, your fear. in the original Rider-Waite-Smith deck, the seven of swords shows us a man with his arms full of swords, shirking off to his own devices. for you, these swords represent an unnecessary burden, being wary or even afraid of others to see your true colors/problems/ect. opening yourself back up again is a task much easier said than done, i know. but the 6 of cups shows us what this looks like, once fully realized. when we talk about our problems and emotions, we’re able to release and/or deal with them more easily. i’ve definitely been in the position of worrying endlessly about something, just to finally open up to someone, and realize that the answer was sitting in front of me all along. the six of cups represents this as having a “clean conscience.” being, you’ve released yourself from carrying a burden all alone, and have found freedom– the four of wands. finally, the king of cups reversed reminds you to have patience, and to be tolerant of others. not just one person can supply you with all the information or support you need.

(6 of cups, 7 of swords reversed, 4 of wands reversed, king of cups reversed)

2.・。.・゜✭

you’re in a period of transition, be that between attitudes or people. this change has you feeling down. maybe not emotionally destitute, but not in the best spot, either. as you wade through these waters, know that the queen of swords is by your side, and will lead you to better times. the queen of swords is someone with a good head on her shoulders, and will always tell the truth. she is very forthright, and doesn’t do any under-the-table dealings. she holds herself to these standards because of her past experiences, and knows that an honest, open approach will best suit her motives. you may embody the queen of swords already, and if you do, great! if you don’t, that’s ok, too. but it’s time to start really leaning into that kind of energy. don’t conceal the truth– both to yourself and others–, and let yourself have a laugh every once in a while! the thing about being experienced is that you know not to take everything so seriously. the queen of swords can see the big picture, and knows that, even if right now is tough, later will be much better. the place/person/vibe you’re coming from is represented by the knight of wands. i’m getting, cockiness– to the point where you/they were being presumptuous. this might also have had to do with someone being hot tempered, and restless, where they couldn’t handle being bored, so they’d decide to pick a fight. this energy is still here, but not necessarily causing harm just yet. what’s really impeding your path towards healing is the knight of cups. the knight of cups reversed is in direct opposition with the queen of swords, in the sense that he allows his emotions to take control of him, rather than accurately assessing the truth of his situation. he may let his imagination become overactive, and begin believing things that aren’t true. where the queen of swords faces all her dealings head on, the knight of cups may shade the truth, dance around the issue, or simply hope someone else will deal with it. he may also tend to isolate himself from others, which only worsens his imagination into spurring up unrealistic scenarios and focusing too much on his own “failings.” i’m thinking… you’re going to need to temper the knight of cups with the knight of wands. use that fiery, self confident energy to seek out the truth, rather than make assumptions. and, in turn, the knight of cups can help to deplete those feelings of restlessness through introspection. most importantly, keep your head level, and honor the truth above all.

(queen of swords, 6 of swords, knight of wands, knight of cups reversed)

3.・。.・゜✭

so… there’s a lot to unpack here, image 3! i’ll start with this, the energy of the queens of wands and of pentacles are important right now. the queen of wands seems to be especially important, urging you to work hard to maintain her optimism, confidence, and enthusiasm. this situation will require you to be a sort of “soft” leader for others, where you can be looked to for inspiration. if you’re able to serve as a role model through keeping your head up even when the going gets tough, and to do so with strength and vigor, it will not only help you and your purposes, but will also inspire those around you to do the same. the opportunity to embody this energy is not fully here yet, but once you hear the call, you’ll know it’s for you. strike the iron while it’s hot and give it your all! no time for dilly dallying. in being a leader (even if you’re not completely cognizant of it) you will have to temper your generosity with what you know to be true. so, for example, if someone is late to a meeting one time, you may give them the benefit of the doubt. but if they’re continuously late, some changes need to be made. this can also apply to other situations, where you will need to decide between your loyalties and what’s true & just. you may have already experienced scenarios like this in the past, so it will help you to call back to those times for foresight. doing what is fair may be difficult in the moment, but will lead to the best outcome. the queens come together here to guide you on your way. keep trying! you know that you’re resourceful, so don’t be afraid to try your hand at solving problems. it may also benefit you to remain down to earth during this time, and not to try to control what others think or say. at the end of the day, you are your own person, and what a wonderful person you are!  finally, we arrive at the page of cups. i’m getting a very loving, forgiving energy from this card. it may benefit you to invite that energy into your life, both towards yourself and others. when a challenge faces you, or someone is less than nice, decide to turn away that anger with love. consider, what may compel them to act this way? maybe they’re going through something you don’t know about. it’s not that you need to nurture them back to good health, but realize that maybe, they’re just not worth your time, and a simple nod & turning of the cheek will do you both some good. most of all, listen to your intuition to tell you whether or not this argument/situation is really worth getting into.

(queen of wands, 8 of pentacles reversed, 8 of wands reversed, queen of pentacles, ace of swords, 3 of wands reversed, page of cups)

[intothegenshinworld]

Fate’s Destiny ~ Chapter 15 || Fated

You somehow, not being able to explain it, had fallen into the Genshin world you know oh-so-well. You were no new player and had explored most of the nooks and crannies of the world. When you first had woken up in Windrise you wondered; it might be a dream, after all, you were behind your screen usually, and now- here? It made no sense, and the world was keen on keeping it that way.

Warnings: Spoilers for main story.

Word count: 3.6k+

Auteurs note: Posting all that's left in one go <3

↺ PREVIOUS CHAPTER || ↻ NEXT CHAPTER || MASTERLIST

The night continues to last, casting an eternal shadow over Teyvat, yet it can’t compare to the empty void that lingers above where calamity had struck. 

As you return onto the roads, you move your head over your shoulder. Closer than you had hoped, you see smoke creep up between the buildings and mountains that make up the majority, if not the entirety, of Liyue Habor. Different greys with different densities fly up from the flames, each cloud adding more dread and intensity to the fire that swallows the city whole. In the middle of it all, standing proudly and tall, the nail that had fallen from the sky is the only thing that remains intact. You estimate that the size could have split mountains in two. 

And while there is a vast distance between you and the destruction, the gap does nothing to ease your fears. 

Where did the nail come from?  

You narrow your eyes as you try to focus on the screen—hoping you could spot anything that could give you a clue. After a few seconds, you realise that the sky seems to have collapsed onto the world like a roof without supporting beams. The darkness of the night is entirely different from the darkness sprouting out of the rift above Liyue.

After a second you cave in. You can’t help but ask Dainsleif for his thoughts.

“Do you see it?” You skip forward until you fall in step with your companion. Your bag is slung over your shoulders and thuds against your hip until you slow down again. 

This morning, Dainsleif had given you one of the two waterskins he owned. Before crossing the main roads, you had stopped to refill them both at the water stream, close to the camp where you had rested—as he had mentioned. Despite the newly added weight, it feels lighter than it used to be. You had checked your belongings before leaving and found all you could remember owning. Your second set of clothing to sleep in and some hygiene necessities… nothing fell out of place, but it felt like you left with half the things you used to carry. 

As you turn your head back over your shoulders, Dainsleif moves to copy your movements. His glance towards Liyue is shorter than yours. 

“Can I see it? It’d be hard for anyone not to.”

His tone shows disinterest in the subject you’re trying to bring forward. Ever since you had woken up in the night, he had insisted it’d be better to make haste as your arrival in Mondstadt would be best to occur sooner than later. If you didn’t know better, you had assumed he wanted to return to the city of Freedom, despite him repeating his doubts about the abilities and genuinity of the anemo Archon.

You turn back towards the roads and the trees. 

Regardless of everything working against you, you are lucky that the area ahead remains abandoned. Whoever fled the destruction had left hours ago, leaving nothing but dust behind; and whoever didn’t has found their place under the rubble. 

Feeling discomfort in the silence that follows Dainsleif’s answer, if only because it makes you aware of what goes on behind your back , you voice your thoughts out loud. 

“If we’re lucky, Wangshuu Inn hasn’t been yet abandoned. I imagine many people took shelter there when the celestial nail struck. We could ask for information there.” 

Dainsleif turns his head to you. Because you’re walking on his right side, his blue mask covers most of his expression. However, you can still see weariness in his eyes. “If we’re lucky, we won’t be meeting with anyone at all.” 

“If I had my cloak, I could–”

“You don’t and I won’t have you wear mine so you can risk your life with impulsive choices again . If you want to play the hero, save yourself first.” Dainsleif’s voice has lost its patience throughout the night. You hadn’t seen him rest, so you assume it is to blame on his lack of sleep—something that seeps through his sluggish movements. 

A huff escapes your lips and you bite back the words threatening to escape your mouth. There is no reason to argue or fight with the only companion you have left. In truth, there are bigger problems. Escaping the destruction became a priority over finding Lumine and Paimon or figuring out why the calamity had happened. You understand it from Dainsleif’s perspective but wonder where his priorities lie. With escaping, or with you—the Creator.

Your eyes land on Dainsleif. As you walk next to him, you notice that he takes shorter steps and moves slower on purpose. He is adjusting his pace to you. 

A smile creeps up on your face and you turn away before he notices you staring. While he continues to be tense, alert for something you can’t anticipate, you wonder if his losing patience was ever your fault or caused by something else. 

Strands of hair frame your face when you hang your head low. With each step forward, you feel like the world surrounding you becomes distant. You move your hand in front of you and squeeze it tightly to ground yourself before turning your gaze up once more. 

Wangshuu Inn is in sight, but still far away from you. The only comfort of that is the fact that the inn wouldn’t be your destination. Surely, before the night ends, Dainsleif would get tired and decide to make camp.

As you return onto the roads, you move your head over your shoulder. Closer than you had hoped, you see smoke creep up between the buildings and mountains that make up the majority, if not the entirety, of Liyue Habor. Different greys with different densities fly up from the flames, each cloud adding more dread and intensity to the fire that swallows the city whole. In the middle of it all, standing proudly and tall, the nail that had fallen from the sky is the only thing that remains intact. You estimate that the size could have split mountains in two. 

Your eyes move up. They narrow, and you focus on the skies—trying to see if you could spot something, anything , that could give you a clue. Your eyes gaze over the red lines and small pixels decorating the sky like the stars should have. The sky has collapsed.

“Dainsleif?” You turn your head back to your companion. He seems tired and he doesn’t respond to your call. “Do you see it?”

“... the nail?”

“Yes.”

He stays silent. You wonder if you had said anything that upset him.

Your legs have a tingling and numb feeling by the time you find an excuse to stop. A carriage, simple but elegant in design, lies on its side near the treelines of the forest. 

Both Dainsleif and you stand still from a distance, while you can't think for him, you find the smoke coming from the forest a sign of hope—a confirmation that there are still people in this world beside you and Dainsleif. 

You point at the area. “We should check that out.”

“I thought you would prioritise going to Mondstadt over finding potential friends. Do you recognise the carriage?” He points his gloved finger in the direction.

Your eyes scan over the wooden frame. The white fabric that once separated the inside from the outside had blown away, holding onto the single nail left in the wood keeping it from the winds. You notice a dark liquid escape from the wagon. 

When you step forward, Dainsleif stops you. “It'll be a waste of time.”

You huff. “Not for me. People might be hurt. Knowing that I can't leave them.”

“Is it because you’re ‘The Creator'?” his eyes scan your face. You can see the resolve leave his eyes, and he settles into acceptance—albeit unwanted from the furrow of his brows. 

“It’s because it is the right thing to do,” you answer,

The hand, which Dainsleif had moved in front of you, lowers to his side. Right after, he turns his head towards the treelines and unsheaths his sword.

A tug pulls you forward, and despite feeling safe, you keep your guard up—thanks to Dainsleif. 

Through the darkness of the night, you move towards the carriage. The scene is set with an eerie silence and an unknown reddish liquid coming out from underneath. It is unnerving and you wonder what happened before the carriage broke down. 

When you come closer, you figure out what the liquid is. 

“Wine,” you state as you relax. 

One of the barrels inside had broken when the carriage tipped and turned on its side. You realise the glow from the red rifts in the sky had reflected on it—making it seem like something else. 

Dainsleif moves the white cover away and reveals the other barrels, some of which had remained out of view minutes before. He turns to you as he lets his hand, and with it, the cover, fall to its original state. “You want to head towards the smoke.”

“Aren’t you curious?”

When you turn to him, you see him cross his arms. “Even now, you’re not frightened by the situation?”

You turn your head. Closer than you could imagine, you see smoke creep up between the buildings and mountains that make up the majority, if not the entirety, of Liyue Habor. Different blacks in different shapes fly up from the ground, each cloud adding more dread and intensity to the fog that obscures the city. In the middle, right above the city, a rift has sliced the air in two. Red particles and lines glitch in and out of existence, all coming from the black slit. 

It will engulf Liyue sooner than later.

You turn back to Dainsleif. Hesitation is clear for a moment. Many people have died because of what had occurred, and many more people will die as it continues to spread. Going towards the smoke meant wasting time, and looking at the situation, did you have any time left to waste? 

A frustrated sigh escapes your lips as you fight the blur in your mind. Your thoughts are dimmed and you find it nearly impossible to focus on anything. You close your eyes, trying to remember what had happened. What was the reason why you left in the first place? Looking back on the days before you left Liyue Habor, could you have known what would happen? 

“Your Grace?” An uncertain voice coincidentally interrupts your thoughts. It isn’t the same voice you recognise as Dainsleif’s. When it calls out to you again, it gains confidence, the voice being a mix of relief and joy.  

“Your Grace!”

From the treelines, a familiar companion stands next to a slightly smaller and bulkier male. The situation seems familiar, almost as if it had happened a few times before—as if he is meant to find you wherever you are—as if this interaction was fated in the first place. 

The unplanned reunion makes you lose your train of thought and joy bursts from your chest. The feeling of newfound hope makes you run up to him, “Kaeya!” 

Two arms engulf your form and lift you from the ground before gently aiding your landing. You press your cheek against his shoulder. The navy blue hair is a welcome sight, but you had grown familiar with the star-shaped pupils over the past weeks. It was something you had Dainsleif to thank for.  

When you step back, moving out of his arms, Kaeya’s lips are pulled into a tight line. His eyes skim over your figure with worry and you feel self-conscious. Because you lost your cloak, you could no longer hide your real face.

You clear your throat. “I was near Liyue when the world broke down.”

Kaeya’s eyes quickly move back to yours. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, but I won’t look my best.”

A frown appears on his face and he looks over his shoulder at the gruff male behind him. Fierce red hair is tied in a low ponytail and his black outfit makes him able to hide between the shadows of the darkened world. He crosses his arms and huffs out, “After all you had sworn to Jean and me, I’d nearly believe you doubt the legitimacy of the Creator by fussing so much.” 

Kaeya rolls his eyes. “At least I care for our Creator. That is more than you do.”

“Hard to say with all that’s been happening,” Diluc retorts. 

“Can you at least try to be nice?” 

Dainsleif coughs and cuts the two off. He turns his head to Kaeya. “I believe an introduction is due. Your ‘creator’ seems a bit confused.”

For a second, you see Kaeya’s eyes narrow. He plays it off with a smile and shifts his weight from one leg to another. “Have we met before? You seem familiar, and I am certain I’d remember someone who dresses as uniquely as you do.”

Dainsleif remains neutral. “Unlike yours, my memory works as it should, but it is intriguing you’d that.”

The redhead steps forward and puts his hand forward for you to take. “Diluc Ragnvindr. Acting Grand Master Jean has requested me to apologise in her stead. The anemo Archon and the Knights of Favonious have been searching for you since your disappearance.”

