#him surviving not by some stroke of luck . but because fate simply will not let him die before he can do what he was made for

[currentlyonstandbi]

reading the clone wars gambit series and thinking about the fact that the reason anakin continues to throw himself head first into danger, the reason he risks life and limb in increasingly violent confrontations during the war, is because he believes that if the prophecy is true, if he really is the chosen one, then it's his destiny to bring balance to the force, and the universe simply will not let him die before that destiny has been fulfilled

[cr-darksienna]

hello hello! i’m here to bring you an idol group’s absolutely trash of a leader, rapper and vocal, jeong jaehyuk. he’s a jack of all trades, master of none with a bit of an anger streak and anger issues that he’s been learning over the years to handle. darkly charismatic and with a open history due to a big scandal that he had few months into riot’s debut, hyuk is a performer with a 150% effort and attitude, living like he can burn out in a single day and not live to see the next sunrise tomorrow. incorrigible, possessive and with a slightly petty streak, he’s not one to pull his punches (esp with his members) with anyone that offends him, though he’s been taming himself under bc’s watchful eye until more recently. call him a cesspool of moral filth or a festering pool of toxicity, he’s as deeply insecured behind his antagonistic nature, and has worked ten times as hard for 13 years in his company to get himself to where he kinda is in right now, neither here nor there, halted in his steps by a company that feels he’s not up to it due to his loose handle on emotions and a desperate attempt to quell down on the various scandals that knight has had.

his company has played into the image of the bad boy of the group for him, especially after his first (and only) scandal, and he plans to make the most of it, especially with the reins now loosened on his end. he’s spent quite the time being a tamed tiger, and isn’t going to hesitate upon wreaking havoc once he’s been let loosened.

do hit the like button if you’d like to plot with him, and i’ll pop into your discords / dms! hyuk’s a muse that i prefer brainstorming for instead of having plots ahead of time, so feel free to go ahead and throw anything in his direction when we discuss!

profile / background 

about stuff : (tw: abandonment, anger issues, violence)

he says he doesn’t have parents, which is partially true, considering he spent almost all of his life in the foster care system, until he aged out at 18. being bounced around from foster house to foster house in the adoption system didn’t do well for his own personality and view about himself, and he came away with a really bad anger streak and violent tendencies, especially when someone tries to poke him / agitates him.

if he wasn’t an idol, hyuk would have gone on to do some petty crimes, because prior to the age of 13 (when he was casted by bc for his face), he was sliding towards the dark side of the law, running from school, getting into street fights, doing little things that never set a juvenile record, but still wasn’t all that clean either.

he was casted one day when running away from school when he was 13 (his results needless to say were trash), and was offered a contract because of his face. his company was looking for someone with similar vibes to his own, and was willing to train him as long as he remained committed to the trainee path. he took up the offer with the insistence of his then foster mother--the orphanage’s owner, who honestly couldn’t wait to get rid of him, due to all the trouble he made.

so jaehyuk became a trainee just through a scrape of luck--his rapping skills were pretty okay, and so were his vocals, and bc felt as though they could polish him more if he did became a trainee, and so he started 13 years of his trainee life. being a trainee actually directed a lot of his excess energy from his angered self into his personal commitment to master a single thing--and he eventually became known amongst trainees as one of the most competitive, even if he wasn’t the best at what he did.

he was like a blackhole, constantly desperate to learn, and when he learned something, he was equally as desperate to master it, just doing things in the way that he knew how to do--and that was to knock on it until he either punched a hole through and understood it, or the door opened on itself for him. rapping became that particular outlet that he felt he moderately achieved some success with, but it wasn’t enough.

hungry for more he turned his eyes to producing, composing, even took acting classes and variety classes, just to fill that gaping hole of inadequacy that he felt made him out to be just not enough. while he knows he’s not the best, he’s proud of his unique vision for performance, and is pretty insistent about his artistic vision, which he gradually found a talent for.

but well. its not enough. he wanted--no he needed more.

and so when riot came and he became their leader by some crappy stroke of fate, he set what he felt was the lowest boundary  for all of their members : respect each other, give your best to all that you do for riot, if not, i will sock you in the face. from the beginning, hyuk was very clear that he wouldn’t be the best leader, because he knew he had more than enough flaws in himself, and even felt that he lacked the qualifications to be one, but since his own fate relied on riot being successful, he expected everyone else in the group to at the very least, treat it with the same respect and effort he does, because one way or another they’re all in this whole thing together.

funny thing is: a few months after their debut and their first scandal (that wasn’t his), he lands himself in hot water for a violence scandal, having punched a male bystander in anger. bc was chagrined enough to put him on notice and probation for a while, and desperate to claim back a bit of a credibility, a press conference was held for him to apologise publically.

hyuk abandoned his pride (for various personal reasons as well) that day and went on his hands and knees in front of the reporters, apologising for his scandal and promising to be a better person. unfortunately, that sealed quite a lot of opportunities for him from his company.

his company felt that he needed to get a better grip on his emotions and anger issues before coming out again to the public in other areas apart from his group, and so he wasn’t able to do any variety or act , or even produce any songs (he still wrote lyrics and produced for his group occasionally, and could still produce his own songs, but those songs he produced wouldn’t be selected for a solo), and so to pacify his company hyuk literally abstained from creating another scandal from himself (though he did still cause a bit of problems in his own group), and held himself back until much recently. apart from that, his company publically disclosed much of his history and background to the public--thus rendering it open knowledge that hyuk was an orphan (abandoned by his mother), and from the foster care system, with a slight history of not going well in school etc.

his image is not particularly clean and bright, instead he’s known for the nitty gritty stuff, of which most of his fans have taken to his bad boy image, liking to imagine him to a particular trope because of his apparently rather cute face.

some plot ideas:

he’s a lone wolf by nature, and so he has little (only 2) friends around him, unless you’re mostly from bc and have trained with him for a set amount and a good period of time. these are the people that know him the best, who sees past that angry battered child inside of him to the blackhole that’s yearning for approval and desperate to make himself feel whole again. they’ve seen his self destructive tendencies, watched him careen over the edge and violently fall, do things that he knows clearly isn’t good for him and then suffer the repercussions all over again. ( note: cannot be from his group..he probably doesn’t have a good relationship with most of the riot members)

exes, flings, fwbs : god, he has so many. none of them are consistent, and none of them last between a month to two months really. he simply treats them as if there’s no option of anything further beyond just the wrestle of bodies in bedsheets, and the fierce scratch of his nails against their backs. more often than not, its not him that gets hurt, because he has the tendency to leave before anything further happens. has he fallen for any of them before? probably not. only one, really. don’t get your hopes up, he tells them with a cigarette dangling from his lips and puffs of smoke in the air. because he’s just nothing but the biggest jerk when it comes to feelings and relationships.

the bad influence: he does a lot of vices, from smoking to drinking, to just..a lot of things that most people won’t attempt to try, chasing after that fleeting moment of a thrill and desire. perhaps you’re looking for a kindred spirit who likes the thrill of danger as you do, or you’d like him to spoil you for the worse things in life, open a door to destroy and ruin you completely just like he feels that he’s done to himself.

rivals: ...yeah i don’t think i need to say more, because he’s someone that rises up to the challenge so fully and completely its almost as if he’s itching to have a fight or a challenge. perhaps he’s punched you before, or you differ in your philosophies and values, one way or another, it’s hyuk’s fault that he’s offended you, and you’re both just going to go down because of it.

connection:

the girl he’s in love with (possibly his endgame ; arnd 26 yrs old?) : an idol from a group as well, she’s one of his few closest friends, and he’s known her for around 13 years. they have a on & off friends with benefits thing, with him meeting her after she left his company for 10 years. he’s the one she always gravitates to back again, and they’re equally, broken, twisted and carnal--that’s why they’re perfect for each other, since they’re the only ones that can take and survive each other.

[numbah34]

Wolf’s Bane

That she’d gone out on a night like tonight; sheer lunacy. Practically a death wish.

For months the town had been up in arms about the wolf, setting curfews, nerves on edge. It hadn’t taken long for the more superstitious of the villagers to put it together.

Attacks only happened on the full moon.

At first it had only been livestock; a pig gone missing, puffs of sheep’s wool scattered about a field, the feathers of an errant goose floating on the breeze… The thief, so it appeared, was thorough, leaving practically no trace behind.

Until two months ago. Old Man Myzax had gotten sick of his livestock being taken. He had armed himself with his shotgun and gone hunting for the thief. The next morning, for the first time… evidence had been found.

All in all, Lance felt it had been a terrible time for his family to have moved to the village. In the year they had lived there, people had been generally cordial to them, but when the attacks had started almost a month later, well… that was just plain bad luck. Some seeds of distrust had apparently been sewn.

The town gossips seemed to have gone into overtime. Perhaps it was his family’s slight resemblance to the clan of gypsies that lived not far from the village? They weren’t at all related, but there were those that would take one look at them, see “different,” and believe whatever they wanted. Lance’s father and mother had scoffed and rolled their eyes.

Unfortunately, there would always be people like that, his father had said.

Be your best self and give them no reason to doubt you, his mother had said.

The only family in town that offered their friendship freely and proffered no judgment was the Holts. Scientifically-minded to a fault, they simply refused to believe what the gossip mongers in town threw out, and chose to get to know their new neighbors instead.

They had two children themselves, who also took an immediate liking to Lance and his brothers and sisters. While his older siblings got on with the older son, Matt, for Lance there was no one more interesting than the younger daughter, Katie. When no one else in the small schoolhouse would pay him any mind except to glance at him with their parents’ unfounded suspicions, she had sought him out and claimed him as a friend right away.

More often than her given name she was called “Pidge,” a nickname she had received from her brother when she was a baby. Someone had commented that she was just a “pinch of a girl” (as she was so small); later, Matt had told someone else that she was just a “pidge of a girl.” The nickname had stuck.

Pidge hadn’t minded. She liked different. She thought different. She, herself, was different.

And Lance found that he also liked different.

Pidge had been bothered by the attacks; more and more each month, as more theories were discussed and things began to take a turn for the… supernatural. Lance thought it might be because she couldn’t explain the supernatural with science. Pidge had said that was part of it.

Another part was how Lance was being treated. People would say things under their breath, mutter prayers as he and Pidge would pass them in town. There were even a couple busybodies who took it upon themselves to visit Pidge’s parents and suggest that they shouldn’t let their daughter associate with the likes of Lance.

Sam and Colleen Holt had politely but firmly shown them the door.

While all of that was bad, the worst was after Old Man Myzax’s… incident. That’s when some people had started throwing things as well. He and Pidge never saw who did it, but it was hurtful. Especially when no one would stand up for him.

No one but Pidge.

More than once he had cried, Pidge’s arms wrapped around him, tears rolling down her own cheeks at her best friend’s despair. He had talked about running away. Pidge pointed out that would only hurt himself and the people who care about him. Not to mention the naysayers would all assume they were right all along.

And she could not abide that.

He had buried his face in her small shoulder, and she had reached a tentative hand up and stroked his hair until the fresh wave of tears had subsided.

She was strong for him when he needed her to be, but it seemed like it was taking its toll.

Every month when people were fretting about the latest attack, she seemed more and more tired. Lance was as well.

The fate of Farmer Myzax had exacerbated it. Pidge finally gave voice to everyone’s dark mutterings.

A werewolf.

Attacks only happened on the full moon, right?

Maybe… maybe someone should catch it. Or…

Lance had stayed silent, watching her with horror.

Why… how could she suggest such a thing?

Perhaps someone should try silver bullets.

Pidge… what are you saying?

As the night of the full moon approached, Pidge seemed to grow more and more resolute. Someone had to catch the wolf.

Fear laced together with Lance’s concern. Why…? What was she planning?

The eve of the full moon, Matt had come riding over, frantic. They couldn’t find Pidge. He was worried she had gone out on her own.

Lance’s parents hadn’t seen her. They promised to keep watch, in case she turned up at their house. They had glanced worriedly at each other. They wished there was something more they could do.

What was she thinking?

Lance had excused himself to go get ready for bed. Upon reaching his room, he had stuffed clothes under his quilt, snuffed out the candle, and quietly snuck out the window.

He ran into the wooded area that surrounded town, bordering all the farmlands. He carried no torch; he wouldn’t need it as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, lit only by the pale silver moon hanging innocently in the sky.

Innocent. Innocence. They had talked about those very words just earlier.

What was she thinking?

The woods were dangerous on a night like tonight.

Lance ran as quietly as he could, save for the twigs snapping and dry leaves crackling under his feet. He had to find her…

He had to find her before…

Before something else did.

And it would be his fault. Because she was trying to protect him.

Pidge was in no way stupid, but this was by far the stupidest thing she could have done.

He slowed to a walk as he neared the area he’d been running towards. Countless days of exploring the forest told him he was just outside the farmland belonging to the late Old Man Myzax. This would be one of the first areas anyone looking for a wolf would check.

His breath was quick, and he tried to quiet it. He needed his ears to be keen. In the dim light of the full moon, he would rely on them to hear the wolf before he could see it.

He didn’t have to wait long. A howl split the quiet of the night, sending a chill through his very blood. He turned his head slowly from side to side, eyes wide, willing himself to see better. Where could she be?

A puff of hot air hit him on the back of the neck. He jumped away, turning to find a pair of molten eyes, burning an unnatural gold, pupils narrowed to dangerous slits and focusing solely on him. Slowly, with a calculated grace, the monster emerged from the shadows.

The werewolf was impossibly big, far bigger than Lance could have imagined. It bared its teeth, stepping toward him, a low growl escaping its lips.

He took a few steps backward, then felt his heel snag on a hidden root. Unable to catch his balance, he toppled, landing hard on his tailbone. He yelped as the pain shot up his back, momentarily closing his eyes on reflex. He jerked them back open nearly as quickly, and found the wolf had moved closer… much closer.

He stared into the snarling, slathering muzzle. He could not believe his luck.

The light brown fur of the wolf glistened in the patch of moonlight. The bushy tail swished side to side in agitation.

Lance swallowed, forcing the fear down. If he was going to have any hope of surviving this encounter, something told him he would need to maintain his cool. He would only get one shot at this.

Keeping his eyes glued to the wolf’s, he slowly extended his hand and spoke softly. “Shh…” He worked to keep his breathing even, even as he saw the wolf tense on its haunches, preparing to spring.

—————Many, many moons ago...——————

“Mama! Mamaaaaa!” A six-year-old Lance had come running, sprinting for his mother. His mother caught him, letting out a soft “oof” as her youngest son hurled himself into her, hugging her tightly. She took in the panic in his eyes, then scooped him up in a protective hug and carried him to their old, creaky rocking chair.

She rocked back and forth, smoothing his hair with a practiced hand and murmuring quietly to soothe him.

When his gasps and sobs had calmed so that the rocking chair’s rickety squeaks were the loudest sound in the room, she gently pulled him back and wiped the stray tears from his cheeks.

“What’s wrong, mijo?” she asked.

“M-Marco and Luis,” Lance hiccuped. “They told me they got bit by a werewolf, and that they were gonna turn into werewolves, and that they were gonna bite me and turn me into one, too.” His eyes widened. “And they showed me the teeth marks!”

Lance’s mother looked nonplussed. “Were the marks on their arms?”

“Yeah! How did you know?” Lance gasped, then looked at his mama warily. “…you’re not one, too, are you?”

“No, mijo, of course not. Werewolves are just an old tale. Your brothers bit their own arms and were just playing with you.” She frowned and muttered, “…though why they thought that kind of teasing would be okay, they know what an imagination you have…”

Her expression softened as she looked her youngest in the eyes and said, “Werewolves are creatures that exist in stories. But even if your brothers were wolves, there is an old werewolf story that’s my favorite. Would you like to hear it?”

He nodded, eyes wide with interest more than fear now. She continued.

“They say that if a werewolf is called by name by a person who loves and trusts them truly, the wolf’s curse will be broken and they will turn back to human.” She smiled. “You love your brothers, don’t you? You could just turn them back.”

Lance looked thoughtful. “I love my brothers… but I don’t know if I trust them not to bite me.”

Lance’s mother laughed. “Trust is an important thing! It’s a good thing that I trust that you are all good children.” She gave him a tight hug and added, “And it’s a good thing werewolves aren’t real.”

——————————

He spoke firmly, confidently. “It’s time to come home, Katie… Pidge.”

Werewolves, Lance had found, were very much real. And as his best friend sprang at him, he closed his eyes and opened his arms and hoped with all he had that, even if his mama had been wrong about werewolves existing, that her story had at least been right.

Because he trusted Pidge.

Completely.

…And he loved her.

Whole-heartedly.

How could he not?

The large, furry body he had expected to slam into his chest never came; instead, he felt a pair of lean arms wrap around his shoulders as he caught a slight form in his own. He embraced her tightly, relieved that his speculation had been proven correct.

She shuddered as he set her down, averting his eyes and removing his jacket to let her cover her modesty.

“Lance! What… Why… What are you doing here?” she trembled. “I could’ve… I could’ve…” Tears filled her hazel eyes, their shine a welcome change from the dangerous golden glow those same eyes had held moments earlier.

“But you didn’t.”

“But all those other times… and Mr. Myzax…”

“You couldn’t help it. It wasn’t you, it was the wolf.”

“But everyone… they all thought… they all think it’s you,” she half-whispered.

“Pidge.” He said.

“I thought if they caught me… I could save you. They’d know it wasn’t you.”

“They would’ve killed you,” he murmured, no doubt in his voice.

She looked at him, not saying anything, only meeting his gaze and looking resolute. He wasn’t saying anything she had not already figured.

He sighed and pulled her toward him, holding her snug against his chest. He rested his cheek on top of her head. She brought her arms up to encircle him and return the hug.

After a moment of silence, he spoke. “Pidge… don’t you know… I don’t want to be saved if it means living in a world without you.”

She pulled her head back and gazed up at him, the answer to her unspoken question in his eyes.

“Oh,” she said softly, stepping back. In the moonlight, Lance could just detect a faint blush coloring her cheeks. He smiled, and offered his hand.

“Let’s go home, Pidge.”

She took his hand and they started back in the direction of the Holt’s house. As they walked, she pondered for a moment, then finally voiced the question she’d had since she found herself being held in his grasp, the light of the once-dreaded full moon shining on her but no longer controlling her. “…Lance… How did you turn me back?”

He felt his cheeks color slightly and cleared his throat. “See, Pidge, there’s this old story about werewolves…”

This fic and art are part of the @langstron​ Halloween exchange. It was so fun participating! The fic will also be available on my ao3.

@sakarrie​ - Surprise! I was your gifter for the 2020 Langst Halloween Exchange! I hope you enjoyed your fic and art (I was a little extra, I couldn’t decide on just one😅). Happy Halloween! 🎃👻🐺

[dennou-translations]

Violet Evergarden Gaiden: Chapter 3

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We’d held hands in the darkness. The only proof that we were alive had been our body temperature. Whenever she’d say that she was scared, I’d reply with, “It’s all right”. “Your Big Bro will do something about this,” I’d tell her.

The one who’d affirmed my existence was my little sister. I’d managed to get courage from the fact that I could be relied on. That, yeah, I was an older brother. That she was no good without me, so I had to keep on living.

But I didn’t remember. I didn’t know.

Had someone broken me? Had I broken on my own? I didn’t know.

Still, she definitely existed. If I met her someday, I’d know it was her for sure. Even if I had forgotten, even if I couldn’t remember her, I’d recognize her if I saw her. I wished the same to be valid for her.

That feeling alone stayed inside me like a bonfire.

Whether the continents scattered around the world were big or small made no particular difference for the people living in them. Any place was the same should there be humans living in it. They would plow and grow. Harvest, build and color. Create and fail. Hide, interact, destroy, starve, succeed. Become depressed. Shed tears, coerce. Sparkle, act immoral. Repent, depart, worship. Acclaim, breed, mourn. Become idle. Become nostalgic. They would love each other and kill each other.

And so would he.

Back when a certain continent put an end for once to a war that had extended for a long time, the “Continental War”, battles continued happening in another continent as if it were natural. On the topic of occupations that had deep ties with so-called “wars”, there were mercenaries.

Although there existed different types of them, the mercenaries who wandered that continent were in majority freely warriors who would join any faction depending on the pay. They would head east today and west tomorrow. It did not matter if, for instance, a fellow mercenary with who they had drank together turned into an enemy. They would also not care for whatever happened to the head of the lord whose favor they had earned, or to the village of the woman they had slept with, depending on the money.

And right now, too, a single mercenary was being led to the death that would certainly come to many others.

“So cold.”

Sandy blond hair swayed in the wind mixed with ashen dust. A man with looks that would be a waste should he perish in such a place lay collapsed the way he had been born. His ivory skin, in which golden hair stood on end, was exposed mercilessly to natural threats. The man groaned amidst his clouded memories, asking himself how on Earth things had turned out as such.

——Three days ago, I was killing. Two days ago, also killing.

He recalled several battles that he had surrendered his body to joining in a spur of the moment.

——Yesterday... that’s right, I was in the bar of a small highway town dancing with women, drinking...

The man could more or less understand what had happened. He had extravagantly squandered to his heart’s contentment the reward he received for surviving wartime fire and spent the night with an absurdly fine woman, who had taken notice of his lavish feasting. His lodging and the drinks he had consumed were arranged by said woman. She had most likely administrated some sort of drug into them.

“I feel sick... oeh...”

The fact that all of his belongings had been stripped off him, that the bounty he had earned at the cost of his life had been snatched away, and that he had been left to chance in such a place without anyone bothering to finish him off could not be called anything other than misfortune. Only that his body was not tied up was good luck, but even if it were, he would not have moved. It seemed he had by no means the energy to stand up.

“Some...” he attempted to say, but closed his mouth.

