#hes not CRUEL or MEAN for clarity sake but he's a little

[toffeebrews]

i mean 😭

art by rahafwabas and superyoumna respectfully

I'll say the biggest difference between my first impressions of Color and how I see him now is Color is KIND but not "nice". He's very blunt, maybe even sounds harsh sometimes. At least that's how I read him.

[the-sunflower-room]

✧ to die by your side ✧

dazai x fem!reader

☆ genre: angst, hurt/comfort

☆ wc: 9.5k

☆ summary: dazai’s girlfriend is kidnapped by a revenge-seeking enemy and must count down the agonizing minutes to her death. dazai and the rest of the ada race to save her before time runs out.

☆ warnings: kidnapping, violence, language, mentions of blood/torture/drugging, dazai-typical suicide mentions, brief mentions of throwing up, self-loathing dazai, panic attacks, etc- overall just pretty angsty! slightly canon divergent with the way i wrote dazai’s ability. i also threw in some comfort at the end as a little treat <3

………………………………………………………………………………….

Pain. Blinding pain.

That was the first thing Y/N noticed as she slowly regained consciousness. Her skull felt like it was on fire, her temple throbbing and wrists aching. A heavy weight sat on her chest and made the simple act of breathing difficult. A faint but persistent beeping noise seemed amplified in her ringing ears, worsening her pounding headache while the heavy scent of blood in the air made her stomach churn.

What was going on?

Confusion persisted until her mind began to register the other noises in her surroundings.

A man’s voice she didn’t recognize.

The soft beep of a video camera starting to record.

Something about the agency.

Dazai’s name.

Her body broke into a cold sweat at the sudden mention of her boyfriend.

Realizing her eyelids were too heavy to even open, Y/N couldn’t help but wonder what the hell had happened. The last thing she remembered was kissing Dazai goodnight outside of her apartment, then quietly getting ready for bed once he had left. What could have possibly happened between then and now? Whose voice was echoing around her? Why did her body feel so heavy, and why were her thoughts so incoherent? If she could just get up-

Oh.

Oh.

Her wrists were bound behind her, the rest of her body anchored to the chair she was sat in by chains of steel. There was something large strapped to her abdomen emitting a beeping noise every few seconds.

Her heart nearly stopped beating in her chest as she slowly put together what was happening in her hazy mind.

“-Pay for your crimes by letting her die. This pretty little thing only has three hours left,” the gruff voice continued, sounding much clearer and much closer than before. Her panic increased tenfold as she realized the mystery man was directly behind her. Before she could fully prepare for it, a large hand suddenly grabbed a fistful of hair on her scalp and yanked her slumped head upwards. The pain forced her eyes open and she was greeted with a camera pointed at her, along with a room full of armed men. Her eyes slowly widened in terror and clarity as it all finally clicked in that moment, no matter how much she didn’t want to admit what was happening to her.

I’ve been kidnapped as a means to get back at the agency.

There’s a bomb strapped to me.

I have three hours to live.

The tears started then. Even though she could vaguely recognize that she was being recorded for the Agency’s viewing and it would only worry Dazai more if he saw her in so much distress, she couldn’t help her panic. No matter how strong she wanted to be for him, this was terrifying. Her life was suddenly on the line and she would die at the hands of these men if the agency couldn’t find her in time.

“Please,” she cried, squeezing her eyes shut and feeling pathetic as she let out a choked sob. Her voice cracked from disuse and she felt like she might hyperventilate. “Please, no. I don’t want to die.” The room filled with cruel laughter at her naive pleas, and she could only sink further into despair as the gravity of her situation became painfully evident. These were ruthless killers who were happy to see an innocent woman die for nothing more than the sake of revenge.

“Hear that, detectives? She’s begging for her life. What are you gonna do about it? The clock is ticking,” The man behind her sneered, grabbing her face in his calloused hand and squeezing it. She weakly attempted to yank her head away from his grasp and maintain her last shred of dignity. He was taunting them with her, the bastard.

Weaponizing their good nature and care for her. Trying to break them; trying to break her sweet Dazai.

Oh god- Dazai.

The more she thought about him, the more her tears flowed. Dazai, whose greatest fear was putting her in danger with his line of work. Dazai, who had lost so much more than a person should. Dazai, who loved and cared for her more than anyone she had ever known. The mere idea of him sitting at the agency headquarters, watching in horror while these unknown men teased him with her life, was too much to bear.

Through her cries of terror, Y/N could just barely overhear the man saying something else into the camera before ordering one of his subordinates to cut the footage. Dread filled the pit of her stomach as they turned their full attention on her and she realized she was truly alone with these psychopaths.

She had no way of knowing if the ADA was coming for her, or if they would be able to get to her in time. Hell, she didn’t even know if they would be able to diffuse the complicated bomb even if they did manage to reach her before it was set to detonate. She certainly didn’t want them to risk their own lives just to save her, even if the thought of dying in an explosion shook her to her core.

She felt her hope drain away with each new tick of the bomb, her body shaking with fear. Three hours was an awfully short time.

Please, Osamu.

My time is running out.

~

Dazai had never felt a rage quite like this before.

He knew that something was wrong the moment the agency had received a video from an untraceable source and Y/N hadn’t texted him about her day. That didn’t stop his heart from dropping clear to his stomach when he saw her on the monitor, chained up and bloody with a bomb on her chest.

No. Not her.

He avoided the nervous gazes of Atsushi and the rest of the agency members as he stared at her unconscious body on the screen, jaw clenched unimaginably tight and hands gripping the wood of the conference room table. The man standing in front of her was droning on about how Dazai had personally wronged his pathetic organization —something about putting a stop to their human trafficking network with the help of Kunikida— but he couldn’t bring himself to listen or even care.

He was attempting to keep his composure by focusing on the facts of the case. Namely, the extent of her injuries and her location.

Blood was dripping down the side of her face from her temple, some of it dried and caked in her hair. The bastards had likely hit her with some sort of blunt object to knock her out. His fury only grew at the thought of her being treated with such senseless violence. She still seemed dazed and confused as the man forced her awake to face the camera, a sure sign of a concussion or even drugging to further subdue her. She had a few more bruises and bloody cuts on her face, and he knew by the way the metal chains cut into her skin that they would cause serious irritation at the very least.

He couldn’t help but screw his eyes shut and let out a shuddering breath as her weak and desperate pleas reached his ears. The complete and utter terror in her voice as she begged her captors for mercy was nothing short of gut-wrenching to him. Even worse, the man was taunting Dazai with her pain. Smugly showing off her broken body like some sort of prize. She’s suffering because of you, a small voice in his head spat, making Dazai grit his teeth even more. No. Focus, you idiot. Focus on where they’re keeping her.

She looked to be trapped in some kind of metal room, potentially reinforced with anti-ability precautions to keep them from easily reaching her. The cell was dingy, dark, and silent, leading him to wonder if she was being kept somewhere underground. That would be a likely spot for these despicable cockroaches to hide. There were just over a dozen guards surrounding her, although they wouldn’t be an issue in the grand scheme of things; the ADA could certainly handle a few thugs with guns. What concerned him most was the bomb strapped to her chest.

There were plenty of geniuses among their ragtag team, but bombs were tricky. There could be dozens of triggers on it, or someone could detonate it remotely if anyone got too close to her. A single misstep or miscalculation could immediately cost Y/N’s life, and that was a risk Dazai certainly wasn’t willing to take.

He was furious at himself for letting this happen. He was so careful- always keeping tabs on her, steering her away from involvement in ADA antics, keeping an ear to the ground for trouble in the Yokohama underworld. He was constantly calculating and preparing for every outcome, always several steps ahead of his enemies with his dizzying plans. And yet, somehow, this measly organization he could hardly remember had managed to snatch his girlfriend out from under him with almost no trouble at all.

She was in mortal danger, and it was all his fault.

“Snap out of it, Dazai, I can hear your thoughts from all the way over here,” Kunikida piped up from across the room, his voice sympathetic but stern as he glared at his partner. “You need to keep your head on straight if we want to get her back.” He could tell just by reading Dazai’s expression how much inner turmoil the man was going through. How much he blamed himself for Y/N’s capture. But if they were going to rescue her before the three hours were up, there was no time for wallowing in self pity.

“Kunikida’s right,” Fukuzawa’s booming voice spoke, causing Dazai’s distant gaze to snap over to his boss in an instant. The fact that he was involved in the case at all revealed just how seriously the entire agency was taking her kidnapping. “Time is not on our side. We must be swift and rational if we are to have any hope of getting to Y/N and disabling the bomb in time.” Their words struck Dazai to his core. It was hard to remember that the other ADA members also cared deeply for his girlfriend, and they were willing to go so far as to put their lives at risk to help him get her back. Their unwavering support seemed to snap him out of his stupor and focus on the task at hand.

Get her back from those sorry motherfuckers.

“Right,” he nodded curtly, his expression suddenly devoid of all emotion as he turned to face the team with renewed focus and determination. “Ranpo-san, what’s the plan?”

The raven-haired detective, who had been quietly perched on the window sill and shadowed by the deep orange sunlight filtering into the room, suddenly jumped down from his seat and whipped out his pair of glasses in a flash. His trademark smirk spread across his face as he placed the glasses on the bridge of his nose, poised to activate his ability.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

~

Fifteen minutes.

That’s what the little timer read—from what she could tell, anyway. Y/N’s heart felt like it would burst out of her chest. She was drenched in sweat from the overwhelming fear taking over her body, despite her cell being practically freezing. The men had left her alone a while ago, but not before roughing her up for good measure. She now sported a throbbing bruise under her eye and a few new cuts on her face and neck, but she had blocked all of the pain out. All she could feel was pure panic as the countdown to her impending doom grew shorter and shorter.

She had no idea if Dazai and the rest of the ADA were even close to figuring out where she was, and her hope was beginning to run out. How could they possibly find her and disarm the bomb in a mere fifteen minutes? It didn’t seem at all possible, no matter how skilled they were. A single tear ran down her cheek as the reality set in. She was really going to die.

Trying to find some form of comfort as the seconds ticked away and she neared what she assumed were her last moments, Y/N squeezed her eyes shut and forced her mind to go somewhere else—anywhere else—to escape this hell.

Dazai’s soft laughter filled her ears.

It was a lazy Sunday morning- the couple’s favorite time to lay in bed for the whole day and forget their actual adult responsibilities. They were tangled up in fresh sheets, warm sunlight streaming through the windows as Dazai playfully teased her about her refusal to let him get up.

“Five more minutes!” Y/N grumbled sleepily, burying her head into the crook of Dazai’s neck and breathing in his fresh scent. He still smelled like the floral body wash he had used in the shower the night before; the same body wash she had bought him when he insisted he loved the way it smelled on her and needed some for himself. Catching traces of its scent on him always brought a smile to her face.

“You said that five minutes ago,” he chuckled, his voice still husky from sleep. His hand absentmindedly massaged her scalp as he held her tight to his chest. “You can hear my stomach practically begging for food. Are you trying to starve me, my love?” Y/N was seemingly unaffected by his dramatic ploy to escape her embrace. “Yes,” she answered simply, burrowing further into his t-shirt to hide her smile that would give away her crumbling resolve. Of course, there was no hiding anything from Dazai Osamu.

“I saw that!” He gasped, playfully poking at her face. “My Y/N does care about me, who would have thought!” She couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped her lips at her boyfriend’s theatrics. He was always blowing things out of proportion, but she would be lying if she said she didn’t love it.

Daring to peek up at him with heavy eyelids, her eyes met gentle brown staring back at her with nothing but warmth and fondness. The lovesick smile plastered across his face sent butterflies rushing through her stomach and she suddenly felt shy. His eyes were so pretty. “If you get up, I’ll be so lonely without you,” she pouted, hands snaking around his waist as she gave him her best puppy dog eyes. She knew she was playing dirty by pulling the pity card, but she also couldn’t stand the thought of being away from his comforting embrace for even a moment.

Dazai heaved a sigh, a mischievous twinkle in his eye as his hand moved to her face and gently brushed some of her hair away from her eyes. “Well how could I ever say no to that? I would rather starve than see my belladonna lonely and upset.” She rolled her eyes a let out an amused huff at his words, craning her neck so she was mere inches away from his face. “So you’ll stay?” She whispered, knowing that she’d already won the minute he hadn’t actually gotten up when he announced he needed breakfast.

Instead of responding right away, Dazai leaned down and planted a gentle kiss to her pouting mouth. She was just so irresistible. “Of course, darling,” he murmured against her lips, pulling her head back into his chest and smiling as he felt her snuggle closer. She truly was his everything. “Five more minutes with you is nothing short of pure bliss.”

Five minutes left.

Y/N thought she might pass out from the sheer terror that consumed her, threatening to pull her under completely. She would never see her friends again, including all of the agency members she had grown to call her family. She would die before saying goodbye to her loved ones- to Dazai. How would he react when he found her body, or what was left of it? How would he cope? The very thought forced a watery sob from her throat.

This is the end.

I’m going to die without seeing him one last time.

Suddenly, a loud bang sounded outside of the door to her prison and startled her out of her despair. It sounded like someone throwing their body against the heavy steel door. She froze, swallowing back her tears and preparing herself for the worst. Maybe the men were back to torture her one last time before setting off the bomb. As her mind came up with the worst possible scenarios, a familiar grunt reached her ears through the metal walls. It couldn’t be. After a beat, she heard the noise again. Then- “Y/N?”

She nearly stopped breathing at the sound of his angelic lilt. “…Samu?” She called out weakly, afraid to let herself be filled with hope in case it was some kind of cruel trick. “Y/N!” He yelled back, a mixture of desperation and relief in his voice as the banging noises continued. It was incredible how quickly hearing his voice had managed to relax her, even if she knew she was still in immediate danger. He always did have a calming effect on her. “Osamu, I don’t have much time left,” she gasped, desperately struggling against her restraints. Now that she knew he was here, she wanted nothing more than to be with him.

“I know, I know. I’m gonna get you out of here, baby,” he assured her through the cold metal door, giving the handle another frustrated jolt. Why couldn’t he have been blessed with a strength-related ability? “Those assholes had some ability users up their sleeve, so the others are busy trying to break through their defenses,” he explained in a rush, throwing his body into the door again despite the blooming pain in his shoulder. He wouldn’t have the help of Atsushi or Kenji like they had originally planned, and that worried him. “I promise, I won’t stop until I get into that room and you’re safe.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” a voice suddenly boomed over a hidden speaker, catching the attention of both Dazai and Y/N as their heads snapped upwards in near unison. Her blood ran cold as she recognized it as the voice of her captor. “Break into that room, and we’ll set off the bomb early. Didn’t you listen to us? This is your penance, Dazai,” he spoke, clear amusement in his tone. The bastard was watching them from somewhere else in the underground facility, enjoying their pain. Using it as entertainment.

Three minutes left.

Dazai grimaced outside of the door, hands balling into fists as a new fear and rage ignited inside of him. There was never going to be a way to reach her without the bomb going off. It was a cruel way to torture him; forcing him to either live with the guilt of leaving her and save his own life, or stay with her until the bitter end. It wasn’t a difficult choice to make.

As Y/N pieced together the new information, she quickly came to the same conclusion as her boyfriend and felt her eyes go wide. “Dazai, NO! Get away from here, now!” She screamed, fresh tears already burning in her eyes. She knew that he was selfless and loved her more than anything, but in that moment she wanted him to turn his back on her. To break her heart and leave her behind to save himself.

Ramming his now probably broken shoulder into the cold, unforgiving metal one last time, Dazai shook his head as he slowly sank to the floor. His hands were raw and bleeding from practically clawing at the wall for a weak point, but he didn’t care. Nothing else mattered anymore but staying with her. “I won’t leave you,” he said simply, leaning his head against the wall. The agony of knowing that she was in that room, alone and afraid, minutes away from her death, was crushing. But if he could offer her even the smallest comfort before that timer hit zero, he would do it in a heartbeat.

Meanwhile, Y/N was on the verge of a panic attack. Tears streamed down her face and she struggled to breathe, completely overwhelmed by what was happening. To have to accept that she really was about to die a horrible and graphic death in a few minutes was terrifying, but to know that Dazai was right outside the door and would also die if he stayed; that was too much. She knew how stubborn he was, but she had to try to make him leave anyway. Anything to get him to save himself.

“Please,” she cried desperately, consumed with grief as sobs wracked through her body. “You can’t stay, Dazai, you have to GO!” Hearing her in so much pain was like a thousand knives to the heart, but despite everything, Dazai couldn’t help the small smile that made its way onto his face. She really didn���t get it. “Go where, huh? There’s nowhere in this world I would go without you,” he spoke softly, shutting his eyes and letting out a small sigh. He seemed strangely content.

She continued to sob, choking on her breaths as the timer reached one minute. He was so stupid and selfless and wonderful- she couldn’t let him die. “Please…you can’t do this to me, you have to leave…you can’t stay,” she whimpered almost incoherently, barely able to yell anymore. Her strength was running out, her body exhausted from all of the mental turmoil. Still, she continued to strain against the chains wrapped tightly around her as if she could break them by sheer will. “Don’t be scared, Y/N,” he called to her, the smile still on his face. “I’m right here with you and I’m not leaving you. It’s gonna be okay.” Through the walls he could hear her voice break as she wailed in agony at his words, the sound blood-curdling.

Thirty seconds.

Dazai thought it ironic that this was the way he was going out; a tragic double suicide with his lover. It was almost funny. Almost. “I love you, darling. My sweet belladonna. Not even death can keep us apart,” he reassured her, opening his eyes and staring at the wall as if he could look straight through the metal and meet her gaze. His heart squeezed in his chest as she let out another horrible, strangled sob. “There- isn’t much time- left,” she gasped in between breaths, her whole body trembling. Why couldn’t he leave her? Why couldn’t he save himself? He was too important to the ADA, to the world, to die. The guilt was eating her alive.

Ten seconds.

“I love you, Y/N,” he repeated, and he was never more sure of his words. She let out one last piercing, guttural scream, pulling at the chains so hard her skin started to bleed. She thought she might faint from the agonizing anticipation as the clock counted down her last moments of life; their last moments. “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, squeezing her eyes shut in defeat. He shook his head once again. She had nothing to be sorry for. “It’s gonna be okay,” he whispered one final time, placing his bloody hand against the door. Offering his comfort in their last seconds alive.

Three.

Two.

One.

Silence. A flash of white hot light. A horrible booming noise. Then, nothing.

~

The rest of the ADA halted in their battle at the sound of the explosion, staring at one another in horror. Smoke billowed out from one of the dingy tunnels, the familiar scent of flames filling the air. There was no way they had failed…right? The couldn’t have lost Y/N and Dazai; not when they had worked so hard to get out of the situation with everyone unharmed.

The sound of cackling laughter echoed through the underground base mere moments after the explosion, drawing their attention to a man emerging from the shadows. They immediately recognized him as the man from the video- the organization’s leader who had personally tormented Y/N.

“The great Dazai Osamu is dead,” he shrieked, his crazed laughter forcing him to double over. The rest of the organization’s thugs began to jeer and laugh along with him, celebrating their victory over the ADA’s elusive genius. Atsushi felt tears welling in his eyes, not just for the tragic and sudden loss of his brilliant mentor whom he deeply cared for, but for Y/N as well. Those pieces of shit didn’t even care that they had killed her too; to them she was just a means to an end. The sweet woman who had shown him nothing but kindness when he joined the ADA and brought so much joy into their lives…dead.

To his left, Kunikida was also fighting back angry tears, refusing to accept that his frustrating but brilliant partner had truly been killed by these incompetent fools. Kyoka and Kenji’s eyes were blown wide in shock while Tanizaki panted heavily, his mouth gaping. It seemed that none of them could actually comprehend that the pair were truly dead and gone.

“You detectives are nothing but a bunch of sentimental fools!” The man cackled, face red and eyes bulging. He looked insane. “I can’t believe your genius was lured and killed by such an easy trap. All it took was kidnapping that little bitch and blowing her up!” All of the ADA members tensed, looking visibly appalled by his cruel, demeaning words. Not only was this man completely unhinged, but he was outright mocking an innocent woman’s death.

It was sickening.

Just as the sinking feeling of dread began to settle in the pit of Atsushi’s stomach, a distant but familiar voice called out from the smoke to interrupt their little celebration. “Ah, you underestimate me…” the voice drawled, jerking everyone’s attention to the smoking tunnel. All of the color drained from the leader’s face as he watched three silhouettes slowly emerge from the haze. “No…that’s impossible!” He screeched, all confidence gone and white as a ghost as he pointed at the trio with a shaking finger. “I watched you die! I-I saw it with my own eyes!”

Dazai, Y/N, and Dr. Yosano appeared at the entrance of the tunnel as the smoke cleared, Y/N leaned against Dazai for support while Yosano brandished her weapon. Y/N looked slightly stunned and shaken up, but the two survivors otherwise seemed completely unharmed, no trace of any injuries on their bodies.

“You did,” Dazai flashed his signature shit-eating grin, eyes flicking over to their team’s resident doctor. “Thankfully we had a backup plan in case you tried anything dirty, like you did.”

Ranpo had luckily had the foresight to bring in Yosano from a different entry point and position her near the cell that Y/N was being held in once they figured out her location, in the event that things went wrong and the bomb went off. That way she was there to immediately patch them up with her ability once it detonated, making it so that the harm was only temporary. There had never been any real threat of death; as long as Yosano worked fast enough, that is.

“You were a fool to play with this woman’s life to get back at an enemy,” Yosano spat, pointing her cleaver at the now trembling man before her. “Those who do not properly respect life will receive the ultimate punishment!” The rest of the thugs glanced around uneasily, sensing a shift in the power dynamic of the fight. Suddenly their main target was alive and well, and the rest of the agency seemed even more bloodthirsty than before.

“I-Impossible! No!” He cried, slowly backing towards another tunnel. The ADA members adjusted their stances and stared him down with what could only be described as murderous glints in their eyes, making it clear that he wouldn’t be getting away without a gruesome fight. He gulped. “Take this as a lesson!” Dazai announced cheerfully, still smiling but now with a terrifyingly cold and emotionless look in his eyes.

“There are grave consequences for those who hurt the people I love. And you’ve stupidly chosen to hurt the person I love most.”

It was a blur after that, all hell breaking loose. Dazai quickly ordered Tanizaki to cloak Y/N with his ability and get her safely to the surface as fighting broke out all around them. She wanted to protest, but the look in his eyes told her that he just wanted to get her out of harm’s way for the time being and that’d he be back at her side as soon as he was done dealing with the room of pitiful men. She certainly didn’t want to stick around and see what he and the rest of the ADA had in store for them. He pressed one last comforting kiss to her forehead before sending her off to escape with the ginger detective, his fiercely protective gaze never once leaving her as she fled the scene.

Covering the two of them with Light Snow, Tanizaki grabbed Y/N by the wrist and rushed her out of the disgusting underground hideout, pulling her away from the violent fight that had broken out. He knew that it would only be a few minutes until the team was done putting those miserable scumbags in their place.

They eventually reached the entrance of the base after a few tense minutes of running through winding tunnels, finding Ranpo and a trusted driver from the agency waiting in a running car. Tanizaki carefully opened the backseat door for her and made sure she was safely in the car before stepping back, flashing a comforting smile. “I’m so happy to see that you’re safe, Y/N. Ranpo will take care of the rest and make sure you get back to the agency safely,” he quickly explained, nodding at the driver before closing the car door and giving her a small wave.

Although she was still shellshocked, she managed a small wave in return and and even smaller smile. “Thank you,” she mouthed as the car pulled away, grateful for his help in getting her out of that hellhole. She was happy to leave the horrible place behind.

“Good to see you, Y/N,” Ranpo greeted from the seat next to her, drawing her attention away from the now small spec that was Tanizaki. Seeing her old friend sitting next to her filled her with so much relief she could hardly breathe. She opened her mouth to thank him for everything, knowing that the elaborate rescue plan was his doing, but the words caught in her throat. Everything had happened so fast that she barely had any time to process it. The bomb going off, practically dying, being saved by Yosano, briefly reuniting with Dazai, escaping the underground labyrinth. She was so overwhelmed with emotion as she realized she was actually alive and safe. Dazai was alive and safe.

We survived…

but we almost didn’t.

She promptly bent over and threw up onto the floor of the car.

Ranpo shrank into the corner of his seat, looking wildly uncomfortable but biting back his usual snarky and tone-deaf remarks. She had been through a lot, and her body had to expel all of those suffocating emotions somehow. “I had a feeling you would do that,” he grimaced, but he nonetheless leaned over and gently pat her back in a small act of comfort. Coughing on bile, Y/N felt hot tears burning the back of her eyes at the detective’s kind gesture. Everyone at the agency had shown up to help her in one way or another, and it was staggering to see just how much they cared.

Even in this very vulnerable moment, Ranpo was offering his genuine support, something that was incredibly rare for him. She would have to buy him a big care package of his favorite snacks later to show her gratitude for all he had done for her.

Eventually the car arrived at the agency, the normally bustling streets of Yokohama quiet and deserted in the late hour. Y/N apologized profusely to the driver for the small mess in the car, thoroughly embarrassed even though she hadn’t been able to help it. He simply dismissed it with a wave of his hand and an understanding smile. “No problem whatsoever, miss. You just take it easy.”

With that, Ranpo carefully guided her into the safety of the agency, leading her upstairs with one arm draped over her shoulder. When the pair finally reached the office, Y/N practically collapsed into one of the couches in the lounge area, letting out a sigh and massaging her temples to try and soothe her pounding head. Being dehydrated and malnourished for nearly 24 hours wasn’t exactly helping her stress-induced headache that had quickly developed in the car ride over.

Once again, as if reading her mind, Ranpo disappeared for a moment before returning with a water bottle, a few snacks, medicine, and a blanket in his arms, placing them on the coffee table in front of her. It was like he knew everything she needed- and he probably did. “Rest up and take care of yourself,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for debate. “I’m sure Dazai will be here soon to take you home, but in the meantime try to relax and get some food and water in you. You’ve had a long day.” She smiled gratefully, albeit a little tiredly, at the gesture. Yet another rare display of his care.

“Thank you, for everything,” she whispered, trying to convey just how sincerely she meant those words. She wouldn’t soon forget his help. He flashed her a small, lopsided grin before waving her off dramatically. “It was nothing for the world’s greatest detective!” He declared, pointing a finger into the air before turning on his heels and making his way back to his desk, munching on a snack of his own. Just like that, Y/N was alone.

She quietly opened one of the snacks Ranpo had provided her, washing down some pain-relief pills with the water after she’d eaten a few bites. When her nauseous stomach began to protest the food, she forced herself to stop. Although she was still incredibly hungry, she certainly didn’t want to end up with another mess to clean up. Shuddering at the thought, she wrapped herself up with the plush blanket and tried to calm her racing heart. Her mind was still reeling from everything. The constant thoughts of the traumatic events she had just undergone only made her headache and nausea worse by the minute, and her brain felt like it might explode.