You reach your hand to meet Diluc’s. It seems like he did listen to Dainsleif. Either that or your confusion was evident on your face. His grasp is firm but never painful or suffocating. Instead, it feels protective and strong. You also notice the warmth of his body escaping the confines of his gloves. From his hip, on his left side, dangles a pyro vision. That explains that... 

“Who is the ‘Acting Grand Master Jean’?” You ask. 

When everyone stops their bickering, the eerie silence takes over again. You take your faded hand back to your side. 

Dainsleif patiently jogs your memories once more. 

“Mondstadt is governed by freedom. Its archon isn’t publicly known like Rex Lapis. Instead, the Knights of Favonious hold the peace. Its current Grand Master is gone, but the one he called to present in his absence is Jean. Hence, ‘Acting’ Grand Master.”

You move your head towards him and nod, thankful for the explanation and now making more sense of what had been told. You wonder why ‘Jean’ wanted Diluc to apologise in her name, but you don’t ask. The revelation that all four present were headed towards the same goal, made you feel happy. 

“Mission succeeded. So, now we can all continue to Mondstadt?” You turn to Dainsleif who nods his head once. He didn’t quite agree with the others following you but acknowledged what you said.

“It appears to be that way.” He says.

Kaeya sighs, “We used to have a ride—” he turns his head towards the carriage. Wine continues to drip out and has since tainted the white fabric into a dim purple-reddish hue. “—but the blast wave has taken it from us. As it tipped, we had no choice but to set the horse loose.”

Diluc sighs. “We were camping, hoping to find some wild animals since our rations had been stolen. Treasure hoarders, I’d say.”

“Let me guess,” Dainsleif starts. “Not a single insect was to be found?”

Diluc nods and Kaeya moves his fingers to rub his forehead. He turns to Dainsleif. “We were feeling lost before we heard sounds from the roads. Diluc believed it might be the treasure hoarders, coming back for another barrel of wine since no one was there to prevent them from taking it, but we found you instead.”

You turn your head over your shoulder. The red tear seems to stare at you. You can’t see anything beyond the horizon. When you turn back, you ask Dainsleif, “Do we have any food left?”

He shakes his head instantly. “None.”

“Well then,” you look at the abandoned roads and Wangshuu Inn in the distance. “The only way forward is North. We can only hope to run into someone or something while we’re at it.”

Kaeya grabs your arm and makes it intertwine with his. He smiles down at you and you feel lighter despite the dark situation. “Doesn’t sound too bad to me. At the very least, I’ll have good company to cheer me up.”

While you continued your journey to Wangshuu Inn, recurring sights made you feel uneasy. Boots, jackets, empty bags; all the littering on the road. It was a result of the calamity and the evacuation that had occurred. 

Kaeya had told you what had happened to him, where he was and what he remembered. In turn, you did the same. Talking to him was the only way you didn’t feel as if you were walking in circles.

Kaeya moves his hands as he talks. “When I first saw you with Dainsleif, I imagined Lumine and Paimon to be around. Either scouting ahead or catching up as they protected you from the rear. I can never imagine them leaving you of their own free will.” When you frown, Kaeya leans closer until his shoulder bumps into yours. He smiles, turning his head to you. You feel warm puffs of breath caress your neck and ear when he speaks, “Don’t worry. The traveller is quite capable. I am sure they’ll find you.”

A troubled sigh escapes your lips and Kaeya makes some distance when he sees your serious expression. “It’s not that. I… find it hard to not know anything for certain. I think they were with me before calamity struck, but I can no longer remember what happened in the first place.” 

Diluc turns his head and cleverly interjects his thoughts on the matter, “Considering the destruction came from above, I can only imagine it to be Celestia’s repentance.”

Kaeya adds, “We heard about Rex Lapis’ death and rebirth. Diluc argues that had been the catalyst of it all.”

You nod your head. It makes sense, but Dainsleif is quick to turn it down. When you hear his voice, you turn your head over your shoulder. Since he’d been walking a few paces behind your group of three, you had assumed he wasn’t interested in the topic—or your friend, Kaeya. Despite his insistence on guarding you, you argued no danger was left on these streets—which is half the truth. 

Dainsleif’s company was growing on you fast. You didn’t want to separate from him.

“This was not Celestia’s doing I fear,” he states factually. 

Light blue eyes turn away when they meet yours, and you feel estranged from him. How could he appear so protective and warm one moment, but create a distance that made you unable to reach him the next? 

“Oh?” Kaeya raises an eyebrow. He jests, “I suppose you’d be an expert at that?” 

Dainsleif doesn’t react to him, but the longer you think about his words, a feeling inside starts to agree with him. You might lack any memories regarding Celestia, but you are certain they remain incapable of bestowing calamities such as the current upon Teyvat.

And now that you think about it…

Your eyes move up towards the black sky. There are no visible clouds, no stars, and no Celestia. The only thing left to see is the giant hole in the world behind you, followed by the string of red lines and dots, and even more fragments spinning in and out of existence.

After a while, Diluc continues his initial theory. “I would’ve suspected that your appearance urged the world to collapse, but ever since the anemo Archon confirmed you to be the Creator, I suspect you could’ve been our warning instead of the cause. Of course, it’d help if you had your memories to confirm–”

Before Diluc can finish his sentence, Kaeya cuts him off with a strained chuckle and a lazy excuse. His interruption is rewarded by a glare from Diluc, who seems to grow more frustrated at the travel arrangements as time continues to stand still.

Another wave of silence falls over you, and you’re back where you started. 

Kaeya sighs loudly and turns his gaze towards Wangshuu Inn before turning it back over his shoulder. “Am I the only one feeling like we’re not making progress? I’m certain we passed this area twice already…”

Diluc abruptly stops, and everyone else follows. Red eyes scan the area as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Unfortunately, not.” He turns around and focuses on Dainsleif. “You seem more familiar with this area. Do you have any suggestions?”

“I suggest splitting up.” Dainsleif starts, and you immediately want to turn the idea down. He adds to it before someone can argue against him. “This is a straight path, after all. Proving your theory wrong should be easy.”

The cavalry captain, who stands by your side, moves his weight from one leg to the other. “I don’t know. It sounds counter-progressive.”

“If that may be, we won’t be progressing either way. It’s up to (Y/n) to decide.” 

You frown at Dainsleif. “What? Why me?”

Diluc grazes his eyes over the landscape. His eyes land on a carriage that’s been tipped over the side. A dark reddish liquid comes out underneath it. He agrees, “I don’t reject the prospect of splitting up, only if it’s temporary.”

Your mind weighs out the two options. 

Now that you’re facing Liyue Harbor again, you see the destruction coming for you . Closer than you could imagine, you see smoke creep up from the forest and heading towards the roads. Different blacks in different shapes fly up from the ground, each cloud adding more dread and intensity to the fog that obscures Liyue Harbor and the southern border of the Guili Plains. In the black void, a cut has sliced the world in two. Red particles and lines glitch in and out of existence, all coming from the black slit. 

You turn your head towards your companions. “Let’s split up.”

If you liked this chapter and think I deserve a comment, please leave one behind! I appreciate it a lot and it'll make me more motivated to write in the future ♡

© intothegenshinworld. Do not copy, repost, translate or take heavy inspiration from my content. Thanks for reading.

[thefreakandthehair]

@eddiemonth prompt, oct 2nd: Friendship | F**Ked Up Kids - The Maine | Observant cw: vague allusions to high school-typical bullying, un-betaed because I'm challenging myself to write these in under an hour read on ao3 | link to series on ao3

When he was younger, Eddie would joke that his favorite classes were lunch and recess. He had freedom, didn’t have to deal with teachers and rules and the endless stream of Pay Attention, Eddie’s or Sit Still, Eddie’s. 

In high school though, in the wild jungle that is the Hawkins High cafeteria, he almost misses the safety of the classroom. 

It’s loud. It’s bright. It’s unruly. Eddie loves a healthy dose of chaos more than the average person but this is overwhelming, especially with the few friends he’s managed to hold onto in another lunch wave. It leaves him alone and untethered in the corner of the cafeteria with his Ziploc bag of Honeycomb as he observes the crowds, tamping down the anxiety that bubbles in his chest with a comfort food. 

“Hey.”

An older boy approaches him as he’s lost in thought, a kind smile spreading ear to ear, messy curly hair hanging just below his ears— the length Eddie’s always wanted and now, with Wayne, can finally work towards. He's still cautious though: the kindest smiles can hide the scariest monsters. He knows. He lived with his dad. 

But then Eddie realizes the stranger is wearing a band t-shirt that he recognizes instantly and it lowers his haunches. 

“Hey. Nice Dio shirt.” Eddie shifts back to show that he’s wearing a similar one. Same band, different design. 

“Oh shit, we match! Good taste. I’m Rich.” The kind stranger introduces himself and takes a seat at the empty chair next to Eddie. 

They’re all empty anyways. 

Eddie nods and smiles, tentatively hopeful. “Eddie.” 

It turns out, Rich is the head of the school’s Dungeons and Dragons club, Hellfire Club. He sits with Eddie the entire lunch period, sharing his pizza and eventually inviting him to join him and his friends across the way the next day. The pizza is disgusting but it was better than the snack he’d grabbed on his way out the door that morning, and it’s the gesture that counts anyways.

Over time, Eddie grows into himself and out of his shell, but he never loses the little freshman inside who sat and watched. Watched others interact, watched others shy away, watched others slap on a happy smile and fake their way through high school. It’s why, when the latest leader of Hellfire manages to graduate, Eddie becomes the de facto new head of the club in 1983. 

As the new leader and Dungeon Master, Eddie takes it upon himself to be to the little sheep what Rich had been to him. The leaders since Rich graduated back at the end of Eddie's freshman year have been fine, creative, fun, but none have taken as active a role in helping protect the vulnerable of Hawkins High as Rich. It’s something Eddie brings back, instills in the new members, engrains in the culture of Hellfire: we’re the fucked up kids, sure, and we’re alone, but we’re alone together. 

First comes Jeff, a sophomore who has the bad luck of moving to Hawkins in the middle of the school year. Eddie notices him sitting by the trash can, eating what looks to be that day’s meatloaf special with headphones over his ears. When Eddie approaches him, he lifts just one headphone and Eddie hears the unmistakable guitar line of Black Sabbath’s Voodoo loud enough to hear from a foot away. In just about no time, Jeff becomes arguably Eddie's best friend.

Next comes Frank, who Eddie catches in the music room shredding a bass guitar. He tells Eddie under no uncertain circumstances that his nickname has always been Freak and he’ll answer only as such. It causes a little confusion when people begin using it as a pejorative against Eddie, but Eddie wears it with pride. Not just for himself, not just as a way to usurp the slur for himself, but to protect Freak from anything worse. 

Gareth is a bit younger, a true freshman when Eddie is in his first senior year. He catches him in an argument with some jock who’s just spilled who-knows-what on his vest. Maybe intentionally, maybe not. The point is that Gareth is about to get his shit rocked by three dudes on the football team and Eddie has built himself up to be just frightening enough to dissolve the tension. Or, to at least give the kid some backup if it gets to the point of needing backup. 

It doesn’t, thankfully, but Eddie discovers Gareth plays drums and his dream of re-igniting his old middle school band, Corroded Coffin, comes to fruition. 

Each year, Eddie repeats the same process. 

Protect the sheep. Protect himself. Have a little fun in the meantime. 

In 1986, in what he hopes to be his final senior year, Eddie meets a new crop of vulnerable kids with ghosts in their eyes that color them a bit differently than others in the past. One wears a Weird Al shirt to school, one has to contend with having the same last name as one of the smartest students to ever pass through these hallowed hallways, and one straddles the dividing line between popular and freak. Not even Eddie can imagine being that brave. 

In a few short months, he’ll find just how brave he can actually be.

Hellfire Club becomes Eddie’s pride and joy. A place where Eddie feels wanted and a place where Eddie hopes others do, too. They’re still the weird ones, the outcasts, the forgotten, but they can’t be lonely. Not when they have each other.

[creelkobblelaufeyson69]

No more games

Warnings: Angst

Y/n was crying in front of The Doctor. The Toy Maker was watching with a huge grin on his face. Donna was confused of why The Doctor hadn’t seemed like he wanted to see an old friend. “Do you really think you could trick me again? After what happened last time?” The Doctor asked them as Donna now asked what had happened last time

“They helped him. They took advantage of my kindness and then backstabbed me” The Doctor explains, which makes Donna mad at them. “Why would you do that?!” She asked as she turns to face them. “Tell em why’d you did it Y/n” The Toy Master said with glee

They didn’t respond; they genuinely felt bad for what they’ve done. Many years they were able to get better, and they had. But they knew The Doctor would never believe them. “The Toy Maker threatened people very close to me. I had to join in on his game to make sure my family were to stay alive” they explained

The Toy Maker frowns; “Their lying! I didn’t threaten your family! You joined out of wanting to be apart of the game! I can’t believe you’d lie again!” Y/n was angry now, and wanted nothing more than this man to be dead

The Doctor didn’t know who to believe now. Neither of the two were trustworthy, but he decided that the Toy Maker was telling the truth. “I believe you” The Doctor says, which makes their face go blank. “Good! And I can assure you that they will be forever by my side, since you can never find someone as loyal as Y/n”

Y/n looks at The Doctor now as they now sat down. They sat crisscrossed as he watches them intently. “Fuck you guys. The gaslighter and the time lord” their hands were planted onto their face as the Toy Maker was in shock. The Doctor was more confused by them saying that, since if they were still on the Toy Maker’s side, they wouldn’t have said that

“Pardon me? You’re supposed to be on my side” the Toy Maker said, which makes them stand up. They looked at him with anger in them. “I’d rather be buried alive than spend more time with an asshole like you!” They snapped as they grabbed something out of their pocket

It was their own sonic screwdriver that they made. The Doctor was shocked, and so was Donna. “So how about we play a one last game?” They asked him. “I’m assuming you’d want your freedom if you win” he says, which makes them nod their head. “Very well” he walks towards them instead of standing by the edge of the rooftop

“Choose your poison” he looks them in their eye as The Doctor approaches them. Once The Doctor stood next to them, Y/n and The Toy Maker look at him. “Excuse me, but you cannot help them” the Toy Maker says as he kept looking at The Doctor

“Oh, but shouldn’t I?” The Doctor asked him. The Doctor looks at Y/n for a second, who had a slight smile on their teary face. They looked back at the Toy Master, who was still looking at The Doctor. “But why would you? After all, they don’t like you” Y/n uses their sonic screwdriver on The Toy Maker

The Toy Maker turns into roses, and faded away. They looked, and felt proud of themselves. “And no one likes you” they said as the roses faded. The Doctor and Donna were in shock. They looked at the two, with a big smile on their face

“Wow. It seems like they’ve changed their loyalty to someone else” Donna says as The Doctor moves closer towards them. “Whoa Doctor. Getting very close. I don’t think we’re at that stage yet” they said as a blush appeared on their face

“Right. Sorry” he backs up as a blush appears on his face as well. Y/n walks over towards the edge to look at the sky. Donna tells him to go over to talk to them. The Doctor walks over towards to stand next to them. Once he stood next to them, they looked at him

“I’m really sorry I didn’t believe you about your parents” he starts, which makes them smile a bit. “I’m just glad you believe me…” they notice his arms were too long now, which makes them make eye contact with him. Donna’s eyes widened when she realized she came back with the wrong Doctor

“I wish you hadn’t believed me” Y/n gets shoved off of the cliff now. Donna was tearing up now as he looks back at her. He grins as his arms go back to normal now. “I killed The Doctor…”

[undertheopensky]

Wildlife 3

Whumptober Day 10: Stranded

Characters: Hyrule, Blue, Red, everyone’s there but may or may not have a major speaking part

Trigger warnings: Alternative Backstories, Past Violence to a Child, Broken Bones

Read on Ao3!