——Even if I call for somebody, there ain’t anyone around. Who even is “somebody” to me, anyway?

The man did not have comrades or family to aid him in such a time.

That was what it meant to live as one pleased. He would make his baggage as light as possible and simply move forward to wherever he saw fit. If he had some sort of grandiose goal, it might lead him to good results. A lukewarm existence would sometimes turn into a hindrance for life decisions. Those who had nothing could probably see a world far broader than those who had everything. However, having no one to grieve for them when tasting such final moments was lonesome.

A pain ran through somewhere in the depths of his chest – the spot that was called “heart”.

“Nope, I ain’t dying.”

The pain ran through, but the man did not have the spirit of someone who obediently perceived fate as fate. He balled his fists, exhorting his body and attempting to stand up somehow.

“As if I’d die... As if I’d die; as if I’d die!”

Perhaps because that roar had been the last of the strength he had left, from head down, the man collapsed onto his back once again after just yelling. Buried by sand, he lost consciousness. In his primary circumstances, he would have died there. Nevertheless, there was a certain number of individuals beloved by the Goddess of Fortune to the point of it twisting their destinies. The fact that a motorcycle was transiting the road-less way and that he met a passerby with a good heart who stopped upon finding him were all the work of the Goddess of Fortune.

The man opened his eyes again after few hours had gone by.

“Who... are you, seriously?” Due to the surprise, but also because he was sitting up, his voice was hoarse.

“I’m Hodgins, a veteran in the middle of a trip. I’m the one you owe your life to for picking up your butt-naked self from the desert.”

He was a bit of a rich man, an easy-going one who could easily chime in with others, extremely calculating and intrigue-loving, who scored a large profit in war gambles and had an upstart. He was an entrepreneur currently in the middle of stablishing his business. That was the man’s first encounter with Hodgins, his lifesaver.

“Why’d you help me, Old Man?!” his harsh voice echoed throughout the interior of the shop.

The two were in an open-terrace restaurant located at the first floor of an inn to which the man had been heading. It was too late for breakfast and too early for lunch. The man was conspicuous. After all, no matter how one looked at it, he was dressed in baggy, obviously borrowed shirt and trousers.

“Ah, I’m sorry. This kid is a bit ill-mannered. Yes, he’ll quiet down... Hm? Wait a minute. ‘Old man’...!? Me...?” Hodgins opened his eyes wide and leaned closer to the man.

That was what he was going to react to?

The youth and the overly cheerful man were a mismatched combination inside the refined inn. It was inevitable that the gazes of the customers would gather upon them in a natural manner, but at a growl of, “We ain’t for display!” from the young man, everyone looked away.

“Old Man, listen to me.”

“No, no, more importantly, how about we clear up the issue of whether or not I look like an old man? I’m indeed past my twenties already, but I’m younger than the people from my generation who are married, my stomach doesn’t stick out yet, and more than anything, I’m a fine man, right? Do I really seem like an old man? Not a big bro? How about you try thinking it over? Ready, set—”

“OLD. MAN!”

As if stabbed in the heart by his words, Hodgins clutched his chest and moaned. “What is it... young man...?” Even his voice was pained.

“Why’d you help me? You’re even treating me to food... What’cha after? I’m telling you I’ve got no money.”

It was true. If the man were billed for a meal in that place now, it would be the end of the line for him.

In contraposition, Hodgins waved his hand to the side. “Nah, I’m not after anything.”

“Then you want my body?”

“You’ve... got too much confidence in yourself. Well, when I first saw you, your body was buried in sand and I couldn’t properly see anything other than your face... so, I thought you were a naked pretty girl who had passed out.” After glancing fleetingly at the man, he turned his head to a different direction, eyes far-off. “When I lifted you in my arms, I noticed you had something extra there... but you were still alive, so I brought you back to the inn with me, stroked your body since you were with hypothermia... and when I realized, it was morning. I knew you had no money just by looking. You had nothing with you.”

This time, the one with an aching chest was the man. “My bad. For... not having anything.” As his voice tone changed quite a bit, perhaps what had been rubbed was a very sore spot.

“Young man, why were you asleep in that place?”

“‘Why,’ you ask...?”

Albeit hesitating to discuss his misfortune, he talked about his situation in a summarized way. Hodgins had listened seriously at the beginning, but from the middle onward, he turned his face to the side and his shoulders trembled as if he were holding back laughter.

“If you wanna laugh, just do it...!”

“Eh, can I? Ahah! Ahahahah! You’d finally earned some and lost all of it?! That’s too pitiful! My stomach hurts... Ah, hold o—hold o—wait up. How about you stop lifting that chair? Let’s calm down? It was terrible, wasn’t it? You’re hungry too, right? Eat up, eat up. Speaking of which, I didn’t ask your name either. Young man, what’s your name?”

Silence.

“Hey, hey, no matter how badly behaved you are, you should at least give your name.”

Pouting, the man muttered curtly, “Ain’t got it.” Seeming to have been made from the colors of the summer sky and blown into a glass ball, his remarkable eyes clouded over, and he defiantly spoke one more time. Crossing his arms, he rested his feet on the table. “I ain’t got a name. I might’ve been given one, but I don’t have any. Call me whatever you want. My registration name from when I used to be a mercenary was ‘Blue’. Since I dunno my name... I went with my eye color.”

Hodgins showed agitation for the first time in front of the man, who had turned into a lump of displeasure. “‘Don’t have any’... What do you mean?”

“Amnesia. My memory’s got nothing but what happened starting from a few years back. I dunno where I was, what I was doing, where I’m from or who I was before this. When I came to, I was lying on a riverbank at the borders of this continent. Back then, I was wearing an armor and a cape... If I hadn’t been picked by a woman gypsy, I’d have died just like that.”

Hodgins at last realized his own words to have been a verbal gaffe.

“You don’t remember anything? Not a single thing?”

Silence.

“Is there something you do?”

That might have been important to the man enough to make him falter even at putting it into words. After showing an expression of hesitation, he finally opened his mouth. “I probably... had a... little sister.” His attitude was almost that of confessing a sin. “Still, I don’t remember her. I just have the memory that she existed, and I dunno what kinda person she was. But she was definitely there. I remember that.”

Hodgins wound up gripping his own shirt at the chest area.

“I tagged along with the gypsies for a while, learning from them how to sing, dance and stuff. Then, in the end, I changed jobs to mercenary. Looked like fighting fit my nature better, y’see. ‘Battle-Hungry Freak’ is my nickname. I’m famous in the mercenary world.” Upon saying so, the man shrugged. “Well, that ain’t a name, though...”

He did not know who he was. Just how worrisome was that for him? The man did not seem to have a commendable personality at all, yet he was apparently concerned about not having a name.

“Hu~n... that so? So, you... were a mercenary, yeah?”

“That’s right. Is it bad?”

“I’m not saying that it’s bad per se. But even so, you got no money, no name or anything at all?”

“No”, “no”, “no”. The man’s rage towards his own life was present at the many sorts of “no”.

“You wanna get killed, Old Man? Just saying it, but I don’t have any sense of moral obligation, so if I don’t like someone, I’m fine with beating them up.”

“Yep, you’re like that. Not a single ‘thank you’. But I... don’t hate insincere guys like you.”

“What’s with that?”

“Also, you see, I have an acquaintance... it’s a girl who resembles you... Even though I’m her legal guardian, I left her with other people and went on a journey as if running away. I sort of got the feeling I couldn’t leave her by herself.”

——Someone who resembles me?

Was there any such person in the world?

“What kinda fella is she?”

Not answering the man’s question, Hodgins gave breadcrumbs to a dove that lay in waiting at his feet for his meal’s leftovers to fall down. Whatever he was thinking, he stayed quiet for a while and suddenly rose from his seat, chasing after the dove. The other doves could not stand his imposing action, batting their wings and fleeing into the sky.

“Hey, what kinda fella is she!?” his angry shout overlapped with Hodgins’s innocent laughter and the sound of bird feathers.

With the town that the doves had flown toward at his back, Hodgins turned around. His eyes seemed to be looking at the man, but were not.

“The strongest and weakest in the world.” As expected, Hodgins was smiling, but his eyes did not form an arc. Regardless of whether the person he referred to was evil or good, the air around him transmitted the fact that she was someone important.

The man frowned.

——What’s that...? A riddle...?

He became even less able to understand the lifesaver in front of him.

“I also have to just go and face her already.” Hodgins had said he was in his thirties, but he seemed older than that as he talked about the “strongest and weakest in the world”. “I can’t tell her... that it’s hard for me to look at her face when she seems sad.”

Eyes crinkling, the man thought:

——This dude... he pretends to be decent but something’s up with him.

He sensed a twist from the laughing other man. The latter spoke a lot at first, but he had seemed to be giving vent to his thoughts rather than having a conversation. Was he not burdened with some sort of enormous problem? One that he truly could do nothing about, no less.

“It’s settled.” Hodgins pointed an index finger at the man and snapped one of his eyelids closed. “If you aren’t anything, won’t you tag along with me?”

“Meaning... you’re gonna hire me?”

“That’s right. You lack too much of everything. Come to my place earn money. You need cash to search for your sister and to get revenge from the guys that threw you naked into the desert, don’t you? In exchange, can you lend me your life for a bit?”

“Hah?”

“Right now, you only have your life, yeah? I’ll buy that.”

At those words, the man’s heart started making astir sounds. He was supposedly used to having his life bought with money, but when asked for it face-to-face, his breathing felt as if it would stop.

“How much is it?”

Upon being asked so, the man was at loss for an answer.

Afterward, the man acquired a name.

“Benedict Blue”.

He also secured a profession and a place to sleep.

The CH Postal Company.

He had a lifesaver who was dear to him.

Claudia Hodgins.

He obtained comrades as well.

He had treaded a long prologue, but that was his story.

Benedict Blue

“The rough explanation ends here. The client who made this request just wants the letter sent definitively. Little Violet will do the ghostwriting. Benedict will do the delivery. It’s a sudden commission, but it’s good that you two were going to work in the same place. I can also count with Benedict for seeing off and meeting on return with Little Violet. I’ll give you a few days’ break when you’re done, so do your best. How’s that? Does it seem okay?”

Benedict observed the golden-haired girl who immediately answered, “Yes” with blue eyes similar to hers. They sat next to each other on a sofa in Hodgins’s room. It was a languid early morning. Work was about to begin that day as well.

The climate, atmosphere and food of Leidenschaftlich, which Benedict was once not used to due to having come from a different continent, now penetrated his body without any sense of displacement.

“Fine.”

He had no reason and was not in the position to refuse. The one in front of him was his lifesaver and superior. He did not show respect for the latter, but felt familiarity from him. Most likely, of the highest degree.

“V, don’t make your luggage too heavy. It’ll weaken my beloved bike’s movements.”

The girl beside the amnesiac Benedict was an individual who had only just appeared into his short life. From the time they had first met, to Benedict, she had rooted herself in the classification of people whom he “somehow could not leave on their own”. She was a stunning Auto-Memories Doll. Her impudence aside, she was an ignorant child unknowing of the ways of society. In the beginning, he had doubted that such a machine-like person come from the military would manage working in the service business, but she was currently the most popular figure of the CH Postal Company.

“That is true. I shall reduce the firearms to the minimum equipment. My body weight is also heavy due to the prosthetics, so it will increase the burden on Benedict’s motorcycle.”

Her fine appearance had always stolen the eyes of whoever looked at her, but lately, he had the feeling that her charm had increased. It was as if spring had been born from within her cold beauty.

“Even if the equipment is scarce, if I am with Benedict, I will probably not struggle in case of emergencies.”

She had become able to smile faintly on occasion.

The biggest incident amongst the ones that they had just recently experienced in person – the Intercontinental Train’s hijacking – crossed Benedict’s mind. And so did a man with an eyepatch, who had showed up embracing Violet sideways as she had lost an arm, and taken his leave.

He had not heard everything about the past of the two, but Hodgins had told him the general story afterward. They were in love with each other. There was no room for anyone to come in-between. Their colleague, Cattleya, had said that the two apparently started seeing each other on off days. “I’m glad,” Cattleya had laughed.

Benedict did not deem it as good.

That was probably the reason why looking at Violet felt somewhat unamusing as of late. He suspected that she was being deceived by a much older man who had conveniently vanished and come about once again.

Putting it positively, he was worried.

Benedict tautly flicked Violet, who had no idea about his feelings, on the forehead with his fingertips. “Not really; you’re light. It’s just that your bag’s heavy. Old Man, you ever lifted V’s luggage? Swing that thing around and it’s like a normal blunt weapon; a blunt weapon. There’s a ton of weapons in it under her clothes.”

Hodgins made an all but deplorable face. “Little Violet... you buy guns with your salary, right...?”

“They were distributed to us back when we were in the military, but now I have no option except purchase them myself. I can only take Witchcraft when President Hodgins grants me permission, after all. I have recently purchased a long-range shotgun. My hands are actually more accustomed to wide-swing maces, however...” Perhaps due to having a desire to acquire large weaponry, Violet moved as though wielding the real thing, staring fixedly at the imaginary weapon.

“No can do, no can do. I’ve gone through the trouble of getting you a cute look, so don’t take stuff like that with you aside from emergency cases.”

“Stop, stop. Giving you a ride would get even heavier.”

Completely shut down by the two men, Violet put on a disappointed expression, as if disheartened. “I am prepared to explain the advantage points of the mace, though...”

Without her having the opportunity to give said explanation, the two were set to depart in haste. Seen off by Hodgins and after Lux, who was on phone duty, waved at them, Benedict and Violet left the agency.

The blond duo swayed on the motorcycle towards wherever.

Autumn had ended, the seasons changing into winter. Leidenschaftlich usually did not witness snowfall, yet icy winds were blowing. Gloves, scarves, hooded coats – even if the protection measures against low temperatures were appropriate, cold was cold. As the one driving, Benedict had no choice but simply endure the chilly gusts head-on. Violet’s artificial arms around his torso were gelid as well. The heat from the part of her actual body that was in contact with his back was the only warmth. He could feel the hold of her arms more firmly than when giving her rides back in summer. Was it because of the coolness or because of her trust in him?

Feeling an itch, Benedict sneezed, “Achoo!” While vigorously speeding up the motorcycle over the vast land, he initiated a conversation for no particular reason, “It’s cold!”

“Yes.”

“V, your prosthetics okay? Ain’t there any downsides or something if they get too chilled?”

“It is bad if the joints freeze, but that will not happen as long as the coldness is not extreme.”

“Hu~n.”

“We mostly roamed around northern lands during the Continental War, so I am knowledgeable of the protections against cold.”

“Well, the place we’re going to – Lontano – is inside Leidenschaftlich, so for starters, it won’t be snowing there this time of the year. As long as the weather isn’t abnormal, that is. There’ll also be no obstacles to my delivery duties.”

“Yes. This is reassuring.”

“Hey, don’t say that.”

“Why not? The climate is stable. The one who said that there would be no obstacles to the delivery duties was you, Benedict.”

“That’s not it; it’s ‘cause you’re with me. When you say stuff of the sort, it feels like something will happen instead.”

“So the weather will become abnormal because of what I said?”

Benedict knew that Violet’s eyebrows were furrowing even without looking at her. He laughed aloud. “Stu~pid. You’ve got it wrong. I’m saying that ‘cause it’s easy for some kinda problem to happen when I’m with you. To make up for your luggage being lighter, we got ready to manage at least an interception if anything in general goes down, but... Lontano is a pretty big city, so there’s lots of thugs. Flashy towns also got many dark sides.”

“What an issue...”

“You got picked by some weirdo and it was fight on; you were attacked by a bandit and it was fight on; the motorcycle broke and we got stuck in some field. Also, what else...? You raise one small thing and there’s no end to it.”

As if to protest, Violet alleged, “I cannot agree with this. Benedict, the fights that you started one-sidedly are also included.”

“That so? Might be bad for me to get teamed up with you.”

After a short pause, Violet objected again – to the part about teaming up with Benedict being a “bad” thing, “I cannot agree with this either... Indeed, I can assume there is a factor in us that makes it easy to bring about some sort of conflict. However, we were able to deal with them. We, the two of us... can deal with it if something happens again.”

It was difficult to tell what she was thinking, and she might well have been merely protesting against the negative reputation of her own abilities. Still, Benedict somehow heard it as something other than that.

“Heheh,” laughter leaked from him in a natural manner.

Her breath coming out in white puffs behind him, Violet added as if just recalling it, “This applies to times of war and not to times of peace, but... we would have even less enemies if Cattleya were included,” she whispered intermittently and Benedict smiled.

“If that happened, there’d really be no match for us,” he chuckled.

From that point onward, the way to their destination took a couple of hours.

The place that the Auto-Memories Doll and postman from CH Postal Company headed to was Lontano. Small in comparison with the capital Leiden, it was the most prosperous city amongst the neighboring ones. The houses formed circles as if to surround an old castle sitting on top of a slightly elevated hill that extended itself for about a hundred meters, a river with the same name as the country flowing nearby.

Enshrined within a solemn atmosphere, said old castle was a famous attraction of the city. While holding the rights to it themselves, the clan that formerly owned it had handed its management over to the city, and the city allowed people to tour inside of it for cheap admission fees. The old castle had become a grandiose touristic spot, for the one who had built it was a well-known architect.

Places with renowned attractions that had cultural value were easy to turn into the aspired cities of young artists. Not an exception to this, Lontano had art and history museums, theatre venues and a market of ancient books, making the urban area into one where lovers of such things would be unable to help themselves just from strolling through it. Before entering the city gates, one could overhear music as young people played instruments by the road, and walking a little into the city, one would find bookstore after bookstore. The vicinities of statues and fountains were packed with people drawing sketches. It was city of gorgeous structure, yet gloomy and easy to get lost in if one wandered into an alley. Albeit a small ward, there was also a red-light district, which was more popular amongst those who had no interest in arts.

“Now...”

Benedict dropped Violet off at the city’s entrance. She would then rush over to the customer who lived in that city and ghostwrite for them. Benedict himself had several packages to deliver around the city. Once the work there ended, they would return to Leiden, where the submission of reports and delivery of more letters would be waiting for them. That was why Hodgins had ordered the two of them to go to that city. It was more efficient than going through the trouble of having Violet use public transportation, as it there was no fare and took less time.

The current time was right before noon, the tourists gradually forming a lively crowd.

“Where. Should. It. Be?”

Benedict’s sky-blue eyes traveled about in search for a good meeting spot. There was a bank, a bakery, a souvenir store, and a statue of a naked woman carrying a child. The bakery also seemed to have a café, and people could be seen enjoying the apparently warm interior and freshly baked bread from the glass windows.

“It’s settled. V, let’s make the bakery our meeting spot. No matter who arrives first, we wait inside.”

Violet nodded curtly. “You want to eat bread, right?”

“I do. That bakery’s bread is tasty. I never went inside to eat it, though. But it’s delicious enough that making sure to buy something there and bring it over if we have deliveries to do in Lontano is almost common sense among fellow postmen. That one with melted cheese on it... let’s make it a souvenir for Old Man.”

Hearing Benedict talk about purchasing a souvenir, Violet blinked. “I comply. But Benedict, did something happen?” Her reaction all but asked if he had gone crazy.

“You’re being the rudest possible to me with that, y’know?”

“I apologize... Well, did anything happen?” Benedict’s act of buying souvenirs for Hodgins purely out of goodwill seemed unbelievable for Violet. Therefore, she uttered her concern for a malfunction in either his body or mind.

Benedict struck the top of her head with a light knife-hand in an expression of sympathy. “Nothing’s up! You just don’t know it, but I sometimes give the Old Man souvenirs! Even Auto-Memories Dolls buy souvenirs to the agency if they go to some exotic place, right? It’s the same as that. The Old Man treats me to food and stuff before payday too... Like lunch, well, pretty often...”

“President Hodgins tends to give Benedict a special treatment.”

——Don’t wanna hear that from you who he treats like a daughter, Benedict thought.

He spoke while turning to the other side, “Welp, he went as far as taking in an amnesiac like me and giving me a name... He might be special to me, and I to him.”

He accidentally, unintentionally voiced it.

“Is that so?” Violet threw in an interjection quite like normal and Benedict was taken aback.

It was not as if he were hiding the fact he had amnesia or that the name “Benedict” had been given to him by Hodgins, but he had never talked about it to his work colleagues. That was because he had until now no trials of explaining he had amnesia in which he had received a decent response. He would either earn uncalled-for looks or have condolence-like words of pity spat at him. Whichever it was, Benedict was the kind of person who would end up irritated at the other party.

He already had a name and social position. No longer was he the “Blue” who had nothing. He did not want to feel ashamed of back when he had lived by his eye color’s name.

——I wonder...

He was not proud of it either.

——I wonder how she’ll react.

She would certainly not make a big scandal, but would probably say something annoyingly depressing. While embracing uncomfortable feelings, Benedict waited for her response.

However, no matter how long he waited, there was no reaction after that.

Their blue eyes repeatedly exchanged stares. A prolonged silence ensued between them.

Finally, Violet tilted her head slightly as if to ask, “Is something the matter?”

Benedict wound up delving into it without thinking. “Hey, anything to say on me having amnesia?”

Violet’s golden eyelashes batted. “‘Anything’...?”

“There is, right? It’s amnesia we’re talking about. That’s rare, ain’t it?” Saying it himself was somewhat embarrassing and pathetic.

Did that mean she was not too interested in his past? He felt a little let-down.

“That is not true.”

The next words he heard changed his feelings.

“It is indeed uncommon, but in my personal subjectivity, this is not odd.” Violet susurrated with a tone that sounded somehow happy, “I also do not have any memories from before a certain point in time. I did not know how to speak, either. Major bestowed me with the name of a flower goddess. Benedict, what meaning was yours given with?”

——That’s right.