She was exhausted.

If she could just clear her mind and close her eyes for a moment…

~

Without even realizing she had dozed off on the couch, she awoke some time later to the feeling of a slender hand cupping her cheek, stroking her jaw with delicate precision. She didn’t even have to open her eyes to know it was Dazai. “Wake up, my love,” his hushed voice cooed, immediately pulling her from her slumber. Slowly blinking her eyes open, she was met with his comforting smile, but his eyes were unimaginably sad. Her heart ached.

“Ready to go home?”

Nodding sleepily, Y/N slowly picked herself up from the couch, shrugging the blanket off her shoulders and neatly folding it up before placing it back on the coffee table. After gathering her bearings, she realized that some of the other agency members had also returned to the office, likely to fill out paperwork before heading home for the night. She felt a pang of guilt shoot through her as she realized they would have to do extra work because of her. If you hadn’t gone and gotten yourself kidnapped, they would all be home sleeping right now.

A dreadful thought suddenly crossed her mind. Would she have to fill out paperwork and recount what had happened to her? It seemed likely, as they kept track of nearly every incident like this. The very idea made another wave of nausea roll through her.

As if sensing her worry, Kunikida rounded the corner with a stack of papers in-hand, taking in her dead-tired appearance with a single glance. “Just so you know, we will need a statement on what happened eventually, Y/N, but I don’t want you to even think about it until you’re recovered and ready to talk,” he instructed, concern and sympathy evident in his expression despite his no-nonsense tone. He was truly glad to see her safe and back under the protection of the agency. Y/N nodded, relieved that she wouldn’t have to recount the traumatic events until she was ready. At the moment she couldn’t even imagine a time when she would ever feel ready.

Turning his attention to Dazai, the sympathetic look vanished from Kunikida’s face and morphed into one of general annoyance. “Don’t think that you’re getting out of doing the paperwork just because you almost died,” he barked, jabbing an accusing finger at his partner’s chest. “It’s no excuse to be lazy.”

Dazai placed a hand to his heart and looked aghast, as if the very insinuation of him trying to avoid paperwork was ridiculous. “Me? Getting out of paperwork? Really, Kunikida-kun, what do you take me for?” He gasped, earning a growl and a sharp smack to the head with a roll of papers.

Their antics miraculously drew out a soft chuckle from Y/N’s lips, but it was half-hearted at best. As enjoyable as Dazai and Kunikida’s banter was, her eyes still drooped with fatigue and her anxious mind longed to rest in the comfort of her own home. She just wanted this horrible day to be over with. Gaze dropping to Y/N’s face at the sound of her reserved amusement, Dazai quickly noted the weight of her exhaustion and took it as their cue to leave.

“I think it’s time for us to get home,” he announced, glancing back up at Kunikida and sharing a knowing look with him. The blond held his stare for a moment before sighing, giving a small nod before politely bidding the two a good night and moving on to pester Ranpo about doing his work.

Placing a hand on the small of her back, Dazai carefully led Y/N out of the agency and into the streets of Yokohama below, glancing at her every few minutes to make sure she was doing ok. She was quiet during the walk home, her expression blank and her eyelids heavy. He found himself wishing he could figure out what she was thinking. Normally he could read her like a book, always knowing exactly how she was feeling or what was troubling her. Now she just seemed numb. A dark part of his mind feared that she was distancing herself from him because their relationship had nearly gotten her killed.

Would she even want to be with him anymore? Would she leave him to heal the trauma he had caused her? He shuddered at the thought.

Eventually arriving at their destination, Y/N quickly realized that Dazai had led her back to his apartment instead of her own. That’s right. Mine was broken into, and no one’s been around to clean up the mess that was probably left behind. She was grateful for his thoughtfulness. There was no way she would’ve been able to keep her composure if she had walked into her home and seen the evidence of her capture.

Walking into the entryway after Dazai had unlocked the door, Y/N immediately wanted to cry as the warm, familiar scent of his apartment hit her. It just smelled like him, something she thought she’d lost mere hours ago. The familiarity of the space nearly brought tears to her eyes.

It was overwhelming, to say the least.

Noticing her distant, watery gaze, Dazai quickly swooped in to distract her, helping her slip out of her shoes and guiding her to the bedroom to change out of her clothes. Although Yosano had done away with all of the physical injuries on her body, she still felt dirty, the scent of mold and metal clinging to her shirt. It drew her back to that room and the horrible, agonizingly slow ticking of the bomb. The memories lingered in the back of her mind as she discarded her old clothes, slipping into a comfortable t-shirt and a soft pair of shorts that she kept in Dazai’s drawer for the nights when she slept over.

“Better?” Dazai questioned softly when she had finished changing, eyes searching hers almost frantically for any sign of discomfort. He wanted to help her in any way possible, but for once in his life, he didn’t know what to do. The day had taken a toll on him as well and he was struggling to maintain his calm facade. Staring deep into his eyes, she gave the slightest of nods and opened her mouth to reassure him, to tell him that she was ok now. She was home, she was safe thanks to him, she was with him- everything had turned out just fine. But for the second time that night, the words refused to come out.

Instead, she just stared in silence before collapsing into a sudden fit of sobs, knees buckling and sending her falling to the hardwood below. Panicked, Dazai scrambled to meet her at the floor, strong arms holding her steady while she attempted to muffle her pained cries with the palm of her hand. Her sudden tears had him terrified that he had done something wrong. “Hey, hey, what’s the matter, angel? Please, let me help-“ he couldn’t even finish his sentence before she threw herself into his arms, holding him tighter than she had ever held anyone.

Her desperation to feel him and be close to him now was due to the fact that their reunion in the underground base had been so short lived. Y/N was in too much shock, not understanding how she had gone from dying a gruesome death to perfectly fine in only a matter of seconds. She could barely even register Dazai’s arms wrapped around her in a bone crushing hug or the sweet encouragements he was whispering in her ear.

Dazai was used to Yosano’s incredible ability. Having been saved by it countless times, being revived by the dark-haired doctor was practically second nature to him. But Y/N was still reeling from the excruciating pain she had experienced moments ago that had just vanished. It was like it had tattooed itself under her skin, a painful memory of her near-death.

The shock of being revived clouded her mind as Dazai had clutched her body close, kissing her forehead and squeezing her tight. She couldn’t even enjoy the pure relief that normally would have filled her when she pieced together that she was alive and safe in her loving boyfriend’s arms. Before she could comprehend what was going on, he had already helped her off the ground and had begun to walk her down the hallway with Yosano, headed towards the main fight.

Now, on the floor of Dazai’s dark bedroom, her mind had finally registered exactly what had transpired mere hours ago. He sacrificed himself just so I wouldn’t be alone in my last moments. He stayed with me until the very end, and he was the first thing I saw after I was healed by Yosano. He means more to me than anyone ever has- and I almost got him killed.

Shushing her cries of despair, Dazai cradled her head to his chest, feeling tears building in his own eyes. He just wanted to take all of her pain away. “Shhh…it’s alright, darling, you’re safe,” he whispered into her ear, feeling her grip around him tighten even more. She was gasping for breath, practically hyperventilating. It seemed her distress was never ending. “Please, my love…please tell me what’s wrong…I want to help you,” he muttered, stroking her hair and pressing gentle kisses into the crown of her head. Her muffled cries only grew louder and he only felt more helpless.

Eventually, after a few minutes of his hushed reassurances and tight, comforting hold, she managed to catch her breath enough to speak. When she pulled away from his chest and finally looked up at him, her eyes held a sorrow so deep that it broke Dazai’s heart all over again. “I- I’m so sorry,” she rasped, sounding completely broken. “You almost died because of me. I hurt you.” Another watery sob escaped her throat before she hung her head and pressed a hand to her lips yet again to stifle her pained cries.

Her words left him in utter shock. He couldn’t imagine how she could possibly think any of this was on her. Not when the truth was the complete opposite. It was time for him to be honest about his feelings, no matter how terrifying it was. “Hey…will you look at me?” He questioned gently, tilting her chin upwards with his finger to guide her gaze back to his. The smallest of smiles graced his lips when she finally complied, glassy eyes locking on his own. “There you are. It hurts that you blame yourself at all, darling. Especially when it’s me you have to blame for all of this.” When her distraught expression morphed into one of confusion, his hands made their way to her own, squeezing them tight. She absentmindedly stroked her thumb along his wrist in a comforting gesture, urging him to explain.

“…I knew Yosano would be there the whole time we were trying to rescue you. I knew she was waiting for us in case things went wrong, and that she would heal us if the bomb went off,” he began, staring intently into her eyes as he spoke. “But listening to you in there, scared and alone, waiting for it to detonate, was horrible. It was the worst possible scenario that we tried so hard to avoid. And knowing that you would have to endure the god awful pain of the explosion even for a moment, and I could do nothing about it, made me sick. It was just another cruel reminder that I always end up hurting the people I care for.”

His sincere confession had stunned Y/N. Though she and her boyfriend were incredibly close, Dazai was a fairly private person who didn’t often air his deep insecurities. The fact that he was being so vulnerable in this moment told her just how genuine his words were, and it hurt like hell to hear. Before she could say anything to rebut his confession, he continued. “I just feel like…a curse to the people I love most. They’ll always be hurt or worse because of me. And it’s so hard to live with myself because of that.”

Eyes widening, Y/N shook her head in disbelief. She couldn’t even imagine where his horrible self-deprecating talk was coming from. “How could you even say that? You saved me. I’m only here and alive because of you and the agency.” He let out a soft, humorless chuckle at her words, his gaze distant. “I failed you, my love. You were almost killed because of me.” He practically spat the word out, like he was disgusted with himself. His grip on her hands tightened.

“The whole reason those men took you in the first place was to get revenge on me. To force me to choose to live with the guilt of letting you die, or die alongside you. The fact that you had to be wrapped up in all that, traumatized and hurt and almost killed because of my enemies, my line of work…” he trailed off, his voice nearly breaking as his eyes begged her to understand. “No matter how careful I was and how much I tried to protect you, it meant nothing in the end.”

The guilt inside of him was all-consuming. Yes, they had saved her. Yes, they had made sure that the organization would never lay a finger on her or anyone else ever again. But what if something had gone wrong? What if they had been outsmarted, and Yosano hadn’t been waiting in the wings to heal them after the bomb went off? Y/N had been tortured, terrified, in pain because of him. To know that it was his fault that she had been scarred so deeply was his own personal hell.

In a way, the assholes who kidnapped her had won. It was Dazai’s penance, as their leader had called it- still living with the crushing guilt even after he had saved her. Hating himself over and over again for putting her in that position in the first place. Remembering her in the video, bruised and bloody and scared for her life. Constantly reliving her desperate cries for him to leave her in those final moments while he was utterly helpless to save her.

It was torture.

He just felt so stupid for being outsmarted by the lowly organization and allowing his precious lover to get hurt in the process.

“Dazai,” Y/N spoke sharply, effectively snapping him out of his spiral. She rarely called him Dazai unless she was being serious, and she couldn’t stand hearing him blame himself for one more second. “I won’t lie to you and say that today wasn’t one of the worst days of my life. The fear I felt, knowing I’d been taken from my home, having to count down the minutes to my death…” she paused, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head as if willing away the unpleasant memories. He patiently waited for her to come back to herself, giving her hands a comforting squeeze.

“…It’ll take me a long time to get over that,” she finally admitted after a moment. “But the worst part of it wasn’t being kidnapped, or hurt by those men, or waiting for the inevitable explosion. It was thinking that I was going to lose you too. All I could focus on in those last minutes was you behind that door, too stubborn to leave me. All I could think about was how much I loved you, and how much I wanted you to be selfish for once and save yourself.”

She watched as he blinked back tears, a mystified expression in his face. As if the very thought of someone worrying about him and his life was completely foreign. Wanting to make herself absolutely clear, she kept going, no matter how much it hurt to see him struggling to understand her love for him. “I could never blame you for what happened. Those men did this to us- they caused all this pain and hurt. Not you.”

Her words left him dumbfounded, to say the least. They managed to remind him of why he loved her as fiercely as he did- she was the good in his life. Even after such a traumatic experience, she was incapable of blaming him for what had happened. Her love and compassion for him despite the darkness he brought into their lives was eye opening, forcing him to realize that no matter how much he thought it untrue, he was capable of being loved.

And how lucky he was to be loved by her.

Unable to articulate his complicated feelings any other way, Dazai cupped her face and surged forward, pressing his lips into her own and kissing her with such genuine fervor that it left Y/N breathless. Although she was momentarily shocked by his sudden show of affection, it quickly wore off as she melted into him. This was the first time they had truly kissed since reuniting, and they were each aching to communicate just how much they loved one another. How close they were to losing their other half; the person that completely them.

Her hands raked through his brown curls almost erratically, desperate to compensate for those long, torturous hours spent away from him. He seemed equally if not more hungry for her touch, like he was trying to prove to himself that she was really there with him after their near death experience. His slender fingers glided across her body and gripped her closer to him, nearly feral in his pursuit to feel every inch of her. She tugged at the hair near the base of his head and elicited a low, rumbling moan in return.

“My beautiful girl,” he rasped as he briefly pulled away, eyes roaming over her body with a look of complete infatuation. She was the most perfect thing he’d ever seen—and he’d almost lost her. His arm snaked around her waist to tug her impossibly closer, practically pulling her into his lap. She didn’t mind.

He continued to plant kisses all over her face, her hair, her jaw- anywhere he could reach. His lips ghosted over every inch of skin that had previously been covered in blood or bruises, almost as though he had memorized the exact locations of all her injuries just from watching the video hours ago. Knowing Dazai, he probably had committed all of her injuries to memory.

In between kisses, he muttered gentle praises and affections into her ear, all of which made her face flush a deep red. She would never tire of the way his whispered adorations made her heart race and the feeling of his soft lips against her skin. “My darling. My sweet belladonna. You’re everything to me. Everything,” he breathed, kissing the tip of her nose. “Words cannot even describe how much you mean to me. I’m nothing without you.”

Y/N rolled her head back as his lips trailed up her neck and neared her jawline, sucking in a sharp breath when his hands moved into her hair and his grip tightened. His kisses were becoming more passionate, more anxious to prove to her how grateful he was that she was finally back in his arms. That he would never let anyone lay a hand on her again. She allowed his love the wash over her, happily reciprocating when his lips finally captured her own once again.

He tasted like salty tears and home.

Eventually breaking away from one another to catch their breath, Y/N rested her forehead against Dazai’s and let out a shaky sigh, finally letting herself feel safe after what had felt like an eternity of fear and unease. Just being in his presence was enough to help alleviate some of crushing panic she had felt just hours ago.

“Thank you for being with me. For always protecting me, even when you think you’re not. And for never leaving me behind,” she whispered, glancing up into his big brown eyes that were mere inches away from her own. Although the thought of him almost dying with her in the explosion filled her entire being with dread, his determination to stay with her and offer her comfort until the very end meant more to her than she could explain.

“I wouldn’t dream of abandoning you. I’ll spend every day of the rest of my life protecting you and making sure something like this never happens again,” he assured her with nothing but sincerity in his soothing voice, taking her hands and gently brushing his lips over her knuckles. Her eyes fluttered closed at the gesture. “You are the most wonderful thing in my life. My reason for living at all. It’s hard to wrap my head around what I’ve possibly done to deserve you, but I promise I’ll do everything within my power to cherish you and keep you safe as long as I live.”

Y/N felt herself genuinely smiling for the first time in hours at her lover’s words. She was filled with such utter relief to be back in the safety of his arms. To be home, alive, and in love despite it all. Her heart felt like it would burst from all the love it held for Dazai Osamu.

“I love you,” she breathed, eyes meeting gentle brown once again. She was desperate for him to understand just how much she meant those words. To convey how safe he made her feel, and how much his presence comforted her. That no matter the danger she was in, she knew he would always be there for her.

“I love you too, Y/N,” he replied effortlessly, a part of him melting at the sight of her smile. He would burn the world just to keep that beautiful expression on her face. He made a silent vow to himself in that moment— no matter what it took, he would never lose her again.

The two eventually ended up in Dazai’s bed, practically clinging to one another as they shifted into a comfortable position. There would be no such thing as personal space that night. Y/N, who had been worried that the horrors she had faced would keep her exhausted body awake through the night, was pleasantly surprised to find that she was calm and content in Dazai’s embrace, already dozing off. He chuckled softly as her whole body relaxed against him.

“Sleep tight, my love. I’ve got you,” he mumbled into her hair, his warm breath fanning across her neck. She shivered and nuzzled herself further into his embrace, a soft smile on her face. No harm would come to her so long as she was in his arms.

Though they were both still riddled with guilt and turbulent emotions from the terrible night, they silently agreed to let go of their baggage for the time being and just appreciate one another, falling asleep in each other’s embrace.

Safe and home at last.

………………………………………………………………………………….

☆ note: yeahhhh dazai fic! i literally haven’t written in ages but i’ve been knee-deep in my bungo stray dogs era and dazai is taking up most of my brain capacity at the moment. this feels both rushed and wayyyy too long at the same time lol, i just had that feral writing energy and had to get it off my chest as soon as possible. it might be a mess but i’m exhausted and i’ve reread it too many times to catch all my mistakes lmaooo whatever. thanks so much for reading :)

[thedvilsinthedetails]

microfic for @wolfstarmicrofic

written with the prompt ‘be mine’

Word count: 1134 (sorry this one’s quite long)

First half here

It just kept getting worse. And Remus wasn’t sure how much more he could take. 

“You look amazing today Moony.”

Sirius batted his eyes as he reached out a hand and took Remus’. He began to fiddle with his rings, twisting them round, leaning closer and closer and-

“God you just won’t quit will you?”

Sirius raised a single eyebrow at him as he spoke.

“You haven’t asked me to. Why haven’t you asked me to?”

“Well I didn’t think that would work.”

Remus muttered, dropping his gaze down.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Remus balled up his hands into little fists. He was blushing profusely now, he knew.

“The month is nearly up, I mean there’s not really much point so-“

“You don’t want me to stop.”

Remus snuck a look up and fuck that was a mistake. Sirius looked like, well godrick, he looked like a fucking Greek god, grinning smugly down at where Remus was sat on the bed. 

“Moony…do you like me?”

“I-“

Remus just trailed off. It was over. Years of pining. Years of unrequited love. Years of wishing the butterflies in his stomach would fly away or just die already. Years of wishing more than anything that Sirius would just-

Sirius sat down next to him, lifting a hand up tentatively, hovering it over Remus’ chin.

“Moony can I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

Remus had barely breathed it out when he felt warm lips crash into his. He sighed into it immediately and brought his hand up to the nape of Sirius’ neck, fisting it in his lovely, lovely curls there. His fucking hair. The only fucking reason he was kissing him at all. And Remus was sick and pandering and doting and fucking obsessed with Sirius but this, this was fucking selfish. I’m in love with you. And you’re kissing me. I’m in love with you and you’re kissing me and the only reason you’re kissing me is because you don’t want  a haircut. And I’m ok with that and I’m so, so fucking happy right now and this is the happiest I’ll ever be in my entire life because I am too fucking weak to cut you out of it.  And isn’t that so sad? That I live for you even if you don’t care. That I will never move on and I will never not love you. But you will never love me. And I’m ok with that. I wish I wasn’t. I wish I wasn’t I wish I wasn’t I wish I wasn’t I wish I wasn’t I wish I-

Sirius shifted his lips to Remus’ neck and Remus gasped a breath. He took the moment as a break, seeing clarity and shoving Sirius off the bed. Sirius fell away stumbling, eyebrows furrowed.

“Hey what the fuck was-“

Remus let out a sob. Sirius’ expression immediately changed. Anger gone, replaced with concern and fucking caring. Don’t pretend to care about me please I’m begging you just be mean, be cruel, mock me. It makes it easier.

“Remus, hey, hey, look at me what’s wrong?”

Sirius reached a hand to touch his cheek and Remus batted it away, trying to fight the tears because Remus Lupin does not cry. But he’s crying now. 

“Don’t, DON’T fucking touch me!”

“Remus what happened? What did I do wrong?”

“Just get out of here for fuck’s sake. Leave me alone. You got what you wanted, no fucking haircut for you Mr irresistible. I hope it was fucking worth it.”

And then Sirius began to laugh. Laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh and mock and belittle and Remus cried. It was like a fucking stab to the heart. Thank merlin though. Now I can hate him. Get over him and hate him. But that was a lie too because Remus Lupin could never hate Sirius Black. I’ll pretend to hate you. I know I will. But the moment you call I’ll come fucking crawling because I am pathetic. I’ll be pathetic for you. Always. Fucking always. I hate you I hate you I hate you I love you. I love you and I hate you for it.

“Moony…you think that’s why I wanted to kiss you?”

Sirius’ eyes were crinkled, smile wide and he looked goddamn angelic which really wasn’t bloody helping Remus get over him. How dare you be so cruel and look so sweet? 

“Of course it’s why you wanted to kiss me. You and your fucking bet! There’s no other- and it’s fucking low you know? It’s fucking low because I am in love with you Sirius Black. And you kissed me to win a fucking bet. And I am in love with you.”

His face crumpled as he said ‘love’, tears were fast rolling down his face now, he didn’t bother trying to wipe them away. They’d just get replaced again and it wasn’t fucking worth it. 

“Moony, mo- Remus. Please look at me. I lost the bet.”

Remus glanced up.

“What?”

“I lost the bet. The bet was to get you to kiss me. I kissed you. I lost the bet.”

“Then why…”

“Because I like you Moony. I like you a lot. Hell, I’m in love with you too! The only reason I made that fucking bet was to have an excuse to flirt with you openly because… man you are fucking clueless!”

“Are you lying? Because I swear to god if this is a lie I’ll-“

Sirius let out a laugh, his eyes were shining now too, they were a stormy grey like a night sky about to rain with still un-shed tears.

“No I’m not lying.”

Remus reached out a hand and wrapped it around Sirius’ waist, tugging him onto his lap. Sirius immediately straddled him, kissing the tears on his cheeks.

“You taste salty.”

“No shit Sherlock.”

“Wow. Ok Merlin you’re such a bad romantic.”

“You made a bet so you could flirt with me so um, pot calling the kettle black there I think.”

Sirius chuckled.

“Remus?”

He asked quietly, face nuzzled against his neck.

“Yeah?”

“Be mine?”

Remus shifted slightly, taking Sirius head and cupping his face gently so he could see him. He looked vulnerable. And Sirius Black never looked vulnerable. But here he was, wide eyes painted in fear. And Remus Lupin didn’t cry. But here he was covered in a trail of tears. 

“Always was, always will be love.”

And he kissed him. And it was everything.

•••

“And now you don’t have to cut your bloody hair.”

He whispered in Sirius’ ear. Sirius smiled softly where he was curled up against Remus’ chest. 

“I love you. So much.”

He added. He needed to make up for all the times he could have- should have said it but didn’t. 

“I love you too.”

[serial-serializednovelreader]

Nova’s Notes - Dracula Daily - June 5

Dr. Seward is back with another exciting podcast update :D

(Also, for clarity’s sake, I’ll probably be calling him Jack/Seward from here on out because first and foremost, I just like that nickname for him and also it’s a little bit easier to differentiate Jonathan vs. John. Since he’s only been referred to as John thus far — that will change later — I just wanted to clear up that when I say “Jack”, I mean Dr. John Seward!)

Looks like he’s studying Renfield again, who is proving to be an “interesting” case.

“He has certain qualities very largely developed; selfishness, secrecy, and purpose. I wish I could get at what is the object of the latter. He seems to have some settled scheme of his own, but what it is I do not yet know.”

Per the last Jack podcast, he talked about selfish vs. unselfish people and their threat level (I talk more about that here, if you’re interested). He seems to have decided upon Renfield being a selfish man — aka his threat level is low — though he does seem to have an unspecified purpose that Seward can’t figure out. I wonder how Jack differentiates between an unselfish person’s duty and a selfish person’s purpose, since they seem to be almost the same thing, per his logic. Then again, they could be very different!

“His redeeming quality is a love of animals, though, indeed, he has such curious turns in it that I sometimes imagine he is only abnormally cruel. His pets are of odd sorts. Just now his hobby is catching flies.”

Jack, buddy, I love you, but you can’t say someone has a love of animals and then in the same sentence think they’re probably also abnormally cruel to them?! Then again, I have to keep in mind, he’s also speaking these words so this is more of an active stream of consciousness than, say, Jonathan’s journal. I suppose it would put it more in line with Lucy’s letters, who impulse writes. Love to see these parallels!

On another note, how did Renfield catch these flies without hurting them and where is he storing them? Did the asylum give him jars or did he have to improvise? I have so many questions, but my bug phobia prevents me from wanting the answers tbh.

“He has at present such a quantity that I have had myself to expostulate.”

Yesh, that begs the question: how many flies did he catch? Again, I actually don’t want the answers, but since I’m analyzing this, I at least needed to ask.

Ok fine, let’s do a little math here. It’s been 11 days since the last time we heard from Seward. He didn’t talk about the fly-catching the last time, but perhaps it was because there was only like 5-6 flies there and he didn’t feel the need to mention it.

So if we give Renfield 5 flies the first day (minimum estimate) and he catches around 10 flies a day (a high guess, yes, but we know Renfield is determined and this is an average so some days he might’ve caught 8 and some days he might’ve caught 15) a day, we can multiply 11 x 10 to give us 110 flies + 5 (from the first day) = about 115 flies!! (I really hope I did this math right or I’m going to look silly)

In the iconic words of Phil Swift, “That’s a lot of damage.”

Again, this is an estimate — I’m not pretending this is actually the number, though it is certainly a possibility. While that seems like a large number for one man to catch and a lot of flies to get into a room, keep in mind this is the 1890s, which means more bugs in the area and Renfield could’ve skewed the numbers by leaving old food around to attract flies.

“To my astonishment, he did not break out into a fury, as I expected, but took the matter in simple seriousness. He thought for a moment, and then said: ‘May I have three days? I shall clear them away.’ Of course, I said that would do. I must watch him.”

Seward, I would suggest watching him very closely because uh…I happen to remember how he’s going to clear the flies and spoiler alert: it’s not just opening up whatever storage container he has them in. So, you can imagine with my bug phobia, I’d rather not analyze this further. Let’s just say it’s interesting he picked three days as the number to clear them away. He’s just built different, I guess.

So that’s it! For the next two weeks, we will be in a Dracula Daily Drought (try saying that five times fast). I am already sad about this!! 😫😭😭

In the meantime, I suppose it is high time I finish my BBC Dracula liveblog, so be on the lookout for that (I am more likely to do it putting it in writing!!).

[inkyara-blog1]

There’s a specter following Sou. Most others he could steer clear of, but this one proved itself a persistent pursuer. He’d avoided touching these ghostly lights since hearing the announcement, much preferring not to carry intrusive memories that didn’t belong to him. He had enough weighing on his weak, at times spasmodic, shoulders.