Late to the party? Read Part 1 and Part 2!

-----

Wild’s strange, glowing explosives knock another foot of strange, white stone out of the wall. From a safe distance, with their hands over their ears, seven Hylians watch as he inspects his handiwork, though anyone can see he’s not pleased with his progress.

“Am I going deaf, or are his explosions getting smaller?” asks Twilight.

“I think he’s just getting better at placing them so the explosion goes towards the wall instead of us,” says Warriors.

Their initial meeting – a mess of screaming, shouting, and angrily pointed fingers – had steadily developed into reluctant truce as they decided, one by one, that it didn’t matter if anyone else was telling the truth about being a hero; they wanted out. And they had the best chance of it by pooling their resources. If not their names. That had nearly been another argument, because what were the chances they would all be called Link, but they’d eventually agreed to nicknames for efficiency’s sake. After all, standing around fighting about it wasn’t getting them any closer to freedom.

Another explosion heralds a now-distinctive crumbling of stone, as Wild’s demolition project makes it through to the other side of yet another wall.

“Where is he getting all those bombs from?” Sky wonders. He’s their most recent acquisition, two walls back, and still a little confused.

“That flat piece of stone he carries is enchanted,” grumpy Legend answers. “I dunno if it just stores them or produces them, but either way, he’s not afraid of running out.”

Hyrule’s just glad they’re powerful enough to break through the walls, which they’ve discovered are thicker across than a man is tall. He’d spent a lot of time carefully thumping away with the pommel of his blade, looking for weak points, and finding none.

They file through the new tunnel and are disappointed but not surprised to find more of the same: evergreen trees, wild greens, and an assortment of rocks, arranged in slightly different ways. They have yet to find that they’ve doubled back at all, so surely they’ll come across the edge of this strange place and escape eventually.

Surely.

Hyrule can’t help hoping that another portal will turn up and derail the endless walking. There haven’t even been any monsters, for Din’s sake. It’s very disconcerting.

Though that might be about to change - there’s movement and colour not far ahead of them.

It’s not a monster. It’s a little kid – no older than ten. He’s skinny and dirty and barefoot, sitting at the base of a tree digging amongst its roots with intent focus. The clothes hanging off his frame are as tattered and dirty as he is.

How long has he been out here? Is he – alone? The way they had been before Wild and his infinite bomb supply had started cutting tunnels through the strange white walls?

He makes a little noise of triumph. A handful of small, bitter tubers are added to the pile at his knee, and then he goes back to digging.

Sky makes a hurt, worried noise.

He jolts at the sound, head jerking to face it, and as soon as he spots them he’s scrambling to his feet.

There’s a visible flash of alarm as he takes in their weapons and armour, before it vanishes under a grim mask. The stick he’d snatched up is no match for properly forged steel and he knows it.

“Easy,” Time calls, calm and low and steady. “We’re not gonna hurt you. It’s okay.”

The kid visibly does not believe him.

From this angle it’s easy to see that a good portion of the dirt on his face isn’t dirt at all – there’s a huge bruise over his eye and cheek and forehead. Maybe the boy had stumbled or fallen, but the way he tracks Time’s hands as the man talks makes Hyrule suspect a more deliberate cause. It’s still black and blue and aching purple in some places. It makes his fingers twitch with the need to fix it.

And, hell, why not?

“That bruise looks like it hurts,” he calls, making the boy startle and take his glare off Time. “I’m a healer; if you want, I have a healing spell to help it feel better.”

Now he has the boy’s attention. “How good?” he asks abruptly.

Hyrule slowly edges forward. “I can make it so it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“No, I mean – how good a healer are you? Is it just bruises, or can you fix – worse stuff?”

Hyrule’s eyes widen. “Are you hurt? Where is it, how bad – I’m very good, I can help with most things, I just need to touch you I promise it won’t hurt –”

The boy flinches back. “No! Don’t –”

Hyrule freezes.

The boy wrestles with his instinctive reaction. Hyrule waits, patient, not moving from where he still has one hand extended. Finally the boy takes a deep breath, and stops pressing himself back into the tree. Passing a wary eye over the rest of the group – carefully holding themselves at a distance, letting Hyrule handle things – he says, low and quiet, “S’not for me.”

Someone else. There’s someone else in these woods the kid is protecting, someone who’s hurt bad, and goddesses no wonder he’s so guarded.

“Okay,” says Hyrule, matching his volume. “What would you like to do?”

That gets a wary, confused look. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I need to be touching them to heal them. Do you want to go get them and bring them here, or we can all follow you –” the kid tenses – “or I can go with you alone, and we’ll leave these guys here.”

The boy scratches at his arms, agitated. He clearly doesn’t like any of these options. He just as clearly knows he has to take one of them if he wants his friend healed and is mentally trying to find the least frightening option.

“Just you,” he says at last. “An’ if any of them follow us, I’ll make ‘em regret it.”

He means it, too. He’s only got a stick but there’s a wild light in his eyes that says he’ll make it hurt.

Hyrule nods agreeably. “Lead the way, then. We’ll be back,” he says to the others, “you guys wait here.”

Plus one, he signs, when the boy has turned away, and Wars winces in understanding.

He follows the boy through the trees, and at first he’s confused when they start curving in a great arc. Was the kid getting disoriented? Then at a rock he changes direction entirely, going in a long zigzag until he gets to a particularly large tree and curves back around almost the way they came -

Of course, Hyrule realises, with a stab of sorrow. The boy doesn’t trust them, any of them, and leading them straight to his injured friend? He can barely bring himself to let Hyrule come along.

They come to a stream. The kid sloshes right through without pausing. Heck, why would he? He’s got no shoes or socks to worry about, and the ragged hem of his trousers is too high to be menaced by the knee-high water. Hyrule, however, hates wet shoes, and has to take a flying leap that nearly ends with him falling backwards into the stream.

For a second, the kid looks as if he’ll laugh. Then the worried, too-serious expression comes back down, and he just keeps going. This time though he’s chewing the inside of his cheek and side-eyeing Hyrule, searching him for something. Hyrule has no idea what he’s looking for, and can only hope he passes muster.

Finally, he comes to some kind of conclusion, and opens his mouth.

Chiii-ruu-click-click! Chiii-click-chiii-click!

Chitter-chitter-click! Chitter-click-click! comes back to them like an echo, and the boy visibly relaxes, before remembering Hyrule is there and tensing again.

Hyrule wishes he could tell him he’s only going to help. Then he remembers he can.

“Hey,” he says, making the kid jump, “you’re in control here. I’m not going to do anything unless you tell me it’s okay.”

The kid stares at him, wordless doubt writ large on his bruised and swollen face.

Hyrule’s heart hurts.

They come to a thicket of gnarled shrubs, and instead of going around, the kid ducks down and scrambles right through.

There’s a tunnel of sorts, Hyrule realises when he peers more closely, too small for a full-grown adult to get through without tearing themselves to shreds on the thorns. Hyrule is no ten year old, but he’s also no stranger to narrow and ill-advised pathways. He scrambles after him.

In the middle of the thicket is a clear area, where he finds his guide already chittering away to a mirror image of himself. He has a moment of disorientation, of terror and desperate get the child away from the monster impulse, before the copy chitters back in the same language, bright and happy. It’s not a dark copy. It’s a person.

Twins, Hyrule realises, with something like shock.

Hyrule - needs a minute.

The thicket. They’ve clearly done work to make it - habitable, sort of. Thorns have been broken off from the branches making up the walls. The hollow that’s probably spacious enough for two preteen boys is rather cramped with Hyrule there, and trying very hard both not to look at them clicking back and forth at each other and not make it obvious. The ground is padded in a layer of pine needles so thick it almost squishes under his hand. Comfortable enough for an injured person to lay on for long periods. Hyrule isn’t close enough to see for sure, but the boy’s left leg has had the pant leg torn away to make way for the sticks tied there, and looks bloody and bruised.

He’s hurt.

Somehow, that’s what helps the most. Reminds Hyrule that he’s here because a child needs help.

The boys finish their conversation in that inexplicable language, and the injured one briefly presses the side of his head to his brother’s. Then he looks at Hyrule expectantly.

“Hi,” says Hyrule. “I don’t know what your brother’s told you, but I’m a healer, and I’d like to fix your leg, if it’s okay with you.” He points. “May I take a look?”

“Yes please,” says the new boy with none of his brother’s hesitation.

Hyrule takes his time looking over the injury, probing it with his magic without trying to instigate anything. His breath hisses through his teeth.

It’s bad. The children splinted it, with remarkable skill, but it doesn’t change how terrible the break is. It’s swollen – of course it’s swollen – with an ominous bulge halfway down the shin where the bone is displaced. To make matters worse, the injury’s older than he’d thought. Fine strands of new bone are already starting to form, bridging the broken pieces and trying to stabilise them.

Hyrule grimaces. The injury itself must be agony - no wonder the boy is hidden in a thicket of thorns, safe from outside interference. And he can help. Bonesetting, even fixing a bad heal, is within his capabilities - but it always hurts.

“Okay, I can fix this, but the bone has already started to heal -” both children are already wincing - “so it’s going to hurt, yeah,” he finishes.

The kid makes a face and reaches into the walls of thorns at his back. At first Hyrule’s not sure what he’s doing, then the kid pulls out a thick stick and starts working it between his teeth, clearly intending to bite down on it to keep from biting through his tongue, or worse.

Hyrule winces at the thought of splinters in small mouths and starts unlacing his right bracer. “Hold on, hold on, use this - leather’s better.”

The kid turns it over in his hands, clearly fascinated by the stitchwork, before remembering what it’s for and shoving it it in his mouth.

“Okay, ready? One. Two -”

Hyrule’s hands limn with green.

Blood vessels meeting, dead blood clearing, inflammation easing, strands of wrong bone dissolving under the strength of his magic so the bone can snap back into place -

The boy wails through the leather.

His brother goes so tense he’s nearly vibrating. His lips pull back from his teeth in a terrified snarl.

Despite the wild eyes and the tooth-baring snarl, he doesn’t lunge for Hyrule’s throat. Which is fantastic because he does need to concentrate. Bone is more complicated than it looks, layers that are structured differently and then wound through with blood vessels that did not appreciate sudden relocations, tender marrow bleeding needs to stop, and healing and healing and healing until there’s nothing left to heal.

“Ooooh, that always itches!” the boy wails, scratching frantically at the tops of both thighs where Hyrule’s magic had encouraged skin to grow over exposed and oozing muscle. “But I think it - Blue, help me get this off, I think it’s good!”

When the splints are off he immediately bounces to his feet to test it and gets his hair caught in the branches overhead, making him squeak in surprise. His brother rolls his eyes and gets up to help get him free. Hyrule just tries not to laugh.

“It doesn’t hurt, that’s amazing, it even fixed my knees, look, Blue, they’re not even scarred, I was sure it was gonna be awful! It doesn’t hurt anymore!”

His brother, still silent, looks at Hyrule with eyes filled with gratitude.

You healed them.

You saved them.

You helped, even though you didn’t have to.

He’s seen it before, many times. And it’s still just as overwhelming as the first time.

He manages a smile through the ache in his heart. “It’s what I do,” he says. “I’m supposed to be a hero, after all.”

The boy’s eyes light up. “You’re a hero? Really? That’s so cool! Where are you from?”

“Ah, Calatia. It’s to the northwest of Hyrule.”

“Wow, I’ve never been there, what’s it like? Wait, shoot, I never got your name! Blue, why didn’t you tell me his name! Wait I never gave you my name ohmygosh! Hi, I’m Red, thank you for fixing my leg, now what’s Calatia like??”

He has so much energy, it’s nearly dizzying. He peppers Hyrule with questions about his homeland while his brother - Blue - silently gets his curls free of the thorns. Then Hyrule mentions something about one of the others and he gets even more excited.

“There’s more of you?” He sounds fascinated. “How did you find each other - no, wait, how did you find us? Blue said this place was totally walled in!”

“Wild is something of a demolitions expert, so we’ve been blowing holes in all the walls.”

Red gasps again. “You can get out??”

“Well we’ve sure been trying…”

“Blue! Why didn’t you tell me!”

“Didn’t know,” Blue grunts. “Thought they’d come in like you and the other guy. Teleport, or whatever.”

“But there’s people! C’mon, c’mon! I wanna meet ‘em!”

Red has trouble making it through the tunnel of thorns. His leg, though healed, is stiff from long inactivity, and he struggles to keep his balance. Instead of being frustrated or upset, he just giggles to himself as he crouch-crawls through, and bounces up like he’s made of springs once he’s clear.

“Okay, let’s go!”

When they cross the stream again Blue stops right in the middle.

Red turns back, frowning. “Blue? What’s wrong?”

For a long minute Blue says nothing, just watches the clear water rushing past his feet. Then in one quick movement he leans down, scoops up a fish, and dumps it, still wriggling, at Hyrule’s feet.

He meets Hyrule’s eyes fearlessly. “For healing my brother.”

Hyrule’s shoulders go up to his ears. “I don’t - I’m not - I don’t need payment, I don’t take - you take it, you need the food, I don’t need to be paid for healing -”

“Not payment,” he insists. “A kindness for a kindness.”

“Oh, oh!” Red bounces excitedly on his toes. “If I catch you a fish too, will you heal Blue’s face??”

“You don’t have to, I’ll do that for free,” Hyrule tells him, “I’d’ve healed you for free, and I did. I’m a healer. Seeing people in pain means I haven’t done my job yet.”

Blue nudges the fish towards him. Hyrule sighs. “If I take the fish, will you let me heal you?” Blue gives him a blank, stubborn look.

“Blue, let him heal your face,” Red orders, and that’s all it takes to get him to stand still. Hyrule silently marvels at this as he sends a jolt of magic through the bruise, wiping it away easily. Blue tolerates the contact for only as long as it takes the magic to do its work, and then he’s stepping back out of reach - and grabbing the fish, insistently trying to hand it over.

Hyrule sighs and grabs it by the tail. “Alright, alright. Thank you. And thank you for letting me heal you.” He smiles.

Still wary, still hesitant, Blue doesn’t smile back. But some of the ever-present tension has gone out of him, and he softens when his brother leans into him with a smile big enough for both of them.

[weirdestbooks]

Giving In (Wattpad | Ao3)

Bonus Oneshot for the Consequence of Loyalty

They were surrendering. Philippines knew it would come eventually, but that didn’t mean he hated it any less.

He didn’t want to give in. He didn’t want to stop fighting the puppet. It was a want, a need that burned through every fiber of his being, fueled him with rage and stubbornness, with defiance, with the ability to even throw off the puppet.

But the pain was too much, the power of the puppet state too strong. There wasn’t enough resistance to allow him to fight now that the Army had surrendered. Philippines knew it would not be the end of his people’s resistance, but no matter how hard they tried, Philippines could tell now that it would not be enough to allow him to fight.

He could barely move, only half aware of the things he said as he sent Kentucky away. But he did so and then sat down, closing his eyes so he would not have to see his men watch him succumb to the puppet.