It seemed that Benedict having amnesia was not a big issue for Violet.

——That was it.

The girl so-called Violet Evergarden also used to be not even a person, but a weapon, during the time she had no name. And she spoke of it without any pretension. She did not think of it as a shame.

“This is President Hodgins who we are talking about, so he must have given it with some sort of meaning. The two of us can be said to be very fortunate, right? If I had been used by anyone other than Major, I do not know what would be of me as of now.”

If anything, she thought of it as merely a process for until meeting the person she loved most.

“Oh.”

Violet, who was innocent and indeed lacked something somewhere, felt sorrowful and precious.

“So, what is the meaning of your name?”

“I forgot!”

“Then, let’s ask President Hodgins when we return. I want to know.”

“No, no, no! Don’t ask! Well, I’ll go do the deliveries, so you go to your client too! See ya later!” Benedict mounted the motorcycle once again and waved a hand at Violet.

“Understood. I shall leave the name matter for later as well.”

“You’re stubborn.”

Thus, the two headed to work, each on a different direction.

Benedict’s deliveries did not take too long. One house received a package with an assortment of supplies from a mother living in Leiden to her son working in Lontano. Three buildings received documents exchanged between offices. Five residences received letters. In case of absences, he would have a little bit of work either taking the delivery back with him or asking the person’s neighbors about where they had gone to, yet he finished earlier than he had presumed without the need for such things.

He soon entered the meeting-spot bakery, taking a seat from where he could see the situation outside through the glass and drinking coffee. It seemed Violet’s ghostwriting job would still take some time.

——Guess I’ll pick the souvenir first, then.

He was not able to imagine Violet enjoyably choosing a gift, so picking one by himself was probably more efficient. Thinking so, Benedict selected a few items that he had deemed savory from his own experience eating them. As per a request to the clerk, he had Hodgins’s part of the bread wrapped.

“Is this all?”

Sensing the plainness in color of the goods that he had chosen, Benedict tilted his neck. “Hn~, anything else you recommend?”

“How about a pie or tart? Also, these aren’t bread, but I recommend our cookies as well. There are people who come here just to buy them.”

“Ah~...”

“They’re popular among girls. The ribbons are cute, too.”

One woman surfaced in Benedict’s head.

“I’ve got someone who’d like them, but she’s far away now. All right. Just add this pie.”

In the end, he had an apple pie as addition. He then returned to his seat and calmly savored the coffee.

While observing the packet in which he had requested it to be wrapped, he faintly wondered if the person on the receiving end would be pleased with it. He was soon able to imagine Hodgins smiling broadly and taking into his hands the souvenir offered by his brusque self. He could picture the other being a little surprised, and then slowly breaking into a smile after being told what it was. Even the other saying, “Thanks, Benedict”, and himself turning to the side while replying, “It’s nothing”. He would have also been glad to take money out of his deserted wallet for the cookies if there were anybody to receive them, yet...

——She’s hella far away right now, huh.

The one who came to his mind was a girl of dark hair and purple eyes, Cattleya Baudelaire. Much like Benedict, she has been a colleague from since CH Postal Company’s foundation day. She liked sweets, was bad at dealing with hardships, was a scaredy-cat despite looking daring and fearless, and had a childish side as opposed to her appearance.

——Well, guess she wouldn’t be too happy if she got them from me.

They would quarrel as soon as they saw each other. Enough to turn it into a common occurrence within the CH Postal Company. It was easy to tell just by looking that they did not actually do it due to truly detesting one another, however...

——I wonder if she hates me.

...they could not tell it so easily themselves. Although they were in the same agency, they had different occupations, therefore missed each other often. Theirs was a repetition in which dawn would break after the previous time they had fought, and they would forget that the fight had happened and start another fight yet again. Regardless, they would end up talking to one another on sight, unable to ignore each other, and so he thought of pleasing her with something.

——I don’t hate her, though.

For Benedict, the sense of distance between himself and she, who was worthy of being considered a new breed of human being, was something complicated.

——Things just kinda don’t go well with us. I can’t treat her like other women.

As he had never experienced a proper romance, he had no way of knowing what that meant.

After he reflected on all sorts of things, a big yawn left his mouth. He stretched both arms towards the sky with a jerk and arched his body like a cat. And then relaxed once more. Thinking of taking a break from work had all of his strained feelings and body slackening up.

——I’m getting kinda sleepy.

As he had to work since early in the morning and his daily duties had overlapped, the sense of satisfaction from having a full stomach and the gently warm room caused his eyelids to naturally lower. His body was slowly, slowly stolen by drowsiness and he wound up unable to keep his eyes open. The scent of the shop’s interior was fragrant, people’s conversations sounding fun. The elements composing an atmosphere that could be understood from one’s heart loosened Benedict’s caution.

——Even though... V’s coming...

A golden-haired girl surfaced in Benedict’s head.

——If it’s her, well, guess she’ll soon find me.

The café inside the shop was crowded. Still, he believed that, since it was her, she would come to that place at full speed.

——She’ll... look for me.

After he became amnesic, no matter whom he asked, there was no one who knew him.

——It’s okay if I nap, right?

No one had looked for him.

——It’s okay, right?

However, Violet Evergarden probably would. Thinking so, Benedict closed his eyes. He yawned sudden and widely, falling asleep altogether as if he were dead. Consciousness distant, his line of thought floated into the air. He forgot what he was thinking about midway, invited into the realm of dreams.

Calling them “dreams” might be a faulty form of expression. In his case, they were reproductions of memory fragments that he had ended up shutting down. Once released from the real world, the past would come chasing after him and softly tap on his back.

A film that felt like an old friend returning from far away played in his mind. “Why, welcome back, my mate who no longer remembers his own name,” it said. The film would repeat itself over and over inside Benedict’s head.

His reunion with his friend named past would begin with a night sky.

It was a beautiful nighttime, in which a full moon had appeared. His memory version crawled out of an extremely, extremely dark place, and so he was startled at the bright light of said moon for an instant and shuddered.

There was a sandy beach under his feet. Stomping onto it, his shoes were blemished with mud and bloodstains. The dull ache in his entire body was agonizing. He might have earned himself a serious injury. Nevertheless, his legs moved without him being able to mind the pain.

His hand was holding onto something. Something smooth and small that had body temperature.

He looked back. A little girl came into sight. The girl had blond hair much like Benedict, but of a slightly different shade. Her hair was bundled up in a black velvet ribbon.

As their eyes met, she nodded as if to say, “I’m fine”. After confirming so, Benedict ran faster. He trusted the girl following him.

Eventually, his gaze moved ahead. A single boat was fluctuating on the surface of the sea.

——There, we can escape with that, he thought.

He did not know what they were fleeing from. However, if it was something frightening enough to scare him, whether it was someone horrifyingly strong or a large-numbers-against-small-numbers situation, their circumstances were that they had to run away. But that was not the issue.

Benedict turned around and said, “We’re escaping on that thing,     ”

As if having erased it, he was unable to hear her name.

“     , you’re coming too?”

He also could not hear his own name as spoken by the other.

“That’s right. I won’t abandon you. We’ll end up ————. ‘Cause that’s ————’s way of doing things. Without that drug, you ————.”

The color of her hair, eyes and lips – he could see those splintered things.

“But... But even if you ————, even I stop recognizing you as my little sister, even if you stop recognizing me as your big brother, it’s fine. We’re siblings, after all.”

But he could not see her face.

“Even if we forget, I’m sure we’ll recognize each other on sight.”

He could not tell how her face looked. The hues of her ribbon and orbs were fragmented.

“Isn’t that right? If we’re together, even if we forget, we can remember each other as many times as we need. If you find a man that you like or something, you can forget and throw me away. But until then...”

The shades of her hair, her voice and intonation – he could only tell those kinds of things apart.

“...don’t let go of this hand no matter what. If you do that, we’ll really end up forgetting everything,” the past Benedict said as if making a threat.

“I understand,     .”

The two boarded the boat and started rowing toward the open sea.

At last, things would always end at a point where he was looking up at the boat from the bottom of the ocean. And so, he would think that, aah, they had failed.

His body convulsed with a start. The film reproduced inside his head did not go for more than a few minutes, yet Benedict awoke accompanied by a sense of fatigue, almost as if he had gone on a long journey.

Eyes half-open, he looked about the surroundings. Violet was nowhere to be seen. He checked the shop’s clock. Not even ten minutes had passed since he had begun drinking his coffee.

Poising himself calmly, he took the only slightly cold coffee into his mouth. Upon drinking a mouthful of it, he became unable to settle with just a little and downed it in gulps as if it were water.

“One more,” he asked for another of the same thing, raising his hand to one of the shop’s waiters. He had wanted the bitterness of reality, enough for him not to be invited by sleepiness anymore.

——You’ve seen this so many times, yet you’re still scared of it?

Although he had been thinking until just a moment before that she did not have to come, he now wished to see that blunt girl very much.

——It’s fine.

Not even he knew what was fine exactly, but he told himself so.

——It’s fine.

He needed those words.

——I’m... fine. Ain’t that right?

He himself did not give an answer to the question asked.

Benedict wound up sneering. He did not use to be so agitated even back when he worked as a mercenary for the first time.

He looked around again. Nobody was a target of dread. Nothing was currently happening. It was not as if he were rushing through a battlefield in order to earn money either, nor had he been abandoned in a desert completely naked. He could tell as much even without sorting out the situation. He was blessed now and nothing was terrifying. Things were finally peaceful. Too peaceful.

However, Benedict did not know that, the more peaceful times were, the more often would the pain of the scars marking him end up coming back.

——Ever since he took me in, haven’t I grown weak?

Oddly enough, be it mental or physically, wounds were not curable. Their visible parts would heal. However, even if they healed on the surface, just by the atmosphere and the people and things involved when the injury happened overlapping with one another, the truth that “a wound was earned” would return. The figurative scars would chase after people forever like the Moon floating in the sky. And they would ache.

Even if the injury took but an instant, the truth that one had been wounded was eternal.

——When... will I get to remember everything?

The scar from forgetting the one person that he absolutely should not have forgotten was causing Benedict’s heart to self-mutilate without him realizing. If the replaying of his memories had already happened thousands of times, then for those thousands of times, Benedict had been attacking himself.

Without knowing why he would become so flustered, he reproduced his recollections again. They were a repetition of the previous ones. As seen from the sidelines, things were obvious to those who knew of his circumstances.

A new coffee was brought over, but he did not feel like drinking it in that warm place. It was Benedict who had come up with the arrangement, saying that one should wait for the other inside, yet he had decided to wait in front of the shop mounted on his motorcycle. Breathing in amidst the coldness, he calmed down a little. The perfectly clean, icy air within his body cooled down his head. Even if his body shook, it was because of the chilliness.

Suddenly, Benedict looked straight to the side. It was due to him feeling a stare for some reason.

A short-haired blonde girl was standing there. Hers was an unnatural shade of blond, so it was most likely a wig. She was dressed in a milky white satin dress similar to the tone of her skin under a black trench coat. She seemed like the kind of woman who led a life of having her praises sung by men in that city of artists. With a cigarette between her fingers, she blew tobacco smoke out of her bright red lips. Being in a bar surrounded by men all around and laughing elegantly would suit her. The front of a bakery was not fitting of her...

“Y-You—” the woman mustered out at Benedict, with an aspect that seemed to say she had done so unwittingly. Her voice was husky.

Benedict returned her gaze. The woman gave him an odd feeling of déjà vu. Had they not met somewhere before, his sixth sense whispered.

Subconsciously, his eyes went to her hair. If that sister of his had grown up, was a woman with such appearance too old to be her? Still, women could change the age suggested by their looks however they wanted with make-up and clothes. Benedict knew the morning-to-night faces of the women he had spent time with until now. Should he not discard the possibility that she was his younger sister?

Perhaps because the glint in Benedict’s eyes had sharpened, the woman took a step backward, and then threw the cigarette away, leaving the spot. At first, she walked slowly, gradually going in small trots.

“Hey,” when he realized it, Benedict had hopped off his motorcycle and was calling out to her. “Hey, wait.”

He pursued the woman as she ran, grabbing her arm by force. Not liking it, the woman attempted to shake free from him, but Benedict bound her arms behind her back. As she smelled of sickly sweet perfume, it felt as if he was about to suffocate.

“Let me go!”

“You know me, right?!”

“I don’t!”

“You definitely do, don’t you?! No, I... I...!”

——I feel like I know you.

“You... Are you...”

He might have been jumping to conclusions. He was fine with it being a misunderstanding. However, if that was not the case, then he certainly did not want to lose such information by mistake.

“Are you... my little... sister?”

Upon being asked so, the woman covered her mouth with her two hands.

The way back was extremely quiet on that day.

Having finished the ghostwriting for her client, Violet called over to Benedict, who was exhaling white puffs outside. It took him a few seconds to react back, and his face looked almost as if he had seen a ghost. She noticed he had nothing in hands despite having said that he would buy Hodgins a souvenir, and as they went back into the shop, the clerk was looking after it. As Benedict said nothing, Violet was the one to thank her.

Even as she told him, “Well, then, let us go home,” while mounting on the backseat, he was out of it and did not take off.  And even as the motorcycle finally moved, he stopped driving without as much as one minute passing.

“V, my bad. I’m... feeling awful right now. I might cause an accident and get you hurt.”

Violet did not ask if something had happened. As he was certainly pale-faced, Violet changed seats with a, “Then, I will do the driving”, adapting to the necessities of the moment. She had learned how to ride horses and vehicles to an extent during her soldier days. Even as it had been a while since then, she had confidence that she could do it.

“Benedict. You will fall like this, so please hold tighter.”

“My bad...”

“No, if you feel sick from the swaying, I will stop. Please say it.”

“Aah. My head’s kinda hurting a lot. Can I... close my eyes for a bit?”

“That is all right.”

After saying so, Violet looked up at the sky. As dusk approached, the sky was shrouded in clouds, but it did not seem as if rain, snow or abnormalities in the weather would occur.

It was awfully rare of Benedict to candidly bask on people’s goodwill and apologize. Since he was feeling unwell, it was impressive that he had not yet lost only his judgement of having her replace him as the driver. However, the fact that Benedict, who normally had but a big attitude, stayed silent the whole trip, clung onto a girl younger than him and sat on the backseat would be considered a state of emergency by the staff of the CH Postal Company if they saw him.

Of course, Violet Evergarden also understood that it was an emergency.

Somewhat tired as he might be, drowsy as he might be, that man would never let someone else drive his beloved bike. It was a personal vehicle given to him by Claudia Hodgins when the latter was starting his business.

Violet merely spoke to him dispassionately, “Benedict, were you talking to anyone before I had arrived?”

“Yeah.”

“I have good ears.”

“Yeah, you’re like a wild animal.”

“‘I want to run away from here’. ‘I want you to buy me time’. ‘I want you to help me’ – things like that?”

Rather than being a poor talker, Violet was not as proficient at conversational skills as most people, and so she did not know the right way to speak to him at such a time.

“It’s got nothing to do with you,” Benedict replied coldly in a low voice that sounded as if he were repelling her.

As the talk ended there, a curtain of silence descended upon them once more.

Violet was deep in thought. She almost never put effort into conversations. If she was told not to speak, she would not speak. When asked a question, she would answer. She would inquire what was necessary. That was what conversations used to be about. For her, at least.

However, the grown-up Violet now understood things could not be that way.

She spoke to Benedict again, “That lady called you her brother, Benedict, but you have amnesia, right? Is that person your younger sister? Rather... did you really have a younger sister?”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“I was observing from nearby as you were binding that woman’s arms behind her back. I learned from President Hodgins that no one should intervene on male-female relationships. Therefore, I stood in waiting on the spot and watched over you, so as to mediate if it were necessary.”

“What’s the Old Man doing...? Speaking of that, this kinda thing’s called ‘eavesdropping’.”

“Was that person your younger sister? Your appearances when you were side by side did not strike me as...”

The motorcycle passed over a rock while she was speaking, and so the vehicle’s frame floated buoyantly for an instant. It landed roughly and started running once more.

“She did not seem to be your younger sister to me. This is but my assumption, but I believe she is older than you are. To begin with, you have amnesia, so even if you did have a younger sister living separately from you, is there no need for further investigation since you do not remember her?” Violet was much too indifferent. Without any compassion or curiosity regarding whatever was happening to Benedict, she levelly stated her conclusions. Even if should it rub Benedict’s nerves the wrong way.

“Shut up! You don’t know that! She might be the one!” Benedict hit Violet’s back with his fists. “I have a little sister! I have memories of her! That’s the only thing I’m definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely sure of!”

“How come? You don’t have memories.”

“I can tell!”

“How?”

When asked so, he had no choice but speak sentimentally.

“‘Cause I feel love for her!”

Violet dry-swallowed curtly at the word “love”.

“It stayed in me! Even if I don’t have my memories, I have this!”

It was embarrassing and foolish.

“It’s the only thing that’s definitely, definitely not a lie!”

He normally never spoke of love, yet he desperately resorted to it only for now.

——I mean, we held hands in the darkness. The only proof that we were alive was our body temperature. Whenever she’d say that she was scared, I’d reply with, “It’s all right”. “Your Big Bro will do something about this,” I’d tell her. The one who’d affirmed my existence was my little sister. I’d managed to get courage from the fact that I could be relied on. That, yeah, I was an older brother. That she was no good without me, so I had to keep on living. Still...

“I had a sister, and I don’t really get it, but I was protecting her! I was thinking about protecting her no matter what, no matter what...! I don’t know why I’m living by myself like this...! Memory—I don’t have memory!”

——I don’t remember.

“Protect her from what...?”

——I don’t know. Did someone break me? Did I break on my own?

“I don’t know! Could be anything... That’s—That’s not what’s important to me! I don’t care about how I used to live when I was a brat... I supposedly used to have a sister, and the fact she’s not here is a problem for me! I’m amnesiac, and when I woke up, my sister wasn’t by my side; I’d turned into an idiot who didn’t know anything about myself or my sister! I have nothing! But...!”

——I don’t know. But...

“But, I definitely... have a little sister.”

——She definitely existed. If I meet her someday, I’ll know it’s her for sure. Even if I forgot, even if I can’t remember her, I’ll recognize her if I see her. I want the same to be valid for her.

With that thought, all along, he had lived on as if praying.

“That woman said she knows me... I’ve also—I’ve also seen her before somehow. I don’t know whether she’s my sister or not. But even if she isn’t... when that time comes, I don’t wanna have regrets!”

After saying so, Benedict had his face slammed against Violet’s back. That was because the motorcycle came to a sudden, abrupt stop. Benedict’s nose, neither too high nor too low, was smashed, and he anguished for a brief moment.

Violet, the driver and the cause of his pain, turned backward and reached a hand out to Benedict. Their faces were close enough that her golden hair, burning against the madder red sky, brushed the tip of his nose. Violet gripped Benedict’s shoulder as if to tell him, “Don’t run away”.

“Benedict.”

Her eyes – her blue orbs – pierced him like a blade.

“Please listen. I have told you before that I am also an orphan, was taken in and raised, and do not know who my parents are, right? From my experience, individuals who ‘tend to presume on their memories’ will come in contact with vagabonds attempting to do inexcusable things. Those who invited me into the dark by claiming to know me and proposing to discuss it in detail were neither one nor two people.”

Violet Evergarden desperately trying to convey her own words to the other party was just as unusual as Benedict entrusting his beloved bike to someone.

“During my days as a soldier, Major always bore the full brunt of it and protected me.”

That was precisely why, with her rapid-fire speech, Benedict could not seal her lips using stern persuasion.

“After growing up, I was almost murdered by a cultist organization that claimed I was not a human being but a demigod. I know nothing of my past, so even if I am told such things, I find myself thinking that they might be true. Benedict, are you not the same as me in this aspect? There are probably many women who know you. The women that you have dated, the people you have spent the night with until now – do you recall every one of them? You and President Hodgins are similar. In the past, President Hodgins came to the hospital room where I was hospitalized in a state of having drunk his regrets away and talked torrentially. Have you never done something like this? Even if you leave out the likelihood of being deceived by that person... if you are still thinking about doing something...”

Violet’s words were not gentle in the slightest.

“Benedict.”

However, within her own possibilities, she was thinking, thinking and thinking.

“Benedict, do you need back-up fire?”

Currently, she was attempting to do whatever she could to the maximum degree.

“I do not... know whether or not I am your friend. Lux seems all right with being my friend. Cattleya called me a friend too. Benedict, I do not know about you. We spend a large amount of time together, but even now, I still cannot say for sure what definition I should give to others. To me, the people who have told me that I am their friend are my friends as of late.”

What lay between the two of them was their time spent together. From the moment they had first met until now, they had built a relationship of trust.

“That is why, for me, even if you are not my friend, in case there is anything troubling you...”

Just as the forgotten nurturing between Benedict and his sister, it was something precious.

“No, regardless of what the definition of our relationship is, I... I... if there is something causing you to be like this... and if... it is an enemy that I must fight...”

Even if he did not have a past, Benedict had a present.

“...then I will attack it with everything I have.”

He had an ally named Violet Evergarden.

Under the dusky sky, the still young duo lay themselves bare to each other and made one decision.

“Hoo, hoo, hoo,” the low whispering of birds staged the night as something somewhat eerie.

The evenings at Lontano were like those of night-less cities, in which the lights of bars did not turn off even in the dead of the night. What a place so resplendent needed were attention-grabbing buildings, high-grade alcohol and beautiful women. Until the men went to sleep, the women hired to entertain them could not sleep either.

At present, a lone woman was coming out of a bar that still had its lights on, clad in a black trench coat that could as much as melt into the nightly darkness. She was a captivating blonde beauty.

“Where you going?” asked a man who stood by the entrance of the bar with a fierce look.