Yet… here, undulating slowly in the air in front of him, the will-o-wisp flickers… in the dark of his bedroom, it’s luminescence shone like pale lavender mints.

Is this… mine…? But, what have I lost…? The others seem to have lost memories after coming to this island, but I… I’ve felt so… ever since I saw that profile… I’ve been so uneasy. That was… during the Death Game, wasn’t it…?!! I panicked as soon as I…

Sou reaches out with his sweating hand. Whenever he stared at this specter, his head ached so. It wasn’t something he could rush through… his head felt pricked by many thorns, and his jaw was tight. As was his chest as he breathed. Could memories be as miasmic as a coworker’s cigarette?

“You know, you’ve been praying for a gift ever since your pathetic body bled out. You could at least reclaim what’s yours, hm, Hiyori?”

“You be quiet, and don't call me that,” Sou told the murky entity. In the light of the wisp, it still remained as shadowy as before. Many pairs of eyes blinked at him, swimming across the surface of that dark shadow. He snapped quietly, “I…! I have this bad feeling… like I shouldn’t dare peek further into this.”

“The lion is always cowardly, deep down…”

“Shhh-Shut up!” Sou grasped his head in his hand, and the fragment in his other. It emanated no warmth… none like the fully blasted space heater at Hiyori’s house.

Who was Sou Hiyori…? Shin knew he was his best friend. The man that took him under his wing, where they would gather everyday to code and hang out as if his home were their shared secret base. Hiyori was… someone he met in high school. Someone… strangely unregistered, yet he had many credentials as a licensed nurse, therapist, police officer… how much else?

Shin heeded the fragment entirely, remembering with some added clarity that the day he was imagining featured an empty pod chair. Hiyori wasn’t there… there was no trace of him, despite all the traces of Shin he left. Missing papers that contained passwords, a missing suitcase, pictures of Shin smiling lining the walls and one in particular on the shelf with his prized toys.

“He… just had to stick it up there with my stuff, like what made me happy was actually important to him…”

“Silly Shin, you’re not important to anybody. He had you dancing in the palm of his hand, kekeke!”

“… … … … …”

There, on a monitor, was a printable form in decadent orange paper. That was… the ASUNARO consent form!!! A form to give to his determination, to who he wanted to be… … …

“Not… not like this,” Shin choked up, “I didn’t want to be like this…!! I just wanted my little sibling. I…!”

“You used a little girl to your advantage. All to scrape by in the Main Game! You killed a teenaged boy that believed in you for your own sake! Accept it! This is who you are, Hiyori! The cold, blinding sun…! That’s who you wanted to be, to survive! You wanted to be the kind of person that would sacrifice a fourteen year old girl!”

“N-No…! I didn’t want that! I didn’t want her to die… I wanted to be… so I could meet them…! My wish, he promised…! So why…?”

Just like that, the light blew out. Shin collapsed on his knees and bowed his head. The ASUNARO vow… he’d surely done his part. He’d lived up to Hiyori’s expectations, and then came short in death. Did that mean he couldn’t meet his sibling?

Since I didn’t win… the Death Game… I couldn’t meet them…? What kind of sick joke is this? Hiyori, answer me!

“Ahaha, don’t call me that. I’m you. Don't you dare try to tell me you didn't suspect who it is. Your very own sibling was among you! You're LYING TO YOURSELF!" "N-No way... it's just too cruel... it wasn't Joe? Was it Gin? K-Kanna...??!" Shin asked, but it was as if nobody had taunted him in the first place. He was so... alone...

[thus-wrote-mrs-zeppeli]

What a Lovely Way to Burn~

La Squadra x femme fatale assassin!female reader

Intro:

This is a series~

Reader’s stand comes from the Peggy Lee song called: Fever. Idk how much I’m going to do with this specific concept but I wanted to give reader a stand just in case~

Reader won’t have any mention of hair or eye color or body type or anything like that. Reader is feminine, wears dresses and makeup and such. I don’t mean any particular body type when I describe reader’s body parts as sexy or hot, just imagine whatever you want, sexy doesn’t have any strict definition~

Reader has some personality as a battle hardened assassin. Has the capacity to be mean, manipulative and cruel, but also physically affectionate and playful; she has a different relationship with each member of the team, but all should be interpreted as romantic (so yeah, multiple partners for reader).

And for clarity’s sake!!

Any one shots focusing on one character are different “paths” unless stated otherwise! Like I said we’ll see how much I add to this but hopefully I’ll be inspired for a while!

Sorbet and Gelato will probably be mentioned but they have even less screen time than the other members of La Squadra so. I probably won’t be writing much for them because I have basically Nothing to go off of-

For Prosciutto’s and Pesci’s relationship, for this fic I will interpret it as not related biologically, but very close, hence why they view each other as brothers. I’d still consider them brothers just not biological.

I will admit right now I think I play very obvious favorite la Squadra members, but I will try to give them all a bit of love!

Reader intro:

You’re used to being the only woman among a group of murderous mafia assassins, and adjusting accordingly to their individual personality quirks and putting them in their place whenever they got too irritating to you. As a senior member of the team, you’ve been in Passione since before the formation of La Squadra, doing big money assassination jobs for the Boss. Even the Boss had a healthy respect for your deadly stand: Fever.

Your stand manifests as a massive flamethrower you wielded with ease, the extraordinarily hot fire created by you will leave a permanent burn and the smoke is toxic enough to leave someone seriously sick, not that it mattered, since you didn’t leave jobs unfinished; charring to a crisp anything and anyone you had to remove. The Boss especially appreciated how skilled you were at making incriminating information disappear.

Honestly, upon the founding of La Squadra Esecuzioni you thought you deserved the role of leader. But you couldn’t argue with Polpo, your capo, when he pointed out Risotto Nero’s stoic nature was more suited for holding together a team. And besides, did you really want to be the one responsible for a group of unruly, murderous assassins?

You thought it was fair enough. But you accepted the second-in-command position Risotto offered you. After all, your experience and assertive personality made you efficient in planning assassinations and keeping the boys under your metaphorical (sometimes literal) heel, and by extension, Risotto’s.

You didn’t realize the reason why you were assigned to La Squadra and not promoted to the Boss’s elite guard was because some paranoia about you was swirling. Apparently your fellow mafioso thought you were too dangerous, the word “insubordination” got thrown around carelessly to the wrong ears and now…you were stuck with the most distrusted squad in all of Passione. Perhaps so all of you were in the same place, and could be supervised easier.

But once it dawned on you that you should’ve been gaining power in Passione, not losing it, you couldn’t help feeling a bit of bitterness against the Boss…

Perhaps that’s why you’ve grown a fondness for each of the outcasts that joined La Squadra. You would be an efficient right-hand woman to Nero.

Since you were one of the founders of La Squadra, you earned the charming little nickname: “Mother”, which at first started as a teasing inside joke, but it began to stick and most of the team call you some variation of the nickname out of habit.

[calware]

ok. before i explain anything i want to clarify that this is NOT a hs2 rewrite concept. this is just how i would like to see the story that we were given so that it's more interesting to me personally. not saying it is necessarily "better." i think that the concept of dirk (and other characters) being a villain only works outside of the context of an official homestuck story. if it was a sandbox "what if THIS crazy thing happened?" sort of setting i DO think it works and that is what this is. the following is in no way any sort of satisfying sequel to read, just something i would find interesting. okay? okay. moving on.

(fyi since this is based on hs2 egbert is a trans woman that hasn't realized it yet, for the sake of clarity i will call her june in this post) also i didn't proofread like any of this so sorry if none of this makes sense or is a horrible idea. ok now we're actually moving on

the ideas that i have are like super super vague so none of this is going to be concrete but the way i see it there are some key changes. starting with dirk i see his original hs2 character as like "i'm not actually evil i'm just doing Vaguely Evil Things so the story doesn't end because i care about my friends wahhh" which i do find to be very interesting i will admit HOWEVER i think that his actual ultself would be way more cruel and show way less compassion than his original utlself's motivations. instead he needs to be the main character (even if that means being an antagonist! fine with him) out of 99% selfish desires and maybe like. 1% because he still cares about his friends. this is very much Not Dirk anymore despite him being arguably More Dirk than before he went ultimate. he's made up of a handful of 16 year old dirks that 'died' (not evil) as well as lil cal, doc scratch, and Lord English (very very very evil) twisting himself into someone unrecognizable. he isn't going to be in-character because dirk may as well have died while going ultimate. he is no longer just a prince of heart, he's a bard of rage and an heir of void and most importantly a lord of time, (thus, the paletteswapped heart ensemble.) his goal is no longer to start a new sburb session (that's not even an evil thing to do. i don't understand why that is his goal in hs2. starting a sburb session does not make you an antagonist. he's an antagonist because of all the things he does to get there, like killing june and brainwashing rose, but those are entirely unnecessary because STARTING A SBURB SESSION IS NOT AN EVIL THING TO DO NOBODY WOULD HAVE CARED) sooo now his goal is to find altcalliope's ghost and kill her for good (LE's original plan, except he does NOT want to destroy the universe while attempting to find her). this is impossible. he knows this. if succeeds in killing her, the universe will fracture as she is no longer holding together the fabric of space (muse of space or whatever) AND SIMULTANEOUSLY the story will be over as there is no more goal for him to reach (the universe ending and the story ending are essentially the same thing.... waow). he still does not want to cease to exist. SO instead he is forced to endlessly fight her while she fights him.or at least that's what his plan is.

everyone is obviously not okay with him killing callie's altself so they are like "oh no. this is bad" unfortunately for them dirk is 1 step ahead and kneecaps 3 of the most powerful characters: rose, june, and terezi, who have the strongest possible chance of beating him (rose because of her sight, june because of she isn't tethered to the narrative, and terezi because she can hear him manipulating the narrative) so he gives rose her fake ultimate self sickness (that's definitely fake btw. he's just doing that to her to make her weak) so that he can cajole herself into becoming a robot. except it's a little more complicated than that! dirk needs to be able to control rose as much as possible because of how volatile she is so he finds a way to make her expendable. he makes an AI from her brain the same way he made the autoresponder from his brain so that he can replace her if/when he needs to while Actual Rose remains unconscious in that giant Tube Thing on the ship. for june, she still dies the same way during that LE fight where she gets bit with the poison tooth thing (this is technically dirk killing her). now that she's out of the picture (hint: not really) he leverages her death and the possibility of her revival to force terezi to ally with him (like a "if you don't join me john will be deaf forever fyi").

it's at this point everyone else is like "hey where did dirk go. um" and has their "oh he's evil now i guess" jade harley kanaya maryam heart monitor hospital realization. altcalliope possessed jade again but instead of having her just ragdoll she uses her as a weapon against dirk (sorry about the continuous loss of agency jade. it's a little old at this point i get it. just bear with me here) (it is at this point that i'd like to clarify that in this story jane is not a fascist but she WAS running for president because dirk cajoled her into that so everyone would be too distracted by the election to focus on the fact that he has time powers now) and everyone is like "OKAY WE NEED A PLAN???"

this is when aradia shows up and goes "i don't think we should do anything actually 0u0" to which everyone responds with "????????????" and she goes on to explain that now that everyone is immortal there is no meaning to life when there is no potential for death. the threat of not existing is what makes life worthwhile, and now that they don't have that anymore there something missing from from the lives they now live. so, although dirk will not kill altcalliope, there is always the chance that he might and the universe will end. everyone thinks this is stupid because it is and goes "aradia that's stupid we're still going to try and stop him" so instead she vows to stop anyone who tries to stop dirk (then she leaves).

so now everyone is MORE freaked out. they decide that before they can do anything with dirk they need to get aradia to Chill Out so sollux, roxy, and calliope team up to try and find her and end up leaving earth. jane and karkat actually decide to team up and keep earth society from falling apart (also, i forgot to mention, the kingdoms are not a thing) now that their friend group is fracturing and quickly causing widespread panic. copresidents real. this is what the refrance. dave is there also.

meanwhile jake is so tired. he is so tired. he goes to kanaya and is like "kanaya i am so tired of getting fucked over constantly are you also tired of getting fucked over constantly" and she's like "Yeah I Really Am Tired Of Getting Fucked Over Constantly" and jake goes "do you want to team up" and she goes "Sure" so now they're a team. kanaya goes "What Now" and jake goes "i'm not actually sure. ACTUALLY lets go get your wife back." btw they are both like 2 seconds away from snapping and going ultimate and having simultaneous joker moments. #TEAMGIRLFAIL.

going back over to #teamevil terezi is pissed because if dirk is going to manipulate her by getting her to ally with him in promise of june being alive again he actually needs to fulfill his end of the very very unfair bargain. as it turns out dirk very much cannot bring people back to life but when has THAT ever stopped him. he does the next best thing and brainclones june as well. there is now also an AI copy in a robot body (i will call her john for clarity) but what's different from rose is that she's not actually aware that she's no longer human. (neither is terezi but she can sense something is very off). on the outside, john's body is virtually identical to her human one but it's alllll metal and wires and electricity on the inside (plus a lot of heart magic, probably). don't ask me how this works. it just does. so john is there now, but it's almost as if she didn't come back quite right. she's just a little bit off, a little bit to the left.

meanwhile, Real June who is still Very Dead cannot come back to life due to the reality poison stuff. she died so hard she got erased. yoinked all the way outside of the narrative, if you will. when she got the retcon powers her relationship with the narrative became permeable, but now she is trapped outside and cannot get back in. however now that dirk did his heart thingy she can use that as a tether to see what's happening. think going spectator mode in minecraft where you clip through walls. she can see what's going on in any place she wants to but she cannot interact with the world. she's like a ghost but instead of being divorced from life, she's divorced from Reality Itself. she ends up like this for A LOOONG TIME which end up with her feeling... very apathetic. for example she thinks dirk is a creep but even if she could influence reality would have no strong desire to stop him other than "idk he's annoying". but she also gets some gender moments, as a treat, and is like "hmmmmmm maybeeee i'm not a boy actually" she doesn't go by june though, i think if it was written out it would be like J?¿? because even though she is going through her gender revelation, she is slowly losing her personhood the more she exists outside of the narrative, including her desire for a name (☹️). also she likes hanging around jake and kanaya.

going back to terezi for a bit she is sooooo mad at everything but she is too depressed to care for most of the story. she just wants to see june and vriska again. this is intentional on dirk's part- he needs to make sure that everyone who has the power to stop him is incapable of doing so and will go to any lengths to make that happen. that said i do think terezi would have some dramatic moments towards the end

now by this point i'm sure you're wondering "so if this is the meat timeline then what's the deal with the candy timeline." my answer to that is that the candy timeline is just… "normal." before i explain further you should read this post because that's the theory the rest of this is based off of. dirk is 1 step ahead of rose but rose is like 50 trillion steps ahead of dirk. it's mind games all the way down. (that childhood trauma really comes in handy sometimes). anyways candy!rose knows what's happening to dirk and she manages to stop him from killing himself because he thinks they aren't real anymore (NOT EASY) and then she has to stop him from killing himself because of all the horrible people that are now partying it up in his brain (NOT EASY) …but i think he would eventually get better with the support of everyone. at least, he wouldn't be suicidal anymore. i think living would be very very hard for him for a long time but like i said they have an eternity to live. maybe he would do some sort of heart thing to sand down his soul idk. i don't know if he would tell everyone everything about what had happened to him but i definitely know that he would learn to lean on the support of others and maintain connections, keeping him from losing it again. that's how it is for june too, and she gets help from her friends with her depression and starts living life again. that's how it is for all of them, and as the decades start going by they all get a little bit better. gamzee goes to therapy and is not a creep. jane and jake don't get together. rose doesn't cheat on kanaya and when jade does want to start a family she goes about it in a normal way and is actually a good mom. i don't think rose and kanaya would adopt a baby vriska because tbh i didn't care about vrissy being a rosemary kid. that said i think rose and kanaya would still have a kid, just not baby vriska. this isn't the important part.

the important part is that rose's gambit is still in play and when they're all in their 40s candy!jade and candy!june (who know's she's a girl at this point) are called on by alt!callie to travel to the meat timeline (idr if that's what aradia and davebot did but if it is that's how jade and june do it) to beat dirk. they do this but candy!jade is like "wait why are you using other me as a puppet. that's weird" so then she and june are now sort of against the both of them? anyways candy!jade helps free meat!jade but in doing so alt!callie is sort of defenseless. jake and kanaya are still trying to kill dirk, aradia is still trying to sabatoge jake and kanaya, yadda yadda you get the gist.

this is where baby vriska comes in. that's right. baby vriska is still a thing. she's not a baby anymore though, she's 16, very ambitious, very reckless, and sneaks into the meat timeline behind june and jade because she needs to do something important and not live a boring boring life like the rest of everyone in the candy timline (she was raised by tavros, cliper, and swifer btw. i bet you thought i forgot about them. i did not). ultimately she is the one to defeat ultdirk (i do not really know what this entails but i don't think he dies. i just think she is the one to stop him, in whatever way that means. i predict that if hs2 ever does get a conclusion it will be vriska who stops him which kind of makes sense to me, so i want to carry that over here). she doesn't do it by herself ofc, but ultimately she is the one to take him down. meat!june probably escapes somehow. john becomes her own person and probably changes her name. other plot points i'm forgetting about get resolved. meat!rose wakes up. candy!jade and candy!june go back home with vriska and she gets grounded for sneaking into an alternate timeline but also she saved the entire timeline so she's immediately un-grounded. edit: just realized i forgot about original vriska. she's there too probably, maybe she gets sent to the candy timeline after fighting LE and inspires candy!vriska to go to the meat timeline. or something. happy ending yayyyy

jasprose and nannasprite are there too but idk what they'd be doing lol

i'm definitely sure that this is leaving out a lot of holes but like i said the concept in my head is very vague and also i haven't read the epilogues in a long time so i'm sure there's stuff i'm forgetting

never ask me for anything ever again

[righteousness-and-tea]

Honestly, missed opportunity for V3: One of the students among the cast is actually the believed to be dead girlfriend of Ryoma Hoshi but her memories were wiped clean and now Ryoma’s doing everything he can to help her (or him/they, depending on what pronouns they use) remember their past.

You are welcome to do with that prompt what you wish.

Hey anon! This is an interesting premise. I assume you mean one of the already existing characters of the cast for this? If so, I went with Kirumi because how interesting would it be if their fate was changed? Also, it was an interesting dynamic to explore. For the sake of clarity, I had Ryoma recieve his own motive in this story instead of her. Anyway, this was fun to write! I hope you enjoy, and have a great night :)

-Mod Celeste

Remember Me: Ryoma Hoshi x Kirumi Tojo

Spoilers for Danganronpa v3 below!

"Your motive, the person waiting for you back home is... nobody!"

Ryoma Hoshi knew that wasn't true. This motive video simply lied. For days now, he had been agonizing over someone very dear to him: Kirumi Tojo, the Ultimate Maid. She was his sweetheart, the one bright light in the darkness.

She wasn't supposed to be here. During his time in prison, Ryoma was told she died in an accident. It was a cruel, brutal truth that added onto his nihilistic worldview. And yet, here she was, in the flesh. Even stranger though was the fact she seemed to forget all about him!

At first Ryoma figured this must be his punishment. Not only being forced into a killing game, but making his lost love a contestant... without her even realizing it. But that video, just after the sorrowful demise of Kaede, had strengthened his resolve to live. He needed her to remember, even just a little.

...

"This food reminds me of the good old days," said Ryoma. He had always loved Kirumi's cooking.

"I'm glad to hear you liked it, Hoshi. Shall I prepare more tomorrow?" She responded cordially, with no hint of remembrance.

He shook his head, sadly. "No, that's fine. Say, why don't we take a walk?" He was desperate for any time with her, any hope.

"Well, I don't see why not. We're the last ones here anyway," She finished putting away the food and dishes and waited for him. The two began their walk outside the school, in the crisp evening air.

"So do you remember anything before this mess, Kirumi? I can think of my everyday life, but not all of us seem to." A good question, which would hopefully lead somewhere.

"Hmm... well, I can remember my job, and my clients. Then again, that is my life, even now."

Nothing. "What about friends or family? A boyfriend back home?"

"Oh dear. Well, I'm sure my family is fine, and I don't have many friends. I've never had a boyfriend-- I'm much to busy for that." That stung Hoshi, but it wasn't her fault. The two continued their walk, politely talking like strangers before going to bed. He seemed to be out of luck.

It occured to him that, while he doesn't know what to do, others might-- so the next morning he slid a note under Shuichi's door. It simply read:

"I'd like your advice on something. Meet me in the courtyard at 8."

Surprisingly, he complied. To be fair it was morning, in bright daylight and clear view, so it couldn't be a setup. Ryoma explained the predicament to the detective, expecting him to be doubtful.

"Well... this is tough. But, I'd try jotting her memory by doing something she really loved with you-- that might spark something." It was actually a sound theory!

"Wait, you believe me? I didn't think anyone would."

"Kaede told us to believe in each other, and be good friends in her absence. Helping you would make her happy, I'll bet..." Shuichi had a melancholy expression. "Plus, if I can help you save what I couldn't, it'd be nice."

After parting ways with Shuichi, the prisoner had to think: what would be a core memory to Kirumi? So many happy days to choose from, all perfect in their own way.

Then, it hit him. He had sworn it off since prison and her absence, but this would be the key to her memories...

"Hey, Kirumi. If you're free, I'd love to play a match with you. I'm itching to use my new lab and all, so..."

She found herself weirdly enthusiastic. After saying yes, she met Ryoma upstairs to play some tennis. He'd changed out of his dreary outfit into an actual uniform, and offered Kirumi a racket.

"I'll go easy on you, if you want." He meant it teasingly, just like the first time.

"No need, Hoshi. My athletic prowess is quite good actually!" She took the racket and the game began.

It was a spirited match. Kirumi wasn't lying when she said she was athletic, so even without tennis skills she was holding her own. Ryoma of course had the lead, but the feeling in the court was electric. The two played for hours, losing track of the time, when a little disruption came in.

"Ooh, a tennis ball! You two mind if I take this?" Kokichi appeared out of thin air and snatched their ball. Before they could protest, he was gone! The pair were dumbfounded, and all they could do was laugh.

"That hooligan! I'll get our ball back later," She laughed, having enjoyed the moment.

"It's no big deal, I've got so many of them in here that I'll let him have it," Hoshi replied.

"Funnily enough, this reminds me of something..." deep thought was etched on Kirumi's face. "Once I was playing tennis at a park, and a dog caught the ball and ran off."

That's it! Ryoma felt so much joy as he waited for her to continue.

"The person I was playing with didn't mind it, we laughed like today... just like today, actually." The realization finally came. "Wait a moment... Ryoma?"

Tears came flooding in for both of them. He moved in for an embrace, which she reciprocated. "Do you remember now, honey?"

She began to sob as the days with her boyfriend became clear again. "Yes, it's slowly coming back to me... how could I ever forget you?"

The two stayed there for a long while, making up for lost time.

[dreamrecorder]

Until then, we will find each other again. <||>

fluff & angst drabble, reincarnation au, modern au

| Xiao x Reader | Diluc x Reader |

Note: I'm sorry that I can't put the cut thingy bcos im writing in mobile. Once I get ahold of my laptop I'll put the cut thingy. Happy reading^^ i swear these were supposed to be short but welp

Xiao

Notes: Immortal companion* - Just think of someone immortal from the game. This is also a different take from Venti's and Zhongli's because I honestly think Xiao is so done with immortality and its consequences.

Suicide implicitly mentioned.**

Xiao is mourning for the passing of his immortal companion*, making him the last immortal to walk the world. Now, it is he, who last remains from a time of gods and monsters. Each passing of a mutual, he witnessed. They deemed it was their time to move on, for humanity has succeeded to bring fate into their own two hands. The world no longer needed them.

Xiao has already suffered loss way before the Archon War. Yet, he never expressed the emotion of grief for he needed to be strong lest the world will eat him alive. However, this passing made his heart of glass, chip a little, then shattering the whole thing altogether. Or perhaps, it was already chipped away and too fragile because of the losses that has culminated in his immortal life.

Now, he lays on the roof of a building of what used to be Wangshu Inn. He was trying hard not to break down again. By doing so, he merely cursed fate over and over again. Yet, to no avail, the man exploded in tears once more, too tired from all the pain and loss suffered from millenias.

Then... there's you. You who uttered the words, "Until then, we will find each other again."

With all sincerity he can muster, he wanted to believe those words. He wanted to believe in you. That's why he stayed. Yet... the pain he feels heavily overweighs his faith in you.

**

He just wants to... end it all.

"I just want to disappear..."

**

No one heard him utter those words, only the wind. And the wind- just as once the Anemo Archon had said, carries the words one thinks no one can hear.

It came like a whisper, yet loud and clear. Then all of a sudden, the memories of your previous life flashed before your eyes. You dropped the book you were holding and held your temples at the incoming migraine.

"Are you alright?" You friends asked in worry, looking for any visible signs of pain aside from your clenched eyes and your frowning expression.

You could only groan as a reply and your friends waited for you to take your time to recollect yourself.

Who... Whose voice? You knew this voice... But who?

You finally removed your hands and opened your eyes.

"I- I have to go... Go without me." Was all you said before leaving your friends in the dust who looked at your way with confusion.

Who? Many questions riddled your mind. And with all these unanswered, worry and anxiety grew in your heart. Tears began to swell in your eyes, worsening your headache.

This is not about you! You have to look for... something! Someone! Just-

"Dear gods, please please don't you dare fucking take him..."

You sprinted around the area, following and listening to that now faint whisper under the night. The whispers only became clearer and louder when you approached a building which used to be an inn.

The moment you stepped foot within the building, the lone whisper became mixed with more words which did not lift your heart.

Fuck.

With pure adrenaline, you opted to use the stairs instead of the damn elevator. You have finally reached the door leading to the rooftop, and at that point, the whispers became screams. However, when your hand grasped the handle, the voice in the wind stopped. You opened the door at full to be met by the back of the man who stands at the railing.

Xiao...?

Xiao..

Xiao.

"Xiao!"

At the call of his name by a familiar voice, his head whipped to its direction. But he shall not be fooled.

"You... you're not real."

The words along with lifeless eyes stabbed you.

"It's me, Xiao! Y/n! Don't do this! I'm sorry I took so long! But I'm here now! Just as I had promised!"

Your heart was beating against your ribcage. You had to prove you were real. But how?

"You're just an illusion made by my heart."

"Xiao, please! Fuck I'm really sorry! But please you don't have to do this... I... I remember everything, Xiao... All those times we battled in the war. Those times we shared almond tofu. The times we smiled, cried, laughed, and fought...

I remember everything..."

For each word you uttered, you grew confident in your memories. For each word, you took a step closer. For each word, you saw life coming back to the man you love.

"So please... Come back..."