He could barely stand the shame and humiliation himself. He hated having the pain in his head fade away, the stiffening of his limbs, and he lost the ability to do everything. He didn't want anyone else to see him this way. 

Philippines wasn’t sure how long he sat there, cross-legged, until he felt hands grab his shoulders and pull him upright. One of them forced his eyes open, and Philippines, now trapped behind the glassy eyes of a puppet, could do nothing about it. It was a Japanese soldier, eyes curious.

“It can’t do anything?” he asked the soldier beside him, who shook his head. Philippines wanted to grit his teeth and tell them that he was not an it, that he was a he and wanted to be addressed as such, but he could do nothing.

The worst part about their words, though, was the fact that they were speaking Japanese, a language that Philippines previously knew but not well.

Now, he heard it as if it were his first language. Japan has made her language his official language—another way to show her absolute control over him. Philippines hated him. He might not be able to control his body, but he could taste the hatred on his tongue.

“No, he can’t. He’s been put into this state to ensure that he can be taken back to his government and freed from the Ame-ko. It’s a precaution, as they don’t know how much control the United States had over him,” the other soldier said, “It’s only temporary until Nippon-sama can officially tell him that he is freed, like what she did with Manchukuo, and like what she is trying to do with China.”

Freed. Ha. This wasn’t freedom. She trapped him in a prison of his mind. Martial law would have been better. At least Philippines wouldn’t have to watch his body do all the things he never wanted to do while still being himself.

America wasn’t Philippines’ favorite person, but he was better than Japan, for he had never done this to Philippines.

“So…what do we do?” the first soldier asked.

“We take him back to Manila and hand him over to his government, where they will break the United States’ control over him. That is why he can’t move. The Ame-ko puppet state keeps him from moving, even though his flag has changed,” the second soldier said. 

Philippines didn’t know whether he felt like laughing or crying. America was the one who had him under his control? America was the one who forced the puppet state on him?

Oh, Japan knew how to lie. She really was becoming a proper empire. Not that the Spanish Empire could lie, but he was no less dangerous than the others.

“How do we move him?” the first soldier asked, moving to look Philippines in the eye, confusion in his eyes.

“We’re just taking him to the car, then he will be driven to Manila to reunite with his government,” the second soldier said, carefully taking Philippines by the arm and tugging him forward. Much to Philippines’ horror, his legs began moving, and guided by the soldiers, he was forced to walk towards a vehicle. 

Dammit! He had hoped that the nature of the puppet state’s control over him meant his legs wouldn’t move and that the two soldiers would have to struggle to drag him to the car. It would have only been a temporary delay, but it would have made Philippines feel a little bit better to know that he was still causing problems for them. 

Fate was not on his side.

Internally, as he could no longer do anything outside his own mind, Philippines sighed.

He had only given in a few moments ago, and it already felt too long.

He hoped America would come back soon. He didn’t know what he would do if he had to be under this government’s control for a long time.

He really, really didn't want to be.

But it’s not like he had a choice.

[feyravenchatter]

Listen. Angel with a Shotgun is still one of my stim songs that I will listen to on repeat ad nauseam. And the pieces of this started falling into place the last time I listened to it for about 3 days straight. I do have it vaguely outlined-ish, I know who the contact is, I have an idea of how that's going to go, it's just on the back burner for now

☆・*☆*・☆

The war between angels and demons, Heaven and Hell, had been raging for millennia.  It had spilled out into the mortal world, both sides hiding in plain sight.  Battles were called gang wars by humans, and it wasn’t far from the truth.  Both sides wanted to claim the realm of humans for their own, and the fights were always bloody.

Lance hadn’t been back to the Angel Garrison in a long time.  Long enough for him to have known the grandparents of the humans he hid amongst.  He’d been sent on a stealth mission nearly a century earlier, meant to infiltrate one of the demon factions, masquerading as a fallen angel.  His initial ruse had worked, the Marmora clan accepting him as one of their own.  This was where his problems started.  He quickly realized the demons might actually have a valid point.  A few valid points.  Humans should have their own will to determine their fates, not strung along by Heaven to an end that wasn’t what they were promised.  What Heaven threatened Hell was like was wrong too.  Neither side knew the other well enough to understand what their true goals were.  Lance did, and after a century, he’d determined his side was wrong.

He'd gotten close to one of the demons he was meant to be spying on as well.  Heaven strictly forbade personal relationships, deeming them troublesome and unholy.  Hell did not, fully allowing demons the freedom to get as close as they wanted with whoever they wanted.  Lance understood when he met Keith, the demon carved from ivory and ebony and inlaid with amethyst.  He was the most beautiful being Lance had ever seen.  He couldn’t help but get closer.

He first noticed his wings changing after fifty years.  He and Keith had just escaped a losing battle with far more angels than just the two of them.  Lance was hurt, and sank to the floor of the abandoned warehouse, one hand pressed to the bleeding wound in his side.

“Lance, we’re ok,” Keith said, “We’re safe.  Let me take a look at that.”

Lance winced as he moved his hand away from torn and burned skin and shredded fabric, gold blood soaking his clothes.  It felt awful; even being grazed by an angel’s smite was no joke.  His wings lay folded, his primary feathers pooling on the floor.  Keith wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t needed to carefully brush them aside to have better access to the bleeding wound.

“Your feathers are turning,” he said while taking stock of the injury.  It was pretty bad, but nothing life threatening.

Lance snapped to look, hissing at the pain.  But Keith was right.  The pure white was becoming stained, midnight blue and tarnished gold bleeding in from the tips.  It was his first indication that he was truly falling and no longer just pretending.

Fifty years later, and Lance and Keith were back-to-back in the middle of a fight.  They knew it would be fairly close quarters before they headed out that night and came prepared, Keith with a forearm-length blade in each hand, and Lance with a shotgun.  It had been a long time since he’d felt anything except pity at taking out other angels.  They’d never know how wrong they were, but Lance knew, and he also knew that there was no saving most of them.

Keith’s charcoal and purple leathery wings snapped open, and with a single powerful beat he took off for the air, spinning toward one of the angels.  That poor fuck didn’t even know what hit them.  Lance’s back was exposed, but he knew Keith wouldn’t leave him unprotected.  He heard movement, and spun to face it, pulling the lever on his weapon.  He only needed a split second to aim, and another to fire, the concrete block wall painted gold with the felled angel’s blood.  Lance stopped, muscles tensing, when he felt the hand pressed between his midnight blue wings edged in tarnished gold.

“Oh, look, it’s the traitor.”  The voice dripped heavily with self-righteousness and condescension.

Lance mentally cursed himself.  “The fuck do you want, James?”

“What do I want?  I want all stained, worthless traitors dead.  And tonight I think I’ll start with you.”

James decided to play dirty that night.  He was summoning a full smite, bare-handed, directly against Lance’s back.  There would be nothing left to save if it was completed.  But James had forgotten about Keith in his angelic arrogance, and Lance heard his quiet gasp at the luxite blade suddenly at his throat.

“Let him go,” Keith growled.

“No.”  James tried to sound sure of himself, but the tremor in his voice was too obvious.

“Let him go or I’ll cut your throat where you stand.”

James tried a different tactic.  “He’s betraying you, y’know.”

Keith scoffed, the dagger’s sharp edge biting in deeper.  “Like fuck he is.  I know all about why he came to us to begin with, but that’s over.  Right, babe?”

Lance huffed a laugh.  “Damn right.  Sorry, James.”

Keith was sent reeling back at the angelic scream and holy light.  Lance moved quickly, but not quite quickly enough, the incomplete smite exploding inches away from his back.  Keith recovered faster, throwing himself back into the fight.  Lance staggered, but remained standing, watching as Keith sliced his way through the remaining angels, bright gold blood spilling freely over black concrete.  James was glowing with his rage, white wings fully spread, and he left the rain-slicked pavement, hovering above the battle.

Lance, between the searing pain and literally incandescent angel, forgot about the shotgun in his hand, instead summoning a smite of his own.  It was different now, not backed by the power of Heaven like James’ was, but by his own will.  His own anger took physical form, racing down his arm and coalescing in the palm of his hand.  James was too angry to notice, and had no time at all to react when the unholy smite was set loose, a concentrated storm cloud of cerulean power crackling with dark gold lightning finding its target.  James screamed again, Lance’s smite consuming him.  White cracked and splintered into blood red and shining gold and then became black as the smite burned him from inside, not even ash left behind.  The rest of the angels lay dead, and Keith flew across the battlefield, catching Lance as he fell.

The last thing Lance heard before passing out was Keith’s worried voice.

“Hold on.  We’ll take care of this.”

When Lance woke, it was in one of the Victorian bedrooms of the Marmora mansion.  He was on his stomach, instantly reminded of why when he tried to get up.  The pain was incredible, and he gave up immediately, collapsing back down to the plush mattress under him.

“We took care of it as well as we could,” Keith’s voice said from the doorway, “But you know it can’t be perfect.”

“’S gonna scar, huh?” Lance asked, muffled by the pillow.

Keith sat in the chair beside him.  “Yeah.  Kinda looks like a starburst.”  He paused, gathering his thoughts.  “What James said, about you betraying me-”

Lance cut him off.  “It’s bullshit.  You know that.”

Keith interrupted this time.  “No, I know.  But you’re still in contact with them.  Is there anything they might know?”

Lance turned his head.  “No.  I don’t even tell my contact the truth, as much as they’re on our side.  It’s too risky and they know it.  All I give them is the false info to keep throwing the rest of them off.”

“You know I trust you.  I think I was just wondering why he’d bring it up.”

“Because, he had no way of knowing what I might have told you.  There is nothing to worry about.  We’re safe.”

“Ok.”  Keith leaned in for a soft kiss, a small smile curling his lip.  “Love you.”

Lance reached out, twisting their fingers together.  “Love you too.”

“Rest, love.  I’ll be back.”

When Lance had fallen asleep again, Keith left, heading for the meeting in progress.  Kolivan stood at the front of the war room, the rest of the clan spread throughout.  City maps both new and antique papered the walls, battles marked as either won or lost, Keith and Lance’s fight marked with a clear win.  Every head snapped to the door when it opened, Keith walking past them all to address Kolivan directly.

“He’s resting, and although the smite was incomplete, the injury is still severe,” he reported, “It will take at least a few days to heal enough for him to leave bedrest.”

Kolivan nodded.  “And our other matter?”

“Confirmed.  The contact needs to be retrieved.  Lance didn’t say exactly, but it sounds like they’re in danger of being found out.  I believe their knowledge of Heaven will be invaluable to us.”

“And you still trust him?”

“With my life.  Lance came to us as a spy, yes, but he has never once truly betrayed us.  Every feather has turned.  There is no question at all that he has fallen.”

“Aw, love you too, babe.”

Lance was standing braced against the doorway, clearly still in pain.  The fact that he should not at all be out of bed yet was fully ignored in favor of the newest change to the fallen angel.  Lance’s once unblemished bronze skin now bore new marks.  Wide V-shapes like spread wings now sat high on his cheekbones in richly glowing blue, the same color chasing down his arms and torso in vine-like lines.  His once clear blue eyes were darkened like the depths of the ocean, ringed in the same tarnished gold as his wings.

“But I’m going to have to disagree with your assessment.  I hadn’t fully fallen yet.  Have now.  I know none of you have ever seen a truly fallen angel, Heaven isn’t exactly known for letting us live this long.  You got the wing thing right, but this is the rest of the transformation.  And by the way, Keith’s right.  We need to get my contact out of the Garrison before they’re caught.”

Kolivan studied Lance, turning over both Keith’s report and Lance’s new appearance.  He nodded once.  “We will retrieve your contact.  Thace, Ulaz, you will lead the infiltration team.  Antok, Regris, you will support them.  Lance, can you hide your fall?”

“I’ll need to recover from tonight first, but I think so.  But we won’t have a lot of time.  I knew James.  They’ll be looking for him and when they can’t find him, they’ll be looking for whoever killed him.”

“Understood.  Keith, you’re dismissed.  Stay with him.”

Lance leaned on Keith once they were out of sight of the rest of the Marmora clan.  He was exhausted, both from the fight and completing his fall from grace.  Keith was quiet as usual, but there was an undercurrent to it.

“What was it?” he asked eventually, “What made the fall complete?”

“I killed an angel.”

“You’ve been killing angels for a century.”

“Not with my smite I haven’t.  That was what did it.  Killing one of Heaven’s children with a corrupted version of what they consider to be one of their greatest gifts.”

Keith scoffed.  “Greatest gift my ass.  What happened to the unconditional love and compassion they’re always screeching about?”

Lance laughed softly once.  “Turns out terms and conditions do apply.”

[slusheeduck]

Fictober 2023 Day 20 - Prompt: "What if we're wrong?" Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 The fire was dying, and Gale had drawn the short straw that night in being the one to put it out. He fetched the nearby pail of water, then paused as something pale caught his eye. Astarion was still by the fire, working very intently on some manner of embroidery on the back of a shirt.

Gale watched him for a moment, then finally asked, “Something on your mind?”

“No.” Astarion didn’t so much as look up at him, focused instead on his stitching.

Gale shifted, then let out a breath. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to the shirt. Astarion finally looked up at him, then gave a little shrug as he handed off the shirt. Gale held it up—there was no embroidery, just an ever-growing spiral of silver thread. Someone was looking for something to keep himself occupied.

Gale didn’t say anything, but the raised brow as he showed Astarion his work so far made the vampire sigh.

“Yes, all right, fine. I’m thinking. I do that sometimes, you know,” he snipped, snatching the shirt back. “I’ll put out the fire. You go to bed.”

“I think we’re past that point now,” Gale said, settling down beside Astarion. “So. What’s on your mind?”

Astarion’s thumb went up to his mouth, blunt front teeth nibbling at the nail there. Oh, dear. This was something nerve-wracking, then.

“It’s…Falerin and Halsin. They’ve gone off to…enjoy the night,” he said quietly. Gale’s eyebrows shot up.

“Do they…are they…surely they wouldn’t go behind your back?”

“No, no. No, Fal was…oddly sweet about the whole thing. Insisted he would decline if I wanted him to, assured it wasn’t anything to do with me. And I didn’t want to deny him some fun after all the shit we’ve been through. And gods know we’ve all seen him actively wipe away his drool whenever Halsin’s frankly obscene biceps are on display.” He let out a breath, shaking his head as his nail returned to his teeth. “So no, it’s not the sex that’s bothering me.”

Gale clasped his hands together. “So what is?”

Astarion was quiet for a very, very long time, gaze far-away. Finally, in a very small voice, he asked “What if we’re…wrong? For each other?”

Gale blinked. One day, he thought to himself, he was going to write a book if he survived this: How To Be A Confidant To Both Halves Of A Couple In The Face Of World-Ending Catastrophe. Well, maybe with a snappier title than that. But he shook his head, coming back to the moment and trying his best to find a good way to answer that.

“Well, I think Falerin adores you,” he finally settled on saying, hands rubbing his knees.

Astarion shook his head. “I know he does. He’s very obvious; I’d love to play poker against him some time because I know I’d bleed him dry…” He squinted at the unintentional pun, then shook his head and sighed, hands going to press against his eyes. “But that’s not the issue. I…Halsin is everything I’m not. He’s…big, he’s warm, he’s good-natured and friendly…he’s nice. And I’m none of those things.”

“Well, no, you’re…” Gale trailed off. Oh, dear. “You’re great conversation.”

Astarion lifted his head to send the wizard a flat look, then sighed as he rested his chin in his hand. “I trust Falerin. I fully believe that it’s just a fling. But…maybe, for once, I shouldn’t be so focused on just getting mine. Call things off and nudge him toward someone…better.”