The woman showed him an empty box of tobacco that belonged to a regular costumer of the bar. “Cigarettes.”

The women who worked in bars had to report everything they did. Their bodies themselves were the merchandize. Unlike normal goods, bodies could walk on their own will.

Should they disappear somewhere, there would be no business.

“Linda’s store is still open. I was told to go buy more. If you don’t hurry and let me go, you’ll get scolded for stopping me.”

She had intended to speak nonchalantly, yet her frame trembled underneath the trench coat. The man eyed her body from head to toe.

“It’s nighttime. That’s not like the middle of the day. I’ll go. Can’t let you go by yourself.”

“I want to smoke outside for a bit.”

“You, it can’t be that you’re planning to run away again, right? You were almost killed before, weren’t you? If you haven’t learned the hard way after that, you’re an idiot. Until you pay your debts, you’re the same as livestock.”

The woman’s lips trembled at being called “livestock”. “It’s not my debt.”

“It’s your man’s, right? He’s the worst kind of bastard who sells women from a continent he never even walked on.”

“I don’t care about him anymore.”

“Even if he no longer comes to see you, you brought this upon yourself. Got no choice but make up for it. Don’t go thinking of stupid stuff... Hitting women ain’t our thing either.”

The woman thrust the empty tobacco box at him as if to hand it over. “I really was asked to get the cigarettes. If you think it’s a lie, go ask about it inside. If you believe me, you can come along. Then I can breathe the air outside a little, and you don’t have to worry about me running away. We’re settled with that, right?”

The man clicked his tongue at the provocative wording, yet seemed to have complied. He asked another employee to take over his post and made an agreement.

“If you take too long...”

The woman waited stiffly as the men talked. Eventually, the two started walking down the stone-paved road illuminated by streetlights.

The woman observed the man. She was there due to being sold by the person she used to be in love with, but she suspected that the man was also being made to work in that shop because of some reason. She might be wrong.

Even if that were the case, in her present condition, she did not have the compassion of others. If she wanted to break free from her current state, which, as the man said, had unfolded from something that she herself had done...

“It’s cold... Aren’t you chilly?”

...she had to act on her own. Even if she was counting with the assistance of a savior, since she had devised the plan by herself, it was her own power.

The lights of the tobacco store became visible. Just a bit more and they would reach it.

——Please, please, please, help me, God.

“You can smoke one cigarette, but we’re going back as soon as you’re done.”

——Help me, help me, help me!

The reason why the woman firmly squeezed her eyes shut was to deliver her wish to the God that resided somewhere out there, but even if she were not doing so, she surely would have closed her eyes either way.

That was because someone had abruptly come running from an alley and whispered, “Yo, the meeting spot was here, right?”

Since the one who had spoken was of a much shorter stature than the man, the kick lunged at him crushed his nether regions, and so the former immediately put a hand over his mouth. As she recognized the face of the person applying force so that the man would not let out a single scream, the woman said, “P-Please! Stop! He’s not a bad person!”

Until a while before, she had not cared for the other, but upon actually seeing something terrible happen to him, that feeling flew off the nest. Perhaps listening to her plea, the lout who had appeared so suddenly took her hand and vanished into the alley from which he had come.

The golden hair of the man running in front of her shone glisteningly even at night, within an alley that did not have illumination. Unlike her wig, it was a natural sandy-blond.

“B-Big Brother,” the woman called the man going ahead with a tone mixed in rapture.

However, what she received in return was gunfire, “Drop it; that’s gross.” While running, the lout – Benedict Blue – clicked his tongue. As the woman was slow at running, he pulled her forward roughly.

A shoe came off the woman’s foot. It was a high-heel one. She wore it because it made the shape of her legs seem bewitching and pleased men. It was not suited for running.

“My shoe came off!”

“Take off the other!”

Being yelled at, the woman did as told and took off the other pair while crying. They were shoes that gleamed silver of which she was fond. However, at the moment, she did not need beauty. She resumed running with all her might.

“H-Hey. W-Why... are you being so cold? You’re going to help me, right? I’m your sister, after all.”

At the question asked with restraint, Benedict answered with a disappointed voice, “Ah, about that: it was my misunderstanding.”

After taking off her shoe, she was fast at running. The woman increased her speed, as to be side-by-side with the one pulling her arm. “Eh?” Her voice reversed to her original one in lieu of the extreme course of events.

“I kinda thought I’d seen you before... but my colleague told me to trace back the few memories I have of my life, and when I tried doing that, you were there. I did know you. But you ain’t my sister.”

Silence.

“You’re the one who ripped off everything I had on me and threw me away in the Inkar-usi desert, aren’t you?”

Still silence.

“I remember until the point where I slept with a fine woman. I don’t recall her face. But, this... blond hair that looks fake... tangled in my fingers big time when I stroked it; that’s the only thing that stayed in my memory. I was mad drunk, wasn’t I? I’d earned the biggest amount of reward money until then, so I guess I got cocky.”

The woman tried to halt on the spot. However, Benedict forcefully pulled her along.

“Don’t stop! Run!”

“I don’t want to! You’re telling me you’ll make me yours next!? I won’t be anyone’s any longer! I hate men! I don’t want to live through being used by someone anymore! I want to go back to me homeland!”

There were tears surfacing in the woman’s eyes, but Benedict was not the type of man to falter at such a thing. He grabbed the woman’s dress by the collar, and after snapping his head backward at once, he followed the momentum and head-butted her.

The two writhed in pain.

“That’s why I said I’m taking you back! Who needs someone like you, shithead!? It’s not like I’ve forgiven you! If I hadn’t been picked up by one hell of a good guy after that, I would’ve killed you a long time ago!”

“If you’ve found out about my lie, then why...!? I pretended to be your sister and asked you to break me out, y’know!?”

“I just told you, didn’t I!? Thanks to you abandoning me in a desert, I’m the most blessed ever now! If I hadn’t met that guy back there, I wouldn’t even have a name and would be sleeping with women somewhere and waking up completely broke! All because I ended up scoring a fate good enough to rewind my life until that point from a shitty goddess like you! It only so happens that you almost tricked me, but I felt like saving you! Okay?! I hate you, so keep just that in mind! Once I help you out, be careful of the roads at night!”

After spitting out abusive language again with another “shithead”, Benedict made the woman run. The woman could not believe it. Up until now, she had told countless men who had slipped into her body about her personal history and attempted to earn their help. However, she had no one.

“You’ve got a terrible look in your eyes, huh. Mine’s pretty terrible too.”

She had no one.

“I have amnesia. I used to have a little sister... but I can’t remember her.”

She had no one.

“Hey, your hair reminds me of my sister’s; can I stroke it?”

She had no one.

“I’ll raise your pay if you stay until morning, so be here. It’s been a while since the last time I wasn’t alone.”

She had no one, and so, she had thought it would be all right to deceive somebody.

Her tears poured incessantly. They flowed down as if to block her mouth and nose. It was hard to breathe. Even so, she had to say it.

“I’m sorry!” while sobbing, the woman apologized to Benedict.

“Aah!?”

“I’m sorry for lying to you! I’m sorry for those two times!”

“Shut up! I told you I wouldn’t forgive you, didn’t I!? Those two times! I won’t forgive for the rest of my life!”

“But—But, I’m sorry! Sorry for pretending to be your sister!”

In the middle of passing through the alley, they heard gunshots from behind for some reason. The ones who monitored her – a merchandize – had probably come chasing the two. Benedict took a peek backwards, but continued running without minding it.

“They’ve come after us!”

Benedict was already replying to the woman’s shouts with a, “Shut up!” as easily as breathing.

Bullets went past their feet and sides. However, the gunning that was intense at first gradually diminished as the two rushed through the alley. Benedict shot back behind his shoulder as a diversionary action, but did not attempt to hit the other party at all.

Once they reached the end of the alley, Benedict kicked off the half-open lid of a skewer route and opened it fully. “Now, fall!” He kicked the woman into it. He did hear her scream, but having climbed the way up, he was aware that it was not too great a descent. Before going down as well himself, he looked at a certain direction. “V...”

Beyond his gaze was a comrade of his, who had promised to hit his enemies with all of her power as an interceptor.

She was on the top of a tree far away from the current position of Benedict and the woman. Violet Evergarden, who was sniping the group that chased after them, had taken aim upon confirming that gunshots were coming from said group. She targeted the firearm in their hands and pulled the trigger. The perfect trajectory of her bullets passed by Benedict and the woman’s sides, hindering the people that obstructed their way.

Realizing that his own gun had been flicked away by someone, the man who had fired the first shot raised his voice in astonishment, “You’re kidding me, right!?”

While he was in shock, the unseen sniper continued attacking. One of them attempted to target and shoot at the back of the woman, who was falling behind as she ran, but also had his weapon destroyed before he fired, and although he was attacked, he was easily able to defend himself against it.

“Don’t shoot without thinking! We’re under aim!” another yelled, but on such a dark night in an alley like that, the panic of having someone snipe only their weapons so precisely caused the men to lose their normal nature.

“STAY AWAAAAY!”

A legend of the battlefields, unknown to those who lived in cities through making women into food, was making them insane. They blindly faced the sky and shot at random. Bullets came flying to Violet’s direction as well, but did not as much as touch her body.

Guns had something called “effective range distance”. The guns used by the men were not suited for long-range shooting. Things also depended on the skills of the person using it, so differences in distance occurred even with that type of gun.

With a long-range rifle adopted by the military, Violet was taking aim from her position on a tree that the men absolutely could not see. “Target seized... Fire.”

The sounds of shooting echoed.

From far away, she could see someone’s gun falling down from his hand. “Fire, hit.” She moved mute and quickly, as if carrying out a simple job. “Fire, hit, fire.”

It would be fine if her face distorted in pain from the impact of shooting.

“Fire.”

However, Violet’s facial expression bore no emotion.

“Fire.”

Eventually, as everything became quiet, while exhaling a deep breath, Violet ceased to shoot and descended to the root of the tree. It would seem that the long-range shotgun she had bought just recently with her own salary had done a satisfactory work for her.

As she succeeded at the “back-up fire” in the literal sense of the term, she immediately left the spot.

The shooting battle that took place in the city of Lontano over the night turned into a much bigger occurrence than Benedict and the others had imagined, and the situation got to the point of the military police being dispatched. It so happened that people other than the woman behind the scandal had blended with the confusion of the turmoil and fled the city from the shadows, but those were stories unknown to Benedict and Violet.

A few hours had passed since the troublesome escape feat.

“Ouch!”

“Shut up! Hurry and put them on!” In a world wherein flowed the light of dawn, Benedict threw the shoes he had been wearing on the woman’s face.

While muttering complaints about him flinging the shoes at her, the woman tied them on. She had been running around the whole night and shaking off their chasers with Benedict, so her feet were injured and wet with blood. The pain was severe, but the exhilaration of managing to escape allowed her to feel as if it did not matter. Moreover, as she put on Benedict’s shoes, although they were too big, it became easier for her to walk in comparison to when she was not wearing anything on her feet.

Benedict was shoeless instead. He had cut wounds in his entire body. His clothes were ripped everywhere as well.

“Hey, why?”

“Shut up... Don’t ask so many times.”

“But, it’s just... I keep wondering why. Until now, nobody had helped me out, so it’s very strange to me.”

At those words, the face of Claudia Hodgins crossed Benedict’s mind. His good-natured employer and lifesaver. He, too, had bestowed Benedict with clothes and shoes when the latter was naked.

——I also kept asking why, I guess.

People who had never been treated kindly would think of unconditional love as the beginning of something terrifying. They firmly believed that everything others would bring them was either reprimanding or abuse.

“I told you, didn’t I? It’s ‘cause I was picked up by a good guy. That’s why.” A small smile escaped him.

“Benedict.”

His name called from behind, Benedict turned around.

With leaves on her head, their accomplice of the day, Violet Evergarden, was holding out tickets for the first train of the morning, which would now depart. “Also, take this as well.” Together with the ticket, she left in the woman’s hands a bag of freshly baked bread presumably bought in a nearby shop.

The woman eyed the bread and Violet alternately, tears forming in her eyes. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Be careful on your way...”

“You’re the one that had least to do with this... Thank you, really.”

“No. It has to do with me. I was his ‘back-up fire’, after all.”

Hearing that, Benedict laughed loudly. When she had talked about being his back-up fire, the connotation was simply of lending a hand, and he had not thought she would actually put it to practice.

As Violet and Benedict were the only ones who knew the meaning of that, the woman tilted her neck. “Benedict... you too.”

“Use ‘Mister’.”

“Mr. Benedict, you too, thank you very much...!”

“Again, be careful on the roads at night,” Benedict replied with a threat incorporated to it.

The time of depart had still not come. The duo, having decided to leave her there and disperse, finished their farewells with a “see ya” and started walking away.

“H-Hum! Mr. Benedict.” Perhaps still having something to say, once Benedict turned around, the woman was smiling, her blond hair fluttering in the morning wind. “You see, I had an older brother... I haven’t seen him for years now, so I can’t remember him, but when I was a child, I used to call him ‘Big Bro’... I really did have those feelings in mind when I called you that.”

“So what?”

“If I were your little sister, I’d definitely search the whole world for a big brother like you!”

“You ain’t her, though.”

“I’m not! But one day, for sure—!”

One day, you will find her, the woman smiled faintly.

At that moment, Benedict’s sky-blue orbs opened wide. An indescribable, strange feeling rushed throughout his body. If so-called memories were provided to people by traveling across not only their souls but also the particulars of their bodies, and if they could be remembered through a small trigger in case something was forgotten, it might turn out as that sort of feeling, like a tingle from an electric shock.

The woman waved, still smiling. He did not tell her to shut up.

“Stu~pid.” His voice trembled. Turning roundly on his heels, Benedict started walking.

Violet followed him from behind.

——Aah, I…

His vision was shaky.

——Why? Why did I think she was my little sister?

He could now clearly tell. She was not at all like his sister. Firstly, although both were blonde, the shades of their hair were completely different, and although his sister was also fine-looking, she and that woman had different characteristics.

“Benedict?”

Yes, his sister was not such a lustful beauty, but instead had more of a fickle appearance. She had a well-behaved voice tone and demeanor, and was not the kind of person who would refer to others as “you”.

“Benedict, please wait.”

To begin with, she rarely ever called him “Big Bro” and mostly called him by his name. He did not remember that name, but he remembered her calling it.

“Benedict, you will trip if you walk like this.”

——Aah, out of all things... out of all things...

“Benedict, why are you crying?”

Out of all things, he just had to remember his little sister because of a smile from the woman who had knocked him off into hell.

“My, welcome back, my friend who no longer knows his own name.”

——She was a crybaby and a scaredy-cat. She’d always hide behind my back and follow me in trots. I liked the most when she’d come running at my direction after spotting me. That’s why I’d make her look for me on purpose sometimes. The times when we were together were happy, and he rest was hell.

I did have a little sister. She was there all the time. That’s for sure.

In my oldest memory, she was by my side. It was really cold when we woke up. We were in a place that was like a stone tower. She was the closest to me, and was shivering too. The adults hadn’t given us any blankets, so I called her over and the two of us clung to each other. When I asked, “Who are you again?”, her face looked like she was about to cry and she said, “Don’t forget me”.

I was told afterward that she was my little sister, so I thought, “That’s right”. She said I was in a pretty bad condition. That I’d almost died because of a head injury that apparently I myself had earned. That I was quick to want to die when my ego blew off. I’d get disposed of if I went crazy just one more time. That’s why she cried to me, begging me to stay sane.

My sister remembered a lot more than I did. We actually didn’t live in that place and we did have a family. But people would forget things little by little in that place. When I asked if she was certain that I was her older brother, she replied that she was. “You’re forgetting stuff too, right? How do you know?” I asked. When I pressed with a, “That’s right, how can you know?”, she cried even more that, “I have the feeling of love left in me, so we’re family”. She had a weird personality, but after those words, I thought I just had to protect my sister.

The adults called the tower “home”. At “home”, small children were recruited to do adult works. There were all kinds of jobs. Like delivering things, or retrieving them. Jobs in which someone would die when I performed that sorta labor. Those who were good at work were also ordered more direct stuff. It seems I’d gone nuts when they piled up. If you failed your duties, your little brother, little sister, older brother or older sister – the smallest numbers of each of our family members – would get killed. The people that knew and loved us were hostages. Well, that does make people go mad.

“Home” was like a tiny military unit. We always went to different places. From what the adults would say, “home” was a temporary employee placement livelihood. They were preparing human resources able to endure any type of battle mission from scratch. Come to think of it now, they’d give me medicines and incense without a break every day for some reason.

My sister, myself and the others, who were forgetting a lot of things, were apparently human resource pupils. From what my sister told me, in that jumble of children, I was the most apt for those jobs. It seemed I was the one who took the biggest amount of medicine, so my forgetfulness was pretty bad.

Could humans be created from scratch after being made to forget everything? On top of that, could they be raised into the strongest human resources? The answers were “yes” and “no” – you could say both.

We’d end up going crazy at just one cogitation. We were quick to become suicidal. There was no meaning in soldiers who couldn’t be used for long. I was probably insane but pretended to be normal for my sister’s sake.

The adults would say that they’d hire us once we grew up. That, for the moment, we were livestock.

It seemed that the adults monitoring us had lived like us in the past. “Aren’t there only idiots here?” I thought. They hadn’t learned anything even after those horrible things were done to them.

I decided that, if we had to become adults in that hell, we’d better run away. My sister was crying. If we tried to escape, the adults would come to kill us for sure.

The feeling of wanting to die had always been in me. If I was gonna die anyway, I’d wanted to die for my sister. Whoever did something to her that she didn’t want to was shit. I wanted to kill them.

She was the only pretty thing in that pathetic world. I don’t know if she was really my sister. But even if we just happened to have the same hair and eye color, she was my everything. She was the girl I’d wanted to protect the most in the world. Even though she was all I had...

“Your Big Bro will protect you,     , okay?”

Even though she was all I had... I’d surely failed to set my sister free.

Tears poured from Benedict’s eyes.

“Shit…”

The tears that poured from them flowed continuously, eventually penetrating the earth and disappearing without fulfilling any purpose. They would nevermore return. Never would they go back to the eyes that had produced them. Similarly, the important person who had poured out of Benedict’s life would surely not return.

——Life... is shit.

In his memory of taking her by the hand amidst the night, running away and, lastly, watching the boat from the bottom of the sea, if his sister was on that boat, just how would her young self have survived afterward? Had she drifted and been picked up by some kindhearted person? Had his overprescribed sibling survived just fine after forgetting about him and about herself? Was she living well somewhere under that same sky even as they were unable to see each other?

That was but a dream story.

The world seemed filled with happy stories, but they were actually very few. Stories and real life were...

——I didn’t need a life like that.

At the very least, Benedict’s life tasted of the sea. It was too salty and undrinkable. Such was it even now. The tear droplets that spilled down his cheeks, passed by his lips and dripped from his chin had the flavor of the ocean. Benedict’s past was chasing him and strangling his neck, so as to kill him from sadness. He wanted to scream and break into wails, asking, “Why?”.

——End it right now. God, why’re you doing this? End it right now. God, there’s no salvation for me. Please help me. End it right now. God, I can’t breathe because of the pain in my chest brought by this sadness. Hurry, as soon as possible, right now, bring this life…

“Don’t go crazy; don’t die,” she had asked of him.

——...to an end...!

Yet he chose death. After all, surely, his sister had already died long before.

He had always fled from such truth. He had merely forgotten about it. Things such as wishing that he would not die in a desert and thinking about eating bread with someone had stemmed from his made-up other self. He was simply a fake that had pretended to be sane and survived somehow. Even if he was in the past, his original self had yearned to die for a long time. It was false of him to be currently living and showing gratitude to somebody. He certainly had forgotten what should not have been forgotten because it was easier that way.

The painful and the easy. When sorting them out, he had picked the easy. There was no mistaking that he had wanted to try forgetting everything and live freely.

He was cursed for it.

“Was it fun?” If he were asked so, he could answer that it was great fun.

——Yeah, all of it was fun.

In his new life, after meeting that man, the humidity and temperature of the of the continent he was brought to upon being picked up were different, and everything was fresh. The motorcycle that he was granted in place of holding onto a gun or sword had showed him many worlds.

He merely delivered things. He had thought it was only that, but upon seeing it for the first time, being a postman was difficult. Every day, he was at loss from being scolded by the clients or receiving excessive gratitude. It was strange for someone like him, who had never gotten a letter, to be delivering them.

Oddly enough, whenever he saw the smiles of the people on the receiving end, he would feel as if he were doing an extremely good deed. He had found it weird that a postal agency had been chosen for starting a business and was unused to it, but he had come to understand that the reason for being of such job was to perform labor.

It was simply delivery. If one was able to walk or to ride a motorcycle, be it a woman, man, child or elder – anyone could do it. It did not have to be him. It was not a work that only he could do. However, he thought that this mere delivery was not bad. He deemed it as fun. Deliveries in which he was able to please others were enjoyable.

No matter what he did, the sights he would see were unlike the ones from when he was a mercenary. The small discoveries that he would find during a delivery – minor things such as there being a delicious bakery or going faster by taking a certain road – were fun. But more enjoyable than anything else was that he had a place to go back to, no matter to what part of the world he went. Even as he returned in tatters, once he opened the office’s door, there was someone who would say, “Aah, welcome back, Benedict. Good work”.

In the world where he had started walking as if he had suddenly been born, ever since he had met that man, yes, it did seem foolish, but the world had gained colors as though he had met his fated woman.

