#dark sun: its probably for the best. so they know who's their REAL guardian

[socksandbuttons]

Would baby Nexus seeing Sun and Dark Sun in one room be like those babies where they have a parent with an identical twin and they just look back and forth between their parent and their aunt/uncle in confusion?

Little guy would be so confused lmao-

Absolutely

doesnt know who to reach for here.

[angelicyoongie]

the crimson shell (II)

— pairing: jungkook x f!reader — genre: mermaid au, yandere au — w.c: 3.5k (drabble series) — warnings: mentions of death, mentions of drowning — notes: well, it wasn’t supposed to take four months to write the second part but here we are lol. still, mermaid jk works well for spoopy season too!! the next and likely last part of this drabble series will be inTEnse, so you better prepare yourself!

Part I / II / III / IIII

— summary: you had always found comfort in being at the beach, often spending hours just watching the waves lap against the shore. but unbeknowst to you – something had been watching you back.

You wake up with a gasp, your chest burning as you begin coughing up the remaining saltwater in your lungs. You stare down through bleary eyes at the pearly white sand beneath your fingers as your whole body heaves, your limbs shaking with exhaustion. You let out a choked cry as something wet laps at your toes, sending you scrambling further up the beach to escape it. The fresh water on your skin brings back memories of the night before, of how helpless and trapped you had been underwater, and how the ocean had judged you as unworthy and left you to drown – to die.

You roll onto your back, squinting up at the blue skies as you attempt to catch your breath. There’s no sign of the storm that threw you overboard, no dark ominous clouds looming on the horizon. Only an endless blue, stretching on infinitely. You groan as you push yourself up, your muscles aching and protesting as you test them all out to make sure nothing’s too badly injured. Your arms are blooming into hues of blue and yellow from where the ship knocked you around during the storm, but for a person that was thrown off the side of a ship and almost drowned, you’re surprisingly .. fine.

Maybe you have a guardian angel out there. The thought makes you snort.

You twist around, letting your gaze sweep over your surroundings. Although you can’t say it for sure just yet, you’re fairly sure you’ve washed up on a deserted island. Judging by how vast and empty the ocean is, and how untouched the beach and the vegetation behind you looks, you don’t think there’s a high chance of running into anybody else here. But even if you aren’t alone, is that really any better? You have no guarantee that the inhabitants of the island won’t just kill you on sight.

Suppressing a shudder, you try your best to will your thoughts away from all the horrible scenarios running through your mind. You'll just have to be extra alert until you’ve made sure you’re actually alone here.

Something digs sharply into your thigh as you shift your weight. You let out a gasp as you scramble to push your hand into your pocket, your fingers closing around the shell you had tucked away before the storm started. It’s still intact. You look down at it with wide eyes as you pull it out of your trousers, the crimson hue still looking as pretty as ever as you run your fingertips over the ridges. You have no idea how it managed to stay in one piece, but then again, you’re not sure how you managed to do that either.

“We must be lucky,” You mutter. You gently tuck the shell back into your pocket, dusting off the sand that’s clinging to your clothes as you gingerly get yourself up on your feet. You bury your bare feet into the cool sand, thankful that the sun hasn’t managed to warm it up just yet. There’s no sign of your shoes on the shoreline, so you think you’ll just have to resign yourself to the fact that they’re a lost cause. They probably won’t do you much good here anyway. You furrow your brows as you see something sparkle a little further down the beach, your curiosity getting the best of you as you make your way over on shaking legs. You don’t know how long you’ll be here, so you might as well indulge your whims and keep yourself entertained.

Your eyes light up in amazement as you realize what the object is; the fine layer of sand not managing to cover the sparkle properly. It’s gold. And real gold too, judging by how heavy the coin is in your hand. It doesn’t look like it’s been here for very long, so maybe it washed up along side you? You don’t think any of the other travellers were rich enough to carry it, but it’s not like it would be wise to flaunt it around either if they did have some money.

You tug at the chain around your neck, lifting the pendant up from underneath your shirt. The village crest looks almost burnt in the low sunlight, the edges turning black from the prolonged exposure to the ocean. You frown at the simple design.

Your initials are pressed into the surface alongside the name of your town, and the outline of a fish. You’ve always had an inkling that the pendant was never made from gold, that your village head was overcharging you for something you had to have to live in your village. Turns out you were right. Seeing it side by side with the real deal leaves no doubt in your mind that he’s skimming off the top for himself. If you ever get out of here, you’re going to give the village head a piece of your mind. You swallow thickly, tucking the pendant back under your shirt.

Right. If you get out of here.

Frankly, the silence on the island is unnerving. You’re used to the hustle and bustle of a busy town, and the only sound you can make out here is the waves gently crashing against a nearby cluster of rocks. It’s too silent. You can already feel the panic festering in your stomach, the emotion only growing stronger the longer you stay still to dwell on your predicament. You clutch the coin in your hand, feeling the smooth circle dig into your flesh as you tighten your hold. You’ll get out of here. But first – you’ll have to figure out how to survive.

You throw one last look at the terribly open ocean, lips pressed into a firm line as you turn your back on what will with no doubt become a horribly familiar sight. It’s with newfound determination that you start walking towards the thick vegetation, the sand underneath your feet giving away to grass the closer you get to the tree-line. You don’t need to look back to know that the vastness of the ocean is mocking you, that it doesn’t think you'll ever survive as long as it’ll take for another ship to sail past. It’s fine, you think. You’ve always had a thing for proving others wrong.

The island is surprisingly big. Judging by how high the sun has risen in the sky, and how the trees and underbrush continue to stretch on for as far as you can see, you don’t think you’ll be able to reach the other side before nightfall rolls around. It’s hard to tell, but you think it’ll likely take you around two days worth of walking to get to the other side. You let out a tired sigh as you rest against a fallen log, your feet bright red from the continuous walking. The ground is unexpectedly soft despite the variety of plants and grass growing here, but that’s probably the least curious thing about the island. There are no animals to be found here. Not even birds. Had this island only been a stretch of sand in the ocean, you wouldn’t have questioned it, but the thing is, this island is thriving. Logically, it should be bursting with some sort of wildlife. So far you’ve walked past a plethora of bushes so heavy with berries that should be able to sustain a whole array of animals.

As if that wasn’t enough, you even managed to stumble upon a deep pool of water that appeared to be fresh. Considering the island is surrounded by the ocean, by salt, it shouldn’t be possible. But somehow, it is. And that’s not even the weirdest part. The island is littered with gems and gold. You gave up hours ago on collecting them when your pockets became too heavy. You shake your head. This whole place is just bizarre, you’ve never heard of anything like this before. Jimin’s words did tickle the back of your mind, but you quickly brushed them off. There’s no way that this is the island he found, not when you still had one more week left to sail.

You push off the log, hoping to retrace your steps back to some of the more familiar looking bushes. You don’t have the luxury of being afraid of poisonous plants, not when it’s the only thing that might sustain you while you’re stuck here. Your stomach is rumbling obnoxiously by the time you make it back to the berries, and it’s with all of your self-restraint that you manage to hold back from finishing a whole bush in one go. You need to be smart and ration it so that it can last for as long as possible. You plop the last berry into your mouth, savouring the sweet taste as you begin the trek back to the beach. Despite not running into an ounce of life beside yourself, you can’t help but be vary of the parts you have yet to explore. So for now, you decide that the beach will serve as a good place to set up camp.

By the time you make it back to the beach, the sun is barely hanging on to the horizon. You squint against the fiery red, noticing a small lump resting on top of the flat rocks on the shoreline. A pang of joy travels through your body when you realize what it is you’re looking at. It’s a fish. It’s food. The fish is completely still, so the poor thing must’ve somehow jumped out of the ocean on its own. A voice in the back of your mind reminds you that the ocean is too calm, the waves to quiet, to throw the fish up on the rocks, but it’s quickly muffled by the sheer joy you feel of having something proper to eat. Who are you to question Lady Luck’s kindness after all?

You just count yourself lucky that you at least learned how to light a fire with minimal resources when you were younger. Once the fish is roasted and resting in your filled belly, it’s time to tuck in for the night.

You lay down as close to the fire as you dare, mindful to keep enough distance that any stray sparks won’t catch on your clothes. The island has grown chilly alongside the arrival of the moon, so you’re thankful for the extra warmth the fire provides. You empty out all the little treasures you collected into a neat pile, placing the crimson shell carefully on top of it. It’s strangely comforting to look at the flames dancing across the scalloped ridges, the gems and gold glittering in the low light. You keep watching until your eyes grow too heavy, exhaustion finally pulling you under into a deep sleep.  

It’s been three days, and the fish keeps appearing on the rocks like clockwork. You’ve taken to exploring the thick vegetation during the day, but there’s always a new fish waiting for you when you return to the beach. You would call the whole thing weird, but you’ve come to understand that most things on this island are. So, you quickly stop questioning it. But you shouldn’t have. That was your first mistake.

You shove a branch out of your way with a little more force than necessary, huffing in annoyance as you trek on deeper into the greenery. You’ve started to lose hope that you’ll ever get saved. You’ve run through every possible scenario in your head hundreds of times, but the heavy feeling in your gut tells you that it would only be foolish to hope. You’re not even sure that anybody knows that you’re missing.

“There you are,” You grumble under your breath as you finally spot the pool of fresh water, the large pond surrounded by beautiful orange flowers. You sink down to your knees in front of the body of water, eagerly scooping up the cold liquid to quench the dryness in your throat. The water is clear enough that you can make out the smooth stone lining the pond, but not enough that you can gauge just how deep it really is. The bottom is too dark, almost pitch black, and it always sends a shiver down your spine when you stare into it for too long. You’re about to take another sip when you swear you see a flash of red zoom past, your hands freezing above the water's surface. What if there’s something lurking down there?

Your eyes search frantically around the pond for another glimpse, but there’s nothing. You shake yourself out of your thoughts, scoffing at your own stupidity. It’s likely just another gemstone reflecting the light back up from the depths of the pool, nothing more and nothing less. You ignore the weak tremble in your hands as you rise back to your feet, your steps a little more hurried than usual as you begin the trek back to your beach. You must be starting to lose your mind.

When you return to the beach, there’s no fish waiting for you. You shrug it off easily, chalking it up to your luck finally running out. It was probably just a strong current that dragged some unsuspecting fish close to the island, and had enough force to throw them up on the rocks. Probably. It sounds plausible enough. With the absence of the fish, you just thank your past self for already having eaten some berries on your walk back, so that you won’t have to go to sleep hungry.

As morning rolls around, there isn’t a fish that catches your attention, but rather something else. Resting on the rocks is a massive pearl, the sphere so large your thumb and middle finger barely manage to meet when wrapped around it. The colour is mesmerizing. You roll the pearl around in your hands, watching as the deep red colour shifts into lighter and darker hues as you move it around. Come to think of it, haven’t you seen this exact colour before? You sprint up the beach to your little pile of treasures, carefully holding up the shell next to the pearl. They’re identical.

Your brows furrow in confusion as you twist and turn them around. How can a shell you picked up in your village match a pearl found over a week’s travel away? That’s impossible. You gently place both of them down on the ground, nibbling on your bottom lip as you turn around to face the ocean. A ripple in the surface catches your attention, but it’s too far out for you to see what could’ve caused it. A fish, you decide. That’s the only thing it can be after all. You sink down into the sand, running your fingertips along the smooth surface. It’s a pretty pearl – and you decide you’re going to cherish it just as much as your shell.

That's your second mistake.  

After you pick up the pearl, the fish miraculously return. In the following days there’s an abundance of fish greeting you on the rocks, some even showing up before you wake up. You can’t remember the last time you were so well fed. Not even your life back in the village kept you this sated every day. Maybe your fleeting luck has returned. Slowly, the days begin blending together as you keep exploring, picking up little treasures along the way and adding them to your ever-growing pile at the beach. It’s not much, but it’s keeping you sane.

You poke at the blazing bonfire in front of you, making sure that the fire is burning steadily before you venture down to the shoreline. Little gems keep washing up every now and again, so you’ve made it your nightly routine to go pick up those you can find. You halt as you reach the flat rocks nestled between the beach and the ocean, another ripple in the quiet surface a little further out making you curious.

Your third mistake.

You walk carefully over to the edge of the rock, peering down into the dark water. Dusk has started to settle in, but the last rays of light clinging on to the horizon are enough for you to notice something bright underwater. It looks like it’s leaning on a ledge in the rock, the item long and pale. You can’t really make out what it is – a long shell maybe? – but since you’ve already committed to picking up everything around the island, you might as well retrieve this too.

You get down on your knees, one hand curling around the edge of the rock for support as you lower your other arm into the cool water. You frown as fingers only graze over the top, not quite managing to reach it. Your arm is already drenched, so you figure it doesn’t matter if the rest of your blouse gets a little wet too. The fire will dry it quickly enough.

You lower your body further, your face nearly flush with the ocean as the last little push finally lets your hand finally close around the item. You smile, starting to pull yourself back up when something slimy wraps around your wrist, a harsh tug forcing your upper body down under water before you can even think to catch your breath.

Your eyes open in shock as the cold water suddenly surrounds you, and you swear you heart stops as the bubbles settle enough for you to see the creature in front of you. It has a human face, a handsome face, with long dark locks framing it, but the pupils in its eyes are unnaturally wide and blood red – and you can see your own terrified expression reflected back in them. Your eyes fly over the exposed skin of the creature’s torso and arms, your still heart dropping to your stomach as you notice that its skin starts transitioning into crimson scales around its hips, and that there’s a fucking tail where its legs should be. The pressure around your wrist tightens, and you snap your attention back to the creature’s face just as it opens its jaw to let out a series of clicking noises. It barely parts its lips, but it's enough for you to see the rows of sharp pointed teeth lining the inside of its mouth, a forked tongue moving around as it speaks. It’s a man, but it’s also not– it’s .. it’s a monster.

Your heart finally jumpstarts as your lungs begin to burn from the lack of oxygen, adrenaline shooting through your veins as you begin trying to pull yourself back up to the surface. The creature’s face seems to grow confused at your sudden struggle, another series of clicking noises leaving its mouth. A webbed hand comes into your line of sight, clawed fingertips reaching out towards your face. You’re sure your face will be mauled if they come in contact with your skin, so with newfound vigour, you finally find the last push of strength you need to rip yourself away from the hold around your wrist.

At the first breath of air, you scramble away from the edge of the rock, your trembling legs stumbling and folding underneath you as you race up the beach. You collapse against the sand besides your bonfire, barely hearing your own ragged breathing over the blood pumping in your ears. Your whole body freezes up in panic as you watch the creature’s head pop up over the edge of the rock, blood red eyes finding yours immediately. The low clicks that fill the air makes the back of your neck feel tight, your skin prickling in terror at how the noises seem like a warning. You don't dare move your eyes away until the creature sinks back down into the ocean, and out of view. You don’t know how long you stay there, warm tears streaming down your cheeks as you silently stare out at the calm water. You’ll never get away if that creature is out there.

It’s only when you’re sure that the creature is gone that you allow your attention to shift downwards, to the item still secured tightly in your grasp. You slowly open your hand to study it, eyes growing wide as you realize what it is.

A human jaw.

Choked sobs rip through your chest as you fling it into the bonfire, the smooth white surface even brighter in the midst of the flames. You furiously rub your hand on the fabric of your trousers, your stomach turning as the fire crackles louder around the bone. The gems, the fish, the bones, they wouldn’t have just ended up here alone. That creature must have brought it all here. It must have brought you here.

It dawns on you that you haven’t been lucky at all, no, instead you’ve only been surviving because the creature has wanted you to. Your fate is in the hands of a monster – one that seems furious that you ran away from it.

“Fuck,” you whimper pitifully, burrowing your head into your shaking hands. You have a feeling your time might be up.

a/n: hope you enjoyed the second part to the crimson shell! i would really appreciate a comment/reblog if you did! the next chapter will be the most spicy? disturbing? whatever you want to call it hhh. (ps. i’m not doing a tag list for this mini series!) as always, see you all soon and stay safe! and in case you enjoy my stories and want to buy me a coffee, you can do so here! 💖

[sundayswiththeilluminati]

i have spent the entirety of destiny's lifecycle simping for rasputin and getting made fun of for it by the friends i play the game with. despite taking a break from the game i frequently check r/destinylore to see if my boy's gotten back up. people see it as a testament to the darkness's strength that he got knocked out but i see it as a testament to rasputin's strength that he's the only one (i think) who survived the darkness's direct opposition. he's made to win and now he sees the way :)

Dude, I don’t know what your friends are on. Rasputin is one of the most fascinating characters in a lore that’s chock-a-block with great ones I mean FOR EXAMPLE: 

Rasputin is one of only four AI in all of Destiny and by far the most ubiquitous. If you played Destiny 1 - or if you play New Light - you literally wake up in his shadow. Rasputin runs subtle but ever-present in the background of our Guardian’s story. Even when he himself isn’t around, his assets and deeds affect us - his facilities, his weapons, his history.

Even during the Golden Age Rasputin was unique among AI. He’s always been exceptional - bigger, older, stranger.

Rasputin is one of only three Destiny characters to have faced Darkness directly...

...and Rasputin is the only major character to choose to turn aside from Darkness. He faced the Darkness, learned its philosophy of selfishness - of strength coming from solitude, from casting aside the weak, from prioritizing your own survival - put it into practice for centuries, and then changed his mind. He heard the Light’s pitch, he weighed the options, and he chose to move to Light’s philosophy. He opened up to alliance and cooperation, resuming his position as defender of the system. It’s such a cool story and it’s such a damn shame the Warmind DLC did a crap job of telling it.

He brought down the Almighty from a cave with a box of scraps.

He had the absolute balls to put a metaphorical gun to a god’s metaphorical head and tell it that if humanity went down he would make certain it went down with us.

He runs on some kind of crazy high-tech artificial elemental (Seraph) energy that shows up nowhere but in him and we still have no idea what it is or what it can do.

His very existence bothered Clovis Bray so much, which frankly should be classified as a public service.

He builds weapons so good they keep getting nerfed. The IKELOS 1.0.1 shotgun broke the weapon meta so badly guns got locked to elements. The 1.0.1 sniper got Box Breathing nerfed in like a week. Sleeper Simulant’s been nerfed at least 8 separate times (that is not hyperbole).

He was literally born from drama, aesthetic, and spite. He is the incarnation of “I lived bitch.” He probably still has 18 petabytes of Golden Age memes stashed away in a bunker and he uses them to drive the Vex insane.

They built him to be a war machine...and they failed. He fights because he thinks it’s his responsibility, but pre-Guardian Felwinter - who got to live the life Rasputin wanted to live - wasn’t a soldier. He spent his time learning. Painting. Listening to music. Reading books. Talking to people. Playing chess. Just living and participating in culture. He even died in a library. That schism between what Rasputin wants and what he thinks he has to do is fascinating.

Speaking of Felwinter, Rasputin created an entire person(!) from a fork of himself AND that person became a Guardian. A very good Guardian.

He witnessed firsthand what Darkness can do. He felt it during the Collapse. He saw it kill everyone he knew and cared about. He saw it, personally, in real-time, do things like stretch the entire moon Titan like a toy stress ball. He even admitted he was terrified of its return. But still when Darkness entered out system he stood against it anyway. He fired on it anyway.

He knows everything and he could be anything and he’s chosen to be a cranky old weirdo and I love him

Rasputin is unique in the pantheon of both Destiny personalities and factions. He’s the old man, the Tyrant, Big Red, humanity’s shield and sword, last survivor of the Golden Age. He exists on both grand and personal scales, speaking to a single human or to the Traveler or to the Darkness itself. Every faction in Destiny knows who he is, they’ve all tried to steal from him at some point, and most of them have come off the worse for it. 

Consider the Almighty. Not only is it the prize superweapon of an interstellar empire, but it’s also been used on many campaigns of conquest before us. Whatever civilizations Ghaul conquered must have thrown everything they had at the big laser holding their suns hostage, and all of them failed to take it down. It sustained damage in the Red War and hasn’t been repaired since, but it’s still a huge, very heavily-armored structure that’s survived multiple other civilizations’ do-or-die assaults. Not only did Rasputin succeed in destroying the Almighty, he succeeded using hastily-scrambled assets reactivated after centuries of disuse bodged together into brand-new weaponry on the fly.

I do see it as a testament to the Darkness’ strength that it disabled Rasputin, not because it was able to do so but because it disconnected a highly fault-tolerant networked intelligence nearly everywhere simultaneously. That points again to its ability to control fundamental principles of the universe. The Marasenna describes the vacuum of space becoming opaque to radio during the Darkness’ first attack, and doing something similar to rupture communication between all his warsats at once would be the clearest way to take Rasputin down. 

But it’s also a testament to Rasputin’s strength that Darkness bothered to extinguish him in the first place - because coming from Darkness, that’s a sign of favor. The Darkness believes the best thing you can do to someone is try to wipe them out, forcing them to evolve and change and get sharper. It took the time to speak to Rasputin face-to-face during the Collapse and saw Rasputin learn from it. Now it’s curious if that interesting little AI has learned enough; and indeed Rasputin managed to survive. He learned from Darkness’ first attempt. He’s learned from this second attempt. I have no doubt he’ll come back stronger. I have no doubt the Darkness will whisper to him again that his true strength would be found on its side, not ours. And I have no doubt he’ll defend us anyway.

[aquamotto]

Polish School of Magic or what Rowling gets wrong about Poland

In short: many things. 

The only mentions of polish wizards come from two instances - some Quidditch team  (Grodzisk Goblins) and Hagrid’s visit to Europe (with some goblin mention, again). 

Why goblins, anyway? There is no such creature in real polish mythology. Instead, there are much more Harry Potter-esque things such as: Beast of Krakow, Dragon of the Wawel Hill who is the most famous and ferocious creature in all Eastern Europe. The majestic power of this beast can only be matched with majestic power of its city of dwelling - Krakow, to put it simply, is the city of Polish kings.

Below: Krakow, the city of “goblins”, according to JKR:

But let me guess - goblin invokes this image of rudeness and primitivity that probably comes from british understanding of poles as construction workers and such. It is curious that nuanced portrayal of poor people that is reserved for characters like Snape is not allowed to poles. They are “goblins” but Snape is a “working class hero”.  

 What I will describe below, is my headcanon based on what I imagine Wizarding Poland to really be like, sans goblins and other imperialist fantasies but based on my own observation of Poland as both pole and outsider (because, unfortunately, I am both).

Personality,  culture

Quidditch champion image as rude and loud lads couldn’t be farther from the truth. Polish wizards, much like their friends in neighboring Czech Republic, are wise, eccentric, philosophical and brave people. They have been blessed and cursed with difficult history (Such as Partition of Poland and German and Soviet Invasion) and know very well how to operate in secrecy. In fact, they are the most secretive of all european wizards and if muggle were to accuse them of witchcraft, they would deny the fact to their last breath. In the same time, polish wizards love magic and often risk everything to pursue their next magical experiment. They are prone to be idealistic and live with their head in the clouds, sometimes literally, which can lead to both troubles and brilliant inventions.

Some believe that Nicolaus Copernicus, the genius astronomer who placed the Sun at the center of the Universe, was a polish wizard (painting by polish artist Jan Matejko):

This image of genius, sudden discoveries and epiphanies is valued in Poland to the point that students of Polish School of Magic wear stars indicating their year on their uniforms - to honor Copernicus. 

However, poles aren’t Ravenclaws in disguise - they are traditional, obedient and lawful people at the core and no polish wizard, even the smallest first year, would dare to cheek their headmaster or teacher the way Harry and co. do. 

Teacher - student relationship is sacred in Poland and it’s almost like your second parent -  someone to be treated with utmost respect. This can lead to quite harsh hierarchies in Wizarding Poland. 