“I think that’s very selfless. And also completely idiotic.”

Astarion sat up straight, bristling. “Idiotic?” He scoffed; it was a little bit of relief, having the usual Astarion back if just for a moment. “Well, you love him, too, don’t you? Wouldn’t you want him to have a good life once all the rubble clears? They can…go off into the woods and enjoy nature’s gifts and…and he won’t be tied to a liability. Which, even if I do survive this Netherbrain nonsense and I do rip Cazardor to pieces and get my freedom, I will be so long as I’ve got my condition. And that’s not even going into the two centuries of baggage I’m well-aware I have.”

Gale stayed quiet as Astarion railed off, letting him go until he ran out of steam. Once he finished, he looked back to the embers in the fire. “The heart wants what the heart wants,” he finally said. “We don’t choose who we love. And if you can look back on everything we’ve gone through so far, look at all the times Falerin could have called it off but didn’t, and you think you know better than him what he wants, that’s more selfish than keeping him, I’d say.” He looked up. “He’s an adult. He can make his own choices. And—this may be harsh—but I think you of all people should know how…cruel it is to make someone else’s choices for them.”

Astarion stared at Gale for a long moment, red eyes glinting with the dying fire. His face twitched in preparation for an argument, but ultimately he sighed.

“Fine,” he said, giving a huff as he plunked his chin back in his hand. “But I still think it’s a mistake.”

“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself,” Gale said brightly. “You’ve got plenty going for you that Halsin doesn’t. You’re attractive—in a…pointy, mean sort of way. You’re entertaining…also in a pointy, mean sort of way. Your embroidery is beautiful. And, really, I don’t think there’s a single thing Halsin can give Falerin that you ca—”

He was cut off by what was unmistakably the sound of a bear’s roar, off in the wilds nearby. There were no bears this close to Baldur’s Gate. That meant it had to be…

“…well,” Gale finally said after clearing his throat. “Maybe there’s…one thing he can give him that you can’t.” He looked over in alarm as Astarion’s head fell into his hands, accompanied by a long, distraught groan. “Or. Or! I’m sure we can find a…a spell to imitate wild shape for non-druids. We just have to…”

“Gale, shut up,” Astarion snapped, not lifting his head. There was another roar in the distance, and Astarion let out an even more despondent groan. “Oh my gods, I’m in love with a bear-fucker.”

Fictober 2023 Drabble Master Post

[ipsen]

Blank Canvas, Chapter 2

Read on AO3 or down below.

Summary: A peek into a mysterious past, and Kaneki’s sketch in a park.

Word Count: 4641

Chapter 1 Chapter 3 Master Post

“A human heart in a cage. However, the cage is too small for the heart, and the bars pierce through it, making it bleed.”

— Alt text of Haise Sasaki’s first posted work

———

“Kuzen.”

“I know, Noroi.”

“She’s less than half your age.”

“I love her.”

“That isn’t what I’m saying! You’re taking advantage of her, and now you’re telling me she’s—”

“We’ll make it work, old friend.”

“Don’t you dare pull that card on me. I can’t believe you! What do you know about this girl?”

“Well, we met at a coffee shop, and we get along well.”

“… Is that it?”

“Yes, I believe that’s all. We enjoy each other’s company.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

—

“Kuzen.”

“Noroi, listen, I…”

“She was twenty-two. Barely an adult!”

“I-I know, but listen, I—”

“And now she’s gone?! What happened?!”

“There were complications with the birth. She had always been sickly, but neither of us imagined—”

“Neither of you predicted this? Really?”

“She wanted to go through with it, Noroi. It wasn’t my place to stop her.”

“She was your wife; you had every place to stop her!”

“I… Can we not do this? I need to know if you can take care of the child. Matasaka might be able to, but…”

“What do you mean, ‘the child’—?! This isn’t a possession, Kuzen. You can’t seriously be considering handing a baby off to me. Not when you're needed most!”

“I just can’t bear the thought of  the Garden getting their hands on this one too.”

“And so you brought the child here?! Kuzen, this place is—“

“You don’t know what I’ve seen there! Those kids are… empty. I don’t want one of Ukina’s to become like that. I want one of us to live a life of joy and freedom, and I can’t be the one to do it.”

“Kuzen—“

“Please, Noroi. I can’t do this. It has to be someone else.”

“…”

“Please.”

“… What is the child’s name?”

“Oh, thank you, Noroi, thank you so—”

“Child. Name. Now.”

“Um, yes. Yes, of course. The child’s name is—”

———

“Sen Takatsuki?!” Hide exclaimed, grasping fistfuls of his hair. “She showed up?! Shit, Kaneki, I really tossed you to the wolves, didn’t I?! I’m so sorry!”

“H-Hide, it’s fine, really!” Kaneki tried his best to sound reassuring. “She was actually really pleasant to be around.”

It had been a few hours since the interview, and Hide had demanded Kaneki meet him and Touka at Anteiku for a status report. As for Kaneki himself, he was still reeling from the interview. Sen Takatsuki called his work incredible. Called him skilled. Not only that, but she was a longtime fan of Haise!! Was there really a part of him that caught her attention? Was there really some aspect of him that wasn’t a—

“Still! If I’d known, I’d’ve come with!” Hide threw his head back and groaned. “Sorry again, man.”

One side of Kaneki— the greedy, guilty side— was glad Hide didn’t come. Spending time alone with Ms. Takatsuki was nice, and it worked out for the better, anyway. He doubted Shiono would give him a job in the same situation.

Ms. Takatsuki herself was… different. Sitting in front of the one whose work resonated with his pain, he felt a little less alone. Not that Hide or Touka weren’t great company. He wouldn’t dare say that, even under torture. But their approach to life wasn’t like his, and he often felt himself left behind in their strides toward the future.

With Ms. Takatsuki, he felt like he could keep pace. When she had admired the works in his portfolio with great care, her friendly exterior had melted away, replaced with something deeper, something lonelier. Something familiar.

Alright, stop projecting on someone you barely know, creep. Maggot.

Touka, on break and sitting in a third chair, glanced at him. “So… did you get the job?”

He blinked, then scratched his head. “I-I think so?”

“What’s that mean?” She raised a brow. “You did or you didn’t, right?”

“Well, she gave me her card, and we’re supposed to meet again next Friday…” He fished it out to show her and Hide. “Then after, she said we’d… ‘iron out the hiring process’, I think?”

Hide examined the card, then the address scrawled on the back. “I can’t read this.”

“Huh?” Kaneki took the card back. “But it’s clear as day!”

Touka plucked it from between his fingers and checked it. “Oh, the Kazuichi Public Park, in the 11th ward,” she said matter-of-factly.

Hide gaped at her. “What the fuck, Touka? How can you read that?!”

“Doctor-in-training, remember?” She grinned at him cheekily as she gave Kaneki the card back.

“And you, Kaneki? What’s your secret?”

Kaneki scratched his chin. “A-Artist’s eye…” he muttered.

He couldn’t say out loud that he was once obsessed with the few handwritten things Ms. Takatsuki had put out, to the point he made a cheat sheet of her hiragana, katakana, and kanji, then memorized them. He made sure to shred the evidence when he realized just how messed up that was.

“Unbelievable. Unbelievable!” Hide stood up and made a few paces around the table. “I’m the one who travels the world here! And speaks six languages!”

Wait, it was six?!

Before Kaneki’s mind could unravel that thread, however, Hide’s phone buzzed. “Speaking of—” He checked it, then groaned. “Ah, shit, something came up. Chie’s gonna have my head for this one. Sorry guys, gotta go! ‘Grats on the job, Kaneki! Proud of you, man! Dinner’s on me tonight!” 

Dinner was always on him, though. Honestly, if they wanted to celebrate that bad, Kaneki figured he should be the one paying, as both penance for years of unpaid meals and celebration of the change of their dynamic.

But Hide just ruffled Kaneki’s hair and grinned. “You won’t fuck this up, promise!”

He hoped gold struck twice.

Touka sighed as Hide gave her a thumbs up and jogged out the door. “How does he have more energy than both of us?” she wondered aloud.

“That’s Hide,” Kaneki replied, laughing. “He siphons ours away for his own nefarious means.”

“I believe that.” She leaned back in her chair to stretch. “Anyway, you got something to wear to the park?”

What kind of question was that? “Yes…?”

“Oh, you’re not picking up on it.” She leaned forth and put her palms on the table, taking up as much of his vision as possible. Why did both of his friends do that? “This park meeting thing is the second part of the interview, if you ask me; Takatsuki’s still testing you.”

Kaneki swallowed the information. It was sound logic. If the hiring process was after the park, that could mean that the park was to see if they worked well together. So dressing up couldn’t hurt. The only problem, really, was the one who’d be dressing up.

“Oh, you don’t have anything.” Touka took out her phone and typed something.

There was a beat of silence, and he thumbed his sorely-needed cup of coffee.

“Alright,” she said, standing up. “I’ve got the clear from Kaya. Let’s go.”

That wasn’t good. Kaya never let anyone end their shift early. What had Touka texted her?

“Go where…?” he asked cautiously, subconsciously leaning away from her.

No response. She just grabbed his jacket sleeve and dragged him out of the shop.

———

“T-Touka…”

“Shhh, shut up.”

“I can do it myself—”

“I said shut up!”

“Wait— Ow!”

“Shit. Sorry.”

Sweet release came in the form of Touka’s gel-covered fingers untangling themselves from Kaneki’s hair. Her taste in clothing was actually fine— better than his, he readily admitted— but when it came to hair in any way, Kaneki preferred she stayed out of the room. Especially after the incident with Ayato. He shuddered at the memory.

“I-I think my hair’s fine,” he said, ruffling it back to its original fluffy shape.

Touka puffed out her cheeks in disappointment. “If you say so.”

He did, but he’d never be so insistent.

In the small room on Anteiku’s second floor, there was a full body mirror. He looked at himself, brow furrowed. His usual taste for crew neck T shirts was enhanced with an unbuttoned collar shirt worn like a vest, while in place of his sweatpants were a pair of wide khaki capris that, fortunately, did not hug his legs.

“I’m honestly surprised at how basic your clothes are,” Touka commented. “And, if it were up to me, I’d start from scratch. But you’re gonna be working with Ms. Takatsuki a lot, so she’s gonna have to put up with what you have.”

“Um, thank you…?” Kaneki said, unsure if those were the right words. “Oh, Touka, how much do I owe you for the clothes?”

She palmed her face, thought for a bit, then placed both hands on either of his shoulders. Her exposed azure eye looked deep into his silver ones. “Pay me with a job.”

“What?”

“Get the job. That’s your payment.”

“Touka, I’m serious—”

“I’m serious too!” She dropped her hands to place them on her hips. “I don’t know if you realize it, but you’re not a half-bad guy, Kaneki. And if Takatsuki doesn’t see that, it’s her loss, not yours.”

But… the thought of Ms. Takatsuki publishing her next work with an artist that wasn’t him, after everything she’d said about his work, only created dread inside of him. At the same time, though, he wasn’t worthy of putting his name next to hers.

“Hey, stop that.” Touka punched him lightly in the chest, and her tone turned soft. “Worthy or not, she chose to meet you again. Make something of it. Okay?”

The thing about Touka was that Kaneki could never not believe her. Combine that with how she was always pushing him forward when he got stuck— He could only nod and accept her encouragement. It was a meek nod, but it was a nod nonetheless.

“Okay,” he said. “I… I’ve got this.”

———

Kaneki’s grip on his satchel, which held his sketchbook, his pencils, and his (unsigned) copy of Monochrome Rainbow, was iron.

He had this. Right?

The thought of failure tightened his grip around the poor strap.

Right.

That said, there was an immediate problem. The park— Kazuichi Public Park— was big. Not only that, it was crowded.

Families from all over Tokyo, maybe even all over Japan, gathered under the late spring sun, hoping to catch those last few precious moments of mid-May sun before June and summer forced everyone indoors. Children frolicked in the grass, the playground, and even the trees, while others relaxed on homemade picnic blankets with baskets of the day’s meals.

He wondered if Ms. Takatsuki was already here; he wondered if he could even find her if she was. Where would she be, if so? He scanned the park, stupidly believing he could pick out someone smaller than him with green hair in this green park full of green trees and green grass. Idiot.

At least there was a lake, dotted with considerably less people than the rest of the park. Maybe he could start there? It was a landmark that stood out from the rest.

Fortunately, before he made the march down there, his phone buzzed.

From: Ms. Takatsuki turn around :P

He did so immediately, looking for the one to save him from his predicament. And, in the distance, far from prying eyes and waving and jumping, was Ms. Takatsuki. She was on time, like she promised.

Kaneki tried his best not to sprint over to escape the crowd and meet up with her, but there was urgency in his stride as he made his way up the hill to the tree where she was.

“Hey, Haise!” she called. “Over here!”

Haise. It was such a strange thing being called that, but at the same time, the name of his alternate persona was like a mask, and in a way, he was heading to a secret rendezvous. It was… rather exciting, when he put it like that.

As he got closer to the tree, he made out the details of Ms. Takatsuki’s outfit, and he was infinitely more grateful to Touka for taking him shopping. Ms. Takatsuki had haphazardly braided her hair this time, and she was wearing a thin burgundy batwing shirt with a high collar, a long cream skirt with a floral pattern, and— sneakers. Faded white sneakers, to be specific: the kind that were weathered in the sense that they had been worn plenty of times before.

A gust of wind blew her skirt against her legs, and he caught the slightest hint of black tights, and his mind wandered upward to—

Stop, stop, stop. Focus. Don’t be weird.

Kaneki cleared his throat and approached with an attempt at a straightened back. “H-Hello, Ms. Takatsuki,” he said, waving.

“Hey!” Ms. Takatsuki waved back. “Sorry for making you climb; I figured you preferred more isolated spots.”

“I-I do,” he assured her. “Thank you…”

“Nice vest.” She reached out and felt the material between her fingers, making him go rigid. “Is it comfy?”

He nodded, his neck feeling all kinds of warm and scratchy. “My, um, my friend got it for me…”

“Well, said friend knows what you look good in. Send them my compliments.” She winked at him, making him flush completely.

“I-I will…” He fumbled with his satchel. “Um, you… You look good too, Ms. Takatsuki.”

She blinked, then she chuckled. “You’re too kind.”

The sound of her laugh put him at ease, even though he got the feeling it was just a courtesy. She took a few steps back, then seemed to remember something. “Oh, and before I forget: I’d like it if you just called me Sen. If we’re gonna work together, I’d like for us to be friends too.”

He dipped his head a little too quickly. “Alright, S-S—” Him, Ken Kaneki, on a first name basis with Sen Takatsuki? But it was what she wanted! “S…” She called him Haise anyway, so it was only fair, but… “Er, sorry…”

She sighed, and Kaneki’s heart sank. “Or at least drop the honorific. ‘Takatsuki’ is fine too.”

He cleared his throat, suffering the prickling heat in his neck. “Okay… Takatsuki.”

He’d always been horrible when it came to first names; Hide had been lucky because they were young, but it had taken Touka two years to get him to willingly and consistently call her by her name.

The corner of Takatsuki’s lip curled upward. “Ready now?”

He nodded again. “A-After you.”

With a shocking gentleness, she pulled on the shoulder of his vest to bring him to her side, then led him down the hill. She still smelled like hibiscus flowers, he noticed, and now that he was closer, he saw her lips reflect a bit of sunlight. Chapstick, maybe? He didn’t dare presume it to be lip gloss. Not for this. Not for him, if he were a bit more presumptuous and idiotic than he already was.

