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bloody-bee-tea · 4 years ago

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Raise

Ever since he and Nie Mingjue broke up, Jiang Cheng has only been going through the motions. He’s still fulfilling his duties as a Sect Leader—his pride in his Sect won’t allow him to do anything else—but that’s about it.

There’s nothing in life to take enjoyment from anymore and Jiang Cheng feels a lot like he did right after the war, except with less existential dread. But he’s lost and unmoored and he doesn’t know what to do.

He hates it a little bit that Nie Mingjue still has this kind of power over him, but mostly he’s just fucking devastated.

Now he understands his sister and her tears and her sad smiles a bit better.

Getting your heart broken really is the worse and Jiang Cheng guesses it doesn’t help that at least he knows that Nie Mingjue felt the same for him.

Jin Zixuan was a complete asshole to his sister, which must have made it a little bit easier Jiang Cheng hopes, because he wishes this for no one.

When he realizes that he lost himself yet again in his own head, he scoffs. It’s been happening a lot lately, and usually all of his thoughts turn to Nie Mingjue but he can’t afford to slack off.

No matter what his second in command keeps telling him on a daily basis.

If Jiang Cheng would take a day for himself, he wouldn’t do anything but wallow in his misery anyway, and he prefers working over doing that.

So he goes on, and on, one letter after the other, until he made a considerable dent into the stack that built itself up during his last weeks with Nie Mingjue.

Jiang Cheng grinds his teeth together when he realizes that he’s yet again thinking about the other man and he slams his hand on the table in his rage.

He really wonders just how long this will go on; how long he will be haunted by the thought of Nie Mingjue. Right now, he hears Nie Mingjue’s laugh echo in the hallways they frequently walked together, he feels Nie Mingjue’s phantom touch on his shoulder whenever he sits hunched over some work for too long, and he still feels all the love Nie Mingjue had for him.

But duty comes first, Jiang Cheng understands that. He doesn’t have to like it, but he understands.

“You can’t just—no, wait,” Jiang Cheng suddenly hears from outside and he lifts his head a second before someone barges into his study.

“You fucking asshole,” is what Nie Huaisang greets him with and Jiang Cheng knew that the break-up would throw a little bit of a wrench into their friendship, but he didn’t expect this.

“Huaisang,” he still greets his old friend, but he figures he shouldn’t have when Nie Huaisang glares at him, clearly too agitated to even get his fan out.

“Do not even dare,” Nie Huaisang hisses. “You absolute fucking asshole. You said you would love him!”

“I do,” Jiang Cheng says with a sigh, getting up to close the door behind Nie Huaisang, hoping that not all of Lotus Pier heard him yet.

“Yeah, I can tell,” Nie Huaisang sarcastically gives back. “It’s so very evident in the way you broke up with him.”

“Don’t be unfair,” Jiang Cheng whispers, but he can’t meet Nie Huaisang’s eyes.

It still hurts too much.

“Unfair. Unfair! The only one being unfair here is you!”

“Huaisang,” Jiang Cheng snaps, now slowly getting angry himself.

He can understand the protective instinct of a sibling, but this is really going to far. It’s not Jiang Cheng’s fault, and he didn’t actually want to break up with Nie Mingjue, but since it was what Nie Mingjue had wanted, he had done it.

And it seemed unfair to be attacked over this now.

“No. I’m going to ruin you,” Nie Huaisang lowly says and while usually Jiang Cheng wouldn’t give much thought to a threat like this, he knows that if Nie Huaisang really wants to, he will.

Going by the glare Jiang Cheng gets, Nie Huaisang really wants to.

“Why? It’s not my fault,” Jiang Cheng snaps at him and Nie Huaisang laughs right in his face.

“Right, not your fault. Of course not. How could it be? You’re just the guy who broke up with my brother.”

“Because he wanted to!” Jiang Cheng shouts at him, his heart still hurting so damn much and that at least is enough to shut Nie Huaisang up for a few seconds.

“He wanted to,” Nie Huaisang lowly repeats. “That’s what you’re going with? Really?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jiang Cheng asks, suddenly drained of all energy and he goes to sit back down at the table.

He doesn’t want to fight with Nie Huaisang and he doesn’t want to do it while standing up, and all he really wants to do is go crawl into bed with Nie Mingjue and curl up against his chest, but it’s not like he’ll ever be able to do that again.

“My brother finally opens up to you about the qi deviations and your first instinct is to run away and break up with him? And now you’re trying to twist it like it was actually his idea? You’re really something else, Jiang-zongzhu. I thought better of you.”

“That’s not what happened, Huaisang,” Jiang Cheng says with a small frown, because Jiang Cheng remembers that conversation a lot differently, and he was actually present.

“Then enlighten me,” Nie Huaisang hisses. “What did happen?”

Jiang Cheng desperately doesn’t want to speak about it—the pain still too near and fresh—but Nie Huaisang is levelling him with a look that promises pain and absolute ruin if Jiang Cheng doesn’t start speaking like five seconds ago and so he sighs.

“He told me about the qi deviations,” Jiang Cheng says, because so far they are on the same page. “That he’ll die soon and young and violently.”

“And you left him for it,” Nie Huaisang says with a nod, as if there could be no doubt about it.

“I love him. Do you really think that low of me?” Jiang Cheng asks, a new kind of hurt finding its place in his chest.

Jiang Cheng thought he was long over being hurt by people being disappointed in him, but it seems like he was wrong.

“Seeing as he is back home, absolutely devastated and you’re going on like nothing happened, I think the only possible answer can be yes,” Nie Huaisang sneers at him and Jiang Cheng sees red.

“I have to do this,” Jiang Cheng yells and shoots up. “I have to because if I don’t keep busy, if I don’t distract myself, I’ll be a fucking shell. I want to do nothing more than to crawl into bed and cry for a good week but what good is that going to do me? It’s not going to get me Mingjue back and my Sect actually still needs me. I was miserable all through the war and for a good while after and I don’t want to feel like that again. And besides; he made his choice. What use is there for me to cry after him.”

“He made his choice? The audacity you have! And don’t raise your voice at me like that,” Nie Huaisang gives back, clearly unfazed by Jiang Cheng’s explosion and it cuts all of Jiang Cheng’s strings.

It doesn’t matter what he tells Nie Huaisang, he realizes. He has his mind already made up.

“He told me about the qi deviations and that his Sect must come first,” Jiang Cheng still mutters. “He needs an heir.”

Jiang Cheng barely gets the words out, and he hates himself a little for how his eyes well up almost immediately. It’s been almost a week by now and the words still hurt as much as they did when they left Nie Mingjue’s mouth.

In front of him, Nie Huaisang freezes.

“What?”

“He said he needs to prepare, that he needs someone to take over eventually. It’s not that hard to understand his meaning,” Jiang Cheng whispers.

Nie Mingjue needs an heir. And for that he needs a wife. It’s as easy as that.

“Did he say it like that?” Nie Huaisang asks and Jiang Cheng nods miserably.

“That fucking idiot,” Nie Huaisang mutters and finally sits down himself, slamming his fan on the table. “Listen here, Wanyin,” he says and Jiang Cheng wonders when he switched back to being Wanyin again.

“I’m listening,” Jiang Cheng says because clearly Nie Huaisang is waiting for a response from him.

Though he’s not quite sure he can take any more accusations today.

“My brother is an idiot,” Nie Huaisang solemnly says and Jiang Cheng fights the immediate urge to defend Nie Mingjue.

He’s not sure he still has that right.

“Why?” he asks instead, because it seems like the safer option.

“I am his heir,” Nie Huaisang tells him and Jiang Cheng goes very still. “When father died and da-ge decided to not take a wife, they wrote that down somewhere. I’m to inherit the Sect should anything happen to my brother.”

“He—it didn’t sound like that when we talked,” Jiang Cheng carefully says.

It makes no sense. Nie Mingjue had looked sad as he had said that he needs to prepare. Why would he look sad if he already has an heir.

“There was sadness on his face when he said it,” Jiang Cheng weakly goes on, because he still remembers that look and it cuts him just as much as it did then.

“It was probably regret. Da-ge wanted to give me an intensive few months of Sect Leader training, so that he could hand off the reigns sooner, before his qi deviations get really bad. He resolved himself to not see you during those months, because he said you distract him too much.”

“No, he—” Jiang Cheng starts, putting his head in his hands. “That’s not how that conversation went.”

“Clearly, it’s not,” Nie Huaisang says drily. “But we both know da-ge and we know you. Both of you tend to draw your own conclusions. Da-ge thought he made himself perfectly clear—asking for a few months with nothing but letters for contact—and you thought he was breaking up with you. I can see where you would get that idea from, don’t take me wrong—da-ge is horribly bad at wording things—but it’s not what he wanted. He’s moping and heartbroken at home. I didn’t even get any training yet.”

“You hate training,” Jiang Cheng mutters, his head spinning.

“I like logistics and getting people to do what I want,” Nie Huaisang corrects. “And I would like my brother to be happy again,” he tacks on, with a raised eyebrow.

Jiang Cheng swallows.

“He doesn’t want to take a wife?” he asks, just to make sure. “He doesn’t want to sire an heir?”

“He does want to adopt a kid with the guy he had been courting for a while,” Nie Huaisang says, absolutely nonchalant as if it’s not blowing Jiang Cheng’s mind to hear that Nie Mingjue thought about a little family of their own.

“Really?” Jiang Cheng asks, his voice full of hope and his heart hammering away in his chest.

“Really,” Nie Huaisang assures him, finally picking up his fan and flicking it open with the by now so familiar gesture.

“I think I have to cut your visit here short, then,” Jiang Cheng says, already scrambling to his feet.

“You go on ahead,” Nie Huaisang waves him off, draping himself over the table. “The flight here was way too exhausting for me.”

“Sure,” Jiang Cheng says, rolling his eyes, but not actually bothering to convince Nie Huaisang.

If he flies alone he can push himself as much as he wants, and then he gets to see Nie Mingjue sooner.

~*~*~

Jiang Cheng doesn’t bother to announce his arrival and Nie Mingjue’s disciples clearly don’t deem it necessary to do it, either, it seems, because Jiang Cheng simply barges into Nie Mingjue’s quarters without anyone telling him.

“What are you doing here?” Nie Mingjue asks him, his voice rough and Jiang Cheng sees the dark circles under his eyes and how pale he is.

It seems they both didn’t deal well with the temporary break-up.

“Huaisang invaded Lotus Pier,” Jiang Cheng tells him and Nie Mingjue immediately draws himself up.

“Whatever he said, don’t listen to him. I respect your choice,” Nie Mingjue reassures him and Jiang Cheng wants to go to him and hug him and kiss him, but for now he simply rolls his eyes.

“He said there was a misunderstanding.”

“A what?”

“You said you need someone to take over the Sect. You never mentioned Huaisang. I thought you meant you want to take a wife,” Jiang Cheng explains in as little words as possible, because he is dying with the urge to finally get his hands on Nie Mingjue again.

“A wife,” Nie Mingjue repeats and blinks. “If anything she would be the second wife, because I intent to marry you.”

Jiang Cheng flushes bright red at that, but his heart is dancing in his chest. With happiness, for a change.

“Yeah, I should hope so,” Jiang Cheng says and dares to step closer. “But I understand duty to your Sect and so when you said it like that—”

“You thought I would ask you to step back so I can focus on my Sect. You would have allowed me to take a wife?” Nie Mingjue asks and Jiang Cheng shrugs.

“Duty comes first,” he says because if he learned anything in his youth then it’s that. “I understand that. I didn’t like it, but it sounded sensible to me.”

“Nothing about that is sensible, I love you, what the hell would I ever do without you?”

Find someone else to love, Jiang Cheng wants to say, but Nie Mingjue doesn’t let him, because with two big steps he’s right in front of him and he doesn’t hesitate to crush Jiang Cheng to his chest.

“What would I even do without my heart?” he whispers again and Jiang Cheng’s resolve is broken.

He slings his arms around Nie Mingjue and presses himself as close as he can get, his breath leaving him in shuddering bursts.

“I didn’t like it,” Jiang Cheng chokes out. “I missed you so much. I love you.”

“Never think something like this again,” Nie Mingjue begs him. “I would never do that to you, not for any duty in the world.”

“Okay,” Jiang Cheng weakly says and Nie Mingjue presses a kiss to his head.

“Not for any duty,” he repeats and Jiang Cheng nods.

“Okay, alright,” he gets out, his voice choked up with tears.

For once they are tears of happiness because he’s finally back where he belongs.

Link to my ko-fi

#bt writes #mingcheng #the untamed #mdzs #angst #misunderstandings #temporary break-up #getting back together #hurt/comfort #nmj is alive #nhs is the best friend #and brother #and he will not let either of them forget it

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wri0thesley · 4 years ago

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Hi! I love your writing and I may or may not have stalked your blog a little. I saw requests were open, if you're ok with this can you write poly Bruabba's first time with a virgin s/o. Please?

Have a nice day!

shared - abbacchio x reader x bruno (2k)

everything always seems to be perfect, when it’s with them

afab reader, neutral pronouns aside from one use of ‘principessa’. not sfw! threesome/poly relationship, first time. oral sex.

“We’ll be very gentle with you,” Bruno had murmured, humming against your ear, his fingers resting on your hips as you were cradled in his lap. In front of you, Abbacchio has already lost his shirt and his trousers, and now his pale hands are reaching for you, carefully lacquered nails taking hold of the hem to tug it upwards. “Leone can be a little rough, but even he can will himself to something a bit more considerate.”

Abbacchio snorts at Bruno’s words, but then your shirt is coming off and you’re just in front of them in your bra, hungry eyes raking over the newly exposed skin. You feel your cheeks heat up, squirming in Bruno’s lap.

“Says you,” Abbacchio says. “Amore, don’t let his ‘kind man of the people’ act fool you. In bed, he can be every bit as depraved as I can--”

“Leone,” Bruno’s voice has a light laugh. You know, from whispers in your ear and romantic notions put into your head, that Abbacchio is probably right – but still, as Bruno’s hands move up from your hips to lodge in the spaces of your ribcage, your head comes to rest on Bruno’s shoulder. You sigh into the air as careful fingers unclip your bra, the fabric falling from you – your nipples peaking in the cool night-time air.

“Look at you,” Abbacchio murmurs. The scratch of his nails down your stomach as he goes for the zipper of your jeans next sends a lightning flash of warmth through you, a curious heat and heaviness between your thighs. “You’re so pretty, tesoro.” The loving pet name coming from between Abbacchio’s lips makes your heart skip a beat – he’s usually rather less romantic than Bruno is, though when you look at his ice-pale eyes you see they’re all melted and softened by fondness. Bruno’s thumbs brush over your nipples, making you shiver, and making Bruno’s lips where you can see them from the corner of your eye tilt into a smirk.

“So responsive,” he coos, enthralled, repeating the motion so you squirm once more. You’re aware of a heat between your thighs, a kind of slick pounding that makes your head spin. “I wonder how many times we can make you come between us tonight.”

Your jeans are unbuttoned, peeled down your thighs – your legs spread. Abbacchio stares down at the place between your legs, where your underwear is slick and clinging deliciously to your damp folds, with the air of a man looking at a beautiful work of art.

His reaches, fingers skimming your bare thigh – thumb tracing the indent of the valley between them, barely skimming your pulsing clit where it’s pressing against the fabric. You sigh against Bruno, back half-arching into the touch, heart pounding a consistent rhythm in your ears.

“I can smell you,” Abbacchio growls.

“Perhaps you should taste,” comes Bruno’s suggestion, vested in teasing – but there’s a steely quality to his words that makes you think that perhaps he is not merely making a suggestion. It’s a quality that both you and Abbacchio seem to respond to – the pale-haired man bites his lip briefly, for a fleeting moment – before he ducks his head and chuckles.

“You’re so wet,” he tells you, as his thumbs hook into the waistband – as you’re rid of that scrap of fabric too, and your sex is bared entirely for Abbacchio to drink in.

Drink in he does.

First, with his eyes – caressing the length of your slit, drawn to the fluttering hole and your plump clit, how the pink folds are glistening with your own slick. And then, as he settles on his knees and leans forward and breathes in, he turns his attention to drinking you in with his mouth.

The first long, hot lick of his tongue against your sex you keen; as he lathes the blunt wetness against your heated core, your hands reach up to cling to Bruno’s neck, your own fingers twisting in the other man’s silky dark hair. Bruno’s eyes are trained between your thighs, to where Abbacchio is lapping at you like you’re water in a dessert.

“He looks so good there, hmm?” Bruno asks, and you look down and see exactly what Bruno sees – subservient Abbacchio, eyes unfocussed as he concentrates on how the sweetness of your nectar tastes on his tongue. “I’m probably better at this than he is, but it doesn’t mean he’s not good--”

“Aa—hnn, ‘m--” Your words are lost as Abbacchio’s tongue teases at the tip of your clit, rolling the sensitive nub over and around. Bruno chuckles dark and deep.

“Next time, I’ll get to use my mouth on you,” he murmurs. “And he can watch. Would you like that, principessa?”

“Y-yes,” you breathe, as Abbacchio ramps up the speed of how his tongue is flicking over your clit. You can feel your body responding with tight vibrations of need, like you’re being lit on a hundred tiny fires. Your fingers desperately rake through Bruno’s hair still, as your voice turns into a collection of shaky whines instead of anything coherent. As Abbacchio sucks your clit into his mouth to suckle on it, Bruno murmurs;

“We’re just preparing you, you know. So you’re slick and wet and ready when we get to finally fuck you--” and you are pushed over the edge, by Bruno’s velvet-edged voice. Fireworks in your stomach, the sound of waves rushing in your ears, Abbacchio’s tongue easing you over the highest peak and the smaller aftershocks that come next. He pulls back from your sex with his mouth glimmering with your wetness, and he kisses Bruno like he’s sharing the taste,

The younger gangster does not disappoint, moaning in pleasure as their mouth sloppily glide together. Bruno’s dark ocean eyes go half-lidded with enjoyment.

“You taste divine,” he tells you, and he kisses your cheek. Your limbs are still pleasantly fuzzy, your body still not caught up with anything else after the shake and rock of your orgasm, so as Abbacchio gently eases you off Bruno’s lap and lays you down among the pillows, you have nothing to say or do except smile fuzzily at them.

“Do you think you’re ready to carry on?” The silver-haired man asks, settling into the bed next to you, brushing hair from your forehead. “You can let us know if you need a break, we won’t hold it against you – this is for you, as much as it’s for us--”

Your attention is caught by Bruno pulling down his trousers. There’s been a respectable tent in them all the while you were squirming as you were eaten out by Abbacchio, but as the clothing item is finally stripped off from him completely, you see that ‘respectable’ is not quite the right word.

“He’s thick,” Abbacchio says, and the hunger in his voice is palpable. “He fills you up exactly right, tesoro, I promise--”

Bruno gives his shaft a few pumps, showing off in front of both of your enraptured gazes. The smile on his face is lazy – he knows that you both like what you see very much indeed. It doesn’t mean he’s not going to make fun of you, though.

“You don’t need to stare, Leone,” Bruno chides, smug. “You’ve had it in you enough times . . . And you,” he turns his attention to you, raising an eyebrow, murmuring your name in a way that makes your toes curl and the liquid heat between your thighs feel like it’s molten lava. “You’ll get to know it just as well, soon. Better to learn it with your body, don’t you think? I won’t ruin you, your first time.”

You’d thought you’d be more anxious about your first time, let alone your first time with them. But Bruno and Abbacchio are not making it a big deal, beyond the fact that they’re focused on your pleasure, on making sure that everything is comfortable for you – they aren’t making a song-and-dance about it, they’re just . . . treating you how they always do, with extra genitals and nakedness involved. They’re barely mentioning that it’s your first time ever, the fear of disappointing them being pushed somewhere far in the back of your mind--

“Yes,” you breathe, urging your thighs wider apart and winning a chuckle from Bruno. Bruno moves closer to you, settling himself on his knees between your legs. He adjusts the angle of his cock, brushing it over your sex, coating it in your slick juices and Abbacchio’s fluids too – before he gently sinks inside of you, the head catching on the rim of your entrance.

A soft noise of surprise escapes you at the stretch. Immediately, one big hand is grabbing yours, fingers entangling – Abbacchio, murmuring something softly about how good you are that you can’t fully parse because another hand has grabbed your other hand, lacing those fingers together. This hand is tan, a definite shudder in the clench of his knuckles – one hand held by one boyfriend, the other held by the other.

Bruno takes his time sheathing his cock inside you. You’re tight around him, clinging to his walls like you’ll barely fit him, and he does it for both of your benefits – but oh, the slick walls pulsing around him and how the mould so well. The little pants escaping your pretty mouth. His eyes flicker from you, your eyelashes fluttering and your mouth half-open and pleasure-daze clouding your vision – to Abba, who looks like the two most beautiful angels in all of heaven have come down to spend time with him in particular. He’s worshipful. If Bruno were a different man, and you were different too, perhaps that look would have made you both conceited. Instead, you smile dreamily at the two of them, your gaze flittering from one to another with an air that seems to say ‘I love you’ over and over again.

He hilts. He’s as deep in you as he can go, all snug and hot and tight and wet – and he pulls out a little, and drives in again, revelling in the wet sounds of your intimate areas echoing through the room.

You’re so wet for him. You’re so good, for both of them – your hand slack in Abbacchio’s as you moan out first Bruno’s name and then Abbacchio’s, aware that even if it is Bruno that’s fucking you right now, all of this pleasure is a team effort.

You’re perfect.

Bruno’s hips pick up speed as he finds a rhythm – not too fast, not too slow. The perfect middle ground that you feel every vein and throb of his shaft, but not so slow that you concentrate on the stretch and burn. Your head is rolling around on the pillow, beads of sweat forming at your hairline as you pant and gasp out along with Bruno’s own thrusts. Abbacchio’s sighing, unconsciously bucking his hips as he watches the two of you – he’ll need some gentle handling later, and you wonder if Bruno will help teach you how to make Abbacchio feel as good as the paler-haired man had made you feel.

Bruno’s thrusts begin to get sharper, his hips seeming to hit you just a little deeper. As he continues to fuck your welcoming walls, a sharpness appears in his eye and a slight grit to his teeth – you realise, as he groans out your name again, that he’s rapidly approaching his own orgasm.

“Bruno,” you whimper, trying to move your hips in tandem with his though you can’t help but feel that your movements are sloppy and uncoordinated, nowhere near good enough to compare with the glide of Bruno’s cock inside you. “Feels . . . feels so good--”

Bruno laughs, a breathless noise.

“You just wait until we can both get in you at the same time, amore.” That one is Abbacchio, dark and gritty – and Bruno groan-laughs at it, his hips twitching, jerking into you with a sudden lack of finesse as you feel a creamy heat and thickness fill you. Bruno pushes his come inside you with a few more weak jabs of his hips before he pulls out, your combined release dripping out of you even after Bruno’s efforts.

“You did so well,” Bruno coos at you, bringing a hand to stroke the side of your face. “So perfect, tesoro . . . so perfect for us--” His eyes have gone half-lidded and his voice is slurred with sleep and pleasure as he pets at you, even these clumsy movements making you feel warm and safe.

“Not quite perfect, “ Abbacchio says. His voice is a little dry. You raise your sleepy eyes to look at him – and your gaze is immediately drawn to the place between his thighs, where he’s wearing only underwear, where the long imprint of his cock is clearly visible in a state that’s best described as ‘straining’. “Someone who’s perfect wouldn’t leave me with this problem--”

Bruno laughs that laugh again, deep and rich like the first coffee you’d ever shared with them on a crisp spring day.

“Who says we’re leaving you, caro?” He asks – he turns to you, smirking. “Do you want another first time lesson, amore?”

You swallow, eyeing the bulge in Abbacchio’s pants, the swollen lips from where you suppose he must have bitten down on them to try and distract from how turned on he was.

“Yes,” you whispers. “Absolutely.”

#not sfw #writing #poly ship tag #leone abbacchio x reader #bruno buccellati x reader #bruabba x reader #poly bruabba #leone abbacchio #brunobuccellati #jojo postin #Anonymous

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silhouetteofacedar · 4 years ago

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Pearl, Ch. 5: Marche Funèbre

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

It’s just another Tuesday.

Scully’s been telling herself that all morning as a kind of mantra in an attempt to calm her nerves. It’s not working.

It’s just another Tuesday, and she’s getting ready for an unremarkable workday. She showers, blowdries her hair, puts on the little pearl earrings her father gave her when she finished her undergrad.

In another timeline, in the life her parents wanted for her, she would be putting these earrings on beneath a lacy white veil. Her mother and sister would fuss over her dress, adjusting the train and making sure it hung well on her healthy frame, pressing a sprawling bouquet of flowers into her arms.

But that’s not her reality; in this timeline, she’s alone in her bedroom, putting on the creamy beige suit she’s worn to the office several times already. Her mother doesn’t know, and her sister is dead.

She feels oddly like she’s preparing for her own funeral, albeit a little premature. Will my mother have me cremated, or will they bury me in something I never wore? she wonders.

She thinks of Mulder then, a spouse in name only, and her stomach clenches.

Don’t go there, Dana. Tuesday.