Looks

Polish wizards dress modestly, colorful suits Weasley Twins style are not for them. They can sometimes even look monk-like (or medieval knight-like) in appearance. Since Poland is filled with minor aristocracy called szlachta (and I am proud to belong to it, too*) many polish wizards openly wear their coat of arms on their clothes. (*If you are wondering whether I have a coat of arms - yes, I do).

Polish School of Magic uses dark red monk-like hoods with more normal suit under as an unifroms.  Since they want to be the guardians of well respected traditions, it fits them. 

This doesn’t mean that poles are somber, though. They can be playful but in their distinct, “I challenge you” way. They can be competitive and fiery to the highest degree, especially when their honor or honor of their school is involved. They are indeed the most patriotic of all wizards, thinking of themselves as separated not only from muggles but from foreigners too.

Relationship with muggles

Polish wizards do not like muggles very much but unlike Britain, it rarely comes in a form of hostility but rather patronizing and light mockery. Rather than valuing pure blood,poles just think of themselves as superior to muggles in intelligence.They are especially suspicious of muggle disrespect of culture and the past which leads to wizards thinking that muggles are morally and spiritually, rather than genetically, impure. However, there was never an attempt to deny muggleborns education - in fact, they are welcomed with open arms and often even relief - “Finally, another one of us!”. This makes them a bit closer to Grindelwald’s idea of superiority than Voldemort’s one.

Music

Anyone knows Chopin, the great french-polish composer and indeed, poles adore music. To the point that Polish School of Magic considers participation in a school choir mandatory. But highest praise is reserved for those who dare and pick up an instrument (be it violin, cello, horn, piano or something else) to join the School Orchestra. If Triwizard Tournament accepted Poland, they would arrive in most curious way possible - operating the giant musical machine which would look like a church organ mixed with piano and other instruments. The headmaster would play it and the students (dressed in cloaks) would accompany him with some strange melody to make the grandest entrance ever. 

Polish School of Magic

Pictured below: Frombork

Thanks to Copernicus, magical astronomy and astrology are best subjects to learn in Polish School of Magic. Unlike their colleagues in Prague who are obsessed with alchemy, potions and dark arts, poles are more interested in the spiritual so they also value divination in any forms and defense against the dark arts. Since living in a country as difficult as Poland forces you to  always be on your toes, teachers consider it important to teach their students nonverbal magic as soon as possible. They also encourage wandless magic and actually had a lot of luck with it (unlike other european schools). Thanks to a certain WW2 incident, they also offer a superior course of arithmancy (If you know what I am hinting at, well done!) 

Pictured: Frombork Cathedral Bell Tower

Since poles are not very practical people, they don’t teach their students about Magical Creatures at all (aside from a side course on dangerous creatures such as dragons in DADA). This just doesn’t fit their heady aesthetics. Being honest and reliable people, they also dislike transfiguration - something about turning things into animals and other things strikes them as unnecessary cruel and even devilish. Being pious at the core, poles want magic to always come from the source of respect and light. That’s why almost all students leave the school with full patronuses - most common of which is a white eagle, of course - the symbol of Poland. Poles are often so patriotic that even their best memories are linked to their national identity!

Poles are also good at charms and make superb magical duellists. In fact, not many nations can best them in this regard, if any. It is thanks to their wandless magic, wordless spells,  quickness of reaction and harsh discipline (almost military-like) instilled in them in their school. 

Talking about discipline... Polish School of Magic’s discipline is indeed very strict. The school grounds are usually quiet, students know best not to laugh too loud, not to pull pranks or fool around needlessly. Spontanous duels are forbidden. Teachers love their work and always keep an eye on misbehaving individuals. Lazy, incompetent or misanthopic teachers don’t exist in Polish School of Magic. Instead they can be overly strict, demanding, mocking, conservative and overly eccentric. (This one is based on real life experience, everyone.)

Below: Ksiaz castle

 Teachers in Polish School of Magic lean old and getting a place there is very difficult and demands tons of connections. They also lean male but not just because of prejudice (although, unfortunately, such prejudice exists - Poland is a country of soldiers in many ways), because DADA course there is especially harsh and physically exhausting. (Some say it’s because they want to best Durmstrang and it comes with knowing your enemy).

Despite the notes of traditionalist gender roles, female teachers are usually well-respected, even more than male ones. And that’s why many female teachers are quite haughty and have queen-like demeanor.

Below: Ksiaz castle room

But when do poles rest from all their strict training? The answer: when holidays come. Holidays are sacred for poles and many missteps are forgiven during them, rules become slightly more relaxed. 

One of the curiously LESS regulated things in Polish School of Magic is love. While british and american wizards such as Snape may get into a puritanical rage seeing two students kissing passionately, polish teachers would just smile sweetly at them and leave them alone. Girls sending boys postcards is not considered cringeworthy as it is in Hogwarts (I am looking at you, Harry) but natural and enviable. In fact, teachers encourage students to dance together and on holidays such as Christmas, they even overlook duels related to love triangles (a rare case of them approving non-DADA duels). Poles can dance well and you can often find them waltzing in the school balroom in their festive robes. They also flirt well and all this combined with the fact how good they are at duelling, makes them formidable rivals in love for students from any other school, including Beauxbatons, especially considering that Beauxbatons boys lean narcissistic rather than chivalrous.

In the end, if Poland did participate in Triwizard Tournament, I think it would charm everyone with their quick wit, intelligence, modesty, good manners and passionate spirit. 

Quite far from the “Goblin” stuff, isn’t it?

Below: various beautiful views from Poland

[obae-me]

Beneath Still Waters- CH 1

Miracle Meeting

Word count: 3600

Summary: It’s the first of many strange meetings you’ve yet to come across. As you feel you’ve hit rock bottom, someone comes along to give you an opportunity. Feeling like you have no other choice, you pack a bag and head to a town known as Old Midev, the place where your adventures will soon begin. 

Tags: (Mostly) Human AU, second person view, gender neutral reader, I do not endorse always following the advice of a stranger, but for trope purposes, it’s fun.

They say that despite the appearance of calm surfaces, you should always be aware of the danger of currents churning just beneath them. There’s a point people warn you about, for once you drift too far from shore, there’s a good chance you’ll never be able to come back, even for all your fights and struggles. The best thing for you to do at that point is move with the flow, all the better to keep your head above water. Is that what your life had come to at this point? Had you been swept along by unseen forces, working to barely keep afloat? 

A little raindrop made its way down the glass pane, weaving and shifting past other stagnant dots of moisture. The trail it left formed small beads before it drifted down too far, disappearing from view. The locomotive ticked and churned along its path, unaffected by the storm outside. You sighed, changing your posture after having sat in your current one too long. Everything in your body was stiff, your muscles were sore, but most of all you were undeniably nervous. Was this a mistake? You wondered. Had it been too good to be true? But at this point...was there a better alternative? In all honesty, your life was at a low point. A very low point. Due to circumstances beyond your control, you’d lost your job, been told you had to find a new place to live by the next month, and finding any sort of stability financially, mentally, or otherwise seemed nigh on impossible. 

That was, till about two days ago. Trying to scrounge up any semblance of peace, you’d taken a trip to a local park. Disheveled, heartbroken, you sat on a bench, pondering if soon you’d have to sleep on this very seat in the near future. At that point, it seemed like a very real possibility. Little kids threw balls at each other and screamed in joy, the birds around you sang without a care. Everyone else looked happy. Everyone else didn’t seem to struggle as you did. And while it seemed silly, you couldn’t help but seem envious of everything. Envious of the adults who seemed to have everything together. Envious of the free birds. Even envious of the little flowers planted in their permanent little pots. 

“Mind if I sit here?” A gentle voice snapped you out of your thoughts, some worry racing through your mind, wondering if the stranger had noticed how bitterly you watched the passersby. The man was a kind looking soul; bright blue eyes, dark-toned skin, well-kept clothes, a shining smile on his attractive features. A soft breeze ruffled his curly brown hair. He pulled his ivory jacket closer around him, adjusting the blue scarf around his neck, the ends of the fabric billowing behind his shoulders. Something about him struck you as otherworldly, but you couldn’t place it. 

Aware of the way you looked compared to him, you scooted a little closer to the edge of the bench, straightening your own clothes in an attempt to make your hoodie and sweatpants a bit more presentable. “Uh...sure…” 

As he sat down, he thanked you only to apologize right after. “I’m sorry, I just had a feeling...maybe you could use some company.” Had you really looked that pathetic? Like a wounded animal left on the side of the road and calling out for help? You refrained from making a comment, hunching your shoulders instead. The stranger tilted his head at you, then lifted his chin to observe the puffy clouds drift up above your heads. “A beautiful day,” he expressed. “Don’t you think?” Really? Out of everything that could’ve possibly happened today, a charming yet odd stranger basically asked how you thought the weather was? Was it a good day? Was today, a day you’d been handed two rejected applications, a day you’d been hunting for anyone to take you in, a day you felt as if nothing could get worse, a good day? “It doesn’t have to be a good day,” he started, speaking as if he’d directly read your thoughts, “For it to be a beautiful one.” The breath in your lungs stopped for a moment as you observed him with semi-wide eyes. How did he…? The man simply shot you a sympathetic grin. “Ah, sorry for the assumptions. It’s just, in my line of work, you tend to see a lot of people sport the same expression. I couldn’t help but notice it on you when I passed by.” 

Some heat poured into your cheeks. So you had been that easy to read. A small family walked by in front of you, one of the younger children running too far ahead. Their guardians hurriedly reminded them not to go too far. Once they passed, you straightened your slouched posture, taking a deep breath. “In your line of work?” 

“I’m a doctor,” he explained. 

“Ah…” How much despair had he seen, how many grief-stricken people had left such an impression on him that he could simply tell how someone was feeling just by their face? Was he an empath or just observant? It doesn’t have to be a good day for it to be a beautiful one, he’d said. The leaves off the trees shone different shades of green, some shifting to warm hues in preparation for the approaching autumn, rustling under the beams of sun branching out from behind the clouds that rolled past the grey-blue sky. The air was crisp enough for jackets, but not yet cold enough for coats. You could smell the aroma of freshly baked goods, the air carrying the scent from the bakery just across the street. It was...rather stunning. “I’m going to be homeless.” The truth slipped out of you before you could process even moving your lips. With it, your emotions followed, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve been working towards has failed. My efforts amount--they amount to nothing! I don’t even know where to go or-or what to do anymore.” A choked back sob made your voice waver. “I’m sorry...I don’t even know you, I--I’m sorry. I don’t know why I just shared all that with a stranger.” The tears slowly began to dry as you brushed them away with the back of your hand. 

“Dr. Matthews,” he stated. “But you can call me Simeon.” 

You blinked, sniffling a little as you glanced quizzically at him. “Huh?” 

He rummaged for a few things in the confines of his pockets. With an outstretched hand, he offered you two things. One, a tissue, something you accepted with more than a little sheepishness as you dabbed the end of your nose with it. The second was a business card. It was a white and rather professional looking little paper with gold lettering. The name and title ‘Dr. Simeon Matthews’ was printed on the front, along with his email, business phone number, and website address. “Now I’m not a total stranger.” He smiled earnestly, and something about the idea of a doctor easily convinced that simply sharing a name would immediately make you acquaintances let a bubble of amusement float to the top of your mind. 

“Simeon?” You repeated, and he nodded to confirm you’d gotten it right. The vowels slid past your lips. “It’s a nice name.” 

He beamed at the compliment. “Thank you.” His long legs shifted and his hands fidgeted in his lap as he struggled with an internal thought. “Tell me...have you heard of Old Midev?”  You hadn’t. In fact, you couldn’t even tell what he was referring to by name alone. A book? A show? An illness? “It’s a little old town quite a ways from here, but it’s where I grew up. It’s so small most maps don’t even bother displaying it,” he chuckled. Homesickness stood out behind his eyes, his smile a lonely one. “It’s been quite a while since I’ve been home...Do you like house-sitting?” His question left you stunned, and a pit formed in your stomach. You could connect the dots. Was he inferring what you thought he was? 

“Simeon!” A high voice turned both your heads. A child about the age of ten or twelve was awkwardly running towards the bench with a little plastic container in his hands. Golden hair bobbed across his forehead as he stood before the man and presented the container; a little cupcake with pink frosting and pearl-like sprinkles dwelled inside. From under the kid’s blue jacket sleeves, you spotted bandages as well as a medical bracelet covering his wrists. “I managed to get one! They let me watch them make it fresh! Doesn’t it look delicious?” 

“It looks amazing, Luke!” Simeon addressed the pale child. “But remember what I told you about running?” 

Luke huffed and raised his nose. “I’m old enough to buy this by myself! I can handle running a little.” 

“I just want to be cautious is all,” Simeon assured him. The doctor used a hand to gesture towards the kid. “This is Luke, he’s a patient of mine.” Your heart quickly sank. It explained the bracelet, why Luke looked too pale, why his bright tufts seemed so thin. Simeon noticed your face quickly drain, and he playfully ruffled Luke’s hair. “He’s been a fighter, but it’ll end up being moot if you waste all your energy running around like a rabid chihuahua!” 

Luke, affronted, swatted Simeon’s hand away and fixed the stray strands. “I’m not a chihuahua!” There was fire in him yet. He pulled the cupcake box closer to his chest like he had to protect it. His sweet innocence and their wholesome dynamic let a smile curl across your face, something that hadn’t happened to you for a while. “Who’s your friend, Simeon?” 

The man hesitated. He didn’t know how to explain that you two had literally just met, and your name had yet to be announced. He’d probably refrained from asking in the event it would make you uncomfortable. You drifted your sight between the two of them, the sense of unease devoid from your intuition. Usually you could trust your gut on sketchy strangers. The two of them felt warm, safe, strangely familiar, like you’d been fated to cross paths. Some faith in your humanity was restored, and as you looked at Luke, you remembered that other people were suffering too. If he could, you too could fight a little longer. With a little sigh, you let some of the heavy weight of hopelessness slide off your shoulders, and you shared your name. 

And that was simply the beginning of your journey. A meeting of miracles. 

Simeon had asked you again how you felt about house-sitting, and before he took off with Luke, he encouraged you to give the number on his card a call once you’d thought it over. Now here you were, on a train to this town of his, doing something potentially reckless. Old Midev...small alright. After you’d double checked Simeon’s doctorate claims, you’d searched this town. It did exist, but it took you a while to find it. For the longest time, the only result that would show up were some crackhead conspiracy posts on a mystic sea creature written by someone calling themselves The Sorcerer. There was only a lake in that town, nothing really seaworthy about it. Nothing really note-worthy about it, in fact. From the overhead map view, you could see a school, a library, a park, a gym, a grocery store, a few other scattered businesses--basically the bare minimum--and that was it. There were only about 800 people, and even that was slowly declining as residents moved away. But in that town held the potential of some support, a shelter, some hope, at least until you could get back on your own two feet. 

The train buckled a bit, the speed starting to decline. You picked your head up, eyes heavy as you’d almost begun to nod off. Only now did your heart begin to pound. New people. A new environment. Would you be able to tell people you were basically someone’s charity case? That you were going to be squatting in someone’s empty home till you could sort yourself out? Groaning, you tapped your feet against the floor to get your nerves out. It took about another ten minutes before the train came to a complete stop. The luggage you’d brought with you resided in a single large suitcase in the proper compartment. Everything else you owned you had boxed up and placed in a storage unit in your old city. 

If the station you stepped out onto was a testament to what the town was like, you could see that it truly lived up to the name Old Midev. The train had pulled next to the only station in town. It almost seemed as if the station itself was built before the rails, and they conveniently converted it into a station as an afterthought. It looked more like a barn than anything. A little red wooden building with rusty red walls and white trim that had begun to chip and grey with time. The platform was decorated with log benches, carved animal statues, and barrels that had been cut in half to serve as flower planters. There was a nice little overhead to keep people--and you--from standing out in open weather. Even though it was still raining, it had lessened to a light sprinkle. As you tried to move, your luggage quickly got snagged on a nail sticking out from the creaking floorboards underneath you. With a tug, you got it free. The pistons to the train hissed as they prepared to shut the doors behind you. It’s your last chance to turn around. It’ll be hard to get out of this if you stay, you told yourself. And yet you stood your ground, watching the train start to chug away. 

Simeon had given you some insight into a few things before he’d so graciously purchased your ticket for you. One, he told you that you were welcome to stay as long as you needed. Yes, this town housed his home, and yet his work had him traveling constantly, so there was no one there to look after it. Two, his extra set of keys was in a compartment behind a wall plaque with a proverb on it. And three, a friend of his would be waiting at the station when you arrived to help take you to the house you’d be staying at. Only...you were seemingly the only living soul around. Swiveling your head to observe the area around you, you only further confirmed this. There was no one else here. No one was sitting down, no one was inside the building when you peeked in the windows. Being alone in...such an unfamiliar place...out in the middle of nowhere. Your blood started to run cold. Should you have done more background checks on Simeon? Yes, there was a website and a secretary and Luke and everything...but maybe it had all been staged! Was it all fake? Did you make a mistake? What were you even doing hopping on a train to come all the way out here?! Sure you had joked about dropping your entire life to move to a desolate place and change the way you lived, but you never thought it would be this frightening in the moment!

“Hey.” The monotone voice of someone behind you made you shout. You quickly turned, placing your suitcase in front of you in the event you needed to use it as a shield. You’d brought a self defense keychain with you and hidden it in your sleeve. Up until now, you hadn’t had to use it yet...but you would if you were desperate. There before you, occupying the space you could’ve sworn was empty, was a man; ripped jeans, dark circles under his eyes about as dark as the large sweatshirt he was wearing. Floppy purple hair with frosted ends hovered in front of his vision. He had a chain around his neck, a dirty look across his face, and a strange intense stance. You were dead. You knew it. Somehow you’d been fooled into coming here, and now you were about to be killed. “Are you the person Simeon sent?” 

Oh...was this the friend Simeon had talked about? Your nerves were still on edge, but you found it a little easier to breathe. “Y-yes...are you…” 

“Yeah. He sent me here to pick you up. I’m kinda late, I-” He was interrupted by his own large yawn. “I overslept. But it’s whatever.” Wasn’t it already dipping into the late afternoon? There was still some trepidation inside you, and he must’ve finally noticed your defensive stance. “Oh. Simeon told me to say ‘seraph’...I think it was the word.”  Seraph had been Simeon’s little safety measure to try and ease your anxiety and to prove who to trust. It was such a random little word, you’d doubted anyone could come up with it without being told by Simeon first. Your shoulders loosened a bit. Although, still...not to stereotype...but you found it interesting that a character like Simeon would be friends with someone like...this person before you. He appeared as if he’d torn up his entire wardrobe with a set of knives and yet looked entirely comfortable about it. Like...soft-emo-core. And yet their clashing attire wasn’t what bothered you...it was Simeon’s angelic nature vs...this person’s apathetic attitude. Well, who were you to judge? Simeon just always threw more surprises at you. 

“Yeah. That was the word.” You sighed and rubbed the back of your neck. “Thanks for coming to pick me up. I wouldn’t know left from right here.” 

His blank face managed a little laugh. “Most people don’t. Anyway, come on, my brother has the car running.” He already started walking off, not even bothered to check to make sure you were following. You muttered some curses in your head before dragging your heavy suitcase behind you, trying not to trip on the uneven platform. 

“Your brother?” 

“Yeah, I don’t like driving,” he replied, kicking a few stray rocks as he hopped off the platform and onto an unpaved road. A large four-door red pickup truck was idling a few feet ahead. Through the darkened window, you could see another man--the brother, you pieced together--eating behind the wheel. You grimaced. Getting inside a vehicle with two people you didn’t know was exactly the sort of thing you’d been told not to ever do. The one time your escort actually looked back was the time you’d hesitated. “What,” he smirked. “You think we’re going to murder you or something?” 

You stopped in your tracks. “Maybe! I don’t know you!” Your accusatory tone came out of nowhere. “You still...Simeon told me the name of the person coming to get me. You haven’t told me your name.” 

He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth. Even if he’d told you, you weren’t sure you'd fully believe him. The main factor that contributed to some trust was all thanks to the person who rolled down the window of the truck, swallowing another handful of fries. “Belphie! Why didn’t you help them with their suitcase?” The name was right. Simeon had told you the person coming to get you would’ve been called Belphie. Strange name. Much like the password, you doubted anyone would’ve just made up a name like that on the spot. 

“Eh. I didn’t feel like it. It looks heavy,” Belphie admitted. You almost glared at him. What is with this guy?

The other man opened the door and stepped out of the truck. He was wearing a tracksuit. Red jacket and matching crimson pants, both of which had black stripes running vertically up the sides. He was wearing a black shirt underneath, a little bright stain of some sort smudged on his chest, probably some condiment from what he’d been eating. Unlike his brother, he had bright red hair and an expressive face, although his voice shared the same consistent and unwavering deep tone like his sibling. He stepped towards you, almost giving you a heart attack when you realized just how tall and muscular he was. God help any creature that dared to upset him. When he moved his arm in your direction, you felt faint, but then he simply grasped your luggage with one hand and plucked it up from the ground, settling it gently in the bed of the truck. 

He turned on his feet towards you, Belphie slinking away to get into the passenger seat of the car without even offering to help. “You’re MC, right? Simeon told us some about you.” The doctor hadn’t known you for very long, so the ‘some’ must’ve been the whole...rock bottom explanation. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder to point behind him. “That’s my twin, Belphie.” Twins? They didn’t exactly strike you as such just on an observational standpoint, but it’s not as if twins were always identical. “Sorry about him. He gets grumpy when he’s tired.”

“It’s okay…” You mustered up a polite grin. 

“You can call me Beel.” Beel opened one of the backdoors to the car, quickly clearing the backseat by shoving old takeout bags into one slightly bigger bag before settling it on one spot on the floor, looking a bit proud of his swift cleaning job. “Hop in, MC. Let’s bring you to Old Midev.” 

[kermitbread]

putting this here too. it's been a while since I've written anything proper and I've finished this on someone else's computer (I make do lol)

it's also in my AO3 :) ok see ya

Caw, caw, caw.

It was now dusk, the air becoming cooler now that the sun was setting. Everything was silent, from the far away cries of birds up in the sky, to the sound of a swing being pulled back and forth by the children's playground nearby.

The clouds were almost covering the sky, letting the sun illuminate through with a pretty red-orange color. As the wind began to pick up a little, Nene could feel that it was going to get real cold any time soon.

The clackety noise of a bicycle made her turn around. Well, she should have known. Amane always took the same path home as her, and automatically that made them companions everyday.

He pulled the brakes, letting his bike go to a halt. "Didn't I tell you to wait for me, Yashiro?"

"You were busy with Astronomy club, and I didn't wanna bother you." She admitted. Knowing how busy he was ever since he got the position as president of the club, she didn't want to waste too much of his time.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he got off his bike and set it on its stand. "You're never a bother to me, you know."

Nene had to avert her eyes away from him, her grip on her bag's strap tightening. It's times like this that made her feel so… strange. Just being around him would probably make her heart explode, with all the nonsense he would say.

"Hey, Yashiro. Look up over there." Amane's voice guided her back to where he was pointing at. The clouds slightly parted, and she could see the outline of the sun slowly descending downwards.

"The stars are about to come out. I heard there's gonna be a lot out later on when it gets a bit more dark, cuz the clouds won't be in the way for at least a few minutes."

Stars. She didn't know why, but hearing Amane talk about the stars felt comforting, somehow. Seeing his eyes brighten up at the mere mention of them, it was always a welcome sight indeed.

Nene heard him walk up to her side, and unexpectedly take her hand. "Let's go over there a sec!"

"Amane-kun, I'm gonna trip!" She tried to stop the red grazing upon her cheeks, staring at their intertwined hands together.

It was really not fair how he had her feeling this way so much.