She chose a bench under a different tree, where it was easier to see what visitors of the park were up to. She slid into an empty spot, throwing an inviting smile his way. Holding on to his satchel for dear life, he sat so that there was enough space for a whole other person between them. He watched her stare at the empty space for a moment, then back at him. Had he done something wrong?

“Alright, Haise,” she said. “Have you ever gone people-watching?”

“Can’t say I have,” he admitted. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, don’t be!” she assured him. “You have a fantastic understanding of anatomy already, and you’re used to drawing people repeatedly, yes?”

Kaneki nodded, recalling his comics. “More or less.”

“We’re here to gather intel, so to speak.” Takatsuki gestured to the breadth of the park. “Study the people and places that catch your eye here, and sketch them! I’ll be doing the same with words. We’ll compare notes afterward. Sound good?”

He swallowed. This was his first assignment with her. He couldn’t mess up this early. This was his job, and no one else’s.

He nodded and took out his sketchbook.

To mirror him, Takatsuki took out a notepad and a pen. She wrote in pen? Direct and difficult to erase. It certainly spoke to her impact on the world, for as much as people— especially more traditional folk— spurned her work for its criticism of systems that they hardly interacted with, there were others who praised it for staining the world with the burden of knowledge. A pen was just the kind of thing to do that: like paper being crumpled, it was nigh impossible to erase the act.

While he was admiring the pen, she had already started writing. How. Before long, he would be left behind, then she’d be disappointed in him. Sen Takatsuki, who admired his work, would forever have her view of him tainted. He might never get a job in the one field he had remotely any knowledge in; her word against his was not a contest, but an everyday slaughter.

Kaneki, at that thought, scanned the park desperately for something worth drawing, anything. That couple on a picnic blanket, whiling away the hours talking about their feelings? Wait, was that Nishiki and Kimi? No, no, it couldn’t be. Even if it was, he shouldn’t draw them; closeness wasn’t his forte, and while he’d capture their poses, he couldn’t capture their feelings. He had to be able to capture the emotions of people, because that was the cornerstone of every single Takatsuki work: the minds and feelings of people, floating in the ocean that was the world.

Speaking of, she flipped a page in her notebook. Already?! Kaneki felt his socks grow damp with sweat. What was he even doing here? He couldn’t even draw a simple scene next to her without freezing up.

There had to be something for him to draw: if not people, then perhaps scenery? But what should he pick first?

The building? Takatsuki’s works often took place in urban settings: if he demonstrated early that he was used to sketching out backgrounds like that, he’d also demonstrate that he was the man for her job. Oh, but what if it was somewhere else? He didn’t know what this story was about, after all. It was her first foray into the graphic novel industry; that could also mean her first foray into an entirely new genre of story.

In that case, maybe the lake instead? Give her comfort in the sense that he was knowledgeable about natural scenes? There was a scene in Industrial, where the main character, dying of terminal disease, retreated into a forest to appreciate the last few days he had left. Perhaps another scene like that would be present in the coming novel?

He had to make an impression. He had to. This was the second half of the interview. It was his only shot. His only shot, yet he was afraid of the recoil. Come on, half-wit, stupid, dumb trash—

“Haise,” Takatsuki suddenly said, getting his attention. When he looked down, she had put her pen down, and was staring at him. “Why do you like to read?”

Kaneki furrowed his brow. “I’m sorry?”

“Why do you like to read?” she repeated. “You’re clearly well-read; I’ve drawn parallels between your art and certain works in my collection. But what made you get into books?”

“Oh, um…” He fiddled with his pencil while the grip on his sketchbook tightened. “Well, I…”

Should he tell her? The last person he’d told about himself was Rize, and now that person had cut themself out of his life without another word. He’d made her too sad, he told himself. It was the only explanation: Rize, despite their mutual love for books, was as free and fleeting as a bird. He was foolish to think he could make a nest, however fragile, for someone like that: someone always migrating to where the sun shone warmest, where roosts would only tie them down.

Takatsuki, after a beat of silence, glanced out at the park. “I’m sorry. I seem to have brought up bad memories for you.”

He jolted. “N-No, it’s okay, really! I’m just, uh, thinking about my answer—”

“Haise,” she interrupted, suddenly turning away from him. “It’s okay. I don’t want to learn if it hurts you to teach.”

She turned her attention back to her latest muse, scratching down notes on her third page and ending the conversation. Despite that, Kaneki watched her and waited for… something. For a moment, it felt like he caught a glimpse of something he wasn’t supposed to see. Something ugly. Something exciting.

And then he realized: he didn’t know much about Takatsuki. No one did, not really. Not her family life, not what inspired her to write, nothing. Besides her birthday, the fact that she resided in Tokyo, and her appearance, she was a total mystery to the larger public. The only window people got into her soul was her writing itself, and even that was a highly debated topic.

She was watching a child on one of the seesaw sets, their parent on the other end. The pair were smiling gleefully at each other, jumping up and down on the contraption as though it were the greatest thing in the world. Her writing hand had slowed down, and she simply… stared.

Kaneki’s pencil was moving before he realized it. The strokes for her hair were plentiful and messy, but when he moved to her face, he took greater care. The curve of her jaw and shape of her lips, the crystals— no, emeralds— that were her eyes, and then the slight sprinkle of freckles. As for the expression: longing. Though, perhaps a better word would be ‘envy’: slightly lowered brow, gently parted lips, and a vacant stare.

He may as well have been looking at a mirror.

Someone who, despite everything around them, was sad. Lonely. Two things that shouldn’t belong in their circumstances. Two things that tethered them to a past they wanted nothing more than to escape from. Two things that, despite their weight, had yet to be cast off.

“So how’d you do?” Takatsuki’s voice made Kaneki jump out of his own mind, and he clutched his sketchbook to his chest.

“O-Oh! Um, well, I—” he scratched wildly at his chin— “I-I’m sorry, Takatsuki, I, um, I must be having an off-day! Because I, uh, I didn’t find anything… inspiring…”

“Really?” He immediately knew she didn’t believe him. “Nothing at all?”

He strove to look anywhere except in her direction. He couldn’t exactly say that she was his inspiration, and his only one at that. A singular piece, versus how she had jotted down all sorts of notes garnered from all sorts of people at a speed he couldn’t even begin to match. Plus, the idea of her seeing his first sketch of her— which wasn’t even good— was mortifying. He’d be seen as a total creep and she might even get a restraining order—!

“Let me see,” Takatsuki said.

No. “W-What? But I—”

“I could hear your pencil moving, you know.” She held out her hand. “If it’s nothing, then I’ll be the judge of that.”

She had no idea what she was asking of Kaneki. It was like asking him to sign off on his own death. “I-It’s really nothing…! I barely got anything done.”

“Then let me see that!” she insisted, scooting closer oh no she was in his personal space. “Really, we’re supposed to work together; if you can’t show me your art now, how am I supposed to trust you when we actually start?”

Trust.

He screwed his eyes shut, and his grip loosened. “Can you… promise not to laugh?” he asked weakly.

“I can’t promise something I know nothing about,” she pointed out, which was true enough.

He sighed, and handed over the sketchbook. “I… Nothing else compared,” he mumbled.

Takatsuki took the sketchbook with both hands, flipping it over to the portrait of her Kaneki had drawn. Her eyes, like with his portfolio, softened as she took in his messy strokes made in a trance. He braced himself for the loss of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. He could already see it: him, in his room, collapsed against the wall, sobbing and lamenting what could never be. Because he just couldn’t choose something else.

Takatsuki’s lips parted to say something, but nothing came out. They closed and pursed together. Her eyes shifted around the sketch again, narrowed in concentration. Her hands lifted the sketchbook higher and hid her face.

“Haise,” she spoke so evenly, it made him uncomfortable. “What… inspired you for this?”

Kaneki froze. This… might actually be his chance. It crossed his mind to play it off, to try and salvage whatever semblance of pride resided in him, but another thought tore that one in two: the thought to be honest.

Takatsuki valued honesty, he knew that much. The protagonists in her stories, the one thing about her that she bore to the world, were often clashing with liars for antagonists. The type of people who hid information and twisted it for their own selfish ends. If he was right about this, then Takatsuki was the same way: an individual who valued knowledge based around the truth.

He breathed out his dignity. “You did,” he answered with all the conviction he could muster. “You… inspire me, Takatsuki. You’ve always inspired me. When you released Dear Kafka, I… My mother had just passed away. I never knew my father, so I was taken in by some relatives, who… They didn’t really understand what I was going through. No one did…

“Growing up, I never knew my father. He died when I was young, but his books and his notes were still at the house, so I read them to, you know, feel closer to him. And it’s good that I did; without those books, I never would have read yours.”

At this point, Takatsuki had lowered Kaneki’s sketchbook slightly, her eyes peeking above the edge, and he didn’t notice the way they shone as he spoke.

“Dear Kafka taught me that I wasn’t alone in my grief, that there were other people, even people like you, who had lost things. Family, homes, loves— Something, or someone, took it away from us somehow, because the world is wrong and unfair. It was comforting.”

He twiddled his thumbs, letting his thoughts run free from his grasp and toward her.

“I want to work with you, Takatsuki,” he said. “I want this job, and I want to— No, I can create something you’d be proud of. That we’d both be proud of.” He scratched his cheek, finally glancing up at her. “I-If you’ll have me?”

It felt like an eternity waiting for her response, but Kaneki held firm. He kept Touka’s words in the back of his head for support: if Takatsuki didn’t accept him, then it was her, not him. Just like with Rize. He had value— to a degree. And he would always carry that value, no matter who or what spurned him for something else.

Takatsuki handed back his sketchbook. He took it gingerly with both hands. She took a few moments to put away her notebook and pen before facing him fully.

“I’m glad you think that,” she said finally, lifting the burden from his shoulders in a few short words. “Let’s create something amazing, Haise.”

She was wearing the same smile she’d worn when viewing his portfolio, and now it was directed at him.

It was everything he could have ever hoped for.

———

From: Touka cant stay at work emergency painter boy scored a date has nothing to wear

[whump-me]

Whumptober Day 22: Glass Shards

This is a standalone story in my original Mind Games universe, a modern-day sci-fi/fantasy thriller setting about ordinary humans with superhuman abilities and the people who want to use or destroy them. Full description in my Whumptober masterpost, which is linked in my pinned post.

This story contains: lab whump references, minor whump references, self-sacrifice, death whump

Words: 1900

---

The city skyline outside Dr. Litteken’s thirtieth-floor apartment made Celia feel like she was going to throw up every time she looked outside. She kept trying not to look. She tried to focus on the kitchen—on the little details. The drip-drip-drip of the leaky sink. The chipped tile under her feet with the pattern of a faded sunburst repeated over and over. The cup of coffee in front of her on the scuffed wooden table—in the lab, she had never suspected such a magical beverage existed as coffee. The groaning buzz of the refrigerator.

That old fridge doesn’t have too many more years in it, Dr. Litteken had said when Celia had asked about the buzz. I really should replace it one of these days. But now, without a job… Then she had sighed and looked away, and Celia had known not to ask anything more.

Any of those things was better to focus on than the view outside. But as Dr. Litteken talked, Celia’s eyes kept going back to that window.

“I think we should be able to find a lawyer to take on the case,” said Dr. Litteken. “The tricky part will be finding someone willing to take the risk. PERI is government-funded, and protected by laws they themselves wrote. Our best bet is to find someone who wants to use this case to make a name for themselves. A showman type. There’s plenty of room for a sensationalistic story here, for someone who wants that kind of reputation. A subset of humanity whose genetics give them supernatural powers, a secret government program designed to keep them in line and use them for clandestine operations…”

She kept going. Celia’s eyes drifted toward the window again. Her stomach flip-flopped.

She wasn’t used to windows, let alone ones this high up. The lab had been underground, or that was what Dr. Litteken had told her after she was out. With no windows, they could have been on the moon and she would have never known.

“Proof will be a problem,” Dr. Litteken was saying now. “The powers you and your fellow Enhanced have are far outside the realm of what most people are comfortable believing in. And PERI will start destroying evidence as soon as they know we’re coming for them. But I still have all the data I took with me when I left. And of course, you’re a living example.” She smiled across the table at Celia. “You can show everyone that the powers are real.”

The thought of standing in front of a bunch of strangers who wanted something from her made her stomach spin twice as quickly. But she said nothing.

She owed Dr. Litteken her freedom. Maybe her life—not everyone raised in the labs survived long enough to reach full operative status. So if that was what Dr. Litteken wanted her to do, then that was what she would do.

“The breeding programs and training facilities will be harder to prove,” said Dr. Litteken. “Even if you tell them from your own lips where you came from, they’ll think you’re lying. Luckily, I’ve got a collection of memos showing people with very familiar names discussing all this. They’ll try to say I faked it all, of course, but…” Her voice trailed off. “Celia? Are you okay?”

Celia tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. She had been sent to the punishment room too many times as a child for speaking out of turn. Silence had become a habit. As it turned out, it was as hard a habit to break as it had been to learn.

In response to Dr. Litteken’s look of concern, she only shook her head.

“I’ll try to make sure you don’t have to do too much,” said Dr. Litteken. “You might have to show a few people your ability. Maybe tell the story of your operative training. It’s one thing if I tell them PERI starts training their lab-born Enhanced at five years old, but it will have more of an impact coming from you.”

At the look of growing nausea on Celia’s face, Dr. Litteken softened her smile. “But that will be a long time from now. We can talk about it more when we get there. And by then, I hope you won’t be alone. I’m going to see if there’s anything I can do to get some of the other subjects out.”

Her brow drew together in the familiar guilty frown. Dr. Litteken was thinking about everyone she had left behind when she had fled PERI headquarters. She had been able to bring one of the subjects with her. It was pure chance that she had chosen Celia.

Dr. Litteken had shown her the sky. She had given her a bedroom in her own apartment. She had given her a name.

It didn’t matter how sick it made her to think about showing off her power and telling her story. For Dr. Litteken, she would do all that and more.

“I’m going to do everything I can to get the others out,” she said, her voice growing quieter, more troubled. “Whatever I can do to undo the damage I caused as part of PERI, I’ll do it.” She stretched her hand across the table toward Celia.

Celia took it. Dr. Litteken’s skin was soft and warm against hers. She didn’t think she would ever get used to casual touch. Ungloved hands on her skin. Someone touching her to comfort her, or to receive comfort—not to inject her with a drug or slice her open with a scalpel.

“You still look pale.” Dr. Litteken frowned. “I wonder if you’re catching a cold. I didn’t really think about how isolated you were from ordinary germs back there in headquarters. Are you feeling tired? Is your throat sore or scratchy? Maybe you should lie down and take a nap.”

But Celia wasn’t tired, and her throat felt fine. And if Dr. Litteken needed someone to talk to, then Celia wanted to stay here with her. She shook her head.

She focused on Dr. Litteken’s eyes, carefully avoiding the sight of the window and its long drop. But the unease grew anyway, hollowing a pit in her churning stomach. Maybe she was getting sick after all. Because she wasn’t looking out the window anymore, but she felt dizzy anyway, like she was about to fall thirty floors and land hard on the ground below.

Trouble adjusting, maybe. Dr. Litteken had warned her it would be difficult. But Celia had been free for weeks now. She had grown used to getting out of bed whenever she wanted, instead of when the alarm blared through her cohort’s dorm in the morning. She had grown used to having free run of the apartment, instead of being escorted from room to room by the gray-uniformed guards. She had grown used to solitude—the sweetness and the scariness of it.