She barely eats breakfast; cautiously nibbling at dry toast, wincing as it sticks in her throat. Her appetite has shrunk considerably lately, and her nervousness this morning isn’t helping. She gulps a glass of tepid water, eyeing the clock in the kitchen.

She doesn’t have to be at the office for another hour, but she decides to go in anyway.

She arrives a half hour early and is surprised to see that Mulder is already there. He rarely arrives before her unless he’s preparing a slideshow or simply never went home the night before. She would usually assume he slept in his desk chair, except this morning he’s freshly shaved and wearing a suit that’s still crisp from the cleaners, a blue striped tie neatly fastened at his neck.

As soon as he notices her enter the room, he covers his eyes and spins his chair away from her. “Bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony,” he says, attempting levity. The joke falls flat.

“Good morning to you, too,” Scully replies drily, setting her briefcase on her chair. “You’re early.”

He peeks at her over his shoulder and turns back to face her. “Yeah, I, uh, thought I should get a head start on some paperwork since we’re taking a long lunch today.”

Long lunch. Is that what they call eloping nowadays?

Scully raises a brow. “That’s surprisingly reasonable of you, Mulder; are you feeling okay?”

He huffs a laugh. “I could use some coffee,” he admits. “Didn’t get the best sleep last night.”

A clumsy response flits around in her mouth, about the quality of sleep one should expect from a leather sofa, but she swallows it. Instead she pulls out her day planner, leafing through the pages until she reaches March eighteenth, scanning her notes. “We have a meeting with Skinner at ten,” she reminds him, setting the book down on the desk. “I’ll get us some coffee from upstairs, and then we can dig into that inbox.” She gives him a tight little smile before leaving the office in search of caffeine.

Mulder’s had a rough morning.

He woke up just after five and thrashed about on his couch for half an hour before giving up on sleep altogether. He threw on some clothes and went for a nippy predawn run, relishing the lactic acid burn in his sleepy muscles; chasing one ache down with another.

Back at home he showered and scrubbed every inch of his body clean, even though Scully wouldn’t see it. He shaved carefully, slowly tracing his jaw with the razor. He didn’t want a single nick to mar his skin today.

Every thought, every movement, every little choice he made this morning, was for her.

It was almost funny, them both arriving to the office early and desperately pretending everything was normal. He hopes this new fog of awkwardness around them eventually dissipates; the whole point of this arrangement was that, in spite of legal status, their relationship wouldn’t change.

Scully retreats to find them coffee, and Mulder heaves a sigh, slumping over his desk. He’s going to wrinkle his shirt, but what does it matter? As far as anyone else knows, it’s just another Tuesday.

He glances down and sees Scully’s date book open on the desk, filled with notes and appointments in her neat, slanting script. He angles it toward himself and casually scans the day’s page, two appointments catching his eye.

Get married, 1:00

Chemo, 4:00

He grips the edge of the desk, inhaling sharply. That deep, forbidden feeling hits him like a wave of nausea, rolling sickly sweet through his stomach. He wants to throw the book away, hide under his desk, dissolve into panic on the worn gray carpet of their office. She’s breaking her remaining days into neat little pieces, organizing them tightly in the grids of her calendar, squeezing every last drop of time out of them. And giving that time to him.

This is the worst way to want a woman, he decides. Selfishly lapping up every spilled second, thirsting for more than she can give. Probably more than she wants to give.

Scully walks back into the office, two styrofoam cups in hand. Mulder feels a quick burst of shame at having been caught reading her appointment book, as though it was a secret diary and not a simple calendar.

“It’s at one, in case you forgot,” Scully says, passing him a cup. Coffee, black, one sugar like always. She sits in the chair opposite him, hands cradling a cup of what appears to be tea, judging from the little paper tag fluttering from a string hanging out of it. He wonders how the ring in the small box in his pocket would look on her slender hands.

“Mulder,” she prompts, casting her eyes up at him as she blows on the surface of her drink to cool it.

“Sorry, was I staring?” he asks.

“Mm,” she nods, taking a careful sip. “I’m fine, if that’s what-”

“No, no,” he says quickly. “You. Um. You look very nice today, actually. That’s all.”

Her cheeks remain pale. “Oh. Well, thank you,” she says calmly. “You look very nice today too.”

That was the idea, Mulder thinks desperately, painfully. I wore this tie to match your eyes.

The minute hand on the clock lurches silently forward.

#pearl #my fic #txf fic #msr #cancer arc #marriage of convenience #secret marriage #mmm i love angst with my morning bagel #also i'm moving out of state so i'm busy as FUCK packing all my shit #i'm doing my darndest for yall okay xx

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itsnothingofinterest · 4 years ago

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I’ve often said that it seems like a lot of the main pros below All Might seem to end up representing serious flaws in hero society; specifically the ones on the hero side of things. So as a fun little exercise I thought I’d go over all those main pros and what flaws they represent (should be easy, they’re usually their own personal character flaws). Maybe also give my assessment to what I think their chances of living to the end of the series are while I’m at it, since representing serious flaws in the old guard can be hazardous to your health if treated poorly.

Endeavor

A man who needs no introduction if you’re any kind of HeroAca fan. love or hate him, everyone knows the new no.1.

Funnily enough, he’s actually the main exception to the rule we mentioned before about a pros’ character flaw being the flaw they thematically represent. See, his character flaw is that he focus so much on heroics, his career in heroics, or just his own general needs over his family; to the point that he only had a family to have children he could live vicariously though, and felt no obligation to love the ones he couldn’t live through. What he represents, is actually two-fold: 1) the toxicity of the ranking system which makes heroics so competitive and encourage heroes focus on some arbitrary number, and 2) the power heroes have that let them do horrible things and get away with it. They’re connected concepts, for sure, but not exactly synonymous.

And with that said, what are his chances of survival? Well, the ranking toxicity is out of his hands, but besides that...it can be hard to tell. He has, under semi-aggressive guidance of his family, publicly taken responsibility for the things he’s done and vowed to make up for it; which helps his chances considerably. But in that same scene he also said that the only way he can atone is to keep doing what he’s always done; beat up villains and at least 1 family member. It sends a mixed message. But in general; I want to say that he’s gotten enough development that he doesn’t feel set to fail his arc now. I’d be tempted to say his chances look pretty good...were it not for all the separate reasons I think he’s likely to die anyway. Oh well, no one’s situation can be perfect.

Hawks

The controversial hero; Hawks!

I’ve summarized Hawks’ main flaw before as ‘hubris’, partially because he’s an Icarus figure so generalizing it like that feels clever, but it’s a bit more complex than that. Hawks main flaw isn’t so much pride as it is self-righteousness. Hawks represents the belief that everything is just right as it is, and the status quo must therefore be protected at all costs. A denial that the heroes he believes in have done anything wrong even after staring their mistakes in the face and spending months talking with those the heroes failed. In fact to contrast Endeavor’s line to the press; Hawks tried to excuse what he did as though it had to be done. That’s the opposite of promising.

With that said, what are his chances of survival? Well, I’d actually put him at 50/50 odds; since I see 2 endings for him, and it’s too early to tell which is more likely. See, while we’ve only got two instances of a “pattern,” Hawks seems like a guy who falls to the ground, recovers and gets back up, only to fall even further down because he never learns. So his two futures are either: A) To actually learn. Take a fall so hard that in the aftermath, he can’t convince himself he was right all along. Maybe he gets Endeavor killed, or does something to sever their relationship. Something that’d force him to self-reflect. B) To take a fall so hard it proves fatal; his mistakes catching up to him in a way that doesn’t give him a chance to self-reflect.

Best Jeanist

Sir Long Neck McImagine Obsession himself.

Best Jeanist represents the self-interest in hero society can have over justice itself. Already known for being focused on superficial image; he’s dramatic reappearance revealed just how deep that went. For when it’s revealed by a villain that a hero has committed great crimes that ended up motivating that villain’s actions; Jeanist’s immediate concern was the damage this would do to the reputation of heroes. More than what kind of person he’s been working alongside, and even more than saving lives, Jeanist’s first thought went the wellbeing of the industry he works in and how bad they would collectively look to the public; that’s what he’s most angry at Dabi for.

Chances of survival are...maybe 40-50%? There’s no real leaning one way or another frankly, so that kind of feels like it’d put him at even odds for the exact opposite reason as Hawks. Will he live? Will he die? Who can say? Leaning just a bit towards death though, because again, representing flaws in the old guard can be hazardous to your health.

Mirko

And here we have the violent one.

While I’m tempted to lump this one with Hawks, I actually think Ms.Mirko represents the heroes use of incredible violence best. See, Mirko is someone who really likes to beat people up, even once in a spin-off said Bakugou’s drive to murder was a good thing in a hero. And while she won’t even feel the need to kill like Hawks apparently did, her response to fighting the High End Nomu was something like “finally, some villains I get to just kill with no ethical issues, that makes things easy”. (Which, considering the High Ends are sentient is, um, hmm). Her love of violence borders on villainous, and she freely admits it is simple obligation that prevents her from crossing that boundary. It’s reminiscent of when Shigaraki pondered what the difference really was between heroes’ & villains’ violence. And, well, if it closes the gap in morality between heroes and villains, it’s going on this list.

Regarding her chances of survival, like Jeanist she’s not exactly defined enough to really say anything for sure or end up on any extreme end; I’ve no real reason to think she’s very likely live or die. That said; on the one hand she seems a bit more eagerly reveling in the flaw she represents, plus a blood knight getting back into the fight after sustaining heavy injuries is never a good sign. On the other hand, Horikoshi clearly likes her for reasons we won’t address here. I think I’m gonna average it out to 50%. Maybe even 60%.

Kamui Woods & Mt. Lady

You wouldn’t think some of the most plain as bread heroes would be joining the ranks of the problematic, and in fairness that’s because they mostly aren’t, but they are the ones who best represent a serious issues with heroes. They represent the way heroes will focus on flashiness & the problems they cause/exasperate in the process. Misconduct performed in the quest for fame; in so many words. Kamui showed this in chapter 1; calling a giant purse snatcher “evil incarnate” because that villain was attention grabbing and disturbing the peace. This is especially noticeable in hindsight, after we’ve see some real problems heroes could be dealing with but aren’t; like lost children on their way to becoming villains. And Mt. Lady represent it by how she operates in a big city despite her powers really working better for more rural or neighborly environments; because city work makes her more popular and rakes in the cash (that she loses paying for repairs).

That said, even if those are flaws I feel are highly associated with them, none of that is stuff they’re actively involved in; they’re naïve at best, and have already improved considerably (for minor characters at least) into better heroes. Frankly speaking, their changes of survival are probably averaging at 85% (80% for Kamui, 90% for Mt.). Like, they’re not gag characters per se; but they’re not super serious characters, they’re not connected to the MCs in any real way, and they don’t knowingly contribute to any of society’s corruptions. Really, so long as big H doesn’t really want to off someone we know for a shock, they’re probably fine.

Gran Torino

And lastly, the only non-big shot on the list, the unpleasant old geezer himself; Gran Torino!

What GT represents better than any other, I think, is the idea of passing any blame a hero may have for the actions/very existence of a villain on to the villain in question, thus allowing the heroes to better absolve themselves. You know like how with Shigaraki, he ignores any fault he has with that guys’ existence and simplifies him down to a criminals they can only beat down; and how dare he exist and thereby hurt Toshinori’s feelings. On that note, I’d say he also represents the idea that the villains are what they are, they’re too far gone, and there’s nothing the heroes can do about it. The most convenient excuse to not ever have to try to make up for what they did wrong, which you can’t even blame them too much for because they “tried their best” (even if they really didn’t).

So, what are his odds? Well frankly I wanna put him at 0% just cause he’s so old that if a villain doesn’t get him, time will. But that’s cheating. In actuality, it’s hard to say; dude’s a stubborn old man, and it really feels like it will depend on his ability to admit how wrong he handled things regarding Tomura. Now admittedly, he did admit to making the wrong choice in handling Kotaro, but he’s said nothing of Tomura so far. For now I’ll put him at 30%, but we’ll have to see if he sticks to his guns regarding current events next time he talks with All Might or whoever to really get a gasp on his chances.

And that’s about all the big ones so we’ll wrap it up. Anyway the point is it feels like a lot of heroes are gonna need to get their acts together lest they risk coming down with Not Alive Syndrome sometime in the future.

#bnha #hero society #anti endeavor #anti hawks #anti best jeanist #anti mirko #anti gran torino #kamui woods #mt. lady #(I do talk about those two but they're fine)

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charincharge · 5 years ago

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Cruel Summer, Part 17

cruel summer masterlist

AN: 17 is my lucky number, but it is not Rowan’s. Sorry this thing is still hurting some of you. I think it’s still going to end up about 25 chapters, so... we’re moving forward. I swear! Okay, byeee.

Thump.

Rowan wakes up, unsettled by a loud noise coming from the living room.

“Shhh…” A loud whisper hushes. “My roommate is sleeping,” Manon slurs, followed by excessive giggling.

He looks at the clock. Just past 3AM. Rowan frowns. This is not what the needs right now.

Another thump followed by an “Ow!” and more giggles wakes him up entirely.

Another too loud shush as he hears two bodies stumble towards Manon’s bedroom, laughter trailing after them the whole way.

Manon’s door slams shut, and Rowan tries to close his eyes and fall back asleep. But soon soft moaning begins. Rowan rubs his hand over his face and cringes. He is so not in the mood for this. He just wants to sleep and temporarily forget about all his troubles. Is that too much to ask for?

He usually sleeps through Manon’s exploits. But not tonight. The moans are interlaced with profanities and the sound of thumping against the wall. The moans reach a crescendo, and Rowan has never been so insanely grateful for people to orgasm and go to sleep. But, minutes later, the moaning starts again.

Rowan puts his pillow over his head, trying to block out the noise, but he’s too attuned to it. He hears every sigh and whisper and expletive, and his entire body is on alert, far too anxious to fall asleep. He stays awake until the wee hours of the morning when Manon and her paramour finally settle down.

Rowan’s alarm goes off far too soon, much to his dismay. His head throbs with the lack of sleep, and his hand itches beneath his bandage. He knows he’s in for a rough day – and not just because of the event that’s going to happen tonight that he definitely doesn’t want to think about yet.

As he gets ready, he’s shocked to hear movement out in the kitchen. He’s so tired, he can’t imagine anyone else being voluntarily awake right now. He peeks out of his bedroom to see Manon, in her robe, making coffee. Her hair is piled on top of her head, and she’s humming lightly. She smiles like the cat who ate the canary, and Rowan shudders. Smiles look terrifying on her.

“You look like crap again,” Manon says, sipping from her large red mug, eyebrows raised. “Want to tell me what happened last night?” She points to his injured hand.

“Not really,” Rowan says, reaching for the coffee pot himself, but Manon slaps his hand away.

“I’m making that for my guest,” she hisses, narrowing her golden eyes at him.

Rowan ignores her and pours himself a mug. “You and your guest kept me up all night, so I’m going to need some caffeine to make it through today.”

Rowan is dreading today. He really wishes he’d at least been able to sleep.

“Sorry,” Manon apologizes, though she sounds anything but.

“Hey, babe,” a warm voice calls sleepily. “I thought I heard noise out here.”

The woman who exits Manon’s room is absolutely stunning – she wears one of Manon’s tank tops and a pair of underwear, showing off the expanse of her dark skin, swirling with intricate art. Long dark braids fade to pink and fall down her back, making her look just as effortlessly cool as Manon. Her rich brown eyes flick to Rowan in surprise and she waves timidly.

Manon simply pulls the woman into her side and kisses her cheek. “Nimi, this is Rowan, my roommate. Rowan, this is Nehemia. We met on the yacht last night. You know, after you weirdly bailed.”

Manon is clearly asking Rowan to explain himself, but he’s in far too grumpy to attempt that.

Nehemia holds out her hand, and Rowan shakes it. “You can call me Nimi,” she clarifies, her accent rounding out the sharp vowels of her name. “Like Mimi, but with an N.” She smiles at Rowan, and he’s again awestruck by how beautiful she is. He’s constantly impressed by the caliber of girls Manon brings home, but Nehemia is a step above and beyond. Despite being exhausted, Rowan returns her smile in earnest. He guesses Manon deserves a night of fun, too, despite his own drama.

“I’m going to be late for work,” Rowan grumbles, looking at the time.

“This is my surprised face,” Manon deadpans, making Nehemia giggle that same giggle that Rowan heard over and over last night.

Rowan wishes them goodbye, and as he closes the door he hears Manon laugh. “Thank gods. I want to hear you scream for me.”

Rowan flees the premises faster, not wanting to even imagine the volume they’re about to reach. Also, he has to desire to be around happily coupled people right now.

He’s never been so glad to go to work. At least at the park, he’ll be distracted all day and around other miserable people.

Except for some reason, everyone at the park is having their best day ever. Even Lorcan, who usually skulks around the ground with a permanent scowl is buoyant and grinning as he hands out tickets with Rowan at the front booth.

He finds out why during his lunch break when Lorcan tentatively approaches Elide and asks if the steak house is okay for dinner tonight, to which Elide readily nods, leaving the pair nervously smiling and blushing at each other.

Gods, does everyone have a date tonight, Rowan wonders to himself. What was in those cocktails last night? Some sort of aphrodisiac?

Rowan pulls out his phone, notably devoid of text notifications, and wonders if he should reach out to Aelin. He wants her to be thinking about him during her date. He knows that’s selfish and stupid and totally the opposite of what he asked for, but he can’t help it. He doesn’t trust Sam at all, and something plagues Rowan’s stomach; that Sam will be in Aelin’s life long after he leaves it. The thought makes him nauseous.

He sits, picking at his lunch, but unable to really eat. Elide takes the seat next to him and gives him a small smile.

“How’s the hand doing?” she asks, pointing to the bandage still wrapped around Rowan’s palm. He shrugs. “You were missed last night,” Elide says, her tone insinuating much more than her plain words.

Rowan chuckles softly and looks at Lorcan, who is staring at the back of Elide’s head. “Yeah, what the hell happened after I left? I got woken up by…uh…company.”

Elide laughs back. “Oh man, isn’t Nimi so cool? She’s a friend of Dorian’s.” Her eyes glaze over, as if she’s playing the night back across her memory. “Basically, we decided to get sloshed and be each other’s wingmen.”

“It seems like you were all successful,” Rowan says, stabbing a piece of his cold chicken. Elide smiles and looks over her shoulder at Lorcan, who immediately looks down at being caught staring. “So, how’d that happen?” Rowan asks, curious about his two managers. “When I left Lorcan was not at the party…”

“Manon told me to stop being a coward – except, she used a much crasser word that I don’t like saying out loud.” Elide scrunches her nose. “So, I showed up drunk on Lorcan’s doorstep.”

Rowan’s jaw drops. “You did what?”

“Shut up. I know.” Elide covers her face. “I’ve never done anything like that in my entire life.”

“So, what happened?” Rowan asks, leaning forward. This gossip is the best kind of distraction for his aching heart.

Elide looks through her fingers, embarrassed. “He put me to bed in his bed and slept on the couch.” She snorts. “And then this morning I got really mad at him for not making a move, and he said that he would never take advantage of a drunk woman.” She smiles softly. “And that he insisted on taking me out first.” Elide takes a large sip of her drink and frowns. “Gods, I’m sorry. You didn’t need all those details. I haven’t even told Aelin yet.”

Rowan clears his throat, unsure if he should ask what he’s going to, but he can’t stop himself. “And did Aelin meet anyone new?”

Elide furrows her brows and frowns. “No. I assumed she went to go meet you?” Elide says. “She left the party with her parents shortly after you did.”

“Oh.” Rowan isn’t sure what to make of that detail. He stabs another bite of chicken.

Elide starts to say something and then pauses, and then starts again. And then pauses. Rowan rolls his eyes in frustration. “Just spit it out.”

“You should just tell her,” Elide says. Rowan raises an eyebrow at the petite brunette. “That it’s not casual for you.” Rowan swallows thickly but shakes his head and scoffs. Elide continues. “I’m just saying it as a person who wishes someone had told me to stop being a…” she lowers her voice to the softest whisper, “pussy.” Rowan cracks a small smile. “…sooner.

“I’ll take that into consideration.”

Rowan nods as Elide heads off, left with his head spinning around.

He takes his phone back out and stares at it. He hates the way he left things with Aelin last night. But what is he supposed to text her? Best wishes on your date tonight? No. He can’t say anything. He has to just suffer through this hellish day and hope she wants to talk to him after. The longer he goes without hearing from her, the more he realizes that he doesn’t think he’ll recover if she doesn’t want to see him again. He’s an addict, in dire need of his next hit. He only hopes he didn’t fuck everything up. He’ll keep all his thoughts to himself for the rest of the summer, as long as it means he gets to continue seeing her.

Rowan’s mood worsens in the afternoon. With every minute it gets closer to 8pm, he pictures Aelin getting ready in a fancy dress and doing her hair and applying makeup. For someone else. He thinks of Sam’s disgusting comments from the boat and aggressively rips a ticket in two. His frown scares a little boy making his way onto the carousel, as he skitters quickly past an incredibly grumpy Rowan.

He wonders where Sam is taking her. Probably another fancy restaurant. Dimly lit and romantic. He can’t stand the thought.

By the time the day ends, everyone has learned to avoid Rowan. Even Fenrys, whose smile can always cheer him up, gives Rowan a wide berth in the employee breakroom after he practically growls at him. Fenrys had no idea what he was asking when he asked what Rowan was up to tonight, but he knows he’ll never unleash that beast again. Rowan has no idea how he’s going to distract himself tonight. He’s all out of whiskey.

On his way home, Rowan calls his mom. It’s been a while since he’s done more than text her, and he’s relieved when she answers the phone, despite the late hour.

She can tell Rowan is in a foul mood nearly immediately.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” she asks, and Rowan groans.

“I just got no sleep last night. I’m sorry,” he apologizes, wishing he could be more cheerful for his mom, who he loves so much. She seems unfazed by his crabbiness, though.

“I was going to keep it a surprise, but there’s a present in the mail for you,” Dora says.

“What?” Why?” he asks, shocked.

“Because I saw it, and I knew you needed it. Don’t argue with me.” Her tone is resolute. “Just say thank you.”

“Thank you, ma,” he says, his mood lifting slightly.

“You’re welcome, Ro,” she says with a yawn. “Get some sleep tonight.”

She kisses loudly into the receiver, and Rowan can’t help but smile. Maybe he can get through tonight after all.

When Rowan arrives home, he cracks opens his front door, unsure if Manon and Nimi are still going to be at it, but luckily Manon is alone, lounging on the couch, watching TV. He nods hello.

Manon gestures to his room. “Something came for you while you were at work. I put it in your room.”

Rowan finally smiles, excited to see what his mom sent him. But when he opens his bedroom door, he’s shocked to see not a package on his bed, but Aelin, curled up with her arms wrapped around herself, cheeks stained black with remnants of watery mascara, and turquoise eyes staring vacantly into the distance.

“Aelin?” Rowan rushes to her side, perching himself on the edge of the bed. “What are you doing here?” He pauses, but she still doesn’t answer. “Are you okay?” he asks, though the answer is incredibly obvious.

Tears spill from her eyes onto his pillow as she shakes her head and sniffles loudly. Rowan looks her over. She looks so small, knees tucked into her chest. He takes in her dress, now wrinkled and crumpled from laying on her side. He tentatively touches her bare shoulder, and she startles beneath his touch, jolting slightly, and Rowan narrows his eyes.

“Did…” He swallows nervously. “Did he… hurt you?”

Aelin shakes her head again, and Rowan releases a shaky breath. Thank gods for small favors.

“Aelin,” he pleads as he watches her helpelessly. “You have to tell me what happened. You’re scaring me.”

“I d-didn’t g-go,” she mumbles, so quietly that Rowan isn’t quite sure he heard her right.

She pushes herself upright, tears still dripping down her cheeks. “I g-got in-to a hug-ge f-fight with m-my mom,” she stutters between ragged breaths, clearly trying to keep her tears at bay.

Rowan wipes his thumb across her wet cheek, pushing the tears away, but they come in steady streams.

“Y-you were r-right,” she whispers through sniffs. She closes her eyes and takes a deep, centering breath. When she opens them again, blue gold eyes stare into his, and he’s nearly knocked out by the emotion he sees swirling in them. “No one can make me do anything I don’t want to. I’m done pretending.” She breathes heavily. “Sam s-sucks,” she says, her voice cracking slightly.

Rowan smiles softly at her. “I could have told you that,” he says, and she chuckles humorlessly.

“My mom did not feel the same way…” she trails off, and the flash of hurt in her eyes tells Rowan that there’s a lot more to her fight than she’s willing to admit to him. “It was the worst fight we’ve ever had.” She breathes deeply. “I can’t go back there tonight.”

“You can stay here as long as you want,” Rowan says, and he means it. It’s not entirely a selfless offer.

Rowan leans forward tentatively and kisses Aelin’s forehead. She exhales a shaky breath beneath his touch, and he wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her onto his lap. Her tears return in full force as she cradles herself against him. Dark splotches mar his shirt with her running makeup. She leans back and swipes at her cheeks.