He only laughed, proceeding to pull her along to the playground, right towards the swings. Upon reaching the first swing, he let her hand go at last, and she couldn't help but miss the warmth they brought from the chilly air.

"We're not little kids anymore, you know." Nene smiled regardless, sitting on the swing beside him. Amane was known for being the mature one out of him and his brother, but that didn't mean he didn't have a childish side to him.

"Swings are still fun, though. Age doesn't really matter here." Amane grabbed the handles, stepping on the seat of the swing. It wobbled around, worrying Nene.

"You're gonna fall, get down from there."

"Don't worry! I'm used to this." He started swinging back and forth, but Nene couldn't help but remain worried. What if he fell and broke a limb, or even worse—

With one last push, Amane stopped the swing from moving, hopping off, arms up in the air. He turned to Nene with a big smile on his face. "Ta-da!"

"You're lucky you didn't hurt yourself. That was dangerous, Amane-kun."

"You need to relax, Yashiro." He went back to the swing and sat down properly this time, kicking his feet forward a little.

A comfortable silence followed between them. Aside from the sounds of the chain swings going to and fro, and Amane's feet kicking up the dirt below, it was just peace and quiet.

The sun was now near the lower edge, and the stars finally clearly visible right up the darkening sky. Nene looked back at Amane, and was rather taken aback by the sight before her.

He wasn't looking right at her, but he had his eyes up at the stars above. The setting sun illuminated his figure, and it pretty much made him look like some kind of extraterrestrial being.

In a good way, of course.

"Hey." He finally averted his gaze off the sky, turning back to her. "You think there's anything out there that's watching us right now?"

"You mean like aliens?" She asked, and he laughed, as if the question had sounded silly, which it was.

"Something like that, I guess. But have you ever wondered about the possibility that there's something out there, probably light years away?"

Nene hummed, making the swing she was on go back and forth a bit. "Not really. What brought this on, Amane-kun?"

The sun had since long gone, the moon now taking its place up the sky. She couldn't help but notice how Amane's face brightened up at the sight of the moon, and once again it was something that somehow gave her a strange sort of comfort.

She wondered if she did the same to him, in some kind of way.

"I want you to know… that I really really like you, Amane-kun!" The phrase hung around her mouth for so long, all she needed was a little push for it come out.

How would he react, though? Would he accept? Would he just take it for her as one of her jokes? Knowing him, he'd definitely not take it seriously.

Maybe it was best she didn't say that out loud. Not like this, anyway.

"It might seem weird if I tell you." He stopped kicking on the ground, letting the swing gradually come to a stop. Nene shook her head at that.

"I'm sure it won't! You can tell me."

Amane contemplated for a second, the both of them looking at each other intently. Seeing no doubt in her expression, he gave in, turning back to the moon.

"Remember the time we first met? Back in middle school."

Of course she did. It was an important day to remember, after all.

"Yeah." She answered, not really sure where this was going. The nightly air became a bit more chillier, and she rubbed her arm, trying to get herself to stop shivering.

"I found you sitting by that swing you're on, bawling your eyes out." Amane rose both hands to his face, making a mock-crying pose. He had to swivel backwards when Nene tried to shove him off the swing.

She huffed angrily, glaring at how he could only laugh at the whole situation. "For your information, I was suffering a terrible heartbreak that day!"

"Ah, yeah. That jerk of a senpai who turned you down."

"Are you bringing this up just to make fun of me?!" She couldn't see how anything good was coming out of this conversation.

"No, no, it's not like that at all." The teasing tone he had in his voice faded to something more sincere. One by one, the light posts around them lit up as the sky darkened more, and the stars popping up at every corner.

"It's kinda weird, but I was kinda glad you were there that day."

Red eyes blinked owlishly. At her confused expression, Amane let out another light chuckle, leaning himself forward so that his elbows were propped on his legs, head tilted at her.

"I believe there's something out there looking out for you, Yashiro. And I think that's what lead me to meeting you in the first place."

Ah.

Why was her heart beating so fast again?

"L...like a guardian angel? Don't be silly, Amane-kun. You out of all people should know that." Nene waved her hand at him, trying to dismiss his words and the fact her cheeks were beginning to turn red yet again.

He got off the swing, walking towards her and squatting down in front of her so that she could see him face to face. Something tells her he was being serious about this.

"How else would you explain this?"

"Eh… uh… explain what?" It was hard trying to get into eye contact with him without getting flustered about it.

"You, me. An unsuspecting couple of kids. We literally don't match up in terms of how we want to live our life. Yet, here we are." To further prove whatever point he was carrying across, he removed both her hands off the handles of the swing and led them to her lap, their fingers intertwined and all.

Suddenly it didn't feel so cold anymore.

"Something out there cared enough to let our paths cross that day. It knew I'd care enough to stay by your side. Don't you think so?"

She felt frozen on the spot, unable to do anything but watch him, as through the street lights, through the soft shine of the moon, he smiled.

"...yeah. Yeah, I do. I really do." Almost mindlessly she nodded. She had to be careful; she didn't know what she'd do if her heart had bursted from all of this going on.

"To be perfectly honest, I was also happy you came along, Amane-kun." Now her gaze turned shy, preferring to look at the ground below them than right at his eyes.

"You're annoying, you're a perv most of the time, and you never take anything seriously…" She had to grin a little when she could feel Amane grimace at those words, like he had been struck physically.

Finally gathering up her courage, she lifted her head back up, her smile directing to him. "But things probably wouldn't be the same if you hadn't sat there next to me and spoke like my life depended on it."

Here goes nothing.

Nene leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, and if you think about it, they were awfully looking like a princess giving her knight a reward for his duty.

Doesn't sound too bad, to be honest.

"So thank you, for heeding that call. Thank you for being there by my side."

Amane became a little flustered from the sudden act of affection, as he could only sit back up rigidly and nod. He had a silly little smile on his face, though, and that was enough to know what he was currently feeling.

There were so many words he wanted to say to her, so many things he wanted her to know.

"I want you to know—"

"Y-yeah." Was all he could muster out as a reply.

Nene giggled at his unusually shy demeanor, standing up from the swing and picking her bag up to her shoulder. "Well, it's getting dark out now. Let's go!"

To his surprise, she was the one who grabbed onto his hand first, and she was the one who was now dragging him along the path, smiling all the way.

That crooked, goofy grin of his came back, as he just let her lead him far away, never taking his eyes of her.

"—that I really, really like you, Yashiro."

[belladxne]

i will see you where the shadow ends | chapter 6

[see notes for ao3 and ff links]

part of the put your faith in the light that you cannot see series AU: Breath of the Wild pairing: KiriBaku word count: 5,304

chapter 6: it’s getting late, and i cannot seem to find my way home tonight

Paragliding is absolutely exhilarating. Eijiro would be whooping in delight if he weren’t almost immediately breathless from the thrill of it, his blood pumping loudly in his ears.

In the brief moment of freefall after he’d hopped off the plateau, his heart had lodged itself somewhere in his throat, and then when he’d snapped the paraglider taut his stomach had gone plummeting out of his body. But like, in a good way, unlike when the tower had rocketed up into the air and launched him with it. Even with the slight strain in his arms from holding onto the glider, this is the most fun he’s ever had in his life.

Oh, he can’t wait to just start leaping off of things—of anything. This feels awesome. This feels right.

He encounters his first moblin directly east of the plateau. He recognizes the towering, monstrous creature about ten or so seconds before he plants his boots directly on its face. They crash to the ground one after the other, but Eijiro’s smaller and it makes him more agile, and he rolls to his feet with his sword out in under a second.

It’s probably just the adrenaline rush leftover from his flight down, but Eijiro grins, bright and feral. He’s lucky enough, or the moblin’s disoriented enough, that the fight’s over in seconds and Eijiro’s blood is singing with the accomplishment.

The rest of the night’s trek doesn’t go so easy. Traveling at night is worse, it’s always worse, and he knew that when he stuffed as many supplies as he could into his new bag and leapt off the plateau, but there’s no way he could have managed to stay still tonight. But, hey, he doesn’t have to now, because as soon as the sun dips below the horizon, stalkoblins are popping up from the ground to harry him. And not once, but twice as he tries to follow the road through the ruins he gets swarmed by two separate clouds of keese.

If he almost blows himself up throwing a bomb at the second cloud as they’re swooping for his head, well, at least there’s no one to witness it.

By the time he’s reached the bridge down the road from the plateau, it’s been well over an hour and Eijiro is tired, and achy, and frustrated. There had been two more moblins in the mix of monsters inhabiting the ruins that dotted the roads, and Eijiro had been confronted once again with the fact that things are not as they should be. That he is not as he should be.

It’s like he knows exactly what to do, what all their weak points are, how they’re going to come at him, but his body can’t keep up with his knowledge. It feels like he’s done this a million times, only this time he’s just a little slower than he’s always been, or he somehow misses the place he was swinging for with his sword, or, worse, he gets the timing correct and the aim right and he just doesn’t hit as hard as he should.

He gets what Inko was saying about him not having fully recovered from his slumber, and he hates the feeling of weakness even more than the bumps and bruises that form because of it.

When the shrine just to the right of his side of the bridge starts peeking out, Eijiro almost groans. He thinks he’s spent around an hour and a half just getting this far—and it’s not far at all, it’s really not; he can still see the Great Plateau over the tops of the ruins he’s just fought through—and the thought of using his brain to puzzle his way through another exhaustive trial is not at all appealing.

But he doesn’t know when he’ll be back here next, if he’ll be back again at all, so he sighs and treks up to the shrine.

It’s well and truly dark out by the time Eijiro emerges from the shrine, more than a little put out to not at least have gotten a new rune for his trouble. It’s late but not that late, and he entertains the thought, briefly, of setting up camp in the nook that surrounds the elevator into the shrine.

It would be sheltered on three sides, both from the wind and from the sight of any more monsters that stray near, so it wouldn’t be the worst place to set up. Eijiro considers it for maybe fifteen seconds, but—but even bruised and frustrated, Eijiro wants to keep going. He’s weary after two very full days back to back but he isn’t tired, and he’s still impatient to get to Kakariko Village. He’s impatient to help Katsuki and Izuku already.

He adjusts his bag, double checks which of his weapons he needs to worry about breaking in the middle of a fight, and sets off across the bridge.

There’s a man on the bridge keeping vigil over a lifeless guardian in the near distance, openly terrified it’s going to spring back to life and start firing lasers everywhere—Eijiro can’t exactly fault him for that—who gives Eijiro directions to Kakariko and lectures him emphatically about staying as far from Hyrule Castle as possible. Eijiro doesn’t see the point in telling the guy he’s not gonna follow his advice, but the man seems just as desperate for real interactions with other people as Eijiro is, so Eijiro lingers as long as he can bring himself to, making small talk with him before he carries on.

There’s another tower of Sheikah make, like the one on the Great Plateau, that stands right at the foot of the Dueling Peaks. It’s absolutely dwarfed by their size, and he feels like placing it right next to such massive formations almost defeats the purpose of making a tower at all. He wishes he could say he reaches it at a better pace than he reached the bridge, but by the time he disposes of all the monsters—living and skeletal—that try to bar his path, swims across the river, and scales his way up the Sheikah tower, it’s been just as long.

He’s genuinely tired now, and almost any way he moves has his body complaining in a multitude of ways, but he doesn’t want to stop. He just—he just wants to finally feel like he’s making real progress, and for the three hours he’s spent traveling, he feels like he’s gotten nowhere.

Unfortunately, he’s all but swaying on his feet by the time he’s placing his Sheikah Slate into the tower’s pedestal and watching as the blue liquid drips onto the screen. Once again he’s gifted with a map of the entire region, a chunk two or three times the size of the Great Plateau just to the right of it. He can barely keep his eyes open as he examines the new information, plotting out his course to Kakariko.

Part of him wants to scream at the fact that he’s not even halfway there, even though it hasn’t even been five hours since he left the Great Plateau. That part of him demands he push onwards, make more progress, but…

In his state, it might not be long before he just passes out on the road, without finding somewhere safe to sleep. And that’s if a monster doesn’t take advantage of his exhaustion before he reaches that point. Ugh, he hates having a little bit of common sense and a faint sense of self preservation.

Before he finally caves to his internal debate on his need for sleep, the slate makes a new sound from its spot in the pedestal, and Eijiro blinks at a new icon that pops up—not on the map itself, but on the same tab as the map. Sheikah Sensor, it reads, and a message on the screen appears that informs him that the slate will now beep at him when he’s near to a shrine and facing towards it.

Honestly, that probably will be helpful—but not now. He plucks the Sheikah Slate from the pedestal, and finally admits to himself that he needs rest.

Eijiro drops down to the highest rest platform before the top area of the tower, so that at least he’s sheltered by the low walls on a few sides, pulls a blanket from Inko’s tiny cabin out of his bag, and does his best to curl up and get comfortable. It really says something that he falls asleep almost the moment his eyes are closed, despite the hard stone beneath him and the wind still whipping past.

Tomorrow, he’s gotta get serious. He needs to get to Kakariko Village, to figure out his next step.

Eijiro awakens stiff and cold, with several muscles protesting at the uncomfortable angle they’d spent the night in, but at least he feels more or less rested apart from that.

It’s early, and there’s nothing he longs for more than to be in a bed so he can pull the covers over his head and knock out for a few more hours, but unfortunately he is awake and he knows he’ll have the energy to keep going for a while. Packing up his makeshift resting spot quickly, Eijiro’s stomach gives an impressively thunderous rumble. He mentally rifles through all the food that he has in his bag but… but, fuck, dude.

He had to swim through a cold river, at night, to climb this tower and sleep in the wind and dark, and he’s stiff and chilly and doesn’t want to be awake and is it so much to ask for a warm, freshly-cooked breakfast? It’s not, of course, but the problem is he’s going to have to cook it himself. He passed a cooking pot about fifteen minutes back from the tower, across the river, but now he has to debate between his impatience for progress and his desire for a hot meal.

He only has to think of Inko’s frowning face after she worked so hard to teach him to cook so he’d be taken care of, and the desire for a hot meal wins.

Eijiro climbs back up to the top of the tower, just for that extra height when he launches himself off of it, paragliding back down towards the cooking pot. That never gets less awesome—this time he does whoop for joy, hoping no nearby monsters come to investigate the sound. The wind whipping his clothes around him and ruffling his hair somehow gives him a sense of both peace and gleefulness at the same time, like he was born to just jump off of things left and right.

He touches down on the other side of the river without ever having to touch the water this time, a relief as he’s still warming up from going to sleep damp from last night’s swim. It’s quicker to get back to the cooking pot than he remembers from the night before, which he mostly attributes to not having to fight stalkoblins every few steps but…

Well, he might have to concede he’s been slowing himself down by stopping to pick every edible or potentially useful plant just to see how much he can fit in his pack. (The answer: a lot, he’s discovered.)

He’s still eager to get moving and doesn’t want to waste a long time, so he throws together a hastily-cooked omelet with hylian mushrooms and hyrule herb. He considers adding a spicy pepper to help him recover from his cold night but—actually, he’s got blisters forming in his mouth from how spicy Inko had made the food yesterday, so he should probably lay off the peppers for a day or so.

He settles instead for eating the omelet fresh off of the pot, shoveling it down still hot, and he’s barely even started to chew the huge final bite he’d shoved in his mouth before he’s lurching to his feet. The Dueling Peaks, cleft down the middle, rise huge and imposing nearby, and he’s determined to make it through them with good time this morning.

He stares up at what he can see of the Dueling Peaks through the trees that crowd the road, and for some reason all he can think of is how it’s said that the peaks used to be one singular mountain, until a dragon split it into two to create an easier path to travel. Sure, there’s a river that cuts through the gap between the peaks that could be a less fantastic explanation, but Eijiro doesn’t think it makes sense for the river to be what actually cut the mountain in half. Maybe it could create a cave through it, fine, but the river couldn’t cut up a mountain, all the way to the top.

The way he thinks about it, it feels like it’s an argument he’s had countless times. He wishes he could remember the significance. He wishes he even knew who he’d be arguing it with.

He just wants to remember anything about his actual life, and it’s a longing he can’t shake as he enters the shadowed path between the two mountains. In this morning’s trek, things become easier, at least for a little bit. In the shadow between the Dueling Peaks, less things grow for him to get distracted gathering and shoving into his bag, and he makes quick progress down the path at first, with his new Sheikah Sensor chiming at him the whole way to let him know there’s a shrine ahead.

Of course, why would he expect anything to be easy, though, right? It goes smoothly right up until he finally sees the glowing orange of the shrine up ahead—on the other side of the river, on a cliff that stands maybe twenty-five or thirty feet up the inside of the other peak. His detour for a warm breakfast left him on the wrong side of the river.

He’s already made the swim before, it’s not that he can’t make it across, but the river was cold yesterday and he knows it will be cold now. And besides that—he can see a disturbance in the water, almost directly in between him and the shrine, betraying two creatures swimming very fast just under the surface.

Lizalfos, his mind supplies, without even having to see them to confirm. Monsters that are agile, intelligent, and very dangerous to fight at the best of times, but when there’s a water source, they won’t come out of the river to where he can fight them. It makes them at least twice as dangerous.

Just as he’s considering how he might be able to get across without swimming—he wants to avoid backtracking as much as possible, so waiting for the bridge much farther down the path is out of the question—and wondering if using his cryonis pillars would be colder or warmer than the swim itself, he hears a loud splash and the telltale sound of something whistling through the air.

Eijiro barely rolls out of the way before the rock spat at him by an octorok farther upstream smashes into the place he’d just been standing. The movement catches the eye of the nearest lizalfos, which then pops its head out of the water, rearing back to spit a concentrated stream of water at him he just knows is going to sting.

“Fuck it.”

He doesn’t have time to swim—the lizalfos will be much faster than him in the water, and he can’t fight the current and dodge the octorok’s stones—so he whips out the slate and makes a pillar directly below his feet in the shallows of the river. From there, it’s a mad scramble to make ice columns ahead to jump to, rushing to make the leaps in time to dodge projectiles and water blasts. It’s probably the least cool or competent he’s ever looked or felt, slipping around on the tops of the columns and narrowly avoiding getting knocked the fuck out by hurtling stones that are bigger than his head.

As soon as he’s across, he’s dragging himself up the interior of the peak, trying to reach the ledge the shrine rests on, and the lizalfos lose interest fast but he still almost gets his head taken off by the octorok. Why the hell are those things so persistent?

When he finally sprawls on the travel gate at the door to the shrine, panting and reaching awkwardly up to press his slate to the pedestal from where he lays, all Eijiro can think is, this shrine had better be worth it.

Disappointingly, like the last shrine, Ree Dahee Shrine doesn’t offer him another rune.

What it does have, however, is a hidden chest containing a bandana that, apparently, is enchanted to make its wearer scale cliffs faster. Thinking of the perilous climb just to get to this shrine while under fire, yeah, he’s glad to have it.

It’s almost an hour and a half later by the time he emerges from the shrine, and the lizalfos and octorok have thankfully all forgotten him by then. He’s beginning to get that distracting feeling buzzing under his skin again, now that two more monks from the last two shrines have gifted him their strength or whatever, and he hopes he won’t have to go all the way back to the Temple of Time just to alleviate that feeling once more.

If he does, it’s going to be a while before he’s willing to head back that way.

Gliding down from the shrine, Eijiro hurries forward, determined not to slow down any more than he has to.

It’s over half an hour before he emerges from the other side of the gap between the Dueling Peaks, the sunlight finally beating against his skin again. The side of the river with the well-worn path had been devoid of monsters for once, probably because regular travelers kept it that way—but the damn shrine had put him on the side without the path, and he’s got a few new scrapes and bruises and a much nicer sword for his troubles in dispatching what monsters had blocked his way.

Apart from the sunlight, Eijiro’s greeted by the most welcome sight of all—people. Not a lot of them, but—well, more than any he’s seen so far. There’s a stable set up at a fork in the road, with at least eight people milling around tending to the horses or their own pursuits, and a couple more people coming and going.

He’s only seen, like, three people since waking up—and one of them was a spirit, and another was just someone he saw at a distance, walking along the other side of the river. Now, he can see ten of them—men and women and children and—wow, okay, it’s so nice to see people.

He wants to shout and wave and maybe cry a little as he runs towards them like a man who’s been lost in the woods for months with no sign of civilization—well, close enough, right? A hundred years underground without seeing another person was surely grounds to act like that. He stays calm, though, apart from picking up his pace to an eager jog, to a point of entirely bypassing another shrine that sits on this side of the peaks, just across the path from the stable.

He can get to that later. He can talk to people now.

Altogether, if Eijiro’s being honest, he’s spent… too much time lingering here, especially after his determination not to waste time.

In his defense, the day had been young when he’d arrived—maybe only half an hour past noon? With the sun not even at its peak, it hadn’t seemed as pressing to hurry on his way immediately, not when he finally has a chance to talk to some other living, breathing people. He has the opportunity to try and get a sense of what the world—what life—is like now, in the wake of the Calamity, but more than that he can just get a sense of normalcy from being around actual civilization again.

Eijiro doesn’t have to have his memories to be acutely aware that he is, and will always be, a social creature. Just being around other people is a comfort. He soaks up the company and just the very existence of a remaining pocket of normalcy with eager relief, chatting with everyone he can and happily listening to the conversations of everyone around him.

He’s flagged down almost immediately by a stable worker offering directions, which he doesn’t really need but that doesn’t stop him from pressing for all the information he can get about Hateno to the east, Kakariko to the north, and even the wild horses that roam the area. With how much he doesn’t remember, with how much he doesn’t know about everything that’s changed, any information could be important.

After that, another man working the counter at the entrance to the stable gives Eijiro some tips about how to catch wild horses, and explains how registering horses at their network of stables across Hyrule works. He chats with a couple of little kids by the horses—well, mostly just sits and lets them chatter to him as they like.

A quiet, timid boy around his age—shit, what is his age?—with a massive, beetle-shaped backpack introduces himself as Koda and informs Eijiro that he’s a merchant who travels all around Hyrule to meet new and interesting bugs and creatures, so the odds of them seeing each other again are high. When Eijiro questions what he means by ‘meeting’ the creatures, he learns that Koda has magic that lets him talk with animals, and Eijiro wastes no time impressing upon him how cool that is. It would be kickass to be able to talk to, like, a wolf or a bear or something.

Koda takes the praise with a squeak and a furious blush, waving it off almost frantically, so Eijiro decides to spare the boy more embarrassment by letting it go—but really, it’s cool.

Letting Koda resume his conversation with his beetle collection, Eijiro introduces himself to a woman a few years older next, who tells him her name is Awata. She mentions making elixirs to him offhandedly, and looks concerned when he asks her about it—she seems to think it’s a miracle he’s made it to the stable in the first place without knowing about them. She gives him a quick verbal crash course, and Eijiro sees Koda shoot her a distressed look when she explains that most bugs and a few small critters can be boiled with monster parts to make them.

She also gives Eijiro a hasty elixir, which he takes with some mixture of suspicion and gratitude. He’s just not gonna think about what’s in there. If it helps him run faster, he doesn’t need to know if he’s drinking, like, boiled down keese eyeballs and slugs or something. He also makes a mental note never to make or drink an elixir in front of Koda. He’s not a monster.

It feels like he’s barely had time to blink before nearly thirty minutes have passed and all he’s done is hang around the stable chatting with anyone who’ll put up with him. The shrine just across the road from the stable still sits there, glowing orange in reminder that he really ought to get it done and get moving, but there’s just one more person at the stable who he wants to talk to before he forces himself to leave this bubble of normalcy.

There’s someone who’s pulled a stool up to a crate just left of the stable, and has notebooks littering the top of that crate like a desk. In front of them sits a telescope that’s gone untouched since Eijiro’s been here, but they still toss frequent glances skyward as they sit unmoving at their little makeshift study, consumed by thought.