At the final word, you released all your sincerity, genuity, and adoration for him. And finally, your hands took purchase in his (while trying so hard not to shed any tear for his sake).

"It's me."

...

"Y/n...?"

You beamed at him and finally, Xiao's eyes were now shining in clarity, and of course, life and love.

Diluc has been reincarnated many times, yet still has not found you. Through his reincarnated forms, he alternated between travelling and staying in Mondstadt. The former done in order to find you. The latter done in the chance you would find him there.

Diluc

For the first time in his many lifetimes, his current form surprised him. When he reached 'sixteen', his memories resurfaced and the realization sank in. His appearance ended just as how he looked in his first ever lifetime. The only difference was the length of his hair. He even ended up being reincarnated in the Ragnvindr Family along with inheriting the winery business.

To put it bluntly, walking within the old yet maintained Ragnvindr Mansion was a memory lane. However, the moment of reminiscence only gave him a heavy heart, for within these halls used to be filled with your laughter.

In this very same spot where he currently stands, is where you uttered your last words.

"Until then, we will find each other again."

Walking aimlessly around the mansion, he thinks about those long, long years without you. Must be fate so cruel? Making him search far and wide, when in the end fate does not want you to return to him? The man clenched his fists, and in anger, punched the nearby wall.

He expected a bursting kind of pain to come, yet what came was a dull throb on his knuckles. Yet this is not only what he had not expected. He did not expect for the wall to respond with a resounding hollowness.

A hidden corridor? Room? When had the family installed this?

Curiosity held him and began kicking the hollow wall without hesitation. What secrets does it hide from all these years, he shall know. Once the wall opened up for him to fit, he entered with a lit phone in hand at extreme brightness.

Again, what he saw, he had not expected. What he saw both filled and emptied his heart simultaneously. What he saw was a painting of you and him, together in a moment of shared happiness.

"Dilu-" His mother called which snapped out of his trance. His head snapped at her direction and saw her eyes fill with solemness.

"I didn't mean to-"

His mother hushed him with a gentle smile and entered the room to stand alongside him.

"You know," his mother began, "I always believed in the fantasy that had been once in our world. Lord Barbatos, the other Archons, the Twins that saved our world, Visions, and... reincarnation. I always believed in them.

The moment I saw your features when you were born, I knew you were the reincarnation of the Uncrowned King of Mondstadt... So I named you after him because I knew your memories would resurface someday. I knew the day would come when my son will no longer be my son. Because when that day comes, all I would see in your eyes is a long unspoken wisdom and pain that will replace your innocence free from battles and war."

Diluc was surprised, yet kept his emotions to himself. He understood what his mother was pointing at. "Is... Is this why this picture is hidden?"

His mother nodded solemnly. "Perhaps, I was afraid and scared about when the day I spoke of will take place. That's why I ordered this painting be hidden. I knew this painting of you and Lady Y/n will unlock your memories sooner, but I didn't want that."

For once in his lifetimes, his heart softened with love. The kind of love that assures you that someone cares for you. Never in his reincarnated lifetimes, had he experienced this feeling. All those years, he was just... lost in the feelings and thoughts of not being with you.

The man stepped towards his mother with hesitation to which he instantly erased. He hugged his mother with a soft spoken voice saying these words.

"I will always be your son and you will always be my mother. That will never change. I may be 'older' than you, but please do remember that I would not have grown to who am I today without your guidance. For that, I deeply thank you for taking care of me...

I love you, Mom."

With his words, his mother burst into light tears accompanied by a smile. "Don't make me cry, I'm going to wrinkle." Diluc laughed at the comment. After a loving moment, the two separated yet his mother still held onto his arms.

"You've grown so much... I guess little birds do leave the nest someday."

"It wouldn't be possible without you."

His mother looked at him with a proud gaze, "Go. Find her. If memory serves right, I might have seen someone like her dwell everyday in the local library."

The man released his breath he never knew he was holding. Diluc hugged his mom again with a peck on her cheek. He then let go and began to exit the room with haste.

"Once I come home, I will tell you everything. Venti, Morax, the Twin Travelers, the Archons, and Visions. I will tell you everything."

With a rush, Diluc was now out of sight. Yet, the Madam Ragnvindr was not saddened. Her heart swelled for her son whose eyes are finally, once more lit with happiness. However, who's Venti?

A/n: welp truth be told diluc's story took an unexpected turn lol. It's either I'm going to leave this like that or continue it. Take your pick by commenting because I'm actually fine with either options haha happy reading <3

[farewcllwanderlvst]

⸻ꜰʟɪᴘ ᴀ ᴄᴏɪɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴡᴀʏ ɪ ꜰᴀʟʟ | 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐉𝐎𝐘

º   .   ♔   ⸻   the  capital  of  king’s  landing  welcomes  THEON OF HOUSE GREYJOY,  the LORD of  PYKE.  news  borne  by  a  raven  sends  word  that  he  bear(s)  a  resemblance  to  JUNG JAE WON.  the  28  year  old  MALE  is  reputed  to  be  PASSIONATE and  BUOYANT,  but  with  the  eyes  of  court  watching  their  every  move,  they  might  turn  out  to  be  INSECURE and  HAUGHTY.  when  songs  are  sung,  their  verses  speak  of  A MIRROR SHATTERED , SHARDS DRIPPING CRIMSON, A PORTRAIT AS LOST AS THE REFLECTION WITHIN | A PIECE TRYING TO FIT, IT DOESN’T BELONG | AT WAR WITH TWO SIDES,  A HOWL IN YOUR HEART,  SALT IN YOUR BLOOD ; THERE IS NO VICTORY whispers  throughout  the  seven  kingdoms  claim  that  their  allegiance  lies  with  HOUSE  STARK,  where  they  conspire  to  ASSIST THE STARKS, RETURN TO THE IRON ISLANDS & PROVE HIMSELF TO HIS FAMILY (BLOOD AND NOT).  but  in  the  end  fealty  means  little  when  you  play  the  game  of  thrones. 

Headcanons  ⸻

Rose Colored Memories. Balon Greyjoy knew fairly early on that his youngest son was unlike the children he previously sired. He was too compassionate, too eager to please, and too emotional for the iron blood that should have been in his veins. He discarded the boy, and focused on the three children he could make use of. Alannys Greyjoy loved her youngest son all the same, and with Balon’s absence of love she attempted to compensate (she could never quite tip the scales, though she did succeed in citing the envy of her elder children. they all knew who mother’s favorite was). Theon, only a child, did not understand why his father never so much as glanced his way, why his siblings barely tolerated his presence, and why his father was so eager to pawn off the son he never had use of. Theon looks back on his time in Pyke with rose colored glasses and unhealthy idolization. He was too young to see the true picture of the life he lived. When asked about his time in Pyke and his family, he would say his brothers and uncle were far too playful sometimes (they weren’t cruel, they weren’t bullies, it was all well meaning fun), his mother was a wonderful storyteller (she wasn’t losing her mind, she always recognized him, why wouldn’t she?) and father mourned the loss of three sons, not two (he loved theon. he truly did! any bruises left on his skin were meant to make theon tougher, to make him strong. and his father never turned a blind eye to his tears because theon had never cried). 

A Fruitless Rebellion. Theon recalls the day with a vivid clarity in his mind. His elder brothers were dead, his mother was his tears, and his father’s dreams had been crushed into ash. He had attempted to comfort the man, only to be swatted away and stumble into his weeping mother’s arms. The bargain had been struck behind closed doors, and Theon had not been privy to the brokered deal deciding his fate. His mother had told him between her sobs, and Theon tried his very hardest not to shed any tears for the sake of his mother (and for the sake of his father as well, because iron born men did not cry). Theon had desperately tried to meet his father’s eyes, but the man did not spare him a glance. In his stead, he met the eyes of a man that Theon later found out was called Eddard Stark. Warm eyes despite his attire meant for the cold, he held gaze with the frightened child and Theon, for the first time, felt seen. More than a burden, more than a child to protect, but as a person. At the time he didn’t understand the feeling, deeming it strange, and unlike anything he had ever known before. It was a long time before he realized that gaze was a trait, but not of the North.  

Stranger in a Strange Land. The North was terribly cold. It was Theon’s first observation upon arrival to Winterfell but far from his last. The people acted strangely, he was their hostage and yet all he had ever known of the word appeared incorrect. Did hostage have the same meaning in the North as it did in the Iron Islands? In Pyke, a hostage meant shackles, a cell, lackluster food if any at all, and a clear lack of freedom. That could not be said for Winterfell, at least for the ten year old child who had played no part in his father’s uprising. Instead Theon was given warm furs, a room of his own, schooling and a friend in the form of Robb Stark. His memory was scarce on how the friendship came to be, only that it had never felt like obligation and it had made him feel safer than any hostage should have felt. 

Panopticon. It was with age that Theon began to learn, though vastly different from the ways of the Iron Islands, that the North did have shackles upon him nonetheless. Despite being treated as a ward in most respects (for which he should have been more grateful then he was), there were many ways to remember he was, just as well. a hostage to the North. A walking reminder came in the form of Jon Snow, the bastard son of Eddard Stark. What Theon first saw as favoritism, he later learned was indifference. Catelyn Stark favored her own children as any mother would, and in her eyes, neither Theon Greyjoy nor Jon Snow had a place in Winterfell. The worst of it was when other Lords and Ladies would visit Winterfell. He and Jon would be ushered away, out of sight or in the back of the room like they were some dirty secret the Starks kept behind locked doors. It was far easier taking out the ire he had on the bastard, and so Theon did. With taunts and cruelties he knew would hurt the lad the most. 

Hidden Afflictions. Distorting the past was far easier than the present. The Starks were his captors and he should have detested them, despite being aware of this (how it should have been) Theon knew it wasn’t true. Jon Snow was a target for his anger, and a rival (in the iron islands that would have been it, nothing more) but Jon Snow was also fun. Not only in his teasing and prodding (though those played a part as well) but as someone to challenge Theon, to be honest with in a way he could with little others. Little Rickon who toddled after him even when Lady Catelyn called him not to, with the most efficacious smile a toddler could possibly have. Little Bran, who Theon was sure would not remain so little, he would spring up like a weed and outgrow them all. He was already climbing to greater heights than the rest of them, it would only fit. There was Arya, who had a better aim than either of her brothers (not that theon would ever tell them, he would be admitting to seeing her practice weaponry). Sansa was more distant than the rest, much like her own mother, but Theon still remembered when she had only begun needlepoint. To this day, he didn’t know what possessed him when he offered his own clothes for her to practice (especially not when he purposely cut a hole into his own favorite shirt for her to fix up, but she’d been so delighted so there was no regret). Friendship with Robb Stark hadn’t been a choice, not a responsibility, and if Theon had given it a word to it he would have chosen honor. Someone to josh with, who wanted nothing in return but friendship, someone who cared what happened to Theon probably more than anyone he’d ever known (he’d like to think if his father did try a rebellion again, Robb would fight for his life but it was something Theon would never dare to ask). 

Heart in the North. When Eddard Stark became the hand of the king, Theon didn’t think much of it. It seemed more natural than not. If anything, little Sansa becoming a princess was more interesting news (not by much, it was fitting for her frankly). Then King Robert Baratheon was murdered, Eddard Stark was put on trial and Theon felt fear like he had never known before. It was more than the day Balon’s rebellion failed, when he’d lost his brothers and his home. Not only was Lord Stark at risk but Sansa and Arya as well. The thoughts were suffocating. Theon imagined never seeing Sansa and Arya ever again, he had always thought he’d watch them grow, see who they would become. He imagined never seeing Eddard Stark ever again, nevermore seeking his advice, never again seeing a fatherly gaze (he remembered meeting those eyes for the first time. that day when his father had refused to see theon, ned never hesitated). Winterfell was not his home, and the Starks were not his family.  So why did even the thought of their loss hurt so much more than any heartache he’d ever known? 

Loyalty in a War(d): The first time Theon received word of Eddard Stark’s survival, it had felt like a dream. If not for the wilting presence of Jaime Lannister, it would have felt far too surreal to be true. The sentencing was unkind but Ned Stark remained breathing, and that produced more relief than Theon could believe. Calling Robb Stark ‘King of the North’ came as easily as the breath in his lungs. It made think of his own father, and for the first time experienced seeds of doubt for the man’s actions. Balon Greyjoy struggled with something Theon had found terribly simple. Bending a knee to a remarkable man wasn’t an act that needed twice of thought, let alone a rebellion. Perhaps Robert Baratheon was not the great man that Robb Stark was? Or perhaps Theon Greyjoy was not the same man Balon Greyjoy was. Did this make him stronger of a man, or weaker of one? 

Plot Points⸻

An extension of the first plot point, is Theon’s warring viewpoint of what he was taught in the Iron Islands vs what he was taught in Winterfell. When Robb Stark is called King of the North, pledging fealty to him comes naturally to Theon, which makes him wonder why his father struggled so terribly with it (though struggling may be an understatement). He’s wondering if loyalty is something that makes him a weaker man than his father, or a stronger one? Is kneeling a weakness or a strength? Are the Starks his family or his captors? 

The second plot point is Theon’s opinion of his own self, and in relation, his place in the world. He wears his arrogance and pride like armor, as if it would hide all his many insecurities. It’s far easier boasting, cracking jokes, putting others down, than allowing any smidge of his own self worth into the forefront of his mind. He knows so little of his people, of the Iron Islands, the home he was supposed to return to someday (if he was ever to return at all, but that was a thought he often didn’t allow). Not to mention the sword hanging over his neck the day his father decided his son’s life wasn’t a worthy leverage any longer. The fear that he mattered to no one, that if he were to die his memory would be buried with the word unimportant just like his brother’s had been. Theon wanted to matter, if not only to the world but to others as well. Even the ones who claim to care for him, he harbors doubts. There was nothing Theon could offer them besides his own self, and that wasn’t much worth at all. 

[moonlightchess]

Let me talk to you about my mixed race (half black, half white) experience.

I have features and hair that suggest "black" if you know what mixed people are, which honestly a lot of people don't considering how many times a day I hear, "Okay, but what are you?" from whiypepo who are confused about my paper-pale skin, broad nose, narrow hooded eyes, thick lips and afro. It truly seems to throw them for a loop, I can't tell you how many confused, curious stares I get at parties or shopping or wherever. I felt so brutally visible, judged, freakish, because I never felt comfortable claiming the black experience despite my father being full-blooded west African (Senegal). I do have white skin, and I didn't want to appropriate that, because if you truly have no fucking idea what mixed people look like AND I've got the 'fro relaxed or whatever, you MIGHT mistake me for completely white.

At the same time, the white experience has been equally as denied to me, because literally anyone with eyeballs can clock me as mixed. I grew up in a predominantly white neighborhood of rich kids after my father died, and adolescence was a nightmarish swirling hellhole of weird glances and eye rolls from kids at school who told me I needed to "get my nose fixed," and hearing nervous, "Oh, she's so exotic-looking, how lovely!" from white mothers at childrens' birthday parties. I remember with a powerful clarity the time my best friend's mother was helping me put a costume hat on when we were around 10 and she exclaimed, "Oh! Your hair is so soft, I thought it would be so coarse but it's not that bad!"

Feeling so entirely unmoored and unwanted is so painful for a kid who is already struggling with the insecurities of growing up, all the bullying that already accompanies it, and so I made my decision. I couldn't change the color of my skin enough to join my black community, so maybe hiding was better. Relax the hair. Save money for a nose job. Are there doctors out there who do the opposite of lip fillers?

I felt so deeply ashamed on both sides. Ashamed of my face, my hair, being visibly and invisibly black, but at the same time any time I tried to just say I was white I'd get dubious glances and insistences of "white and....?" The kids at school would laugh at my "ghetto" name - my beautiful name that my father gave me before he died because it meant something to him - because this was the 90s and it was long before the great awakening. They'd throw things at me in the cafeteria and yell, "That's Shaniqua Blanca!" when substitute teachers asked for my name. (My name's not Shaniqua, but that was the only stereotypically "black" name they knew).

Then I got a job at Starbucks with a mean girl and when I tried to tell her, with a kind of desperate need for her to validate my attempts to hide, "most people just think I'm white," she rolled her eyes and said, "I figured you were black. You look black, just albino or whatever. But with dark hair and eyes." In that moment, the shame and fear I felt MADE me feel ashamed of myself, because I didn't want to "look black" but I also didn't want to be ashamed of looking black, being visibly black, because black culture has always been a part of me. My father raised me on motown - to this day I'm hipster-proud of little eight year old me loving Aretha and Chuck and Muddy and Martha and the Vandellas over the popular singers of the day, I was cool. But I was also black, and that was becoming increasingly scary.

I felt ashamed of being ashamed, afraid of being afraid, especially when my beautiful brothers and sisters were out there visibly black and demanding respect when I was too pathetic and weak to do the same. There was no support group for "girls with super white skin but who also look black, "EXOTIC-LOOKING" PRIDE!" I felt so intensely alone, until one day when I attended a poetry reading by a black poet who visited my college and he was inviting discussion with the audience after his reading and I shyly raised my hand and explained that his work spoke to me because I wanted so badly to join the black experience but I felt both too privileged and too afraid. I felt like I hadn't earned that.

He shook his head vehemently and said, "my sister," and that was enough to get the tears running, "you are black. Your experience is already black. You are owed this struggle, this art, this defiance, this beauty, and you are one of us. You earned it every time someone asked you what you "are," you earned it every time someone called you "unique" looking, you earned it when the racist white kids in the schoolyard shunned you and you earned it when you cried over our works of literature, art and music. You earned it through all the cruel jokes, all the isolation, all the love."

I'm weepy even typing this up, because all my life I've felt black without being black, but on that night I felt black. I understood the power of James Brown, "say it loud! I'm black and I'm proud!" So I stopped relaxing my hair even if it lost my job prospects for looking "unprofessional". I stopped telling people my name was a shortened, whitened version of my own. I used my nose job money to fund a vacation to my father's land instead.

None of the issues I've presented here were fixed. I still deal with bullshit every day. But the shame is slowly eroding, because I am so profoundly inspired by the bravery and power in all my black family who don't even have the privilege of trying to hide even if unconvincingly like I once did. A homeless man once approached me to ask for money and he said, "sister! Help a brother out, we have to stick together!" and instead of the panicked shame I once felt, I instead felt seen, loved, known, and I gave him almost fifty bucks, all the cash in my wallet, because he'd taught me something about myself on that day.

I don't have any answers and it's late and honestly I don't even know why I'm writing this other than posterity's sake. I am so grateful that things are changing now, that kids like me might grow up knowing some different experience, and I hope I am among the last generation to feel ashamed, unseen and lost. It was never the white pop anthems of my day that made me feel powerful, it was Aretha and James demanding respect, demanding that the world know how proud they are. I love you, mixed kids. I see you all.

[marshmallowprotection]

Iris

Pairing: Choi Saeran/Reader, 707 | Choi Luciel/Main Character

Description: Was there faith in a false paradise with a savior that spilled honey sweet lies to make you agree? There is no life to be found amongst those in a rotting flowerbed, only those clinging to the roots as the world awaits your demise. Why is he still here when others had long been plucked from the dying earth? And better yet, why are you still here after everything, clinging to his roots as if he’ll bring you life? Or is he the one clinging to you?

SE Saeran x Former Believer Reader

Word Count: 8500

Previous Chapter Next Chapter [TBA]

[Read On AO3]

Chapter Thirteen

“What?”

“...”

Saeran’s hand recoiled from your body the second that you’d said that name. The name that he’d only heard in his nightmares and night terrors. He felt hiswha heart start to tremble and shake with such dread. He hadn’t heard anyone say that name except when he had screamed it alongside his nightmares. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to think. Hearing that name from your lips made him want to retch.

It haunted him and… it was chasing him even in his waking life. Somehow, Jihyun knew who you were and what you meant to him. He never even once thought that Jihyun was an option. He just couldn’t bring himself to think that it was possible… since that man seemingly appeared out of the blue one day when he was amid Paradise and the Savior—no, no, Rika—had demanded that he listen to Jihyun.

He never thought...

He had never thought for a single moment that that would ever be something that would happen. Saeran had done everything humanly possible within his reach to make sure that nobody would have any idea who you were. It was everything that he could do at the time because he only had so much power within his hands. He was only allotted so much power for a reason.

He tried to delete everything about you that he could that would ever scrutinize your past. You were meant to be a blank slate just like anyone else that was within the walls of that place. He had done his damnedest to make sure that nothing existed about you that would get you into trouble for anything. Saeran hadn’t even realized why he was doing it at the time. It wasn’t until later that he realized—

A part of him wanted to leave Mint Eye to be with you. This part of him that he thought had been dead for a long time… like a little whisper in the back of his head that said to believe in hope and a world of chance. A weak-willed voice that dared to dream of something different from what safety defined. The part of him that was supposed to be dead… it had told him to try, and he wasn’t the type to listen to orders.

That dangerous thought was something that he would never act on, but seeing you in that state of torture? It made something inside of him snap. It felt like the thorns that had been holding him in place for so long had started to cut so deeply into his skin that he needed to cut them away if he’d wanted to live.

In a way, he had snapped the briars and thorns but he did so by locking you away and destroying lives. You were supposed to be found and brought to safety. He hadn’t made any plan other than that, he had enough clarity to know that Rika was going to do something horrible. Even if he had believed in her and wanted to cling to the hope that she would’ve listened to him. He knew deep down at that point that she wasn’t going to listen. Even if damned himself, he had enough in mind to keep you safe.

Even as he lost control of himself, you weren’t meant to ever be around him ever again, he decided that he needed to get you out. He wasn’t wrong to assume that his twin had called the RFA to try to come after them, and he held out that you would be okay, but if he had managed to tell Rika to do otherwise, he didn’t know what he would’ve done. He wasn’t sure that he would’ve been able to do anything.

His devotion back then had been his livelihood.

Without it, he was more or less nothing.

He had planned on getting on his knees and begging if he had to, but when he stormed into the throne room? She had changed all the rules of the book and finally broke everything inside of him with the wave of her hand. She screamed at him and he realized that he meant nothing to her and that’s how he wound up in this place. It shattered him and he broke down. He had just been a tool to him all that time, and she didn’t love him like a son.

He was disposable.

After all those years of pushing himself to his limit for her sake and for what he thought was going to make him happy, he meant nothing to paradise and neither did you. It broke him. It broke him and the pieces were still digging into his skin day after day. He was doing better now but hearing all of this was chipping away at what little progress he had made.

Those memories were behind him but they were also dead ahead. He knew that finding you again was a sign that he couldn’t run anymore but now that he knew what his plans were for nothing, he felt sick and angry. He felt so angry that his blood was starting to boil and the tense feeling in his jaw felt like it was going to snap into two.

This wasn’t who he wanted to be anymore, his anger was enough to destroy him and to destroy anyone who got close to him, but he didn’t want to be someone that broke things mindlessly in the world anymore, he didn’t want that, he didn’t, he didn’t—

But hearing you say that name had made Saeran Choi spiral.

That had been his plan and he intended on keeping it. He had no idea how anyone had found you but he wanted answers. Now he was even angrier to know that the reason why you were even here in the first place was because of V. It was one thing when he just assumed it was Jumin… hunting for answers and ignoring the boundaries.

However, in those last weeks that he was living in Magenta, it felt like he didn't understand what was happening around him. Nothing he knew was adding up anymore. He started doing things that just didn't line up with what he once believed in. He started taking risks and doing things that he never would have done before meeting you. After the incident in the apartment went wrong, it felt like he had no idea who he was anymore.

It was like he was living in a state of delusion that wouldn’t go away. He threw away your elixir and made you fake ones… he realized that his Savior had started lying to him and the process of being hurt by the person who promised him to always love him changed him. He committed to that damned place for years of his life and she repaid him by torturing him and trying to use you as a puppet against him.

A puppet… not even a person, just a toy that could be held over his head and used to make him do anything she wanted. Coming to realize that had weighed on his shoulders and it wasn’t until she had broken him that he figured it all out and the truth set him on a different path. You changed his world and he repaid you by locking you away and trying to keep you from him and the very place that you found solace.

Deep down, he knew that you weren’t meant for Mint Eye in the first place, they had preyed upon you in a vulnerable state… as they did with anyone else who joined. You might have been angry at yourself and what you suffered, but you had a good heart that wasn’t cruel and vindictive. At the end of the day, you were someone worth saving.

He had never met anyone like that and the fact did not pass his mind readily. Saeran had been drawn to you for a reason. A reason that he knew very well and it had to do with the Irises, Lilies, and Roses. Those memories were gone from the present but they lingered in his field of vision as he tried to make sense of his reality and the more that he imagined you from the start to where you were now, he felt angrier with your position.

Even if you were willing to do things for his sake, you weren’t a bad person like he was. Even if you had done things by his side, you weren’t doing it to hurt others because you liked pain. Even if you bite your tongue and never show your heart, you would never turn your anger onto anyone, you’d press your hand into his and let the feeling sweep you away. However, most important, there was one thing you weren’t that he was.

You weren’t a murderer like he was, either.

The blood was pumping so hard that he could hear it in his head as he stood up and glowered at Jumin Han with everything he had in his bones. He didn’t stop to think twice about what he was doing, storming across the room and shoving Jumin against the wall, it caused a loud thud but it seemed as though the businessman wasn’t even phased by what happened. The shock was written on his face but at the same time, he seemed as if he prepared for that.

Saeran didn’t like that.

His voice felt foreign to him as he growled, “You mean to tell me your boyfriend is the one that bought [Y/N] into this mess? Not only that, you used me as a bargaining chip to get them to talk to you in the first place?”

“[Y/N] has consented to everything we’ve discussed. They are not forced to speak of anything that has happened to them if they don’t want to. Their testimony is already enough to deal with what is to come with the trial,” Jumin’s voice was calm and almost too composed given the fact that Saeran had him pinned. “I have never forced them to speak of you. There have been no grounds to speak about you given the circumstances of your security needs.”

“Bullshit,” Saeran scoffed.

“I understand your animosity but frankly, trying to lash out at me isn’t going to change the fact that what is done is done, Saeran.”

“ What’s done is done, Saeran, ” he sneered, his voice laden with sarcasm and vitriol that he couldn’t deny in any way. “Cut the crap, bastard. Don’t tell me you’re trying to play the moral high-card like you always fucking do. Nobody believes it. They never did. We all know you’re barely hanging on right now, drinking yourself to death, and trying to use others to find out what he didn’t want you to know in the first place.”

His fists clenched tightly at the collar of Jumin’s shirt and his eyes began to feel damp, “You know, if he would’ve come to you a long time ago and asked for help with his girlfriend who wanted power to manipulate others into never leaving her while hiding the fact that he broke his promises to protect that idiot and me, maybe none of us would have this problem in the first place! Better yet, he could’ve just done us all a favor and got rid of himself before he ruined our lives! I would’ve fucking been grateful if I never had the displeasure of—”

The bitter laugh that shook and rumbled inside of his chest haunted him. But, he couldn’t stop himself now that the dread started to pile up inside of him again. He was losing control of himself as he shoved Jumin harder, not paying any attention to the sounds of banging and trashing that he heard around him.