“Oh g-god, I’m getting your sh-shirt all d-dirty,” she cries, the small detail making her even more upset. “I’m s-sorry. A crying g-girl s-so isn’t wh-what you s-signed up-p for.”

“I don’t care,” Rowan says emphatically, drawing her closer, and Aelin settles against his chest again. He runs his fingers through her golden hair, starting at her scalp and running all the way down the middle of her back, repeating the movement over and over until it becomes meditative. She sniffles quietly against him, her tears running dry as she calms down.

When her breaths finally even out, Rowan kisses the top of her head and tries to lift her off his lap, but she clings to him harder.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, and she nods, unclasping her fingers and letting him go. He goes to his dresser and grabs a worn in band tee and some boxers and tosses them onto the bed. He tugs his work clothes off and grabs some sweatpants from his bottom drawer. As he stands, two delicate hands wrap around his bare torso and soft lips press between his shoulder blades.

Rowan twines his fingers with hers as he turns around to look at her. She looks exhausted. The hours of crying have taken their toll on her. Her shoulders slump forward, and her sparkling eyes lack their usual luster. But Rowan thinks she’s never looked more beautiful.

She turns around in his arms and lifts her hair. He takes the hint and unzips her dress. She steps out of it and he holds up the band tee for her. She snakes her head through, and Rowan can’t help the surge of delight he feels at seeing her in his clothes. Aelin steps forward and wraps her arms around his neck, holding him close. He returns the hug so tightly he can feel their hearts beating together.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and Rowan hugs her tighter in response. He’d hold her forever if she let him. “Can I wash my face?” she asks, and Rowan nods and points her in the direction of the bathroom. Rowan finishes dressing as she cleans her face, and gets comfortable on his bed. When Aelin comes back out, she frowns at him unhappily.

“What?” he asks, nervous that he’s done something to upset her.

“You put a shirt on,” she complains, and Rowan can’t help but smile widely at that.

“So thirsty,” he says with a laugh, and Aelin finally smiles for the first time all evening.

“I’m actually hungry,” she says, crawling onto the bed next to him. He’s about to call her out for her blatant innuendo when she continues. “With tonight’s upset… I didn’t get to eat dinner.”

Rowan lifts his arm, and Aelin snuggles underneath it. “What are you in the mood for?” he asks. He holds out his phone for her to scroll through the limited delivery options, and Rowan smiles again at the domestic scene.

Aelin decides on Chinese food, and as they wait for it to arrive, they turn on the TV to one of Rowan’s favorite cooking competition shows.

Cuddled together on his bed, Rowan’s heart feels full. He resumes running his fingers through her hair, and Aelin sighs happily. He thinks about Elide’s advice, wondering if he should just tell Aelin what he’s feeling when she breaks the silence herself.

“You’re a really great friend, Rowan,” she says, and Rowan nods, squashing his feelings down again. “Thank you.”

“Any time,” he croaks out, continuing his movements through her hair. She kisses his bandaged hand and holds it in hers. As they sit together, Rowan can’t help but think this doesn’t feel like friendship. In fact, he thinks it feels a lot like love.

~*~*~*~*~

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abizarreyodelingincident · 4 years ago

Text

Our Nightly Confidant 6

Live up to your own Legend

The pink has largely faded from his hair and Legend is ready to put that humiliation behind him.

He is.

But the problem with sharing your secrets with others is they constantly remind you that they know. Oh, they are subtle about it. For all that Sky and Twilight are earnest and open, they can both clam up with the least social of them.

A smirk stretches his lips as, despite himself, Legend recalls the 'incident' if it could be called that.

The whole group was there, sitting by the campfire, digging into one of Wild's stew. The blend of herbs, potatoes and meat had been one of those hearty dishes for calm evenings after a weary day of traveling. It was quite tasty, and Legend was content to fill his stomach with hot food. It was more than he had been able to do on many, many evenings during his adventuring days.

It had just so happened that some of the others agreed, and were much less silent in their enjoyment.

“Man, Tetra wishes we could eat that well on the sea,” Wind said, waving his spoon around without a care for the splashes of sauce. To be fair, neither Hyrule or Wild seemed to be bothered either.

“Yeah, it's great, Wild,” Hyrule agreed. “What is it?”

“Rabbit.”

Sky's mouthful sprayed out of his mouth in a dramatic cloud of sauce and half-chewed meat. And because someone upstairs had decided that Legend had suffered enough, the person sitting directly in front of Sky at the time had been Warriors.

The ensuing chaos had given Legend time for his stomach to settle, and he suddenly had the answer to a question he had never meant to ask, but he would, indeed, have made a delicious meal if the monsters of the corrupted Sacred Realm had ever caught him. It truly was just like Wild to provide that kind of answer to Life's hidden (and for good reasons) secrets.

The Goddesses love a good joke at their heroes' expenses, didn't they?

Yet, the worst part might just have been what he had realized afterward. Twilight, chillingly, hadn't reacted much beyond a chuckle at Sky's reaction and a pat on the back to a confused Wild. He'd also finished his bowl despite the incident happening before he had.

Legend wishes he knew how to feel about that. Even today, he has mixed feelings on Twilight's non-reaction. Above all things, he is not a rabbit and the rancher is not a wolf. That's the reflection of their inner light when shrouded in shadows of dark magic. It's a curse. Twilight can make use of a curse all he wants (he can't judge, what's with Ravio's bracelet), so long as he doesn't let that shadow crystal near him again.

Unfortunately, he can't exactly put it out of his mind when Sky took him aside during the morning and apologized, both for the scene and, well, you know. Sky, sweetheart that he is, mentioned that he told Wild some tall tale about it being sacred in Skyloft or something. Wild would try and avoid rabbit meat from now on.

Legend's words of gratitude come out through a curtain of heavy rain to his own ears, it feels like. The consideration is more than he knows what to do with. And... and part of him wasn't even asking for it. Heroes must stand on their own two feet.

So, yes, perhaps he is a bit more cautious than usual when traveling near Twilight or Sky today. Maybe he does slide over to the corners of their battle formations away from those two. He needs time to think, and he's no moron. He's not gonna let that affect his performance in battle in the slightest.

In fact, he was the one to land the killing blow on the hinox. Ice rods to freeze its feet, followed by a jumping great spin. Warriors lets out a low whistle upon witnessing it.

Legend's bow is only mildly sarcastic. That was damn fine fighting, if he says so himself.

They made progress today, and are nearing their objective, one of Wild's shrines. One covered in the darkness of a moonless, starless night at all times. But they do need to clean their scraps and maybe heal that concussion. Nasty hit, but Hyrule's is firm: Wild will be good as new after a few rounds of healing magic and a fairy. Which, for once, they have to spare.

Food, on the other hand...

“I've got some salted jerky,” Twilight offers.

“Ooooh,” Warriors feigns enthusiasm. “And with my goron bread and Hyrule's salted cheese, that'll be sure to finish the job.”

Hyrule's hands, which had been illuminated with the Life spell signature, twitch. “Hey! What's wrong with my salted cheese?”

There is hesitation, most of all from Legend, and then Four takes the dive. “It could give a family of plague-spreading rats a run for its rupees.”

Sad, but fair. Hyrule's cheese is a testament to his cooking as a whole. It might be edible, but Nayru herself wondered how.

Hyrule's back hunches a bit before he straightens and turns away from the other with a huff.

Legend's hands hover uselessly at his sides. He ought to say something. He wants to say something. Except he's not gonna lie and say the cheese is okay, because even Ravio wouldn't try to sell it. And then his chance is lost.

Time steps in. Strides right in the middle of the group, massaging his sore shoulder and running a hand through Hyrule's hair as he passes him by. “Alright, you've had your fun, but we do need to decide on a course of action for our next few meals. There's still plenty of mushrooms and fruits in Wild's slate.”

Sky offers himself. “I can whip up something. It won't be great, but it'll be filling.”

“Okay, but we can hunt too, can't we?” Wind jumps in. “Like, we're not in a malice-infested area or anything. I know I saw a couple of goats and deers earlier on the road.”

His stomach takes that moment to growl. And his mind wanders back to Wild's previous meal last night. His mouth even waters, before he remembers everything else about the stew and there goes his appetite.

“We've got plenty already,” Twilight says.

“Yeah...” Four gives him the side eye. “No offense Sky, but it'll be bland enough without some meat.”

It's one of those truly bizarre quirks. And Legend gets it. He hasn't survived this long without being able to understand different people. There's a... well, not certainty, but an assurance when it comes to food security and times of peace. He gets that farmers have dry years, chu-chu infestations and the likes, but Legend's known all his life to never pass up an opportunity for food, and he sees it even more pronounced in Hyrule.

It's their damned timeline. The whole thing is doomed to die.

“Let's skip another radish failure, shall we?” Legend snarks. It's only a fraction of the resentment in him, but it helps settle his heartbeat.

“I think you're outvoted, pup.”

A look of annoyance crosses Twilight's face, but he holds his tongue. Another way we are nothing alike, Legend thinks.

“We need people to forage, hunt and make camp. And look over the wild cub.” And so Time begins to pair them off, balancing them between skills and health. It's all fine and dandy, until the Old Man looks at him and Twilight, deadpan, and shrugs. “I've got a good feeling about the two of you working together.”

Sometimes, Legend just really wants to deck Time. He's certain others share this feeling. Even Twilight, for all he plays the dutiful son's part.

“Alright,” Twilight says, patting him on the back as he leads the way outside the camp. “Let's do this. Can't let Pretty Boy show us up, can we?”

Legend snorts. So, maybe they share one or two traits. But he's willing to chalk that up more to Warriors being ungodly annoying at times.

“Not gonna throw off my aim, are you?” Legend jeers. It's meant as a tease, but it comes off harsher than he meant.

Typical.

What isn't is the way Twilight just shrugs, his wolf pelts like a wave of black fur. Legend's not blind. He knows his sharp tongue used to burn Twilight's fuse. At some point though, when he wasn't looking, the whole thing had been replaced, longer and shinier than ever before.

And the way Twilight grins at him has the sort of familiarity he thought was only deserved by the likes of Time or Wild.

“You didn't forget where I grew up, didya? What do you think we do with goats exactly?”

The hook's too good not to bite. And, Ravio does say he has sharp teeth. “You'd wash my mouth with soap if I told you the truth.”

And there it is, the tick and twitch of Twilight's ears. Warriors is the only one that constantly manages to bring it out. But, well, Legend aims for greatness, doesn't he?

“Tch, ain't ever seen a Gordonian Oat up close, have you?”

In two strides, Twilight has broken the gap between them.

“For starters, they're tall.” Another step closer. “Grow up about the size of Epona. But less even tempered.”

Legend stares, resisting the urge to back down as he realizes that Twilight towers over him, and at this angle, the setting sun cast his face in shadows.

“Hu-uh.”

“More importantly, they've got horns,” he says, putting his hands up in some poor imitation of the real thing. “Can knock down a man charging. And they will. Males have a foul temper.”

Then, as if nothing happened, Twilight pulls back and knocks his bow over his shoulder.

“Besides, it's needless hunting that gets my goat.” – Legend snorts despite himself and subsequently hides away from Twilight's grin. – “I could never resist one of the Cub's meat skewers.”

Is it him, or are Twilight's teeth a bit sharper than a Hylian's should be?

“I don't think you can resist any of his cooking,” Legend snarks, smacking Twilight's stomach. “Guess you gotta fuel those muscles of yours with something, huh?”

Said big and strong hero proceeds to pout. “Like you're any better.”

Legend shrugs. “Never refuse a meal you don't think is poisoned, is my motto.”

There's the beginning of a frown, but Legend is not up for that.

“Come on, I'm not letting Pretty Boy outdo us.”

Twilight hesitates, then shakes his head and starts forward. “Do aim for the throats, if you can. I'd rather not deal with the screams.”

The screams.

Legend falters then accelerates to catch up. Screams.

Animals don't... they'll thrash, struggle, make noise, but it wasn't...

The thought lingers well into their travel, when they've passed the turn of the road and shadows burst out of Twilight's necklace.

Wolfie bounds into the undergrowth, his dark tail vanishing behind some leaves.

***

The first prey they come across must be a rabbit.

A shy thing gnawing on leaves in the grass. Crouched low and near invisible in the dale with its brown coat. But Wolfie's senses detected it with ease. With that help, Legend sees it too.

The arrow is held tight in his hand, notched but not quite ready to fly.

Twilight glances back.

Sky would take the hard decision out of his hands and chase off the rabbit.

Twilight waits for him to choose. No matter which, Twilight'll go all the way.

They're both considerate in their own ways.

It makes Legend want to curl up in shame. To be able to at least pick how he wants to treat that secret. But he doesn't know. He spent years not thinking about it, and surprise, that did not prepare him anymore for when it blew up in the open.

Zelda would scream the mother of all 'I told you so' if she ever caught wind of this. Which is why he'll spend a lot of time ensuring he never does.

Which is another way of saying he'll run away from his problem.

Shy, nervous thing.

One cracked twig has the rabbit tense up, then scamper back into its den.

Legend lifts his foot from the twig and glares.

“You good?” Twilight asks as he emerges from shadows.

“Yeah, yeah,” Legend snips. “We had rabbit yesterday. And it's hard to hit the throat of the little buggers.”

Twilight nods sagely like that wasn't pure bullshit. “Fair enough.”

By the Goddesses, Legend must be ill because he suddenly hates the idea of getting away with it. “You know you can call me out, don't you?”

“Don't really see the need to force you to talk. Either you do or you don't. It's not like I know what you should be saying anyway.”

Well, there goes one of his hopes. Twilight looks and acts so comfortable in his skin (both of them) that Legend is a bit jealous.

“Well... what's it like, being a wolf?”

Twilight turns his head to the sun disappearing between the hills. To the darkness seeping into the sky. His gaze looks miles away from him.

“Dangerous.”

Funny, Legend would have said the same of being a rabbit, but, he suspects, for different reasons.

“Wolves aren't loved. And there's a good reason for that. They're powerful beasts with powerful senses. Sometimes, I find myself sniffing for scents I couldn't possibly catch as a Hylian. Thinking of sinking my teeth into something. You wouldn't believe the meat cravings I get sometimes. Farore, the faces my ma made the first few meals we had together after I got back.” A faint chuckle. “It's a good thing Ordon's not just harvesting wheat, 'cause I would be a miserable man in there.”

What do you think we do with goats exactly? Raise them, protect them.

Eat them.

“Still better than turning into prey.”

Twilight's smile is smaller, but it feels more real. “Yeah, maybe, but if you ever reflect what you are on the inside, then you'll be soft, cuddly... loved.”

Legend hears everything his brother doesn't say. What would happen to Twilight if he ever let loose completely? If he gave in to his inner self?

He has a feeling his brother knows. That he felt it already.

For a second, he thinks to place a hand on Twilight's shoulder, but... he can't quite bring himself to do it.

“... Want to get back to it?” Twilight hints at the trails he was following as a wolf. “We still haven't caught anything, and I can hear Wind's accusation from here.”

Yeah, he can too. The sailor would ask him if Twilight was being a sore loser, and the others might believe it. Legend might have done that in Twilight's shoes. He's spiteful like that. Nothing like a bunny.

Twilight clutches his necklace and goes down on four legs again. No hesitation to it.

One of them embraces the shadows, the other flinches at them, and now he wonders if they aren't both stupid.

The animals they come across next are the slow grazers, the desperately hungry or the uncautious. Those that thrive in dusk, right before the nocturnal critters make the fields and woods their own.

They hunt in a silence filled with cacophonous thoughts. It doesn't affect Legend's aim. He could strike an enemy sleepwalking at this point.

And true to his word, Legend did shoot the deer dead in one hit. No struggling. No... screams.

He's about finished butchering most of it and filling his inventory with carefully wrapped pieces when Twilight comes back from his circling watch (monsters are always a concern). Judging by the bit of dark blood on Wolfie's collar, it was a successful scouting trip.

The excuse was often bullshit, but it never meant Twilight was leaving them to dry. It's a comforting thought. He's always taken a big brother role to them the way the Old Man slips between commander and father to a bunch of bokoblins.

“Hyrule talks, you know?” Legend says, softly.

Twilight plops down next to Legend's bags and makes a curious 'bork'.

“He showed me his new collection.” Legend recalls the mile-a-minute explanation, and how warm his successor's happiness had made him feel. “It was like you hung the stars in the sky. Thank you.”

There's a big dog-like grin on Wolfie's face. It's too similar to the one on his Hylian face for anyone with a brain not to link the two together. Twilight's always wearing it when he pulls Wild up, when he gives Wind a piggyback ride (and the sailor calls him a trusty steed with the thickest pirate accent Legend has ever heard). It's his grin for little siblings he's so proud of.

“How do you do it?”

Twilight tilts his head to the side, like he doesn't instantly get the question. (Maybe he doesn't, whispers a small part of Legend, maybe it's natural and it's only him that struggles with connecting to his fellow heroes.)

The words don't want to come, but he's a Chosen of Courage. He never could back down from anything.

“The big brother act,” he says. “Hyrule. I don't know what to do with him. How to be around him. I like him, he's more tolerable than most of you meddling bastards.” – A look of offense crosses the wolf's face, and it's properly ridiculous. – “He's sweet, earnest, resourceful, heck, he even has manners despite growing up in a cave! What does he see in me?”

Twilight moves a paw over the middle of Legend's chest.

But he doesn't think that's right. It can't be that.

“I... I don't get why he chose me to admire. Sure, I'm the sucker that went on the most quests, but he's gone on two himself. It can't be my charming personality. I'm a stubborn jackass who doesn't know when to quit and that cuts just as much with my wit as with my arsenal. Is it just... being his predecessor?”

A crossed look passes over Twilight's face. His ears go flat on the sides of his head, his eyes narrowing. It's a little silly, knowing Twilight, but there's also that familiar pang of fear that helps Legend survive so many quests.

His instincts prove their worth when Twilight lunges and knocks him to the ground quick enough that Legend only realizes what happened a second later.

“What the-? Get off, Farmer.”

He could. And Twilight knows he could. Twilight's just relying on the knowledge that Legend won't.

Legend resigns himself to a moment of lying on his back with a fifty tons wolf crushing him to tiny pieces. That's it, that's the only reason he doesn't whip up his high-level strength bracelets to throw off the overly affectionate wolf on top of him.

Even if he has to fake the annoyance.

“Urgh, you stubborn a-” he doesn't complete the thought.

It's like an electrified chu-chu ramming into him.

By now, every one of them has seen Wolfie wrangle Wild around the camp at least once. Has been witness to their unorthodox brother sighing and huffing about his mentor forcing him into rest. Grumbling something about hard-headed mother cuccos and joykillers.

And the next day, the two of them grinning at each other over the battlefield. Wild seeking approval like he hadn't pulled his tongue at the rancher earlier.

“... That's not the same thing.”

Wolves don't have the right to look this fucking smug.

That manipulative goat-minder!

“It's not!” Legend protests, even knowing that, yes, it is indeed the same thing.

Words unspoken drift between them from the force of Twilight's gaze. Self-deprecating things, faults and flaws and fights, the sort of things Legend cringes at the thought of, but has to acknowledge. Wild admires Twilight, and it's not a matter of perfection.

Being smushed under a wolf has a way of making you accept that, no, that brother of yours isn't that great a person.

“Even so... ”

The rumble is a question.

“That doesn't tell me how to do it.” He raises an eyebrow. “Unless you mean to tell me I should sit on Hyrule until he feels the love.”

A laughing bark.

Legend smirks to himself. “Yeah, didn't think so.”

And a distant, experienced and – maybe too – cynical part of him starts to understand what Twilight is doing. Why he is not shifting back to Hylian form. Even knowing the truth, knowing that the sacred beast is his dull, dutiful brother does not get through to his subconscious. Knowledge does not weigh as much as the wolf splayed over him, does not warm him the way the mantle of soft fur does. He can't build up his walls fast enough. No, not quite. He can't bring himself to build his walls fast enough.

He missed this. Someone to watch over his shoulder, someone safe, that'd step in so that Legend wouldn't be needed.

He believes in no goddess, be they the Three, whom he knows are the object of his Princess' devotion, or even that Hylia that Sky mentions sometimes. He's long since gotten into the habits of cursing the Heavens, whoever resides there. It was only fair, after they cursed him with the world.

With the Windfish.

But just this once, being protected and smothered in ways that remind him of stormy nights when his uncle was still alive. The sort of stubborn strength that held in the face of the night, of monsters. Everything.

Twilight, Legend realizes, has a mind like a bear trap. Unassuming until it springs. Then, it never lets go.

Stubborn. He hates the part of him that likes it.

“We're not the same,” he hisses.

Because Twilight's friendly, personable, easy to talk to. Because Twilight is one of those bastards that's hard to hate no matter what he does. That wins you back with a couple of words and a steady hand during a difficult time.

Legend would sooner stab you once and be done with those messes.

And Wolfie's blue eyes are this shade of cloudless sky, clear, so frank. It's impossible not to see how Twilight doesn't believe him.

Legend's heart comes ablaze.

“None of your decisions have doomed a world!”

The wolf in Twilight whines. A low, pitiful noise.

“That's how I lost her. By destroying her world and everyone that lived in it.”

Twilight nuzzles him, something a bit desperate to the force of it.

Near misses, he thinks. It worked out. But some part of Twilight probably thinks it shouldn't have. Legend knows that madness. That jump of faith through the insane traps of ancient temples and half-baked schemes in the middle of a boss fight.

Near misses, they don't count, but they're the last steps before the cliff opens up below you.

And Legend has been falling for a long time.

Telling Zelda was a second's respite clinging to an unexpected root pooking out of the earth and rock.

Now he's found another.

He's strangely not bitter that he was the only one to go through this. To triumph in the destruction of a whole island. The closest to experiencing failure on that scale would have to be Wild, who was neither subtle nor all that quiet about his conviction in his perceived flaws.

And this must be what he receives when the feelings overwhelm him, when he needs the wolf instead of any of them. Quiet, unwavering support.

The lack of words coming from Twilight is half the healing balm.

Legend's not looking for words at all. Not some magic words that'll make the turmoil die out at any rates.

He couldn't bear to hear a platitude. To hear any variation of 'it's okay' or 'it was not your fault'. It was. It had been his decision in the end. The choice sucked, but he picked one anyway. Because he is the Hero.

There had been no one else. Just him.

“What's my next decision going to bring?”

The warmth and fur shifts over his body, but still Twilight doesn't talk. With the tighter, smaller posture against his chest, Legend would guess he feels some guilt over forcing that confession out of him. It's worth a grimace, maybe, but he is too tired to give a fuck.

Legend takes a moment just staring upward. He's forgotten which Hyrule this is, how far from home he is. But the stars haven't changed. He'll bet good rupees that the constellations are nothing alike between one kingdom and the next.

He points to a cluster of lights. “That's the 'Fairy Spring'. And right next to it, 'The Raging Lynel'.”

Twilight makes a noise like a noble being shown a peasant. Oh, he must never say that outloud for fear of being punched with those moblin arms of his. Though, he had thought Twilight didn't have lynels in his era, the lucky bastard.

More names come to him. None of which trigger recognition in Twilight, but his brother listens all the same, attentive, patient. This is nice. Better.

His eyelids start threatening to droop.

A gentle, concerned whine ring to his ears, and a paw scratches his tunic.

Right. Right, they are too far from camp for him to nap. It's already a long walk, for a Hylian.

Legend suppresses the pang of envy in his chest at Twilight's cursed form. He shouldn't! But what does it say about him, the boy grown in a world always threatened by dark forces, when his inner self is a harmless bunny? What does it say about Twilight, grown through an era of peace, when his inner self is a dangerous predator?

The successors of the Hero of Time, ladies and gentlemen!

The real shame, though, is probably that he misses that softness.

I used to love saving people... he thinks, and only notices the tear when Wolfie nuzzles him.

He knows there and then that their earlier conversation was wrong. Even if Twilight lost himself in the shadows, there'd still be something to love about him. Because Wolfie is a beast, but the others aren't wrong when they call him a gift of the Goddesses.

“Urgh, don't try and be physically affectionate with me,” he says, pushing off the cold nose.

What about me? Is there anything loveable about me, besides saving a couple of countries?

Would Uncle still be proud? Would she be able to love me as I am now?

“Why am I like this?” he asks, and is grateful for the silence.

The answer, he's known for some time.

It's when I realized no one would save me. When it comes to saving the world, I'm it. No second chances. No one to pick up the torch. If I fail, that's it. There's only me.

Wolfie's soft barks bring him out of his head, and pull a smirk out of him. He deliberately ruffles his brother's head, rough, because it wouldn't do to have him think he's gone soft that easily.

But his fear just isn't true anymore.

Twilight would save him. Hyrule would. Sky would. Any of the others would. And he'd jump in front of a sword for them just as easily.

He hasn't let down the walls long enough to

… Maybe he could try.

Leaves suddenly rustle and bushes part to let another Hylian through.

“Legend?” Hyrule's eyes flicker to the tear tracks on his face. “... This isn't the direction we saw that river, is it?”

Legend sighs and pushes Twilight off. “You're off by thirty degrees.”

Red blooms across Hyrule's cheeks, his gaze lowering to the ground.

Damn it! He isn't prepared for this! If he had just a minute to gather his wits beforehand...