——It was fun, it was fun, it was fun, it was fun, it was fun. I shouldn’t have enjoyed himself, and yet, I had so much fun. What have you been doing? Why were you enjoying it? You weren’t in position to. You’re a person who should’ve died without knowing what “fun” was. Be over, be over, be over, be over. Everything should come to an end. Let’s end this version of me now. Ain’t that better for everyone? There’d be no harm for anybody if there was one less person like me, with no family or lover, in the world. I’ve had enough fun. As for the people who’ll be sad for me, it’s enough if I can count them with one hand. I’ll erase myself and make this dirty world clean in the end. You shouldn’t be having fun. What you gotta do is just one thing: go face your sister, who’s smiling inside your head.

That was why Benedict impulsively searched for his gun with one of his hands.

Surely, people died that way. Sorrow would seal their throats and they would die unable to breathe. They would die from having more sad moments than happy moments.

He felt that he would not be able to live even if for another second. It was not that he wished to die. Rather, he was taking a decision for himself that he had to die.

Was there any living being that wanted to die as soon as it was born? Most of them supposedly wanted to live. Yes, they wanted to live. Live a wonderful life, if possible. A life that would make being born worthwhile.

However, it by no means went well all the time. Life was not something that one would prepare beforehand.

“Ugh... uuugh...”

As a result of choices made, there were countless changes. There were times in which only grievous things would happen. A series of things such as regretting being born.

Hardships were like gelid rain that God would pour over anyone. It would be great there was a place to take shelter from it or an umbrella, but there were times when one could not find them. The prolonged rain would cause one’s body to grow cold and the roots of their teeth to shake. For people, it was something difficult to endure. When it became impossible to withstand, people...

“Sto... p.”

...would crave death.

“St... o...”

When living became hard, they tended to look for what was easier. It was nothing strange. What was wrong with running away? The least amount of pain was better. The shortest suffering was better.

The purpose of living creatures was something that they decided on themselves.

“Sto... p.”

Still, yes...

“Stop.”

...the same had happened when he was in that desert.

“Stop it; why...?”

A certain number of people, beloved by the Goddess of Fortune, were able to filter out of such instance. If one thoroughly prodded into it, they would find it was but the result of something that had been piling up.

The work of the Goddess happened in a vivid way. If one were to ask what exactly that was...

“V...”

...it would be somebody showing up to hold whoever’s hand when they attempted to die.

At the cliff of his life, the one who had acted as his back-up fire appeared.

What the Goddess brought about was different for each person. For Benedict Blue, in the present moment...

“Benedict.”

...it was Violet Evergarden.

——Why’re you holding my hand, out of all things?

Just as the older brother who had grabbed onto his younger sister’s hand in the darkness, Violet gripped Benedict’s. Upon squeezing it once, she changed her hold into that of lacing fingers together and walked on, guiding him. “Benedict, let’s go home.”

Even though he had been unable to take a single step, he wound up walking.

“That is no good.”

He could not take his gun while she was holding his hand.

“If you are crying, you cannot see what lies ahead.”

Although he wanted to shoot a bullet into his head, he could not.

“I will pull you by the hand, yes?”

Upon being told by that girl, who resembled his sister, to return home…

“Let’s go home.”

...he wound up thinking that, aah, he had to live.

“V...”

The reason why he had not been able to leave her on her own one way or another from the first time he had seen her was that their appearances were similar. Both had golden hair and blue eyes, and were somewhat lonely. He felt as if he had always, always made of her something like a substitute for his sister.

“V... I...”

He was unable to take his eyes off her and even referred to her by a nickname.

“I... probably... killed... my little sister... I’ve remembered it...”

Although he had forgotten his sister, some part of him ended up thinking that, if she were alive, she would have turned out that way. His tears became unstoppable at his own idiocy. He would wonder, “Why did my past self fail if she was so important to me?”

“We abated halfway, and I got separated from her... U-Uugh... It’s... It’s like I killed her...”

Violet clasped his hand even tighter. “You do not know that yet, right?” Rather than like a younger sister, she was like an older one. “Just as that person said, you might meet her again one day,” she whispered as if to admonish him, as if to soothe him.

“Impossible... Impossible... I was definitely the only one... the only one who survived... I... I was...” He shed too many tears, the words cut off by his weeping. It was suffocating. He wanted that suffocation to end.

“Benedict, nothing is definite. My Major was alive too. Who can 'definitely’ say that your sister is dead?”

The hand that she had joined fingers with throbbed. However, were it not for that pain, it felt as if he would soon let go and kill himself.

“But... But y'know...”

“We have dealt with quite a lot today. We can deal with it from now on too. Is that not right?”

“I was... I was... better off dead...!”

Crying that way, just like a child, was foolish, Benedict thought. There was no turning back anything anymore.

“I was better off dead!”

Even if he cried, he had already lost her. He had no idea where in the world to look for her either. Should joined hands let go, if the other party was not nearby, they could not be joined again.

“Benedict.”

Violet’s legs stopped completely. Did the crying Benedict look like a little boy to her? She came closer, forcing his head over her shoulder. “Let’s go back, Benedict.”

“Where to?”

“To the company. You and I only have that place.”

Silence.

Indeed, they did not have anywhere else. The people who would wait for them and hold their ground without going insane were indeed nowhere but there.

——But is it okay for me to go back?

“I’ve... done horrible things in the past. It’s just nobody knows that I... when I was mercenary...”

“Yes.”

“I did a lot of stupid stuff. It’s not forgivable just ‘cause I was a kid.”

“Yes.”

“I... But...”

The face of Claudia Hodgins crossed his mind.

——I shouldn’t... go back.

The sense of exhilaration as he walked for the first time with the loose-fitting shoes that man gave him. The jokes the other would tell while spewing complaints when hanging out with him. The laughter from when they would drink and make a ruckus together.

——But...

His eyebrows lowering whenever he was troubled. His back arching whenever Lux was angry with him. The sweet voice he used only for women. The strength he showed to him. He was the only good-natured person in the world that could become attached to an amnesiac man who had nothing.

——I do wanna go back.

He wanted to return to that good-natured person so, so keenly that it filled him with tears.

“But even so, you will live, right?”

Benedict dry-swallowed. Those words almost felt like a bullet shot into his chest. He was so surprised that he became wordless. She was normally a taciturn and did not use decorated words. But she would sometimes boldly bring the truth to light.

“You will live, right?” A little bit of pleading was mixed in Violet’s voice.

The hand that Violet had joined with his. Her artificial fingers.

“Let’s count the things you have done and the things you will do from now on, so that you shall not forget.”

They were proof of the things she had lost and the things she had broken. As well as a symbol of regeneration. Such fingers delicately laced him in place.

“Until you die someday.”

The girl in front of him had accepted that agony much sooner than he had, without running away or averting her eyes from it, and simply stayed amidst the sadness.

“Today... For today, let’s go home.”

That was Violet Evergarden.

“Now, let’s walk. Do you recall that our shift was only until morning and that our day off would start at noon?” Gradually, but still by pulling his hand, she guided Benedict. “Yesterday, we wound up going back to Lontano without finishing our reports. We had promised Lux that we would submit them today without fail. We are too tattered to go to work looking like nothing happened. Surely, if we show up to work like this, there might be a huge scandal, right?”

As Benedict was told so, they surfaced in his head – his quarreling comrade from the founding day, Cattleya; Lux, who had been picked up from an isolated island; their colleagues from CH Postal Company; the city of Leidenschaftlich; his own past; his current occupation; his new name and the man who had given it to him.

“I wonder if Old Man will be mad...”

Claudia Hodgins. The man who gave him everything he had now. He wanted to see the other very much. As he reminisced to the other’s voice and face, his chest seemed about to burst.

In Benedict’s life, his past included, Hodgins had been the only adult to provide for and protect him.

“You were able to meet President Hodgins because you were alive. You can find your sister as well. Surely... People like us are no good if we do not believe so, Benedict.”

He had enough strength to live by himself, no matter where.

“Today was very tiring, right? Let’s go home.”

However, the warmth of having a guardian changed Benedict, who used to loathe ties of obligation. The CH Postal Company, which Violet said to go back to, had already become his place of return.

Benedict looked at the sky. The Sun was rising. Behind him, the shadow that the night had melted into was now reflected richly. The road ahead was brightly illuminated. Just like the past and the present.

“Hey, V.” As Violet asked what the matter was, he muttered while wiping his tears with the sleeve of his shirt, “The thing about me crying is a secret between us two.”

The figures of the two as they walked on holding hands probably looked like that of siblings who got along well.

   “Right now, your life is all you have, isn’t it? I’ll buy that.”

At those words, the man’s heart started making loud noises. He was supposedly used to exchanging his life for money, but he seemed about to stop breathing at being asked for it face-to-face.

“How much?”

Upon being asked, the man was at loss. “Dunno.”

As he answered seriously, Hodgins laughed, “What a fool; give a high price.”

“Why?”

“You could give a sum that I can’t pay for, so that I’d have to hire you for the rest of my life.”

For an instant, he had not understood what was said, and so he answered after a moment, “Don’t wanna! Whatcha saying!?”

“I mean, you have nothing, right?”

“Don’t keep saying 'nothing’!”

“We’d be like a family if we’re together, even if we aren’t related by blood. Just give a price that I can’t pay.”

“Hah?”

“Like I said, we could be like a family. Well, that’s fine. More importantly, your name.”

“No, no, hey, you’re definitely a weirdo, right?”

“It’s come to me!”

“Old Man! It’s like you’re not listening to what I say, ain’t it!?”

“All right. Listen ve~ry well.”

“You listen well!”

With an extremely happy-looking face and little shyly, Hodgins said, “It might be a bit pretentious. I understand his feelings now. Ah, no, y’see, it’s my own feelings, so to say. I’m putting into it my wish of wanting a young one like you to be this way.”

At that second, the only one in the world who witnessed the shine in those blue eyes was Claudia Hodgins.

“It means ‘blessed’; how about ‘Benedict’?”

He knew for the first time the joy of having his life blessed by someone at that moment.

“Let’s take it after the god that administers divine protection. Leave ‘Blue’ to be your surname. The name you gave yourself plus my ‘Benedict’. ‘Benedict Blue’. Yup, it’s a good name. Nice to meet ya, Benedict.”

Even as he became hurt when replaying his memories, he would be blessed whenever someone called his name.

“Stu~pid.”

 He did not want to let go of that blessing ever again.

“Aah, Benedict and Little Violet. Welcome ba... Hey, this isn’t okay! What happened...!? You two come here! Little Lux, the first-aid kit!”

Albeit a little long, that was the story of Benedict Blue.

[keeroo92]

Savior, Bloodstain, Hellfire, Shadow Ch34 (V x Reader)

True Ending part two: Sacrifice :D

V

A peaceful moment of bliss passes as the quartet regains their bearings after the dramatic scene, each gathering themselves to finish what you all started together. V has to force himself to bring his mind back to the matter at hand, instead of reveling in all the joy he feels at having a future. He’s never allowed himself the luxury of wondering what his life will be like in five years, ten years, anything past Urizen.

Holy shit, we’re alive! It actually worked! Can you believe it, Shakespeare?

I… I don’t have the words.

Allow me, then. FUCK YEAH!

An amused roar, a low rumble of shifting earth. V smirks at his three friends’ jubilance, all four of them giddy with excitement. It feels as if he’d been carrying a massive block of stone on his back and never noticed, the weight of it so normalized that he couldn’t have envisioned his existence without it on his shoulders. Yet now, the weight is lifted, and V feels as if he can fly unaided. His spirit soars, his mind racing at everything he can now plan for, new goals already formulating as the news of his child sinks in.

He cradles you even closer, tightening his arms around you tenderly. A long sigh from Dante reminds him forcefully that his task is not yet complete.

 Urizen is gone, but the Qlipoth remains.

V carefully sits up, keeping you in his arms as he refocuses on what still needs to be done. It irritates him to realize how his body still trembles, his nerves frayed and exhausted to the point of rebellion after all he has endured. He sighs in frustration as both Nero and Dante stand with ease, seemingly unaffected by their chaotic battle.

“So… how do we take this overgrown weed down?” Nero comments with a smirk. His eyes sweep across the area and widen as he spots something near Urizen, his feet carrying him to it in seconds.

The young warrior lets out an excited whoop, stooping over to pick up a long and thin object.

 Is that…?

Nero holds the item up with a wide grin.

“It’s Yamato!” he calls out, confirming V’s suspicions. Dante shakes his head and chuckles as Nero returns.

“Right, then… that’ll come in handy. Give it here, kid,” Dante demands, holding out his hand. Nero looks at him quizzically, not fully grasping his uncle’s intentions yet. The elder Sparda sighs, crossing his arms as he elaborates.

“Look, someone’s gotta go clean up this mess, and I sure as hell ain’t about to let any of you three do it,” the man in red begins. “I need to sever the Qliphoth roots in the Underworld itself. Then, I'll seal the portal with the Yamato.”

Nero instantly starts to protest, V simply sharing a look of bewilderment with you at his brother’s tone.

“Hang on, if you do that, you can't come back!” his argumentative son argues vehemently.  

“Why do you think I'm the one going? I’m the only one with nothing to lose. I’ll get the job done, no matter what it takes,” Dante replies, giving a weighted look at you and V, and suddenly the poet understands.

 He’s sacrificing himself for us.

His heart sinks like a stone in a streambed at the realization, knowing he’s about to lose his brother once again just as the two of them were starting to reconnect.

“You can't just expect me to stay here, while you go—” Nero shoots back, but V interrupts him tersely.

“Think of Kyrie. Could you truly abandon her like that? Dante is right, it has to be him,” the obsidian haired man explains frustratedly. Nero grunts in aggravation as he struggles to find a counter, unable to do so despite his best efforts.

“It's because you're here I can go. I’m trusting you three with things on this side, capisce?”  the man in red declares. Nero grimaces, understanding at last though he still clearly wants to go along. He hands the blade to his uncle sadly, pulling the elder Sparda into a hug for an awkward familial embrace. The two men part after a brief moment and Nero clears his throat to speak once more.

“Thanks, Dante. Thanks for everything. I’ll keep this side safe, I promise,” he solemnly states.

 Why must there always be a cost? Is the Sparda family fated to be separated?

V steps forward as well with his face twisted with bitterness, reaching out to his brother to shake his hand as he speaks, “I’ll shade him from the heat till he can bear, to lean in joy upon our fathers knee, and then I’ll stroke his silver hair, and be like him and he will then love me.”

Dante just stares at him in mystification, their arms still locked together.

“Put simply, thank you, brother. And good luck. Do try to come back to us,” V explains with a sigh. Dante smirks; those words he could understand.

“I will,” Dante promises, releasing V’s arm to face you. Your eyes are wide and teary as you meet the man’s gaze.

“Dante… there has to be another way! What if you can’t make it alone?” you cry. V takes your hand and gives it a comforting squeeze as Dante replies softly.

“There isn’t, kid. Come here for a sec,” he rumbles, gesturing to the side and walking away from the others with you barely a step behind. V swallows heavily as bittersweet gratitude toward his brother fills him, knowing exactly what dangers Dante will face in the underworld from personal experience.

______________________________________________________________

A few moments pass in silence as you accompany Dante toward the peaceful house, his gaze locked on the structure thoughtfully. The idea of him being trapped in the underworld is deeply disturbing, but you can’t fault his logic. He is the strongest, and also the only one of the group without a partner who would be devastated to lose him. It’s tragic, but the thought of Nero or V going with him or in his place is so much worse you can’t even finish the thought.

“Alright… couple things. First, you really gonna have V’s kid, kid?” the man in red begins, a curious smile twisting his mouth.

“I… eventually, maybe. I only said that because I thought it might get through to him,” you respond in embarrassment, turning pink. You had hoped no one else had heard that part, but considering how loud you had shouted, it doesn’t really surprise you that your words are apparently common knowledge.

“I can respect that. I mean, it worked, so good call. I uh… if you ever do end up having kids with him, be extra careful. I can’t say if his demonic heritage would affect anything, but who knows? You two could have your hands full with a little devil running around,” he comments wryly. You can’t help but chuckle, picturing a tiny version of Dante’s devil form flying away to escape time out.

“I have a request, though, if you’ll hear me out,” he continues.

Suspicion blooms like a flower in your mind and you cross your arms, giving him an imperious glare. He’s kept his word and been respectful, but if he thinks he’s never coming back, who knows what he’ll ask you for?

“I’m not agreeing without hearing it first,” you inform him, and now it’s his turn to chuckle.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing like that,” he assures you with a smirk. He turns back to face the house, his eyes lost in memory as he explains himself. “Thing is, back in Red Grave City, this place is practically destroyed. I have the deed for the land in my safe, Trish knows the combination. I want you and V to have it, and my request is that you rebuild it. Make some good memories to clear out the bad. There’s been too much darkness there, but once it was a good home and it could be again.”

You freeze in your tracks, caught utterly off guard by his request.

 I thought he’d want a kiss or something!

Taking a few seconds to think about it, you realize how perfect the idea is. You never intended to go back to your apartment, and as far as you know V doesn’t have a home to return to. It would take some time to rebuild it, but with some hard work it could be a wonderful home.

 And I’d live with V! Just the two of us.

Dante watches you carefully as you ponder, nervousness marking his face as he waits to hear your response. You shoot him a smile as your thoughts reach their conclusion, leaning forward to wrap him in your arms for a hug. He hesitates but hugs you back gently.

“Thank you, Dante. We’ll make it a home again, I promise,” you whisper against his chest. You hear the low rumble of a hum of acknowledgement in his body, a small smile crossing his rugged features. He pulls away to put his hands on your shoulders, staring deeply into your eyes.

“Hey, I should be the one thanking you. You saved my brother, or at least the part that’s not a total douchebag. We would’ve fought, probably until one or both of us was dead, so you kinda saved my life too,” he gratefully explains.

You can’t help but blush, unsure if you can really take the credit for that but touched by his words regardless. He stands upright again, dropping his hands to rest on his hips as he turns back to face the house he lost everything in.

“I guess I have a couple other requests, actually,” he adds, and your eyes drift upward in an exasperated roll. You sigh but gesture for him to speak, preparing another eye roll if he asks for something stupid.

“First I gotta tell you where it is, but I want you to take V to our mom’s grave. It’s not far from the house, shouldn’t be too hard to find,” he begins carefully. “I would’ve liked to take him myself, but…”

You swallow harshly as the tears you’ve only barely managed to withhold after V’s survival threaten to spill forth once more. Your heart aches for Dante, knowing that he faces almost certain death and this may be your last chance to speak to him alone.

“I’d be honored to take him, Dante. And Nero, too, if that’s alright,” you whisper back. Dante nods his agreement, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he wrestles with his own emotions. Your first impression of him couldn’t have been more wrong, in the end. Yes, he puts up an arrogant façade, only showing the confident and reckless portions of himself to most people. But underneath the bravado and flirtations, Dante is a deeply intuitive person. He reminds you a little of Lara in his thoughtfulness. Few people would have asked for the things he was asking, for you to restore his childhood home and help his brother find closure.

 Oh, Dante… I’m sorry. I underestimated you.

“Last thing, and this one is more of a formality. Keep an eye on Nero, yeah? Make sure he doesn’t do anything too stupid. And V, too. He’s gonna need you even more after all this bullshit, you know,” he concludes heavily.

You take a page out of the legendary devil hunters’ playbook and adopt a confident, almost cocky expression as you cross your arms and turn to face him.

“Try and stop me,” you answer, with all the bravado you can muster. Dante bursts out laughing, clapping a hand on your shoulder as he catches his breath.

“Oh, Y/N, you’re gonna make a great Sparda. I wish I could be there to see it,” he chuckles.

“See what?” you ask.

“Hehe, see you and V get married. Hey, thanks for caring about him so much. I’m glad he won’t be alone anymore,” Dante tells you with a sly grin.

 Married!?

 Married…

A wide smile spreads across your lips at the idea as you picture V waiting for you at the end of an aisle, all your friends surrounding you as you officially declare your love for each other. Dante chuckles once again at your radiant expression.

“And with that, kid, you’re ready.”

He snickers once more, almost wheezing in amusement as he starts walking back to the other two men. You follow behind, glancing back at the house once again to solidify its appearance in your memory. The four of you stand together, sharing one last moment before the family is forced apart.

 It isn’t enough…

You step forward, standing in the middle of the men and reaching out to pull them all into a group hug. Nero grumbles along with Dante, but V just laughs as he embraces his family. You’re wrapped in a cocoon of Sparda’s, enveloped in warmth and love.

From V, the man you’ve given your heart and will love for the rest of your life.

To Nero, the brother and best friend you never knew you were missing.

To Dante, the pseudo father figure that had surprising depths hidden behind his mask of joviality.

After a long moment, the men break the embrace, all smiling but also a bit pink. Nero looks up the hole you had all jumped down with a frown.

“How the hell are we gonna get back up?”

______________________________________________________________

V

In the end, Dante has to ferry each of you up one at a time using his devil form. By the time everyone is back in the dark and terrible Qlipoth structure, his brother is panting with exertion. In contrast, V can feel himself recovering slowly, his strength gradually returning to him as his body replenishes itself.

He’s still tired, still needs a little help to keep moving. He takes turns being partially supported by you and Nero a the three of you leave Dante behind to gather his strength before he crosses over. None of the trio gets far before glancing back at the legendary man  one last time, drinking in his face before it’s lost forever.

 Knowing Dante, he’ll be back.

 I suppose… but it could be years.

 Have some faith, Shakespeare. If anyone can get lucky enough to find their way back, it’s him.

V snorts; his brother definitely has most of the luck in the family, never seeming to have faced a hurdle he couldn’t overcome. Jealousy burns in his stomach as he ponders the contrast to his own life, full of failures and disappointment.

 Until now…

 Now I have everything I’ve never knew I wanted.

He smirks, emerald eyes glancing at you and Nero in turn as you hand him over to the young warrior for the next leg of the journey back to Nico’s van. It should be just around the next corner, if V’s memory serves.