It was like the world was dissolving around him and only the anger burned. It lingered and he couldn’t stop himself. He knew that he couldn’t. He knew that he was going to ruin all of his progress and hurt himself but he was so angry that he couldn’t stop. It was his curse, this anger inside of him burned like a venom that had yet to be removed because no vein was strong enough to remove it.

He never wanted to be this man again.

But, he was so angry and someone had to pay for it. He was so fucking angry that he needed to do something about it before he lost everything that he wanted to hold onto. He shook Jumin again as his hands dug into the fabric of his shirt.

“How dare any of you! How dare all of you! I’ve already suffered in hell and I live in hell every day of my fucking life now because of what happened. The only fucking peace I had was knowing that [Y/N] was out there somewhere safe because nobody knew they were connected to me in the first place! Yet, once again, that bastard went against everything I wanted and he snatched it away from me again! How do you think I feel about any of this?!”

You…

He had done everything to protect you in the end and it still didn’t even matter. They stomped on his thoughts and hopes like they were nothing and for what? His life was merely a game that many people wanted to play and this was the price of that. This was the price of their games. He refused to be a pawn anymore. He was tired of being a toy. He had always been a prop for other people to help themselves.

Never again.

Never.

Never fucking ever.

“It’s funny because sometimes I think he wanted to suffer in silence because he liked it better that way. He liked suffering because suffering was all he knew. He looked me into my eyes and told me he would protect me and then he left me to rot! His life was chaos therefore he damned all our lives with chaos, lie to yourself, tell yourself all you want, but it’ll never change the fact that that bastard failed all of us, and what does he have left to show for it?! A pile of dirt with his name on it because I fucking killed him— ”

The broken laugh that escaped him was the most pathetic sound that he had ever heard. Saeran didn’t realize it yet but there were tears in his eyes and his body couldn’t stop shaking. Saying those words aloud for the first time made him feel sick and like the world had started to spiral around him, Saeran had been in denial for a long time because he blacked out that day with the gun in his hands and his panic surged over him, letting him—

Did he even shoot with intent to—

Did that even matter when he—

Monster.

You’re a monster! You’re a miserable monster who destroys everything he touches! It’s your fault, it’s your fault! You ruined all of it! His mind screamed at him as he stood there in the horror of his words, and the voice sounded so much like his mother it made him recoil and jump away from Jumin out of fear from the sound.

Saeran was standing there again, the sound of the church bells striking against the ground almost as if the Mint Eyes were counting down the final moments in his memory.

His vision had started to fade and his body disobeyed him, feeling lost and confused, afraid of being dragged down into the basement where he wouldn’t be able to get you out alive, afraid of realizing that his purpose in life was meaningless, afraid of thinking that maybe his brother had cared, afraid of thinking that for once, maybe V had been right—

The memory flashed over and over in his mind… playing in slow motion as he lifted his gun and clutched his head, screaming in agony and begging for the pain to stop. He hadn’t even looked at the room around him until someone tried to touch him and get close to him, and V had been the one to get too close to the sun.

He closed his eyes and his hands acted without thinking, fearing he was going to be killed or destroyed or thrown away—

Bang.

Silence.

Bang.  

Silence.

Bang.

Silence.

Bang.

Silence and then… the sounds of screaming and wailing as his body succumbed to shock and he passed out where he stood. Bloodstained his clothes and his hands to such a degree that he could feel the sticky warmth against his hands. It wouldn’t go away, it wouldn’t go away, it was all his fault. It was all his fault and he couldn’t take it back, he had done what he thought he always had wanted to do but it felt like hell.

It wasn’t the paradise that he had been sold all that time and you weren’t with him. He was alone and he was going to—

It was like the walls were closing in and there were hundreds of eyes watching him from all sides and they were judging him for—

His own words haunted him and he wasn’t sure if he was screaming them or if his memory was the one saying them. "Get away from me! All of you! Don't come near me! If you take one step closer, then I'll kill everyone in this room! If any of you come near me, I’m going to— I’m going to— I’ll, I’ll—”

“Saeran, you’re safe,” Saeran felt a breath escape him as he looked over in the direction of that familiar voice and he found himself looking into his brother’s eyes. The terror was written over his face must’ve been horrible because Saeyoung looked like he was about to cry. His brother approached him and the two of them sank to the ground together as Saeran’s legs caved underneath him and the dread pooled inside of him.

“You’re not there anymore. This isn’t Mint Eye. You’re here with me and I’m not going to leave you again. You’re safe. You’re not in danger and nobody’s going to hurt you. You don’t need to protect yourself. There’s no danger here. I promise. I promise you that.”

Reality came flooding forward all at once. He was in Jumin’s building and he had come to meet with you to talk about everything. But, he lost control of himself when he heard about what had happened to you and what you went through. He lost control of himself and everything that he’d shoved away had come to the surface.”

Saeyoung must have known.

He must have known this was going to happen.

He would’ve been listening and on standby, huh? That made sense. They didn’t trust Saeran to act normally so they wanted Saeyoung to be his watchdog. While that made him sick, he didn’t have the strength to shove his brother away just yet. His stupid voice had been what pulled him out of the episode, anyway.

Why couldn’t he stop shaking?

“Iris… Iris… she’s going to take them away… away… they’re going to take Iris away now, I can’t… I can’t… I can’t stop… no good… no good… not good enough… they… they’re locked away… I can’t... I can’t… I—”

“They’re okay, Saeran. They’re right there.”  

And he turned his head to look back at you, only to see that you had covered your mouth in shock and distressed tears had begun to escape your eyes. The sight physically pained him as he realized he lost control of himself again and he revealed the truth of his crimes in front of you. He wanted to reach out for you but his body wouldn’t let him. This was what he wanted to avoid when he had met you again.

He was utterly and completely disgusted with himself and the tremors just wouldn’t stop. You hadn’t run yet but the fact remained, even if you knew his monster, this was a devil, and much, much more than knowing his ugly thoughts. You knew many of the things that he thought and wanted to do with the world at large. But, this wasn’t a plan and it wasn’t a dream.

Because it wasn’t a thought.

It was something he did.

Yet, much to his horror, you approached him anyway as your footsteps echoed in that quiet room filled with four people. You paid no mind to the realization that he had a brother or the fact that there were a lot of things that you didn’t understand. You didn’t even ask him or demand answers or look to the others in the room to make sense of whatever you were thinking. Your eyes never left him for a single moment.

Was there something wrong with him?

Or, was there something wrong with you?

You threw your arms around him so tightly at that moment. He stiffened and found himself unable to return the gesture but he buried his face into the fabric of your sweater and just let himself break down and cry for the first time in a very long time. You weren’t afraid of him, you weren’t disgusted with him, and you weren’t trying to run away from him. You were holding onto him with such intensity.

It was like you weren’t afraid of him.

You never had been afraid of him, had you?

He was so tired of trying to escape his feelings but there was no way to escape them anymore. He had come to the edge of the cliff and there was nothing but a drop below him. He was scared and tired of this. He just wanted to stop. He just wanted to see the sky and never think again. He had dreamed of sitting there with you underneath the sky.

Your playful jest that he could try every single flavor of ice cream he wanted with you by putting it all into one bowl and having that sweet moment with you and only you. That was the dream that he wanted. But, he couldn’t even face these demons. How could he ever face something good if he couldn’t confront the darkness and blood on his hands?

Did he even have the right to hold you with these hands when these were the very same hands that killed someone in cold blood?

“We’re not there anymore, Saeran,” your voice spoke to him in the darkness of his anxiety and it’d had the same tremble as his but somehow, it was much calmer than his voice. ”We’re not in Mint Eye anymore. Whatever happened, whatever you did, whatever I did, whatever they did, it’s over now.  It’s over… it’s over, but we’re together again, okay? I promise I won’t leave you again. I promise.”

If there was a God, they had mercy on Saeran just this once.

—

You had felt like you were in a daze for days… weeks… months…? You weren’t sure anymore of what day it was. It felt like it could be years from the last time you opened your eyes and said a word to someone. Your throat felt dry and even the smallest bit of light made you want to retch and pray for mercy to come your way from someone’s hand. If someone would knock you out once again, it might’ve been okay.

It might’ve made you believe in something, maybe God, maybe someone who cared enough to pity you just long enough to stop the pain… but no relief came.

You wound up in the basement where you never wanted to be in the first place. You hadn’t been there in a long time, months, or what felt like years behind you. You hadn’t been there since your introduction to the group and you never wanted to wind up there again.

It wasn’t that you hated the way that people were welcomed to paradise. They say that it takes you reaching your lowest point to be able to find true release from agony. That wasn’t a lie because the pain cleared your mind enough to make you see something that you’d never seen before. It gave it a name and gave you a reason to think more about how you meant nothing to the world and how it would be easier to let go and accept this price to find joy.

It made more sense when it was the Savior talking you through what you needed to hear, when it was someone else with cold hands and an unfeeling heart, you were left gagging and unable to see what you wanted to see. You thought that elixir would help, you thought that it would bring you some peace from your confusion and headaches but it didn’t.

Something about the elixir burned more than anything you’d ever tasted. Somehow, the pain was worse and you felt like you were going to lose every fiber of your being. You were tolerant of the dose that you took but what they fed you over and over tasted like… well, it tasted like what they gave to Unknown. The acidic smell and burning ache that lingered afterward… tasted like the kisses Unknown shared with you.

Except, the fire was worse and you wanted to stop it.

It felt like what you thought you knew had been thrown out the window. It was like paradise had turned sour. No amount of Unknown kissing you and making you drink your elixir was ever going to wash away the pain that you felt as you laid in that basement, cold, damp, and disheveled.

You felt like a wet dog that had been left in a monsoon.  It was like you were forgotten until they wanted to torture the dog again.

When you had gone from feeling as if you were something important from being someone who was relatively invisible, you hadn’t known what to think about what you were going to see and experience. In many ways, it felt like you might have been able to focus on what you wanted to do with your life instead of focusing on living the way that you always had.

There was no judgment in Magenta, but there had been isolation. Working with Unknown hadn’t taken away the isolation by all intents and purposes, but it had changed something in such a way that you could never go back to living the way that you had before this all started. There was no way for you to go back to living in isolation the way that you had been.

There was just no way to be the person that you used to be.

You didn't think you wanted to go back to being that person. You weren't sure that you knew how to be that person anymore. But the more that you ruminate over everything, the more that you felt like you were losing every ounce of control of yourself. You were left abandoned in that basement and it made you feel miserable.

The one person that you thought you could trust turned their back on you, and the other person that you had faith in was nowhere to be found. Unknown had not come back. There was no sign of him. It was almost like he didn't even exist, but you knew that he existed. You knew that he was real. You knew that he had been there. So the longer that you spent in that basement, the more that you felt like everything was fake.

The more time that you spent feeling like you were isolated, the more that it appeared as though you were losing control of everything that made you what you were. In your state of delirium, you weren't sure whether to believe that it was the elixir that was doing this to you or if it was just the way that it had always been for you. They left you abandoned in this basement because they wanted to break you.

You didn't even know why they wanted to break you.

You didn't know what you had done wrong.

You weren't sure that you ever had done anything wrong. How could you? You were always giving your life to this cause. Were you being punished by association? She said that Unknown’s failures in his mission were also yours, but what did that mean to her? What had happened and why were you here? All of these questions haunted you and there was no way to receive an answer to any of them because you had been abandoned.

You didn’t know that, for sure, but you knew that something went wrong and because of it, you were sitting here where only pain lay ahead of you. It was horrible. It was the worst thing that you had ever felt. It hurt and it stung… it wasn’t the paradise that you had been handed. It was much more like a personal hell than anything else. It didn’t make sense.

Nothing made sense anymore!

Your head was spinning and you couldn’t at all remember what happened since you came down here, but you could remember pieces of what it felt like to be in the basement. The darkness, the feeling of hands holding you down, burning, burning, burning, screaming, begging, shouting, and then nothing. It was a cycle of wash and repeat until you didn’t know anything but the pain that was coming.

It was no way to live and it left you feeling like you were going to suffocate. You already had, time and time again, when they would return to the basement and ask you to plead your case and repent your sins against paradise. Their words didn’t make sense to you anymore and neither did the sound of your voice. You had no energy left to scream after being left to rot on the wet ground of the dungeons.

When you first came here and found yourself so readily welcomed to the gardens, you never once thought that you would be staying in the fabled basement that was only meant for those that had horrible thoughts who became corrupted by the liars and the monsters of the outside world. That wasn’t you. You never had faith in the outside world. You never believed in it because it had never believed in you.

So, why were you left in the dark?

Why hadn’t Unknown come to save you?

Was he suffering, too?

Did he leave you?

Had he abandoned everything for some reason?

All of these questions and not enough answers, it was the story of your life that knew no bounds and there was no way to find anymore. You had no answers to clutch onto and no amount of the way that you pulled your body against the dirt and stone was going to give it. You lamented this as much as you could because it was the only thing you could do. You had nothing. You were nothing and there was no other way to exist.

This was the way that you were going to die, wasn’t it? That was the only thought that you could think. Everything that you knew was being thrown into the dirt and you were going to rot in the ground. Nobody ever cared and nobody was going to care now. Everyone that you thought cared about you that's seemingly throwing you away like trash because you were no longer useful.

You already lived this song and dance once before. You weren't sure that you could live through it happening again. It was hard enough the first time and Mint Eye was the only thing that had been there to give you faith in anything to keep trying to live your life. At this point, you didn't even have that. If this was it for you, you weren't sure that you wanted to know what came next.

Every time you thought that the darkness was going to cover you and give you a reprieve from the feeling of pain that you had inside, it was swept away the second you woke up out of a stupor and realized that you were sitting there alone in the darkness. It felt like the universe had begun playing a mean trick on you. Time didn’t add up anymore and reality was shattered like a mirror that hit the ground.

You wished that Unknown was there… your outstretched hand did nothing as it leaned out to get a hold of the bars that were just beyond your reach. Even if he was here with you, you would have no way out. He would’ve just been suffering by your side. Even if he was there… he would wind up the same that he had whenever he took too much of the elixir on a bad day. Nobody deserved to feel like this. You weren’t even sure the traitors deserved to be tortured like this.

Wasn’t paradise supposed to be forgiving and allow for you to have a chance to be saved the right way instead of this? Of all the things you had been told to imagine over the months that you’d been here, you never thought that people were being subjected to this over and over again. You had once believed that they would take a smaller dose of elixir and have serious conversations about what they needed to be saved and stop the sin.

What was paradise, then?

All of these thoughts made you feel sick.

You wanted things to make sense. But, you were being punished for something that you didn’t even do and that broke a lot of your faith. You wished, no, you prayed for the Savior to say that she had made a mistake and that she wanted to make amends for it. But, the longer that you were in the basement, the more that you came to the revelation that you meant nothing to that woman. You meant nothing.

You were nothing.

Over and over again, you listened to the thoughts that were brewing in your mind. It just kept coming and coming by the minute. For what felt like the hundredth time, you found yourself on the cusp of being awake and asleep, only to realize that you were moving. Your bleary eyes were very unfocused and the feeling of daylight against your skin made you wince. You didn’t understand what was happening—

You had just been laying on the ground in a puddle of your exhaustion in the dark, and now it felt like someone was helping you stumble through the halls. Your breathing was heavy and the old feeling of tingles returned to your spine. Standing upright made you feel like you were going to be sick but you hadn’t eaten in days and the only pity you’d been spared was some water when you’d drink all the elixir they demanded.

You were parched, starving, and likely looked like you had been left for dead. You tried to see who had come to whisk you away but you couldn’t lift your head. You just had to follow along with the steps they took and pray that your head stopped spinning around and around and around.

This took a while as you weren’t sure where you were going, but eventually, you found yourself bathed in the darkness again, with your body slumped against a couch with a familiar scent. If you had anything left to cry, you would’ve cried at that moment. There was that faint scent of pine and berry… it was the same one that reminded you of safety in a den of lions. Your eyes snapped open as you realized where you were at last.

Your ragged gasp did nothing to stop you from looking to see who had brought you back to the workroom of all places. Your heart jumped and then sank as you realized it wasn’t Unknown who had come to save you in the first place. You were staring at mint eyes that you had seen a few times before. They belonged to A306, one of the former gardeners that you had known in passing.

You never spoke much to him, but frankly, it didn’t seem like he was the type to talk to others all that much either. Apart from discussing some of the landscape choices here and there, you hadn’t any reason to talk to him in the first place. The first time that you had any meaningful talk with the man was when he approached you after you started working with Unknown and he spoke in such incredible circles about power and humility.

Why had he come?

Wait.

Unknown had said that the Savior was going to be getting rid of the gardeners because there had been a traitor and she had to get rid of all of them. That included A306 and the fact that he was in this room with you with no clear authorization to be standing there with you, he had to be the very traitor that caused the rest of the staff to be forced cleansing and removal from paradise. It was one of those things that Unknown wouldn’t elaborate on.

He simply said that his choosing you had saved you from damnation in the basement. Had it even been about the Iris? Was there something more that you were missing here? Who was A306? Why was he standing in the middle of this room with you? Better yet, why had he taken you away from the basement? Confusion lined your features but as you tried to speak, your voice cracked and felt useful.

“I’m sorry for making you traverse the building right now, but you need to be in the safest part of Magenta today,” his voice sounded tired as he urged you to lay down once again. You didn’t want to do that but your body made that choice for you. “I apologize that I cannot do much else for you right now, [Y/N]. It’s too late for me now, but I can ensure that you’re safe until they arrive to do something.”

Who…?

What…?

How did he know your name?

“Who…” your voice croaked a question that you couldn’t finish. You grimaced and rubbed at your sore throat. Did you look as horrible as you felt? “Are you…?”

There seemed to be guilt in his eyes but from the reflection of the blue light on the monitors that colored his features for you, you weren’t so sure if that’s what you were seeing. You looked a little closer and realized at that moment there was a reason why he had struggled to get the door open and enter in the passcode, his eyes were damaged underneath the shallow frames that he had on his face.

There was a long story that you didn’t know but you wanted to know who he was if nothing else because you were tired of not knowing anything. You were tired of being kept out of the loop from everything for whatever reason. It didn’t matter if you were better off knowing, you wanted so badly to understand what the burden was and what you could do to make it better… better? Wait, better?

What were you thinking?

What was he thinking?

“...I don’t believe he’s spoken about me to you, then,” that comment felt like it was more meant for himself than it was for someone else. He shook his head and rested his gaze on you, “I don’t know how much you know about what’s going on here and I don’t wish to pressure you to tell me what you may or may not already know. There’s not much time, either. You need to be here for now, out of sight.”

You tried to make sense of that as best you could, “What would have happened… if I stayed in the basement…?”

The silence that lingered in the air did not make you feel better about yourself. You had a feeling that you knew the answer but having confirmation might not have helped you. You never saw a single person after they were cleansed like that, it was like they vanished and anyone who did come back from a lesson in reeducation as opposed to a cleansing was never the same person.

So, why was it that you were still standing? Why was there any clarity left in your mind as a whole and why were you breathing? The more you tried to think about everything, the more confused that you were left feeling. The darkness had at least kept you from being overstimulated but this was another level.

And, what was it that this stranger was trying to keep you away from whatever happened when she decided to do what needed to be done to get rid of someone who breaks the rules and turns on the paradise? You shut your eyes and pressed your palms against your face. It hurt… it hurt so much to breathe and to think, you just wanted to cry and make it all go away. You wanted Unknown back, you wanted paradise back, and you wanted to feel safe again.

Maybe it would be easier if you were gone as the Savior had said.

Cold chills ran down your spine as her words from one of the sessions came to your mind and you felt sick again. What good were you? Did Unknown leave because you were a burden that he didn’t have the power to stomach? Did he leave because he hated you? Did he leave because you didn’t try hard enough to help him achieve his goals?

Why? Why? Why? Why?

“My name is Jihyun Kim,” he said, lowly. Though his words still felt like they were quiet and so very far away. “I know that may not mean anything to you. However, Unknown did not abandon you here of his own doing. He was taken from this place by someone who wishes to hurt him and he didn’t intend to leave you. I did not believe she would use you as a prop against him, but I can’t afford for you to get hurt because of my mistakes.”

“Your… mistakes…?”

“I’m afraid there’s no time to explain everything. The most that I can do for you is make sure that he can find you when he returns to Mint Eye. If things go according to what I think… the RFA will be able to rescue you and Unknown both from this place and get you to safety before she can do anything worse,” the mint-haired man looked over his shoulder as if he were expecting someone to pop up and grab him.

The RFA?

“He… hates the RFA,” you felt the momentum of that word wash over you as you looked at the man. Did he know the RFA? No, wait, he knew how to talk to them. He was working with the RFA somehow. You should be frightened of that fact despite knowing that most of the RFA were just being manipulated by the men that Unknown hated that you didn’t—

No.

No, it couldn’t be him.

You jolted to a sitting position as fast as you could muster and tried to hold yourself up as your fingers clutched at the couch. Every part of you was on high alert now, and the second that you put that thought into your head, you couldn’t turn or run away from it. There was no escaping who you thought this man to be. Even if he dragged you from the basement, what if he was trying to use you to hurt Unknown?

You refused to be a pawn against him when he already had enough to deal with.

Even if he left you in the dark forever, you committed yourself to your job and you refused to let anyone try and take that from you. You always did what you were told and Unknown told you that he wanted you to be his forevermore. You felt the weight in your chest that came along with that feeling and all you wanted was him back to tell you what to do.

“You’re him,” you felt the words escaping you before you could even muster the strength to stop yourself from thinking that way. The fear was just eating away at you and the more that you sat there, the more you wanted to leave this place. “Oh my God, you’re the man who— you’re the leader of the— you’re the— get away from me, get away, get away, get away, get away, get away, get away—”

That look in his eyes was not of malice or anger. That confused you even more, what was it that you didn’t understand? You weren’t sure that the Savior could be trusted, but you sure weren’t to trust the man that Unknown told you over and over again had hurt him. He never elaborated, but those memories burned deep enough for you to understand just how far they went. If he couldn’t talk about it, it had to be horrible.

You couldn’t trust anyone but him.

Yet, Jihyun Kim had dragged you from the basement on his own.

Why?

“I… I understand that reaction. It was my failure that led to this situation, so please, blame me for your burdens and pain, as I am willing to take it. It’s my cross to carry. However, I will not hurt you. I promise. As you can see, my eyes are barely able to see a few feet in front of me, I couldn’t harm you if I wanted, and I do not wish to cause any more harm or fail another person. I know why you would feel frightened, but I promise… I promise you I did not bring you here to put you into danger.”

“She’s planning on using you as a prop to control Unknown. That is to say, when he arrives back at this place today, she fully intends on keeping you in the basement and only allowing you to see him when he does something that she approves of. Once she does this, there will be no hope for your safety or wellbeing. You could likely lose your life. I cannot allow her to destroy you or anyone else. If anyone must be destroyed, it should surely be me.”

“I failed Unknown once before when he was a boy and I’m still failing him now. I don’t expect you to believe any of that, [Y/N], but I know that deep down, you’re a good person. You’ve made some changes that I could never do. You’ve made Unknown question this place and he may be willing to try to leave now after he sees what she’s done to you.”

Oh, is that all?

You were just a prop… he wanted to say that the Savior wanted to use you but it sounded like he was trying to use you for his reasons, too. You didn’t like that. You didn’t appreciate that. You’d just wanted to tell him to leave. That didn’t explain what he had done or anything else. It told you half of a story that you had been left in the dark about.

Your bitter laugh was painful. “And, why should I believe anything that you have to say to me? He told me that you tried to destroy him.”

“I’m not asking you to believe me. I want… I pray that you believe in helping him do something to save his life. Surely you’ve seen what hell he’s been put through in this place since you started being by his side. You’ve seen how much elixir he drinks almost daily… and how much he works until he can’t stop himself from collapsing. You know this isn’t right for him.”

On the one hand, that made some sense. You tried to help him eat better and sleep more but he still worked himself until he was sick. You did the same thing, so you couldn’t say that you lived or knew better than he did… but it stung to see him living that way. Seeing his nightmares and what the elixir did… you didn’t want him to hurt.

On the other hand, you felt sickened to think that this man knew what he was suffering after whatever he did to him. If he wanted to protect Unknown or save him, why was he letting this go on? All of his words were… these were just… you were so tired of thinking and trying to figure out what the point of all of this was.

Why did the Savior hate Jihyun? Why did Unknown fear him? Why was he doing any of this?

“I want what he wants,” you said, flatly.

“But do you know what he truly wants? Do you think he’s ever thought for himself? Have you thought for yourself since you came here?”

“...”

“I understand that you’re not going to believe a word I’m saying. But, please, for your safety, do not leave this room until Unknown returns. I am sure you understand that I took you from the basement without speaking to the Savior, and if she finds out, it won’t end well. If that is all I can do for you, it’s all I can do. I just ask you to stay safe.”

Jihyun began to walk in the direction of the door to leave you be, but you couldn’t help but feel like you had more than you wanted to say. It seemed like he might’ve had something that he wanted to say as well, but time was against you. You didn’t know him and you likely never would know who he truly was… but those eyes that you saw—

You didn’t see malice in them.

You knew what hatred looked like and he didn’t look at you with it. You didn’t trust him, you would never trust him unless Unknown said it was okay, but he did save you. He saved you from the basement and you owed him something… you had nothing to give him but your words that meant little in the scheme of things.

You weren’t the Savior and you weren’t Unknown.

You were Iris, a lowly gardener that became an assistant, and you meant nothing in the food chain to any of them that stood above you.

His fingers brushed against the knob, “If I did things differently… if I asked for help in the first place, if I hadn’t been such a coward who wanted to spare everyone from pain, perhaps this misery you suffer now wouldn’t have come to be in the first place. I can’t change my past, nobody can, but it’s if I can do one thing right if I can do something to make sure that he’s safe again… I can return you to him so he can decide for himself what it is that he truly wants.”

Even though you had no idea what got him into this, nor did you think you would ever find out, you felt like those words were spoken from years of guilt. He sounded remorseful… and even if that was a fake statement, his voice sounded believable. You didn’t believe in anyone but Unknown in this place anymore. You didn’t have the heart to trust anyone after all this.

Say you humored him.

You looked at him, “You know, I don’t know what the fuck you did to him or the Savior, but if you feel like you could stop this, you could. Stop being a coward and reach out and ask for help if you’re the good guy. Go talk to that Jumin Han, he’d probably listen to you, he’s the only one of those people that seem to have their head on straight. It sounds like you want to fix what you did but you’re only making it worse by doing it alone.”

“I don’t know who you are, I don’t know why you’ve done this,  I don’t know what you’ve done in the past, and I don’t know what you want to do after this; But, if you wanted to stop being a huge coward and make everything right? You could start by telling someone the truth and getting help for it.”