“Why didn't you tell me he was coming?!” Legend hisses, resisting the urge to smack Twilight on the nose.

He prefers his fingers unnipped, thank you very much.

“Are you okay?” Hyrule asks, fidgeting. “Weren't you with Twilight?”

“Oh, huh, he went scouting ahead.” Farore! Now the rancher's stupid excuses were infecting him. Why was he the one to share that secret?

Hyrule nods. “Ah, makes sense.”

Some crows above caw.

It's the only noise in the woods.

Legend stumbles when Twilight headbutts his rear end. “Oi!” he says, turning a threatening glare at his idiot brother.

“Oh, hey Wolfie,” Hyrule says with a timid wave.

Right. Hyrule's most frequent experiences with Twilight's beast forms revolve around him being herded back to camp after another ill-fated self-appointed scouting mission. Worse when the Champion got involved and the two got into their heads to have an adventure whilst on a supply run.

Got to have fun...

He glances between Hyrule, trying to look steady in front of him, and Twilight, who is staring back at him intently.

“You don't need to be so nervous, you know?” he hears himself say.

Hyrule blinks in surprise, as does Twilight. But, well, Legend committed. He might as well go all in.

He lands a hand in the scruff of Twilight's neck, scratching through the fur. “He's a big softie.”

That would normally get him a warning growl or a painless bite. Except Twilight can't very well protest and undo all his hard work over petty jealousy, can he?

“Come on,” he tells Hyrule. “If he gets snippy, I'll bonk him on the head whilst you make your daring escape.”

“I wouldn't run!” Hyrule says, hotly. “I mean, I don't know if Life works on wolves, but I'd have to try, knowing your strength bracelets.”

It startles a laugh out of him. There's their wanderer. Ready to get in the thick of it with a sword or a spell. That's the man that'll succeed him. That's the man he has the luck to meet. And teach.

“Interesting question. It sounds like something we should test in a safe environment.”

And he jumps to the side, avoiding the fangs aiming for his buttocks. So predictable!

“Oh dear, he's gone feral!” he croons, clicking his heels to activate the pegasus boots. “No two ways about it, time to book it.”

“Wait, what?” Hyrule, the poor man, has no time to register the turn of events that Legend grabs him by the sleeves and starts to drag him away from a barking wolf.

“By the way, have I told you about that time I escaped from a pair of lynels on top of Death Mountain?”

“No!” Hyrule shouts, wide-eyed with both awe and a little fear. “Is that really the time?”

He skids to a halt just in time to avoid a blitzing Twilight bursting out of a bush. The barking rings to his ears. His heartbeat has picked up from the thrill, and he knows he will win this.

“Feels nostalgic for some reason!”

“Talk away then! Oh, and jump!”

Hyrule's hand pulls him upward, makes him weightless as if he'd done his magic cape. They launch into the air, and scramble up on the higher branches of a large oak tree. He's chuckling, a little awed by Hyrule's arsenal of spells.

And then Twilight lands on the branch next to them, hackles raised and honestly a little scary. The wood winces ominously, shakes, but holds.

“Wolves can't do that!” he yells.

“I don't think he cares, Legend!” Hyrule hops to the next tree.

And Legend stops thinking about his next move. He follows, he lets his instinct and experience guide him into this impromptu chase game. Marvels at Hyrule's tricks sometimes, preens when his gets Twilight to crash into a boar that only mildly appreciated the tackle and gets to tell the entire story on the way back to camp.

He's got a skip to his steps. He won. They both know he won this time and nothing will change that.

But, just in case, Legend will sleep with one eye open. He's seen Time's and Wild's pranks so far. And in that chain of Heroes, Twilight is both the apprentice and the master. There's no way Twilight isn't capable of their very worst.

#Linked Universe #Linkeduniverse #LU Twilight #LU Legend #LU Wolfie

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scarabbai · 5 years ago

Text

Dire Crowley is a man hard at work, one who wholeheartedly loves his school and every drop of sweat he’s shed while building, repairing, and maintaining its foundation. The scratch of his quill against parchment, the delicate yet deliberate lines of ink elegantly marking his documents, the low and thoughtful hum in his throat as he taps his claws against the table, all of it demonstrates his complete and utter concentration. New students, returning ones, management, fees, staff—he must keep track of it all, organizing existing assets and ordering whatever will be needed for the coming school year. With his mountain of tasks, he scarcely has the time to do anything, even things as simple as enjoying his afternoon tea! Ah, a true tragedy, but he mustn’t stop toiling away. Night Raven College is his pride and joy, and his continual efforts to care for it shall not cease even for a moment. He is kind, after all.

A knock at the door causes him to pause his writing, his quill suspended in midair as he stills. The wood remains unmoved as a ghost—Sir Mallow, one of his secretaries—phases his head through it. They blink at each other for a moment before the spectre clears his throat.

“Mister Crowley, sir?” Mallow brings the rest of his body inside, drifting into the room and hovering before Dire’s desk. “There’s someone here to see you.”

“A visitor? Asking for a meeting now?”

Dire brings a hand to his chin in consideration.

He doesn’t exactly enjoy being disturbed, especially when focused on such an arduous task, and this is rather sudden and unannounced. An excuse to chat or even stretch his legs a bit would be incredibly nice right about now, but he doesn’t have anything currently at the ready to entertain guests. Additionally, putting something together last minute would be a big hassle and not worth the trouble. Oh, unscheduled visits are such a headache to deal with even if they offer a much desired break from paperwork! It’s unfortunate, but he’ll have to decline.

“As much as I’d like to...” Dire heaves a dramatic, over-the-top sigh. “I’m rather busy at the moment. Could you please tell them to come at a later time?”

Sir Mallow wrings his hands—a habit much of the staff frequently point out—and frowns deeply. “That’s the thing, sir... He’s not taking no for an answer.”

“Hm?” Dire raises an eyebrow. “Who is?”

“One Mister Viper, sir.”

He snaps to attention at once, leaning forward in his chair. “Viper? As in, that Viper?”

Surely it couldn’t be that Mister Viper, meaning the famed noble of the Land of Hot Sands, with great power and even greater riches to his name? Of a family said to be the desendants of one of the Great Seven, the Sorcerer of the Desert himself? The man who recently graced the school with his presence, entering his office covered from head to toe in sparkling gold?

Just a couple weeks ago, Dire met with him to praise the flawless and outstanding performance his son—a quiet, brooding boy who spoke only once and glared viciously throughout the entire meeting—displayed during his entrance examinations. He congratulated him with utmost enthusiasm over his son’s acceptance to the school, expressing his overwhelming joy that the prestigious Viper family would even consider Night Raven College. Insisting the very institution was humbled by the Vipers’ presence, he quietly assured Mister Viper that his son would have been guaranteed a place at Night Raven even if he hadn’t passed. He would do anything to please the head of such an important family, after all.

Now, however, Dire is beginning to doubt the effectiveness of his previous displays of hospitality. Could it be that he upset the Vipers somehow? That would be disastrous! With their reputation and resources, they could easily destroy his school in just a few carefully planned moves. Surely that isn’t the case? Surely it is a mere misunderstanding, and Mister Viper isn’t the one knocking at his door?

Alas... “I believe so, Mister Crowley.”

Dread, cold and deep, crawls inside Dire’s chest. Despite this, he quickly wipes any apprehension from his features, turning his distressed frown into a warm, welcoming smile. After all, a good host never shows disdain in front of guests. Opening his arms with a cheerful and hearty laugh, he exclaims, “Well, why didn’t you say so! Please, let him in at once. We are kind, so we mustn’t keep our guest of honor waiting.”

Sir Mallow bows. “Yes, Crowley sir. Right away.”

The moment the ghost leaves the room, Dire leaps into action.

With a flick of his hand, magic surges outward. Stacks of both finished and unfinished paperwork burst into a flutter and begin to file themselves, sheet by sheet, away inside cabinets. Feather dusters spring to life and clean each and every exposed surface with mighty fervor. His work space rearranges itself, morphing from an office desk to an ornate tea table and placing down comfortable chairs. As he pulls his best tin of tea leaves out of a drawer, the table sets itself with his finest china and polished silverware. He rings the school chef for some refreshments to be prepared as quickly as possible before putting the kettle on and sitting down.

By the time Sir Mallow returns and knocks to announce the arrival of his guest, Dire is already pouring tea into his cup. “Do come in!” he chimes, his expression the epitome of cheer as the door creaks open.

He tries very hard not to go slack jawed in shock when it is not Mister Viper who enters his office—it is Mister Viper’s son!

Such an unexpected turn of events! Dire barely contains his sheer surprise and relief as he motions for the young Viper to take a seat, pouring tea for the young man.

The Viper heir—Jamil, he recalls his name was—carries himself with immense grace and poise as he sits across from him, as expected for someone of his social standing. Dire notes he’s looking much more composed and confident than the last time he saw him, his expression borderlining smug. How odd.

Nevertheless, he smiles brightly. “What a pleasure it is to see you again so soon, young Viper! You gave me quite the surprise, showing up unannounced the way you did. You must be tired from your trip here! Please, do have something to eat.” Dire gestures to the desserts lain out on the table, looking on with a pleased expression as the young man plucks a chocolate truffle from one of the trays. He waits for him to finish snacking on the sweet before continuing, “I must ask, are you here on behalf of your father? As I’m sure you remember, I met with him not long ago! He is a very outstanding and brilliant man, and he has many connections as well, correct? Ah, truly remarkable! Absolutely incredible! You know, I actually heard just last week he–”

“I’m not here to run my father’s errands,” Jamil states rather sharply. “I came here on my own. For my own reasons.”

“Oh!” Dire hadn’t even noticed the boy’s expression souring as he blathered on. Perhaps he hit a nerve. “I see,” he backtracks, toning down his enthusiasm. “Then what has brought you here today, young Viper?”

“I want to make a deal with you.”

“Hm?” Intriguing, but unrealistic. “With all due respect to your title, young Jamil, I don’t think it’s possible for me to–”

Out of thin air, the Viper heir materializes a glittering gold coin in his hand, holding it in front of Dire’s face. It gleams and glows like the sun even in the mediocre lighting of his office, and his eyes can’t help but follow its shiny surface as the coin sways back and forth. Crows adore sparkling trinkets after all, and Dire is no exception. Even as the gold piece is placed on the table, he remains greedily focused on it.

Just as he considers snatching it up for himself, the young man strikes, and the prize disappears back into his hand. He then tauntingly rolls the coin across his knuckles, showing off some sleight of hand and causing three more to appear before all four golden pieces vanish once more.

“Actually,” Jamil’s voice drips with arrogance as he nonchalantly examines his nails, “I think it is possible, Mister Crowley.”

Curse his feathers for being weak to such treasures! His inner crow can never resist such a dazzling gleam, and there might even be greater riches in waiting.

He must, at the very least, hear the offer.

Despite his immense irritation upon seeing the boy’s conceited smirk, Dire folds his hands and remains outwardly civil. “I’m listening.”

The Viper’s victorious grin turns downright egotistical as he sets down seven positively radiant golden discs between them. Pushing the coins toward Dire, he states his order:

“Fetch two files for me. I need records changed, information altered, and details fabricated. I’ll give you a basic story. Make it believable, and forge the evidence to back it up if need be.”

“And,” he silences the complaints on the tip of Dire’s tongue with a raised hand, “I want you to make it untraceable. No proof, no messiness. Like everything’s always been that way.”

The allure of the gold is tempting, but even Dire eyes the little snake and his offerings with suspicion. Such a sudden and specific request, and with so much to it as well! How troublesome. His lips curved downward in the smallest of frowns, he counters, “Now, young Jamil... What, pray tell, gives you the idea that I am capable of doing such things? I am merely the headmaster of a school, you know.”

The boy has the gall to laugh in his face.

With dramatic flourish, Jamil opens his hand to reveal a crisp slip of paper. Holding it up between his fingers, he waves it around in a mocking manner before placing it face down and sliding it across the table.

“See if this will change your mind.”

When Dire picks it up, his eyes nearly pop out of their sockets in shock, and his head spins with the number of zeroes staring him in the face.

Jamil, on the other hand, doesn’t even bat an eyelash as Crowley fusses over the cheque. Instead, he takes a moment to preen and bask in the glory of his success before growing bored, rolling his eyes, and snapping his fingers to get the attention back on him.

“You may be downplaying your talents in an attempt to worm your way out of this, but I know the truth.” He points a finger directly at the headmaster’s face. “You’re a powerful man, Mister Crowley. I’m sure you can figure it out and get the job done.”

The man—fae?—changes his tune quick as he pockets the bribes, becoming pleasant and cheerful once more. “Young Jamil, I will fulfill your request!” he declares in a booming voice. Then, in a much quieter one, he adds, “I shall listen, for I am kind.”

Jamil’s lips curl into a devious smile. Perfect.

“That’s what I thought.” He leans back in his chair. “Now, here’s what I have in mind...”

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst fic #dire crowley #twst crowley #jamil viper #twst jamil #role reversed au #my stuff #ahhh this took so long to write...like probably a week or more #might post this to ao3 as well

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opalmaplehibiscus · 5 years ago

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Roses are Red, Violets are blue – Riddle Discovered Romance Exists and that He’s in Love Too~

**Note: Anon, I’m so sorry for taking so long to write this ㅠoㅠ I really like Riddle as he’s in my top 5 list of characters like, so I hope I did him justice OTL

HC of Riddle x Reader

· When Riddle first meets you at the welcome ceremony, already from the first glance, he was 100.31415% sure that he didn’t like you

· You were a trouble maker, chaos-maker, a person who likes to wreck-havoc. In other words, something Riddle absolutely despised – a rule breaker

· He was expecting, ok-hoping for you to not be accepted as an NRC student by the headmaster. Not only were you a rule breaker, you couldn’t even use magic. It wouldn’t make sense for you to be accepted

· When he sees you sitting at lunch with Ace, it proved to him 2 things. 1. You just further proved to him that you were someone he doesn’t want to get close with and 2. The headmaster is as brainless as ever

· He doesn’t expect to see you come with Ace to deliver a marron tart on the day of the Unbirthday Party

· Despite how he had reacted, he felt touch that you had come to deliver a tart for him. Yet, rules are law

· It took everything in him to not flinch when he hears a passing comment from Cater how you and the other 3 trouble makers even had to pick fresh chestnuts to make it. To think someone who wasn’t even in his own dorm decided to help out to make a tart for him…

· But the feeling of guilt disappears when you, someone magicless, calls him stupid for following the rules! The nerve you had for saying that he was stupid for following the rules that the Queen of Hearts made!

· He usually didn’t discipline anyone outside the dorm of Heartslabyul unless it was something he witnessed and in regards to the general NRC school rule. He made an exception though when you refused to say “Yes, Dorm Leader”

· You were in Heartslabyul and as the saying goes, “In Rome, do what the Romans do”. Through his anger, he’s still able to rational think how unreasonable he was being to apply his magic on someone magicless

· For the rest of the day, the memory replays in his head of how he, for the first time in his whole life, hesitated casting magic on someone. It didn’t help that the feeling of his hand shaking didn’t disappear

· When you appear the next day for the duel, he suddenly felt self-conscious. He didn’t know why, but every time he was in front of you, he suddenly had the urge to look proper to you

· He wanted to show you how much pride he takes in being the perfect honor student as well as nearly coming close to having the perfect image of the Queen of Hearts, herself

· …Yes. Riddle, at the time, was wanting to look cool in front of you

· The shame and deep embarrassment he faces when Ace punched him and calls him a baby in front of you of all people…The person he wanted to impress and gain acknowledgement from. And it didn’t help that everyone else didn’t think that was enough before an egg hits him on the head

· After he OBs, he wakes up lying in your lap though he doesn’t notice as he continues to feel that the world was spinning

· What he does notice was you hugging him as he cries from guilt, stress, and everything he held inside while patting his head. He refuses to admit that it comforted him, though it causes him to cry harder as he never once was given affection before

· During the time he was recovering, when Trey and Cater tells him how you were the one that proposed to save him as soon as he OBed, his eyes turned soft from again, being touched, guilty, and confusion

· He didn’t understand why you had chosen to help him. He knew that his first impression on you was not impressive at all. Yet you saved him

· On Ace’s birthday, he has fun painting the roses with everyone while getting some sort of redemption on trying to look good in front of you

· But, when he gave everyone his failed tarts, he wanted to dig a hole and get in it. He’s finally able to make himself look good and it’s none other than himself that ruins it in no less than an hour. Someone, please, help him

· Seeing you continue to eat the failed tart, he tries to stop you. But jokes on him, when you tell him how the tart was something he made for everyone, which made it still delicious, he blushes

· He only turns redder when he catches a certain Heartslabyul group talking behind his back

· Ace: Oh my gosh, I think our Ryocho has a crush on the Prefect Deuce: What? No wa-actually, it really does seem like it, huh Grim: That’s unacceptable! I don’t want Y/N to date a guy like that! That would mean I won’t get as many tuna cans compared to now! Cater: Uuuuhhhhh, you guys should quiet down or else-

· Riddle makes sure to punish them by lecturing them for 3 hours about respecting their seniors

· He nearly uses his Unique Magic again when Ace points out how his height makes him look like a middle schooler

· A few days later, when he sees you checking up on Trey because of his injury, Riddle felt touched from it

· It made him happy and help the guilt inside him lessen seeing that there were many people that cared for his friend. Especially, from you

· When he hears you were investigating about the incidents that were happening, he starts wanting to help you. Other than the reason of trying to find the person who used their magic on him and caused Trey to get injured, he didn’t want to lose the opportunity to get closer to you

· It seemed like fate was against him though when he gets embarrassed by Floyd as he gets called by that cursed nickname and then had to run away from the eel twins

· However, the fact that he was able to spend his day with you made him happy nonetheless

· He doesn’t realize this but he starts to become more conscious about you – taking note of how you wear your uniform, hold your bag, etc

· Listen, he’s more conscious because he acknowledges you as a fellow dorm leader that’s all! It’s totally not because he actually likes you!

· Yeah, that’s why he fixes your tie and gives you the advice about keeping appearance! Because as fellow dorm leaders, they were the ones to set the image of being proper honor students in NRC! That’s. All!

· He starts questioning if everything he did in the past is coming to bite him back now when he tries to catch Ruggie but ends up getting his pen stolen.

· Was it too much to ask of him to look cool in front of you once? Once?

· Cater: Riddle… I know you’re trying to look cool in front of Y/N but.. Riddle: But what? Cater: …Nothing

· Cater didn’t want to face Riddle’s wrath like how Ace and Deuce did. He’s a wise man

· He feels this again but this time with veins popping on his head when he finally gets Jack to agree to his plan and make it work only to lead to Leona to OB

· He never has ever felt the urge to just crouch down while covering his face with his hands until now

· When he sees Leona attacking everyone, all thoughts disappear as his worry for everyone’s safety, especially yours becomes his priority

· He wanted to tell you to run away, go somewhere safe. But he doesn’t because he knows you’ll end up staying to save everyone

· And this cycle repeats. When he finds out how you made a deal with Azul and the latest being you getting kidnapped at Scarabia, he wants to yell at you

· He worries, he panics over your wellbeing. But what’s worse was that he can’t even tell you because he knows he isn’t any position to say so

· The frustration that builds up in him leads him to take it out on anyone who annoys him, especially on those who gives him the biggest headache cough Ace and Deuce cough

· It doesn’t help that he doesn’t understands why he worries about you

· You always break the rules, get in trouble, and try to save others nonstop. You put yourself in danger for the sake of other’s when no one is willing to do that for you

· Ever since you extended your hand towards him, all he’s been wanting was to show you the better side of him – to get you to become closer to him

· BUT! EVERY! SINGLE! TIME! He tries getting closer to you, he was blocked

· Fairy Gala – misses the opportunity to see you in your gorgeous outfit - He ends up getting a picture of you in it (it totally wasn’t a bribe from Idia, who was trying to get out of a dorm leader meeting. He was just following the school rules of confiscating all pictures that weren’t allowed to be taken in the school. That’s all)

· Bean’s Day – Didn’t know the two of you were on the same team - He screamed into his pillow that night when he found about it. You literally were on the same team as him so he had a full, bloody chance to hang out with you. Alone. Just the two of you. Curse Jack and Azul for catching him. He’ll get back at them. He swears on the Queen of Hearts name he will.

· Things worsen for him as he starts having the urge to hold your hand or want to get to know you. Do you like tarts just like he does? Were your hands soft just like how they look? Do you like to tie your tie in a bow like him or do the traditional Windsor?

· Did he ever mentioned that he wanted to go “Off with Your Head” on Crowley and Floyd? No? Oh well, he does. And he will. Especially after what happened during that “weird ghost princess’s” marriage

· He would like to say that he’s not short. He’s smart, considerate, knows what to do and not to do – height shouldn’t matter it’s the quality that does

· He’s not self-cautious about his height. Nor is he worried about how well he fits into the “ideal” prince aka ideal marriage partner

· He just wants to show that he’s capable of being a romantic partner! Because as dorm leader, he has an image to uphold especially since he’s closest to the Queen of Hearts!

· In the end though, all of that turns out to be excuses. He realizes how much he enjoys your presence - how much he likes talking to you, hanging around you, getting to enjoy things without feeling judged or afraid of breaking rules

· He feels like himself, his trues self, when he’s around you

· And after listening to what Ace said to Eliza (yes, he remembers her name), he realizes that he sees you as someone like that

· Realizing that he actually fell for you, his heart speeds up and his face reddens when you come up to him to congratulate him on the success

· He knows that he doesn’t tell you now, he won’t ever have the chance to tell you. Especially since apparently, people like to block him from evening getting an inch closer to you

· After looking down and seeing the bouquet in his hands still in good condition, he sends Cater off before he starts taking you towards Sam’s shop

· He ignores your questions, before he stops right in front of the shop

· His heart speeds up and nervousness washes over him. But he steels his resolve after thinking about how he’ll never have another chance

· Getting on a knee, he places a right hand on his heart while offering the bouquet with his left

· He confesses how ever since you helped him when he OBed, he started to have feelings for you. He never thought about it at first, but overtime the feelings started to grow despite him not realizing it. And today, he realized he fell for you

· He talks about how he’s never experienced what it’s like to confess and love someone. Yet he promises you on his own name as well as the Queen of Heart’s name that he will devote his entire being to you – never lying nor betraying your heart

· He says the he understands if you can’t accept being his, however, if only you acknowledge his feelings for him – at least be aware, he’s satisfied

· Or would’ve if it weren’t for the fact that half way through, he’s suddenly pulled up towards you

· His eyes widen as he feels your lips on his, actually k-k-kissing him

· Once the two of you broke away, he looks at you in a daze, not understanding what had happened until he hears you saying that he didn’t have the right to make decisions for you and that you liked him back

· He blushes to the point his face rivals the color of his hair before he drags you into another kiss out of happiness and absolute love

· He’s about to say he loves you before he hears something behind the bushes

· Deuce: OH MY GREAT SEVENS – RIDDLE RYOCHO ACTUALLY Ace: SHHHHHH YOU’RE GOING TO GET US IN TROUBLE! Although, I have to say, I didn’t think Ryocho had it in him to actually confess Grim: NOOOO MY CANS OF TUNE Cater: whistles Wow~ Riddle and Y/N is a thing then~

· He makes a mental note to give them punishment as he gets kissed again by you, happily returning it

#twst #twisted wonderland #riddle rosehearts #riddle x reader #hc #headcanon

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smol-and-grumpy · 5 years ago

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Something Just Like This - CH26

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, mobster boss. He’s a little cocky, a lot ruthless and more often than not, short tempered. But he’s also, Dean Winchester, a war veteran and hero who suffers under a shit ton of PTS. He met her in a bar and thinks it’s fate that brought her to him. Little does he know why she’s really here.

Warnings: Angst and aw fluff and angst again.

WC: 3463

A/N: Please, if you want to be tagged for the rest of the series, let me know.

SERIES MASTERLIST

The ride in the ambulance is bumpy and loud. The beeping of machines that keep Y/N alive are noisy and she has a pipe down her throat. Dean’s holding her hand to stop his own from shaking. He’s still crying, the tears drip down the tip of his nose, drops onto the stretcher she’s lying on.

They arrive and Dean follows them as they wheel her in, running through doors until he isn’t allowed to go any further. And it’s hard. Hard for someone who lives in illegality to follow rules and boundaries. It takes everything in him not to burst through that door and go into surgery with her.

Dean rakes both hands through his hair before crashing his fist against the wall. It hurts. But it’s not nearly enough. Not enough to take the fucking pain away.

He slumps down into the next chair he can find and covers his face with his hand.

“Dean!”

At the mention of his name, Dean looks up to see Cas walking towards him. The man sits down next to him wordlessly. Neither of them said a word after.

Dean doesn’t really know how long they have been sitting there. It felt like hours, days — fucking years.

“Do you want me to call Sam?”

“Huh?” Dean jerks his head up and tilts his face to the side to be reminded that Cas’ still here. “No,” Dean says, and then adds, “No, I don’t need him to worry about this life anymore.”

This life. His life.

That’s no way to live, he once told her.

If it wasn’t for this life, he wouldn’t be here. Y/N wouldn’t have been shot.

This life sucks.