 Ah, there it is.

“V!!! You made it!” Nico howls triumphantly as she sprints over, Lady and Trish not far behind her. All three of their grinning faces fall in unison as they realize who’s missing.

“Where’s Dante?” Trish demands, glaring at V accusingly.

 Of course she would blame me.

“He went to take care of the Qlipoth,” Nero answers helpfully, but his words only inflate Trish’s rage.

“You let him go ALONE?!” she shouts, turning her angry gaze on each of the three of you in turn. V sighs, carefully letting go of Nero and taking his weight on his own legs with a slight grunt. His body still aches, nerves complaining from the abuse he’d endured, but cooperating enough for him to limp over to the van and sit on the lowest step.

“He wouldn’t let us go with him, said we have too much to lose…” you inform Trish mournfully. Lady collapses to the ground, tears falling as she hears of her friend’s sacrifice. Nico lays a hand on the distraught woman’s shoulder, patting it reassuringly as she processes her own reaction.

“So does he! He could die!” Trish screams, infuriated. She makes a noise of disgust as she pushes past V, hastily gathering her weapons from inside the van as she prepares to follow Dante into the abyss. Lady lets out a startled yelp as a deep rumble comes from the Qlipoth; Dante must have met resistance. The entire structure shakes, small segments turning grey and falling to crash on the ground around the vehicle. You and Lady quickly join Trish in the van, but V pauses as he sees Nero hesitate.

His hands clench, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. He closes his eyes and bows his head in a silent farewell, then turns around and starts running.

“I’m going after him! You guys get out of here! And… tell Kyrie I’m sorry!” the young warrior shouts over his shoulder. V stands heavily, reaching out to try and stop him, but Nero is far too fast and vanishes around the corner before he can do anything.

“Nero!” he howls, to no avail. His son is gone, following his brother to their doom.

“V, get inside! We have to go!” you urge him from inside, having witnessed Nero’s departure from the window. You reach out to pull his shoulder, forcing him to join you on the steps as Nico starts the van. He surrenders, still to weak to fight you off as you drag him to the couch.

 First Dante, now Nero… how long will it be until I lose Y/N too?

 Hey, they could still make it back! Don’t count them out yet!

“I still say I could go after him, too!” Trish insists, in a heated argument with Lady. The van speeds away as the two women fight, but V tunes them out. He focuses on you, cradling you in his arms as Nico’s perilous driving takes you all away from the Qlipoth. He rests a hand on your stomach, wondering if he’ll have another son or perhaps a daughter. It comforts him, helps him remember that his family hasn’t all gone to face death.

 Only half of it…

______________________________________________________________

The retreat continues, the massive Qlipoth rumbling threateningly even as Nico carries you all away as quickly as she can. You watch out the window as you at long last reach daylight, leaving the darkness behind. The van races on as the tree shrinks, though it’s hard to tell considering its size.

 I hope Nero can’t find Dante. I hope he gives up and finds us…

As the van crests a hill, you see a bright light appear a few dozen yards higher on the tree, a blue glow flashing for an instant. You lean forward, squinting to try and figure out the source of the beautiful color.

“Nero?!” you gasp out, drawing the attention of the others instantly. Even Nico shifts her eyes to see what you’re staring at; fortunately, you’re on a somewhat clear and straight stretch of road. Lady and Trish gape as the blue light rises, ascending the tree at an incredible speed. A faint echo of Nero’s voice hits you as the blue dot leaves your field of view.

“Holy shit! Is he flying?!” Nico demands. She’s forced to pay attention to the road again as you dash onward, putting yet more distance between your group and the Qlipoth. You rejoin V on the couch, no longer able to see Nero.

 What the hell happened to him? How can he fly?

“He must have unlocked his devil form. I was beginning to wonder if he even had one, but better late than never,” Trish comments dryly, smirking.

Mere seconds later, all eyes are drawn back to the tree once again as the ground beneath the wheels of the van shakes ominously. The Qlipoth is turning grey, its horrible form breaking and massive chunks of stone-like remains crash to the ground below in a symphony of Dante’s success.

Everyone in the van cheers as the demonic growth crumbles away, the red stained clouds clearing and the darkness receding from the city as the last few pieces rain down. Sections of the city shift, the roots they had been elevated on vanishing and forcing them back to their original positions.

 I hope the Sparda manor is alright…

 I hope Dante and Nero are alright.

Your heart aches as you realize that one or both of them must have made it to the underworld and severed the tree from the other side. Nico pulls over, the van screeching to a stop. The five of you dash off the van to stand and watch the skyline, waiting with bated breath for any sign of your friends.

 Please… please, Nero, come back…

  ______________________________________________________________

The group waits for hours, refusing to admit the brutal truth even as the sun sets and the shadows lengthen behind you. The flame of hope stutters in your chest, dimming and finally going dark as Lady speaks the words you’ve all been thinking.

“They’re gone… both of them…” the brunette states morosely. You sniffle, angrily wiping your eyes as you begin to cry, again.

 I swear, I’ve cried enough to fill a bucket today.

You lean your head on V’s shoulder where he sits beside you, his face stricken as he faces the fact that his brother and his son are gone, trapped in the underworld with no hope of escape.

“Goddamnit, Nero! You fucking asshole!” Nico exclaims, sorrow and rage mixing in her voice. Her shoulders sag as she starts to cry, head bowed as choking sobs break from her lips.

Trish barely shows her sorrow, only her trembling lower lip betraying her pain as she continues her vigil. Her eyes have never once left the horizon, her faith in Dante unshakeable.

Lady sits on your other side, her fingers fidgeting nervously with the hem of her jacket. She keeps biting her lip, worrying it with her teeth in an expression of anxiety.

You wipe your eyes once more and stand, stepping into the van and searching for blankets and pillows. Your breath hitches as you spot one of Nero’s mechanical arms awaiting his return on Nico’s workbench, its cold metal never to touch the flesh of the man it was made for.  Your resolve shatters, your bruised and exhausted heart aching in your chest as you bury your face in a pillow from the couch and scream, wailing your pain to the uncaring down feathers stuffing it.

You had been preparing yourself to lose V, unsure if your plan would work.

You had not been preparing to lose anyone else.

 Stupid, so stupid, to think we could all make it through in one piece! There was no way, it’s amazing more of us aren’t dead!

You bite your cracked lips, stifling the sobs as best you can.

 I’m so tired of crying.

Your head pulsates with waves of pain, your mouth so dry you can’t even wet your lips properly. The flesh under your eyes feels raw from all the tears you’ve wiped away, your eyelids swollen and tired.

 Is it wrong for me to be happy that V’s here? To be grateful?

 It feels like a cruel joke.

“Little fox? Are you alright?” V’s lilting tone calls out from the door. He easily spots you with your face stuffed into a pillow, shoulders still shaking. He closes the door behind him and gently takes you in his arms, rubbing your back soothingly and making soft shushing sounds in your ear. Your sobs fade into hiccups, your body relaxing into his warmth as he eases your pain.

He leans back to look into your eyes, a mournful smile on his lips.

“I’m so sorry about Nero. I know how important he is to you,” he whispers. You swallow heavily before responding, picking up the pieces of your broken heart.

“He’s my best friend… and Dante was growing on me. I can’t believe they’re just… gone,” your broken voice states. V grimaces and you’re suddenly acutely aware of what he must be feeling, self-loathing surging within you as you realize how much worse his pain could be.

“Are you okay, V?” you ask him tremulously. He moves to sit on the couch with a sigh, pushing the dark curtain of his hair out of his face. You reach out to him, your hand feeling the tenseness in his neck and shoulders. You start rubbing, massaging his clenched muscles as he responds slowly.

“I… I don’t know. My body grows stronger, yet… I’m worried about them. About Dante and Nero. I wish there had been another option, or that Nero hadn’t run off,” he mumbles. You pinch the corded muscle connecting his shoulder to his neck and he lets out a contented moan as you carefully pull on the tissue.

“I’m worried too. Is there really nothing we can do? No way to reach them?” you ask morosely, but to your shock, V’s eyes widen as he jolts in the classic expression of an idea coming into his mind.

“There might be… there are many routes to the underworld, it’s possible if there’s an open one close by that we could find them,” he tells you thoughtfully. A low glow of hope flares in your heart, the idea of being able to get the two white-haired warriors home too appealing to ignore.

V stands excitedly, taking your hand and pulling you with him as he goes back outside to rejoin the others. The three women stare at him in confusion as they take in his eager expression, all still reeling from the loss.

“Trish, do you know if there are any devil gates nearby? Or a portal, any access point to the underworld?” the poet begins. The blonde woman stares at him blankly for a long moment as her mind catches up. Her eyes widen in realization, her lips stretching into a hesitant smile.

“You think we could get them out.” She states. V nods, and all three women rush at him, each desperate for any scrap of hope.

 Wait… didn’t Dante say something about closing the portal?

“Uh, guys? Can you explain to the newbie how exactly there’s a way to the underworld if Dante closed the portal with the Yamato?” you ask the quartet. Trish shares a look with V, then steps forward to explain.

“The underworld has numerous portals, uncountable ways to reach it. Dante was referring to the largest and most well-known portal, the one that’s been used most recently to bring the Qlipoth here. Even if he does seal that portal, there are many others that may still function. Those closest to the closed portal may weaken or stop working entirely, but some portals farther away could work easily,” she explains kindly.

“So there’s hope?” you ask her meekly.

“Yes, Y/N. We’re gonna bring our boys home.”

[codylabs]

Shifting Sands Chapter 5: Warpath

Chapters: One Two Three Four Five

And then one day, ███████ felt space itself warp and bend. She heard the rumblings echo through the walls. She heard the engines roar to life, then stall. She heard the klaxons begin to wail. She heard the First Mate screaming over the intercom for everyone to get to crash seats. She saw the scientists move for safety much too slowly.

And she knew it was finally happening. At last. At long, long last, the event so many years prophesied was coming to pass. She liquified her bones and curled herself into the tightest ball she could, bracing herself to the test tube walls with flexible, cushioning tendrils.

It happened.

And by the time she finally pulled herself together and regained consciousness, it was all over.

Dead bodies littered the lab. The scientists had all been thrown to one end of the room where they lay with broken bodies, snapped necks, crooked tentacles, and still hearts. And every single other test subject in the tubes around her were dead too; at least, everything that had bones to break. She herself was fine though; very much shaken, and feeling sick, but she’d survived. She felt her egg, and it was intact.

They had survived.

She formed her entire body into a single muscly, spring-like limb, braced it against one wall of the tube, summoned all the power and strength she had, and then rammed herself full-force into the opposite wall. A tiny crack appeared. She took a moment to breath, then did it again. The crack widened. She did it one final time, the glass shattered, and then she was free.

Really, truly free.

One of the scientists in the room wasn’t quite dead. He looked up at her, coughing blood and blinking in helpless delirium. “H-h-help… Help me…” He managed to gasp, when he saw her silhouette standing over him.

The time had come to fulfill her oath.

As she stabbed him, she started her count. One.

She broke into the other tubes, and ate some of the other test subjects, until she was feeling restored. She destroyed a few drones that had been summoned to contain her. Once the way was clear again, she ventured out to explore and escape and conquer.

The ship was a fever dream of its former self, a desperate, chaotic, hopeless echo of forgotten glory. Walls were bent and crooked and warped, stained in places by blast marks or fluid leaks. The air stank of blood, burned plastics, and whatever chemical adhesive the repair nanobots were secreting in attempt to patch holes. The floor was covered in broken glass, thick as carpet in places, and it crinkled underfoot. Electrical lines spewed sparks. The malfunctioning life support chaotically shifted the humidity and pressure. Certain doors were wedged shut, certain hallways collapsed completely. Dead bodies were everywhere. Drones wandered the wreckage slowly and dumbly, like tanks rolling through the rubble of a fallen city, their treads struggling for purchase of the bricks and scaffold.

And as for her, she gazed upon the carnage with glee and vigor and triumph, for she stood as the victor. The champion. The survivor.

There were a few other survivors, though. Some of them were trapped in their rooms, some were roaming the halls, some were too injured to move. She dealt with them one by one as she found them.

Two. Three. Four. Slow going, but steady. Eight. Nine. Ten.

Some of the other survivors had found each other, and joined into small groups, so that they could have some company as they sat scared in the dark. Whenever she found such a group, she would appear as one of them, and infiltrate them, learn from them the locations of food, water, and other survivors, and then kill them all, one by one. It was great fun seeing the escalation of their fear and paranoia as they slowly lost a guessing game of “who’s-the-mimic”.

Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-four… She was highly efficient.

After a few days of this hunting, she began to gather food, water, tools and equipment, and made a nest for herself in the lower levels of the ship. Once she had that, she would occasionally drag choice survivors there. If anybody seemed to possess any special skills or knowledge, she would crucify them on her wall, torture and hurt them until she’d extracted it. And it always worked. Officers, scientists, engineers, even hapless passengers, each was a wealth of information in his or her own way, and she learned many wonderful things.

Finally, in a stroke of luck, she found the head security officer, and tortured him for the drone control codes. Once she had them, she reprogramed the drones into her own mindless slaves, and instructed them to destroy everyone but her. Anyone that felt fear, anybody with any aggressive chemical markers at all, they were to eliminate. But so long as she stayed calm herself, they would ignore her no matter what form she took. She pressed the button and gave the order, and they did.

One hundred and seventy-nine. One hundred and eighty. She watched the camera feeds from her new slaves, and never lost count.

Slowly and steadily, enemies and dangers disappeared.

Very soon now, everybody else would be dead. All the scientists, all the crew, all the passengers, every last intelligent lifeform in this universe who ever could have threatened her or her child, all of them gone, without a memory or a plea.

In honor of the occasion, she allowed her egg to grow again.

And one day, deep in her secluded lair, she finally laid it, and held it in the palm of her hand: a small, sky-blue sphere that contained all she had left to love in this universe. All that remained of him, all she’d fought so hard to save. She hid it and covered it in a warm place.

Now considering her greatest trials behind her, she began to think ahead, to grander plans beyond this miserable wreck. If she ever was to return home or move beyond this planet, she would need to either construct a new ship or repair this one, in whole or in part. Therefore, she would need access to the tractor beam-like gravity engines, for the heavy lifting and larger industry. That presented a problem, because the only way to directly override the safety locks would be to brave the boiling heat and radiation of the engine room long enough to make it to the controls.

Now she stood before the sealed blast doors (warm to the touch) and wondered how she might do that. It would require armor of some type, or some new form with no cells to damage, or perhaps a kind of remote control.

But then, at a message from the drones, she turned from the door and started for the ship’s lower levels.

-7 lifeforms detected in sector 98, barricaded in room 98-18. No entry paths detected. The message had read.

Seven lifeforms. The last group. The last bastion of life on this vessel. The last of her enemies. And, if her predictions were correct, the Captain was among them.

She told the drones to stand down, for she’d been looking forward to this, and had in mind to handle these ones personally. Well… Most of them, at least. For the Captain himself, she had a more poetic end in mind. Since it was his pride that had doomed the mission, and his arrogance which had summoned all of fate’s wrath, and his fault that everyone had suffered so, she arranged a subtle, cunning trap for him. She would lure him out of his shelter, and leave clues to lead him all the way back, right to her original prison tube. There he would read a message from her, which detailed his fault in all its great and painful detail. Once he knew the full extent of his error, once the depth of his error had been made crystal clear, he would trigger a booby trap, and die by the hands of his own drones. Thus would his misplaced thirst for adventure and heroics would be his downfall one last time.

She arranged the trap.

And it was so.

Two hundred and three.

Then she slipped past the barricade, and emerged in the darkened room to behold the last six survivors. That was it; only six. Six scared, starving, helpless creatures, all alone, looking upon her with immense fear, as if they were seeing the devil himself. To suit the climactic moment, she shifted into the form of a great beast, a creature with claws, and wings, and terrible teeth, flaming eyes, and a sharp, knife-like tail. Something out of darkest legend. The last six screamed and cowered before her.

With a hooked claw, she lashed out at the first. Two hundred and four.

With the spear on her tail, she impaled the second. Two hundred and five.

She bit off the head of the third. Two hundred and six.

The fourth tried to save himself, tried to fight, tried to attack her with a broken chunk of pipe. Two hundred and seven.

The fifth begged for mercy. “I’m SORRY!” He pleaded. “Y-y-you’re the shapeshifter! I remember you! I-I spoke out for you! I told the Captain to let you go! I filed complaints about the things they were doing to you! I told them to leave you alone! I’m not your enemy! P-p-please! Please, I’m not your enemy… Please don’t…” Two hundred and seven.

And now the last. The very last. She spread her wings, and extended her claws, and preparing to finish her mission.

But fate had one last surprise in store for her, for she recognized the very last one.

“███████.” The oracle said.

At the sound of her name, she paused. It wasn’t mercy, it wasn’t hesitation, it was simply curiosity; perhaps the charlatan had come up with one last sermon of heavenly wisdom? One last attempt to change her ways? She wondered what could possibly be said, here at the end of life.

The oracle spoke. “In the name of the Creator God, I curse you.”

“…Oh?” ███████ smiled, and cocked her head to one side. “You curse me, do you?”

“I curse you.” The prophet repeated, her voice steady and fearless. “███████, you have deceived every single person you have ever spoken to. You have killed every single person who has ever reached out to you, and you have spurned the God who offered you mercy. Therefore, I curse the name of ███████, that it may be forgotten. Because you are filled with lies, I brand you a liar. Because you are filled with bloodlust, I brand you a monster. From this day forward, nobody will ever know your name, or know that it belongs to you, because whenever they look at you, they will see nothing but a creature and a horror. You shall have no friends, you shall have no caring family, you shall have no home, and nobody will ever love you again. You shall walk this planet not as yourself, but only as a boogieman, a cryptid, a nightmare, a dragon, and a beast. I hereby blot out the name of ███████, and brand you ‘the monster’ forever.”

The monster stared at the prophet for a moment, and then scoffed, and opened her jaws to bite her in half.

“And a monster’s end will surely meet you.” The prophet said, closing her seven eyes.

Two hundred and eight.

   “A monster’s end”… For some reason the words stuck with her, tumbling in the back of her mind as she walked the halls of the empty wreck. What did that mean?

It didn’t matter; she couldn’t let it matter, not yet, because now was a time for peace. She had finally fulfilled her vow. She could finally enjoy a moment of rest.

But no sooner had she laid her head down to sleep, then her communicator beeped with another report from the drones: they’d found another group of survivors, a large group of nearly forty, who had escaped notice by fleeing to the hills outside the ship.

What… There are more…? Would it never end? She roused herself, and went out to meet this new last group. She found them just where the drones had said, she infiltrated them just like normal, began to kill them per routine…

But then… Then she met them.

ƉN::ᶌ and Ɖg@}Nᶌ.

They were the last survivors from a population of mechanical organisms, whose red eyes blazed with electric fire, and whose metallic skin shone like the armor of olden knights. But despite their fierce appearance, the two were neither warriors or scientists, merely a couple peaceful beings whom fate had plunged into matters much greater than themselves.

At first, she thought nothing of them, for metal could be killed just the same as flesh, and when their survival was on the line, she knew that these two would cower and run and turn paranoid, just like all the others. But then one night, right in the middle of her ordinary business, these two peaceful beings leapt to the defense of the others, and attacked her. They fought with a grit and a determination and a fearless resolve she was barely prepared to defend against. The blades in their hands and mouths whirled toward her, and one grazed her arm, drawing blood.

She fled into the trees and hid herself, while her heart thundered in her chest and blood trickled from the wound. It wasn’t fatal, it wasn’t serious, it was nothing but a scratch really, but for some reason, it seemed to her symbolic. She remembered the prophet’s words. “A monster’s end…” And she finally realized what it meant. Of course… Everybody knows that a ‘monster’ doesn’t die from old age or infirmity or accident… No, everybody knows that the monster is SLAIN. It’s a story as old as storytelling itself, that the great beast must be vanquished by the brave and noble heroes. Things may go one way or go another, but in the end, the heroes stand up to defend the innocent, and the monster always dies.

Despite all reason, something in the back of her head believed the prophet’s words.

   In the months that followed, it somehow, inexplicably proved true. ƉN::ᶌ and Ɖg@}Nᶌ invaded her inner sanctum to allow the other survivors to escape, singlehandedly bested the drones she sent for them, walked unharmed through blazing heat and ionizing radiation, and stole the control unit for the ship’s last reactor. Then they established a home for themselves in a valley far away, and went there to live out the remainder of their lives in peace. The reactor control unit they hid, deep within a labyrinth of growing knives, where no fleshy creature would dare to tread.

It seemed like happily ever after, a fate as brash as any fairytale.

And as for her, she sat in her lair, and she knew that she had lost. Vanquished. Outwitted. Thwarted. A thousand cliché words for beaten.

The prophet’s curse was real.

But then a faint sound echoed through her lair, and past her despair. It was the faint noise of claws scratching at a rough surface. She turned toward her egg, and saw it rocking, from tiny movements within. It’s time! She realized. It’s finally time! Suddenly excited, she crouched down over the blue sphere to watch the moment of birth unfold. Even after all that’s happened, this is worth it… I have an ally. I have a child. The noise of the claws slowed down. “Come on…” She whispered. “You can do it… Be strong…” After a moment, the noise stopped altogether, and the egg wasn’t rocking anymore. “No, no, no, be strong, please!” She begged. “I need you here… I love you, you can’t give up now…! Please! Don’t you know how hard life is? You stupid child, this is but the first of many trials! Life is hard, life is cruel, and everything will one day stand against you! Soldiers, scruples, kings and gods, they want to entrap you just like this egg! And if you aren’t strong enough to be free, then you will die a prisoner! I cannot help you, least you forget that…! Please, please, please be strong enough to be free...!”