And the dizzying variety of foods the outside world held. And not having to spend hours a day on training—physical training, ability training, training in enduring pain. And… and everything. There was so much to adjust to, but none of it was quite so dizzyingly new anymore. So why did she feel like this now?

Her eyes found the window again, despite her best efforts. The clouds reflected off the building across the street. The sight made her feel like she was a hundred floors up, or a thousand. Above the clouds themselves. Above the atmosphere.

Her stomach dropped. She could almost feel herself falling.

Maybe the view really was all that was wrong.

She was about to force her eyes away when a flicker from a window across the street made her freeze. The movement was wrong, wrong in the way this whole day was wrong, wrong in a way that made her stomach drop.

She couldn’t say why. It wasn’t even a premonition—seeing the future wasn’t her gift. It was… she didn’t know what it was, except that it made her feel like she might vomit on Dr. Litteken’s kitchen floor.

“Celia?” Dr. Litteken’s voice sounded like it was coming from a long way away. “What’s wrong?”

“The window,” Celia managed to whisper—

And then the glass shattered inward.

Celia used her ability without thinking about it. Time slowed down around her. The glass shards drifted into the kitchen in slow motion. Dr. Litteken’s mouth moved, but her voice was a low drone, slowed down too much for Celia to make out the words.

Instinctively, Celia threw up a hand to brush away a glass shard drifting too close to her eye. The shard bit into her skin as it stubbornly continued its original trajectory.

That was the trick with her power. While time was slowed down, she could only move herself. She couldn’t after the motion of anything else. Not even something as small as a shard of glass.

She leaned back instead, putting a few inches between herself and the glass shard floating toward her eye. It wasn’t enough. She shimmied out of her chair—the chair wouldn’t move either—and backed off to the side, out of the path of the flying glass.

Safely out of the way, she studied the scene from her new angle—and saw the tiny thing responsible for all this.

A bullet, hovering in the air, moving at the lazy speed of the glass shards. Moving directly toward Dr. Litteken’s forehead.

Out the window, a dark silhouette stood frozen. A sniper, slowed down along with the rest of the world.

Dr. Litteken had laughed about how PERI would send assassins after her. It had been a joke—or at least she had meant it to sound like a joke. But Celia had heard the genuine fear underneath the laughter.

PERI would do anything to stop Dr. Litteken from revealing their secrets.

The bullet crept closer to Dr. Litteken’s head. And closer. And closer. Celia could slow time, but she couldn’t stop it.

She hurried across the kitchen, ducking under the glass shards. She grabbed Dr. Litteken’s arm in both of hers and tried to tug her out of her chair. She shoved her hands against Dr. Litteken’s chest and tried to push her over. She wrapped her arms around Dr. Litteken and used all her strength to pull her away from the bullet. Just a few inches was all it would take.

Nothing worked. Of course it didn’t work. That wasn’t how her power worked.

She couldn’t pluck the bullet out of the air. She couldn’t pull Dr. Litteken out of its path.

She was the only one who could move.

She owed Dr. Litteken her freedom. Maybe her life.

The first time she had seen blue sky, she had decided she would do anything Dr. Litteken asked of her.

Dr. Litteken couldn’t ask now. She wouldn’t have asked even if she’d had the power of speech. Her guilt, and her tendency towards self-sacrifice—the same tendency that had put her in this bullet’s path in the first place—wouldn’t allow it.

But Celia would do it, all the same.

She shoved herself between Dr. Litteken and the bullet. It meant sitting half on Dr. Litteken’s lap, with the table cutting painfully into her abdomen. She barely noticed the pain.

She stared out at the blue sky one more time. She felt herself falling.

She took a deep breath and let time speed up again.

---

Tagged: @cakeinthevoid @gala1981

Ask to be added or removed from my Whumptober 2023 taglist.

[magickandmachines]

Part 3

(Disclaimer this story is rather experimental.. so if the writing style seems inconsistent it’s because I’m testing things out)

His words sank deep into her mind as she smiled softly and relaxed into his hold.

“Alright Visure, you win. I’ll be more careful, and I’ll try to take the protection with more grace. Does that sound better?”

Visure looked down at her in his arms, her small size reminding him of how he bonded to her when she was a child, and yet the years with her telling him she’s fully grown.

“Good. I could try to explain things better next time… though I’d rather there not be one.”

His reply was curt but the care he took in loosening his hold spoke volumes about his protective nature.

The two spent their day running around and doing chores, gathering herbs and ingredients outside the village walls to bring back to town. Dropping off wild honeycomb and berries at her neighbor’s home, taking some herbs to the nearby healer before finally returning to her grandfather’s house. The moment Cita opened the door her mother wrapped her arms tightly around her daughter.

“Cita there you are, are you alright, no scrapes, no cuts, nothing broken? Did you remember to eat today, you didn’t talk to any strangers did you?”

“Ma’ma I’m fine, you do this every time I forage. I’m not a child you know.”

“Your my child, I don't care if you’re two or twenty two I’m still going to worry.” Her mother spoke simply as she released Cita from her hug and rested her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. She turned her gaze slightly as she looked at Visure as he followed inside the house, her eyes narrowing at the robot for a moment before looking back at Cita.

“Just, promise me you’ll be more careful.”

“Ma’ma, how much ‘more careful’ can I be? I haven’t gotten hurt, talked to anyone I don’t know, and I’ve had Visure with me at all times. The only thing that could keep me safer, is if I didn't leave the house at all.”

“Now there’s a sensible thought.”

Cita rolled her eyes at her mother before dropping her foraging apron on the table and heading toward the back of the house. She understood her mother’s worry but was growing tired of the constant lack of understanding, but because of the overbearing nature of her mother, Cita grew too used to keeping her thoughts to herself. She climbed the ladder in the house’s back and made her way to the flatten roof top to sit and look out toward the distant walls.

“Visure, doesn't it bother you how she looks at you… I wish she would try to get to know you and understand that with you I deserve some freedoms.”

Visure looked down for a moment before sitting behind his human and holding her gently.

“She has her reasons, and I cannot blame her knowing what I do, about the past.”

“That was a syphon and a Cloaker that took apa away… that doesn't mean she can judge you like one of them. Drainers aren't the same, You aren’t the same… you’re usually the one stopping fights, not attacking people.”

“Hush the stress, its not a worry for you to hold. Her choice in despising me can’t do anything. We are bonded, and nothing short of deleting me entirely can get in the way of that.”

His words soothed her mind, she even felt some jealousy toward his ability to ignore hate aimed at him. Cita smiled and took a calming breath before leaning back into her companion’s support and turning her gaze to the open sky.

“Someday… we’re gonna get out of this village, and see what the world has to show us.”

Her voice held a hollow wish to it, a dream she says but feels already failed. Cita knew well that any travel outside these walls would be faced with war, violence and pain… but she also believed there was more out in the vastness of the world than just two hateful kingdoms and a village in the middle.

[somacruising]

A White Future, Volume 2 Episode: Ion, Sync, & Florian Translation Part 5

Prev | Next

Well, now that we’ve seen what happened to Florian and Ion in the last chapter, we’re going back to Sync and looking into one of his training sessions with Van, as well as his first time meeting Arietta. This section is one of the many that are a really good look into Sync’s head.

* * *

A thunderclap echoed through the woods.

A blade of lightning ripped through the trees, forming shallow hollows in the area. Van easily dodged the huge, wind-attributed sword.

“You’re too slow! Do it again!” Van scolded Sync.

They were using a sparse forest on the outskirts of Daath as a training ground.”

“Damn it…!” Sync bit his lip before he began chanting again.

* * *

“You've improved a lot.” Van called out to Sync, who was breathing heavily.

Sync didn’t reply.

“What's wrong? Aren't you happy?”

Sync looked up at Van through his mask and spoke curtly, “I’m not happy.”

“You're not? You can hone your skills as much as you want. I'm going to have you work for me as my direct subordinate... Then, let me hear what’s on your mind.”

Van put his hand on Sync’s shoulder and led him into a tree’s shade.

“It's not that I don't like training...” Sync started, then paused to wipe away at the sweat dripping from under his mask.

“I don't...know what I'm doing this training for. You've taught me a lot, you've drawn a fonic glyph on me so I can manipulate the Seventh Fonon as best as I can, but...I was born to be a substitute for the Fon Master, wasn't I? This kind of training is unnecessary for that purpose.”

“I see.” Van chuckled to himself, thinking that this one had a mouth on him.

“It is true that another replica than you is sitting on Ion's chair, but I do not think that his life will be better. Even if he is revered as the Fon Master, everything will be decided for him - he will be nothing more than a puppet. On top of that, he will have many enemies. That isn't freedom.”

“...Freedom?”

Sunlight was piercing through the sky and glimmering on Sync's mask.

“Yeah, I may be under restrictions, and I'm more free than the seventh Ion. But what’s the point? Don't try glossing things over. You're only trying to use me as you please.”

“I am putting your potential into practice. If you don't like it, you can throw yourself back into Mt. Zaleho. If you want to hate something, hate the Score that brought you to life.” Van's eyes twinkled.

“...Yeah. I think I'll do that,” Sync laughed sarcastically. “I'm free. You've gone out of your way to acquire me, but it's still up to me whether I live or not.”

‘How is that possible—?’ Van thought in shock, ‘A replica would consider suicide...? I never thought of the possibility. Seems we should have programmed them so that they avoid self harm.’

Van was once again pleased with himself for picking up the Sync from the crater. With him, he could learn more about replicas than he would ever be able to with Luke.

‘But Sync, I will not let you die until I can no longer see value in you. You can throw yourself to the depths of the earth all you want, I will always come and pick you up.’

“Listen, Sync." Van squinted towards the city of Daath, which was hidden behind a grove of trees. “Both of us hate the Score—in that, you and I are the same.”

“What!?”

“I think you and I are on the same page on that matter.”

“What do you mean?"

The replica's expression was now completely different from the one Van had seen earlier. The intense concentrated look in his eyes made Van smile.

* * *

“I see him. That's the new Ion.”

Van pushed open the narrow door to the room where Ion’s replica was being educated. He looked down at Sync.

“Soon the current Fon Master will pass away and be replaced. Remember his face well, and never make contact with him.”

“Remember…? We have the same face,” Sync snorted while quietly peeking into the room.

Ion turned his profile toward them, now facing a few men—most likely researchers. He looked like he was in the middle of one of his required lectures on how to be the Fon Master. For some reason, Ion was smiling, even though he seemed to have an overcrowded schedule day after day.

Sync thought that the boy certainly didn’t seem to have much freedom. But he couldn’t understand why he was smiling so calmly.

‘I guess it’s because he's been chosen as the Fon Master’s substitute and is being treated well, unlike me.’

Envy welled up inside of Sync. He quickly looked at the furnishings in Ion’s room.

He wasn’t officially the Fon Master yet, but the desk, bed, and bookshelves were all high-end.

‘Is he really the same replica as me…? I can't believe we were made from the same source.’

At that moment, Ion turned his head towards them, as if sensing their presence. Van pulled Sync out of the way just in time to keep Sync from being spotted.

“There’s no need to stay any longer,” Van said. “Let's go back."

Van did not miss the hurt look on the boy's face.

“Whatever abilities you were born lacking, Sync, you’re stronger than him now.”

Sync sighed. “I don’t care for your flattery.”

The two of them passed through a couple of fonic circles and went out into the main hall of the church.

“Shh. Do you hear that?” Sync, ever-perceptive, stopped walking. He thought he heard the sounds of faint sobbing. It was coming from the chapel.

“Who is…” Gently, Sync peeked through the door and saw a girl.

Van ordered Sync to wait for him and entered the chapel alone.

“What's wrong, Arrietta?” Van asked.

The one who was crying, curled up in the last row of seats, was Arietta, the original Ion’s Fon Master Guardian.

“…Van." Arietta looked up with a start. Her eyes were wet. “Ion is…”

“The Fon Master will get better soon.”

"You’re lying!" Arietta glared at Van. “Then, why can’t I go see him in his room anymore!?”

“Who kicked you out?” Van asked.

“It was Mohs.”

‘Of course he did,’ Van thought. ‘He's trying to manipulate the next Ion according to his will. If he doesn't remove the ones close to the original, it won't add up when he switches them—’

“Mohs must want him to rest and recuperate.”

”No, I don’t believe that!” Arietta shook her head vehemently. “I want to be with Ion. I’m so sad that I can’t see him. Ion knows that I’m sad. So…”

“You miss him.”

“Yes, I do! Because he’s my Ion! It's times like this that I want to be with him!”

“…” Van stared at Arietta. The girl from the sinking Isle of Feres, the girl he had picked up, had somehow grown up to have feelings for the Fon Master.

’I pity her, but I suppose I'll have to deceive her. It’ll hurt me to lose out on information I could get from her, but…’ Van thought.

He recalled that Sync had previously threatened him with suicide. Van wasn’t sure if he had been serious or not, but even a replica could choose death. It was obvious what Arietta would think after losing her original.

Sync observed this exchange closely from behind the heavy doors of the chapel.

‘You're the original Fon Master’s Guardian…’ Sync thought. ‘What an idiot, you don't even know that the Fon Master will die soon.’

He twisted his lips as he coldly watched Arrietta. Suddenly, Sync heard a sound behind him.

Sync turned around and was startled for just a moment. Even though they were in the cathedral, there were two large monsters staring at him, snarling low in their throats.

It was the first time Sync had ever seen a liger, but he had encountered and defeated medium-sized monsters in the woods during his training.

“What the hell…I'll kill you!'”

Van noticed Sync’s killing intent. Arrietta saw that the monster was closing in on the boy.

“No! Come here!” Arietta shouted in a panic. Then, strangely enough, the monsters that had been about to jump on Sync suddenly stopped threatening him and began to walk meekly toward Arietta.

“That surprised me…are you keeping them as pets?” Sync asked.

“Huh?” Was all Arietta could say. She looked between Van and Sync in confusion. Van hadn’t told her anything about Sync.

“When I see Mohs next, I’ll advise that he allow you into the sick room,” Van said.

Then, he and Sync left the chapel. When Van returned to Sync’s side, he spoke in a hushed tone, “You heard her. She is the current Fon Master Guardian. That girl…has the ability to communicate with monsters.”

“Communicating with monsters?” Sync asked.

“Yes,” Van replied, “those monsters are more like friends to her than pets to be kept. They protect her.”

“Heh. So, the Guardian is being guarded.”

Van ignored Sync’s mocking tone. “That is the nature of their relationship. I’m going to leave for Baticul, now. Don’t forget to train while I’m away.”

With that said, Van left for the Oracle Knights Headquarters.

Sync stood there in silence.

When Van was out of sight, Sync quietly turned around. He saw Arrietta hugging the monster’s thick neck in her arms and laughing as it licked her cheeks.

“Even though you’ve been crying all this time,” Sync spat at her and went back to his room to avoid being seen.

The room Van had given Sync was on the outskirts of Daath. It was a small room and not well-lit inside, little more than a shed.

Until now, Sync had thought this was fine for keeping out of sight and out of mind. But he couldn’t help thinking about the new Ion’s room that he’d seen that day. Despite the fact that it was a temporary room, there were no cheap items in it that would bring down the dignity of the room. The clothes and hair ornaments must have been custom-made, of course.

“Damn it!” Sync threw the pillow on his hard bed against the wall.