“Do you,” Dean starts, “Do you sometimes think how your life would be if you wouldn’t be doing what you’re doing?”

Cas breathes out, “All the time.” And then he adds, “But I also see the good in it. If I wouldn’t be doing all this, I wouldn’t have met you and the rest of the family. It’s not the life that makes it good. It’s the people in it.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t have met her either.” Dean agrees. “But I still want out.”

“And we’ll get there. Just give it time.”

Dean closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall. He doesn’t know how much time has passed but when he opens his eyes again, Cas’s standing there with a steaming plastic cup of coffee in his hand.

He takes the cup out of Cas’ hand, realizes that his own hands are still bloody, “Thanks.”

“How is she?” Cas jerks his head towards the door they are not allowed to go through.

It’s the first time Cas asks about Y/N. He’s considerate. Probably gave Dean time to process before he dared to ask. Dean knows and appreciates it.

“Emergency surgery.” Dean’s voice is small. “She still had a pulse when we arrived, apparently it’s a good sign.” He only hopes it’s enough to keep her the fuck alive.

Cas nods and Dean empties his coffee. They sit in silence some more until someone in scrubs comes out of the forbidden door.

“Are you the one who was with the patient? Dean Winchester?”

Dean stands up too fast, his head’s spinning. He pinches his nose and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before he manages to answer. “Yeah.”

“She just woke up and asked to see you. I’ll get the papers ready and will be rolling her to her room, if you can just wait a couple of minutes?”

“Yeah, sure.” Dean’s unable to feel his own heart beating. Maybe it stopped. He watches the woman walk towards the door where the reception is situated.

She’s alive.

She’s— fuck. Dean’s heart is beating out of his chest.

“Uh, Dean?”

He turns around to see Cas still in his seat. “Huh?”

“Yeah, uh, you might wanna wash your face and hands.”

“Yeah.” Dean says and walks towards the door he’s not allowed to go through.

“The other way.” Cas says.

“Yeah, I know.” Dean answers, he is breathing hard, feels nauseous all of a sudden.

Y/N vision is still blurry and her throat hurts from something they rammed down there. It makes her cough and every time she does, her wound starts to hurt. She tilts her head to the side, sees Dean talking to the doctor before he walks towards her.

She can detect a small smile on his face but the rest of it hangs in a dark cloud. His bow tie hangs loose around his neck on either side, the top three buttons of his dress shirt are unbuttoned and his jacket is missing. It’s weird how she can detect small details like this just short out of surgery but her ability to see details is logged in her brain.

“Hey,” He says and kneels down to brace his elbows on her bed, his fingers brush away at the hair on her forehead.

“Hi,” Her voice is scratchy.

“You’re alive.” He kisses her cheek and she really wishes that he would climb into bed and hold her. Wishes for him to blanket her in with his body, make her wake up from this surreal dream.

“Yeah.” She nods to that.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, takes her hand in his and kisses it. She breaks away from his hand to brush at the tear that rolls down his cheek.

“Don’t be.”

“They said you’ll be okay. You were shot below the clavicle, it’s a clean wound. You can go home in a couple of days.”

“Ugh.” Y/N groans out. “I hate hospitals.”

Dean chuckles at that, “Well let me see what I can do with my money to get you home sooner.”

“Stop spending money on me, Dean.”

“I already dropped two hundred thousands, what’s a little more?” He leans down, kisses her forehead.

She doesn’t ask about Cain. Already knows what probably happened. She wants to forget it. Wants to erase it from her mind.

“Dean, I’m tired.” She says instead of asking about Cain, because it’s true. She feels the strain of the surgery, the enormous amount of painkillers that’s still pumping into her body.

“That’s okay. Sleep, baby. I’ll be here when you wake up, alright?”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know, but I want to.”

She doesn’t remember a lot but she remembers Dean stroking her head until she fell asleep.

***

Y/N wakes up again to see Dean sitting at a desk in her hospital room. It’s a different room than she fell asleep in. This one is more spacious, has a big couch and a little desk, a table that seats four, off to a wall. But it’s still a hospital room nonetheless. The coziness of it doesn’t change the fact that it’s still ugly and sterile. She hates hospitals. Ugh.

Dean’s working on his laptop, typing out something with a crease between his eyebrows. He’s changed too, is wearing something else. Something with less blood on it but he still looks like a walking billboard ad, except that his scruff is slowly and surely turning into a beard.

She likes that. Likes how much softer he looks with a beard.

Sitting up a little, she also sees that she’s in a different bed. It’s slightly bigger than the one she was in before. She watches Dean work for a while, he’s so deep into his work and lost in concentration that he doesn’t even notice that she’s been awake.

Tilting her head to the side, she looks out the window, they’re quite high up, the next high rise is still towering over them, though.

There’s a bouquet of flowers on the table next to her bed, her phone is also there, connected to a charger and there’s a jug and a glass filled with water. Next to it, are pain meds. She looks down on herself, sees that she’s still in an ugly hospital gown that probably has her backside wide open.

Ugh.

Her throat feels awfully dry so she reaches out her hand for the glass. Her hands are still a little shaky, and it takes her two tries to finally be able to grab it. Gently, she puts it to her lips, tilts the glass and takes a sip. Setting the glass back again, she flinches at the pain. Y/N turns her attention back to Dean to see him leaning back in his seat and watching her with a grin on his face.

“Hi,” She blushes a little because how can she not.

Dean stands up and strolls towards her, his hands in his pants pockets. The smile grows bigger the closer he gets and she forgot how pretty he can be. My god, he’s beautiful. The light makes his freckles stand out.

His eyes are still a little red rimmed. Because he cried, she thinks. Feels guilty because she didn’t want to make him cry. It wasn’t her intention.

He sits on the side of her bed, bends down to kiss her forehead. “Hi,” He says when he sits back up. His hands leave his pockets, and one of them is holding her hand while the other one is stroking her cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been shot at.” She says, grinning a little and Dean rolls his eyes.

He chuckles at her joke before he pulls himself together. “I was able to move you into a private suite.”

“I don’t even wanna ask how you did that.”

He snorts, “Well, in my defense, it wasn’t me, even if I want to take all the credit for it. It’s actually Crowley who pulled the strings.” And then he goes on, “Anyway, the flowers are from Sam and Jess.”

“Oh,”

“Yeah,” Dean groans. “Ew, they don’t know you at all.”

“No, that’s actually nice.”

Dean raises an eyebrow, “So, you accept flowers from everyone else but you don’t want flowers from me, got it.”

She laughs, but that’s a bad idea because it hurts and she flinches, “I just don’t want you to spend money on things that won’t last.”

Dean nods, letting her words sink in but he doesn’t say anything further, instead he looks around before he begins to speak again. “I got Cas to go get things from home. He brought you your phone and a set of clothes for you to change into when you get released.”

“You haven’t been home yourself?”

“No.”

“Oh,” She says, “And Cuddles?”

“Cas.”

“He’s allergic.”

Dean laughs, “Yeah, I know.”

“Oh my god, poor guy.”

“Cuddles or Cas?”

She thinks about it. “Probably both.”

On the fourth day she gets released. Dean had to pull some strings, because she can only be released when all the criteria are met. He quickly employs a nurse and with the help of Sergei, they will be good to go soon.

She walks around in her hospital gown, muttering something while he’s packing his things.

“Sweetheart, what is it?” Dean zips up his laptop bag, walks to sit on the bed and guides her to stand between his thighs.

“Cas.”

“Cas?” Dean frowns.

“Have you seen his choice of clothes?”

Dean’s doing his best to bite back a laugh, it’s not really working and she stares him down.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says, “He probably had good intentions.”

“Dean, a glittery tube dress is not how I wanna dress to go home. Well, at least he brought leggings? So yay?”

He’s still grinning like an idiot, he knows that, but how can he not, she’s cute when she’s upset. “Well, to be fair, I gave him an earful myself when I saw it but he said that he just wanted for you to not use your shoulders too much while getting in and out of shirts.”

Y/N lowers her head, and he knows that she probably rethinks her options. “I’m really thinking about going home with that gown.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Dean chimes in and it’s the first time that he dares to touch her, touch her ass, and it’s exciting. He missed it, missed the feeling of her flesh underneath the palm of his hands. She hasn’t been wearing underwear and he skids his hands over her bottom, rests it on the small of her back. “It’s easy access.”

If looks could kill, he’ll be dead.

“I can offer you a shirt.” He says, tries to make her comfortable.

“Please,” She whines, and he has to grin at that. He kisses her and stands up to walk over to his overnight bag, fishes out a shirt, he doesn’t have a new one left but an old one will do just fine. Besides, he likes her smelling like him, too. So, it’s kind of a win-win situation they got here.

He gets back to the bed, shirt in hand, guides her back between his legs and strips her off her gown, lets it fall to the floor. Bad idea, he thinks, because she’s standing there naked and he can’t help it. Is already half hard just by looking at her.

“Maybe I have to mention that Cas didn’t bring you new underwear.”

“Of course he didn’t.”

“I told him not to because I can’t stand the thought of him going through your panties and bras.” He adds, as he let her slip into his shirt. She’s flinching a little.

Dean buttons up the shirt and pulls her forward, both hands on her hips. “You’re as beautiful as ever.” He says, purses his lips into a grin and there’s a small smile on her face, a hint of pink in her cheeks.

“Okay,” He says, “Now we should wear pants before I’m doing something I’m not supposed to.”

A flock of nurses were standing in front of her hospital room when Dean and Y/N walked out. It’s like they’ve been waiting to get a look at Dean. He is clearly the star here because since she woke up, there’s always someone coming to knock at their door and ask Dean if he needs anything when it’s her who’s recovering from an injury. She can’t blame them though. He’s really easy on the eye.

He holds all his things in one hand while he has one arm around her. He looks like he’s been struggling with the load and she told him that he can walk twice but apparently, Dean Winchester doesn’t take two trips.

Back at home, Cuddles is lying next to her on the bed while Dean takes his laptop to bed and works from there. He doesn’t say anything, and it seems like he doesn’t mind that Cuddles is in their bed, but she guesses it’s just a temporary thing he tolerates because she’s not fully recovered yet. Dean makes some calls too, keeping his voice low as not to be a big disruption, but she’s still too knocked out from pain meds to listen to it anyway. She tunes the voices out, strokes Cuddles until she falls asleep.

The next morning Dean wakes her up with coffee and a tray of breakfast. “You have to eat before taking those pills, sweetheart.” He says and sits down next to her, back leaning against the headboard. He watches her eat in silence but he has his phone in his hand and was thumbing and typing away on it.

She guesses it’s about that big thing and decides to bluntly ask him about it, “How’s work going? Is that big thing still on?”

He pauses from staring at his phone screen. “Yeah,” He looks at her then, “We’re figuring out details.”

“When is it?”

Dean grins, “You shouldn’t be thinking about it. It’ll hurt your pretty head.” And in another breath he says, “It’s still gonna be a couple of months, but we’re getting there.”

And then, it’s like a dam broke in him and he starts to tell her everything. She got to know more than she bargained for. He’s telling her about the whole operation, who’s involved, how they are doing it, how much money he's gonna be making. He asks her for her opinions, too.

“Do you think it’ll work out?”

She thinks, and it might have been a longer pause than she’d anticipated. She wants to help him, wants so much for him to be happy but she also wants to please Linda. Why can’t she have both?

“Have you thought about a decoy?” She asks him and he looks at her like she’s crazy.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just risky to me if you put everything on this operation, and it’s illusive to think that someone won’t interfere with it, is all.” She shrugs and sees Dean scratch at his scruff, which he has trimmed this morning, as if he thinks that there’s some truth behind her words.

“I need to make a call.” He then says, kisses the top of her head. “I’ll be right back.”

He draws her a bath later, carries her to the tub, undresses them both and helps her in before he follows her. He leans against the tub, lets her sit between his thighs and lean her head back onto his chest. She still has a plastic bandage on her chest and Dean’s careful not to get it wet.

“How are you feeling?” He asks as he sits there and lets her wash herself. She wanted it that way, feels a little weirded out at the thought that Dean has to wash her.

She finishes and leans back, wonders if he’s not grossed out by stewing with her in her filth. “Good. Much better, actually. How long did they say that I had to rest?”

“At least another week.”

“Ugh.”

Dean snorts, “Yeah. But I’m here along the way.”

They get out with him carrying her over the ledge because he’s too afraid of her slipping out and falling down. He gets into the showers with her, rinsing off the bathwater and she sees that he’s hard.

“Do you need help with that?” She asks, a smirk on her face.

He raises an eyebrow. “Stop staring, I’m trying to be good.”

She shrugs. “I mean, I can.”

Dean lets out a frustrated groan and gets out to wrap himself into a towel before holding one out for her.

***

Y/N’s been at home for four days now and is feeling significantly better. She could drop one of her pain killers, and Sergei is very happy with the healing of the wound. She’s now able to hold things in her right hand again, like her phone, or a pencil and she’s back to drawing, too.

She wants to call Linda, tell her what’s going on but she’s never had a minute to herself. Dean’s always present and as much as she likes that he’s been so attentive, she also needs space to breathe. So when he comes to the bedroom with Crowley on the other line and asks her if it was okay when he goes out for a meeting, she might be too enthusiastic with her reply that it was more than okay. The crease between his eyebrows grows but then she adds that he please bring back something from Bobby’s, his face lights up again, pleased that she has found her appetite.

After Dean had left, she waited for another twenty minutes, just to be extra sure.

Linda picks up at the second ring. “Y/N?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“My god, I was worried. I haven’t heard anything for over a week! What happened? Are you alright? Is everything okay? Is this a hostage situation I have to get you out of?”

“Linda, first of all. Can you calm down? Your questions are hurting my head!”

“Sorry,”

Y/N takes a deep breath before she begins to tell Linda about everything. Everything from the day she made the deal with Linda until the present day. And Linda listens for once, doesn’t interrupt her and her train of thought.

“Will you be able to hold your part of the deal?” Linda asks at last, after she spoke out her concern for Y/N’s wellbeing.

“Yes.”

“Okay, I have already started to set everything in place for the due date. You said it’s gonna be a couple of months, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I still have time to make final arrangements. I’ll text you further instructions and coordinates once it’s final.”

“Good.”

“Take care, Y/N. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

She hangs up, throws her phone away and buries her face in her pillow. She tries not to cry, doesn’t want Dean to see that she’s been crying because he always knows when she did. It’s annoying really.

CH27

#something just like this #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #mobster!dean #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x you #nathalie writes

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cosmicbash · 4 years ago

Note

no but like oh my god, imagine if kells only has sex with em bc that’s the only way he can think of repaying the rapper??? christ, like, he only thinks of em’s own pleasure instead of his own, using his body as an apology, bc that’s the only way he knows how (i mean there’s his music too, but he thinks em fucking hates his music) ((idk might write abt this, but i kinda want u to kickstart it uknow?))

Yess yess yess I love this.

It starts out as a misunderstanding, of course, because how else would their relationship begin?

A series of short tentative chats that somehow blossom into a full on dinner together, Colson sweating and more anxious than he's ever been in his life. It just doesn't seem real, that not only could he be mending this feud with his idol but also sitting across from him at some fancy restaurant table learning Eminem eats his steaks well done like some child. And laughing about it.

He's actually laughing. With his idol, his rival, his highschool crush. Long legs kicking out under the table at his own bad jokes, Em half smirking back at him. Their feet brushing one too many times for the color to leave his cheeks even after he's done giggling.

By the time Colson is talking Em into splitting some crazy good looking chocolate cake he actually feels better than he has in years. Since before the beef. So of course something has to go wrong. It really would have to be a dream for things not to sour.

He wants to pretend the first few flirty comments are in his head. That Em reaching across the table to roughly rub some chocolate off his cheek is a Detroit thing. But by the time they're finished eating and waiting for the check Colson's creeping suspicion has turned into full on alarm bells blaring. There's just no way to excuse the nervous looks or Em's almost hesitant invitation up to his hotel room.

It feels like a slap to the face. Everything suddenly makes sense. Why they're eating in the other rapper's hotel, why Em is even speaking to him. None of this is to repair their relationship or end the beef. It's all just some poorly hidden buttering up before Em asks him to get down on his knees.

Colson should blow up. He should just lash out and throw his fist into Em's face. Storm out and flag down the valet. He's not some escort that the rapper can rent for the night and feed a fancy dinner to.

But there's that guilty feeling that has settled into the pit of his stomach. The one that's been there since he first lashed out and ruined everything with his diss track, the comments about Hailey, his childish bitching in interviews. It's only doubled since they first sat down to eat. Every muffled chuckle and weakly hidden smile from the older man digging that pit deeper and deeper. Showing him what he carelessly threw away in some desperate grab for attention.

It's got a small voice in the back of Colson's head warning him how if he says no and storms out he's just doing the same thing all over again, cutting Em out of his life. This time possibly forever.

So Colson bites his tongue and nods. His fingers anxiously climbing up into his hair to help hide the guilty look he knows must be on his face when he stutters out a "y-yeah, yeah, sure."

The genuine smile Em flashes back at him at his agreement just feels like a knife being jammed next to the shovel.

How can the man look so fucking blissful about something that feels like borderline blackmail?

But Em does. He looks stunned, downright flustered even at first at his response. Then happy. A happy that isn't hidden by some fake cough or behind a delicate yet strong looking hand for once. It gives Colson something precious to hold onto in the sea of uncomfortable and nasty emotions twisting up his stomach while the older rapper pays.

The knot just twists itself up tighter once they're in the elevator, his silence thankfully brushed off as nervousness by Em. The almost shy glance of steely blue eyes his way making him feel so small while buttons are pressed. Usually Colson would blame this kind of nausea on the ride itself, but for once his phobia of the small metal deathtraps is actually being overpowered. A new fear worming its way through his guts as each floor number blinks to life.

He doesn't want to freak out. To run away, but hes too goddamn sober for this. Avoiding smoking and turning down the offer of wine at dinner just to try and impress his idol was threatening to be his downfall. If he'd known Em was going to show such little respect and consideration to his being like this he would have lit a fat one up right there at the table. Hell, maybe that would have changed the older man's mind about propositioning him in the first place. Surely a druggie asshole was less appealing to make drop to their knees instead of his current carefully put together primped and meek self.

"Only a few more floors. Don't go green on me just yet Kelly."

Colson didn't know whether to take the playful nudge as comforting or creepy. Maybe, a little flattering? If Em had actually looked into him enough to learn about his problem with elevators and the man just wasn't guessing off the apparent discolor of his face that is.

"Y-yeah."

Imagining Eminem of all people actually following his interviews or caring about his personal life that much felt like a pipe dream though.

Outside of the next 20 minutes or however long it took for the bastard to get his rocks off he highly doubted Em would put much thought into his existence at all. Which would be fair. After all the shit he's said and done he really doesn't deserve the time of day from his idol.

A ding and the elevator doors were opening. Colson's legs feeling numb beneath him when he finally lets go of the railing in the elevator to stumble forward. Thankful that Em's focus was on digging his room's keycard out of his wallet and not his clumsy steps. Each one bringing them closer and closer to their destination, making the whole situation so vividly real he couldn't help but panic again. The other man's forced small talk about how he "Doesn't usually book the penthouse suite-" falling on deaf ears.

It’s ironic, how often he had dreamed for this exact scenario. For Eminem to be leading him up to some fancy high end hotel room, promising to shower him fully in his attention and gaze. Only now, with his dream coming true right before his eyes he can’t help but feel bittersweet about the heated gaze holding him frozen just outside the door. Em’s final offer for him to back down before they both step through the threshold clear as day in the look.

The twist in his gut tells Colson to take it, to just spin around on his heel and run away with his tail tucked between his legs. Accept he’s too much of a coward and too full of himself to actually mend their beef.

But the desperate need he feels for forgiveness and absolvement pushes Colson forward instead. Sheer will alone giving him the confidence to twirl his idols hoodie strings around his fingers to drag Em inside with him. The loud beat of his heart completely smothering the other man’s flustered outburst.

Just like in church the blonde finds himself on his knees not too long after entering. Mouth open and hands clasped together, ready to ask for forgiveness. Except this god he’s praying to is running it’s fingers through his hair, and there’s a stiff cock separating his palms. A chorus of curses and “Holy fuck, K-Kelly just wait a second, shit, your tongue is-“ tickling his ears instead of hymns.

He’s never sucked a cock before, and it’s embarrassing how quickly he finds himself choking. But Colson doesn’t give up, even when his jaw starts to ache and the grip on his hair grows a bit too tight. His discomfort doesn’t matter here. He just needs to make Em happy, earn the forgiveness he doesn’t deserve.

“Can I- fuck, can I fuck your face?” Both of the older rapper’s palms are holding his bangs away from his face, tilting his head back just enough to force their eyes to meet. The shame in his chest doubles but so does the surprising tightness in his jeans when he sees the uncharacteristic flush to Em’s cheeks.

He isn’t experienced, the smart thing to do would be pull off and admit that. He’s seen first hand how disastrous things can go but his head bobs in a yes anyway. Eyes already starting to water from how the action jabs the other rappers cock right against his gag reflex.

A low groan is all the warning he gets before Em’s fingers are knotting in his hair, forcing his head down to meet the thrust of strong hips. Stuffing that hard dick down his throat so fast it burns and his hands can’t help but flail, helplessly grabbing onto the meat of the older rapper’s thighs through his sweats. Unable to even steal another gasp of air before it happens again. Em’s hips pistoning forward to fuck his mouth like some cheap replaceable toy.

Even after he gags and gurgles spit the rapper doesn’t stop.

The harsh pants of praise and encouragement burning his ears just as hotly as the tears in his eyes. “Ah, so good. So fucking good baby, the best, ah-“

Colson doesn’t know what’s worse, how quickly his heart skips at the surprise tern of endearment or how pathetically his cock jerks in his underwear. Not that he has much time to think on it with how Em abruptly forces his face right down to the bone, soft and scratchy pubes tickling his nose. Startling him before the other man’s blowing his load, Colson’s eyes widening and nails cutting deeply into Em’s legs while he chokes. There’s too much, even with his throat reflexively swallowing it still fills up his mouth and bursts out the sides. Dripping down his chin and out onto his shirt when Em finally pulls him off.

It’s salty, and thick. Nothing like the eggnog Rook’s joked to him it tastes like. There’s nothing sweet about this thick cream, even if the lightheaded feeling he’s got from milking it out still makes him feel drunk.

“Shit. I wanna take a picture.“ Em’s palm is tilting his head back again, dragging his glassy eyes up away from the twitching spit slick cock in front of him. Thumb forcing his tongue down flat to flash what he can only imagine has to be a white mess before the hand in his hair is fumbling out a phone. “Can I?”

He almost wants to laugh at how the brunette doesn’t even wait for his answer before there is the unmistakable flash of a phone light temporarily blinding him. A curse and then another two, these ones at least allowing him the chance to shut his eyes tightly.

The shame within him is boiling, burning through his veins like lava and making his heart drop down into his stomach.

“So pretty-“ Em’s fingers are releasing his tongue and jaw to rake through his bangs yet again. Exposing his face even though Colson wants nothing more than to hide. A stifled sob tearing at his aching throat while he swallows what he can inside his mouth without completely gagging.

He can’t cry. That would ruin the mood wouldn't it? And if it doesn't, Colson doesn't know how he would handle having Em laugh at his tears. The almost soft demeanor and shy quality to his tone is all thats keeping the blonde from running away as it is.

The shuffle of shoes and curl of strong fingers pulling him up startles Colson's eyes back open. Lashes fluttering to blink away the brief flash of wetness that's blurred his vision before he realizes he's being kissed. That Em's palms are cupping his jaw yet again, helping him to his feet.

It's scratchy, and softer than he expects. Not that he was expecting Eminem to be kissing him in the first place, but the man doesn't relent. Just keeps kissing him, even after he's grown to his full height and the angle of their heads has switched. Em's tongue snaking its way inside his mouth while they stumble back further into the room. Until Colson's head is feeling fuzzy and his knees weak, the cushioned crash of his body hitting a mattress barely felt.

It feels wrong when Em's hands smooth up over his chest and down inside his jeans. The uncontrollable kick of his hips up into a tight hand around his cock almost blasphemous. There's no reason for Em to even be bothering with touching him there, he doesn't deserve it. But the rapper is sucking and nibbling along his neck, up into his ear to whisper a dozen filthy praises and compliments. None of them possibly true.

"So pretty-" "Perfect-" "Wanted to touch you for so long-"

"Stop-" Colson's hands feel shaky as they drag his idols face back up to meet his in a messy kiss. Breath tight while he tries to speak between pecks. "Just- fuck, just hurry-"

When he winds up on his stomach some point into the night, Em's too big cock pressing hard against his entrance he can't help but cry out. The pitiful fist he shoves between his own teeth doing nothing to stifle the sound.

It hurts, more than the thin fingers he'd taken only moments prior. But not as much as the soothing shushes and affectionate run of hands through his hair.

----

(Okay so this has set in my docs wayyyy too long now and you said you just wanted it maybe even as a kickstart so 🤲🤲 here is my humble offering)

#emgk #asks #i love asks #just making myself sad #thinking about an em who genuinely is crushing on kells and wants to be with him #but kells only sleeps with him because he assumes the poor guy is expecting it #and as such just misconstrues every soft gesture #and ruins the chance they could have had at starting things write and it being enjoyable for both

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vampiresuns · 4 years ago

Text

Window Bird

I wanted an excuse to write both Anatole’s family and Leon/Anatole, so lo and behold.