As if it understood her, the child picked up its noisy struggle again, stronger and more determined this time. A crack appeared in the egg. The crack widened, and a piece chipped loose, revealing a claw beneath. And then more pieces chipped, and egg came apart, and her child stumbled out into the land of the living.

A son.

A son who was strong enough.

She held out her arms.

But when he saw her, he didn’t crawl towards her. He didn’t perk up at the welcome smell of his mother, he didn’t imprint on her or mimic her face, like babies usually do. Instead he recoiled from her, and began to crawl toward the exit of her lair, as one might instinctively flee from a predator. He took the form of the jagged metal littering the floor.

For he didn’t see his mother. He didn’t see a person. Even he, a child too young to think, saw only a monster.

“You… You… Why, you fool!” She grabbed him and picked him up and screamed at him. “After all, after ALL, even YOU don’t understand my ways?!? Everything I’ve ever done had a reason! I did it for me! I did it for you! For us! Who told you it was wrong? Who told you it was ‘evil’?? Did ‘God’ tell you so?” She shook him. “Well God is mistaken! Because when it’s down to survival, right disappears and so does wrong, and so does everything that makes you a monster, because sometimes all you can do is that which is bitterly, savagely cruel! A ‘monster’, am I? Fine, then go! Leave me, see where morals and decency get you out there, you snobby little mistake!” She threw him in the direction of the exit. “Leave, Leave, LEAVE! And don’t you EVER come back!”

He hit the wall, rolled over a few times, then managed to pick himself up on narrow legs, and crawled as fast as he could to escape her. The noise of his frightened squealing cries echoed back up the passage for a few moments, and then he was gone.

He was so young and scared that the drones would probably find his heartbeat and kill him.

Such are the ways. She whispered silently as she stared after him. Such are the ways for those who are weak.

She wished she could cry, but she couldn’t. Wished to beg but she wouldn’t. Wished to feel pain, but she didn’t dare. And some small part of her wished she could pray, but above all things, that was utterly and completely impossible. For she had decided long ago that no depth, no hardship, no pain, nothing could ever drag her to her knees. There was no compassion, no grace, no favor God could give her, there was nothing that could ever bend her head in humility. If the monster would have help, the monster would provide that help.

So here, at the height of her despair, she prayed to herself.

And bizarrely, she received an answer.

A flash of light lit up her lair. When her vision cleared, she beheld a monster. Her heartrate picked up and her muscles tensed, for something about the creature filled her with a powerful sense of dread. Something about its crooked, hardened posture seemed savage and dangerous. Something about those eyes betrayed an absence of soul or mercy or feeling… And yet… Yet at the same time, the pose was identical to her own; and those eyes were the same she saw so often in the mirror.

This terrible thing was herself.

“Time travel exists.” Her other self replied, in answer to all the unspoken questions. “I have come from 4 days in the future.”

That was a lot to take in, despite the simplicity of the concept. She stared at this other self for a moment while she considered the claim. After a moment’s though, she said. “…Prove it.”

“Why?” The thing shrugged. “What else could I be? A dream? A hallucination? A vision the prophet sent from beyond her grave? Your mate, survived somehow and mocking your wretched current form?”

She considered that, and realized the options were just that limited. “Fine then.” She hissed. “Tell me whatever it is you’ve come to tell me.”

The monster showed her a pair of small, yellow machines. “Two incautious military men from a distant time will visit this crash site in 3 days’ time.” It informed her.” Kill them quickly, and steal these: the devices they use to travel though time. Learn to use them. Master them. They are the tools which will allow you to gain power over all attackers, cheat your fate, and fix your mistakes.”

She stared at her other self for several seconds, considering its strange choice of words. “Mistakes?” She finally scoffed. “First my mate, then the scientists, then the survivors, then the prophet and even God himself, and now even you?!? Even myself?!? Has it really taken only 4 days to change my mind, make me forget that my actions were never accidental? Is that enough time for fate to break my resolve? Have you so quickly forgotten your vows and your purpose and your strength? Forgotten who you are? Do I have to kill YOU too?!?”

“You’ve become hysterical.” Her future self growled lowly. “And I will defend myself if attacked. So calm yourself, and I will continue when you’re ready.”

She took a deep breath. Forced herself to slow down, and leaned against a wall. “Continue.” She managed to snap.

“The actions you took, that I took…” The monster began. “They were necessary, and you were right to do them, but they did earn their just reward; you cannot undo the curse. This means that no matter what you do, you cannot love your son any longer, for he will never love you. His mind is wild and fearful at this age, and he cannot understand you, so it would bring both of your great harm if you were to raise him yourself… But one day, he may be old and wise enough to look past his fear, and join you as a valuable ally. Therefore, you must give him away to someone else; set him up for a good future. You must give him a pathway to greatness, put him somewhere where he can learn, and grow in intelligence. A place where he can conquer, and kill, and learn the bitter price of survival. You must put him among people who see him as a monster, so that he will inherit the curse as well. Only then will he understand. I have put much thought into the matter in the past 4 days.”

She considered the proposal. “But… When you say to give him to ‘someone else’, who do you mean? Everyone on this planet is dead. And those who are left know me too well to do me that favor…”

“This planet has a race of intelligent natives.” To demonstrate, the monster shifted into the form of a hairy, bony biped with narrow eyes, five-fingered hands, and pants. “In less than a thousand years they will reach this continent. A few thousand more, and they will discover and explore this crash site. Somewhere among them you will find an appropriate host for him.”

“Very well.”

The monster began to activate one of the time machines, to leave and continue her own business.

“Wait…” She held up a hand to stop her future self from disappearing. “With the time machine, will I be able to change my fate? Can I kill the heroes, and escape a monster’s end? Will I finally be able to get the best of fate…?”

Her future self smiled. A savage, dangerous smile. “ƉN::ᶌ and Ɖg@}Nᶌ are dead.” She declared.

And with that, the monster disappeared.

   Things happened just as it had been said.

She found and killed the time travelers. She undid the hatching of her son’s egg. She found a new and better host for him: StanFord Pines, a brilliant if foolish man of wealth and means, a fertile life that her son could assimilate as his own. So she buried the egg where Stanford would be sure to unearth it, and left the child to its own devices.

And she did not consider him again.

[thepandapopo]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY IGGY ❤️

Here's a happier drabble for dear Iggy's birthday.

Pairing: reader x Ignis

Warnings: none

----

The low hum of your phone vibrating roused you from your slumber. Outside the sheer white curtains of your shared room with Ignis, the sky was still dark and the horizon just barely warming up with the glow of sunrise. Sparing a quick glance to the clock on your phone, you blearily turned off the alarm.

Come on. Get up. You can sleep in every other day, but you cannot do that today.

Mentally, you let out a long groan of agony. The urge to stuff your face into your warm pillow was overwhelming, but you did not dare move in fear of waking up your slumbering boyfriend asleep beside you.

On a regular day, you wouldn't even be awake until 8am earliest. The fact that you had specifically set an alarm to wake you up at 5am was a testament to how much you loved the man snoring quietly with his arm draped loosely around your waist.

You had everything planned out today; it was after all, Ignis' birthday. A day, in your opinion, should have been classified as a goddamn holiday because of how much the advisor did to keep the city running smoothly.

Gingerly removing Ignis' arm from your body, you slowly inched your way off the bed, praying to Shiva that he wouldn't wake up. Years on the road fighting daemons had made Ignis an incredibly light sleeper, and when you two had first moved in together, he would often wake up multiple times throughout the night from your restless tossing and turning. Thankfully, you two had decided shortly after to buy a new mattress that boasted minimal movement transfer so as to reduce the shifting your poor boyfriend had to endure everytime you rolled over.

You let out a quiet huff of triumph as you felt your toes touch the floor, only for it to turn into a hiss when you realized how cold it was.

Suck it up, buttercup. You chided yourself, tip toeing to the door to grab your fluffy robe.

With practiced ease, you made your way down the hallway into the kitchen, avoiding all the squeaky spots on the floor.

It always amazed you how spotless Ignis managed to keep the kitchen area, the white marble countertops polished to a shine, the appliances neatly tucked away in their spots underneath the cabinets, the only item out in the open permanently was the coffee maker that Noct had gifted you for your housewarming.

Fishing out the limit edition chocolate hazelnut Ebony that you had hidden behind the cup ramen ( you knew Iggy would never look there because he didn't care for the stuff and you were the only one who kept that cabinet stocked), you dumped some into the machine, poured some water in, and pushed the magic button.

Honestly, you thought to yourself as you grabbed ingredients out of the fridge for the elaborate breakfast you were preparing for Ignis, you hadn't ever had that flavor of Ebony before, but you had heard Ignis speaking about it one day when you were having a date at a local coffee shop and he saw a sign for it.

That was years ago, back when you had first started 'officially' seeing the man, and it wasn't until now that you managed to get a hold of a bag.

You had found it when you took a hunt assignment all the way out in Lestallum - there was a ferocious pack of coeurls that had been terrorizing the local hunters who were unable to deal with them. Thus, as one of the top ranked hunters of Eos, and a frequent visitor of the city, they had sent in a personal request for you to come help them.

To say Ignis had been reluctant to have you travel alone, much less perform the hunt alone, was an understatement. You two had always hunted together and watched each other's backs. Without him out there with you, there was no telling what terrible fate could befall you. Of course, you had merely laughed and gently reminded Ignis that there was a time before him that you hunted alone. Heck, when you had first landed in this universe with no idea where you were or what kind of monsters there were, you still managed to survive on your own until Cor found you and brought you to Lunafreya (whom you later learned was the one who summoned you there to begin with).

And so you went on this week long journey with nothing more than your age worn travel bag and a kiss goodbye from a pouting tactician. As much as you would have liked it to be like the good old days with Ignis driving you and the boys around in the regalia, this time you had to commandeer the wheel yourself; hence, you had decided to take your motorcycle as it allowed for quick travel and was great on fuel.

When you finally arrived, you were quite pleased when the job took you only a single afternoon, leaving you with three more days of paid accomodation. It wasn't often that you found yourself with free time, so you took it eagerly and set about getting some shopping done. By some stroke of luck, you were passing by a simple street stand when you paused to browse the goods when an unassuming black and silver package caught your attention. You did a double take when you read the label and promptly had a mini internal freak out. Ignis would totally flip if he saw this limited edition chocolate hazelnut Ebony flavor!

When you asked the shopkeep how much it was, you balked at the price - it was basically all the money you had earned from the hunt and a little more; but just the thought of how happy it would make Ignis was enough for you to bite your tongue and hand over the Gil. Thus, leaving you with the best birthday present ever.

The coffee machine let out a single beep signalling that the delicious elixir of life was ready. Quickly wiping your hands on a nearby tea towel, you stepped away from the stove where a pan was sizzling with a breakfast omelette, and pulled out two matching cups from a nearby rack.

Golden sunlight began filtering in through the windows as the sun slowly climbed up the horizon. You paused and put the coffee pot down after you finished pouring the two cups and just let yourself absorb the beautiful silence of the morning.

So absorbed in your thoughts, you didn't notice the soft padding of larger feet coming down the hall. You jumped when strong, lean arms wound themselves around your waist before relaxing again when Ignis buried his nose in your hair, letting out a sleepy hum of content.

"Darling, what are you doing up so early?" Iggy's warm, husky breath danced along the left side of your neck and you felt electric tingles of pleasure dance on your skin.

Twisting around and tangling your hands into dirty blonde hair, you tugged until you felt soft, pliant lips against your own. Never one to turn down a kiss from his beloved, Ignis pulled your body closer to his until you couldn't tell where you began and he ended.

"Mmmm... Just making some breakfast for the birthday boy." You grinned when you pulled away from the kiss for some well needed air (it was seriously not fair how even after all these years, Iggy could still take your breath away with one simple kiss). Waddling back over to the stove with Ignis still attached to you, you quickly turned off the burner and dished up the vegetable omelette with some sausage on the side.

"You didn't have to do all this for me, my love."

"Yes, but I want to." Handing him his cup of Ebony, you brought the plates to the modest glass dining table and waited for Ignis to sit down.

Shuffling slowly over to the opposite side, you couldn't help but smile inwardly at how adorable Ignis was in the mornings.

Disheveled hair and glasses hanging askew on his nose, the ever prim and proper Ignis Scientia was a sight to behold in the mornings when he allowed himself to simply be. Rumpled dark blue pajamas hung loosely on his frame, yet still accentuating his toned figure. The tiny peek of chiseled abs above his waistband when Ignis gave a long overhead stretch was enough to have you licking your lips and wondering if you could have an alternative meal.

Still though, you worked hard on this breakfast and you wanted to see Iggy's reaction when he finally realized that he wasn't holding his regular Ebony.

Both of you took your coffee black so there was nothing stopping you from bringing your cup up to your lips, hoping that your boyfriend would mimic you.

Already, you could smell the distinct notes of sweetness that distinguished this flavor from the regular bean. Your eyes glued on the man sitting across from you, you watched him eagerly as he raised the porcelain cup to his lips, only to freeze as soon as his bottom lip touched the rim.

"What...?" You almost giggled at the perplexed look adorning his usually stern features.

Brilliant green eyes darted up to yours which were crinkled with mirth, then back down to the black steaming liquid, putting two and two together.

You always loved watching Ignis think. You likened it to watching all the gears in a watch, only after all this time, you learned that Iggy's told a lot more than just time. The small quirk of the lips indicated amusement, while the furrowing of eyebrows often indicated deep thought.

Right now, however, the slack jawed blank expression practically screamed disbelief.

You laughed and flashed the handsome bastard a smug grin when you saw him finally come to the answer.

"Yup."

"No."

"I assure you, sweetheart, it definitely is what you think it is."

Ignis gaped at you, "but how? This limited edition flavor was sold out months ago. The probability of actually finding a bag after this long is virtually impossible, not to mention incredibly tediuous."

"Clearly not, seeing as I have a bag just over there that I opened and used to brew a pot."

Ignis continued to stare at you like you had just sprouted a second head, when suddenly, he stood up and made his way around the table faster than you could blink.

"Iggy, what -!"

Your question was muffled by an insistent lips on your own.

Allowing yourself to melt into his embrace, you wrapped your arms around his neck and hummed happily.

"Have I told you lately," Ignis panted as he withdrew slightly, his lips still ghosting over your own, "how much I love you?"

Hoisting you up effortlessly into his arms, you let out a undignified squeak at the rapid change in position. Regaining your composure, you nipped his ear playfully and chuckled when the chest below you rumbled with a low growl.

"You could stand to say it a bit more..." Your laughter cut off with a shriek when you felt a hand connect with your posterior.

"Naughty kitten. I suppose I shall just have to show you for now then."

Without any fanfare, Ignis began marching back to your room with you in tow.

"Wait! What about breakfast?" You gasped as he trailed open mouth kisses down your neck.

Against your sensitive skin, you felt his lips curl up into a smirk.

"I believe that I'll be having something else on the menu this morning."

----

Eep! Hope you all liked it! Finished with just one minute to spare in the day :P

[chainsawbettyloo]

Title: There Will Always be Scars but I Will Never Let You Fall 

Pairing: SidLink 

Rating: Teen (for some descriptions of gore and scarring)

Tags: tiny bit of gore, some angst, lotta fluff, protective sidon

Summary: Being the Hero of Hyrule comes with risks, risks come with scars and Link has more than his share. While he's more than proud of the physical trophies for survival, Sidon views them in a bit of a different, less positive light. After all, those scars are remnants of pain, blood and the near death of the one he cherishes the most...

A/N: -coughs loudly- heya @xfunfair! uh, I’m sorry this took so long! Thank you so much for your awesomely kind message! It really, really made me happy (not gonna lie - that’s an incredible comment and it just oh my gosh <3). Anywho! I hope you like this little drabble (hopefully, it’s along the lines of what you were thinking OTL)

Cross posted on my AO3 so if you’d like to read it there! Comments, reblogs, and kudos are muchly appreciated! Thank youuuuuuu

-

His body was marked by constellations of scars. Stretched, wrinkled pink skin spanned out along the length of his body - some in raised lines that the eye could easily catch and the fingers just as easily trace, while others were gorges, deep and wide, where it looked like chunks off flesh had been ripped off. A few were connected in meaningless, unintentional shapes. His mind wanted to make sense of them but they were sporadic, random, without any definition, purpose or story to put to them.

Sidon’s eyes roamed freely over the exposed body sitting easily in front of him. There didn’t seem to be a single inch of his calloused, tanned skin that didn’t support at least one indication of a healed wound. Some looked very old, a hundred years old, even, while others still had the shiny sheen of newly formed skin. The scars of a warrior, of someone who had practically been born with a sword in his hand, who had been born into a world where it was destined that he fight - not just for his home and family, but for the fate of the world itself.

It was a little comforting to find Link was confident enough to show them off. He couldn’t be certain if that was because Sidon was the only one viewing them or if he was just that unbothered by them. He kind of hoped it was the latter. The last thing he wanted was for his little Hylian to be ashamed of his body. In his mind, Link was gorgeous, scars and all.

Still, looking at those scars...if he were forced to tell the truth, he would have to admit that he was unsettled.

Link pointed to a particularly large scar on his chest, which was made up of three red, jagged stripes that extended from the top of his left pectoral down to just below his right nipple, “Bokoblin. Took me by surprise when I was scouting a tower. Took it down with one swing.”

There was a gleam of pride in Link’s blue eyes as he spoke. A small smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth, threatening to turn into a wide, show-off smile as he steadily went through the list of scars and explaining how each one was aquired. He really was a warrior through and through, Sidon thought with a mental chuckle. After all, these were his trophies. Some took a piece of their kill, others took the stories, the experience but there were those who viewed scars as their prizes, their rewards.

In the back of his mind, Sidon wondered distantly if there had ever been a time when Link hadn’t viewed his scars in such a way. Was there ever a point when his little Hylian had looked down at the nonsensical network of fiberous skin that spread over his body and had been seized with grief, anger or disgust? He made a mental note to ask Link at a later date but for now, he was content to listen attentively as he was walked through each scar.

Moving his hand up to his shoulder, he indicated to a circular dent in his skin, “Lynel arrow. Saw me from a mile away. Didn’t give me any time to react.”

“What did you do?”

“Ran,” Link chuckled, “Ran, ran, ran and ran some more. First one I ever saw after waking up. Scared me shitless.”

Sidon nodded understandingly - he had done the same when he had first encountered a Lynel. It had been just him on the far reaches of Lanaryu. He couldn’t remembered why he had been out there but he had stumbled across the beast on the very edge of a craggy shore. Luck had been in his favor that day. The Lynel had its back to him, which allowed him to slip away unseen. Given that the monster had been toting a plethora of electric arrows, he shuddered to think what might have become of him if he hadn’t managed to get away, “I’d imagine it would.”

“This one,” Link tapped a long thin line of raised pink on his stomach, “was an accident. Went down a hill too fast, ended up falling, didn’t see the rock sticking out of the ground, got sliced pretty bad.”

“And that one?” Sidon asked, pointing slightly to a large patch of puckered wrinkles on the left side of Link’s left arm.

“Fire chuchu.” Link responded lightly, holding his arm in front of his chest, elbow bent so Sidon could see better, “They explode when you kill them. I was standing too close. Flaming piece of goo flew at my face but I blocked it with this arm. Hurt like hell.”

“Burns always do. That one?” He gestured to a practically long, practically old looking scar on his chest that was underneath the three jagged ones caused by bokoblin claws. The tip was just below his protruding collarbone. Where the end was, he couldn’t tell since it slipped down below the hem of his loose pants.

The pride returned full force to Link’s tantalizing eyes. Practically beaming, he straightened his back and reverently said, “That’s the one that put me in the shrine of resurrection.”

Sidon felt his heart drop into his stomach. His mouth went dry and like a plague, it spread down into his throat, turning the sensitive membrane into a barren, desert wasteland. He swallowed hard in an attempt to alleviate the sensation, producing a hollow, clicking sound. That had been the wound that had nearly ended Link’s life. If it hadn’t been for Queen Zelda’s quick thinking, the Hero of Hyrule wouldn’t be sitting in front of him.

That thought alone was enough to make his breath run cold. A vivid image suddenly seized hold of his mind, ripping the air from his lungs. Link, bleeding heavily, lying prone on the grassy ground, surrounded by Guardians, dozens of brilliant red pinpricks of light focused on his still body. Those blue eyes that he adored so much, that were always so full of vibrant, energetic life were staring up at the rainy, grey sky - dull, unseeing and empty. Across his chest was a large, gaping wound. Between the torn shreds of skin, he could clearly see the cracked white of his breastbone. From the bottom of the wound protruded what looked disturbingly looked like intestines, and he thought that that was what it had to be.

“Sidon?” Link’s worried voice called, breaking through the vision and pulling back to reality.

Jolting lightly, his heart jumping hard, Sidon coughed hard, gasped then dragged in a grating gasp of air. Looking up, he found Link staring at him, his eyes wide and concerned. Shifting forward onto his knees, he crawled towards Sidon, holding out one small hand to gently caress his smooth, scaly cheek. Leaning down, the Zora Prince pressed a gentle kiss onto the center of Link’s forehead, reaching forward at the same time to encircle the Hylian in his arms. Tugging him close, he squeezed him tightly to his chest. Breathing in deeply, he pulled in Link’s lovely scent, immediately feeling himself calming down.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Link said softly, guilt lacing his voice.

Sidon slowly shook his head, “You didn’t, my pearl. I promise you didn’t.”

“What’s wrong, then?”

He paused for a moment, then said, “I can’t stand the idea of you being hurt. Each one of these scars…they’re evidence that something, someone somewhere once tried to kill you, to hurt you and that...that’s a thought I cannot bear. Looking at the scar on your chest, the one you received 100 years ago and thinking about how that almost ended your life, I was struck by how much that thought alone terrified me.”