His silence was your only answer but you expected it. You didn’t have the energy to tear into him as you thought you would want to. You had imagined what it would feel like to meet the ones that had hurt Unknown by his side as he got his revenge, but you never imagined somebody so broken and pitiful standing in front of you instead of the monster that you had heard about.

It proved that you once again knew nothing about this place.

Jihyun left you in the darkness as he stepped out into the sunlight, but at that moment, it felt like your roles were reversed. You felt like he was standing in the darkness and you were bathed in the light of the sun.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Maybe Death Gives Up On Us

My Masterlist

Maybe We Meet Again (prequel to this)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: The second and final part of the sequel of In Another Life, set in a Modern!AU.

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings:  Mentions of death, descriptions of violence and death, major character death (past), angst (a lot of it), nothing else I can think of.

A/N: So, this is it. Idk how I feel about this tbh, but I hope you’ll like it. Thank you! Love you!!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @1950schick​  @heavenly1927​ @ietss​  

You haven’t seen him in two weeks. After silently dropping him off at his -yours? Is it still?- apartment, you managed to distract yourself working on the information the stone ship, and the identity of the shieldmaiden that lay buried at the center of it, provided for your university, for your investigation.

But each night, when you close your eyes and you still see the wide and scared eyes of the man you love looking back at you in a mix of disbelief and grief, centuries dawn on you, memories choke you, and you are forced to face the realization Ivar, the quick-witted and endearing, guarded and loving, man you’ve known and loved for almost a year was the same one you saw in your nightmares, his knife in your heart, his teary eyes on yours, his lips whispering promises of love.

And so you go to him. For your sake, but, you dare think, also for his.

When he opens the door, you are stunned into silence. Gods, the eyes are still the same, and for so long you hoped that familiarity to be a trick of Fate, and not…not the reality that his eyes were in fact those of the man in your -her?-memories.

“Why are you here?” Ivar asks, and it strikes you how much like the man in your memories he looks.

He always did, but now…now you see the cruelty, the vitriol, the resentment. They were always there, the anger and the explosiveness are still the same but…but there’s an unhinged side to it all, and it reminds you so much of…of those last days.

You close your eyes tight for a moment, clearing your throat and stepping into the apartment.

“I…wanted to see how…how you’re faring.”

“I’m losing my fucking mind, Princess,” Ivar confesses, and where you think he meant for there to be bite and anger and resentment, all you find is desperation and fear and pain. He shrugs, and his eyes cannot meet yours, “Or I’ve lost it already, I don’t know.”

“You’re not going to lose your mind, Ivar.” You point out, letting out a sigh.

“I think I did, you know,” He confesses, hesitantly, a little lost. He shakes his head, running a hand over loose hair -hair that for some reason you expected to see in braids you once knew by heart-, “After I killed Oleg. I think…I ran out of people to blame and I-…”

You interrupt him, even though a part of you clings to his words, clings to the confession like who holds their hand over a burning flame, begging to feel pain if only to make sense of the world.

“Not you. It wasn’t you.”

“Why do I remember it then, hm?” Ivar presses, anger back in his tone, “Why do I remember…remember when I almost drowned on the way to Wessex, when we took Mercia and the Isles and you promised to marry me? Why do I remember when I-…?”

His voice wavers and dies, and Ivar grits his teeth, averting his eyes from yours. It does nothing to hide the agony in his gaze, the tears in his eyes.

You try finding the calm, the certainty, that you’ve held on to ever since you found yourself remembering.

“It is not unheard of, that some people may-…”

“Are you going to start talking about reincarnation, Princess?” He chuckles, but it is watery and broken.

“All I’m saying is that there is proof that cycles repeat. The Ancient Greeks spoke of some souls that given the choice to remain in the Elysian fields, their…Valhalla,” Ivar’s eyes turn to you with sharp focus, and you know he remembers the countless conversations where she wondered on what Valhalla truly meant. Still, you continue, “or return to the living, they chose to return, to live again.”

“That’s why you-…” He takes a deep breath, before he tries finding his voice again. You’ve never seen Ivar so…fragile, with the stance of a man that’s tethered by a thin string onto the safe side of a cliff. He swallows, and meets your eyes again, “That’s why you found me? To prove reincarnation is a thing?”

You shake your head before he is even done asking the question. Because still, past everything, you cannot fathom seeing the fragility in his eyes, the fear that it was a lie.

“I didn’t know you were-…I didn’t know you also remembered.”

“But you took me to y-your grave, to that ship. A stone ship, because you died too far from the sea, from o-our seas,” He shakes his head, as if trying to fight back against the memories that flood his mind, that come pouring out of his lips. “Why did you take me there? Did you hope I would remember? Remember what I did, what it cost me?”

“No, I-…”

He gestures with his arm, interrupting you. His voice raises, his temper does as well, the fury and desperation shining clearly in his pale eyes.

“Why, then!? To torment me, for…for what I did?” He huffs a breath, running his hand through his hair, “You did that plenty, you didn’t have to find me I don’t know how many centuries later to torture me for it, Princess.”

You close your eyes tight, and your hands curl into fists, anything to keep you in one piece, anything to keep you from breaking apart at the seams.

“Stop calling me that. You remember, which means you know what it means.”

“Why do you call me that?”

“‘Princess’?”

You nod, “My father is an Earl, Ivar. You are the Prince.”

“Mhm,” He concedes, and in someone that didn’t know him like you do the way he focuses on spinning the round-handled knife in his finger would be nothing but a nonchalant gesture. But you know better, and so you stay silent. Ivar clears his throat, before he offers, “I could make you a Princess, one day. I-If you wanted.”

Your heart lurches in your chest, and the start of a wide and stupid smile spreads on your lips. Leave it to him to bring up the possibility of one day marrying you like this.

Your hands find the sides of his face, and you bring your forehead to rest against his before you whisper, as softly as you can,

“I have no interest in being a Princess, Ivar,” Before his thoughts can get ahead of him, before he can build a wall so high not a thousand years of war would make a dent on them, you press your lips against his for a moment, before whispering, “But I’d love to be your wife.”

“Do you remember all of it?” Ivar asks, and you frown.

“Why do you ask?”

“Would you have done it?” He asks, and you both pretend to ignore how his voice wavers, “If I hadn’t stopped you, would you have joined Björn against me?”

You know what the real questions are: Was the murder in vain? Was the promise of betrayal nothing but a ruse? Did she die for nothing? Did he have other choice?

You cannot give him the answer, if only because it would mean accepting that he is…him, and that you are…her. And you cannot accept that.

That certainty that it is only memories what returns is what has kept you sane for these past weeks.

“She wasn’t-…”

“Not ‘she’,” He corrects, leaning closer. His eyes burn as they meet your own, “You.”

You still shake your head, pretending to be resolute, “It is not proven that anything other than memories rema-…”

“Why do you insist on denying who you are!?”

Rough fingers trace up and down your spine, and you nestle closer to the warmth, content and sated.

“I always wonder…” Ivar starts, and you hum to signal you are listening, “Why it is you are always so calm, so…courteous with everyone else. But you are always so easy to grow angry with me.”

“You have a talent for getting under my skin,” You confess, pressing a kiss over a new mark that starts showing on his neck, a small little proof that he is yours. After a breath, your lips curve into a mischievous smile, and you drag your teeth over that same, now sensitive, spot. “And I don’t hear you complaining, my love.”

And you realize with gut-wrenching clarity that never changed. Each time his voice raises so does yours, each time his temper flares so does yours to meet it.

And so you raise your chin and square your shoulders, never missing the weight of a shield at your back as you do now.

You take a breath shaky breath before you reply, voice raised and eyes shining with more than fury, “Because if I’m her, that means you are h-him!”

There’s tears making their way down your cheeks, there’s a tremble in your hands you cannot control, there’s a brittleness to all that makes you you, but there’s steel in your spine, there’s ice in your veins, there’s an anger that has lasted centuries singing in your blood.

And so you approach him with certain strides, furious eyes set on his and breaking your own heart with the familiarity of the situation.

The memories make your head feel less clouded, less cluttered, but they make your heart feel like it will break in two inside your chest.

The distrusting edge in his eyes, the cruel twist of his mouth, the cold tone of his voice.

The loud fights where he almost dared you to admit loving him was a lie, wild eyes and demanding voice. The quiet nights where you heard the pleas that you were truly his to keep pressed against your skin in between reverent kisses.

“Means you refused to believe I loved you for years on end!”

Your fist clashes against his chest, but Ivar doesn’t react. It feels like talking to a marble statue, to a distant figure of a past not your own, to a monster you read about in books and saw in your dreams.

The smile as he approached Kattegat’s throne after so long, the way he let go of your hand when it came to view.

The silent demand you make a choice: your people, or him. The refusal to acknowledge it was a choice at all after you decided to stay by his side.

“Means you chose a fucking throne over me!”

Even if your words end in a sob, you still hold on to anger, to grief, to the always bleeding, always stinging wound of betrayal.

Pleas not to bring the Rus army to Scandinavia falling on deaf ears, promises that the Rus is only the means to an end, arrogance coating his words as he vows he can control Oleg.

“Means you trusted that Rus bastard more than your own wife!”

Your fist tightens even more, and your head bows for a moment, before you lift your gaze to find his again. To make your fury and your pain meet his regret and his mistakes.

Your head hurting from so many hours crying in silence, holding onto anger and grief and ruin. Your steps those of a woman sentenced for death when you grab your sword and go meet him, meet your Fate.

“Means I…I…I loved you, and you broke my heart!”

And your hand lets go of the tension, just as your body does, and you stand with your back curved under the pain of centuries. And now your open palm rests against his chest, right over his heart.

The heart you once thought you owned. The heart that was more than once, in more than one lifetime, your most precious possession.

There’s tears in his eyes, there’s a sob making its way past parted lips that try to whisper your name.

But there’s certainty in the sharp movement of the knife, there’s finality in the blade that pierces your heart.

“…It means you killed me, Ivar.”

And the last of your strength, of your anger, of your grief, leave you. It doesn’t feel like defeat, though, it doesn’t feel like being crushed under the weight of Fate.

It feels freeing, like relief after trying to stand under a heavy weight for such a long time. Longer than you remember, probably.

Still, maybe because you were never strong enough to hold on to these memories, to this other life; or maybe because that is what strength is when you taste your own blood in your lips, when you know what it is like to have your heart stopped by the one that owns it; you break.

And your hand on his chest is the one thing keeping you upright, before his free hand settles on your back. Where you would have expected the uncertain hold of trying to soothe you, you find Ivar grips you as tightly as he can, holding you towards him with a mix of gentleness and desperation that speaks of pain and regret and love.

You don’t know how long you cry, and scream, and beg to know why. You don’t know how long he holds you, you don’t know how long you hold him.  

He doesn’t say he is sorry, he doesn’t ask for forgiveness. You only hear him say your name, and three words you can still feel reverberating in your chest.

Says both of those things so many times your name doesn’t sound yours anymore, even though it is, it always has been. Says both of those things for so long his voice breaks and yet with each ‘I love you’ he presses against your skin you hear it louder and louder.

You don’t know when he gently pushed you to sit on the bed, but you did, and you have the strange feeling of being an intruder to the room you and he shared before…before he knew who he was, who you were; before you knew who he was.

A whisper of your name, and you lift your gaze from the comforter you were numbly tracing with shaking fingers.

His eyes are red, and you know yours are too. His breath is shaky, and you know yours is too.

“I am…angry,” You confess, absently tracing his cheek with the back of your fingers, “At you and…and at Fate. A-Aren’t you?”

“Fate brought you back to me,” He whispers, hand trapping yours and pressing a kiss to your wrist, right over your pulse, “I found you again, after all I did, after…what I did to you. I can’t think of this as anything other than…”

“A blessing?” You interrupt, a smirk pulling at your lips, “Awfully Christian of you, Ivar.”

Your tease, weak and burdened by the past as it is, manages to make a smile pull at his lips, to make life return to his eyes, to make hi huff a breath than in another life could have been a chuckle.

You smile too, because you cannot help it. Still, you move back, away from where he sits on the bed, and curl over yourself, your back to the headboard and eyes glued to the digital picture frame that loops over and over pictures of you and Ivar.

His voice startles you from comfortable numbness, “How do you…live with it?”

You frown, “Why would I have the answer?”

He shrugs, “You’ve known for months.”

You can’t keep the bite from your tone when you point out, “I didn’t kill you.”

“You did.” He sentences, voice hoarse and avoiding your gaze. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to find a center, find clarity, find anything past resentment and pain and anger.

Instead of acknowledging his words, you offer, “The theory is that we all return, but…only a few have memories of those times. I talk to some people that…that have remembered too.”

“Does it help?”

“Haven’t met anyone that was stabbed in the heart by the man they loved, so…no, they don’t help much.”

“Anyone that stabbed the woman they loved in the heart?”

“Surprisingly enough, yes,” You sigh, before swallowing past a dry throat. Even if your voice wavers, you confess, “His eyes are familiar.”

“You are a very fortunate man to have her, I hope you know that.” The Rus whispers, dark eyes leaving your husband’s to travel to you. He offers a smile, a smile that speaks of sadness and envy and pain, a smile that for once seems honest.

Ivar keeps calculating eyes on the raven-haired man, and lifts your joined hands to his lips, pressing a deliberate kiss on the inside of our wrist, right over your pulse. Were this any other situation, and it would make a rush of heat travel through you, but now you only watch frozen in your spot as the Viking smiles.

“I know.”

“But you’d do the same thing I did, wouldn’t you? If you found your sweet wife had betrayed you.”

Ivar’s answer is immediate, and the fire in his eyes speaks of anger even if his voice is certain, “She would never.”

Oleg’s eyes narrow, and the smile he offers is once again shallow, once again a lie, once again poison, “I thought so too. Now my heart is broken, and she is in a crypt.”

“My mother…” Ivar starts, a broken sort of wonder shining through his words, “Her eyes are familiar.”

The part of you that even after death refused to stop loving him smiles, and grows warm at the knowledge he now recognizes her.

“Frighteningly so.” You concede with a nod.

“Do you think…do you think she knows? That she remembers?”

“She was once one to see beyond what the rest of us can. I think…I think she still is.”

Ivar sighs, “Gods…”

“It…time makes it make more sense, trust me.” You offer, somewhat sheepishly. What can you say to someone that has just remembered a whole life before this one?

Ivar lays down on the bed, hands at his sides and gaze on the ceiling. You remain sitting, your legs folded before you, your arms holding them close to you, as if to keep you safe, together.

After a while, he breaks the silence, “We were happy, weren’t we? Before?”

You don’t ask which before he means, because the answer remains the same. Before, when he was just the son of some lost legend and you were the unruly daughter of an earl, you loved him and he loved you and you were happy.

Before, when he was leader of the greatest of armies and you were a shieldmaiden known across the land, you loved him and he loved you and you were happy.

Before, even with the weight of defeat on your shoulder and the poisonous snake of dark eyes and darker heart at your backs, you loved him and he loved you and you were happy.

And because Fate granted you another chance, or maybe because the Gods are cruel, you had a before after all those ones. Before, when he was just the man you met in a coffeeshop and you were just a student trying to unveil one of the greatest tragedies -or greatest love stories, depending on who you asked-, you loved him and he loved you and you were happy.

And so the answer is a breath on your lips, light and easy and true, “Yes.”

Problem is, you don’t know what you are supposed to do now. How you are supposed to live with all those befores, with all those afters. With all these memories, memories that make you hate him, and love him, and miss him.

A part of you wishes you would have never known of the past, that you would have never recognized him, or his eyes. But you know even in death you’d know him, you know even in another life you’d miss him.

And so you lay down on the bed next to him, and sigh.

“I never thought you’d…I didn’t take you there on purpose.”

Ivar’s smile is bitter, “Because you hoped it wasn’t me.”

“Need I remind you why, my love?” You point out without missing a beat, too late realizing that is not an endearment you usually use. No…that’s hers. Yours, from…before.

“I haven’t heard you call me that in a long time,” He chuckles. A few beats of silence, and Ivar takes a deep breath, “I’ve missed you. I-I know y-…”

“I understand,” You interrupt him, and in a moment of weakness you reach for his hand. He doesn’t hesitate to return the hold, tight and hinting at desperation. Your eyes fall closed, and you can be somewhere else, in another time, in another life, “I’ve missed you too.”

Ivar takes a breath, and lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a -reverent, familiar- kiss over your fingers, “We can do this, Princess. We can…be happy. We got another chance, I…I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You won’t,” You promise, and it comes easy to you. Many times you promised him the same, and each and every time you meant it with all that you are. “I…I love you, Ivar.”

“In the last life and this one?”

You accept his words with closed eyes and a huff of weak laughter, but the promise is still true, “And all the ones after.”

He lifts himself up on one arm, leaning over you. He is so close to you that you can feel his warmth, familiar and enthralling and his, and your heart beats so quickly in your chest you are certain he can feel it.

It feels long-overdue, it feels like nostalgia and familiarity and a past you loved; when you lean up and kiss him. But it also feels like new, it feels like hope and thrill and a future you want to discover.

It is Ivar who breaks the kiss first, yet it is him that comes back and presses his lips to yours again, stealing your breath and your heart and your sanity.

When he pulls back again and his eyes meet yours, you notice they are the same and yet so different. Yet the feeling in your chest, the smile that curves at your lips, the love you see shining in his eyes, they are all the same.

“You and me, Princess, in this life and the next,” He smiles, “We will make death give up on us.”

____

So, that is it for this story! I would love to know what you think of this, of the ending, of everything really. Hope you enjoyed!!

As always, thank you so much for reading, and I hope you have a great day/night! Love ya!

[undignifiend]

Been thinking about my oc Warden again. Might play with his design a little more, too, we’ll see. In the meantime, here’s some notes on him:

Warning for vague naughtiness and safe vore mentions below the cut. ;)

+++++

+Excuse me, officer, that’s my Emotional Support Creeper

+The chillest, chonkiest, and most well-adjusted of all my Trollhunters ocs by a long shot.

+For those new to him, he’s a changeling who runs a lucrative side-business where he uses his big troll form as a “one-of-a-kind lifelike animatronic run by cutting-edge AI tech” for “simulated” experiences with human clients. Proceeds go to the Janus Order, but he keeps a cut to keep his cover smooth and occasionally indulge in luxuries. He meets all kinds of people, and enjoys interacting with them in contexts where they aren’t frightened (or truly frightened). Gives amazing aftercare and massages (whether anything spicy happened or not, if that’s what a client wants. It’s not all spicy, but he does enjoy indulging such whims, within his own limits).

+He’s got strict rules to keep people safe in these instances (repeat customers mean more money and connections). He can get rough if they want, but he has his own limits as to how rough he’ll go. Will pin people (not enough to crush them) and make them recite The Rules (discussed later) if they try to ignore them because “he’s a machine, he’s not real”. That’s his first warning. Any subsequent violations terminate the session. No refunds.

+Disaster Bi/Pan. Very romantic and enjoys making clients (and partners outside work) feel thoroughly cared for. Doesn’t get attached as easily as he seems to, but when he falls, he falls hard.

+Has a weakness for stories about superheroes with secret identities. Will occasionally do vigilante work, and covers his tracks carefully.

+Diligent about his hygiene. On one hand, he sees it as respectful to his Familiar to keep his human form clean and good looking. (Though this sometimes looks like vanity to those who don’t know any better. He really is quite vain about his troll form, though.) And on the other, humans tend to be far pickier (even if less sensitive) than trolls about smell, and his side-business model relies on reassuring them that they’re in a safe, clean, relaxing environment.

+In his human form, he plays one of the bartenders and bouncers for a hotel near the wilderness that is classier and more successful than anyone paying attention to it would suspect, given its somewhat remote location. It sees just enough traffic (including private events and conventions) to maybe justify it, and he contributes some of his earnings to helping the place thrive. It’s his cover, where his clients meet him face-to-(human)-face, so he’s invested in keeping it respectable, which also helps encourage clients to come back for more. He also drives his clients to the even more remote caves (warded by enchantments that disguise signals to give false reports of where they actually are to any tracking devices or scrying attempts) where the scenarios take place, and drives them back to the hotel afterward. Before a session, his human form takes the client(s) to the room where the session will occur, and he “leaves to monitor the AI” through an off-limits passage that loops through a fake “control room” to another, bigger passage for his troll form to enter from.

+The humans working at the hotel have an understanding with him, though they don’t know what he is. He occasionally departs to see to this “side business”, and so long as nobody questions or talks about it, or puts a tracker on his car, or any shenanigans like that, he contributes a cut of his pay to the hotel. It also helps that he’s a dependable and amiable co-worker, and no one around him has suspiciously vanished yet.

+Still, some employees feel like it’s a deal with a devil. He’s been there long enough that it’s starting to become apparent that he either uses a damn good moisturizer, or he doesn’t age. That, and he’s preternaturally strong and fast. On the rare occasions that fights break out, he ends them quickly, and his injuries recover fast despite his avoidance of hospitals. He’s getting to the point where he’s going to have to start fresh elsewhere soon.

+More relaxed in his troll form, but for different reasons than Dezoka. He sees his human form as borrowing his familiar’s image, prefers to treat it with dignity, and doesn’t take disrespect to it lightly.

+Before his current business model, he used to rob banks as an outlaw. Proceeds also went to the Janus Order to help fund their operations.

+Primarily relies on his size, strength, and situational awareness in (and before) combat. He’s not an especially skilled fighter compared to Dezoka, Ulvek, or Zahnn, (he’s a bit out of practice since his outlaw days, and it’s been a long, long time since he’s had to contend with the Darklands) but he’s resilient, observant, and hits hard.

+Loves to eat people (in all the fun ways). His stomach can double as a portable high-security safe holding cell. Not a big fan of keeping prisoners that way. He’ll bitch and grumble, but he’ll still do it if he thinks he has to. Prefers willing participants. He’s kinda spoiled on them, and the idea of someone trusting him enough for it makes him really happy, and is his favorite indulgence.

+Where that particular bit of physiology is concerned, I’ve been thinking of designing a group of trolls with this trait and figuring out how his particular safe vore shenanigans might work. Warden’s stomach lining is peppered with many thousands of specialized, regenerating cellular nodes that exchange O2 and CO2 gases from his own bloodstream for his “guest’s” benefit, so suffocation isn’t an issue for anyone inside so long as Warden can keep breathing. His stomach also contains a mild acid that won’t do much more than gently exfoliate and disinfect open wounds (it’s got a pH of about 4 or 5, which I think is typically alright for skin anyway). The acidity ramps up in cases where a high amount of necrotic tissue is detected, to digest it before it rots further, and to kill any infection that might in turn infect him. This can also damage any living tissue still attached to the dead stuff, which will hurt for anyone still alive (so it’s not a good treatment for seriously injured folks), but after the dead tissue is eaten away, the pH will return to a more neutral zone - but remain acidic enough to keep open wounds disinfected as a guest’s body recovers. His stomach can also mildly aid recovery through gentle contractions to massage a guest and improve circulation while they’re curled up in there. But he will use his hands a lot, too. He loves being full and holding people this way.

+‘The Rules’ (including safe words) are customizable and negotiated before a session is even paid for, both for clarity’s sake, and “for programming adjustments”. All involved decide what they want and what their boundaries are. A client can change their mind if they decide they don’t actually want to do something, but Warden will not agree to any last minute additions that involve a safety/trauma risk. For example, if a client decided that they want him to swallow them whole, they can change their mind mid-session if they’re too nervous to go through with it (and can change their mind back again if they decide that they actually feel ready). But if they ask him to do it during a session where that was not planned, he will decline. Reluctantly. Even if it's safe, he understands it can also be really terrifying for those who aren’t ready, and he prefers to err on the side of caution where that’s concerned. Fearplay is great, and he loves playing up the role of a wicked, cruel predator - but that's the sort of thing that has to be discussed first so the client knows they have the power to stop it if it gets too intense.

+How to convince him that you’re Evil Incarnate: He has a sweet tooth and a serious weakness for foodplay and stuffing. It’s the most effective way to tease the daylights out of him, so he always gets a bit nervous when this comes up in establishing a session’s Rules. Doesn’t fluster easily, but just thinking about this will do it. Especially loves it as a prelude to vore. Will also do this without vore, but it’s kind of a struggle to hide just how wildly hungry and desperate that leaves him. He’ll be a professional about it, and he won’t violate The Rules or try to pressure a client/partner no matter how desperate he gets. Stuffing himself silly doesn’t fix it, either, it just leaves him delirious and aching for live, warm squirming in his stomach. Belly rubs and mouthplay are the cruelest little cherries on top. If he thinks his client/partner knows what they’re doing to him, he’ll be ticked off, but also impressed and intimidated. Either way, he won’t be able to stop thinking about them and wanting to take them somewhere nice and hold their hand and move in together and sappy stuff like that. And eat them, of course. He’ll lose a lot of sleep over just how badly he wants to eat them.

[welllpthisishappening]

Catching the Highlights

It wasn’t like she was nervous, not really. Or jealous, even. Honestly, the entire story was more than a little hysterical and very nearly distracted Belle from the obviously frustrated way Will kept moving his hands at the end of the second period. Still, there was something about sitting in the stands that felt different and maybe hearing about how her maybe-boyfriend made out with Anna Vankald one time was just the push she needed. To make things a bit more real.

———

Word Count: Nearly 4.5K AN: This is a thing I do now, apparently. Write Blue Line! Will and Belle. And poorly photoshop eights into sixes on jerseys. Although I draw the line at making the girl that same photo wear a skirt. Anyway, this continues to be real fun, I hope the five people enjoying it continue to enjoy it and I think I’ve got at least one more idea for these dweebs. So, that’ll probably happen sooner rather than later. Possibly with more badly executed photoshops.

———

It had something to do with his eyes. 

With the way they narrowed ever so slightly, able to thin without causing any sort of furrow between his brow or lines of frustration on his forehead. They’d pinch. His eyes, that was. Make it so it was difficult for Belle to see the brown there or the bits of gold that she was at least ninety-six percent positive she wasn’t imagining and only slightly less confident had something to do with her. 

She’d never really been one for details, like that. 

Strange as it might have been. 

Details were the lifeblood of research. Tiny bits of information that could sway a doctoral defense or prove an argument, but Belle had always been far more interested in the sweeping potential of a very good story, and research had that too, she supposed. To some degree, at least. Although, that was getting existential. Her work was good. She was good. Fine, even. Definitely fine. Nothing to see here. Nothing to worry about. No reason to compare the strange and not entirely unfamiliar sensation of fluttering in the pit of her stomach whenever Will glanced her way to the decidedly still nature of all her internal organs while she spent eight to ten hours uptown five days a week. 

Sitting at her desk, she regularly tried to fit into the mold, everything everyone expected her to be with the title she had, and that required her to think less about the bigger picture. That sounded negative. It wasn’t. Probably. Hopefully. Just required further research. More details and specific examples.