Leon is @apprenticealec‘s, and uses He/They pronouns, which I use interchangeably.

Word count: 1792; No cws this time.

Leon didn’t usually come to the Heart District, if he went there at all, except for the times the band had a gig or the like. There was no appeal in that part of the city to them, yet there they were on a Sunday morning, going up the steps of the Palazzo Cassano, the Consul’s seat, to pick up Anatole for — Leon wasn’t sure.

The shop had been alone and they didn’t want to be alone right now.

Whatever laid inside the house (an understatement) he couldn’t tell, but he could tell it was big. Very big, with corridors twisting and turning, secret alcoves and sliding doors. The foyer must have been bigger than most city homes, yet not bigger than the palace’s out of the way it echoed.

Someone came to greet them.

“Good morning, and welcome. What may we help you with today? Are you here for the library or are you here to deliver a message?”

“No, I’m here for Anatole? My name is Leon and we are—“

“Oh, are you a friend of Aelius?” The person didn’t wait for an answer. “I’ll go see if he’s available. Do wait here, or you can wait in the drawing room to the left. Do you need any help with that?”

“No, I can find my way on my own.”

“I’ll be right back then.”

They weren’t right back. Minutes slipped away without anyone coming back to retrieve them. If Leon gave it a thought, it made sense no one came around the foyer. Had he given it two thoughts, which he wasn’t about to do, he would’ve figured out there was some kind of way it was known the foyer was occupied, because they didn’t ring a bell. It would come back later to him.

Someone approached, stopped, but went by without saying anything to Leon, leaving before Leon would say anything.

Could one of his tethers find Anatole? He had never asked if he was okay with it, but did he have to ask? He didn’t know. Leon could just check if he was busy and if he was, yet Leon thought Anatole would not appreciate the intrusion. They had spent enough time together for Leon to notice Anatole guarded his private life, keeping it away from his job. It made sense — if that were the last beacon of reprieve Leon himself had, he would do it too.

Did he care that much about Anatole? Or was it basic consideration? A Gentlepeople agreement of you shall not trespass, and neither shall I?

The unmistakable sound of someone who needed a cane to walk took him out of his thoughts. Leon heard them say something that resembled Vesuvian common tongue, but nothing he could make up clearly. He couldn’t make out the reply either, but it sounded almost like Valerius.

The person with the cane stood under the threshold of the foyer, tapping their cane to get Leon’s attention.

“Are you a friend of my great grandson?”

“Excuse me?” It dawned on Leon that Anatole had never mentioned his family, except to talk twice about where he lived. He had mentioned his parents loosely, and an Aunt who lived in Vesuvia but passed some years ago, never of his family. Only now Leon realised the Palazzo wasn’t full of workers or people who came for the library or other of its amenities, but of Anatole’s relatives. It made him incredibly human.

“I was told you were a friend of Anatole’s, are you not? What is your name?”

“I’m Leon. I am a friend of Anatole’s.”

“I’m Valerian Cassano. My great grandson was sleeping, but I am sure he will be with us any minute now. You have to excuse him, he needs his rest.”

Valerian began walking away, stopping and yelling back into the foyer when he realised Leon wasn’t following him. “I am older than you can imagine, young thing, I am not going to go back there and get you.”

It wasn’t a request, and it seemed better to be invited in than waiting in a foyer he couldn’t even admire or despise.

Valerian only asked if Leon needed anything once, assuming if he did he would ask. They sat in silence in a room he described as a family parlour. They both sat in silence for a moment, Leon expecting him to want to know how he knew Anatole, but the question never came. Instead, they tap their cane again, rhythmically, trying to emulate a song Leon does not recognise.

Eventually the questions do come, but they’re not what Leon expects. The only thing Valerian wanted to know is what it is that they do, and after they reply he’s a musician, the conversation took off. He asked other things, as where did they play the most, did Leon play alone, and what type of music, but most of the conversation ends up being about Valerian’s past and the city. How they used to be an actor, the Operas in the city and Goldgrave. He spoke little of the late Consul, and made excuses for the actual one not letting them in.

“Where is it that you know Valeriy, anyway? He is much less inclined to blend in with people—”

“Uh, sorry?”

The eye roll was audible. “Valerius, who else.”

“I— through a common friend.”

Valerian did noy buy it, huffing a laugh instead. “Very well, everyone has always seemed to say Anatole does take after him. Though, of course, Valeriy would never sleep in the city for someone. You care about the boy.”

Leon didn’t sense any maliciousness from the old man, but it didn’t mean he liked the question. It felt too open, like Leon had made his own decisions without even noticing, but apparent to the rest of people.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It has to do with everything. You could’ve just checked if he was sleeping and left. I’m assuming you sense your way somehow, remarkable, really.”

“Stop tormenting Leon,” Anatole’s voice, with the exasperated fondness some people have to their family members, cut through Leon’s internal screaming. “Hi Lee, good morning Valerian.”

“You missed breakfast, Toly.”

“I chugged some coffee.”

“You drink too much of it.”

“Blame Valeriy for waking me up in a fissy.”

Anatole put his hand on Leon’s shoulder, squeezing lightly, as they finally said hello back. It was strange to witness him around people who had known him all his life. It felt like looking into someone’s life from a window, a limbo of an invitation, unsure if you wanted to step in, despite not having been pushed further out.

“Did you want us to go somewhere, Lee? Sorry if I took too long.”

“Actually, I did. Don’t worry, your great grandfather put up with me.”

“And your Leon put up with me.”

Anatole laughed, delighted. “Being terrible is a family trait. Whatever he told you about me, he’s lying.”

“I was an actor, I studied people’s characters for a living.”

Anatole kissed his great grandfather’s forehead before asking Leon if they should go. As easily as he had been pulled into this private corner of Anatole’s life, he was pulled out of it.

Anatole apologised. “He is incredibly lucid for being so incredibly old… but he must have liked you, Valerian doesn’t really speak to many people. He says it tires him.”

“How old is he?”

“About 102, I believe? I’m not sure, I don’t think many people are anyway. Besides, he keeps insisting he’ll die when he wants to die, so age is not a thing that matters.”

“Do you want your family to like me?” Leon teased him.

“My family has little to do with anything. As of late, I don’t really sleep here all that much. If I’m not spending the night at the Palace, I’m spending it in town — speaking of which, where do you want to go?”

“How about the market, so you eat something, and then we decide.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

Leo began walking towards the foyer, but Anatole stopped him.

“No, no, I leave through the back door. You can’t tell anyone where it is, though.”

Leon followed Anatole through the house, into an unassuming corridor with an unassuming door, yet by the sound of Anatole opening it, it had some sort of mechanism to guard it. Outside, the breeze and sounds of the city awaited for them, in an equally quiet and unassuming corridor.

Anatole closed the door after him, but didn’t advance. “Leon?”

“Yes?”

“If you ever wanted to visit while I’m here, you can use this door. It doesn’t have a bell, what you have to do is spin the doorknob three times to the right, quick and sort turns, and someone will come to open and let you in.”

“And would I find you inside?”

“Just ask. Or test your luck, you always end up finding me.”

“I could just use a tether, they do save time.”

“That’s up to you, really.”

“So, you don’t want to know if I have one on you?”

“I know you don’t, Lee. That’s not what we do.”

Leon frowned. “We could.”

Anatole stepped closer to Leon, cupping his cheek, and rubbing his thumb against his skin. In safe company he relaxed, but in shared privacy he unfolded. Perhaps, the old man had been right. Perhaps the Gentlepeople’s agreement laid in respecting each other’s boundaries not out of indifference but care. Wasn’t it so? Genuine, honest Anatole who did care for Leon, now realised he was allowed to care. He did tell them he didn’t allow people into his life if he wasn’t going to care about them. Why would he waste his energy pretending to care about something?

Leon couldn’t see the sun, but he could feel it. He could feel it on his skin, and Anatole’s incommensurable caring for that which did have his attention felt a lot like it. The city, his family, his friends, the city once again, people and corners Leon wasn’t privy to, but which Anatole did not pretend not to have in him.

Neither of them pretended to be people they were not. Was that honesty not caring?

“You’d have to let me take care of you.”

Leon took Anatole’s face in his hands, Anatole letting his own hand fall and rest over his waist. His fingers were soft over his lips, and Anatole kissed the tip of every one of them, until Leon replaced them with their own lips.

“I think I already do.”

It was like finding a partner for a journey you both knew would take you to different places, yet while the journey lasted, you had each other.

#my writing #the arcana #aelius anatole #leon #oc x oc #dani's ocs #coincidence lovers #them but it's portrait of an enby on fire #only neither of them paint #sonata of an enby on fire?

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akechicrimes · 5 years ago

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it does matter, actually, that goro akechi is a minor. not because this somehow exonerates him morally, or because this somehow makes him not responsible for his actions, but because persona 5 is invested in children as a source of hope for a better future.

once i saw someone complain that people will defend akechi’s murders on the grounds that he’s a child/minor and how they felt that this doesnt excuse multiple counts of murder. and i was like, ok, well, im not sure anyone was excusing him, but alright, sure. and i’ve seen a few rebuttals to that, one of which is that shido and the other adults in akechi’s life had a responsibility to support akechi in such a way that it didn’t come to murder, and of course it’s on shido to just not be a massive dick who endorses fascism and murders in the first place. and i was like ok, well, this seems a little patronizing and dismissive of akechi’s agency and autonomy, but alright, sure.

in a very roundabout way of explaining my first two sentences, there’s one thing that bothers me lately, and it’s selim bradley from fullmetal alchemist: brotherhood.

for those of us not familiar with fma:b, selim, or pride, is the oldest homunculus/artificial human in the show and the second-oldest villain, despite the fact that he looks about eight years old. of the seven homunculus named after deadly sins, selim/pride is the only one to survive the show--with an asterisk, which is that selim gets the “homunculus” part of him erased by the end of the show. with the “pride” aspect of him gone, selim is mortal, without any special powers, without memories of any of his amoral acts, and is generally just a happy, normal child.

which is a weird exception to fma:b’s general rule in which every other homunculus dies. even fan favorites like greed and envy don’t live, despite the fact that greed and envy are far more sympathetic as characters. selim kills multiple people on-screen, shows zero remorse whatsoever, and is an active helper in all the other mass-murders that the homunculi engineer. selim’s not an innocent in any way. also, he’s like, 200 years old? 300? he’s very old. biologically, mentally, emotionally, selim is not a child.

but fma:b goes out of its way to make sure that selim gets a second chance at a future, just because his body looks like a child’s. cut another way, he gets an exception from a large number of terrible crimes, up to an including participation in genocide, just because he looks like a child.

fma:b reminded me that, outside of tumblr’s purity politics over children, and especially so in japan, children are socially constructed in a very specific way, beyond biological age and legal majority cutoffs.

yes, biological age is a thing. yes, legal majority is a thing. i’m not saying that being a child isn’t a biological thing--it is, obviously. but what i’m saying is that there’s a difference between, say, the sex assigned to you at birth and your gender presentation, to use an analogy. there is a such thing as biological age, but the societal status of being a child of a related but separate thing. and this status of being considered a child is a societal construct.

the social construction goes like this, insofar as i’m aware: children should be good and silent and dutiful and work hard and go to school and listen to their elders, and their elders in turn should do everything they can to guide the children to the right path and build a good society for these children to inherit. (if we want more details on this, please see the entire history of filial piety in asia.)

so that’s a social contract right there baked into the social construct of childhood: children don’t have power, but adults have an obligation to make sure they don’t need power, and to make sure that the future and their children’s futures look bright.

children represent the future, essentially. they’re the next generation. they’re simultaneously without legal rights as adults and in a very vulnerable position, for sure, but they’re also simultaneously considered the country’s most precious capital: quite literally the people who will inherit and lead the country next.

which, personally, i think puts a whole new spin on the phantom thieves in general. they’re not just kids who’re being rowdy or kids telling abusive shitty adults theyre being abusive and shitty--or, they’re kids doing those things, but they’re not just kids doing those things. they’re kids who’ve been specifically let down by adults who did not fulfill their social obligation to them. they’re kids who’ve been abandoned and neglected by the very adults who should have been paving the way forward for them, as society has asked those adults to do, because those adults have instead chosen to line their own pockets and cover their own asses.

so the kids said: alright, well, then i’ll take power for myself, and i’ll make my own future. (which is where we get a lot of those promo slogans of “steal back your future” and junk like that.)

sae’s comments about how adults should do their part to fix the world for the kids is just a resolidifying of the way the world “should” work, and we could talk about her comments on the matter, but actually i wanna talk about yoshida.

i especially want to talk about yoshida because yoshida and shido are the two politicians we see the most of, and both of them spend a lot of time reciting political rhetoric to speak to the hearts of the general japanese populace. we all know the way that shido thinks of japan: a large vehicle that one person is in control of, and the masses just compose the throne upon which the ruler sits.

we also already know that yoshida’s a Real G, but it’s worth really close-reading some of his lines. he speaks a lot about apathy, the lack of caring for each other in society--a general willingness to disregard your fellow man, to not uphold one’s social obligation to each other. but he also talks a lot about the “youth”--which is not really uncommon for a politician, obviously, since politicians are always talking about “the children” and “the kids” and “the next generation” and “those damn millennials” and all that shit.

yoshida instead gives us these fun lines:

A world where the young exist only to be exploited... is a world that must be changed!

And while our society appears to be prosperous, many of our young people are quietly suffering. They lack jobs, security, savings... The next generation will lead us into the future and yet they have no plan for how to arrive there.

Passing on the societal ills we have created to the next generation... is not right!

...the current administration refuses to discuss their plans for the future... Can we really accept such an utter lack of transparency?!

If you make a promise, you must keep it. If you make a mistake, you must atone for it. These are basic human principles that we have all learned from the youngest of ages...

yoshida’s entire thing about how the adults have let the children down isn’t just him saying shit--he’s commenting directly on the fact that the social contract has been broken, and he’s putting the blame on the administration for not upholding their responsibility to secure a future for the children, especially since the children are the future of the country.

this is partly why he doesn’t blame the phantom thieves for acting the way that they do; rather, he seems them as a logical reaction to the injustice that’s occurred as a result of the society that the adults have left for them:

I bet [the Phantom Thieves] are a group of young people. Young people who have experienced cruelty and injustice... They bravely face the societal ills that plague our world without thinking of the consequences.

(i think also in part he admires the fact that they’re anonymous and don’t benefit personally from their actions, which is exactly the opposite of what he did as a young politician. he also doesn’t throw the real embezzlement culprit under the bus to exonerate himself presumably for the same principle of desiring selfless public service instead of personal gain.)

in both the early parts of the s link and later on when yoshida starts talking with matsushita more extensively, akira’s important because he’s young--he represents the young demographic that yoshida and matsushita are discussing the future of. akira demonstrating support for yoshida in a public way means a lot because he’s a minor. matsushita asks akira for his opinions on the phantom thieves and other issues because akira is a minor. akira’s opinion is supposed to be heard and valued by adults, who should take his opinions into consideration and do their best to not let him down.

this is tied into the general thread of yoshida being a person who was self-admittedly just as corrupt as everyone else, who was blinded by glamor and fame and money, who got caught up in political scandal. yoshida’s general acceptance of his mistakes as a human being and politician ties over to his general belief that it’s not that the youth are rebellious no-good teens, but that the youth have been let down by politicians like who he used to be. he blames himself, and because he is not too different from the rest of the older generation and politicians in general, he implicates a lot of the older generation and politicians as also blame-worthy.

his quest for redemption and atonement dovetails neatly with his views on the broken societal contract. taken together, yoshida’s s link implies to us the idea that the entire general older generation in japan more or less owes the children of japan a formal apology, and the older generation better get on their redemption arc and start being the vanguard of the change for children:

The reason [the Phantom Thieves are] causing a stir is because they are addressing the world’s problems. Setting aside whether their actions are right or wrong... there is one thing I can safely say about the Phantom Thieves. A belief with conviction... has the ability to move a person’s heart.

I’m sure you are all aware that I am “No-Good Tora,” the one accused of embezzlement. However, because I was accused like that, I was able to understand the suffering of the weak. Why am I in politics? In the past, it was merely for personal gain. But why do the Phantom Thieves continue to change hearts? I believe they do it for the world and its people. And in choosing to do justice for others, they had no choice but to disguise themselves. No matter what the world says, I fully support them.

I’m just an average citizen. However, I will continue to voice my beliefs. I may not be able to become a Diet member this election... and I may not be able to effect change during my lifetime... but I’ve made my peace with that. I will be happy as long as I can be a meaningful stepping stone for the future of our youth!

okay. so that was a lot of close reading about yoshida. why did we do this exercise, tumblr user akechicrimes.

there’s two takeaways from this. the first is the one that yoshida has already talked about extensively, which is that the phantom thieves are just but not because Fuck Cops and Fuck Capitalism and Fuck Anime Jeff Bezos. the phantom thieves are just because the people who are supposed to be upholding society aren’t doing their fucking jobs. the phantom thieves are specifically saying: we’ve been let down by society, so apparently we have to do everything our goddamn selves around here.

(which also ties in neatly to the general “fuck cops” vibe of persona 5 which, i would like to say, is very specifically “the cops are not doing their jobs.” the TV station scene where akira speaks back to akechi is, if i’m remembering this right, maybe the ONLY time we really hear “akira’s” opinion on the morality of his own activities, which is fascinating because he just does these things without ever justifying himself to the player--anyway, his three options are: (1) They’re justice itself, (2) They’re necessary, and (3) They do more than the cops. so akira can’t ever at any point say that the phantom thieves are bad, but his most interesting and detailed answer is to point out that the cops aren’t doing what they’re supposed to do, so who can really blame the phantom thieves for doing what the cops aren’t?)

the second takeaway is that yes, goro akechi does get more leniency because he’s a minor.

yes. seriously. this isn’t a matter of excusing what he did, or downplaying the fact that he committing murder. i’m not saying that he wasn’t old enough to make decisions (although i would never say that he was old enough to make decisions, because he was 14/15 when he got wrapped up in shido’s conspiracy). i’m also not saying that akechi, somehow for some reason, didn’t volunteer himself willingly, because all the evidence points to the fact that he did (although of course “free will” is also highly circumspect considering his living conditions at the time and the fact that shido makes it clear that he was able to manipulate akechi without ever infringing on akechi’s sense of autonomy). i’m not even saying that akechi was driven to the point of murder and had no other choice (although i think that might also be true as well).

what i am saying is that under the construction of childhood as japan’s future and japan’s hope, akechi is considered a valuable member of society, and is therefore worth saving.

or at least he should be.

akechi says that he’s an unwanted child, but “unwanted child,” according to yoshida’s rhetoric (and a lot of japan’s general rhetoric of children as hope for the future) is an oxymoron. (or at least it would be an oxymoron if japan weren’t so fucking hypocritical.) you can’t not want the future of the country. you can’t not want hope for a good future. the very idea that a child could be not wanted or not valuable doesn’t make any sense, because children are the future--in some ways, whether you like it or not, that child is going to inherit the earth when you’re dead.

the kind of person who’d not want those things is--well, shido. (this is why i used yoshida; yoshida and shido are two polar opposite politicians.) shido quite literally does not want a good future for anyone in the country and quite literally does not want akechi and quite literally does not see akechi, one of the very young-person citizens that shido is supposed to be serving, as useful or valuable in any way unless akechi is directly promoting shido’s fame and popularity. shido being akechi’s father is just a very neat and nice way of literalizing the ways that shido, as an adult, has let down akechi as a child--the ways that shido quite literally owed akechi something to make akechi’s life and future better, and instead did everything awful.

there should not ever be a thing like “unwanted child.” that in and of itself, from the start of akechi’s life, was nonsensical. and to the extent that shido being akechi’s father is allegorical of the ways that shido is a terrible patriarch for japan, i would say that akechi, as an unwanted foster child, is just another allegory for the ways that children nowadays are treated as misbehaving, lazy good-for-nothings who have to work themselves into the dirt to be given half the salary and half the praise. akechi, as an unwanted child, is just the personification and representative of an apparently unwanted generation.

what i’m getting at is that akechi’s status as a minor (and yes he’s a minor even if he’s eighteen; age of majority in japan is twenty)--akechi’s status as a minor is a critical part of why akechi gets a shot at a redemption arc. so yes, actually, the other villains or palace-rulers don’t get redemption arcs because they are adults, who had a societal obligation to do better by their peers and by the children of japan. yes, actually, akechi’s informal “trial” in the hands of fandom is to be tried as a minor and not as an adult. yes, i know kamoshida didn’t kill anyone and akechi’s literal crimes are more morally repugnant, but yes, unfortunately, being a minor does actually exonerate him on the morality spectrum to a degree.

being a child matters in the larger scheme of persona 5′s logic of who owes who, who’s responsible for who, and why we should not be apathetic. adults owe children a better future. adults have been letting children down. adults owe every single phantom thief, including akechi, an apology, a better future, and health and happiness; and they owe that to japan’s future not as a matter of exchange or morals, but simple social obligation. adults are supposed to take care of the kids--full stop.

”okay but @ tumblr user akechicrimes?? akechi KILLED people.”

yeah, i know. i said “being a minor does actually exonerate him on the morality spectrum to a degree.”

what degree? no idea. that’s up to you to decide. if you want to play in the black-grey-white morality scale that only goes two ways, you’re welcome to continue to ask “what degree.” we can argue that being a minor somehow reels akechi back from the “black” end of the spectrum into the “grey” or “white” parts.

but (if i may be permitted to go completely off the shits into things that might make people pissed off at me for saying) i implore you to consider that this two-way scale of morality is not the line of thought that persona 5 is pursuing.

this, again, ties back into the social construction of a child. i’ve said “a child is representative of the country’s future�� so many times i think it’s lost meaning, so let me dice it a different way: a child is socially constructed as representative of potential and hope. a child is socially constructed as the capacity for things to get better. in persona terms, a child is the fool at the start of their journey, all futures contained in one present, a vast multitude of could-be’s.

for a game very concerned with japan’s general societal ruin, children are not just in the position of having been let down by adults, but are--as the phantom thieves demonstrate--representative of better futures regardless of how terrible circumstances look in the current day. they are a source of believing one day this sad, depressing story might actually end with “and then they lived happily ever after.”

if i may go even more completely off the shits, take a look at this heckler from yoshida’s s link, which is the one that akira speaks back to in the middle of yoshida’s speech:

...I’ve been wrong this whole time. Even though someone has failed in the past, it doesn’t mean that person can’t try again.

this is to say, redemption arcs insofar as persona 5 (and also persona 5 royal, i think) is concerned is not a question of necessarily addressing the wrongs that have occurred. yoshida sets the bar pretty high in that yoshida does not ask for forgiveness for what he’s done, and instead simply accepts his actions and their consequences without attempting to lessen the blow. he embraces what he’s done in all its awfulness.

but because akechi is a a minor, and because akechi as a minor is getting wrapped up in persona 5′s train of thought about kids as the hopeful futures of japan, akechi is at the very least owed a chance to do better. as a minor, japan is societally contracte to give him the space to have the potential to be better and do better. nobody is obligated to forgive him, and indeed neither royal nor akechi ever seem to entertain this as a valid possibility. forgive, forget, reconciliation, retribution, and resolution seem to be all off the table, as if the very idea would minimize haru or futaba’s losses. the very conceit of the dreamworld in P5R wants to shoot down the very idea that the past can ever, to any degree, be fixed, remedied, or even emotionally resolved. akechi will have always killed wakaba and okumura and this fact will always be awful--full stop.

nevertheless, despite the fact that the past cannot be changed, akechi is still a minor. rather than attempting to resolve the issues of the past, akechi is still owed the space to become a beacon of potential change for the better in the future--which is also known as hope.

i’ve said this in other posts elsewhere, but persona games are like, obsessed with hope. they fucking adore that shit. why not? even in difficult times, even when things are terrible and you’re going through misery, if you at least have hope that one day things will be better, that life will change, that the new generation will step up to the plate and make the story have a happy ending, pain becomes easier to bear. and why not? persona games cover a breadth of difficult topics.

especially in a game like P5, which talks at length about modern day japan’s ailments, what good is it if the player walks away with a defeatist attitude that the future will be terrible?

if reality is malleable like morgana says, isn’t the first step to have hope that this is true?

this post has gone on a lot longer than i thought it would. but in any event. that’s why it is valid to say that akechi being a minor “exonerates” him to a degree.

also selim bradley lives because fma:b concurs that children are a hope for a better future and fma:b is particularly invested in this line of thought because it’s a story about edward transitioning from a child to a young adult who is learning about the ways that the world works and is also still just childlike enough to propose that the world shouldn’t have to work in the bloody, awful way that it does. selim is representative that all children should be given as many chances as possible to do and be better because they are representative of potential. if that wasn’t clear. lmao.