“Uh… excuse me?” Eijiro prompts, to try and gain their attention. He can’t really tell if they’re a man or a woman, but it doesn’t really matter—to him, or in general.

They startle slightly, turning to blink up at him. “Oh—sorry, I was lost in thought. I didn’t notice you there. Did you need something?” With them actually facing him, he can make out more about their appearance—they’re around thirty, as best as he can guess, and despite their shortish, messy black hair falling into their face, he can see their eyes well enough to tell they’re a shade of brown so dark it’s almost black, though there are flecks of what look like a lighter blue catching the light. It kind of reminds him of a night sky.

“No, it’s cool, sorry for startling you,” Eijiro assures quickly, beaming to drive home that he didn’t feel ignored or anything. “I’m Kirishima Eijiro, and I was just curious—” He gestures towards the entirety of the space they’ve claimed. “—you’ve got a whole setup here. Mind if I ask what you’re working on?”

They smile, clearly not bothered by being interrupted. If anything, they look pleased by the interest. “No, I don’t mind at all. Nice to meet you, Kirishima—my name is Hirooki Anakuro. I’d love to explain a little! I’m mostly tracking the movement of different celestial bodies; I’ve figured out the patterns of movement of a few of the figures above us, but I’m primarily focused on the moon.”

A slightly closer look at Hirooki’s notebooks reveals a lot of quickly jotted notes, star charts, and a few other sketches that Eijiro mostly can’t make sense of at first glance. “The moon?” he asks, curiously. “Why the moon specifically?”

“With enough understanding of how most celestial bodies move, I think it’s actually possible to predict when the next blood moon is. Well—I know it is. It’s just a matter of spreading the information, so travelers don’t get caught unaware when it happens.”

“Blood moon?” Eijiro asks. The term isn’t familiar, and his brow furrows.

Hirooki blinks at him, their already large eyes growing wider. “You don’t know the blood moon? Surely you’ve seen it? When the moon unexpectedly rises full and red, and stains the entire sky the same grim, bloody color at exactly midnight?”

Eijiro stares. When the moon what now? “I… no?”

Seeming entirely taken aback by this, Hirooki leans back slightly in their seat. “It’s been happening every so often for one hundred years now. It poses a very real threat to travelers, because in that moment when the sky turns red, any monsters who have been defeated across all of Hyrule are revived right where they stood. Whenever a blood moon happens, areas that had been previously made safe become a hazard all over again.”

That shocks him—brings monsters back? But that’s… he’d fought so many just to get here, because he thought it would make the countryside safer for travelers. All the monsters he’d dispatched instead of avoiding in the ruins that led here—they’d just come back to endanger someone else? “They really come back to life?”

Hirooki nods gravely. “You’ve really never noticed this phenomenon?”

“I… guess I must have slept through them all,” he says, staring down at his feet. It’s the understatement of the century, he knows—seriously, because he’s been sleeping for all of the century that they’ve been happening. This… this explains a lot about the state Hyrule’s in, almost moreso than the destruction it faced one hundred years before.

Of course people are so sparse. Of course there are so many more monsters than there should be. People can’t spread out and retake any of the kingdom—not without the areas they’d retaken becoming infested again, as soon as another blood moon happens.

Hirooki doesn’t seem to think it’s an unrealistic explanation, at least, despite their surprise. “Well, I suppose if you’ve spent most of your life someplace safe, there probably wouldn’t be much reason to take note. But the question of why and how have been plaguing most travelers for decades now. I have my own theories about that, but I’m still much more focused on when. I think when could save lives. It doesn’t correlate to any particular phase of the moon, or happen every cycle, so most people don’t know when to prepare.”

Eijiro nods—he can see why that would be important. “Yeah, I can imagine. You said you have theories about why, though?”

“Yes, well. They’re mostly afterthoughts, since they’re not my area of specialty,” Hirooki explains. “So I haven’t put a lot of research into these theories, and they’re mostly a secondary line of thought. But monsters seem to be more powerful in the darkness—it’s why you see long-fallen monsters rising in their undead stal forms at night, but not any other time. Or, rarely, in areas that have no light even in the daytime.”

Leaning forward again, they tap at their knee in thought. “So my suspicion is that the blood moon isn’t what causes the dead monsters to rise—you see, the blood moon coincides with lunar eclipses, when the sun is blocked from reflecting light off of the moon. With the night darker than it normally gets, my thought is that something is taking advantage of that increased darkness, and using it to revive them. The Calamity itself, probably. Of course, I can’t be sure of any of the rest of this theory—but I am sure that the blood moon only occurs during lunar eclipses.”

That definitely does make sense, though—eclipses have always happened, Eijiro knows that much. Eclipses bringing monsters back from the dead, though, only started at the same time the Calamity had struck. “That’s… crazy. I mean, the whole blood moon thing is. But I think you’ve gotta be right.”

“I think it’s likely,” Hirooki agrees, glancing back over their notes. “If you’re not going to be taking a bed at the stable for the next few nights, Kirishima, I recommend you be very careful. I don’t have the exact pattern down yet, but if I’m right, the next blood moon will happen soon. So be smart on the road. It’s not something you want to catch you by surprise.”

Shuddering at the thought, Eijiro can’t agree more.

[mybiasisexo]

Reverent

Genre: Angst | Fallen Angel!au

Pairing: Suho x Reader

Length: 1.8k

Warning: Religion (?) | Blasphamy (?)

Summary: Suho’s dull life takes quite the turn when he stumbles across a beautiful demon

Author’s Note: @byunfirstlady here is the roughest of rough drafts of the angel!suho fic I promised like 2 years ago smh. I really need to give it the attention it deserves bc it could really, truly, be something great. Until then, here is what I have for now. Mind you it is not edited and I plan on changing a lot of things about it, but I really like the narration, idk, its kinda beautiful???  Title is also a WIP

MASTERLIST

credit

What do you miss?

That was the question Suho thought constantly. It repeatedly flowed through his brain. Oh, so many answers to the question! But, undeniably, being in good grace was the most regretful.

He made his choices, fair enough. Some would say he shouldn’t had been able to do that much, he knew all too well, free will wasn’t of his domain. Yet, look where it got him.

Trapped. Stranded on an insignificant sphere that twirled around mockingly as a cruel reminder of all that he had lost.

Time to him meant absolutely nothing. It was yet another thing out of his domain, but some years such as this, he dreaded the slowness of it. Dreaded the reminder that he was stuck in this vacuum they called Earth, waiting for a day that will never come.

For him to finally be forgiven.

His eyes squinted as he took in the corn yellow sun. It was almost blindingly white, as if life itself had sucked away all of the vibrant hue. This part of the world was like that: dreary. Filled with washed out blues and browns, dusty and dry. It wasn’t a place he preferred, he found himself more at home in large metropolises, surrounded by people too busy to recognize such a raw entity, although they could still tell when around his presence that something was…off.

It was a blessing and a curse, Suho supposed, his soul. If he even had one. If he could even call it that. That was the one thing that reminded him of who he truly was. After being stripped of everything, that was all He left him with. Naked, shaking in humility, bleeding for the first time, and radiant.

He could leave the holy place, but it would always reside within him.

Lately, he felt lonely.

That’s what had brought him here—the loneliness. Being imprisoned upon the Earth for as long as he had, you grew to become lonesome. There were many ways to try to compete with it, but as long as he was an outcast, he would forever be lost in his isolation.

His closest friend throughout it all was the sun. The bright mass of energy that warmed his hard skin always reminded him of the love he once had—that he still had. The sun kept his faith alive. And as it rose in the morning, it brought with it the start of a new beginning.

He could never turn back time.

That was probably why he disdained the word so much.

His attention was pulled away from the hovering orb, brought to the young man of which he came for. The boy with the brazen skin.

He was beautiful, this could not be denied. As he rushed out of his house, keys clanking in his awkwardly large hand. He was late again. Suho tisked, but his eyes widened with what followed after the boy.

An unfamiliar woman trailed behind him, not nearly in as much a hurry as the one before her. Her face was otherworldly beautiful, built to invite, built to seduce.

The boy was in the car in no time, speeding away in a hurry, leaving dust in his wake.

The woman stopped, not taking after him. Instead, she lifted her head and locked eyes solidly with Suho.

He gasped as she smiled angelically and then the dust lifted, barricading her from view.

Once it settled again, she was gone.

~*~

Suho could barely recall the last time he saw another one of the Fallen. About fifty years, give or take. A demon? It had been a bit longer. There were fewer of them, although some of the fallen seek refuge under the dark wings of the under lord. It was why they were created after all, to follow, to serve. If not to Him than to his enemy. The two of them were more similar than they thought, although Suho would never dream of telling either one—not like he would ever get the chance to. Lucifer terrified him and God… well, they weren’t exactly on speaking terms.

Even though it had been a while, he recognized a demon when he saw one. What did she want with the boy? Puzzled, Suho pondered what drew the creature to him in the first place.

Speaking of places, this wasn’t Suho’s at all. He never considered himself a vigilante, as many other Fallen do. Their sense of purpose and protection overwhelming them to do right. That was mostly those who were guardians in the past. Suho was not in that field. No. This foreign sense of concern drew from something else entirely. He bit his lip, curling the warm mug in his hands closer to himself as he fought off the strange feeling fogging his mind.

The demon, right.

Demons were sent to Earth from the Under Lord to do his biddings. Simply, to coerce as many humans as they could. Drag them back to hell so that He could mourn the loss of yet another of his fragile creatures. Suho understood enough to know Lucifer took great pride in hurting Him however he could. Another lost soul was a victory to him.

She must have saw something within that boy to make her decide to latch. Suho had been watching him for a while now, and this was the first he had seen of the dark entity. Maybe she felt it…. No, there was no way. Suho was being careful, meticulously so. There was no room for error as far as his involvement and he meant to keep it that way.

He was that boy’s protector, now more than ever, he had a duty to him.

It felt good, having a purpose again. He had lost it centuries ago—a real duty, a call to be good.

Maybe after all of this was done, he would again be in His good grace. But it was still a wistful wish, one he refused to humor until it happened.

“Would you like another one, Sir?”

Suho lifted his head to the waitress and despite being a regular at this point, she still stuttered at his beauty.

He smiled, white teeth on display and her breath caught in her throat. “Please.”

~*~

A week had gone by without any sight of the demon. Suho tried to mask his disappointment with relief. It wasn’t as though he wanted anything to come to the boy, but it had been so long since he had been in contact with one of his own, demon or not. She had to have some sort of connection to their shared past.

He knew how demons worked.

Once they found a person to leech off of, they attached until their job was done, or the person fought them off. Suho watched an exorcism once. It was one of the hardest things he ever had to witness. That was a long time ago, using different methods, different practices. All the same, it was a memory that, to this day, gave him chills.

The boy was a religious man, oddly enough. Suho didn’t understand how, but every Sunday, he found himself at the local church, sitting in the back, listening to the spoken word.

He used to pray, but hadn’t in years. He wondered if it were his place too, if God ever listened to him or others like him. Or, like everything else, if it were only for them.

He was running late this Sunday. It was well into mass when he rushed towards the small, yet still elegant tan bricked church.

His quick steps came to a stop when he saw someone leaning against the wall, cigarette in hand. She wore torn leather pants that hung dangerously low on her wide hips, an equally as torn black wife beater that appeared more of a well-used rag than anything else as it barely covered the swell of her breasts, though her toned stomach was exposed. Her belly botton was pierced and a faded tattoo splayed over her abdomen. He couldn’t make out the word from this distance and the ink blended into her skin. A small black denim vest sat on her shoulders, leaving her arms exposed, tattoos dotted the limbs as well. Her jet black straight hair hung loosly. It was time for her to wash it. Her face, again, was angelic, despite her best efforts to be anything but. Big stunning round eyes surrounded by long eyelashes that brushed her chiseled cheeks whenever she blinked. Nose a button on the center of her face, lips full and pink, cheeks rosy, and skin flawless, not a blemish in sight.

He had her full attention as well. She took him in with a pleased smile, holding the cigarette up. “You think this will kill me?”

Her voice was just as attractive as her face, and the way she tilted her head left Suho breathless. He couldn’t seem to find his voice, struck dumb by her large presence. It had been a moment since he saw one of his kind, but he never felt a presence as strong as hers.

She noticed.

Never breaking eye contact, she dropped the small stick, putting it out with the heel of her boot. Than she motioned her thumb towards the building she currently leaned against where he could faintly make out singing.

“They won’t let me in. I thought this place welcomed all.”

“Why are you here?” He worked up the courage to ask. He knew why, but wanted her to say it.

She shrugged. “Thought our old man would be happy to see me.” She shoved her hands into the pocket of her jeans. “Guess not.”

“Do… Do I know you?” Suho pressed. There were hundreds of angels, all with a specific role/job. It was impossible to know them all, especially if this were someone who fell after him, but her energy was strong—too strong to be newer than him.

She shrugged again. “Maybe. When did you fall?”

“When did you?”

“Oh, so you’re the one in charge here I see.” She laughed, pushing herself off the building to come closer. “What’s your name, tough guy?”

Her breath smelled sweet. He hadn’t been this close to a demon before, refusing to have anything to do with them. They were everything He hated, everything He feared. He wanted nothing against those who had turned their backs completely from Him.

All the same, he felt complied to answer. “This land refers to me as Suho.”

“Suho,” she repeated, letting the word swirl around her wet tongue. “Korean, correct? Makes sense, that’s where we are.”

“It means—”

“Guardian.” She interrupted. “Fitting. You must’ve been one in your past life.”

His jaw clenched and she noticed.

“I’m sorry,” she said, not sounding apologetic in the slightest.

[one-leaf-grimoire]

“triad”

Chapter 10: the nightmare

Chapter ten, yay!!!!

Slight warnings: The main character goes through a LOT of self loathing, and has a brief suicidal thought. Also, there's like a slightly sensual implication... you'll see. Nothing too weird I just wanted to preface it with this warning.

AO3 link

“Preparations should be complete within a month. We’re gathering our best Spirit Guardians to train your Knights, and I promise that we will produce major results!”

The Heart Queen is a pretty young woman, who looks about as old as I do, her figure adorned in fine cloaks and medallions. A beauty spot beneath her lip completes her look in the most regal fashion possible. Seeing her sends a chill down my back, even though we only ever meet through a screen. The sight of the crown atop her head makes mine look a little lackluster in comparison. But none of that matters right now.

“Thank you, Lolopechka! You’ve really gone above and beyond for us.” 

Lolopechka smiles gently out at me and shakes her head. “No, you’re the one who will be helping us.”

“We help each other… that’s what allies are for, right?” I smile up at her before turning to the others. All nine captains are here to listen to Lolopechka’s update. “In a month, please have some candidates in mind for the training. They should be the people with the most potential to move up to the 1st or 2nd stage.”

The stage system was a little confusing at first, but it didn’t take long for me to accept it as the best way to rank our magical abilities. My flame magic alone was close, if not already at stage 1. And my Dyad magic, of course, is Arcane. Arcane mages are those whose powers could probably defeat a devil already. But that’s not an excuse for me to slack off. 

The worst outcome of this situation is that the Spade Kingdom defeats everyone we send at them. We have no idea about any of Megicula’s powers except the fact that it can set curses on people. If Megicula is much stronger than we realized, then our knights will have no defence against the unknown. I’m hoping to stay out of the actual fight and command from afar. But if Megicula and the Spade Kingdom come knocking at our door…

There’s a very real chance that I’ll have to fight it myself. While being seven months pregnant. 

So… I need to be strong enough to survive that battle. It might be difficult, but I have to…

I pick my hand off of my stomach, where it had been laying all this time, as I stand up after the meeting ends. 

For me… for Julius.

And that leads me to this moment, a moment I’ve been dreading this whole meeting. Each of the captains says goodbye, filing past me and out into the corridor. I smile and nod at each of them, but extend my arm to stop the last woman from passing.

“Dorothy… do you have a few moments?”

.… oh god… this is going to go badly, I already know it…

“Hmm? Yes, of course!” Dorothy stops in her tracks, bouncing a bit as she turns to look up at me. I’m not the tallest, but somehow I almost have to bend over to look her in the eye. The small witch has been awake for the last few meetings, a pleasant contrast to her usual slumber. She has a cheery, bubbly personality, and a smile that almost forces my anxiety out of my mind.

Almost.

“There’s… something I wanted to ask.”

…

Dorothy blinks up at me, her smile only fading slightly when she catches a glimpse of my worry through my face.

“Your dream magic… it allows you to create anything within your Glamour World, right?”

Oh god oh god.

This is going to sound bad, I know it. But I’m on my last straw. The meditation training has gone nowhere so far, only making me stress out more and feel hopeless. 

“Yeah! Anything I want… I can even manifest things from your mind, if you go in there. Why do you ask? Do you need me to simulate something for you?”

I’m scared of the future. Not just for me, but for the Kingdom. Each day goes by smoothly, too smoothly, and gives me too much time to worry about the war looming on our horizon. People could die, my friends could die, civilians could die. If there’s any information about the Devils laying in the Simulcian’s past, I’m sure it will help us.

Because, I know… if anyone dies, it will be my fault. I’m the Wizard King, and I promised that I would protect this Kingdom with every ounce of my life.

Every… single ounce.

If my death leads to our victory… I will accept that.

“Can you… let me see Julius?”

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

Last night, Adeline and I stayed up late, trying our best to clear my head and sink into the meditative state I crave. As the hours passed, it got harder and harder, until I was afraid to close my eyes for even a moment.

“Maybe… I know why it’s been so hard for you.”

I can remember how it felt as she held me, my body giving out and exhausted. I wanted to cry, to let all my emotions out, but I couldn’t.

“My grief, right?”

Grief. 

No, it’s something more than that. More than loss, more than emptiness. Something I don’t have words to describe. Yet, it’s a feeling that’s distinctly human. And maybe that’s why I can’t bring myself to emote, why I can’t let my emotions show. Because I’m not human.

Why… why did Julius leave this to me? His Kingdom full of humans, left to someone who will never truly care about the affairs of humans?

It was then that the tears started to fall.

How… how can you expect me to be selfless? How can you expect me to be able to protect them?

I want to protect them, I want nothing more than to die for them. To die just as Julius did, to save countless people and igraine myself as a martyr for all time.

But… I could never do that, right?

“I…

I hate myself.”

The words are sour in my mouth. Foreign. All my life, all I could ever feel towards myself was love. I loved myself, more than almost anything. But that was because Julius loved me, right? And his soul loved me too… 

But now, that love has faded, extinguished from this world along with his life.

“I hate myself… I hate myself…”

I could hardly feel Adeline anymore, her words falling onto my deaf ears.

For a brief moment, I looked down, into the void. And it consumed me.

It’s a curse, right??? The Dyad’s curse. I flew too close to the sun, and got used to the warmth of its rays. And when I fell back to earth… there’s nothing but the cold.

Nothing. Not the Kingdom. Not Adeline. Not my friends. Not even the baby. And not myself.

I’m the worst… the most selfish person in this world. I stole this position from people who deserved it more than me. 

I’ll never be able to be like Julius… never… never…

So… what’s the point?

Why even try, if there’s nothing to build even the foundation of hope upon.

“I… I want…”

I want to die-

Fortunately, those words don’t pass my lips. I just cry into Adeline’s shoulder as we sit on the floor of my bedroom. Julius’s cold, empty robe lays folded by my pillow like it always has.

“Grief is hard, I know that. I can’t even begin to imagine how it must feel.”

Adeline’s voice vibrates pleasantly through her chest as I lay my head against it.

“But… maybe what you need is closure. Do you have any idea how to get there?”

Closure… 

Without closure, I’ll never be able to move on, and be strong for the Kingdom. The ultimate enemy I need to defeat isn’t Megicula; it’s me. If I can’t get over my weaknesses, I’ll never be able to protect anyone.

But how am I supposed to get closure.

If only… there was a way to talk to him again. 

Wait…

There is a way. 

Oh no…

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

“...what?!”

Dorothy’s eyes blow open wider in shock as my words sink in. She opens and closes her mouth a few times before coming to her senses. “I… I don’t know if that’s a good idea…”

“I know, I don’t think so either.” Embarrassed, I avert my eyes, feeling my chest start to tighten. “But… it might help.”

That’s right… for the good of the kingdom, I have to feel better. And if this has the slightest chance of making me feel better, I have to try it!

“Look…” I turn back towards her as I feel her dainty hand gently touch my arm. Dorothy’s cheery aura is gone, concern straining her eyes as she stares up at me. “It might make you feel worse.”

… I know that. But I don’t think I could feel any worse than I do now.

“Please… Dorothy…”

I look down at her with pleading eyes.

She stares up at me for a long moment, then lets out a defeated sigh. “Fine… but I’m not going in there with you.” She reaches down and takes out her Grimoire. “Is thirty minutes okay?”

I nod quickly, giving her a relieved smile. “Yes, that’s perfect… thank you so much.”

“My pleasure.” Something tells me that she doesn’t really mean that. Dorothy gives me one more look before clearing her throat. “Here we go… Dream Magic: Glamour World.”

A puff of mana, and the meeting room disappears. I blink my eyes a few times as the scene fades in. It’s whimsical, with clouds and sparkles of pink and purple floating through the air. “Wow… this is Glamour World?” I turn around in place, my feet standing firmly upon their own cloud. I’ve never seen this spell purposely, and am not entirely sure how it works. But this is a landscape created for me by Dorothy, specifically for me. And soon…

“Darling! There you are!”

Up until this point, I was nervous and anxious, yes, but also almost giddy at the thought of seeing Julius again. I was sure that seeing him would give me the closure I needed. If I had to, I could return to this place again and again, satiating my need for him even if it was a synthetic remedy. But the moment I hear that voice, his voice… 

My blood runs cold.

Slowly, I turn around, and see a man walking towards me. Tall, blonde, handsome, with a smile that could light up an entire room. One that could light up an entire dark life. 

And yet…

I can’t bring myself to smile, or even move, as Julius runs to my side, his arms immediately pulling me into a bone-crushing embrace. After a moment, I hesitantly hug back.

This is… wrong…

He pulls back to smile down at me. His eyes still sparkle like they did in life, his unbridled joy plain upon his face. I can’t even resist smiling back, even if I can feel my heart skinking.

Because, even if I can see him, and touch him… it’s not him. The only parts of Julius truly left on this world are a shard of a soul and a baby in my belly. This thing… it isn’t him.

“It’s been far too long…” He smiles gently, but it still breaks my heart. Julius’s hand comes up to cup my face. “You’re the Wizard King, right?”

I blink a few times, then nod slowly. Julius laughs heartily, his eyes closing for a moment. “Well, then, you have a lot to tell me! I want to hear all about it… but not now.”

There’s nothing I can do but stand there, petrified, as Julius leans in, his other arm snaking around my waist and pulling me closer. 

“There’s so much that I want to do with you… now that we’re together again.”

Oh… Julius…

His lips hit mine in a hurried kiss, as if he knows this moment is fleeting, something that will never last, something that will just make the world even worse than it already is. But there’s no way he knows that; he’s just an illusion, a broken dream, despair disguised as hope.

This is…

The clouds turn dark purple, like the sky before a storm. The void grows a little bigger.

But despite that, I close my eyes, and cling to his body like it’s the only thing real in this world. I kiss him back with all my might, giving into my desire, into the temptation and selfishness that threatens to destroy everything. 

... a nightmare.

“Darling?”

“Hmm?” 

I open my eyes to see him staring down at me with worry. His thumb comes up and brushes something off my cheek; a tear.

“Are you alright?”

I can feel his skin against mine now. His heat. But it’s cold.

“Yeah… I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Julius… please… keep going.”

Twenty minutes later, and we still lay there together in the clouds. I still hold him, and he holds me. 

This is just like every night we spent together… every night I slept in his arms, heard him snore away in his sleep. Forgotten sounds, sounds that echo like a curse in my soul…

“So… how is it? Being Wizard King?”