All of them regarding the nature of Will’s eyes.

Even so, she—

Part of her missed it. The sweep. The really good stories. Ones that were less clinical and more fantastical. And the deep breath that always came just seconds before being overwhelmed. By the current and the wave and those were rather similar, as far as analogies went, but all the best stories always left her a little overwhelmed, and Belle’s cheeks were starting to ache as something bubbled out of her. Laughter, in its purest form. Bouncing and bounding and echoing off otherwise abandoned walls, the pair of them tucked into a corner of the Garden concourse because they hadn’t actually decided this was a secret, but Anna Vankald was apparently living her life under some sort of blood oath, all sworn secrecy, and poorly executed winks in the second period.

Like this was hidden. A tiny detail tucked away. Never debated. Never highlighted in the opening paragraphs of a twenty-six-page dissertation. With Chicago-style formatting. 

No one ever knew how to property do Chicago-style formatting. 

Belle might have hated Chicago-style formatting. 

She’d never been to Chicago.

Had never been—

Will’s eyes were barely slits on his face. 

Twisted lips loomed above her, not quite frustration, but inching closer the longer she kept laughing, and she refused to linger on what that meant. The laughing. The happiness. Joy, maybe. She looked up, instead. Let her head bump the wall her shoulders already had, appreciating the soft scrape of what might have been concrete against her hair, like that would ground her or slow her overactive imagination, and his hair was still wet. 

“She wasn’t supposed to tell you that.” Belle bit the side of her tongue. Didn’t help, really. With her laughter problem. “Keeping state secrets?” “It happened once.” “Yes, she mentioned that, too.” He might have growled. Some strange part of her wanted him to, relished whatever the technical term was for the sound that eked out between his bared teeth, rolling his whole head in the process. Their noses nearly collided. 

Belle pushed up on her toes. 

To kiss the tip of Will’s nose. 

“That’s distracting,” he grumbled, but his hand had inched under the hem of her shirt, and that meant he’d managed to get the hem of her shirt out of the skirt she was wearing. 

“Should I have worn your jersey or something?”

His eyes snapped. Open. Brown and gold, and that wasn’t a particularly swoon-like combination in any of the stories Belle had memorized while she was growing up. Heroes with royal titles and broadswords quite literally made to challenge dragons and hordes of villains always came with blonde hair and a slight curl, flashing blue eyes that twinkled in sunlight and starlight, and Belle’s hand didn’t shake. When she brushed the few drops of water clinging to Will’s temple away. 

Her calves were starting to ache, too. Made sense. She was still pushed up on her toes. 

And the Rangers had lost. Not—well, not badly. By two goals, and one of those was an empty-net goal, which was a term Belle figured out all on her own. Well before Anna mumbled explanations under her breath, glaring daggers any time the Islanders fan two rows in front of them dared to open his mouth. 

Honestly, that was part of the problem. He kept yelling, and Anna looked dangerously close to staging some sort of public execution in section 204 and Belle had asked. For details. Wanted a good story, or possibly a distraction because she’d noticed the way Will’s hands moved at the end of the second period, staging a rather enthusiastic conversation with a man she’d never met, but his jersey said LOCKSLEY, and she didn’t think the jersey would lie to her. 

She was going to blame the Islanders fan. 

“If you did that,” Will mumbled, in response to a question she’d legitimately almost forgotten about, “I’m not sure I would have been able to get out on the ice.” “Oh, compliment or—” “Definite compliment. Was that not obvious?” “Well, you’re making out with so many other girls.”

Her laugh clung to the letters, pulling her lips behind her teeth to keep from smiling like a total idiot. Something was happening. With the flutters and the overall ability of her nasal passages to get oxygen back to her lungs, and it must have been a trick of the light. The way Will’s eyes flashed, gaze flicking up beneath eyelashes and just above the half curve of his mouth, and Belle’s knees felt a little unsteady beneath her. Fighting against the force of a wholly imaginary, even more staggering wave. 

“One time,” he said, straining on every letter, “it happened one time, and—seriously, why was she talking about this with you?” “Asked for a fun and interesting story about her.” Will’s eyes bugged, another shift in his voice that was much more like a crack as he nearly shouted, “And that’s what she came up with?”

“Said anything she had to tell me about her childhood was boring. Mostly because a lot of it would focus on KJ, because—”

“That’s Cap.” Belle clicked her tongue. “Wow, thank you for that. What would I do without you?” “If you wore my jersey, I think my head would explode.” “Not the compliment you think it is, either. That’d be a lot of blood. Who would even clean that up? Couldn’t make someone here do it; that’d be mean. Cruel and unusual, probably.” “I like your skirt.” “Better,” Belle laughed, in spite of her best efforts. Which were really lackluster, quite frankly. “Anyway, the childhood was apparently super boring, and there were shenanigans of rookie season to discuss.”

“She grew up in a mansion!” “Yeah, we got to that part eventually, although technically, I think it was just a brownstone.” “Rich kid description.” “You can tell her that if you want, I’m sure,” Belle reasoned, but his lips were back to twisted, and she was already on her toes. Made sense to use that to her advantage. Pressing kisses against the edges of his mouth, alternating back and forth until it felt a little like a rhythm she could time the rest of her vaguely unsteady breathing to, and she certainly did try. Didn’t work, but something about effort and attempts and those were—

Details, really. 

“I like her,” Belle added lightly, mouth moving across a stubble-covered cheek. Part of her felt ridiculous. Always did with things like this. She wasn’t the story. Will wasn’t the hero. He and his teammate had gotten into a fight at the end of the second period, for God’s sake. And this wasn’t—well, it wasn’t a fairy tale. No matter how much sweeping there might have been. With its butterfly wings and salt-filled waves, all of which existed solely in Belle’s subconscious. 

But there was this other part. 

Part of her that didn’t always linger behind her desk. Flitted through imaginary scenarios and stories stored in the back corner of her brain, the same one that could still smell salt air with startling clarity, and remembered the precise taste of freshly-made taffy from that one restaurant on the beach. Details. She remembered those details. Held them fast, afraid they’d disappear otherwise, and made sure they played prominent roles in every daydream. 

For fear of what would happen if she didn’t. 

How they’d fade. Grow grey and thin, and it was a contradiction. Right in the middle of her. And that scared her just a little bit, because whatever was happening now, right at that moment, with a hand flat on the curve of her hip and her heart doing its abject best to beat its way out of her chest, she felt the same exact way. Sweeping and detailed and not the least bit jealous. 

There was no need to be, really. Not when she was fairly certain she could drown in the golden flecks of Will’s eyes. Constantly staring at her as they were apt to do. 

“Do you want to hear the gist of the story?”

Will’s lips pursed. Stayed that way even as Belle’s lips continued their path across his face, spending at least two seconds at the side of his left eye and the still slightly damp area surrounding his right temple. She started picking up speed. Quick kisses that she could only hope felt as strongly as the prickle of her lips suggested. But then Will’s fingers tightened. Not much. Just enough to be obvious, and Belle grinned against his cheek. 

“I lived it,” Will argued, but there wasn’t much fight in it. He’d done that already, anyway. They’d get to that part, eventually. 

“As the story goes, though, there was some less than savory libations involved, and—” “I’m still not convinced that vodka was legal in the continental United States.” “Suggests it’d be fair game in Hawaii and Alaska, though. Possibly Puerto Rico. I’m not sure what the rules on that are. Maybe the US Virgin Islands. What about Guam? You think your alcohol would be fair game in Guam?” “I’d have to check the label.” “You still have it?” Belle balked, almost fully and entirely prepared for the flash of amusement and the precise angle of eyebrow jump. Almost being the key word, there. Another burst of laughter tumbled out of her, lips on her cheeks that time, all blazing and prickling, and that one wasn’t inherently positive, but she was slightly worried her hair was going to get caught in the concrete of the wall and she could not possibly be expected to think when Will’s hand kept doing whatever it was it was doing. 

“No, no, we did a very good job of drinking that entire thing, but I’d know that bottle anywhere.” “Where were you buying illegal alcohol? Also, how did you not die drinking hundred-proof vodka?” “Pure force of will.”

“And bad hockey games.” “Those too,” Will admitted grudgingly. An edge crept into his voice. Likely born in the second period of this game. She kissed the bridge of his nose. The tip. Between his eyebrows. Waiting for some of the tension to leave his shoulder blades, and that was all she got. Some. It was enough, for now. 

“You want to talk about that?” “Losing a playoff game my rookie season? That happened a bunch of times, babe, this was just—” “Don’t be an idiot,” Belle interrupted. 

He grinned. Tension kept pulling taut between his shoulders and the slope of his cheekbones, the second of which was really starting to offend Belle on an almost fundamental level, but his smile looked legitimate, and that was enough. 

“Should I go defend your honor in the locker room, darling?” The grin widened. “Trying to get a rise out of me, but gender is a social construct, so I don’t think it affects nicknames, and I’m a real big fan of that one, actually.” “No rise,” Belle promised, fingers hovering above his shoulders, and they both flinched when he winced. “Going to be honest, the hitting sort of freaked me out.” “Locksley wasn’t going to hit me.” “Well, yeah, then I’d have to punch him in the locker room.” “Keep your thumb inside your fist,” Will suggested, “that way you won’t break it.” “Right, right, naturally,” Belle mumbled, and she didn’t know how they managed it. Stayed upright while his hand shifted further up the back of her shirt and her teeth grazed the curve of his jaw. She was on something of a mission, now. To cover every inch of his face. With her lips. “Anyway, as Anna told this wholly fascinating story, there was a lot of vodka involved, a very bad loss, some card game—” “—Kings.” “That’s a drinking game.” “Well, now you’re getting into unnecessary specifics.” Her body shook. Against Will’s. Who almost immediately groaned. Presumably at the location and exact angle of her hips. “Ok, so there were cards involved in your drinking game. Pizza was eaten, alcohol was downed in alarmingly large gulps.” “Editorializing a bit, mon bonheur.”

“What’s that one?” “Happiness.” “Oh, that one’s nice.” Will huffed. “They’re all super nice; I have a very large crush on you; I don’t want to talk about making out with Anna Vanklad anymore.”

He said it quickly, rushing over the words. Some might even say sweepingly. Where Belle was the some. In that instance, specifically. Someone, more like. She didn’t care. Was not spending even a second on proper sentence structure or appropriate internal grammar, was far too preoccupied with the circumference of Will’s eyes. And that one muscle in his jaw. Jumping with startling regularity, really. Totally different from her heart and her pulse and it was difficult to catch her breath. 

Felt a bit like she’d played a hockey game. 

A walking contradiction. 

Where she also wasn’t walking anywhere. At all. Had absolutely no intention of walking away. From this.

“Was it not a good make-out?” “I honestly don’t remember a lot of it,” Will sighed, another roll of his neck. Something cracked. “That’s not game-related,” he added, and she could only imagine it had to do with the look on her face, “anyway, it was just...there was that vodka involved, and Vankald spent a ton of time at our apartment. She wasn’t Cap’s sister-in-law yet, but they’d grown up together, was my friend, and he’d fallen asleep, so…” “Figured you just make out?” “Not a lot of thought involved in it. She was a fixture, y’know? Shit, that sounds shitty. Does that sound super shitty?

“Drifting toward shitty, yeah.”

“Anna came to visit a lot because no matter what she may claim, she worries about Cap as much as anyone. Even El and Leader, and that’s—” “Wait, you have an Alien Leader you all report to?” “You’re ruining this story.” Her laugh got caught. Directly between them, all mouths and that goddamn hand, Belle’s neck tilting back on what might have been instinct and need, and she’d gasped more in the last four hours than she had in her entire life. “Tell me more about your Alien Leader, please.” “He only acts like an alien.” “Huh, that cleared up absolutely nothing.” “You should keep kissing me.” “Compare and contrast, huh?” Will groaned. Again. Part two. Let his mouth drag down the side of her throat, and Belle couldn’t stop laughing. Happiness poured out of her, new and a little strange in its quantity. As if she was made of the stuff, even worried as she was through all three periods. She’d kept wringing her fingers together. At one point, Anna had to hold her hand. 

“Ruining,” another kiss, “this,” teeth on her collar bone, “baby girl.”

Suggesting that she lit up in a way that reminded her of a Christmas tree was—

Farcical, maybe. 

Nothing inhuman happened. There were no bells. No whistles. No flashing neon lights suggesting this was the moment and a conversation regarding the man with his hand currently inching towards her right boob drunkenly making out with someone who wasn’t Belle should not have been so—

Fun. 

God, it was fun. She was having fun. With him and because of him. Hockey nonsense aside. 

Because, since coming to New York with her invisible tail tucked between her legs and the near-desperate desire to get away from that seaside town with its ghosts and its demands and its plan for a future that simply did not fit her anymore, Belle had tried. Really. To shed that persona. To be someone new. Hard as she tried, though, there were ties. Those lingering memories. Ones that dug in their heels, while she gripped others with both hands. She was, and she wasn’t. Small town and big town, a librarian who couldn’t care less about details while focusing on  specifics with everything in her. 

And none of it ever really made much sense. 

Hurt her head to think about, everything she tried to contain and the worry that ate away at her sometimes. That she’d messed up, ruined all of it and—

She didn’t kiss Will’s mouth. 

Peppered his face, instead. With her lips and the feelings behind them, mapping the space until she was certain she knew it as well as her own, and she wanted to. Wanted to learn everything about this guy who felt as jagged as she did, made up of right and wrong and mistakes and possibility and she knew it was only a matter of time before he got impatient. 

She liked that about him. 

That he didn’t always wait for her to catch up. Just knew that she would. 

Plus, his tongue in her mouth was really something Belle was starting to appreciate. In an obsessive sort of way. 

She might have groaned that time. 

Fingers scrambled against the front of his shirt — team-branded, again, and that shouldn’t have been charming, but it was and likely would continue to be, and there were goosebumps on her skin. They were really very good at kissing. Each other, specifically. 

“I like you, too,” Belle said, and it was a strange thing not to be embarrassed by the breathless nature of her voice. 

Will’s chest was practically heaving, though. So that put them on even ground. Common ground, at least. 

“You’re not mad?” “Give me some credit, sweetheart.” He chuckled, warm air against the top of her shoulder. “Was a very long time ago, for whatever that might be worth.” “Twelve galleons.” “I don’t know the conversion rate of that.” “No one does, so I think we’re all in the same boat.” “You don’t think Jo knows the conversion rate of her own fictional monetary system?” Belle shook her head. “I absolutely do not, because she was a shit world-builder and also a fairly terrible person now, so—” She shrugged. Will beamed. Some joke about a Christmas tree.

“So,” he echoed, “the thought of making out with Little Vankald has never once again crossed my mind.”

Someone scoffed. With entirely false indignation.

Using Will’s shoulder as leverage — the non-bruised one, naturally — Belle got enough height beneath her toes to see Anna cross her arms. And scowl at the pair of them. Badly. The scowl lasted all of five seconds before it evolved into its own rather uproarious laughter, another echo that filled the empty space of a concourse Belle could not imagine they were supposed to be standing on. Only a matter of time until someone else found them. 

She wasn’t sure that was a bad thing, actually. 

“That’s super rude, Scarlet,” Anna hissed, muffled footsteps that only lost their volume because of the overall status of Belle’s heart. Still trying to fly out of her. “But I want it noted, for the record and all that, that I don’t want to make out with you ever again, either.”

“Do you remember it being way wetter than it should have been?” “You problem, absolutely.” “I haven’t had that issue,” Belle argued, mostly to guarantee the quirk of Will’s lips. Worked like a charm. Or something less lame sounding. In her head. Most of this commentary was in her head. 

“Lucky you,” Anna drawled. 

“C’mon,” Will whined, “no one told you to start with this story.” “Start with, huh?” His eyes. Were becoming a serious problem and a growing majority in the basis for most of Belle’s heart-related issues, but she forced herself to meet his gaze and tilt her chin up and she didn’t think she imagined the way his tongue pushed against the inside of his cheek. In an appraising sort of way. 

“I really would have told you. Eventually” “I know.” “I’m serious.” “I know,” Belle repeated, “and I’m really not threatened by someone who you still regularly refer to as Little Vankald.” Anna flipped him off. Or them, maybe. As a collective unit. Belle wanted them to be a collective unit. “I could order a jersey online, right?” “Nah, I know people, don’t waste your money.” “Could probably get Kris to help,” Anna added, “as the physical form of my apology.” Belle waved her off. “It was a good story. Highs, lows, drama, does your—do we call him your brother-in-law? He’s not the Alien Leader, right?” “You mean Liam?” Will’s laugh was more like a barely-contained snort of humor and shoulders that were tight for a reason that did not involve pessimistic emotions. Belle’s lips twitched. “Just knew that off the top of your head, did you?” she asked. 

“If you knew Liam, you’d understand. Was Scarlet suggesting we’re all aliens?” “Nah, just him.” “I did no such thing,” Will objected, another glance in Anna’s direction, “Cap looking for us?” She nodded. “Locksley too. Should I be worried Mom and Dad are getting a divorce?” “You’re the most dramatic person alive.” “Lots of hand moving between the two of you, your girlfriend was worried.”

It was Belle’s turn to tense. With what, she wasn’t entirely sure. Some sort of emotion, she assumed. Adrenaline, maybe. Hope, possibly. And it wasn’t like she was waiting for labels, but she’d come to pretty good terms with her ability to counter herself in the midst of her own silent monologue, and Will was staring again. Straight through her, it seemed. 

Or maybe directly into her. 

That was sentimental, though. 

“Does Killian know that you two made out once?” Anna hissed. “If you tell KJ about this, I will actually have to strangle you, no matter how much I like you and how much Scarlet wants to date you.” “Aren’t we dating already?” Anna opened her mouth, what Belle knew would be more sarcasm and the teasing nature of her and Will’s relationship, but she had more pressing issues, and he answered, anyway. “Yeah, we totally are, plus I like you way more than I hate Ariel’s inevitable victory lap, so I mean, that’s—” Cutting him off was rude. Not nice. Inevitable. 

Based solely on the size of his eyes and their gold-like nature. 

“I, uh—” Belle started, “I know we’re not supposed to accept the set-up, and Ariel’s going to be so annoying, but maybe we could…” She shrugged. Tried to stay focused. And upright. Continued standing seemed important in a moment like this. “We’re both kinda messed up, don’t you think?” “Little,” Will murmured. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, and I know that we’re...I mean, this is good, and I’m mostly good with it, but also, I was super nervous during the game, and what were you guys fighting about?” “Fighting is a strong word. More like discussing how Locksley should learn to keep his stick on the ice so he can get that tip from my slap.” “Weird turn of phrase.” “Slap shot.” “No time for full terminology, huh?” “How goes the understanding icing battle?” She was going to sprain her cheeks. Maybe Ariel could help with that. After gloating. Ariel was absolutely going to gloat. “Getting there,” Belle promised, and it was not about hockey, “don’t you think?” “Mmhm.” “So, uh—I don’t know what you do after games, but…” “Little Vankald is totally here to drag us uptown because Cap regularly challenges her in the dramatics, and I bet he’s hungry.” “You eat after games?” “Ariel’s husband owns that restaurant.” “Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s how I met her actually. Good onion rings. Weird we didn’t ever see each other there at the same time, though.” Will hummed. Stuck out his lower lip. Challenged her without saying anything, and Anna was still standing there, and security had to be aware of them, but Belle was in the middle of something, and it was good and great and made absolutely no sense because she was not a pro sports girlfriend, but the labels really weren’t important, and it was all—

She gasped. For, like, the four-thousandth time that night. 

Saved the best for last, though. 

Will’s mouth found hers in a crashing sort of way that altered the cosmos, or at least Belle’s perception of the world around her. Particularly when her hands were suddenly more like barnacles, gripping his shirt as if she was afraid he’d disappear otherwise. Knuckles cracked and breath caught, everything spinning and staying frustratingly still, and one of her heels popped out of her shoe. Pressing back up on her toes didn’t do her calves any favors, but she wasn’t bruised and they were both a disaster, and the tongue thing really was pretty fantastic. 

Tracing the inside of her mouth and the seam of her lips, Will’s rumble of pleasure echoed between her ribs, enough to spur Belle’s arm up as she slung it around his neck. Her fingers found skin and short hair, nails scratching so she could hear that sound again. 

She closed her eyes. 

Let the details seep in, and settle into her soul. 

Until Anna coughed, and there was a security guard standing next to her, and Will’s head dropped to Belle’s collar bone again. He kissed there, too. Before spinning on his sandals, all confidence, and bravado, a reasonable excuse that someone, somewhere, would probably believe. Not this security guard, but that probably wasn’t important, and Belle had helped Will make an Instagram account. 

So, something about a cat and a bag and—

His fingers laced through hers. 

“Wanna challenge Locksley to a fight for my honor?” She scrunched her nose. Pretended to grimace when his lips pressed against her cheek. Anna gagged. “Yeah,” Belle said, “that’s exactly what I want to do.”

[commander-orca]

Wait for me  —  children of the whales fanfiction

Tags: Rochalizo x Suoh, Suoh x Rochalizo, Parrot Soul, Princeshipping, fluff, a teaspoon of angst, jealousy, repressed desires, forbidden relationship, healthy dynamics, look at them they love each other so much, mention of friends to lovers, lovers to established

Walking away from the plight of the heavy sun to go through the dark, pleasantly quiet corridor felt, as Suoh went down the plainly carved stone stairs, much like a tranquil descent to a new, underground world. A world which for a few moments did not belong to the Mud Whale and made who he was slip his mind, freed of roles and of everything. Almost an indistinguishable relief alongside the long passageway of adjacent dwellings, the door to their little house had been left ajar. Only this door invoked in him feelings of calmness; which was new, as it had not always been the case with his coming home late at night, his muscles sore, head still full of the daily tasks and no joyous inconvenience to come and stop those thoughts from running. He was glad that had come to change. No, he thought to himself, eyes catching the loveliest sight of the day, he felt beyond grateful. Peeking through the small gap, he could see the small silhouette of a boy who sat on the one-sized bed, his back turned. He lay there quietly, slightly bent forwar and so focused, Suoh imagined fondly he was reading.

His hair hung forward loose, nonchalantly and his tight black long-sleeved shirt had lifted up to his backbone, baring his lumbars. This was also hard to spot but he could make out, in the dim bistre light of the bedroom which reflected the muffled clarity escaping the window through the thin brown curtains, the streak of sand which stuck to the upper half of his high baggy pants. Suoh kept watching for a little while more, almost upset that he would have to disturb this scene of utter domestical delight. He wanted to stay forever and watch him just be, breathing unawarely and enjoying his peace, his defensive walls low and no one to impress nor to fight against. He couldn’t figure exactly what it was about this monotonous sight which was so touching and made his heart throb a little in his chest, but it was at times like these where he acknowledged his luck the most and contemplated how the past hardships and terrors had in the end been worth paying the price. Trailing eyes a last time on Rochalizo’s precious back, he announced himself by pushing the door open and uttering a single:

“Hello!”

Before he even talked, Rochalizo turned around swiftly, mildly panicked. It seemed Suoh had assumed wrong as a pen dropped from his hand and he rushed to cover a piece of paper.

“You- You’re back already!”, he blurted out in embarrassement, cheeks red.

Suoh, who had already moved to the entrance’s cupboard and was hanging his apron on a hanger, stopped in track, returning a curious look.

“Were you busy...? Do you want me to come back later?”

“No no, I wasn’t, I wasn’t”, protested the other, a bit awkwardly as he shoved the piece of paper and pen in his large pants’ pockets.

Rochalizo looped around on the bed until he was facing him. Suoh noticed he had little ink spots on his face, just under the two loveable moles.

“Are you dumb?”, said the other, still a bit bewildered, “This is your house, I can’t throw you out. Nonsense, Suoh!”

The young chief chuckled, removing his coat on hanging it on another hanger. The door craked as he closed it and creaked again as he locked it, so that it wouldn’t reopen on itself.

“I know! I just think it’s nice to enjoy some intimacy alone. From time to time, even our own spaces don’t feel like the ideal place and there are too few in my opinion to only allow people to be themselves in those same spaces”.

Rochalizo didn’t reply immediately, reflecting on the words. Then, he sighed, shrugging as he lay back on the bed headboard. Cracking a match, he lit up a few candles.

“You don’t have to give a deep meaning to everything, y’know. Anyway, how was it? We didn’t meet at all today”.

Smiling all the while, Suoh arranged the flower pots he had brought back from the infirmary, kneeled to pick up the water can stocked in the corner of the room and proceeded to water the plants. The heat had been barely tolerable for humans, as it had been for them; the plants drank the entirety of the container until their thirst reached satietion. He was finding it hard to reply; the words were snarling in his mind and his limp mouth hardly followed.

“I am exhausted”, Suoh admitted, gratting his fingers on the desk, his back facing Rochalizo. 

He felt often uneasy avowing to his tiredness. His efforts didn’t have much of an impact and he systematically came back with the feeling he could have done more.

“What about you? I thought you were helping with the festivities tonight?”

“Yes, I was supposed to, however...”

His face took on another few shades of red and he struggled a moment to find his words, in vain, which led him to renounce.

“Although you say you are exhausted, you’re still up on your feet”, bluntly remarked Rochalizo, but he added then, in a softer tone, patting the empty space on the bed besides him, “Come here. Let me take care of you”.

The moment these words were uttered, the young chief felt a wave of relief and relaxation travel through his body. He turned around and smiled. He didn’t need much to wind down and ease his hurting body and mind. And despite his personal motto which consisted of enjoying the present moment as much as possible, he had found himself awaiting for this moment all day. Carefully settling on the bed, Suoh watched as he started putting weight on the mattress and caused Rochalizo to slip a little closer to him. Comfortably sat, he peered at the short distance between them. 

The thought of placing his head on his shoulder crossed his mind, and as they had often done so these days, it wasn’t much of a bold thing anymore. The candlelights flickered, illuminating the nearest objects in a halo and left all other places in the almost darkness. Being still in the dark made Suoh feel like he wanted to be closer and so, he was about to act on his wish, but Rochalizo was faster. He suddenly felt this warm and most welcomed load on his shoulder. It wasn’t him uniquely pressing his cheek, it was him falling back with his cheek and jawline and upper neck and with such good faith, trusting Suoh enough to bear the heaviness. 

Suoh’s heart jumped happily and kept pounding fast nonetheless a long while afterwards. In this position, he earned a closeup of the Prince’s thick blond and ginger eyelashes which tremulated faintly as he breathed. Suoh’s head fell on top of Rochalizo’s, his nose buried in the thin mass of hair. His scalp felt warm and soft and seemed like an inevitable invitation to sound sleep. Grasping gently Rochalizo’s opposite hand in his, he brought it about a few inches down his own opposite shoulder, making the Prince turn from the side until the top of his chest was touching half of his. Rochalizo warpped his arms around him tightly and emitted a small sound. In this atmosphere, the troubles of the day melted away. It was only them, entangled into each other’s embrace and breathing the soft scent of their hairs.