#meta #mine

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hyliangrace-a · 4 years ago

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oh, i ended up spending so much time on this, but - it’s done ! it’s far from perfect but i’m pretty satisfied that there’s a visual guide to my idea of hyrule, post-seven years war. & now, god help you all, i’m gonna talk about it lmao. click here if you want to see a full-sized version of the map, but i’m also gonna put it under the cut in this post with the original map for comparison, & go on for a bit about how hyrule has, in my interpretation, changed under zelda’s rule.

( this gets long. like, really long. like, over 4,500 words long. read at your own risk. i’d say i’m sorry, but i’m really not. & fuck drawing water features forever. )

first thing’s first - the map !

( apologies for the giant watermark underneath it all but i’ve had my shit stolen before & i’m not enthused at the idea of having it happen again. clicking it open in a new tab should make it bigger if the link above doesn’t work. )

so, it’s slightly bigger than the original map which is featured in the game, haha. here’s a comparison of the two, actually, with my map over the top of the original so you can see what’s been changed or added & where. i’ll talk about what got added & why in a bit, i want to speak just about the actual map, first.

i did my best to keep the main locations of hyrule as specified in the game in the same place, & i think did an okay job, tbh ! my biggest nitpick was just how many dang cliffs & rockfaces there are on the original map. i know they serve a purpose in-game, which is completely fair, but they limited worldbuilding a little by making the map so small, so i took some liberties. not with every cliff, of course - i kept some in the southwest to keep the border between gerudo valley & hyrule field intact, & kept the ridge the river runs through - partly for the sake of continuity, & partly because i’ve always loved the fact that falling into the river in the valley washes you down to the lake. expanding them into a new area was fun, too, because at least then they go somewhere, rather than just locking you in to a certain place.

my main point of contention, to be honest, was the giant rockface in south hyrule field. again, i understand why it was there, but, come on ! so i ended up just doing away with it all, letting it lead a path to two new areas i’d like to work into zelda’s canon. the map just fades out in certain places, too, particularly the gerudo desert, so i ended up expanding that a little more & having it lead into the cliffs above lake hylia - the river already runs from the valley to the lake, so why not have more of the desert lead into the mainland ? the mountains, too, got their range expanded, because they just seem so ... small, in canon, when they aren’t being used specifically as dungeon locations. i’d say the only place on the map i didn’t expand in some way is that little gap between zora’s domain & the kokiri forest - the forest is so hemmed in & the domain is literally inside a mountain, hidden behind a waterfall, so i was happy to just let that be empty space. if you manage to climb over the cliffs surrounding the domain, or break through the treetops in the forest, you get a view of the ocean, & that’s that !

it was fun to look at the maps of the games that came chronologically before this one & see how the position of things in hyrule change, but i’m kind of glad that there was only the three before ocarina of time, because the mountains alone move across the map at their leisure, good god. there was a bit of freedom in it, too, because in zelda’s canon timeline, the gods are going to flood hyrule anyway, so i could make whatever changes i wanted because it’s all gonna end up underwater & unseen in the end - plus, it meant i could add in more mountains to take up empty space on the map, because the hylians have to flee somewhere to escape the flood, & i don’t think the peak of death mountain could hold them all. most of the new locations were inspired by the minish cap, more than any other, so i’m going to start at the top of the map & move down to talk about them.

i always loved royal valley & the royal crypt in the minish cap, to be honest. it was spooky & cute, & i’m surprised it, or a concept like it, hasn’t made much of a comeback in later zelda games. the royal family’s tomb being in kakariko village never bothered me much as a kid ( other than the fact their headstone gets utterly destroyed & you get assaulted by what we can only assume are the zombies of previous hylian rulers ??? & then it’s just left open for anyone to stumble in & possibly loot slash get murdered by said zombies ??? actually, y’know what, this bothers me a lot more as an adult, what the fuck - ) but kakariko was a village founded by the sheikah, originally for the sheikah, so i did always find it a little strange that at some point, a ruler of hyrule went ❛ that’s cool, you do you, but make space for us in your graveyard. ❜ i know the history between the hylian royal family & the sheikah is implied to be murky ( thank you, shadow temple ) but that’s a meta for another day, so i’m not gonna go into too much detail, but it’s still something that sticks out as strange to me. call it the sheikah continuing to guard the royal family in death or whatever, but, hm. weird. anyway !

the point is, after the seven years war ends, zelda decides that what originally belonged to the sheikah should be given back to the sheikah. kakariko village was opened up to non-sheikah by impa prior to the rise of ganondorf, & that’s her perogative & not something zelda would ever dream of interfering with, but that applies to the living, & those who die within the village deserve to be buried in the same place. it takes time to get around to the rebuilding of hyrule castle & its’ town, but when it’s time to plan for it, zelda chooses to utilize the abandoned valley which lies behind the castle as the new home for the royal crypt, but not solely for that ! she establishes & sponsors a university on behalf of the royal family, with special consideration going to the preservation of hylian history ( a lot was lost in the hyrulean civil war prior to her birth, nevermind the seven year war following that so quickly, & we can see in other zelda games, such as twilight princess & breath of the wild, historical preservation within hyrule is ... terrible, to say the least. of course, it will all be washed away when the goddesses flood hyrule, but fuck, at least she tries. ) the university also covers a range of other subjects, but history is the one zelda takes an active interest in, & she spends a lot of time with scholars who specialize in it. the royal crypt lies at the very back of the valley, the university being closer to the castle, & then ... watch this space ! i’m likely to add more things to areas around the map in the future.

hyrule castle & hyrule castle town i’ve left in the same spots, pretty much - i imagine the castle is rebuilt to be something like the one we see at the bottom of the ocean in wind waker, but i intend to put my own spin on that, too. zelda wouldn’t be focused too much on getting a castle up agaiin ( i’ve mentioned in a thread before that two years post-ganondorf, she is still sheltering at impa’s house in kakariko village, as rebuilding for the civilians is her main priority, & whilst i haven’t figured out exactly how long that lasts for, it’s a safe bet to say a good few years ) & she definitely wouldn’t want to be living anywhere especially y’know, grandiose & opulent, if her people were still struggling day to day. the castle town bounces back better than ever, expanding a little more to the left over time, but that’s a gradual thing. no real change except a distinct lack of redeads, which is always a bonus !

death mountain & its immediate surroundings, i was happy to leave as they are - it’s marginally wonky in place compared to the original map but it’s not a severe drift from canon, so lets just pretend it sits a little more to the left, shhh. it’s a volcano built into a mountain with a network of caves both inside & adjacent to it, plus a place of worship built into the heart of it, & you can’t really go wrong with that, so i focused on all that empty space beyond them left on the map. minish cap came in clutch again, because by fuck, did they have a mountain range, so i ended up dipping in to it for the names of this one. the gorons are clustered at the forefront of the mountain because everything beyond their city has been mined to the absolute death by those who came before for its resources, & abandoned by the same in turn, but they still send patrols to make sure it’s fine.

there’s a story of how, before the gorons settled into the mountain, a man of great strength climbed the mountain alone to make his home within it - he faced eruptions from a then-hostile death mountain, fought off the creatures who called the range home & weren’t fond of sharing, & forged on to what was said to be the edge of hyrule itself. it wasn’t, not quite, but it was far enough away from the central provinces of the kingdom that the mountains became capped with snow, contrasting the temperate mountains to the west. the story goes that the adventurer decided to call the furthest reaches of the mountain home, & singlehandedly carved out what would become the beginning of the mines, in order to gather materials for his forge. it’s been disputed whether said man was hylian or goron, as the biggoron family claim lineage from him, but the mountains he once inhabited are named for him now, & are one of the places zelda hid whilst on the run & masquerading as sheik - despite the extreme temperatures playing havoc with her & nearly killing her, it’s one of the harder to reach spots in hyrule, so it provided a measure of safety that other places could not. melari’s hold lies in the northeast, but the cold spot on the mountain travels further south than would be expected, resulting in a cold spot - the ice cavern - to the north of zora’s domain.

real quick, fuck zora’s domain. there was no way to make the water feature coming from here look decent, or properly portray the types of cliffs it’s surrounded by, so please don’t judge it too harshly. at the end of ocarina of time, zora’s domain is still said to be frozen, but recovering from the curse ganondorf placed on it, which, great ! i’m gonna say, i could be completely off here in how it works, but i wanted to change things up a little, so if i am, i don’t mind that much. i like a bit of artistic license. also, if we can have literal fish people, a genderless species made of rock, children who don’t grow up in a magical forest which horrifically warps those who don’t belong, & a giant fucking overworld field where the skeletons of what look like fucking children come out to fight you at night ? i’m okay with this reckoning being off a little.

so, eventually, zora’s domain unfreezes. i personally imagine, as ganondorf’s power ebbed from hyrule, that the process started slow, until one day, it wasn’t. it’s said that zora’s fountain is the source of all water in hyrule, with the domain lying under the mountain it rests on top of, & a few secret passageways here & there, which is fine, usually - the fountain never froze, just the domain beneath it. that becomes a problem, though, when the magical freeze put in place by ganondorf wears off, & the excess water from the melt ends up flooding the domain. not a problem from those who live within it, with the zora being essentially amphibian in nature, but when that excess water begins seeping out into the fountain, through cracks in the mountain, through the entrance granted to those affiliated with the royal family ? that all goes over the fountain, down the sleepless waterfall, through the river, & that river completely bursts its banks. the water level of the river rises significantly, washing away much of the path previously taken by those who wished to go to the domain on foot, causing minor flooding in hyrule field as it travels downstream, & resulting in the waters of lake hylia rising when the overflow reaches it, hence the lake being larger in my version of the map. the rebuilding of a path to zora’s domain ends up becoming one of the earliest projects zelda undertakes as queen but it’s a bit of a logistical nightmare for a while, considering that, with princess ruto ascended as a sage, zora’s domain is now in a succession crisis. does it have much bearing on zelda’s life ? not especially, but i thought it was a nice bit of worldbuilding, so here it is.

kokiri forest, the lost woods, & everything within doesn’t change much. with the dark magic vanquished from the forest, & the great deku sprout able to thrive, the forest continues to grow, & overgrow. it’s still dangerous to outsiders to go within, still dangerous for anyone to enter the lost woods without a fairy companion to guide them & save them from a grim fate, but the children of the forest do grow somewhat braver about stepping out from their home to see the rest of hyrule. it never lasts long - not all of the kokiri are as brave as link was, after all, & hyrule is so vast compared to what they’re used to - but it sparks their curiosity & their desire to explore hyrule which eventually trickles down to the wandering koroks.

the area to the south / southwest of the kokiri forest is entirely my invention. as i said, in-game, it’s just cliffs to hem you in & prevent you from breaking the boundaries of the world, but there’s none of that in roleplaying, so i just … did away with them entirely. part of this is lake hylia not being as hemmed in by these walls as it is in-game, opening up into a new river & streams which travel through the south & southeast. crossing this river leads to three paths - take middle path, & you may find yourself in what’s known as the rito village. now, i’ll say here, i know that the rito don’t technically appear in hyrule until after the great flood, when the zoras somehow sprout wings, but nintendo’s strange decisions don’t change the fact that there are many wonderful people in the zelda rpc who play rito characters with crossover verses that let them interact with those who play characters in other parts of the timeline. in order to better facilitate interactions with these roleplayers, i decided fuck it, rito village in ocarina of time. canon can be easily bent. if, however, i’m writing with someone who wants to adhere to strict canon, then it’s just other hylians who live within the village, & rito is just the name chosen for the village, with no connection to the as-of-yet-unevolved race, just a nice little coincidence. regardless of who lives in it, though, the village & its name are fixed here in a southern woodland, with the village nestled amongst the hills within.

cross the bridge to the south & take the third branch in the path, you’ll find yourself inside the bremen woods. i honestly haven’t got much to say about the bremen woods here, but it’s not because i don’t have ideas for it - i have another headcanon brewing concerning myths, fables & fairy tales within hyrule, because … i am just that type of nerd. about eighty percent of my blogs before this one involved fairy tale characters in some way. it is, as the kids say, extremely my shit, & i’d like to tie the bremen woods into that, so i’m going to save what i have to say for that headcanon, but don’t worry. it’ll probably be a lot smaller than this one. ( thank god, i hear you say. i know, i know. i’m still not sorry. )

cross the bridge, then, & take the first branch in the path, & you better have a sword with you. the castor wilds are a lawless place, which is fitting for the corner of the world where the last remnants of ganondorf’s forces lie. any that weren’t killed during the restoration of the kingdom were beaten back to the edge of the world, & it’s not a friendly place. the last of the monsters shelter in a run-down settlement known as dragmire’s hold, the last place where those who sympathize with the king of evil can speak freely, & it’s murder to get to. the entrance to the wilds is a marshy swamp, thanks to the run-off of lake hylia, but if you manage to get through the mire, the land begins to dry out until you reach the hold, where the earth struggles to bear fruit & it seems the grass refuses to grow. it is, in a few words, fucking grim, & as a result, the go-to place for banishments within the kingdom. zelda isn’t a fan of harsh punishments, but she’s no fool, not anymore, & she won’t abide those who plot to throw the kingdom back into chaos, be it in service of ganondorf, or their own selfish natures. it’s rare that anyone actually finds themselves wandering the castor wilds, unless they actively choose to adventure there, but it is a very good threat, considering its reputation as the land where the devils live.

jumping across the map entirely, we come to the cliffs of coroa to the left of lake hylia. another spot on the map which is notorious for being hard to reach, the cliffs are an inviting challenge to those who want to boast of their climbing skills & durability. if getting up the cliffs doesn’t kill you ( & there is a very real possibility that it will, especially if you fall, ‘cause this water ain’t soft ) the journey down might do it instead, & that’s if you survive your trip at the top. there has been rumours of a great treasure hidden away in the cliffs for years, though the debate on what it might be was pretty intense, if you got into it. for a time, some thought the legendary blade rested within the cliffs, & only those who could brave the rockface would be able to lay a hand on it; others argued that it contained more mundane, but still desirable, treasures, such as a great haul from a band of thieves, left behind when they were hunted down by the crown, growing only more valuable by the minute. some, with sense, said that the only thing atop the cliffs was certain doom for the morons who tried to make their way up them. the truth ? there’s nothing up there. sometimes, cliffs are just cliffs, & those who try to scale the ones facing lake hylia truly are fools. the gerudo people, however, had the right idea of how to get to them.

again, another aspect of canon i was happy to leave as it was. the gerudo desert is a vast, harsh swathe of land, continuously assailed by sandstorms, bordered to the north by what is called ❛ the great sand sea ❜ & to the south by the haunted wasteland, & it’s not hyperbole. spirit guides appear to those who seek the temple of the goddess of the sand, but very few have ever made it through the wasteland if they enter in pursuit of something else. one of the few who did was the gerudo heroine, ashai. a well respected warrior amongst them, ashai was the younger sister to the exalted rishika, the chief of the gerudo at the time, & one of the first to vow to conquer the wasteland & see what lay beyond the storm. though her sister cautioned against it, as tales of people becoming lost in the wasteland were not uncommon, ashai was a headstrong young woman, & she could not be swayed. she took with her a party of twelve, & in time, three returned to tell their story. ashai had forged a path through the ever-shifting sands & left it well enough marked that her companions were able to find their way back. it’s said that some succumbed to madness during the journey, tormented by the ghosts of the wasteland, whilst others fell ill whilst they traveled, choking on the sand which gathered in their lungs. seven of them made it through the wasteland to the valley which lay beyond, but ashai had grown sick during the crossing, & knew she would not make it back. instead, she spent the time she had left exploring the valley, & found a way through it to the peak of the cliffs of coroa. the legend says that is there she died, watching the sun rise atop the cliffs, speaking only of her sister, & her companions laid her to rest within the valley, which her sister then named in honour of her. whilst the gerudo are happy to let those who have proven themselves attempt the journey to the desert colossus, no outsiders are permitted to walk the valley of ashai, where a shrine was built for its namesake - it is considered sacred to them, & the journey to pay respects to ashai is now part of the trial given to those who wish to become chief of the gerudo, should the bloodline of the previous chief die.

that covers just about all the main areas & landmarks of hyrule, i think, so to move on to the last thing, the various settlements, villages, hamlets you see across the map. hyrule is a big place. yes, quite a few of the races are localized to certain areas, & yes, it’s entirely plausible the hyrulean civil war could have decimated the population, with the seven years war exacerbating that problem, but hyrule field just looked so … empty, once everything else was finished. so, rather than stick to a number of locales i can count on one hand, i threw a few more settlements across the map to try & make hyrule feel more like a real kingdom. not to breath of the wild’s extent, of course, but just something a little more than what was given. all those who survived the fall of hyrule castle town apparently fled to become refugees in kakariko village, which was opened to all by impa, which is fair, but i imagine as the world returned to something close to normality, & families started growing again, the village would quickly find itself overwhelmed. as queen, zelda would make it a priority to make sure none of her subjects go homeless - she knows all too well that struggle - & so she would begin a program to make sure there was enough villages or townships for every one of her subjects. those who volunteered would be given a set amount of money & plots of land across hyrule to build a home, which zelda would then personally visit to inspect, to make sure her people were thriving.

there’s little to say in detail about them all as of right now, as i’m still fleshing them out, but i have a few basic ideas. most of the settlements were named after the first to attach themselves to the project, but the names have the potential to evolve over time. they certainly won’t retain the hamlet / settlement status, that’s for sure. the offer wasn’t restricted to hylians, either - any other race in the land was free to join, though only a small number of gerudo accepted it, the others preferring to stay in their homes & travel as they need. ciela’s settlement was the one spearheaded by the gerudo who accepted zelda’s offer, hence its proximity to the valley. a lot of young men volunteered to go to this settlement, but zelda was happy to let ciela make her own call, & many were knocked back - only those with what ciela deemed viable skills were allowed in, & still, it’s very much a female dominated settlement, but it is thriving under her leadership, & blossoms into a successful village as time goes on. lon lon ranch is, well, lon lon ranch. with funding from the crown, talon was able to take on more staff & expand it at his leisure, but it is one of the very few places in hyrule which has stayed constant over time, & he was quite content to keep it that way, & zelda content with his decision.

to the south of lon lon ranch lies damia village, the largest of all the settlements from its inception. led by a fearless young man who gave his name to the village, it is a hub of activity which could rival hyrule castle town. with damia came many like-minded people, all eager to forge their own path in the world & prove themselves as he had, as he had been part of the group which volunteered to help beat back the remnants of ganondorf’s forces. many of the families within damia village are the families of soldiers who work at the castle & it has gained a reputation for being a village full of strong, capable, trustworthy people. arborwood, which lies further to the south in a more rural location, is an outlier in that the one who volunteered to lead in this settlement didn’t wish to put their name to it - they didn’t want glory, just a place to call home where they could finally live in peace. arborwood is an agriculturally focused village, filled with farmers & those who possess green thumbs. a lot of trade is done between arborwood & all the other villages - everyone in hyrule became proficient at growing & hunting their own food in the past thirty years, as was necessary to survive, but it’s nice to have a place to get food from which specializes in high quality meat & crops. why hunt rabbits, when arborwood can provide venison ?

last but not least, lynna’s hamlet, which settled at lake hylia at the request of the owner of the lakeside laboratory. as he was getting on in years, he wished to find someone to continue his work, & so specifically requested that any like-minded hylians settle close to the lake so that he could impart his wisdom & let them take over. he got quite a few more people volunteering than he bargained for, be they scientifically inclined, interested in cataloguing the history of lake hylia, or just desirous of a change in scenery. the smallest of the new settlements, lynna’s hamlet never truly flourished the way others did, but the buildings were never empty - as time went on & people began to move elsewhere, it became a popular spot for those who traveled the land to rest at when they came to the lake, with a very successful inn eventually being run by the lakeside, its doors open to any who wished to visit.

it’s not a lot of worldbuilding when it all comes down to it, compared to other things, but this is something that i’ve wanted to do for a long time. as i’ve mentioned in the section regarding the bremen woods, more headcanons are likely to follow regarding places on the map & how they change & evolve as time passes during zelda’s rule, but for now, there’s this ! something which makes hyrule feel less empty than what it was before, whilst still respecting canon, somewhat which was the goal all along. if you’ve made it this far, holy shit, go outside & feel the sun on your face. it’s been eighty-four years - but i can’t thank you enough for reading ! at least next time, the headcanon won’t be so long. i hope.

#⌜ ❛ ʏᴏᴜ ʙʀɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜɪsᴛᴏʀʏ & ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪᴛ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴛᴇʀᴍs. ❜ ⌟ ✦ ( headcanon. )#( eight. eight pages & 4700-odd words of rambling in google docs #i can't believe i spent so much time on this oh my GOD #but it's done !! it's one am & i'm going to bed but i have to get this out into the world before i go #tomorrow i swear i'll get more actual roleplaying done but for now have ... eight fucking pages of THIS i guess #if this is incoherent please let me know good god )

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izaswritings · 5 years ago

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all that’s left in the world | chapter five

Title: all that’s left in the world—

Synopsis: —is me.

Neku’s been shot and Shibuya is threatening to go the same way as Shinjuku, but just because the first Game is over doesn’t mean they’ve forgotten how to play.

Or: Neku deals with a nightmare city and his most annoying (and mathematical) partner yet; Shiki and Joshua commit an escalating number of illegal moves, Beat and Eri hunt down a stray Reaper, and Rhyme watches and waits for the counter-attack. Shibuya refuses to go down easy.

Fandom: The World Ends With You | TWEWY

Warnings: references to past canonical character death, self-esteem issues, vague descriptions of an apocalyptic event (Shinjuku at the moment of Inversion, etc), and Joshua, again. Please let me know if there’s anything I missed.

AO3 Link is here!

Previous chapters are here!

part five: joshua

Joshua opens his eyes to a wasteland.

Beside him Shiki Misaki has fallen to her knees in the dust and dirt, hacking up half a lung; Joshua politely gives her a moment to collect herself like the very considerate and understanding person he is, and steps forward, scanning their surroundings with a frown. Empty streets filled with white dust that clings to his hand like snow; the air smells of nothing, devoid even of the stench of smoke. A low fog has settled over the city, so gray and dense it could be mistaken for a storm, the buildings vacant shells and the roads worn smooth and featureless. It’s more than a ghost town—it’s a city hollowed, its heart destroyed, and Joshua frowns momentarily, picking up his phone, fiddling with the settings.

For the first time, no call goes through. “Interesting,” Joshua decides, and tugs at one lock of hair, twining the strand around his finger.

“W-what is?” Shiki asks, and Joshua tilts his head and snaps his phone closed. Her breath catches. Ah, she’s noticed the city. “Where are we?”

“Shinjuku, I believe,” Joshua says, and even though he’d guessed as much the sight makes him frown, disgruntled. Joshua’s always liked a good Game, but this one promises to try his patience. “Well. What’s left of it, anyway.”

Her eyes scan the wasteland, expression faltering. “That’s impossible,” she says, though she seems half-convinced already. Quick to adapt, isn’t she? Maybe this partnership 2.0 won’t be so boring after all. “That’s... how could this be Shinjuku?”

“Inversion,” Joshua sighs, and when Shiki’s brow furrows at the term he giggles and waves his hand. “A UG phrase. The RG and UG have merged here. The planes have gotten all tangled together—too many frequencies at once.” And, actually, liable to give Joshua a headache. He misses Shibuya’s song already. Ironic, considering his plans for it just last month. “Noise manifest in the RG, reality gets unstable...”

She’s pale. “And this is where Neku is?”

“Mm-hmm.” Joshua shrugs. “Unfortunate, isn’t it?”

“Yeah...” Joshua blinks at her, but Shiki has already stepped away, looking up and down the empty street. “I don’t understand. Where are all the people? And the stores...” She peers into a shop window and blinks fast. “Huh?”

“Oh?” Joshua steps up beside her, peering through the window, and then leans back, hands in his pockets and eyebrows raised. “My, my. That’s certainly something.”

The shop is empty. Not just devoid of people, but of anything—the mannequins stripped featureless and bare, even the fake features wiped away. The hangers hold nothing. The stands are empty. Even the picture frames on the wall, the art and decor put up just for flavor, have become hollow, the frames undecorated, the pictures turned to white noise.

Joshua lifts his hand, curious, and presses it against the glass. Against the blank slate of the store, he and Shiki and the colors they wear seem almost like a spotlight. Shinjuku is grey and cold around them, featureless and repetitive. Scrubbed clean of any life at all.

Joshua takes his hand back, frowning outright now. “Hm.”

“That’s so creepy,” Shiki says, drawing back a step. She shivers. “It’s like... anything that would have stood out, or anything that would have meant something...”

“A clean slate,” Joshua agrees, and rests his chin in his hand, thoughtful.

Shiki looks away, apparently unable to keep looking into the empty shop for long. “Is this... normal?” she asks, squinting up at the sky, like if she tries hard enough she’ll be able to see the sun. “For, uh... Inversions?”

Joshua giggles. “I have no idea.” It’d be a delightful mystery, if the situation weren’t so dire. He sobers. “This is the first time I’ve seen it myself. Though, I will admit...” He casts a glance at the sky, too. His eyes narrow. For a moment, there in the clouds... hm. “This doesn’t quite match up with the stories I’ve heard.”

“Creepy,” Shiki repeats.

“Quite.”