Julius is just making idle conversation, moving between subjects aimlessly. But the words Wizard King draw my attention. I look up to see him tilt his head to the side curiously, eager to hear. “Not as easy as it seems, hmm?”

“Yeah…”

Not as easy…

“It’s too much paperwork… not enough fighting! Although, I bet you’ll be doing plenty of that soon.” Julius giggles to himself. “But you’ll be great, I know it.”

“... I don’t know…”

“Hmm?” Julius frowns, his smile only fading slightly. “Why wouldn’t you? I picked you, didn’t I?” Julius reaches out and slides his hand over my head, a pat meant to be comforting, but I almost wince.

Only ten more minutes… I just want this to end. 

“...you…”

Thick tears start to bubble up in my throat.

“...made a mistake… I…”

The volcano erupts. My hands desperately try to cover my shame as the tears fall, my body racking with sobs.

Fuck… FUCK THIS!

I want it to end. This nightmare- no- this life. 

But I can’t… I’m trapped…

“Darling! Ah! What is it?! Mistake!?” Julius’s hands rub my shoulders as he frantically speaks, just as he always did in life. “My sweet, you’re not a mistake! You- AH, I’m sorry! This is something I said, right? Hey, look at me-” His hand tries to grab my chin and gently make me look at him. “How do I make this right-”

“You can’t!”

I bat his hand away and sit up, his face blurry through the veil of tears in my eyes. Anger, frustration, emptiness, it’s finally all coming out, every emotion I had been suppressing until now.

“You can’t make this right… you’re dead!” I cover my face again, not wanting to look at him right now. “You… you died, remember?! And that’s why I’m in this mess! You…” I clench my fist, my hands dropping to my shoulders so I can hug myself. “You died… and left me alone…”

It’s a curse… I’m all alone. 

“Darling-”

It’s because of you… that I hate myself. Because…

“I’ll never be a good Wizard King… I don’t want to be a good Wizard King. I just- I can never do what you did, Julius.” 

My nails start to dig into the flesh of my hand.

“Y-you… why...”

My voice weakens, then sharply erupts again with my next words.

“Why?! Why did you tell me that you loved me more than anything?! Why would you say that, then die for the Kingdom?!”

He loved me more than he loved the Kingdom, yet he sacrificed that love for it.

He can’t answer me. I know he can’t. He’s not Julius. He doesn’t have the answers. But I keep asking anyway, desperate to let the questions out and relieve myself of their frustrations.

Julius died… he didn’t have to die, but he did. He refused to kill Patri, he refused to save himself. A selfless act, and yet…

I can’t look at that act with anything but bitterness. Because now I know, I wish he had let it burn. 

It doesn’t matter how many people died… it doesn’t matter who was hurt. All that matters is that we were together. Yet, he betrayed that promise… he betrayed me. 

But he was right.

Julius had no choice but to die. He had no choice but to give up on his love, right? But the thing that makes me feel the worst…

“If I had been there… in your shoes…”

I would have done the selfish thing. I know it.

I take a deep, shuddering breath. It’s quiet. 

“And now… because you’re gone… there’s nothing left for me.”

I relax my hand, looking down at my palm. Blood trickles out of the cuts I accidentally clenched into the skin.

“I… I wish I could have died with you.”

For some reason, saying those words…

It feels good.

I’m the Wizard King, yet I’m the most selfish person in the Kingdom. 

That’s it… the thing I hate most about myself.

“This world is so empty without you… there’s nothing but the memory of your love.”

My voice starts to strengthen again. I let out a breath through my nose, and my eyes close.

“I… I want to destroy it.”

There…

“A world without you… I don’t want it to exist.”

The tears that flow now aren’t hot and angry. They’re cool… almost refreshing.

I said it… I admitted it…

“I want to destroy this world, along with this emptiness. I want to erase it all.”

The words hang in the air, no one around to hear but Julius’s image.

And somehow… I smile.

Why… nothing’s changed.

But… I said it. 

Were those words weighing me down this whole time? Maybe, my obstacle was never my grief, but my self loathing, brought on by an annoying, intrusive thought.

I’m selfish… I know that. I’m not human. I know that. I’m evil…

No. There’s no such thing as evil.

And anyway… Julius knew all this about me. And… he still loved me.

For the first time, I feel a pulse of warmth from within me.

His soul… stirring.

“Darling…”

I feel a hand on my chin, and this time, I don’t resist. I let him draw my gaze back into his. My eyes widen a bit when I realize that he’s been smiling at me this whole time, a relieved, almost comforted smile, despite everything I just said.

“Do you really think… my love is that weak?”

“...huh?”

His eyes close for a moment, as if he’s amused by my confusion. “Listen… My love still exists in this world. And it’s so strong, it will linger for eternity.” His thumbs come up and start to wipe away more tears. “It’s out there… I promise.”

Julius leans in, one last time, as the scene starts to fade away and I’m drawn back into the real world.

Somehow… I know that I’ll be able to face it a little stronger than before.

Maybe this isn’t the closure of my grief. It’s closure for myself.

Because, what am I? 

I’m not human… I don’t even know if I’m a simulcian.

I’m a soul, a soul whose ego has been shattered again and again. A girl who wants nothing more than to give in to the temptation of destruction. 

But… now I know… despite that, Julius loved me more than anything. He died for duty, but his love lingers on.

“You just have to find it.”

I will…

I’ll find it, Julius.

And for the first time in weeks, hope blooms in my chest.

Next time!!! Chapter 11: the curse. A second decent into the Simulcian unconscious reveals something sinister: the Dyad's curse runs much deeper than anyone ever thought.

[therainroguefanfiction]

☁ Drifting Away (Giotto) #08

📑 Table of Contents | ◂Previous

Author’s Note: Okay! I want to clear up a few things c: First off, this is the last chapter that my younger self wrote (I think I was like 16?). Now, in these past eight chapters, I’m sure you’ve come across things that seemed impossible for the time period, and I will do my best to stick to the year 1870 as best as I can from here on out! I hope you will go easy on me~

Rather than using google translate, I now have a wonderful friend willing to help me with the Italian translations (@kiralushia​) who also has this wonderful comic that you should definitely go check out! She has also been so supportive and is the main reason I want to finish this story!

I have decided to keep the flip cell phones for plot purposes and Salmon’s laptop (the story behind this is that they brought the technology from the future along with the necessary components in order to use them in the past). I hope you can overlook this plot hole for the sake of the story!

Finally, I want to state that I have NOT read the manga (yet). I wanted to get this final chapter posted first and now I am going to go and read the proper arc within the manga in order to learn more about the first generation so I can do them proper justice within this story. Thank you so much for reading!

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

☁ Cafe ✗ Guardian ✗ Confrontation ☁

You and Zakun had been walking for a good hour or so and, to be completely honest, you weren’t too sure he had a destination in mind. You were starting to think that he was just walking for the sake of it. After ten more minutes passed, you began to get annoyed.

“Oi! How the hell are we supposed to find this guy, anyway?”

“We search.” Another stoic response. Did this guy even have any emotion? Maybe he should have been the cloud guardian.

“Obviously, but we can’t just walk around blindly, ya know. You have to have some sort of plan or idea or something.”

“No.”

You facepalmed, sighing deeply as you begrudgingly followed after him. It seemed kind of hopeless, just walking around aimlessly. How would you even know if you had the right person? You were pretty sure that you didn’t have time to waste but, whenever you looked at Zakun, he looked totally relaxed. Then again, he’d probably be that way even if the world were about to end.

“Okay, how do we know we got the right guy? Just go around slipping the ring onto people’s fingers until we find one it doesn’t reject?”

He sent you a ‘get real’ look over his shoulder and you scowled. “When you first got the ring, it started resonating in sync with your own, giusto?”

You nodded.

“I knew you had gotten a hold of the ring because mine did the same. When you got close to me, they started resonating again, this time glowing brighter. The same thing will happen, only brighter than the first two times, when we get close to the bearer of the ring,” he paused, glancing over at you as you fell in step beside him. “It will act as a compass. The closer we get, the brighter it will become. The further we get, the less it will glow, until it eventually goes out, like now.” He motioned towards the ring on his finger.

You hummed thoughtfully, grabbing his hand and sliding the ring from his finger. You had seen the Gardiano rings before, but never actually paid attention to its detail. The shank of the ring was the body of a dragon, cloud gray in color and the same width as the Vongola rings. On top was the head of the dragon, the same color as the body. It’s mouth was open wide and inside was the Gardiano family’s crest. Its color was the respective multi-colored hue of the fire guardian and the eyes were the same color.

It truly was a badass looking ring.

Zakun slid the ring back on his finger without a word.

“What if they aren’t in Italy?”

“Then we have a problem.”

You stared at him blankly.

He returned the look. “Salmon says the probability of the barer being in Italy is seventy-five percent.”

“That still leaves a twenty-five percent chance that our guy is somewhere else in the world.”

“Are you always so negative?” He questioned, glancing at you.

“No,” you scowled. “I was just being honest.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly closed it and stopped walking. Digging into his jacket pocket, he produced a cell phone which he then flipped open and pressed to his ear. “Hello?… Not yet… Are you sure?… Fine.”

You raised an eyebrow as he snapped it shut. Honestly, you had never witnessed such a short phone call before.

“Rorian says we should split up,” he paused, holding out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

“Uh, sure,” you pulled the cell phone from your pocket and sat it in his open palm. His fingers pressed into the keys, entering his contact information into the device, along with a couple of the other members, just in case.

“We can cover more ground this way. If you find him, or get lost again, call me. Salmon will call you if I find him.” He turned in the opposite direction and started to walk away.

With a shrug, you continued on your way, your mind running wild with various thoughts. “If I were a missing fire guardian, where the hell would I be? Hmm.”

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

When the sun finally began to rise, you decided it was time to take a break. Fortunately, you came to that decision in front of a bookstore. Opening the door, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and pristine, new books filled your nostrils and it was such a wonderful combination. The bookstore was small, but offered quite a selection of books.

On the right side of the store, in the corner, was a small cafe where you could read and drink coffee or even have something sweet to snack on. The whole atmosphere was calm and quiet, the perfect place to relax. You knew that Zakun would probably be mad, but you were exhausted and needed a few minutes to rest and regain some of your energy. After all the searching you had done, surely a five minute break wouldn’t hurt.

You sighed as you fell into the wooden chair near the corner, arms folded on the small round table with your head on top. The cold wood felt nice against your skin and that, mixed with the sound of pages being turned and coffee being poured, lulled you to sleep. You hadn’t even realized how tired you felt, but it was no surprise since you had been walking since nearly four in the morning and it was now just after eight at night.

You slept soundly with no strange dreams or interruptions which was rare for you since finding yourself thrown into the past and your body was soaking it up.

At least until a burning against your lower chest and stomach jolted you from your peaceful nap. A small groan passed your lips as your eyes slid open. It took a few minutes to realize that your shirt was glowing – or rather, what was underneath it.

You blinked in surprise, pulling at the collar of your shirt so you could see the ring, which was glowing pretty brightly. Looking around, there were only four people around you.

The woman wiping off the counters. A dark-skinned male reading his newspaper. A pale-skinned man reading a Josh Grisham novel. And another male that had just walked in, briefcase in one hand and a newspaper tucked under his arm.

As he walked closer, the warmth and glow of the ring increased, almost to a painful degree and, by the time he took a seat at the table beside your own, it was almost unbearable. His hair was sandy brown and slightly spiky, but slicked back away from his forehead, and his eyes were a moonlight silver. On his forehead was a crescent moon shaped scar and he was dressed in a navy blue suit.

‘What should I do? I know Zakun said to call him… but what if he doesn’t make it in time?’ You stood up, hiding the glowing rings as best as you could, before approaching his table. He was scribbling away onto a thick pad of paper, which had been removed from his briefcase. “Excuse me?”

He glanced up at you, his expression nothing short of serious. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

The man’s slim brow rose and he glanced around the cafe, which was practically empty, before looking back at the paper and shrugging. Without a sound, you took a seat across from him, fiddling with your fingers that were flat on top of the black table. Now, what in the hell were you supposed to say?

‘Hey! Just thought I’d let you know that I’m part of the mafia and I need your help to save the first generation of my family! Oh yeah, I’m from the future, too! That should go over well,’ you glanced up at him.

His eyes were scanning the page, his hand flying across the page at a nearly inhuman pace. You wondered what he was writing, but you couldn’t understand the language.

“Mind if I ask you something?”

He glanced up at you, paused for a moment and nodded before returning to his work.

“Do you… believe that the mafia exists?”

His hand paused, the tip of the pen hovering above the page, but he didn’t look up at you this time. When he spoke, his voice was deep. “A foolish question.”

You scowled, clenching your fist against the table. ‘Be nice, Y/N. Remember that you need this guy, so just be nice.’ “You believe, then?”

“Italy is known for their mafioso.” His voice was monotone, not a single speck of emotion within. Damn, he might just be colder than Zakun.

“Right. So I guess it’s safe to tell you that I’m part of the mafia, then.”

The man’s hand froze and his eyes narrowed into a glare at you before he gathered up the papers and placed them back into his briefcase, standing up. “I don’t know what game you’re playing at, but I refuse to believe that a mere child is in the mafia. Do take your games elsewhere.”

You sat frozen in your chair, blinking a few times as the words sunk in. You then shot up from your chair and growled out, “I’m not a child!” but it didn’t matter, because the man was already gone. With a groan, you fell back into the chair. ‘Now what am I supposed to do? Rory-chan is so gonna kill me.’

“Mi scusi?”

You looked up to see the female worker from before. She smiled softly, placing an espresso in front of you. “Oh, uhh… thank you.”

Realizing that you spoke English, she switched to using it, a thick accent present but her words easily understandable. “No problem. You looked like you needed it,” she smiled brightly, tilting her head to the side and causing her blonde bangs to fall across her closed eyes. “So tell me, did you know that guy?”

“No,” you sighed, leaning back in the chair with your hand clasped loosely over the base of the drink. “I need to, though.”

“You’re not like a spia, how you say, a stalker are you?”

“No. I have better things to do than stalk some guy.” You rolled your eyes. “Especially not someone as rude as him!”

She giggled. “Alright then! I can give you some information on him. Though I don’t know much, I know a little.”

“And you’d tell me, just like that?” You quirked a brow at her. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch!” She smiled, nodding her head. “It seems kinda important that you get through to him, but I’m warning you, he’s a tough costumer!” She giggled again. “His name is Holland and he’s a twenty-three year old owner of some shop on the other side of town. He’s all business – never smiles, never laughs, never even shows any emotion unless it’s annoyance! He’s so stuffy!” She pouted, folding her arms over her chest as she took the seat he had previously occupied.

“What kind of shop is it?”

“Hmm, I believe it’s a book shop, but I am not certain.”

“Do you know the name? Or an address.”

“Un attimo,” she held up her finger before standing up and heading over to the counter, where she grabbed a thin strip of paper. She pulled the fountain pen from the ink bottle, gliding it across the page before returning it and heading back to you, setting the paper onto the paper. “Careful not to smear the ink.”

You glanced at the address written there and had no clue where the hell it was, but you could just ask someone on the street and hope they knew English. Shouldn’t be too hard, right?

“I’ve tried so many times to be nice to him,” she continued. “But he’s just so mean! He comes in here every morning around nine o’clock, reads a few pages from his paper, and then spends close to two hours scribbling away. I thought, maybe, since he comes in everyday, I’d try and be nice, but half the time, he does not even respond! Che maleducato, you know?”

“Y-Yeah…” No, you really didn’t know, but you cleared your throat, shifting in your seat. “So, everyday, then?”

She nodded again. “It was actually pretty surprising, though! Usually he just ignores everyone that talks to him or whatever, but he didn’t ignore you! He actually let you sit with him and he actually talked to you in that deep sexy voice of his, I can not believe it! Maybe it’s because you’re so young,” she put her finger to her bottom lip, which slightly jutted forward as she pouted. “But I’m young, too, you know?”

Again, no, you did not know, but you pretended you did. “Uhh, right… weird…” You dug into your pocket to pull out some money for the drink only to freeze as you came to a realization – you only had yen on you, and you were pretty sure that they didn’t accept that in Italy.

Sensing your rising distress, the girl crossed her legs and waved you off with a friendly smile. “Non preoccuparti, it is on the house. I’m Sandra, by the way, Sandra Moretti. I’m half-American and I struggled learning the language when I came here as a child, but do not worry, you will pick it up soon!”

Normally people didn’t give that much information to someone they just met, which worried you a bit, but you let it go. “Cool, thank you.”

“Sure thing! See you around~”

You chuckled nervously as you stood up, keeping your eyes on her as you headed for the door. As soon as your back hit the glass, you bolted from the store and down the street. Sure, she seemed nice enough, but you knew from experience that coming across people that friendly and willing to give away information to a complete stranger were usually pretty dangerous. Still, you got some useful information from her.

Just then, the phone started to buzz within your pocket and you fished it out, flipping it open without so much as second thought. You instantly came to regret this decision, having to pull the phone back in order to keep your hearing in tact.

“Why didn’t you call?!” came Rorian’s angered voice. You could hear three voices in the background, probably trying to calm him down. “Zakun called thirty minutes ago and said you found the first generation fire guardian!“

“Er, yeah… about that…” you cleared your throat, leaning back against the brick wall. Night had fallen, the streets barely lit up by the pale street lamps scattered too far apart from each other. It was silent in the city, something you weren’t used to. “I did find him… kind of.”

“‘Kind of’? What in the hell does that mean?“

���Calm down, Rorian!” cried a voice that I did not recognize.

“Give me the phone, will you?” Rorian’s cries faded into the background as Sylvian took over, his voice soft and warm. “Hello, Y/N sweetheart. Don’t mind Rory. He’s a bit moody tonight.“

“I told you not to call me that!” was Rorian’s muffled reply.

“I hear you found the first-generation guardian of fire. Is this correct?” Sylvian inquired. It sounded like he had left the room, because the background of the call suddenly became silent.

“Yeah, I’m sorry Syl. I should have called Zakun, but I didn’t want to risk him not getting there in time. I had ’em, too.” You sighed, closing your eyes and leaning your head back against the wall. If you weren’t mentally kicking yourself before, you certainly were now.

“Don’t worry about it, you simply followed your instincts and did what you believed was best.” He paused. “Did you get any information on him? What did he look like?“

“I talked to a girl that worked there. She said his name is Holland, twenty-three years old, and he owns a bookstore on the other side of town. I got the address. He also visits the same cafe every morning around nine.”

“Then we still have a chance. Good work, sweetheart.” His warm smile could be heard within his tone. “Do you remember how to get back to the hideout?“

“I think I can manage.” You responded, but the truth was that you probably couldn’t and would end up just wandering around aimlessly for a while. That was fine, though, because you figured the others would be pretty angry for letting Holland get away, even Sylvian, despite how calm he sounded on the phone.

“Alright. I’ll call Zakun and tell him to return, as well.“

The line went dead and you heaved a tired sigh, flipping the phone shut before sliding it back into your pocket. Back in your own era, you had often made mistakes because you were, in Reborn’s words, brash and reckless, acting before thinking – a lot like Gokudera, but much worse. You often screwed things up and got yourself hurt because of it, but Tsuna was never mad at you.

No matter how badly you screwed up, Tsuna always forgave you, even for your most stupid of moments. The others… not so much. Gokudera would always get pissed off at you for causing trouble for the Juudaime, despite the fact that he causes just as much trouble. Yamamoto usually just shrugged it off, and Reborn and Bianchi would often give you the silent treatment for a week.

You know how when parents get angry at their kids and the kids feel like shit because of it? Well, when someone you care about is disappointed in you, it makes you feel even lower than that, like the scum of the earth.

Now, you may not have known these guys long enough to be considered close with them, but they did feel kind of like family and you were also already feeling pretty low because you had betrayed one of the two people you swore you would never betray – Giotto.

‘And after he stuck up for me. And Asari and Knuckle… I wonder what’s going through their minds. Wait… I take that back. I don’t wanna know…’

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

Three hours later, you found yourself standing in the kitchen of the old abandoned house, staring at the knife. You had never actually tried this, but it should still work. Igniting the flame on your ring, you gripped the handle, letting it engulf the knife. Seconds later, a click was heard and the hole appeared on the fridge. You inserted the ring and the circle of flames appeared, the door swinging open.

You walked down the same dimly lit hallway, taking small, slow steps because you still weren’t looking forward to facing the others, but it had to be done. Better sooner than later, right?

You finally came to a stop in front of the door bearing the Gardiano Family’s crest. Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open and slipped into the brightly lit room, a fairly large change from the almost pitch black hallways that led up to it. The hushed whispers of the group stopped as they all turned to look at you, a thick silence falling over the room.

You shifted from one foot to the other, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze as you attempted to swallow down your increasing nerves. ‘Man, this sucks. I feel like a kid about to be scolded.’

“So you have finally returned,” Rorian didn’t sound angry like he had earlier on the phone, but the annoyance was still quite present. Guess that’s better than seething rage, though.

“Did you get lost?” Salmon questioned, glancing up from his laptop.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I did.” You rubbed the back of your leg with your foot, forcing a smile. Your hesitation to return was not a fact that they needed to know – or maybe that was just your damned pride getting in the way.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

▸Next

[your-rose-highness]

Tell Me What Is Love (Ch-6)

note- Feat. JB (Jaebeom) of GOT7.

It was the middle of May when the songs of spring were heard the loudest. Hye hee walked along the Han river, the world seemed a blur in front of her eyes. The crowd seemed to buzz with ecstasy, a sight of the most beautiful sunset lay ahead of them. The golden yellow soft waves of the river mimicked the sun’s dramatic mood, as though pretending to be the same.

I’m a part of you, it seemed to whisper.

Hye hee’s feet stopped suddenly, lifting her head to watch the world gleam. After all these years, Baekhyun was still the sun she glittered for. Something drew them together. Or, she was imagining it all. What did she have? She was left with nothing. At the end of the day, she would have to go back to her empty and dingy apartment, meeting ghosts of her past. Where would she run to getaway? No matter where she went, her heart yearned for something unattainable. It had to be stopped. Like a stern mother who would discipline her beloved child, for the future unforeseen. The laughter around her rang in her ears, as though hurting her physically.

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

She walked slowly to her neighborhood, walking the familiar path home. The streets were awfully dark she noticed, at this early hour too. It was hardly 7 pm. Picking up the pace, Hye Hee took longer strides to get to her apartment which was just around the corner. An odd feeling of someone behind her made her quickly look over her shoulder. 

Was she being followed?

She had lived in this neighborhood for years now and never had she felt a chill rise in her spine as she continued to walk faster.

She left a sigh of relief when she sighted her apartment.

 Hold on, why was there such a huge crowd in the front? Running to the crowd, she found people swarming around a woman on the stairs, who seemed to have fainted.

Jane.

“Oh my!”, hye hee exclaimed, her bag dropping to the floor.

“Here she is!! Ms. Song! A person just drove by throwing stones at this lady as she waited and rang your door!! I saw it with my own eyes!”, exploded the young girl who lived upstairs of her apartment.

“Did you see who it was?”, panted hye hee, hurriedly trying to pick up Jane’s head in her lap.

The right side of her temple dribbled with blood, and jane seemed semi-unconscious, trying to mouth words.

“No! I couldn't! They drove by so quickly! I tried to chase and note down the car number but failed. I couldn't contact your phone and I couldn't carry her inside. I’m so sorry.”, she whimpered.

“No its okay, thank you for being here.”, hye hee said as she tried to call the hospital.

“This is the first time something like this happened in the neighborhood. I thought this was safe! But look! We find stones being hurled!”, complained someone.

“Miss, you better inform the police. This incident cannot be dealt with lightly.”, advised her landlord.

The ambulance arrived soon, and hye hee found herself crying bitterly by her friend’s side. 