These displays of affection were in no way inherently romantic, as they were merely relying on each other to regain the lost energy throughtout the day. But somehow, Suoh wished that they were and were that only. Romantic. Rochalizo’s friendship was eternally precious to him and in no way he desired risking altering it in any fashion. He would not bear to lose it for the sake of love and attraction. But that was straying far from the point, for there was little need to worry about this; that love was reciprocated.

He had known from the day they were, just them two, studying maps in the deserted meeting room, which ambiance that night, felt close to the one they were in right now; candles on desks, tables and on the floor surrounding them, an almost complete obscurity. But what made tonight different was the special guest which had added on this special night: wine. A full jar of wine disposed between the two as they faced each other. Suoh’s first time drinking it. The first sips had tasted bitter and too rich, but despite being in good company, the matters at hand could get tiresome as well as convoluted and so, he had drank more each passing minute, accompanying the Prince in the premices of drunken eloquence and joy. Spread out on the pavement, the space between them had grown thinr and thiner, until even the wine jar had been tossed aside and they were chatting about everything but maps, in drunken silliness.

Those were the days Suoh remembered thinking highly of the Prince, admitting easily that he was a really pretty person and whose odd temper quick to anger, his straightforward words and kindness he hid behind pretend-mercy were traits he actually appreciated or found amusing. And amusing Rochalizo was too, which had led them to get closer, regardless of their numerous interactions due to both their political positions. Because they simply liked being around each other and because Suoh lacked opportunities to laugh and that meant he had felt good in his presence.

And so, from then, everything had speeded up. The wine, the jokes and how they leaned in into each other to laugh, the playful teasings, the brave compliments which made you feel warm in your body and that physical promiscuity which had you gazing at their lips or noticing eyes looking a little too low on your face, everything had guided to the foreseeable unfolding of them kissing. The important percentage of alcohol they were under had prevented things from going any further and had certainly collapsed at some point since it was how they had woken up. 

But Suoh had had to tell the cruel truth; he couldn’t be Rochalizo’s lover. The law which conducted the leader of the Mud Whale’s personal life were strict. The dire incidents which had occured in the distant past had been caused by a few determined factors: a lack of monitoring of the chief’s powers and left unchecked, their strong temper and arrogance, bonds too close with their family and finally, the disturbance of a lover who had come between the leader and its responsabilities.

The kiss they had shared had not meant nothing and Suoh had been made well aware of that as he had looked into Rochalizo’s eyes, accidentally - according to the Prince - filled with tears. The view had brought Suoh close to crying too. This, as he had realised had been the first time he had wished something deeply for himself and the more he had looked, the more he had felt his previous convictions on the verge of crumbling down. He had never really questioned the laws, thinking the perennity of their people came first. Each reconsidering of the laws hurt. For a moment, he had forgotten who he was and to whom his loyalty went. His desire to go against the rules had clashed so hard with his desire to protect his people his mind hurt as if both feelings fought with nails and teeth. 

Rochalizo’s pride hadn’t allowed him to be shedding tears, therefore anger had taken over. He had shouted at Suoh, bared his fists at him, insulted him. In those terrible words, he had said Suoh had been playing him and ultimately had fulfilled his desire to mock and ridicule him, along with the rest of that cursed ship. Suoh had seen through his anger; it was obvious, they were both in pain and striving to find a way to cope with the sadness. They had calmed down and apologised but the emptiness remained. Eventually, Suoh had told him:

“We are not a cursed boat. We are only wary of the mistakes of our kin. But since the Empire’s attacks, our rules have softened or have changed. A new era has come for the Mud Whale and when we’ll settle in new lands, I will pass the title of leader to Ohni. I don’t think I’ll be suited anymore”.

“I thought you weren’t serious”, had replied Rochalizo, afraid to hope.

Suoh hadn’t answered that question but the look in his eyes was so solemn, the Prince understood it was futile to mistrust those words. He had shaken and Suoh had reached out to take both his hands in his.

“Wait for me”, he had said.

And that had been the last of their talk.

Had they not been on the brink of finding a new home, lands which would reshape the whole system they had adhered to until now, the young leader would have yielded to despair. However, they were moving at a fast space, navigating towards unhabited islands. This was why he was wiling to wait. This was how he was able to wake up in the morning and hope and greet Rochalizo naturally. Of course, he got excited, imagining the life of his people in the new lands and prayed that for their sake, they would all arrive very soon. But he had never had a personal hope to look forward to and the perspective was exhilarating. 

Frank with himself, because at some point of another you needed to be, Suoh felt at times like he wasn’t in position to complain about his situation. His people loved him and he loved them and asking for more could be seen as borderline selfish and greedy, at least, how he saw it. Also, Rochalizo and him and known each other for several months, a period of time which was little compared to the separation or impossibilties for certain lovers to be together.

It was surely only puppy love, and teenagers’ hearts changed so fast and yearned for many others in a short timeframe. And yet to dismiss it so rationaly and harshly would have bee wrong; Suoh couldn’t help advocating in favour of this idea. The idea that, in spite of this love being “puppy love”, as some liked to call it, it couldn’t be reduced to to this only. It could never encompass the variety of feelings and affections he felt. And even so, if it really was just that, - because who knows, there too few chances of this being last and true love (considering the right and true kind of love could be found in only one person) - couldn’t he also get the chance to experience love, as silly and as immature as it could turn out to be?

He deemed this as a just judgement. However if the day they landed never came, there was no knowing as to how he would act... He preferred to avoid that thought for the time being. 

And as for now... They were still waiting.

Rochalizo’s faint voice crept up to his ear, warm and meek.

“Your skin smells good...”

Suoh’s grin lightened up his entire face and he positioned more comfortably against the pillows, laying down a little more backwards, bringing the Prince along.

“You too... You smell like clementines and honey”.

He could feel him smile against his skin which made Suoh even happier. Silence fell back on the room again and they stayed in each other’s arms, eyes closed, content. After some time, his neck a bit sore from the position, Suoh lowered his head away from the Prince and crashed on the pillow. Rochalizo shifted and replaced his head on Suoh’s chest as Suoh’s arms wrapped gently but narrowly around his middle. A few minutes later, they shifted again, Rochalizo climbing up the other’s body and as he moved, Suoh stared at him longingly.

To be this beautiful... That couldn’t possibly be a human sight.

Next thing, he was leaning in and peppering a few kisses on his cheeks. Rochalizo jumped a bit, but did not retreat; his cheeks aflamed, lowered down his face, allowing a wider access. The Prince bit his lips, probably thinking that if “this” felt pleasurable, so much more could feel heavenly. Could... A snarky smile carved his lips.

“Say Suoh, kissing like this, that’s a weird way to be friends, don’t you think?”

That comment earned a giggle from the young chief. His fingers brushed against a strand of a ginger strand of hair behind his ear.

“That would be okay, since I already do those things with a lot of other friends”, he said, half teasing, half stating, leaving his remark open for interpretation.

“Take that back!”, vociferated Rochalizo, obviously taking this as teasing and he rushed to give him kicks in the stomach with his knee. 

Wailing in pain, Suoh raised his own as well as his hands in an attempt to protect his assailed stomach.

“Ouch... Ah... Please stop, I take it back... I take it back!”

Rochalizo grined and, making sure he hadn’t really hurt Suoh - he was right to check in, he could be pretty sensitive - he lay down again to give him a hug. Suoh’s hand found his way to his hair and began stroking it slowly. Curling the hair through his fingers, he was reminded of the times he thought his hair was naturally this curly. Arosing again, Rochalizo’s voice sounded suddenly a lot more troubled.

“I know you already do all this with the others but... There’s a difference... Isn’t it? We do those things with another kind of intent... Don’t we?”

“Undeniably”, assured Suoh, holding him a bit more tighter.

He knew that was a topic that had often been brought on the table, for they had different perspectives on what it meant to be friends and where to draw the line between those and lovers. Suoh’s upfront affections resulted in his borders being looser than Rochalizo’s whereas the latter preferably saved most of his gentle touches for lovers, enforcing a clear division. This rarely manifested in fights, but rather in the form of jealousy. Not much could be done to counteract it, except giving reassurance and affection.

“It IS different. I am crazy about you. And tired of waiting too for the simple joy of kissing you in public”, he confessed.

The covers were clenched around them as Rochalizo hid his face under them, overwhelmed by embarrassement. A muffled sound emerged which sounded much like “how can you say things like that that easily”. Suoh smiled, but he rapidly added, more gravely.

“I’m sorry, it would’ve been best for you if I had been born in Amonlogia”.

Emerging from the sheets, the scarlet red face of the Prince, crushed between his cerulean fingers looked as though he was about to go a little bonkers. The long soft groan he was uttering was enough proof. Moving his head up to the ceiling as his fingers squashed their way down his face, he sighed, trying to regain his composure, stil trying to recover from the tenderness of this small speech.

“L-Look, I think you should be just a tiny bit ashamed of what you gab about sometimes, alright? In- In any case, I... What are you saying? I wouldn’t want you to be from Amonlogia! At all!”

Kneeling next to Suoh’s head and forcing their eye contact, he grasped the tip of the other’s chin and locked eyes with him. The threat in his gaze was subtle, it blended together with strong feelings of love, fear and sadness. Suoh’s breath hitched.

“It is because you are not from this damned place that I like you”

They had uttered those words before, but never as passionately as the context in this moment implied they were. Suoh’s gaze filled with immediate steadfast affection. Rochalizo’s voice trembled.

“Who knows who you could have turned out to be, in this country of mine? Your morals, your kindness, I... Everything... You must not wish to be someone else or to have been from elsewhere. This island and you... You and this island, you feed on each other’s benevolence, blossom when you can exchange acts of charity. I understand that both of you are tied to each other and that I can’t enjoy the sight of one without thanking the other. It is because you are from here, that you have lived peacefully here... That you are... Well... I think you are fine that way”.

Suoh did not know when he had began to smile but he could not stop. Rochalizo was right. The character of unfairness that was of the rules was a heavy burden to bear, but if it meant they had found each other and lived according to healthy values, it could not be so bad. However, he didn’t quite understand anymore if the point of his rhetoric was to alleviate the pain of the Mud Whale’s regulation or if he was simply praising him. He was too tired to ponder either way and not able to keep the conversation going but, went through the care of signifying how powerfully he felt the same with a look.

As the young chief was gradually dozing off, Rochalizo’s voice filled the silence once again at some point.

“You know I believe in what I just said, but on the other hand... Isn’t it hilarious how I’m the biggest danger to your people now?”

The mention of danger combined with the topic of his people was enough to get Suoh to focus a little more.

“I’m a bit proud of that, if I must say”, carried on Rochalizo’s voice, helding palavers arrogantly, “I’m immensely powerful. Just us walking as lovers could apparently turn you mad and, done in a snap, you’d mess up the whole political system and forget your people even exist! Just because of me!”

The other shook his head, a small laugh coming out of his sigh. Such senselessness and a joke a bit too dark for his taste. But nonetheless, he didn’t reproached it to the other. And how it had been described was a bit entertaining.

“I know... That rule isn’t right, it’s only bound to make leaders transgress it... But...”, he added, “I’m glad you’re my little chaos enabler!”

Rochalizo’s expression turned even more presumptuous.

“Chaos enabler will suffice”.

“But you still are a bit small”.

The Prince growled, offended. His hands slipped to Suoh’s belly in order to tickle him to death.

“Not as small as your monkey-brain!”, he exclaimed, as an evilly satisfied smile stretched his lips, hearing Suoh begging for him to stop between bits of laughter.

Getting his steady breathing back, the young chief hid his face an instant behind the back of his hand, relaxing a moment, burrowed into the thick pillow up to his ears. Through the fabric, he heard Rochalizo’s voice keep the conversation. 

“Don’t you think it’s strange though, this sort of abstinence they make you and made the previous mayors go through?”

While Suoh loved Rochalizo’s talks and thought he often made very good points, he still hoped to get some rest somehow. Perhaps a few more chats and he would ask for him to let him sleep, albeit he could not pretend not to be interested. Especially since those matters affected them as a pair. Furthermore, yes, undoubtedly most of these were jokes, however he knew the Prince find it difficult to speak plainly and instead, was far likelier to turn to backdoor policies.

“It is similar to those stories of people being restrained by forbidden love... The issue about this is that they are made total strangers to themselves by society and hate what they are supposed to love while also fearing it. And they can’t talk about it. It becomes a taboo and it kills them from the inside. They even get scared touching others, as if they’d become incontrollable”.

Suoh nodded, approving with virulence.

“I don’t like those stories. Keeping things silent doesn’t solve anything - if it doesn’t exacerbate the issue in the first place. Don’t fret, we are still going to talk about it. And we can still touch. I’m not afraid of any of us...”

Rochalizo simply smiled, although he now looked all the most embarrassed after spending just a few seconds deep in thoughts.

“B-by abstinence what I meant was... U-um, not just... Intercourse. I was including many other things! I’d just like to kiss and... Have others know”.

“Of course, but that would be okay, we are teenagers after all,”, Suoh replied, chuckling.

-Do you think they know?

-It’s hard to keep a secret here, but...

-Oh I know, you all are filthy town-gossipers...

-They possibly have light suspicions, but I don’t suppose so”, mumbled the other, as he couldn’t refrain a huge yawn.

They spent another few minutes not talking. Rochalizo now lay back on top of Suoh’s chest. Apart from the candles, whose flames had devoured a fairly good portion of the wax, there wasn’t a single other light outside. Nightime encompassed the Mud Whale, pitch black and not a single star visible through the mass of dark clouds. But most shocking was this silence, so defeaningly profound. To Rochalizo’s heart, it felt quite lonely and unconsciously omnious, accustomed as he was to the noise and the traffic flow of his urban hometown. But it was also in a sense, soothingly liberating, as this worry of avoiding intrusive eyes dissipated. In this moment, they could have been the only citizens of this island. The only people in the world.

“I don’t think I’ll ever grow used to this place”, he said, in a low voice, nostalgic for something he couldn’t understand, “We would usually hear people. Tonight, they’re all on the opposite side on the ship, busy with party preparations. Wanna go, Suoh?”

Getting no answer, the Prince shifted until his eyes fell on the sight of Suoh sleeping soundly. Feeling tenderly amused, he extended his arm to brush away the little strands of hair fallen of the beautiful face.

“Look at us! I talk inapropriately too much, and you couldn’t tell me you’d soon collapse...”

He carefully got out of bed, landing on his tiptoes. Getting close again, on the white, momentarily non-frowning forehead, he lay a soft hand. Only displays of affection which could also be those of friends for the time being, they had said and agreed to. As time moved slowly, it also grew short on his patience, but, gazing at the sight of his lovely flame, all thoughts of frustration evaporated into thin air and all he could feel was pride. Love. And the hopeful certitude that waiting was, in spite of his disastrous existence being filled with lifelong ruinous choices, the best choice he had ever made.

                                                      OoOoO

When Suoh woke up, the calm he had come home to could no longer be found. Rubbing his eyes lazily and wiping up the little drool on his lip, he approached the window and pulled the dusty curtains open. A cold breeze blowed in his face and he breathed in long and slow, charging his lungs in fresh air again. Having leaned onto both his elbows on the edge of the window, he could hear and see more of the gleeful turmoil which was bubbling in the streets. The alleys overflowed with flower ornaments and white ivy, golden sparkles and confettis had been scattered on the ground, stomped by children who ran by, laughing. If he squinted, he could make out the hot lights of a huge bonfire, he assumed, as the rest was hidden by another few houses, trailing rays of lights along some facades. Screams of joy and general excitement stirred up from that peculiar spot of the island. But, as a smile crept up to Suoh’s mouth, a loud boom made him jump and almost had him falling out the window. Grasping the ledge fearfully, his eyes followed a trail of red light rise high in the sky and explode. Upon that sight, Suoh automatically crouched under the window, securing himself behind the wall. As no immediate threat nor any screams followed, he got up on his feet again to look outside, searching for the bits of whatever had just blown up before his eyes.

“What the hell?!?!?!”, exclaimed a loud, authoritative voice below him.

A voice he only knew too well. Suoh bent forward at the window, looking for him, his heart compressed in his chest. If he had been hurt, if even the slightiest thing had happened to him he-

“What the hell, seriously! I told them to wait! The bastards!”

The young chief’s eyes finally found Rochalizo. He stood in a nearby garden discussing vehemently with Kuchiba. He did not seem hurt, nor did Kuchiba and the scenery around them did not show signs of damage. Another trail of light rose up in a sizzling sound this time, and Suoh followed it, less afraid now but nonetheless crouching a bit, only keeping his eye at the right level to witness the explosion. As it did, the trail parted in several other golden petals, looking much like a rose. The remains silently fell back on the village, fading out into the air.

“I’m gonna kill them! I’m gonna kill them!”

Suoh repositioned on the edge, looking down at him, not comprehending in the least what was going on. The Prince finally took notice of him and covered his mouth in shocked guilt.

“I’m so sorry Suoh”, he cried from afar, “Did I wake you up? Well, I guess you can’t sleep with all this racket!”

The other nodded awkwardly, waving his hand vaguely.

“What was that?!”, he shouted in response.

Rochalizo looked angry again. He swelled his cheeks, as if trying his best not to start cursing.

“That was... Well... I... I told them to wait until you woke up to light them up. But hopefully or not, you woke up just in time!”

Kuchiba shook his head in major disaprovement and folded his arms. Rochalizo smiled pretentiously at him, then redirected his attention on Suoh:

“I was coming to wake you up and bring you along, but it seems”, he winced through another smile, “I was outstripped and I no longer have to deal with the moral dilemma about letting you sleep or not.

-But what are them?

-Come down quickly! I’m meeting with you halfway from here! If we don’t hurry those idiots will run through the last of my stock!”

                                                       OoOoO

They ran through the sparkly streets, shining of the hot lights of torches on wood staffs. Rochalizo’s hair fluttered before his eyes in a fiery haze and his hand which held Suoh’s tightly, not letting go, was warm and spongy. The young chief’s breath ran short, despite them having ran just a few dozens of meters, but he didn’t want to stop running, ever. In this instant, his heart beat fast and running through the night with the one he wished most to be with made him ecstatic, the lights bordering the path as though they were casting their blessing upon their wild adventure.

“Look Suoh!”, screamed Rochalizo, as they were reaching the central place in which gathered the general crowd. 

He pointed at something Suoh missed but he then caught sight of the shimmering explosion of another of those sparkly fires, An emerald one, shaped in the form of a palm tree.

“I don’t understand, but that’s beautiful”, Suoh said, huddling against Rochalizo’s arm.

“They’re fireworks. I found them in my stuff and your people went mad with excitement. And... I wanted you to see them...”

Rochalizo gazed at him silently, his tender eyes expressing a childlike excitement as well as admirative affection, lots of it. Suoh returned the gaze. They walked together hand in hand to the central place, tacking between the people who drank festive beverages, ate, sang along with those playing local instruments, talked with spice and joy. Pointing at a spot lifted up above the crowd, Suoh guided towards the edge of an old passageway which stairs had broke. They sat there, nestling against each other, watching the festivities for a moment. To the left, a group of people danced to a contry dance song, some on their own or with friends, bouncing their heads and arms to the rythm, some of them, much closer to where they had settled, danced in pairs with lovers, exchanging when the tempo slowed down, a few hugs and kisses. Rochalizo’s eyes were fixed on them, insistant. When the other asked him what he was thinking of, he gave that answer:

“Oh... Sorry, I’ve spaced out”, he said, seeking to look more cheerful, but Suoh had grasped the envy and jealousy in his eyes and those feelings somewhat stuck to his face, even as he put in some good-will.

Suoh gave him a little nudge, not buying that excuse. He knew him too well.

“Do you want to dance?”, he inquired, offering his hand.

Uneasy, the Prince shifted a bit awkwardly. But it didn’t take long for him to make up his mind and he accepted timidly. Walking through the crowd anew, they took place for the following dance, one of Rochalizo’s hand on Suoh’s shoulder and one of Suoh’s around his waist. Starting to dance, the young chief realised his partner wouldn’t know how to follow the rythm of this one and because it was swift and vigorous, they were rapidly lost and were giggling at each other’s bad synchronisation and clumsiness, trying many times but ending up failing and shouting a few “we suck!” and “this is so hard!” at each other through the loud music. The next dance played slower than the previous ones, calmer, which in consequence had many single people leaving. Rochalizo’s hands had come to rest around Suoh’s neck up to his elbows and Suoh’s hands had slipped around his hips. They stood so close to each other it had become hard to breathe and to even pay attention to the music. And how could they?, when the other’s face reflected the lights of the bonfire and was flushed from the exercise and stamina.

However, as he looked outside of their carefree bubble, Suoh could feel his stomach form knots, being under the most unpleasant impression that all eyes were upon them, silently judging or wondering. And he noticed that Rochalizo felt it too, as his hands clutched slightly at his white tunic. Their bodies seemed suddenly heavy and not much moveable to keep up with the music, as relaxed as it was.

“Rochalizo, I...

-Yeah...

-Do you want to go get a drink instead? I’m sorry.

-No, no, of course. Don’t apologise”, the Prince shrugged, wincing awkwardly but with resignation.

But even hearing those words hurt Suoh. It was sad that they couldn’t dance and have a good time like the others did, but he feared on top of that Rochalizo’s feelings. He never wanted him to believe he was ashamed of him, he thought, as the other dragged him to the drinks stalls. They bought fizzy drinks and moved to a place more hidden from the public eye. Suoh opened his mouth to apologise again, but Rochalizo silenced him with a look.

“Don’t, it’s not necessary. Can I... Can I show you something?”

Suoh blinked a few times and nodded, smiling in wait. The Prince searched for something in his pockets, going through both of them. His face took on a scary air when he thought he had lost whatever he was looking for, but he found it, as he checked twice. His entire face blushed, even his ears - and Suoh didn’t know that was possible - as he handed him a small piece of paper. The paper he had been writing on earlier. Suoh unfolded it slowly, watching Rochalizo as he turned his head away. On the sheet, there were only few small words, but reading them, it made his heart burst with joy. A joy so strong he did not know how to exteriorise it.

Suoh’s hands gave small wrinkles to it, trembling in excitement, but took care as not to tear it. Biting his lips, he closed the piece of paper, replaying the moment he had read it for the first time again and again. Those words, “I love you”. Rochalizo hid his head in his palms, still looking away, talking fast and a lot as if trying to fill the silence which overwhelmed him with uneasiness.

“I’m so sorry, this isn’t fancy of anything and I... I could’ve done something much better. I didn’t want to leave behind something big that could expose you and... I just... I just wanted to say it now and not wait a long time again, but I couldn’t make myself say it... I...-

He was suddenly cut by the weight of someone throwing himself in his arms. Arms strongly wrapping around him and a small face, buried into his shoulder, and then, he felt something wet rolling down his shoulder. Suoh moved back, eyelashes filled with tears and his cheeks wet. The glee in his eyes was so dizzying Rochalizo got almost knocked down. It was an otherwordly vision.

“I love you! I love you”, exclaimed Suoh, sniffing and pressing his hands to his beloved’s upper arms.

Suoh smiled through the tears. In this situation, he felt the need to touch him and he did, cupping his cheeks into his hands and pressing their foreheads together. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to kiss him for hours and cherish him, maybe even biting those lips. Rochalizo’s eyes were also on his mouth. 

Suoh sighed, this could not go on like this. It hurt both of them. An end must be put to this, but yet, there were still no close in landing to new lands... On a whim, Suoh, took hold of Rochalizo’s hand and dragged him back to the crowd, where people still danced and partied and sang. 

“What are you doing?”, the other said, squeezing his hand, puzzled.

“I told you to wait for me and you have...”, he began, searching for his words in the middle of a sea of people and lights, feeling strongly unrational.

“But I’m afraid”, Suoh continued, shaking his head slowly, “I’ve come to realise it is cruel of me to ask you that and by the way... I cannot wait for you any longer...”

Rochalizo’s eyes flickered, unsure of what this meant and if he should be bracing himself for a heartache too great for him to handle. Suoh’s eyes were still sad and gave away some clues, he had made a decision and he didn’t like what he had just decided on, his hair flapping around him miserably. 

“What are you trying to say...?”

His chest tightened all the more and suddenly he didn’t want an answer although he had just asked. He wanted to stay in the miserable state of doubt because nothing would hurt more if Suoh chose to leave him.

But once again, unexpectedly, Suoh crashed into his arms, scooting closer and they made eyecontact in a fuzzy mess of feelings of love mixed with excrutiating uncertainty. Suoh’s face leaned towards Rochalizo until they were a few inches apart of each other, their noses brushing and they breathed the same air. Rochalizo’s rested both his hands on the other’s cheeks. Suoh could feel them this time, more than a sole impression, he was certain everyone had stopped to watch them, because he was hearing every sound of the island slowly fade away into inaudibleness, one by one, until he could not hear anything else but the buzzing sound in his own ears. The stress was building in his chest but mightier was the adrenaline he experienced for being this close to Rochalizo and on top of that, where everyone could see them, proudly unhidden. He had had enough and he had enough. They had showed many times they cared about each other, but at the same time, had never really dared. It was high time he caught up with time and that they loved, loved each other in any way they could imagine and put to into acts. 

Rochalizo’s lips came closer tentatively, glinting in saliva and swollen, as his hands clutched at Suoh’s hair, almost desperate for affection. Suoh looked at them, probing how much he had desired to kiss him and have everyone know and how many times he had resisted. No more of that. Closing the gap between them, he met with Rochalizo’s mouth and kissed his lips passionately, pouring all his love into the ways he moved against him. And almost simultaneously, the other kissed back with an unmatched urgence and fever. Their mouths were sealed for a long time and for the Gods knew how long, they could not part from each other. It was when the sound of a glass shattering to the ground reached their ears that they both came to stop, both looking in the same direction, meeting the crowd’s eyes.

From the many people which composed it, every face expressed either shock, disapprouval or happiness. They endured the silence, not moving, waiting for whatever punishment would be ordered. But then a voice rose up from the crowd, loud and clear, overjoyed.

“Hell yeah! You go, Suoh!”

Followed by one, then ten, fifty and finally, perhaps half the crowd, hundreds of cries of joy elevated, cheering for them. People clapped, shouted in support, jumped in excitement for them, threw fists in the air, looked all “I knew it”. Some just stood where they were, smiling warmly at them in silent approbation. Oh, there were others, way less supportive but it did not matter now. It was truly something to be acclaimed by hundreds of souls, almost an entire island for what you were, to be declared defensible and worthy of acceptance. Suoh found himself lost in the cries of the crowd, submerged by overall what you could call love, the love of a family who didn’t delude itself and embraced what he chose at core and made him feel alive. Turning to Rochalizo, he gave him a long loving look which the prince reciprocated, grabbing and holding his hand in his. It would be fine in the end.