‘What's so different between us? I'm the fifth, he's the seventh... I was born first! Why didn't they choose me?!’

He felt he was becoming mad with jealousy. He hit the bed's wooden frame, kicked the chair, and, lastly, flung off his mask. Trembling with rage, he traced the outline of his face with his fingers.

'We have... the same face... If you don't need me, don't keep me alive!'

As his fingers slid on his cheeks, he couldn’t resist thinking about what he saw in the chapel.

'Arietta protects the Fon Master, and is protected by her monsters...'

Sync believed that people spent their lives creating bonds with others by protecting them and being protected in return.

‘I have no one to protect, and no one will ever protect me. I don't have any bond with anyone.’

He was just alive, completely excluded from this circle called the world. No one truly needed him. He had no place to call his own.

Sync couldn't forgive the ones who created him. They may blame it on the Score, but it is humans who rely on the Score the most.

‘I want revenge, but on whom!?’

Sync cursed his foolish existence, that held no hope for a future, and wept.

[tragically-but-finnally-yours]

Mini-Fic: The Cost of Freedom

Words: 2321 | incomplete but unlikely to be continued

Notes: i really did try to write angsty black brothers but i hate everytime about this fic that it literally made me cry. however, i am sharing with you all in hopes that someone out there might like it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sirius Black had always known he was different from the rest of his family. He had never shared their pure-blood beliefs or their penchant for cruelty. And yet, he had always tried to keep the peace, to keep his head down, to avoid their wrath. If not for his sake, then at least for his brother. But as he stood in the foyer of his family's ancestral home, his bags packed and ready to go, he knew that he was making the right decision. Even if that decision was going to bring an end to the only familial relationship he cared about.

Said family member was sitting on the stairs, staring down at him. Sirius had refused to turn on any of the lights in the house. Instead opting to stumble through the dark in hopes of not waking anyone up. He really shouldn’t have been surprised that Regulus had woken up regardless. That’s just how they were. Growing up in the environment they did meant that they had some kind of sixth sense when the other was in mortal peril.

Sirius left his bag by the door, walking towards the stairs but not going up them. From here he could make out Regulus’ face a little better. His brother’s face was blank but the slight puffiness of his eyes suggested he was more effected than he was willing to let on.

“You’re leaving.”

Regulus’ voice wasn’t very loud but with the ocean of space between them, it felt like he was shouting.

“You know I have to. It’s not safe for me here,” Sirius pauses, watching as Regulus wraps his arms around his knees. “It’s not safe for you here either.”

“It’s not safe for someone like me anywhere,” Regulus mumbles. Before Sirius can question what he means, Regulus stands, putting one hand on the banister, walking slowly down the stairs. Sirius winces when he realised why Regulus was taking it slow. Their parents had been mad about something- what it was, Sirius wasn’t sure- but they had taken it out on both of them at dinner. Sirius had tried to mouth off to their parents, in an attempt to focus their anger on him rather than his brother. But in similar fashion, Regulus had used his own tactics to enrage their parents.

It hadn’t ended well for either of them. Sirius had ended up with a black eye and at least 3 new scars on his back. Regulus- from what he had allowed Sirius to see at least- had a dark bruise forming on his ribs that made it difficult for him to breathe and walk. It had also meant that they’d gone without dinner, but going without a meal was something that had happened so frequently to them that it wasn’t quite effective as their parents other punishments.

Regulus reaches the bottom of the stairs and stands in front of Sirius, looking up at him with a mix of sadness and anger in his eyes. "You're abandoning me," he accused, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Come with me,” Sirius offers.

“I don’t need your pity offer,” Regulus spits.

“It’s not- It’s not a pity offer Reggie. I want you to come with me, of course I do. But I knew you would never come.”

“How could you even know that if you don’t even offer?”

Sirius already knows the answer but he still asks anyway, “Will you leave with me? Leave this god awful place behind and go somewhere safe- somewhere where we are loved, like we’re supposed to be.”

Regulus shakes his head, backing way so he’s against the wall. He slides down it with a soft thud, his fingers a tangled mess on his lap. “I can’t come with you.”

“Then why would you make me ask?”

Regulus looks up sharply, “I can’t come with you, because I have to stay here. I have to stay, be the heir, be the pure-blood son they want so you can be free.”

That draws Sirius up short, “What?”

Regulus lets out a laugh that’s slightly maniacal and more than a little wet, “Don’t you get it? If we both go, they’ll come after us. What’s worse than losing one heir? Losing both of them. Their image would be destroyed, and we both know that they care more about that than they do us.” Regulus takes a sharp breathe, his shoulders shaking a little. “But- but if I stay, they won’t go after you. They won’t have a need. They’ll still have their pure-blood heir, and you’ll have the chance at the life you deserve.”

It takes Sirius a moment to realise that Regulus is more resigned than upset. As though he’s thought about it, and already accepted his future.

“You knew I was going to leave.”

Regulus nods, staring down at his feet. “You mumble in your sleep, kept saying that you had to get out. It wasn’t until I found the bag in your closet that I put it all together.”

Sirius isn’t sure if sure if he should be proud or upset with Regulus until he realises what he just confessed, “Why were you in my closet in the first place?”

“I- I was looking for a shirt of yours. I figured that if I can’t make you stay, I could at least have something to remember you by.” Sirius watches as Regulus tugs his Slytherin jumper over his head, revealing the shirt that is clearly not his. It’s a little large and has the picture of a motorbike on the front, something Sirius is sure that Regulus has never even seen before.

“I didn’t even realise that it had gone missing.” Sirius is lying of course. He had gone looking for the shirt a few days ago and had been rather upset when he couldn’t find it. Remus had gifted it to him when he learnt that Sirius was interested in motorbikes. It had quickly become one of the many shirts that cycled between his friends, but Sirius knew it would be better cared for in Regulus’ hands.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t. I don’t think I could give it back, even now that you know I stole it.” Regulus looks up at his brother, gesturing for him to sit down, which Sirius does so immediately. “I have to ask, and I do apologise for it. Is there anything I can do to make you stay?”

Sirius shakes his head, “No. I can’t. It’ll kill me- They’ll kill me.”

“But it’s okay for me to stay here, alone?”

Sirius throws his hands up, frustrated. “I don’t get it Regulus, I thought you understood. You said you knew I was leaving, why are you making it so hard for me to go?”

“Because I want you to stay!” Regulus bursts out, “I want you to stay here with me, to be stuck in this cycle of pain. Because you make it slightly more manageable. But I can’t say that, because it’s selfish and wrong and I know you have to leave. I get it. But accepting something doesn’t make it hurt any less.” Sirius heart aches as he watches Regulus scrub at his eyes. “I want to be enough for you to stay and deal with the pain anyway.”

Sirius feels his heart break a little for his brother. He's always known that Regulus had a soft spot for him, but he didn't know how deep it ran. Regulus was willing to risk his own safety, his own future, just to make sure that Sirius could have a chance at a life outside of their family's abuse.

"Reggie," Sirius starts, but stops when he realises there’s nothing more to say. Not with words anyway. It seemed that they had both made up their minds, accepted their decisions and the results of them, yet still couldn’t say goodbye. “Please, please come with me.”

“You know I can’t. We can’t both leave and be happy.”

“But we can’t both stay here together and be miserable.” Sirius responds softly. They were at an impasse, they both knew it. Both desperate to help the other without shattering their own heart in the process.

“There isn’t a way for us to stay together and be happy, is there?” Regulus already knows the answer by the way Sirius’ eyes tear up.

Sirius wraps his arms tightly around his brother, “I’m afraid not.”

Regulus sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, refusing to allow the sob desperately crawling up his throat to escape. “I love you,” he whispers into Sirius’ shoulder.

He feels Sirius’ chest heave and concave a little. His own chest hurts but he refuses to give into it. Not now, not when Sirius is so close to leaving. He knows, deep down, that if he were start crying, Sirius would do everything in his power to make it better. Even staying. “You’ll always be my brother.” He isn’t sure if Sirius says the words out loud or his lips just mouth the words into his skin, but either way, Regulus feels them settle into his bones like a burn. He knows that the words with be carved into him until the day he dies, perhaps even longer.

They don’t say anything, simply sitting in silence, knowing it’s the last chance they’ll get to do it. Sirius never once removes himself from Regulus and Regulus takes the chance to bask in his brothers warmth for as long as he’s allowed. He knows that it’ll be a long time before he feels warm- truly feels warm again. The bruise in his side is becoming unbearable but he’d rather stop breathing than let go of Sirius.

Sirius’ hand brushes against his side and with the way they’ve been sitting, the pain is a lot strong than Regulus would ever admit. Regulus involuntarily jerks, pulling away just enough for the brothers to be separated for a brief moment. Sirius gasps, and from the way he immediately pulls away, Regulus knows he’d completely forgotten about the bruising on his side. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Sirius says the words so gently, like he’s scared that his voice could do more damage.

“I’d harm myself a thousand times just for you to be okay.” Evidently it’s the wrong thing to say because Sirius’ expression crumbles and a fresh round of tears flow down his face.

“I hate myself for not being able to say the same.” Sirius shakes with his words, but Regulus just smiles.

“I know. You have a whole world out there and mine whole world is sitting right beside me.” Regulus runs a hand through Sirius’ hair. “Can- can I ask? What is your plan? Where are you going to go when you leave here? You can’t just stay out on the streets, they’ll find you in an instant.”

Sirius pulls away, but doesn’t bother wiping his tears. Neither of them mentioned them, nor the dark patch they left on Regulus’ shirt. “Andromeda‘s place. I know she’ll take me in a heart beat.”

Regulus shakes his head, “That won’t work.”

“You don’t think she’ll take me in?”

“No. But it’s the first place that they’ll look for you. When a Black runs away, or gets disowned, their response always seems to be to go to another Black who has done the same. It’s quite literally what Andromeda did as well. She ran to Uncle Alphard’s place and that’s how they found her the first time. You need to go somewhere they won’t think.”

“What about that Lupin boy you hang out with? He’s a halfblood, is he not? Sure, their heir running away would ruin their image, but why would they taint it further by allowing themself to associate with people they view as lesser?”

Sirius shakes his head, “I don’t want to put Remus through that. Or his family, for that matter.” He glared briefly at the full moon he can see peaking out from behind the partially shut window in his view. “They’ve already got enough to deal with, without adding the horrors of our family into the mix.”

Regulus nods, accepting the answer for what it was.

“What about another Pureblood family?” Sirius says after a long moment.

Regulus scoffs, “I’ll be surprised if you can find another Pureblood family that’ll want to go against the Blacks.”

“What if it’s a blood-traitor family?”

Regulus’ face goes a little slack, “You’re talking about the Potter’s aren’t you?”

Sirius winces, trying to approach the subject delicately without entirely dismissing the plan slowly forming in his mind. He knows that Regulus has a hatred for the Potters and while it’s unjust, Sirius knows where it stems from. Regulus- despite Sirius’ many reassurances- has always viewed the Potters as Sirius’ “replacement” family. The idea was fuelled by jealousy and a painful dream of being loved by a family. He refuses to feed Regulus’ delusions but he knows that he doesn’t have another choice.

“They’ve always told me that I can go to them if I ever need to.” Regulus looks pained, but his silence causes Sirius to ramble on. “Effie and Monty wouldn’t mind if you came too. In fact, they’d probably try to come get you if you didn’t. They’re just that kind.”

“Do you really think that they’d take you- that they’d take us in?”

“In a heartbeat.”

Regulus sighs, “I think that they’ll be your best option. At least until you’re back at Hogwarts for the new year.”

Sirius can’t help but notice the way that Regulus says “you” rather than “us”. The silence envelopes them for so long that he thinks Regulus has fallen asleep at his side.

Sirius sits there, pain and anger stirring slowly in his stomach. This wasn’t fair, life wasn’t fair. Here was his freedom and happiness, dangling right in front of him and the only thing in the way was his brothers own happiness.

[darkx-the-dragon-kn1ght]

Chapter 9- Part 7

IT IS IT! WE’RE OUT! WE’VE FINISHED! FREEDOM AT LAST!!

…Wait…we’ve gotten through Obsidia Slums…I don’t think we missed anything or anywhere…AND THERE’S STILL NO AMARIA?? SHE WAS NEVER IN THERE!? Then where the heck is she!? Is she around this area!?

I think you’d better worry more about the fissures and trees blocking the way to any stores, I think that’s gonna be what’s stopping you more.

“Byxbysion”? What is that? I thought it was another gem/mineral reference, so I tried to look it up, but all I could find were pages from the Reborn Wiki and YouTube videos about the Wasteland itself (consequently, I nearly spoiled myself regarding this future area of interest, good thing I didn’t look at anything too closely).

Now, there’s bixbyite, however- is that what this is a reference to? It’s gotta be, I can’t imagine what other mineral this could be referencing (well, besides bixbite, but that’s just another name for red beryl and not really used anymore to avoid confusion with the aforementioned bixbyite). Still…definitely a choice to alter the name so much, though.

Huh? That must be the way to a different ward entirely- Coral Ward, it looks like. Is- Is Amaria down there?? If she’s not, after all of this, I think I’m going to become a Fire-type myself-

Hm- very…calm music. Sad, calm music.

Oh yeah, I remember someone from Grand Hall mentioning Coral Pier in that regard.

Too much to explain right now honey, Xera’s still on a mission!

Well, here we are- an entirely new area! Wasn’t expecting to go to a new ward any time soon, I really thought we’d find Amaria in the Slums…

Free Potions are the only things sparking joy right now, also wow this place is foggy-

Even better! Too good to use right now, but they’ll be useful way, way later! Speaking of useful- more street signs!

Fun name, but I don’t think anyone’s singing any sea shanties around these parts.

Ooh, but “Faeward” is an even neater name! But uh, more importantly- why is there just…a broken-down Gym lying around here?

Aw, but I wanted lore. :( Can the old lady standing there provide any information?

That’s…interesting, though vague. Ame did say at the start of the game something about this being the second attempt at setting up a Reborn League after…something happened several years ago. Maybe this Gym becoming all decrepit was another result of that incident? But what happened to its Gym Leader, I wonder?

There’s also this, though. And a new Pokémon Center! That’s good- means we can check up on that Egg in the PC. After speaking to…the only other NPC inside!

Riveting! Alright, let’s see what this Egg is all about, if we can even discern anything…

Oh, they gave the Egg a unique sprite! It’s not the default “cream-colored with green spots” that Eggs usually are, that’s great! That means we can try and guess what the Pokémon’ll be when it hatches!

Let’s see…it’s primarily a light blue, with a patch of darker blue to the side there, and a tiny yellow spot towards the top as well. 

Horsea can be one candidate, it’s mostly a light blue with yellowish fins, but no darker blue spots. Same with Chinchou- in fact, I think a Chinchou Egg would have more yellow on it than just that one speck. Then there’s Piplup, who’s got…kinda the opposite- mostly darker blue with lighter blue areas and a small yellow beak, but I feel like a Piplup Egg would have more to its design than just what that sprite shows. Ducklett fits the coloration a bit better, though its own yellow beak is much bigger.

So uh, I guess those are my (imperfect) predictions? Horsea, Chinchou, Piplup, or Ducklett? We’ll hatch it later and see whether I’m right or not. Let’s head back out and see what’s by the piers themselves.

…Is…Is that…Is that who I think it is…?

TEAL HAIR!! TEAL HAIR SPOTTED!! Oh and there’s a Popplio too that’s cool- TEAL HAIR WOMAN!! FINALLY!!!

Previous

Next