What if this was because of that tweet? Had the fans found out? It can't be a coincidence that her friend was attacked on the same day that she went to the agency for her interview.

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

“Will she be fine? She won't die, right?” wailed hye hee, looking at the paramedic.

The paramedic had a faint smile on his lips, which she missed, as she cried on the side.

“She will be fine, ma’am. It’s just a mild concussion.”

“There’s so much blood! How can this be mild?”

“Oh! Believe you me, this is mild. I’ve seen skulls being broken apart in my career, you can't imagine…”, he trailed off after he looked at hye hee whose face was scrunched in horror, “but you don't need to know that. All I am saying is that your friend will be fine, ma’am. 

They reached the hospital soon, dragging away jane on the stretcher. While she waited in the corridor full of white coats, jane was called into the doctor’s cabin.

“Oh, guardian of Lee Jae In?”, he asked, looking up from Jane’s patient form.

“Umm… yes.”

“Are you her family?”

“No. I mean, she’s my best friend.”, hesitated Hye Hee.

“Right! But the official documents can be signed only by the patient’s family members.”, he said, while typing furiously on his computer, “sorry, hospital protocols.”, he continued, nodding at her.

“I see. Is she awake?”

“Not completely. But she will be in an hour. Don't worry, she’s fine, the scans came out clean. It could be worse though. May I ask what happened?”

Should she tell him? What if this converts into something much more complicated? 

“She fell down the stairs. There was a lot of water on the floor.”, she finally framed.

The doctor seemed to look at her with suspicion but didn't say anything.

“Alright. Please contact her family. We will observe her vitals for a day and then she is free to go.”, he sighed as he handed her the forms.

Hye hee entered jane’s room after she opened her eyes. Her usually strong and fierce friend seemed so weak, it broke her heart. A smile played on jane’s lips as she spotted her friend in the room full of fear. She extended her hand towards hye hee, as she quickly grabbed it. 

“I’m so sorry jane. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I thought I was going to lose you.”, cried out hye hee.

“Not that easy, love. Why are you apologizing for this? God knows why they threw stones at me… I haven’t written a scandalized piece in months…”

Jane wiped her tears away and pinched her hand to lighten the mood.

“I need to call someone to sign your papers. Anyone in town?”

“My brother is here. Mum and dad are in Jeju visiting family. Where’s my phone? Ah, here it is. Call him. I’m going to rest my eyes for a bit. I feel really tired.”, jane yawned.

“Yes, you rest up. I’ll call him. Oh, password?”, hye hee asked.

“00000”, jane mumbled.

“Who puts 5 zeros as their password in this age?”

“Aish. don't come at me now, I’m hurt. You're lucky I remembered. What if I had lost my memory? You could guess it and call my brother. I am now a soothsayer…” she mumbled as she closed her eyes.

Hye hee sat beside her to call Jaebeom. She had never met her brother in person. Occasionally having only heard jane talk to him over the phone, which usually ended with one of them yelling at the other. Classic sibling behavior.

The ring tone rang only for a few seconds before he picked up the call.

“Jae in! You have some courage to call me after two days!!....”, he laughed over the other end.

“Hello, Jaebeom? This is hye hee. Jane’s friend from the company?”

“Oh? What? Is something wrong?”, his boisterous laughter quickly turned into one dripping with fear.

“Jane met with an accident. We are at Severance Hospital…”

“What?! Is she okay? What happened!”, his worried voice boomed.

“She’s fine. Just needs to be under observation for a while.”

“I’m coming. I need 10 minutes.”, Jaebeom hung up.

Hye hee didn't have to wait very long as Jaebeom soon arrived at the hospital. 

“Hye hee?”

Hye hee snapped out of her thoughts to look up, “yes. Jaebeom-ssi?”

“Yeah. where’s Jae In?”

“In here.”, she said, guiding him into her cabin.

She stood behind him, letting him absorb the situation. No one could have ever thought that he was jane’s brother. There was no single similarity. Except probably, the fierce eyes.

He was handsome. Well, jane was quite pretty herself. Maybe they have good looking parents?

“How did this happen?”, Jaebeom suddenly turned to ask hye hee.

Before she could answer, the nurse dragged him away to the doctor’s cabin. 

What was she going to say? Surely she can't lie. Jane would tell him what really happened and then he’d want an explanation. What if the doctor told him? How was she going to explain? 

He soon got out of the doctor’s cabin, looking a little confused. He headed to jane’s bed and placed his hand on her head. Looking towards Hye Hee he whispered, ”Dr.Mark said I can take her home tomorrow morning. Thank you for coming with her. You can leave now. I’ll stay here and take care of her.”

Hye hee had just begun packing her stuff when he questioned again, “how did she end up here?”

Hye hee gulped and felt her lips go dry. Something about Jaebeom told her that she couldn't lie to him.

“She was outside my apartment when someone attacked her with stones.”, she phrased.

“Excuse me?”, he yelled.

“We don't know who it was. Or what they wanted. My neighborhood was particularly safe, I don't know why someone would do this.”

He didn't answer, but his gaze screamed at her. “I'm sorry”, continued hye hee.

Jaebeom let out a sigh before turning his back towards her. Hye hee felt a pit in her stomach, the guilt ate her insides, convinced that this was all her fault.

She slowly moved downstairs and met with a sharp cold breeze blowing at her from the outside. It was pouring rain. 

She quickly checked the time- 10 minutes to 1 am.

“Real nice. Thank you universe!” she exclaimed, digging through the bag to find her wallet. It's as if the universe had been conspiring against her today. She didn't have her wallet, nor did she have her card.

Stifling a rising scream, she decided to sit the night at the hospital, when she spotted Jaebeom, at the reception, coffee in one hand, looking at her.

He approached her swiftly wondering why she hadn't left already.

“What?”, he simply posed.

Hye hee couldn't meet his eyes, “I don't have money or an umbrella.”

“Where’s your car?”

“I… sold it.”

He shook his head and went through his pocket pulling it some money. “Here, go get yourself something hot to drink. I’ll get drop you home, wait here till I get my keys.”

“You don't have to. I’ll just stay….”

Hye hee couldn't finish her sentence as Jaebeom once again seemed to glare at her. “Okay.”

Sipping on her hot chocolate, she stood waiting for Jaebeom. The hot liquid seemed to cruise through her spreading warmth, instantly making her feel better. 

Instant hot chocolate for instant happiness. The thought made her smile.

Only Jaebeom was looking at her, deeming her crazy to have been standing near the vending machine and smiling like a fool.

The two of them walked to the entrance, ahead lay a night, pitch dark, blurred from the heavy rain. Jaebeom was kind. Pulling up his hoodie he sprinted across the parking lot to make sure hye hee didn't have to get wet. As sorry as she felt, hye hee was overwhelmed with the gesture.

The car ride was quiet except for the faint rain sounds that hit the car, as they drew out of the hospital. He asked where she lived and soon reached. Stopping near the turn, Jaebeom got out of the car grabbing the umbrella. Hye hee just felt bad that he was being this kind despite having hurt his sister. Coming around, he helped hye hee get out of the car, half drenched as he shielded her from the rain.

“You didn't have to do this. I could just run in.”

“Right. Let’s have another one hurled stones at. I thought you said this was a neighborhood. If they’re throwing stones at you guys, I won't be surprised if they’re still lurking around.” he mumbled.

Bingo. 

Walking a few steps ahead, they saw two dark figures, pointing towards the windows, as though speculating.

“What on earth are they doing? These little…”, Jaebeom whispered, about to confront them.

“No please! Let them go away on their own, they might be dangerous.”, hye hee blurted.

“What do you mean? You're going to stay here, while these little jerks lurk around you? How is that safe?”

“Maybe I could stay at the hospital.”

“I would take you to Jae in’s apartment, but seeing this, I wonder who’s lurking outside hers.”

“That’s a great idea. I can stay over at her place!”

“But what if something happens?” he asked, very concerned.

“It’s only me they’re tracking! Her house will be fine!”

They got into the car once again, driving through the familiar route to Jane’s house.

“Care to explain?”, Jaebeom inquired.

Hye hee took a deep breath, laying down a few important parts, obviously skipping the one about being terribly in love with baekhyun.

“Oh, so you're the one Jae in said knows an idol. Haha. I thought she was kidding. Glad to know she didn't make it all up.”, smiled Jaebeom.

Jaebeom was charming. Something about him put hye hee at ease, she felt safe. Quietly watching him from the corner of her eye. If he had dressed in a hurry and looked this good, one can only wonder. She quickly averted her eyes when she felt Jaebeom look in her direction. 

He left quite quickly after opening the door with his spare key. Hye hee turned on the lights of the bedroom that she had so frequently crashed in on girls’ night outs. As her head hit the pillow, she let out a huge sigh. Today was quite eventful, and a lot of emotions washed over her simultaneously. It’s not that she didn't love baekhyun, but right now, love simply wasn't enough. There was a lot involved that she couldn't avoid. Alas, if only it was her she had to deal with. Baekhyun was a challenge. From what she knew, he could burn down everything and that was terrifying. Love shouldn't have to be a sacrifice. Sleep overcame her despite her fighting it. Maybe a few hours of peace? The quiet night lulled her to sleep.

[luna-almighty-god]

Comfort a Little Dream N°6 [Light and dark, when the two cannot coexist]

This story is obviously not canonical, please do not refer to it if you are looking for canonical information.

Careful, there are explicit scenes in this story (violence) !Have a good read!

===

Previous Chapter ===

    He felt pulled out of his icy prison, torn from the devastating darkness. The pain, which he had finally forgotten, came back brutally, stronger than the last time, more terrible and haunting. His arm seemed to be slashed from all sides, his leg smashed against the ground. His rib cage, heavy and cumbersome, blocked his breathing.

    He suddenly opened his eyes. The light blinded him, burned out his eye sockets, and before he could understand anything, he felt his stomach twist violently. His body moved on its own, rolled sharply to the side to regurgitate everything he had eaten lately, that is to say, nothing at all. There was nothing but bile, sour and foul, mixed with the peculiar taste of blood, a taste to which he should have been accustomed, but ... 

[ But who could get used to that? ]

    And like every time, like every fucking time, there were these disgusting noises, this nauseating smell, these elements that Dream would have wished to never know, never wanted to know again. He wished to forget them, to erase them from his memory, but each time he succeeded it was to better rediscover them the next time. 

“He's awake!" he heard abruptly without being able to identify the voice.

- Go get Nightmare! I'll take care of him!” retorted a second person.

    And Dream had a new high heart, vomited for the second time, almost choked on this filth until he felt two arms grasping and straightening him, two arms that helped him to get into a slightly more comfortable position, a position that would allow him to finish this regurgitation without ending up strangling him with his own bile. 

    He coughed violently, tried to catch his breath. The pain had wrung tears from him, tears of bitterness and suffering, tears that blurred his already blurred vision. Exhausted, he could no longer hold on, and put all his weight on those unknown arms, those arms which continued to hold him and which, it seemed, caressed his back hesitantly, like a feeble attempt to comfort him. 

    He closed his eyes, barely discerned the slamming of a door. But he clearly heard the cry that followed: 

“DUST, IS HE AWAKE?”

    He sank again.

*** ***

    He blinked slowly. The first thing that struck him was the smell of fresh sheets, a smell much more pleasant than what he was used to. Then he perceived a strange softness, the softness of a blanket covering him, although it could not overcome the pain that still ran through his bones. But his body was much less painful than he remembered, and breathing was no longer the worst of all calvaries. 

    He gently sniffed the air, taking time to adjust to the atmosphere... tranquil atmosphere. But... why... Why couldn't he fully enjoy it?

    He rose with difficulty, still half asleep, emptied of all motivation. He looked around the room, an unknown room. Tidied up, cleaned, as if it were being taken care of regularly. 

    And he froze. He froze as he turned his head to the door, and saw Nightmare standing in the doorway. 

    He knew without a doubt that he wasn't dreaming.

“... How do you feel?”

    IF Dream was surprised by his brother's gentleness, he showed nothing of it. He simply looked away, briefly shrugging his shoulders without making a sound. What could he have said, what could he have done? He was exhausted, exhausted from fighting and arguing.

    He didn't want to make any more effort.

    Nightmare frowned, but did not raise his eyebrows. He approached the bed slowly, his eyes glued to his twin:

“We're in my castle. You've been unconscious for a week. 

- ... I'm not corrupt.”

    Those were his first words, and probably the hardest he had to say. His throat was sore, he could hardly raise his voice, and his sentence was close to a whisper. Nightmare seemed to shudder, but remained in control of himself:

“Indeed. I serve you... catalyst. I'm absorbing some of the negativity you've ingested, but I'm only doing a limited amount. It's enough to keep you from transforming. However... it only works if you're close to me. That's why I brought you here.”

    Dream listened to it silently before looking at it again. His dull and tired look made Nightmare shudder, shudder with anguish.

“... So you're going to sequester me here?”

    The master of nightmares tensed up, got carried away in spite of himself:

“No! But I'm not letting you go until we get this shit out of your system!”

    And Dream simply shrugged his shoulders, returning to his examination of the play:

“All right. Whatever.”

    This 'whatever' messed Nightmare up more than he admitted. He gritted his teeth, struggling not to let anger overwhelm him. It wasn't even Dream he was angry at, but this 'thing' that Dream had become. Against this 'thing' that Nightmare had created, that he had unleashed on himself.

“... I'll have a meal brought to you.”

    He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him, and rushed across the hallway towards the kitchen. But he stopped in the middle of the deserted corridor, his body shaking all over. He saw his twin's gaze again, that lifeless gaze, devoid of the passion and innocence that had characterized Dream until then.

“... Fuck.”

    He smashed his fist against the wall, ignoring the pain that ran through his phalanges, a pain that was nothing compared to what his brother had surely experienced. His soul was twisted, consumed by a guilt that grew with every minute, and soon it was only a muffled sob that escaped him:

“...fuck…”

    He screwed up. He screwed up all the way.

*** ***

    Dream didn't know if he'd gone back to sleep or not. In any case, it was only a few knocks on his door that made him open his eyes again, turning his head towards the newcomer who had allowed himself to enter without being invited.

    And he could not help but feel the sight of Ink carrying a meal tray for him.

    They stayed for long minutes looking at each other without any of them daring to make the slightest gesture, daring to say a word. The silence, which had become embarrassing from the first few seconds, only became more tense when the painter finally decided to approach the bed, put the tray on the bedside table and turned his attention to Dream.

    The Dream Keeper had no trouble perceiving the dark circles under the eyes of the Creator, but he did not deign to speak up. On the contrary: he turned his eyes away, looked out of the window to contemplate the sun, which was gently declining.

    Ink tightened up, his throat tied. His friend's reaction had been enough to add to the weight on his shoulders. 

“... Hey, Dream... It's been a while... !”

    He had tried a poor smile, a light greeting, but his clumsiness and anxiety did not help him, nor did the ignorance of the guard. But the Creator was known to persevere, so he insisted: 

“... How do you...

- Don't do that.”

    Ink froze, confused, his smile vanished. Dream's voice had been weak... weak but cold.

“I'm alive as you can see. You don't have to worry about the multiverse anymore.”

    The painter became paler than he already was, his mouth trembling under the veiled accusations of his best friend:

“Dream, I don't understand... What does it have to do with the multiverse? Well, I just...

- Were you worried about me, about my health? Oh, well... Ahah... don't make me laugh…”

    Dream looked at him again. But if it was to receive an accusing look, full of anger and regret, Ink would have preferred that he continue to ignore it. 

“It seems you don't know this Ink... but now the multiverse can live without harm, even with the guardians gone. Really, you don't have to worry about that anymore. 

- ... Do you realize what you're saying?”

    The creator felt a painful sensation in his chest, where his soul should have been. A sensation he usually only had when he drank his sorrow potion. A feeling he hated to have, even more in the presence of Dream, and this feeling only became stronger, more painful, almost making him want to cry if he could only cry by himself.

“Dream, right now it's not the multiverse that matters to me but you... ! 

- I told you to stop.”

    Dream looked away again:

“Stop with the fake compassion, the overplayed friendship... 

- ... on ... ? Dream, what the hell are you talking about? We're friends! We're friends for real!”

    Ink had raised his voice, had raised his voice like never before, his body trembling under another sensation, the sensation that twisted him when he swallowed his potion of anger. He had felt the effects of his potions before, but never before had it been so strong, so hard, so unbearable to feel. 

    And he petrified. The few emotions he was feeling escaped him, evaporated with the understanding of these last words, words he never thought he would hear from Dream:

“How can we be friends, you don't even have a soul.”

    The Creator stood there, his eyes wide open, his pupils turning back into simple white circles. Silence fell again, and lasted so long that the atmosphere became suffocating.

    And as quickly as he had come, Ink left the room.

    Dream looked at the ceiling without worrying about the meal. He wasn't hungry, he didn't want anything. Nothing except this calm that had just been established, this serenity that had won him after the words he had finally said to Ink, these words that had been burning his puck for so long already. These hurtful words, these painful words, ....these words that didn't sound like him. Those words that he should never have said.

[ Freeze ]

    His world collapsed again as he became aware of what he had done.

[ Straightens up ]

    His mouth ajar could not make any sound. What could he have said anyway?

Was he sorry? Was he really sorry?

[ Why, as he took pleasure in saying those words, pleasure in guessing Ink....'s discombobulated look ]

WHY WAS HE IN SO MUCH PAIN?

[ FUCKIN' HELL, WHY DID YOU WANT TO CRY? WHY DID HE WANT TO CRY AFTER THAT? ]

    He took his head in his hands, repressed the flood of tears that came to him, which seemed to crack him from the inside. He needed to let off steam, he needed to hurt, he needed to hurt someone, anyone! But it wasn't him, no it wasn't him! He needed to help others, not push them down! He was supposed to be kind, not mean! Gentle, not offensive! He was supposed to be .....

WHAT WAS HE SUPPOSED TO BE?

    He screamed, he screamed from the depths of his being, his rage and incomprehension taking over, suffocating him with this guilt that he could no longer feel. But what was bothering him? What was really bothering him? Why couldn't he put clear thoughts into it?     He didn't want it to turn out this way, he didn't want to end Ink this way, he didn't want to become a horrible being, he didn't want... he didn't want this anymore, he didn't want this shit, this life, these terrors, these.... ....

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

    His raspy voice only made his cry more pathetic, more laughable, and suddenly he started to laugh. Laughing at the person he had become, the person he had always been. Laughing at this miserable being that everyone had loved for so long, this miserable being who was just a stupid, stupid, stupid skeleton...! 

    And his faint laughter that mingled with his muffled cry was interspersed with his jolts, his incomprehensible and confused sobs that accompanied the bitter tears that flooded his face, which made him feel like he was going completely mad. 

    Laughing and crying at the same time, shouting and smiling as if it were natural, wasn't that the beginning of dementia, the announcement of the madness that possessed him? 

“DREAM!”

    He cowered, like a defence mechanism, defence against that voice he could no longer bear. No, no he couldn't hear Nightmare anymore, he didn't want to hear or see it anymore!!!! He tightened the grip on his skull, his dying laughter to leave only his tears of terror. He knew, he knew what his brother would do, he was preparing for the impact, he was preparing for his horrors, his tentacles, his sermon, his torture ...! 

    ...

    There was nothing.     None of that.

    ...

    There was no ....

    ...

    There was only soft touch. Soft and feverish. Soft but trembling.

    ...

    A ....hug.

    ...

    How long has it been ....

    ...

[When was the last time he hugged him?]

    .... 

    Dream didn't even have the presence of mind to struggle, to shout again, to try to escape this hold. The shock was far too great, too violent. It remained just ....like that. Mute with stupor. Eyes wide open.

    Unable to raise his head to his brother.

    Unable to believe it was real.

    When his twin let go of him, walking a few steps away, Dream remained silent again, his eyes devoid of pupils, as if he had been disconnected, that he had bugged. He remained with his arms dangling, sitting in his bed, head down, as if emptied of any notion of life.

“....Dream...?”

    He's not responding to his brother's voice. He didn't know how to react. He didn't know ... didn't understand who he was, what his role was, what his identity was for him and for others.

    It seemed to him ....

[It seemed empty to him.] [ Emotionally void ]

*** ***

    Nightmare came out of the room even more feverishly than the last time. He imperceptibly clenched the fist he'd hurt himself earlier, waking up the pain that had eased ....slightly, and threw it back against the wall, with all the rage that inhabited him at that moment.     But he couldn't break his bones as he wished: a hand grabbed his wrist and stopped him in his gesture. He clenched his teeth, his eyes glued to the wall, not deigning to look at the newcomer:

“...let go of me, Cross. - Hurting you won't change anything.”

    Nightmare strongly repulsed him:

“AND THEN? AT LEAST IT BLOWS! - It's no us.... - IT WON'T DO ANYTHING BUT IT'S DOING GOOD, YOU SEE? IT'S USELESS BUT IT'S A WAY TO PUNISH THE ASSHOLE WHO HURT HIS BROTHER, THE ASSHOLE WHO PUSHED HIM OVER THE EDGE! IT'S NO USE AT ALL M…”

    He almost choked on Cross, almost cracked when he felt him hugging him, clutching him, holding him to his chest in his warm but trembling embrace. ....     Cross lowered his voice, as if he was afraid to break it by raising his voice too much:

“...you're not the only one responsible.... why... why do you always go to extremes? Why does everything have to be all black and white? Why do you have to be the one and only bad guy?”

    The swordsman tightened his grip, hardly swallowing his saliva: 

“... "Black apples darken you. Night.... is what made you hurt your brother..... You have your share of responsibility, but it's not entirely your fault......”

    His throat tied, pushing him to hide his face in the neck of his superior, to conceal his treacherous tears that troubled his life: 

“...I have no excuse. I don't have the black apples, I don't have Chara anymore. I'm just... just me. Just me who spent time with your brother, who took advantage of his kindness, his smile, without ever seeing... without ever seeing me…”

    His words died as did his will. He gritted his teeth, shamefully stepping aside, but wondered at being restrained, at being brought back against the body of his superior.     And Nightmare clumsily stroked his back, trembling. He gave him little comfort when he himself was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

    Cross couldn't even smile. He closed his eyes, his soul clenched, as the voice of his leader rose: 

“...aren't you going to see Dream? - I'd like to... I just wish... I wish he'd hit me if it would make him happy, hurt me if it would make him happy... But I'm too scared that just seeing me will make him worse. He'll…”

“He hates me now, he'll never want me again,” said his weak sobs instead of his voice. Nightmare remained silent.

    Silence was the only adequate response. 

*** ***

    Dream hadn't taken his eyes off the sheets, hadn't changed his position, hadn't moved a millimetre since his last 'interview' with his brother. His notion of time was flawed, abstract, just like his feelings, his thoughts.

    He didn't know how he felt. He didn't know what he wanted anymore.

    But his body wasn't of the same opinion.

    He clearly heard the gurgling that escaped him, betraying the hunger that had finally caught up with him. Yet he did not feel like swallowing anything, but his mind was no longer able to make any decision, and it was not automatic that he stood up, shivering at the contact of his bare feet against the cool ground.

    He was wearing just a simple t-shirt and Bermuda shorts, nothing good going down or very hot. But in all honesty he didn't even notice his outfit, concentrating instead on the pain going through his body, trying to take one step at a time without collapsing. 

    With muffled footsteps he moved forward while brushing against the walls. His gaze lingered slightly on what surrounded him, on his corridors so familiar and yet so different ... The castle of his childhood, the one where he had lived and grew up with his brother.

    He lowered his eyes, unable to look down at the place, unable to remember the so-called 'good memories' without feeling the pinch in his soul, the pain in his chest. 

    He sniffed softly, feverishly passing his arm over his swollen eyes for fear of crying again. He couldn't stand the cracking, the sobbing for nothing... 