She rubs at her arms. “...Let’s go look for Neku.”

Ah, yes. Neku.

Joshua looks back at the shop, no longer smiling. His reflection in the display glass is pale and dim, faintly opaque. As if he isn’t quite there at all. He rubs at his arm, and wonders what Shiki would say if he told her Composers weren’t meant to stay outside of Their city.

Well, what’s done is done—he’s agreed to this, after all, and her reaction probably won’t be all that entertaining. Shiki Misaki, Joshua thinks, is too accepting. Adaptable to an annoying degree. At least Neku had a few moments of wanting to strangle someone before he compromised.

How funny, he thinks. The memory almost makes him want to smile, except he doesn’t feel like laughing at all.

In the dusty glass of the shop window, his own expression looks strange to him. Joshua turns away. He shakes his head and tugs at one bang, then drops his hand and sighs. “Yes,” he says, light. “Works for me. Lead the way, dear.”

She frowns at him, and he smiles back at her uncertain side-eye. And as Shiki picks her way across the city, and Joshua trails after her, he curls his hands to a careful fist, feeling the quiet tremor in his fingers with every step away from Shibuya, and cheerfully pretends that it hasn’t started after all.

It doesn’t take long for the first problem to rear its head. Ten minutes into the Game, Joshua and Shiki encounter their first Noise—and unlike how Noise are supposed to act, this one attacks on sight.

Joshua would suspect Taboo Noise, but no: normal Noise, just ten times more bloodthirsty. Shinjuku is getting more bothersome by the minute.

It takes a moment for them to work together—Joshua is back to summoning beams of light from his cellphone; Shiki apparently likes using her stuffed animal to rip the opposing side to shreds—but in the end, they sync up rather well, if Joshua is any judge. The Noise are nothing but static by the end. Joshua is half-way pleased. He’s missed this.

Shiki doesn’t look nearly so happy, however. At the end of their most recent battle, she kneels in the dust with the cat toy in her lap, staring down at it almost despondently. Joshua weighs his options, sighs, and goes to stand over her shoulder.

“Is this going to be a problem?”

“Maybe.” She opens her hands, glumly; Joshua looks down and tilts his head. “I forgot. Mr. Mew has a ripped seam. He’s fine for me to carry him, but...”

On second look... Joshua can see it. He presses his lips. “I hope you don’t expect me to do all the work,” he warns, coolly. “I hate working up a sweat, and this endeavor was your idea, Shiki.”

If she’s bothered by the over-familiar use of her first name, it barely even seems to register. Then again, she did offer. “Maybe I could stitch him up?” she wonders. “But I don’t have the right thread... I was going to buy some tomorrow...”

Joshua frowns at her, but Shiki isn’t even looking at him, mumbling under her breath. After a moment, he sighs—and reaches out, picking away one of the pins she’s clipped to her cardigan. He turns it in his hands, thoughtful. “Do you have any idea how you control him?”

She glances at him, startled, then looks uncertain. “Eh...”

He giggles, and flashes the pin at her. “Groove Pawn,” he tells her. “It’s a form of psychokinesis. You didn’t know?”

“Really?” She glances at the stuffed toy in her hands. “It always felt more like Mr. Mew was just doing his own thing.”

Interesting. “Maybe so, but without you to provide guidance, it wouldn’t be nearly as effective. It could be that your familiarity with the medium creates a stronger control of it... less direct commands, and more obeying of the implied commands—what you know you need?” Joshua tugs at his hair. “Hmm. You made him, yes?”

“Mr. Mew?” She hugs the stuffed animal to her chest. “Yes. Why?”

Joshua’s getting an idea. He smiles. “And your clothes?”

“I made those too, but why...?” She trails off, eyes widening. “You think—?”

“Worth a shot, isn’t it?”

She studies her sleeves, frowning slightly, considering. “I don’t know...”

“Try it,” Joshua cajoles. “Your pins will work here. The one nice thing about the merge between planes is that the Noise frequency isn’t needed to activate the pins. Lucky you.” Which is perhaps the only advantage they have in all this. But, regardless.

Shiki looks uncertain, but one last glance at Mr. Mew and her jaw firms. “Okay. I’ll give it a shot.” She rises to her feet, hand outstretched, and takes a breath. “Here goes!”

Silence. Nothing happens.

Joshua spins a strand of hair between his fingers. “...Have you considered—”

Thread cuts through the air like a whistling blade. Shiki screams.

Joshua, for his part, blinks over at what used to be a wall, and whistles through his teeth. “Wow,” he says, honestly impressed. “That’s going to be incredibly useful. Nice to see that you can pull your own weight after all, hm?”

Shiki doesn’t appear to be listening, but then, that’s little surprise. Her cardigan has been unraveled up to her elbow; the loose thread of the sleeve has reached long past its actual length and cut apart the air, slipping through stone like a hot knife through ice.

It’s like a net, Joshua thinks, and circles her, intrigued. It really is something. If she concentrates the threads, and focuses the force onto one impact point, she could cut right through the core of a larger Noise. Even the net of thread could cut apart quite a few of the smaller Noise, too... my, he thinks. Could she catch one? Fascinating.

His musing gets cut off by the loud, creaking groan of breaking stone. Shiki’s eyes go wide. Joshua looks up, startled, and steps back just in time to avoid a bit of rubble falling on his foot, as the building Shiki hit creaks, tilts, sways, and then ultimately tips back and falls apart into a burst of dust and debris.

Silence. Joshua stares. The building just behind the first, now walled off with ruin, also creaks, and then caves inward with a crash.

“Oh my god,” Shiki says, eyes wide and horrified behind her glasses. “Is that okay!?”

“…It’s fine,” Joshua says. A beat. He considers the rubble. “Well, maybe.”

There’s another pause, almost thoughtful. A wall on a third building goes loose and spills out onto the road. In the distance there is the sound of falling rocks. A small pebble rolls from the pile, taps Shiki’s shoe, and then falls sadly on its side.

Shiki covers her face.

“Useful, anyhow,” Joshua decides.

“Maybe this was a bad idea…” Shiki sighs, rubbing at her face. Then she lifts up her head— and at last seems to get a full look at her unraveled cardigan, because she blanches, and holds out her arms in horror. “Oh, no, my sleeve! I spent days on this!”

“I’m sure you can put it back.”

“Oh, you think?” She takes a breath, focusing again, and Joshua watches with interest as the thread pries loose from the rubble pile, pooling together and re-weaving back into the cardigan. Shiki peeks one eye open. “Did it work?” Pause. “It worked!”

Joshua claps for her. “Well done.”

She beams, then seems to remember who she’s smiling at and visibly falters. Joshua giggles at her. What a face!

“Um, thanks.”

“No problem at all.”

She tucks the stuffed cat in her arms, hugging it close as if in comfort, staring down at the ground. She bites her lip, then shakes her head and exhales hard. “I… never mind. I guess we should keep moving.”

He gestures. She looks at him for a very long moment, then nods and takes the lead, walking down into a small back-alley street.

Joshua follows leisurely behind her, one hand in his pocket and the other fiddling with his phone. He tries to place another call, but isn’t surprised when it fails once again. Well, he’s glad to still have the camera, at least, though he’ll have to be careful of its use. If he could find Shinjuku’s Room of Reckoning… though unfortunately, he has no idea where the Composer of Shinjuku might be located.

Hm.

He fiddles with it some more, as they walk, and the rest of the day passes by in routine—travel, fight the Noise that converge on them, move on. Joshua gets more in-tune with this new partner, and finds to some delight that their attacks mix well. Shiki is focused, direct, and methodical, as expected of her talent as a seamstress; she attacks her enemies one hit at a time until it falls, and then moves on to the next. Matched with Joshua’s habit of just blasting a general area and catching as many Noise as possible in the light, it covers a lot of ground. He flattens the ones he can without frying his phone—and she, in turn, picks off the stragglers.

After one such battle, Joshua touches to the ground and turns to smile at her, far more genuinely than before. He can say this for Shiki Misaki— in addition to being a living wrench in the works of Joshua’s plan, she’s also just a genuinely talented Player.

“This might just work,” he tells her, cheery, and toes a line in the soft dusting of ash lining Shinjuku’s streets. “I’ll admit, I had my doubts.”

She glances back at him, looking more confused than offended. “Then... why did you agree?”

“Hm.” Joshua tilts his head. “Why indeed?”

Silence, for a moment. Shiki’s expression flattens a little. “Okay. So you’re not going to tell me.”

It’s a little cruel, maybe, but this girl’s already thrown the first stone, back in the Shibuya River; really, this should be expected. “What makes you think you deserve the answer?”

His word choice is deliberate, and Shiki, of all people, sensitive enough to catch the subtext—her steps stutter, and she tugs the stuffed cat closer. “I... I didn’t mean it like that.” She eyes him again. Her fingers tighten. “You’re rude.”

He shrugs. “It’s an honest question. Really, Shiki, you haven’t changed much at all, have you?” He eyes her. “Wanting recognition is all well and good, but don’t go expecting it from me.”

She falters, steps stuttering in the dust. Joshua keeps walking, humming lightly. She doesn’t follow. He turns around. “We don’t have much time to waste,” he chides. “If you could, Shiki...?”

“How did you know that?” Her voice is tight. “How did you—”

“Composer,” he reminds her. “It’s my Game. I put in the entry fee requirement in the first place, you know.” Not for the reasons she probably thinks, but then, Joshua’s never claimed to teach kind lessons. “And you were Neku—my proxy’s—partner. Of course I kept an eye out.”

“Of course,” she echoes, a little hollowly. “So—so you know...”

That she is jealous? That she wants to be more than herself? That Shiki Misaki wants to be popular, and important, and at the center of it all? That she wants so much for herself she came to seethe at others who she thought stood above her?

Joshua knows a lot of things people wish he didn’t know.

“I do, yes.” He considers her, and sighs a little. She’s stepped on his toes, so to speak, but Joshua can relent where need be. “If it’s any consolation, you have changed.” Neku’s choice hadn’t been the only factor influencing Joshua’s unintended change of heart regarding Shibuya, though Joshua is never going to admit that out loud. “If this Game had an entry fee, yours would no longer be yourself.”

Green is a good color for Shiki Misaki. She’s still envious, even now. But it doesn’t fester in her anymore. She has come to learn her own strengths, started to realize her own Imagination— the value of herself. And Joshua will never, ever say it aloud, but he can admire that, a little. If all the world is secret gardens, then hers is finally growing again, no longer crushed beneath her own heel.

Shiki looks down like she can’t decide whether to be happy or offended about his words. Joshua shrugs and turns away. “It would probably be that ‘friend’ of yours,” he continues knowingly, and grins, a little wry. “Or maybe Neku?” The idea of Coco’s plot getting upended by something as a simple as an entry fee makes him snicker. “What a plot twist that would be, hm?”

“W-what?” And then her head snaps up, eyes wide behind the lens. “Wait, oh my gosh—entry fees— I completely forgot—” She stops, and visibly rewinds the conversation in her head. “There isn’t one?”

“Thankfully.” People really aren’t meant to play the Game more than once; Joshua shudders to think how much of Shibuya would have vanished if Neku’s fee had been taken again. “It’s more than the RG and UG merge. Whatever Game we’re playing...”

Shiki looks stunned. “There’s no Reapers.”

“Did you just notice? Well, anyway. That’s right. No Reapers, no walls, no mission mail...” Joshua frowns a little. “I’m... a little uncertain if anyone’s in charge of this Game at all.”

“What about that Reaper girl? Coco?”

“Let me reword. No one official, at any rate.” He leaves it at that, but deep down, Joshua can’t deny he’s getting uneasy. There is too much off—too much lack. A Composer encroaching on another’s territory is a heinous crime, and bringing an illegal Player with him? Even with his powers limited by sheer virtue of being outside Shibuya, that should have warranted some interaction, if nothing else. But no— instead they have been walking undisturbed, the city silent as a grave.

The Music gone.

It’s as if there is no Composer at all, Joshua thinks, but then—how is that possible? If the Composer were killed, both power and title would transfer to the killer; if the Composer were captured... well, the city still wouldn’t be like this. The power would live on and the Music continue. But this... what has happened to Shinjuku...

For once, Joshua can honestly admit he has no idea what’s going on. It’s kind of annoying.

“Either way,” Joshua says, with finality. “It’s not for you to know.” He smiles at her. “May we get moving again?”

And just like that, her hackles are back up. Sigh. “I’m just trying to be nice!” she snaps back, fierce. “Though I’m not sure you deserve it.” Her voice lowers. “You’re as bad as Neku was. We’re partners.”

“That’s a bit rude,” Joshua says, amused.

“Still. We made a pact. You could at least act like it. We have to work together!”

Joshua stares at her, a little disgruntled; Shiki crosses her arms and tilts up her chin and glares right back. For a moment Joshua considers pushing the issue, or perhaps ignoring her and continuing on anyway... and then, just as quickly, his annoyance fades, dull and tired. Joshua looks away first.

Shiki Misaki, Neku’s first partner in the game. Neku has learned a lot from her. And Joshua, though he is still only just able to admit this to himself, has learned from Neku in turn.

Joshua sighs heavily, the sound as loud as he can make it, and lifts a hand to his hair, tugging at the strands. “Oh, fine,” he says, only a little sullen, because he has learned something from his time playing his own Game and to pretend otherwise is probably beneath him, or something. “If you really want to know, I’m beginning to suspect this Game doesn’t have a Composer at all.”

Shiki looks a little stunned. Possibly she never expected him to admit anything; Joshua tries not to feel too offended about that. After all, if this were a month ago, she’d be right. (If this were a month ago, he wouldn’t have accepted her deal in the first place— but that’s not important either.) “Oh,” she says. “...Oh. Someone—someone killed Shinjuku’s Composer?”

Joshua clicks his tongue. “Not quite,” he says. “Killing the Composer wouldn’t cause an Inversion. Neither,” he adds when Shiki opens her mouth, “would kidnapping, or anything else of the like. This city has no Music. It’s silent. It is…” And this Joshua doesn’t like to admit, because the very idea is enough to make his skin crawl, but it’s the truth: “It’s as if it has no Imagination at all.”

“Um,” Shiki says. “Which is... bad?”

“You remember that storefront?” he asks her. “Yes, it’s bad. Imagination is what the entire UG runs on.”

“Oh. Oh.”

“Exactly.” He huffs, irritated. “Unfortunately, whatever happened, I’m rather in the dark. This event has very thoroughly erased any clues left behind.”

Shiki frowns, looking thoughtful. “Is there a place for Shinjuku like there was for Shibuya? A river?”

“Of sorts. I don’t know where it is, though.” Unfortunately. Joshua likes mysteries, actually, but it’s a bit more fun when there’s actual clues to follow.

“I remember the Noise around the river were pretty strong. The station underpass in general, too. Like they were just drawn there…” Shiki holds the stuffed cat in both hands, looking down at it. It’s almost as if she expects the cat to talk back to her; Joshua stifles a grin. “I wonder if we could ride on them.”

Joshua blinks. Backtracks. “On. The Noise?”

She looks a little red, but shrugs. “I mean, could we?”

He almost laughs, but then he makes the mistake of thinking about it. With the thread… and, well, Joshua understands the Noise better than anyone else, so…

There’s a long pause. Joshua looks over to the Noise, far off down the street. He thinks about it some more. And it is with great regret when he says, at last: “Mm. Better not.”

Mr. H would never let him live it down. Also, less importantly, “While stronger Noise tend to gather around the Composer’s place, it’s not exactly a homing beacon. It won’t lead us to the Composer.”

Disappointing, though.

Shiki hums, but seems to accept that, tapping her finger to her chin. “Then maybe...” She trails off, brow furrowing. “If not the Composer, we could find where it all centered? Like the Inversion? It had to start somewhere, right...?”

She sounds uncertain, but Joshua straightens up. He’s not entirely sure the issue of Shinjuku’s Composer and the Inversion are so directly linked, but if one mystery can’t be solved, it stands to reason they should move on to the next. “It must have.” He tilts his head, then grins. “Ah-ha. I have an idea.”

“What is it?”

Joshua is already on his phone, flipping through the settings. When she approaches, he generously doesn’t shoo her off. “Here,” he says, and tilts the screen to her. The idea has emboldened him; his foot taps lightly on the ground. Finally, a place to start. He has no doubt they’ll run into Neku on the way there, if he gets this right. Neku usually finds himself in the center of a disaster. “A while back I had a few... adjustments made to my phone. I never did remove them. This camera can take pictures of the past.” He waves the phone at her, grinning outright now. “Pick a direction, dear.”

Behind her glasses, Shiki’s eyes are wide. She claps her hands in front of her face. “Oh! So if the Inversion started somewhere, we can see what direction it came from?”

Her excitement is rather charming. Neku never got nearly as involved in the everyday mysteries as Joshua did; this response feels pretty gratifying, honestly. “Exactly! I’m impressed.”

She giggles, a little. “This is so exciting. I feel like I’m in a detective movie.” She spins on her heel, stuffed cat swinging from one hand, finger tapping her chin. She points down a random street, a once-main road turned hollow. “How about there?”

“As good a place to start as any, I suppose.” Joshua snaps the photo—he already knows the time they need, thankfully. Shiki leans over his shoulder; Joshua eyes her briefly, then sighs and lets it go. He opens the photo.

Oh, how fun. White light, the buildings crumbling, terrified people beginning to fade out... but it is vague, source-less, and impossible to tell the direction from which it’s coming from.

Shiki blinks at it, though, her eyes flicking from photo to the ruins and back again. “Oh, I know that building! Isetan department store… I went with Eri once.” She frowns a little. “Hmm. So we’re near the station?”

“Valuable info, but not quite what we were looking for… Well, two more photos left.” Joshua tilts the camera. “Choose wisely.”

“Uh... well, if we’re near the station, um, maybe the government building? Oh, where was it…” Shiki squints down a street. “There?”

Joshua snaps the photo, then sighs. Shiki frowns too. He’ll give her this much: she’d been right about the direction; he can see the tip of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building and even some of Park Tower, but beyond the vague reddish light and screaming people, nothing indicates the epicenter of the event. Tsk.

“Last one,” Shiki checks, and at Joshua’s nod, worries at her lip. “Hm...”

Joshua considers it. His finger taps against the case. After a moment, his eyes flicker up. He’s never known Shinjuku too well, even when he was alive; he’d stayed in Shibuya most of his life, and then the entirety of his afterlife. “Have you been to Shinjuku before?”

“Well... once or twice. Not as often as Shibuya. Uh, mainly around the station. Why?”

He frowns at the screen, not really seeing it. “Can you guess where the center of the city might be?”

“That’s...” She trails off. Her brow furrows. “Um. Maybe? One second.” She takes a deep breath. “Er... where’s Shibuya from here?”

This, Joshua could answer in his sleep. He is so aware of the city it nearly dizzies him; he smiles to hide the sudden tremor in his arms. Ah, it really does set in quick, doesn’t it?

“To our right,” Joshua says lightly, and cheerfully ignores the headache spiking behind his eyes.

“Okay.” She bites her lip. “Then... from there, to... and then turn left... by Golden Gai, maybe…?” She trails her eyes across the ruined landscape and finally settles for a direction slightly north-east from them. “There? I think. It’s hard to tell, with the buildings all... you know.”

“That’s good enough,” Joshua decides. He lines up the image. Then he pauses. For a moment he frowns. And then, not entirely sure why, he lifts the camera, taking in not just the street and the buildings but also the sky, high above.

He takes the shot.

His fingers tighten. His smile widens, but there’s no joy in it at all. “Bingo.”

“Yes!” She looks at the photo. Her eyes go wide. “...What?”

The photo is exactly what they need, but neither is it a welcome sight. The distant high-rise of the buildings is turning to dust and ash. People are cowering in the streets, covering their heads. A pale white light, tinged faintly bloody with red, shines out through all the streets with a piercing glow.

And high above, settled in the sky like a brand, the Reaper’s skull bears down on the city, blood red and burning bright.

“Interesting,” Joshua murmurs, and thumbs the phone off. “I believe we just got our first clue.”

Shiki bites her lip, then seems to shake herself. “We know where to start looking, now. So that’s good.” She brightens, a little. “And Neku’s sure to be there! He gets in too much trouble not to find it himself.” She’s smiling outright now, and pumps a fist to the air, triumphant, turning to Joshua with delight. “We did it!”

He giggles at her enthusiasm, and her smile falters, falling awkward and flat. Her eyes catch on his face and she seems to remember who she’s talking to for the first time. Her smile fades. Her fist lowers.

Joshua considers her, shrugs, and turns away to mess with his phone. His hands are still annoyingly shaky from earlier. He doesn’t speak. Shiki doesn’t say anything either. The silence stretches.

When it’s clear she’s not going to break, Joshua sighs again and closes his phone, looking down at the case briefly before tucking it back into his pocket. “You really don’t like me, do you?” Joshua muses, and tucks his hands in his pockets. “What stories Neku must have told you, I wonder.”

“He told me enough.” Her voice is quiet again. “But you already knew about that.”

He hums, not really answering. Another silence. This time, Shiki looks away.

“I can’t forgive you,” she announces, apropos of nothing, eyes on her stuffed animal. She hugs it close. “Which sounds silly, doesn’t it? Considering you never did anything to me. But even if Neku does forgive you, one day, I don’t think I ever will.” Joshua keeps his eyes on the skyline, and half an eye on her; he sees her fingers tighten. “I don’t know why you did it, and even if I did, I don’t think I really care.”

Something hardens in her voice. Joshua waits, patiently, for her to finish. “Your point?” he prompts.

Her jaw clenches, and for the first time she seems truly angry with him. “You hurt Neku. You hurt him— a lot. I remember that much. He was crying. I’d never seen him cry before. You did that.” I’m aware, Joshua thinks. Her eyes are fixed on the ground, now. “And you hurt him after it was over, too.”

Joshua frowns, briefly, the barest flicker of an expression, and Shiki looks up and smiles at the sight, an expression that is half-hearted and small and not very happy at all. “Yeah. I figured you didn’t know about that one. Neku doesn’t either, I don’t think. But he— he wanted to see you again, you know? No matter my feelings on it, that’s still true. Maybe he just wanted to hit you, or yell at you—um, maybe he just wanted answers?” She shrugs. “Maybe all three. But he did want to see you again. Whenever we meet up, he’s always getting distracted, looking for someone else. And I’m not stupid. I can guess.”

He has stayed silent thus far out of some amused hope of getting this out of her system; now Joshua is regretting that. There is something ashy on his tongue, settled cold in his throat. He takes a thin breath and exhales it slowly, like a test.

“You never came,” Shiki says, simply, a little harder. She’s looking at him, Joshua can tell, but he keeps his gaze turned away, fixed on the sky. “Maybe you meant that as a kindness? I don’t know. That doesn’t really matter either. Because it hurt him either way.”

Another pause. Joshua closes his eyes, opens them, and then finally looks back at her. She glares at him—not angry anymore, not really, just stubborn, stiff and holding her ground. He considers her.

“I don’t think you’re a bad person,” Shiki says, at last, reluctantly. Joshua raises an eyebrow at her. She huffs. “Which kind of makes it worse, maybe. But I don’t. Neku doesn’t either, otherwise he wouldn’t be trying so hard.” Her chin lifts, determined. “You probably aren’t sorry for what happened. You’ll probably never say it; it’s not really my business. But Neku’s trying. I don’t know why, but he is—and you know, if nothing else, you could stand to try too.”

Joshua doesn’t say anything. She’s caught him off-guard with this—of all things, this is not what he was expecting her to say. And maybe that is Joshua’s fault. Hasn’t he learned this lesson already? Isn’t that why Shibuya’s still standing? They lost the Game, all of them, Neku and Shiki and the Bito siblings; they lost the game, but they had changed his mind. They had surprised him. They had changed him in turn too, even if Joshua still doesn’t quite know how to admit it.

“Just a thought,” Shiki says, hotly, and this time she’s the one to turn away. “I don’t know if you even… N-never mind. This was stupid, I told myself I wouldn’t— let’s just go.”

How silly. All of his little asides, and yet this is what riles her up. It probably shouldn’t surprise him. She’s broken into a Reaper’s Game just for the chance to help; likely Joshua should have seen this coming. It’s still annoying, though. Why has he agreed to this again?

But he doesn’t move. He feels weary, and strangely drained, and he pinches at the bridge of his nose with a quiet exhale. Hah. He could say he’s still not sure why, but then, that would be lying, wouldn’t it? And while Joshua is rather good at lying to himself, he prefers not to make a habit of it.

He thinks, once, he would have been angry at this. He’s not sure what to make of the fact he’s not. He’s not sure what to say at all, actually—and isn’t that funny? That doesn’t happen often either.

Mostly he just feels tired.

Joshua watches Shiki walk away, and lingers there, at the edge of the sidewalk. His gaze draws back, turning away toward Shibuya; he looks past the ruined buildings to the streets that are His and His alone. He taps his fingers against his thigh. Trying, he thinks.

But there is no time. And so Joshua pulls his gaze away, and leaves Shibuya and his thoughts behind him.

#twewy #the world ends with you #joshua kiryu #yoshiya kiryu #shiki misaki #neku sakuraba #joshneku #twewy fic #iza fanfic #fic: all that's left in the world

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