    He dragged himself pitifully into the kitchen, finding his way around with difficulty. Night had fallen, only making the place darker and more terrifying, but it was nothing for Dream. It was nothing after the place of darkness where his mind had been locked during that week of coma.

    A sigh escaped him, weary and difficult, pulling slightly on his irritated throat. He reached, after an interminable journey, to the kitchen door. But as he was about to enter, he froze in the doorway.

    At first it was violent, painful feelings that hit him hard. Negative feelings mixed with resentment, regret, anger and bitterness. Chaotic feelings, but controlled enough not to be projected beyond a certain perimeter, as if the person releasing them did not want them to be felt. Didn't want Nightmare to feel them.

    Dream finally dared to look up, feverish, touched by this unknown suffering ... and his eyes fell on Dust. Dust who was sitting at the table, his face immersed in his hands, trembling and sobbing, whispering 'sorry, I'm sorry' interspersed with a strong breath, vein attempts to contain himself.

    Dream didn't know what to do. He hesitated to turn back, to pretend he hadn't seen or heard anything, for fear of embarrassing his counterpart ... but his distress prevented him from moving, from abandoning him to his fate.

[He couldn't leave him like that.]

“Dust…”

    The other one jumped violently, petrified at the understanding of this frail voice. He did not turn back to him, probably ashamed to be surprised at such a moment.

    Dream didn't insist. He didn't say another word. He simply took one step, then another, then another, and another before reaching the height of the table, to take a seat next to the other skeleton. He didn't look at him, he didn't want to show him that he had seen him crying. But gently, delicately, he slid his hand over the wooden furniture, reached Dust's arm and pulled slightly on it. 

    He met with no resistance. Probably caught the killer off guard.

[ Slipped his hand in his]

[ Gently intertwined their knuckles ]

    Dust shuddered, confused by the heat that crept into him, which swept away the terror that tugged at his soul. He timidly observed Dream who had lowered his eyes and at last, at last he understood: for the first time in his life he was dealing with the warm aura of the little guardian, this aura at the antipodes of that of Nightmare. A delicate aura, as tender as marshmallow, which enveloped him with love and gave him the impression of floating on a cloud, of being rid of his worries even if only for a while ... 

[ He understood better why some people went crazy... ]

    Dust became more perplexed. Now that he was no longer in the grip of his crying fit, he was better able to think properly, and this surprised him. He tightened his grip on the youngest's hand, looking at it with curiosity:

"Why are you doing this? You should take care of yourself before you worry about other people. »

    Dream raised his head, looking stunned, stunned by his comment.

“But... you weren't well…”

    Dust frowned:

“So what? You count less than the others? 

- ... I....”

    Yes. His eyes screamed yes, his body screamed yes, his panic screamed yes. His whole being screamed YES, YES he counted less than the others! 

    And Dust was struck by that feverish look, by that little scared and terrified skeleton, that little innocent skeleton who, in spite of his anxiety and suffering, had come to comfort and support him. This little guardian that he was rediscovering, not as a naive kid who knew nothing about real life, but as an injured young adult who was trying to hold his head high.

    Dust no longer felt the warm aura. All he felt was an icy embrace, a spike that struck his soul. He gritted his teeth.

    He pulled Dream against him.

“... It's time to think of you, little caretaker.”

    The little dream opened up. This strangely familiar embrace had something different, different from what Nightmare had given him earlier. Something snapped in his throat, pushed him to crack, again, pushed him to cry, again... He buried his face against the torso of the tallest one, came to hug him, grabbed him like he would have grabbed a lifebuoy. 

    He stopped trying to repress his sobs. Dust didn't once try to calm him down.

    They simply stayed, for a long time, embraced one another, in the deserted kitchen.

===

Next Chapter

You can support me on my Utip or on my Ko-fi account !

===

Credits =

Dreamtale -> Joku

Shattered Dream -> ErroredArtist’s

Cross ->  Jakei

Error -> Lover The Piggies

Ink -> Comyet / Myebi

Dust -> Ask DustTale

Killer -> Rahafwabas

Color -> Superyoumma

Sugar Plum -> undertale Community (formerly NSFWShamecave ?)

[dearcat1]

The thrill

Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn

Relationships: Sawada Tsunayoshi/Xanxus

I feel like it’s incomplete but eh... let's leave it like this for now.

.

Xanxus thinks that, in the beginning, the real reason Reborn wasn’t thrilled about their relationship was that it messed up with his plans. It was never going to happen though, the hitman must have known that. Tsuna has every reason to be indifferent to the Vongola at best.

All he is ever going to see the Vongola as is a source of power to protect his friends and family with. Other than that, the Vongola Decimo doesn’t particularly care. It’s hard to, when all Vongola was to Tsuna at first was a concept and then this supposed family that abandoned him first and then came crashing down on him with demands after.

Reborn’s answer to that had been sweet, loving Kyoko. The childhood crush. Kyoko who had been kept safe for so long that she didn’t really know the darkness of the world and thought, because of it, to be kind to everybody an easy thing to do.

Sawada is weak to those he cares about, he’ll do what it takes to make them happy. Reborn had been counting on it, he had been counting in making Kyoko the wife and then ensuring her love for the famiglia itself. Tsunayoshi then would have cared by extension.

And the girl is cunning, Xanxus will give her that. There is a reason why she was firmly at the top of the food chain in Namimori High and it had nothing to do with her brother’s fists. She had taken one look around and noticed that the top of the food chain as a female in the mafia was Vongola Decimo’s wife.

Many had noticed, of course. Just as many paraded in front of the young man, trying to get his attention. After all, it’s no secret how protective he is, how far Tsunayoshi will go for those he cares about. Xanxus could see what they were thinking: get the Vongola Don and Vongola’s might with it. 

Tsunayoshi, though, had been jaded long before Reborn made his appearance. Sealed sky as he had been, Sawada had known the cruelty of human nature for most of his life at that point. He had known the price of kindness because of it.

It had been probably why he had had that dumb little crush on Kyoko to begin with. 

But after Reborn was done with him, after Tsunayoshi Sawada stopped being a jaded child scared of his own shadow and began being Vongola Decimo, jaded heir to the Vongola throne, comfortable on his own skin and understanding his own power... 

Well... That silly crush would have gone nowhere then. Reborn helping the girl made no difference. Sawada might be Tsunayoshi’s last name but the young man is no Iemitsu. He has no need for a sweet civilian wife. Tsunayoshi Sawada, after Reborn, looks at Kyoko Sasagawa and thinks liability. 

Reborn instilled the need of the thrill a little too well in his students. Sawada would not look twice at another person who could not make his blood pump faster with adrenaline. That cut down the pool of candidates quite drastically.

There’s no way he’ll make the girl his wife. For a political purpose perhaps but he loves his sun guardian far too dearly to do such a thing. And so Kyoko is tolerated, an amusing addition and sometimes a welcome respite from the darkness of the mafia but nothing more.

When Xanxus noticed all these things, back then, he couldn’t care less. He might have felt a little schadenfreude while looking at Reborn trying and failing at playing match-maker. But it hadn’t been his problem, at the beginning. Xanxus had been interested, yes, but more in a “this guy might give me a good fight” sort of way.

To be fair, as the Varia Commander, Xanxus would have been more worried had he actually been aware of the amount of power that being the other half of Tsunayoshi’s equation gives someone but he hadn’t known and nothing came out of it so there’s that. 

And then they’d had that spar and Tsunayoshi had beaten him down. Oh, Xanxus had painted the other man black and blue but even he had known where the fight had been going and it hadn’t been in his favour. Having his own weapon aimed at his head had stung.

“You look pretty on your knees,” Tsunayoshi had said. The fury that had invoked had been expected, the shiver of pleasure down Xanxus’ spine hadn’t. Not that it had ended leading to anything. Xanxus had woken up on the infirmary, concussed and with his guns on the side table.

It took him about a week of sulking and destruction back at Varia HQ to come to terms with what that shiver meant. Xanxus admitted to himself, begrudgingly and almost pained, that he wanted Tsunayoshi Sawada then. And Xanxus is not one for denying himself. He takes what he wants.

Admittedly, Xanxus had just wanted a quick fuck. Something bloody and violent to get the damn distraction out of his system and move on. Sawada hadn’t cooperated. Spar after spar, Sawada would earn his win, put Xanxus down hard and then drag his sorry ass to the closest medical attention available. 

Kyoko Sasagawa had noticed it then. She had realized that the edge of frustration during those spars had changed flavours. It was sexually charged by then. So she had answered in kind. She’ll show up to pick Tsunayoshi up after the man had left Xanxus with the medics.

Presumingly, worried about the man’s on injuries and all too willing to play nurse-maid. 

That’s when Xanxus’ competitive bone had been tickled. He didn’t particularly appreciate the competition, if any of them was to have Sawada, it would be him first. She could have him later, once Xanxus was done with him.

Not that Xanxus will ever be done with him but that’s what he had thought back then. 

The continuous presence of the girl had been frustrating to both Sawada and himself, Xanxus could tell easily enough. Reborn could too, by the troubled looks he kept sending the two of them. But it had been thrilling in a way, watching how reluctant Tsunayoshi was to stop touching Xanxus’ skin once he had the Wrath down and submitting. 

Even frustrated as he was, Xanxus enjoyed the attention.

And when the girl still refused to back down, when she kept coming to every single one of their spars, Xanxus had decided he had enough. So he had stolen a kiss, entirely uncaring of her being right there. He had stolen a kiss that had stung his broken lip, it had tasted like blood and sent shivers down Xanxus’ spine.

Tsunayoshi had looked dazed after. Xanxus remembers the little gasp the younger man had let out, the way he had bent down to suck on Xanxus’ lip. When the medic had arrived to see to them, Sawada had kept trailing Xanxus lip with a finger.

None of them noticed when Kyoko left.

For weeks after, Xanxus had felt high on power. A different kind of power from the one he was used to, for sure, but power nonetheless. Tsunayoshi’s attention was on him every single time Xanxus entered a room. All it took was for Xanxus to lick his lip or maybe bite it a little and Tsunayoshi’s brain would short-circuit.

It was heady back then, it still is.

After that, it hadn’t taken long for Xanxus to realize that Sawada did not particularly give a fuck about Vongola itself. It had insensed Xanxus to no end, he could not understand it. For Xanxus, Vongola was sacred. So to have the Vongola Decimo so obviously uncaring of Vongola itself, Xanxus hadn’t been able to wrap his head around it.

Xanxus had fought so hard and for so long to be acknowledged by Vongola, had laid claimed to the Family like a dragon claimed its hoard. Tsunayoshi taking Vongola’s throne and having it mean nothing to the younger man... it had made Xanxus furious.

Perhaps luckily, it was around that time that Xanxus found out the amount of power that being Tsunayoshi’s partner gave him. Surprisingly enough, it had soothed Xanxus’ ruffled feathers. 

They had had a fight, a real one. Xanxus still incensed by Tsunayoshi’s apathy towards Vongola and Tsunayoshi frustrated by Xanxus’ inability to listen or understand any point of view but his own. The gardens had not survived, not much had.

By the end of it, Xanxus had found himself on his back, Tsunayoshi straddling his hips with one hand on Xanxus’ throat and the other on the ground for balance. 

“Why are you so angry?” Tsunayoshi had snapped but he hadn’t given Xanxus enough time to give any other reply but a snarl, “I’ll take good care of Vongola if it’ll make you happy!” He had peppered Xanxus with kisses then, soft and chaste and a little pleading, “would that make you happy?”

That’s when Xanxus had realized that Tsunayoshi is his in a way that Vongola will never be. His freely and completely, without Xanxus having to bend over backwards to prove himself worthy of it. Tsunayoshi would give Xanxus the world, he had realized. And Xanxus in return, would burn it down to the ground if it’ll keep Tsunayoshi safe.

It might have been Tsunayoshi taking Xanxus’ body that day, it might have been Xanxus moaning and groaning and panting in the younger sky’s arms but it hadn’t felt like surrender. It had felt like a victory.

He still loves Vongola but he’s content with Tsunayoshi not doing the same. Xanxus is greedy, after all. He’ll take all of that for himself.

[musicprincess655]

The sun shines brightly overhead, and Dazai hates it. He would drown it out and disappear into the shadows if he could, disappear from sight, hide away.

He doesn’t let any of that show on his face, though. He keeps the same carefree, vacant expression in place, the one that people see and dismiss immediately, perfected from a life of being seen and not heard. If anyone knows how to disappear, it’s Dazai.

He knocks on the door of his destination, grateful to be there, grateful to escape the mass of people living their stupid, boring lives prescribed by the stupid, boring city. He’d sooner be alone than surrounded by them.

“Dazai-kun.” Fukuzawa gives him a stern look that only reads as welcoming because Dazai’s been coming here for years. “You’ve found your way back here again.”

“I always do,” Dazai says, falsely cheerful in a way that puts people at ease around him. “May I come in?”

The answer is always yes, but Dazai’s learned that Fukuzawa likes to be asked anyway.

“There’s always a place here for someone trying to escape Mori Ougai,” Fukuzawa says, stepping out of the way to let Dazai in. “Ranpo’s in the back with Yosano. I’m sure the three of you can find something to amuse yourselves.”

“You don’t have any new cases?” Dazai asks. Disappointing. The best part of coming to the detective agency is that sometimes, if he’s lucky, there’s a weird case, one that makes him work for it. He gets a spark of something like a genuine emotion when he has to push his brain to the limit to puzzle out something difficult.

“I have new cases, but none you’ll be interested in,” Fukuzawa says. “Just the old staples. Cheating, open and shut murders, theft, you know the drill.”

“That’s boring,” Dazai complains.

“That’s what Ranpo said,” Fukuzawa tells him. “Why don’t you go commiserate with him?”

Dazai wanders to the back of the building to do just that. Ranpo sprawls in his chair, leaning back on two legs, opening chocolates and throwing them in the air, trying to catch them in his mouth with limited success.

“There’s nothing to do,” Dazai complains, sitting across the table from Ranpo and dropping his head to his arms.

“Oh, good, the sassy lost child is here again.” Dazai twists to see Yosano levelling an unimpressed look at him.

“Hi, Sensei,” he grins. Yosano rolls her eyes and goes back to what she was doing.

She likes him. Dazai knows it. He laughed when she threatened to dissect him and suggested she take a souvenir for her troubles. She retaliated by leaving him anatomy textbooks she thought he’d find interesting and teaching him how to suture on a banana.

Dazai reaches across the table to steal Ranpo’s abandoned laptop. If there’s really nothing to do here, he’ll just default to an old favorite: poking at things he has no business sticking his nose in.

It’s not like he couldn’t have done this at his guardian’s house. It might have even been easier. His parents might have pawned him off on Mori as a cousin just closely related enough to be coerced into watching him, but he still has access to things most citizens of No. 6 don’t because of them. But that defeats his entire purpose of getting away from Mori.

He doesn’t hate his guardian. In some ways, Dazai is even grateful to Mori. He’s a difficult child to deal with, and he knows it. A combination of being smarter than both his parents and not yet having the social skills to pull his punches about it got him sent to live with Mori in the first place, though both of them will swear up and down that they needed to focus on their careers. Mori isn’t like that, though. Mori is smarter than him, and perfectly willing to let Dazai play whatever mind game he wants, mostly because Mori is capable of winning. He’s a challenge that Dazai desperately needs, especially back a few years ago when he was so bored by everything around him that he threw all the pills in his medicine cabinet down his throat just to see if that would make him feel anything.

But Mori also, in some ways, represents everything Dazai hates about his life. For one thing, he’s been remarkably good at stopping any further suicide attempts. For another, as much as Dazai likes a challenge, it’s not fun when he never wins.

So, instead, he comes running to Fukuzawa, someone who’s more than willing to take in a refugee from Mori. He gets to help Ranpo solve cases that challenge him, but that have a possibility of victory. Ranpo’s better than him, but Dazai’s learning.

And when there aren’t any cases to solve, and when Dazai’s feeling particularly spiteful, he likes to try and find all the secrets No. 6 wants to keep hidden.

His parents are both politicians, though Dazai doesn’t have a clue what they actually do. He doesn’t much care to find out. Instead, if they’re the ones making the laws, he’ll see what they hide in a place where they punish those who break their laws.

The Correctional Facility has more security around its information than Dazai thinks is strictly necessary. If all they have is prisoner information, it shouldn’t be worth this much effort. It was Ranpo who pointed out, in the middle of one of Dazai’s bitch sessions about it, that if it was really so hard, they must have something to hide.

What could a prison have to hide?

Nothing Dazai can think of in answer to that question seems like something No. 6 would be comfortable having any citizens know, and that’s reason enough for him to want to know anyway. He’s almost got it, too, teasing his way around a tricky firewall.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Fukuzawa joins them in the back, giving Dazai a reproachful look. He knows what Dazai’s doing, or at least has an idea, and he disapproves, but he hasn’t bothered to try and stop him.

“Looking for the truth behind the biggest lies No. 6 likes to tell,” Dazai says breezily.

“You should be more careful,” Fukuzawa says. “You never know who might be listening.”

“Sensei!” Dazai gasps, laying a dramatic hand over his heart. “How could you? I thought we had something special!”

“Please,” Yosano rolls her eyes. “You should be looking at Ranpo. He’s susceptible to bribery.”

“That is true,” Ranpo says. “I would sell you for snacks.”

“I am hurt.”

“That’s enough,” Fukuzawa says. “Ranpo, I need to get working on this murder case, and I need to interview witnesses. I need your help.”

“But going door to door sucks,” Ranpo complains.

“Not even you can solve a case without any evidence to look at,” Fukuzawa says.

“Make Dazai do it.”

“Dazai is not technically an employee.”

“Because you won’t hire him.”

“I will when he finishes school.”

“Ugh.” Ranpo casts a dark look at Dazai. “Thanks for nothing.”

“My pleasure,” Dazai says, turning back to his work.

He’s almost got it. He can even get a few pieces of information at the lowest security clearance levels. And, as suspected, what he finds isn’t good.

In fact, if he’s reading the snippets he can find right, the Correctional Facility might be more accurately described as a lab. It’s not that he doesn’t believe No. 6 is capable of human experimentation. He just wishes they were less cartoonishly evil. A government that does experiments on its own citizens? It’s like a plot from a low budget movie.

“What’s that face for?” Yosano asks him. “You look like you’re about to start laughing maniacally.”

Maybe Dazai should develop maniacal laughter. It would probably be a good skill to have.

“I found something cool,” Dazai says. And then yawns. Without him even realizing it, night has fallen. “I should probably go home.”

“You’ll be careful, right?” Yosano says. “The Lost Town is dangerous at night.”

“Aww, Sensei, you do care,” Dazai simpers. She rolls her eyes, already writing him off. “I’ll be fine.”

Dazai whistles to himself as he walks, hands stuffed in his pockets. Predictable villain plot or not, he still found something interesting, with the promise of more if he keeps digging. He should get at least a couple more weeks of entertainment digging out all the secrets of the Correctional Facility, and weeks more trying to decide the best way to use it.

Part of him wants to just release it to the internet and let chaos make its natural way through the city, but surely if he puts his mind to it, he can come up with something better. Something more targeted.

“Dazai Osamu?”

Dazai slows to a halt. A police officer looks him up and down, takes in the bandages around his wrists, the perfect wide-eyed innocent expression Dazai’s perfected over the years.

“Can I help you with something?” Dazai asks, pleasant, just a hint of fear, the perfect cocktail to portray a well-raised young boy with nothing to hide.

“You’re under arrest,” the officer says, stepping forward with a pair of cuffs. Dazai takes one step back before he thinks better of the urge to run. He knows his own ability, and if a real chase starts, he won’t win.

“For what?” Dazai asks as the officer shoves him in the back of the car. The man’s partner turns around, holding up a device and pressing a button.

“Looking for the truth behind the biggest lies No. 6 likes to tell.”

Dazai wishes he could at least feel surprised. It’s so predictable, he just never bothered to predict it. Of course No. 6 would spy on their own citizens. It’s probably in the wristbands everyone has to wear. ID bracelets, keys to anything in the city, why shouldn’t the also be listening devices?

Dazai suddenly realizes that the part of him that still wants to die is about to get its wish. Will they even bother with taking him to the Security Bureau? Surely they won’t bother with a trial. If they accuse him of stealing state secrets, they’ll have to admit what those secrets are or contend with the possibility that he will. Wouldn’t it be easier to shoot him out here and be done with it?

He’s not sad about the certainty of his death. He never has been. But it does seem like a shame to die for something when he barely found anything out. And, of course, he finally found something to hold his attention for a while. Now he doesn’t even get to finish it.

“Why are we going this way?” one of the officers asks. “Shouldn’t we just…you know?”

“Not for this one,” the partner answers. “Don’t you know who his parents are? We can’t just kill him, and we can’t take him to the Security Bureau either, he might be recognized. Looks like his mother.”

Dazai has never put much stock in his parents, is sure they don’t really want him around. But he also doesn’t want to die painfully, and that’s almost a certainty if No. 6 is the one sentencing him to death. Maybe they can at least spare him that.

Wait.

If they’re not killing him here, and they’re not taking him to the Security Bureau, there’s only one place they could be going.

“We can keep him in the Correctional Facility,” one officer says. “They can keep him out of sight until his parents come get him.”

If my parents come get me, Dazai thinks darkly. He sits quietly in the back and, for once, tries not to think as he’s driven to his own death.

[thebibliomancer]

Dark Crystal Age of Resistance Tactics liveblog pt 11

The plot splits three-ways but only one way is really an option, to my bafflement.

I have to do a training montage because I’m somehow badly underleveled for this part of the game.

I just really want to beat up a Skeksis, anyone will do.

And Gurjin is the MVP but we all already knew that.

Based on nothing except wanting to see what best boy Kylan is up to, I'm going to tackle the Spriton branch of this branching narrative first.

So I go to the little glowy dot on the map over Sami Thicket annnnd Kylan tells me no, don't go there.

Kylan: "It will be difficult to convince the Spriton to join our cause. They have always been the clan most loyal to the Skeksis."

He tells me to avoid the main village and check villages on the outskirts. Why did you put a shiny dot on the main village at all then!

But what can you do.

Mission: Podling Rush - Spriton Village

"A Spriton village is in trouble. Something has driven the neighboring Podlings mad! Help hold off their attacks."

This better have some fantasy explanation because I'm going to get real pissed if I'm being tricked into breaking a strike or if these are just more Podlings that don't want to be bathed against their will.

Just real pissed.

LEVEL 33???! I don't even have anyone in the 20s yet! Whats the point of branching the plots if I'm going to be level-gated into a specified branch anyway?

Lets see the other Spriton mission...

Mission: Cause of Death - Suns-kissed Plains

"The heroes cross paths with a group of Spriton Gelfling who don't seem too friendly."

LVL 30!? These beefy gelfling better show up and join the resistance! They're way stronger than my guys and I've been actively trying to do a resistance this whole time!

Lets try this logic instead. Alyadon piped up first, about the Sifan. So the Sifan quest chains are probably more level appropriate for me.

So selecting The Sifan Coast and Alyadon exposits that the Sifan have been hard hit by the Darkening and the Skeksis tithes. The elders are loyal to the Skeksis but the rest of the Sifan are prime targets for recruitment. Heck yeah.

Alyadon has a lead on a missing scholar. If we find him, he could prove useful. And Kylan, having marched back from the Spriton realizing I'm not going to be there for a while, has a lead on a missing fishing vessel.

Okay, the two available Sifan missions are level 25. That's more around my level. But I'm going to check the Vapran missions really fast.

... The Vapran mission is level 20.

The game just really wants me to go here first. In fairness, its the only one of the three plot threads that's prominent in the show.

Sigh.

Okay.

Mission: The New All-Maudra - Road to Ha'rar

"The heroes return to Ha'rar and learn of a troublesome shift in power."

Lets go see what Seladon is up to.

I cannot imagine that this easily leads to uniting the Vapran clan with the age of resistance but lets see.

Party: Brea and Breg because they're Vapran so they have stake in whatever is about to happen. Hup because he wanted to be a Paladin before I forced him down a different career path. Annnnnnd Naia. Because I'm reading Shadows of the Dark Crystal and she's on her way to Ha'rar in the part I'm up to.

Oof, the level starts with my party surrounded by a lot of enemy units who all have the high ground. Not great.

Aw dangit, Seladon has issued an order for my arrest. Rude.

Annnnnd I died.

It just went super poorly. They start with seven guys to my four.

Hup died almost instantly.

Guess I'm going to try again. With Rian, Naia, Gurjin, and Kylan. Three beefy fighters and a Kylan.

Nope, still lost. Wound up with three of their guys left BECAUSE THEY START WITH THREE MORE GUYS THAN I HAVE

I REALLY don't want to have to grind at bar fights.

Trying again again with Naia, Rian, Kylan, and Deet. Two beefs, two heals.

And that time I died when they had four guys left =|

Lets try Hup, Naia, Rian, and Deet.

And four left again >=|

So I guess grinding for levels is what its going to have to be then.

Great. Fantastic.

Guess I'll go prove my mettle over and over and over and over and over and over.

---

Did one of the desert encounter proves my mettle. Levels up, woo.

Gurjin learned Pursue (take next turn faster when dealt attack damage), Kylan learned Healing Touch (presumably a stronger heal but you need to be adjacent), Naia learned Heroic Leap (jump to an area and deal AOE damage), and Rian learned Tempered Stone (attack up if hit by critical). I also got a Stone Slicer.

Did an encounter in the swamp. Levelled up Naia and Gurjin with no new moves. Leveled up Rian and learned Hold Position. Got a Javelin and a Soup Spoon. Bought Rian a new, cooler sword to make him feel better about the Dual Glaive being stuck behind all these quests that are too high level for me.

Back to the Podling Tavern.

Wukki leveled up. Woo. Also earned a Shimmering Scale. Giving it to Rian because he's the hero guy. Which means I'm putting the Hunter's Cloak on Naia which means she's rocking two bits of Skeksis garb.

Chamberlain's abandoned speedster encounter grinding mission.

Level ups all around! Naia, Gurjin, and Kylan level up and earn nothing. Rian levels up and learns Tangle Up.

Oops, leveled Rian two more levels in Stone Warden than I needed to. Time to switch him to Mender so he can get Bramble Sage so he can get Strategist. So all that cool gear I just gave him is going to Gurjin. Congrats Gurjin!

So I bought Rian the coolest Mender stuff I could afford. Back to the grind. Gotta get everyone AT LEAST 20.

Back to the desert. Levels up!

Rek'yr learned Aimed Shot, Boggi learned Express Aid (heal an ally after moving four tiles, cool), Hup learned Command (friendly beat takes it next turn immediately), and Breg learned Steal MP.

Back to the swamp. Gosh, I sure love this gameplay rut.

Levels up. Deet learned Guardian's Blessing (can put a rez status on someone), Brea learned Firemoss Bundle (AOE fireball), Hup unlocked Potion Master! But I think I'll try Cook instead. And I found a Sturdy Halberd. I'd put that on Naia but the Cooking Spit gives her some additional HP.

More swamp leveling. Woo, Kylan learned Convalesce. Rek'yr and Deet leveled without learning anything. I found a Potion Stirrer. That's going right on Hup.

Back to the desert. Leveled up Hup, Boggi, and Brea but no new abilities.

Back to the gobbles. Back to leveling up. Boggi learned Get 'Em!, Deet learned Aughra's Ire, Rek'yr learned Thra's Light, Alyadon leveled and learned nothing from it.

Thats been a lot of leveling so might as well see how the Road to Ha'rar will go. And then I'm going to bed because eesh.

---

Mission: The New All-Maudra - Road to Ha'rar

"The heroes return to Ha'rar and learn of a troublesome shift in power."

Deet, Gurjin, Naia, and Hup.

And this works out well. Switching Hup to Cook during my leveling frenzy gave him the ability to sling a mean spoon. A couple levels had Naia and Gurin dealing more damage. Deet died though. But she poisoned everyone before she did.

Hopefully I won't have to go on another leveling journey because it really feels like it slows things down.

Speaking of leveling. Naia learned Double Strike 2, Gurjin learned Taunt 2, Hup learned Tenderize (triple strike a Spiced enemy, yes Cooks spice enemies) and Bitter Recipe (attack a Spiced enemy to inflict Blind and Silence).

So the Vapra quest chain splits here. One to go and beat up the General. One to go free some political prisoners that Seladon imprisoned. But I'm sleep now.

---

I'm wake now.

Me complaining about grinding and the game poorly signposting what to do next doesn't make a good post. I'm still going to try to do all the Vapran missions.

And yet, I'm still going to do some grinding before that because Boggi, Brea, Rek'yr, Alyadon and especially Breg still need to hit 20.

You know, for all he's my lowest level guy, he was MVP in the cave encounter. Moving so much, stabbing so much.

Anyway, Brea leveled and learned nothing as did Breg. Alyadon learned Awaken (basically the raise spell).

Theres another swamp encounter that I'm actually really enjoying. Its against four Arathim devourers but you start on the hill and can kind of snipe at them as they move across the map from you. Breg and Rek'yr are getting good use out of Daring Strike and Aimed Strike because I had time to mark them. But I have to say that Daring Strike just is way too much setup. They have to be poisoned AND marked. It does decent damage but you need to devote three moves to it.

Rek'yr learns Form Up, Breg learns Steal Life (steals life, 35% of the damage done by the attack, this is going right on Breg).

Did the road to Ha'rar but as an encounter mission. Boggi leveled and didn't learn anything. Alyadon leveled and unlocked Adept and Bramble Sage. Also I picked up a Tuned Guitar! Hopefully Song-Tellers use instruments so I can give this to Kylan later.

Cave encounter. Breg leveled up, nothing learned. But I found a Sharpened Dirk! Thats going right on Breg.

Also, the encounter grinding actually net me some pearls so I splurged and got teeth or fur for everyone who didn't already have a trinket and got some better armor for Breg and Rek'yr.

Back to the swamp. Alyadon leveled and learned Aughra's Ire. Oh, right. I turned her into a Bramble Sage so I could get some Firemoss on her to replace the rock throw. But I'm switching her back to mender so I can work on getting the SUPER healing moves.

Now just Breg is still lvl 19. But I'll get him up. Back to the road. Woo. Levels ups. Rian leveled and learned nothing as did Rek'yr. Brea learned Firemoss 2 (firemoss' cooler older brother) and Breg learned Adrenaline.

And I can get back to the plot.

---

Mission: Citadel Sneak -- Citadel Tunnels

"The cruel Skeksis General is in Ha'rar, conscripting Vapran Gelfling. The hereos must sneak into the Citadel to stop him."

This sounds like its going to have a wacky success condition.

Bringing Rian (because I really want to get him through these Mender levels so I can get him to Strategist), Deet (because she's not gotten to do anything recently) and Boggi and Wukki because shouty dogs is definitely who you want to bring on a stealth mission.

Hm, potion bottles on the map that grant you haste if attacked. Neat.

Ok so win condition is to get all four heroes to the exit, nobody can die. I only see two venom spitter arathim on the map. There's probably going to be more jumping in to mess with me. The jerks.

Ok wow thats a lot of spawn-ins.

More and more arathim and even some nurlocs. Thankfully, you can hit a boulder to roll and block the nurlocs way. And even though I was hilariously unprepared, I got through first try. Thanks to the good ol' doggos.

Everyone leveled! Deet and Boggi learned nothing! Rian learned Convalesce and Wukki learned to Munch (attack a marked target 5 times with reduced accuracy)! He also knows Fuzzy Meteor, which is a delightful move name.

---

Mission: General Upheaval -- Citadel Barracks

“The heroes confront the General. They must drive him out of Ha’rar to free the Vapran Clan.”

That’s a great mission name. 10/10, TDC: AOR: T. Top-notch.

Just going to make a guess here, based on nothing. The General mission will get the Vapran to join the resistance. The Seladon mission chain will get her to join the party. Either way, I really want to kick the General's butt.

I see two Paladins, an Adept, and the General. There's some open doors so I just bet that more units will spawn in.

The General has 2000 HP. Has Crushing Blow (probably massive damage to Stunned enemy), Intimidate (inflicts Attack DOwn, Defense Down, and Silence to enemies adjacent to SkekVar when he, I dunno, flexes or something), and Prod (shove and stun). Hopefully he's less annoying than the Chamberlain but thats a low bar. Zing.

Party: Rian (hero), Naia and Gurjin (my good fighters), Brea (this is her home darnit), and Breg (oh right, he's a Vapra too? Huh)

General: "So the heretics have returned!"

Rian: "You aren't taking these Paladins anywhere, drainer!"

General: "Take? The Paladins come freely. They are loyal. Not like that mother of yours."

Geez, General. Low blow.

Brea: "Murderer! You'll pay for killing her!"

So things are going ok. Making some missteps. But when I kill one of the Paladins, another one appears. So, yes. This is another level with new spawns.

Hah, but you can use levers to close the doors so no new spawns can spawn and if you do, SkekVar complains, asking where his minions went.

Well, as usual with fighting Skeksis, it was a bloodbath. He killed all my dudes but Gurjin. He shouldn't have overlooked Gurjin.

Since everyone died nobody leveled but Gurjin and he didn't learn anything new. BUUUUT I did get the Royal Scepter and the General's Hand Axe. And Brea just unilaterally declared the Vapran were joining the Resistance. Seladon is All-Maudra of nothing, I suppose.

In fairness, in this game, there was already a Vapran resistance that Seladon had arrested. So she had already lost the unity of her people by the time I showed up.

The General's Hand Axe is a big boost over the Dredged Axe I had already equipped to Rek'yr. Comes with a lot more stats and a little more slowness. I wish axes didn't slow down turns so much. In any case, this is going right on Rek'yr.

Comes with a quote too, as special weapons sometimes do. "No such thing as an honest skeksis. SkekVar gets the closest, but that's no compliment" - Maudra Fara.

Nice dunk, Fara.

Royal Scepter is the Vapra Clan Staff. Did... did we steal this from Seladon? 30% chance to Wound, 20% MP gain on hit. Feels appropriate to give this to Brea. Or Seladon if I unlock her.

OH, its the iconic crescent moon with crystal shaped staff. Nice.

And since Deet is still using a simple club, I'll give her the Drenchen Legends.

So a frustrating pair of play sessions but I got some good loots in the end.

[lady-divine-writes]

Husband, Guardian, Muse (Rated NC17) Chapter 2/3

Summary: After the untimely death of his husband and muse, Crowley tries to find the simplest, most foolproof way to join him. But in the days that follow, he discovers that sometimes what looks like an ending can turn out to be a beginning, and that no one is ever really gone if we find a way to remember them.

Human au. Warning for death, alcohol abuse, thoughts of suicide, but with a happy ending :)

Read on AO3.

Crowley spent five days fighting his fever, barely able to move, completely unable to keep anything down, and he was grateful for every excruciating second. It gave him something to think about besides the inevitable. Part of him hoped he wouldn’t get better, that the illness would do his job for him. He slept so deeply during that time, he thought he was dead, but instead of a peaceful eternity spent with Aziraphale, there was nothing – endless darkness until he woke again.

And that scared him most.

Because if there was nothing to go to after death, Aziraphale wasn’t only gone in the physical sense. It meant he no longer existed. And after their relatively short life together, Crowley would never see his beloved husband again.

On the sixth day, he had enough. His legs trembled and his stomach threatened to turn him inside out with every step he took, but he didn’t care.

It was time to get started.

Crowley refused to look at his phone. He wasn’t going to check his messages or his emails. He didn’t want to see pleas from their friends begging him to call them back, wondering how he was doing, asking how they could help. He got a taste of that at Aziraphale’s funeral, and each idea they had was the same. From short vacations to year-long trips around the world, they all wanted to take him away from his life, from his troubles … from everything that reminded him of his husband. Crowley knew that they meant well but he couldn’t. He had a connection to this cottage, not because it felt like a home, but because it felt like a mausoleum.

He couldn’t leave.

He did feel like a heel for not letting anyone know that he was alive … for the time being. Especially Tracy Shadwell. But if he texted Tracy or called her, Crowley would probably spill the beans, then everyone Crowley knew would be on his doorstep, ready to spend 24/7 sitting vigil by his bedside to make sure he didn’t down a bottle of pills.

It had occurred to Crowley that planning on killing himself was the worst way he could repay their friends, all of them, for their kindness, their love, and their never-ending support.

In that vein, what Crowley was doing could be considered unforgivable.

But he couldn’t concern himself with that, so he switched gears to something that aggravated the heck out of him, something he wouldn’t be sorry to leave behind.

Crowley knew he’d probably accrued over a dozen messages from village hall, calling with ideas for his painting, and he couldn’t care less. They had paid him in advance. They would get what he chose to paint for them and like it.

So what if they threatened to sue him?

He’d like to see them try.

This first painting, the one Aziraphale had chided him for putting off, was supposed to be a dramatic landscape view from a hilltop east of the county where they lived. He had planned to drive up there and map out the area, do some preliminary sketches, gauge his perspective. But those plans had also included a picnic lunch with Aziraphale, and then outdoor sex on their favorite blanket. Considering that that was no longer an option, Screw it, he thought. I’m gonna wing it.

It wouldn’t be a stretch. Crowley had this particular location set to memory. He and Aziraphale had driven all over it in Crowley’s Bentley. They knew the place by heart - where the roads led, the dips and curves that passed beneath the tall trees, where the creek crossed the old cow road, and the man-made trails that carved their lazy ways up and up.

He and Aziraphale had made love along most of those: in the back seat of his car parked hidden from view, even lying out on the grass under the sun on one or two more adventurous occasions.

One time in the rain.

Crowley sighed.

He was torturing himself now.

He needed it to hurt, or he might find himself content to live with the memories.

He chose a blank canvas from a pile of prepped ones on the floor and dropped it unceremoniously onto his easel.

This wasn’t going to be his best work. Far from it, as a matter of fact.

Why put one hundred percent into it? If you’ve seen one stinking landscape, you’ve seen them all. As long as it was a step up from something he’d find hanging in a Marriott, it’d be fine.

Crowley barely regarded the canvas before he started dropping paint on it, not giving a single fuck when the grass bled into the sky too far on one side, or how the hill looked more like a humpbacked snake than a majestically sweeping expanse of green. In his head, he could hear Aziraphale chuckling, high-pitched and giddy. Crowley grinned at the thought of Aziraphale standing beside him, teasing him over how lopsided his painting was, how it looked like someone taking hallucinogenic mushrooms had created it.

Crowley would shut him up by reaching out a stained hand and threatening his favorite coat.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale would screech. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me,” Crowley would reply. The painting abandoned, Crowley would chase Aziraphale throughout the cottage, skidding past furniture and dodging drying canvases along the way. Aziraphale would head outside in the hopes of saving his precious books, stacked on every flat surface, from being knocked to the ground. Crowley would follow, purposefully keeping several paces behind.

Because Aziraphale running was adorable to watch!

But not far from the patio, Aziraphale would grow tired and slow up, an old service injury in his knee flaring and causing it to ache. He’d call out breathlessly, “All right, you wily serpent, you! You win! I give! Just … stain it somewhere it won’t show!”

But Crowley wouldn’t ruin Aziraphale’s favorite coat. Not for the world.

Somewhere along the route he’d have grabbed a rag to start cleaning himself up.

He’d still win, of course - overtake Aziraphale in the end.

But only because it was fun.

Which meant he deserved a prize.

He’d grab Aziraphale round the waist and drag his body against him, panting and flushed and simply perfect in every way. The coat would be safe, but bits of paint would end up stuck to Aziraphale’s hair by the time they finished making love, clinging where Crowley ran his fingers through it, streaking the pale strands shades of rainbow. Aziraphale would catch it in a reflection somewhere and frown, but then he’d laugh, his eyes lighting up, the love radiating from them too magnanimous to contain.

Crowley stopped daydreaming when he felt tears leave his eyes. He wiped his cheeks on the sleeve of his work shirt, shoving away memories of an afternoon spent a colorful mess.

Crowley looked at his painting, prepared to mock the disaster he had wrought as a way of leaving that memory behind. He pictured the travesty of having this worthless piece of shit hanging at village hall with his name emblazoned on a brass plaque underneath and felt wryly satisfied. But then he stopped. He stared. His pallet slipped from his hands and crashed to the floor, spattering his shoes and marking the wood.

Gone were the globs of paint and the humpback snake.

During his fantasizing, he had fixed the painting, changed it from monstrosity to memory (and a vivid one at that) of the hillside in spring: wildflowers dotting the grass, the sun a suggestion in the quality of the light and the shadows it threw. If he had been aiming for perfection, consciously attempting to convey beauty and the promise of new life, he could never have been able to come close to this.

But recognition of his own exceptional technique wasn’t what drew his eye.

It was the stretch of road in the distance.

On it, a Bentley drove along with two passengers inside. Crowley assumed he was the one behind the wheel, but the man in the driver’s seat was most definitely Aziraphale, turning to gaze over his shoulder, sublime smile on his face.

He looked so happy, so carefree.

He looked so real.

Crowley reached out a hand, fingertips hovering over the place where Aziraphale’s face looked up at him.

“What the---?”

Honk, honk!

Crowley jumped at the wail of a car horn coming from his driveway. But once surprise subsided, it swiftly turned to annoyance. The idea that someone who couldn’t get him by phone had driven out to his cottage infuriated him!

Crowley considered not answering out of spite, but the urge to throw open his door and hurl insults at this intruder was too overwhelming to resist. He left the painting on its easel and stomped through the cottage to the front door.

Honk, honk!

“Yeah, yeah, I get it!” Crowley growled. “You’re so important, you can’t even get out of your car and ring the damn bell!”

Honk, honk!

“Come on, Crowley! Hurry up! We’re going to be late!”

Crowley stopped cold in his tracks.

He stood paralyzed, gaping like a dying fish, choking on the million words rushing to come out but couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything - couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. For what seemed like forever, he couldn’t make himself do anything.

Honk, honk!

“Crowley! You promised me a picnic! I have the blanket!”

“A-Aziraphale?” Crowley ran for the door. “Aziraphale? Angel?” He couldn’t believe he was saying it, as if Aziraphale would actually be there. He wanted to slap himself for even thinking it was a possibility. But there he was, reaching for the knob, hoping against hope for what he would see once he opened it.

Honk, ho -- -

The sound cut off when the door flew open, and for a second, Crowley heard a laugh and saw a flash of blue eyes in the passenger seat of his Bentley.

A Bentley that had been kept covered since the funeral.

He didn’t drive it home from the cemetery. Generous associates had it delivered when they heard it had been towed.

Crowley had been indifferent.

He didn’t think he’d actually drive it again.

Crowley stood in the doorway, his brain trying to reconcile what he was looking at.

A car.

It was just a car.

Nothing supernatural about it.

Crowley stepped outside and looked closer, examining it to find out why it had been honking on its own.

How a cover that fit snuggly had suddenly blown off.

Especially when there was no wind at present.

Crowley searched the driveway, the cottage, and the field beyond for some sign that someone, probably some stupid neighbor’s kid, had been pulling pranks. He covered the Bentley again, concentrating on it other than Aziraphale standing in the driveway honking the horn.

Praying it would stop his hands from shaking.

Crowley took one final look around before retreating back to the cottage. He double-locked the door behind him, feeling ridiculous when he did. He returned to the painting, to the peaceful hillside and the happy couple in the car driving off into the sunset.

A revulsion filled him.

It was too much.

It was all too much.

He couldn’t let village hall have this memory, and he couldn’t put on public display something that would never be again.

He grabbed a bottle of paint thinner and doused the painting, watching the colors run, the couple in their little car smearing down the canvas and dripping over the edge. He watched until the picturesque hillside was reduced to nothing more than slop. Then he turned his back on his memories and went to bed.

***

“Crowley! Are you going to wash my back or not?”

“Hold up, angel! I’m … uh … doing something”

“What are you …? Oh, God! Tell me you’re not masturbating … or something equally vulgar!”

“Ha! What if I am?”

“You know, my love, I’m pretty sure you’re going to wear that thing out with over use!”

“Never!”

“Wait … are you … sketching me!? I’m in the shower!”

“I know. That’s why I’m sketching you.”

“But I’m naked! And I … wait a minute … it … it can’t be that big, can it?”

“Yup.”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“Are you …?”

“Aziraphale, I just spent half-an-hour with your cock in my mouth. I think I know how big it is.”

“Oh. Well, continue on, then.”

Crowley woke to the sound of his own laughter. He felt so light, so happy. He laughed so hard, tears leaked from his eyes. It shook his head, which caused him to wake. The more conscious of his surroundings he became, the more aware he was of two things: a grainy texture on his fingertips, and the muted sound of falling water.

It was raining again.

Crowley opened his eyes. He didn’t want to, but he was curious about the substance on his skin. Eyes adjusting to the low light, a sketch pad and charcoal pencil came into view, lying beside him on the bed.

He’d been drawing in his sleep.

Unusual, but it had happened before.

He lifted up on his elbows to get a better look at the drawing. It was crude, but amazingly, one of his best. He blinked away more sleep in order to identify the subject.

Realization shot like an arrow through his chest, but he wasn’t surprised.

He had drawn Aziraphale taking a shower, hands tangled in his hair, steam rising around his body, a sly smile on his lips at being watched.

Crowley loved that smile.

He could get lost in that smile.

He got lost in it now, so lost, he barely remembered the rain. But not rain, he realized as the memory dissolved and Crowley’s mind began to wake.

The shower.

And above the sound of falling water, he heard another, more magnificent sound.

Someone humming.

Crowley bolted from his bed. It had to be real this time! There couldn’t be any doubt! The shower was only a few feet from where he lay. He heard the water and the humming as clear as day. Crowley raced into the bathroom, air thick with steam, mirrors covered in condensation. His heart leapt as the sounds became louder.

“Crowley! Is that you? I …”

Crowley threw the curtains open, ready to embrace his wet husband with open arms.

Everything stopped.

No water.

Steam gone.

The mirrors dry.

He stood in shock, staring at an empty shower of cream-colored tile.

Crowley found himself caught between emotions - a desire to howl in anger along with the beginnings of a complete nervous breakdown.

He chose anger, feeling it best if he stayed sane a little longer.

He tore down the shower curtain. He stormed through the bathroom and pulled the mirrors off the walls, tossed bottles left and right. He punched the tile, cracking the porcelain and cutting his hand. The stab of pain pulled his focus. He stared at his bleeding hand, his chest burning as his heart pounded to break through his ribcage. He stood among the wreckage of the master bath and sighed.

So much rage.

So much sadness.

So much useless destruction.

None of it was going to bring Aziraphale back.

Crowley made his way to the kitchen, past the wasted pallet on the floor, past the painting still dripping acrylic, and headed for the sink. He turned on the cold water and stuck his hand underneath. Head bowed over the basin, he watched the blood from his cuts rinse away. His eyes drifted closed as the water soothed his stinging hand. He imagined Aziraphale draping an arm around him, fussing over him, kissing his temples, massaging his neck, telling him everything would be alright.

When his hand went from stinging to numb, Crowley fumbled for the faucet with eyes closed and shut the water off.

In the silence, Crowley heard a sigh that wasn’t his own.

He didn’t open his eyes.

He wanted Aziraphale back.

But he was done seeing ghosts.

He wanted it all to end.

“Paint it,” Crowley heard a quiet voice say. “Paint what you want.”

When Crowley opened his eyes, the blue eyes he knew had been there were gone.