Stroking the pads of his fingertips up and down Link’s bony spine, adoring the sensation of his skin against his own, loving every single bump of his spine, he whispered, “Your scars, they’re evidence that you have survived but at the same time, they’re remnants of pain, blood, and fear. They offer comfort in that you are still here, that all you have is scars but at the same time, they are all connected to the one of the things I wish will never, ever happen to you.”

“Why didn’t you say something, then?” Link chastised him gently, leaning back to look up at him from underneath furrowed brows. “I understand why they would be upsetting. You don’t have to force yourself to look.”

“They’re a part of you.” Sidon responded simply, lightly shrugging. “I won’t deny or ignore them just because of how you got them upsets me. That wouldn’t be fair to you or me.”

“Still, you could have said something. I would have eased into it, instead of just shoving them into your face.” Link said, turning to reach behind him. He snagged his discarded shirt, tugged it towards him with the obvious intent to put it back on but Sidon caught his arm, stopping him.

“Would you allow me to do something, then? Something to alleviate this feeling of discomfort?”

“Of course.” Link responded easily, letting go of his shirt. Turning back, he smiled sweetly up at Sidon, “Anything you want.”

“Can you lie down on your back?”

Instead of responding, Link just quietly did so. Gracefully flopping onto his back, he stretched his arms upwards, providing Sidon with the tantalizing shown of the muscles in his stomach and chest tensing underneath the tanned skin before relaxing once more, and sighed softly. For a few tense moments, his eyes could only focus on that scar. Inside his chest, his heart twisted in pain. Again, that image of Link lying frozen on the ground, dead or about to be, flashed in front of his eyes. He quickly snapped them shut, took a deep breath, let it out slowly before opening them once again.

Link was right there, right in front of him. Worried blue eyes gazed up at him, delicate eyelashes fluttering as he blinked. He could see the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Such a small, minute movement and yet, it filled him with comfort. Reaching forward, ignoring the look of concern that was on his little Hylian’s face once again, he settled his large hand on the center of Link’s chest. The first sensation was warmth, followed by the lovely smoothness of his skin then he felt it: the steady, rhythmic beat of the vital organ hidden deep inside a cage of muscle and bone.

There were scars, there would always be scars but as long as this heart was still beating, as long as his chest still rose and feel with the art of breathing, as long as those eyes never lost their vibrancy, he would be alright.

“Sidon?” Link asked softly, his voice low and cautious.

With a startled jerk, he quickly realized that he had just been staring vacantly down at Link. Laughing sheepishly, he hung his head slightly before saying, “I really love you. You know that, right?”

“Course,” Link replied, wrapping his small, slender fingers around Sidon’s much larger ones, “I love you too.”

“I’m glad.” Sidon replied softly, a warm smile on his face.

Slipping his hand away, he leaned down to Link’s now fully exposed chest and gently placed a kiss at the top of the long, winding scar that his little Hylian had been marked with over a hundred years ago. Opening his mouth, he sucked lightly on the skin, carefully making sure that his teeth didn’t cause any more scars to be formed. The taste of Link’s skin spread along his tongue - salty, sweet and with a unique undertone that he could confidently say was special to his little pearl.

Link shivered slightly underneath his ministrations. Small, warm hands settled on the back of his head, stroking the fin lazily. He slowly worked his way down, kissing and sucking on every inch of the scar, intent on covering the entire thing in a loving sheen of spit. Glancing up, he discovered Link had lightly closed his eyes. A pleasant tinge of pink dusted his tanned cheeks and there was a small, content smile on his face.

Once he reached the top of Link’s trousers, he pushed his thumb underneath them and pushed them down without hesitation. The scar didn’t go that much further, only a little ways below where his bellybutton sat on his stomach. He settled his lips against the bottom of the scar, breathing out slowly through his nose. Link shivered once more as the warm breeze of breath brushed across the delicate skin of his underbelly.

Leaning back, satisfied with the amount of kissing coverage on that scar, Sidon quickly set about giving the over scars the same treatment. First was the three jagged ones caused by a bokobolin’s claws. He carefully traced each misshapen line with the shape of his lips, ensuring not an inch was left uncovered. Following that was the accidental scar on his stomach. That one took a little longer as the moment he started kissing, Link flew into a laughing fit, coughing out that it was ticklish. Sidon tucked that information in the back of his mind for a another day, quickly pecked across the scar’s length before moving up to the Hylian’s shoulder to lovingly smooch the raised pink caused by a Lynel’s arrow.

Last was the burn scars. He picked up Link’s arm, smoothed the tips of his fingers along the wrinkled, fibrous flesh and repeated the same process. Every single inch, every bump, dip and line was covered by his mouth until he was satisfied. On, on, on and on he went until every scar he could see was kissed by his lips. When he was finished, he leaned back, surveying the network of scars spread out in front of him. He would be lying if he said that he was no longer bothered - there was an understanding deep inside of him that knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Link’s scars were always going to be a little upsetting - but he could say that he felt a little more at peace. It would probably take a few more sessions of kiss placement before he felt completely okay and he was sure Link wouldn’t mind that.

“Better?” Link asked softly.

Sidon looked up at him, smiling broadly. Link’s entire face was a bright shade of red now, and the flush had spread all the way down his body. Sweat dotted in little beads on his forehead. The breath moving in and out from between his half parted lips was a little erratic, a little fast but still held mostly under control.

“Yes, thank you, Link.” Sidon whispered.

He reached up, took Link’s hot cheeks in his hands and leaned down to press a soft kiss against his mouth. His little Hylian’s arms wound around his neck, tugging his closer while, at the same time, rising him up so he could press more firmly against Sidon. Sweetness spread like wildfire throughout his mouth, sending a heavy bolt of shivering pleasure down his spine. Link’s lips were so soft, so delicious, he could never get enough of them. The rest of his life could be spent doing nothing but kissing him - not just on the mouth, but all over - and he would be in bliss.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Link suddenly breathed, “You know that right?”

Sidon pulled back slowly, away from the warmth and softness of Link’s mouth. He gazed down quietly at his little Hylian’s, his eyes roaming over the lines and curves of his handsome face. Stroking the pad of his thumb against his hot cheek, he smiled. He knew, but it was nice, all the same, to hear those words coming from his beloved little pearl. They would be together, always together, until time itself separated them. Even then, there would be a reunion awaiting them. A time when they both passed beyond this world, into the next, where they would fall into each other's arms. But, until then...there was nothing in this world, no force powerful or strong enough, that would end this.

“You aren’t...because I’ll never let you go. I won't allow anyone or anything to take you away from me. You're mine,” Sidon leaned down to press a warm, firm kiss against Link's lips, "and I am yours. Forever."

"Forever." Link whispered in return, the expression on his face one of stony seriousness. Reaching up, he gently stroked the backs of his fingers against Sidon's smooth, scaly cheek, staring up steadily into his golden eyes, "Don't you ever leave me behind either. You're just as stupidly reckless as I am. You just don't have the scars to show it. If you leave me, if you run off and get yourself killed-"

"I won't," Sidon responded firmly, "I promise you. I won't."

Link continued to gaze up at him quietly for a few moments before smiling slightly, "I'll hold you to that."

Returning the smile, Sidon kissed the tip of Link's nose, adoring the little laugh that earned him, and said, "Please do, my pearl."

[little-red-beret]

YooSeven sickfic? Seven is taking care of a sick Yoosung who has a bad fever and a really chesty cold. Make sure there's lots of fluff!~

A/N: Surprise!

It felt like fate on the day that brought them together. In some odd stroke of luck, Seven happened to have the day off when he received the mysterious phone call from an unknown number. “Is this, um…. ‘Seven’?” The voice of a young man inquired hesitantly. Due to his job, Seven had to show a certain level of caution when it came to calls from strangers, so naturally he was suspicious at first. “Who’s asking?” Seven replied in a level, assertive tone. “My name is Park Doyun. I’m a friend of Yoosung’s. He’s really sick at the moment, I’m not even sure why he came to class today, but I asked if there’s anyone he wants me to call to collect him and he gave me this number. Wait, this is the right number, isn’t it? Yoosung, are you sure this is—” “Yeah, I know him.” Seven assured the student. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

Seven hung up and took a deep breath to calm his racing heart. Of all the people Yoosung could have called, he had called Seven. He had chosen Seven, and of all the days to be free, this was the perfect day. Yoosung was calling on Seven to look after him, and Seven could be there to do so.

As promised, Seven rolled up to the edge of the university campus within half an hour. It was hard to miss his red sports car, and Yoosung certainly didn’t miss it as he was climbing into the passenger seat and dropping his backpack on the floor of the car ten seconds after Seven had arrived. Seven glanced at him and did a double take. His cheeks were flushed, and droplets of sweat ran down his face. “Y-Yoosung, why don’t you take that jacket off?” Seven suggested, barely able to contain his alarm under his usually upbeat voice. “Too cold.” Yoosung said simply. He put his seatbelt on and rested his head on the dashboard, panting just from the walk he had taken to get here. He definitely needed some sleep. Surely a nap would improve Yoosung’s condition? Seven turned up the air conditioner and drove Yoosung home.

When they arrived, Seven did not hesitate to escort Yoosung to the spare room in his house, where he left Yoosung to rest. He bit his lip as Yoosung wordlessly tumbled into the sea of blankets and disappeared, already snoring softly. Seven closed the curtains and dimmed the lights to make Yoosung more comfortable. Then he left him to rest, wishing his immune system the best of luck at recovering.

The moment the door closed, Seven let out a sigh, pressing his back to the door as he hammered back at his hammering heart. “Cut it out!” He scolded himself. What was he doing, getting his hopes up like this!? Yoosung was out of his mind with a fever. It was selfish for Seven to have even been thinking about this right now when he should have been worrying for his friend’s health.

Seven passed the time idly, constantly wondering how Yoosung might be feeling and when he would wake up. He started at the slightest sounds in the house, thinking it was the sick boy in his spare bedroom finally awake. By the afternoon, Seven was beginning to consider checking on Yoosung when he emerged from the bedroom. His hair was a mess. His face was still flushed and damp. The only notable difference was that he looked a little more lively and aware of his surroundings.

“Yoosung, why are you in my house?” Seven demanded, eyeing Yoosung with feigned suspicion. “Huh?” Yoosung looked around in confusion as his thoughts slowly ticked over in his hot head. “But you drove me here….” “So you are thinking straight!” Seven remarked with a big smile. “Are you hungry?” Yoosung thought for a moment. “Not really,” Seven blinked in surprise at the unexpected answer. “Huh? You definitely need to eat lots when you’re sick. It’ll liven you up.”

Seven lead Yoosung into the kitchen. “Let me see…. we have chips, soda, waffles, noodles or chicken soup.” he listed. “Surely something sounds good?” “I want beef soup.” Yoosung decided. Seven squinted at Yoosung. “I don’t have beef soup, just chicken soup.” Seven insisted. “Ah….” Yoosung muttered. While he normally took things lightly when he was well, he probably found it difficult to mask his disappointment today. “I’ll have chicken soup, then.” “Great choice,” Seven teased over Yoosung’s sudden fit of coughs. Yoosung sat at the table, waiting quietly while Seven prepared his meal.

The instant Seven placed the steaming bowl of soup before him, Yoosung’s face darkened and his body sagged tiredly. “Actually, I’m not hungry.” he admitted feebly. Yoosung needed to eat. If he didn’t eat, Seven knew the poor guy would only feel worse, so he employed one of his favourite strategies of persuasion to try and sway Yoosung’s elusive appetite: guilt.

“Yoosung, I made this for you!” Seven cried. “Don’t betray me like this!” “Sorry.” Yoosung replied flatly. “I don’t think I can eat. Everything tastes horrible to me right now, even water.” It broke Seven’s heart to see Yoosung like this. “Just try! It will taste good! Maybe it’ll taste like beef because your tongue is messed up!” Seven suggested brightly, poking Yoosung’s nose. At this, happy Yoosung would have giggled, but the deadpan expression Seven received instead was far from a positive response. He would not let it discourage him, though. This expression on the sweet face of Yoosung was about as intimidating as an irritated puppy. Seven would get Yoosung to eat for sure.

Seven grabbed Yoosung’s face and stared intently into his glassy violet eyes. “Yoosung…. please eat! You have to! You need food to survive and if you have a cold you are clearly not surviving! Please let me take care of you!” he begged dramatically. He paused and waited, gauging Yoosung’s reaction attentively. Yoosung stared listlessly at Seven for a long time. Then he tore away from Seven’s grip, coughing and hacking. Just as Seven was about to lose hope, Yoosung finally turned to the bowl of soup and picked up the spoon. Contrary to his prior hesitation, Yoosung devoured the soup in under a minute. Seven watched him in awe. “Wow….” he remarked. “You really were hungry.” “I didn’t think I was,” Yoosung replied, sounding equally surprised as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

Seven took Yoosung’s empty bowl to the sink. “Are you feeling better now that you’ve eaten?” Yoosung nodded sleepily in response, and Seven couldn’t help the smile that broke out on his face as he washed the dishes. When he turned back around, Yoosung was fast asleep with his head on the table, shoulders rising and falling slowly.

Seven gently shook Yoosung awake. “Yoosung,” he whispered. Yoosung slowly lifted his head from the table, staring blearily up at Seven. “Why don’t you go back to bed? Come on.”

Yoosung slowly rose from his chair. Seven placed his hands on Yoosung’s shoulders and carefully ushered him back to the spare bedroom. Once Yoosung had crawled back into bed, he rolled onto his side to face Seven, pulling the blankets over his shivering body in response to a sudden drop in temperature. Despite how cold he seemed, he was sweating again and his blonde hair was matted to his face. In the heat of the moment, Seven recklessly made the decision to run a hand through Yoosung’s hair, softly brushing it away from his damp face.

Even when he was sick, eyes glassy, face red, half asleep, Seven couldn’t help but notice Yoosung still looked ridiculously cute. There was something about him that made Seven constantly want to hold and protect him, but he knew that could never happen. Any girl Yoosung chose to be with was lucky, and that was all Seven allowed himself to think on the matter. Anything else that might get his hopes up, he blocked immediately from his mind before the thought could fully form.

Seven turned to leave, but was stopped by a hot, sweaty hand gripping his wrist. “Thanks for looking after me—” Yoosung uttered before being cut off by a fit of coughs, which he muffled by burying his head into the blankets. “Oh, it’s no problem!” Seven replied with a cheerful smile. “Like, at all.” “Is that because you care about me?” Yoosung whispered through the blankets. Seven’s mind was racing. Yoosung seemed dazed and out of sorts. Should he risk it? Would Yoosung remember this conversation? “I care about you a lot, Yoosung.” Seven admitted. He took another step towards the door, eager to leave, or really abandon the confronting situation he had created, but Yoosung tightened his grip on Seven’s wrist. “I care about you even more….” Yoosung mumbled feverishly. “When I’m better, I want to ask you out properly….” If this had been a conversation of messages and not a face to face encounter, Seven would have flipped a table then and there. Instead, he laughed loudly and replied, “Properly? You don’t mean that!”

“I do.” Yoosung replied, and as he lowered the covers from around his face Seven could see some light returning to his eyes, a soft glow of determination. With his free hand Yoosung pointed to the space beyond Seven. “I may be sick right now, but when I’m feeling better, I will definitely…. ask you out….” With his rant complete, Yoosung fell limp and his shivering body settled into deep, rhythmic breaths. His grip on Seven’s wrist loosened and slid away. Free at last, Seven hurried out of the room and hastily shut the door.

Seven buried his burning face in his hands. What the hell had just happened!? He had just let on about his true feelings for Yoosung, and…. Yoosung had replied. Was it real? Maybe Yoosung was delirious after all. What would happen when he woke up?

Seven sighed nervously and touched the cool metallic cross pendant on his chest. He thought of the divinity watching over him, and prayed. Prayed that in no time at all, Yoosung would feel better and recover from his cold.

[doctorcastaway-blog1]

Is that DOMINIC SHERWOOD scavenging for food onshore? Nah, it’s just MARCUS FOX, the TWENTY-NINE-year-old PHYSICIAN from ECONOMY Class! Word has it, HE took the flight to Bali because HE WAS HIRED TO WORK FOR DOCTORS WITHOUT BOARDERS AND WAS GIVEN INSTRUCTION TO PRACTICE THERE. The flight attendants said they can be PERCEPTIVE, WITHDRAWN, and KINDHEARTED. How long do you think would it take them to turn batshit crazy?

Hello! Hello! I’m Cleo and I am so excited to be a part of this lovely roleplay! Before I get into all of Marcus’s stuff, let me tell you just a little bit about myself. I’m 26, live in Eastern Standard timezone, and work as a teacher (which 400% means I’m off for summer break at the moment!)! I’m always, always down to plot, so feel free to send me a message, or if you like this I’ll do my best to remember to send you one. I’m getting old so, you know, no promises. ;) 

BULLET BIOGRAPHY;; trigger warning: drug abuse & drug addiction

Marcus was never meant to be. His parents, Rebecca Fox and Paul McGill, met at a Dallas, Texas strip club during his father’s bachelor party. Drunk, his mother and father went back to his hotel together, and the next day Paul left without a word and got married. The fateful encounter left Rebecca with more than just memories, she had become pregnant with a near-stranger’s child. Despite a lack of resources she decided to keep the pregnancy though it meant losing her job at the club. 

For the first few years of his life, Marcus never realized that there was anything different about his family. Sure, he didn’t have a father like some of the other children, but his mother was lively and fun and he didn’t really think it important. 

It wasn’t until he got to school that he started to ask questions. Suddenly, characters in storybooks had fathers, most other children had fathers, and even his teachers had fathers. This was strange. How was it that everyone else had one but he didn’t? His mother explained to the best of her ability, but it wasn’t easy and nor was raising a son all by herself. 

By the time Marcus was ten, his mother had begun using. She had been an addict prior to his birth, and eventually the stress of motherhood and the struggle to keep the little family afloat became too much. Marcus was no fool, he noticed the change in his mother right away and it concerned him greatly. This time, however, he asked no questions and covered for his mother when teachers or other parents members asked about her.

By the time Marcus made it to high school he was working after school to help pay to support his family. His mother needed constant attention and care, and Marcus was willing to provide it in the hopes that he could get her back on her feet. It was through this routine, through caring for his mother, that he found that he loved the work and set his sights for college. Though he didn’t have spectacular grades in high school, he was able to attend a state school and to get on the pre-med track. 

College was a stressful time, both because he worried about being away from his mother and because there was a great deal of pressure for him to achieve if he wanted to attend medical school. Still, he was set upon his dreams and constantly pushed himself to do better, to be better, and because of this he was able to attend a top ranking medical school. 

This was not without sacrifice, however. Without Marcus around to help care for her, his mother fell back into her old ways and ended up in rehab a half dozen times in the time that he was an undergraduate. Marcus wants desperately to see her get better, but he has made the decision to live his life as he needs to in order to be happy. Despite this, he feels a great deal of guilt. 

During medical school and his residency, Marcus finally found himself reaching out and making friends. Though the work was challenging, he genuinely enjoyed it and found that he had a knack for the medical profession. He adored the doctors and nurses that he worked with and became quite fond of his patients no matter how maddening they could be. At this time, he decided to become an emergency room physician in the hopes of helping people like his mother.

As he approached graduation, and tried to decide what he ought to do, a mentor pointed him to Doctors Without Borders Program and he applied. He went through the process, growing more and more excited about it as he got further, and was finally given the opportunity to practice in Bali. Though Marcus was heartbroken for his mother, he was excited for the opportunity to go to a new place and start over. 

Marcus flew from Dallas to New York, connected at John F. Kennedy to Paris, and was on his way to Bali when the plane crashed. At present, he’s trying to find whatever he can of his materials so that he can start to check on the surviving passengers all whilst trying to push thoughts of his responsibilities and his mother to the back of his mind. 

WANTED CONNECTIONS;; 

The Stabilizer - Someone who can help ease Marcus’s tension without necessarily meaning to. There is something about their presence that puts him at ease and over time he will come to rely on them. -- { OPEN, please discuss with mun }

The Aid - There are fifty surviving passengers, and Marcus could certainly use a helping hand. Whether they’re trained in the medical field or simply wish to help out, this is someone that Marcus can rely on to help out. -- { OPEN }

The Companion - Perhaps they’re not the most likely duo, given their backgrounds, but this is someone that Marcus simply seems to get along with. They laugh at the same things and enjoy spending time together. -- { OPEN } 

The Ex - As they say, it’s a small world. By some stroke of luck, or quite the opposite depending upon their relationship, Marcus and his ex ended up on the same flight. Though it is a bit uncomfortable, it’s nice to have a familiar face around. -- { OPEN }

The Catalyst - From the first moment, some incident in the security line or as they were getting on the flight, they butted heads. It’s as if their distaste for one another is chemical. They squabble when they’re together, almost without exception. -- { OPEN }

[kittenwritesstuff]

Until the end starts

Fandom: The Hobbit Pairing: Thorin x (human)reader Genres: angst, fluff Words: 1.304 Summary: While imprisoned in Mirkwood, reader is on the verge of breaking down. Thorin is there to console her, which leads to confessions - requested by Anonymous

The Quest was nothing you were prepared for. You had not expected being chased, captured and the amount of fear you were feeling for most of the time. Surely, you did not imagine you would gain so many new friends and see a hobbit, a member of a race you didn’t believe even existed.

And, frankly, you had not expected to fall in love. And on top of that, with a dwarf.

Thorin Oakenshield was the most stubborn and distant being you had ever met. He barely spoke a word to you, hardly granted you with as much as a gaze but your heart ached for him and you could do nothing about it.

The realization that your feelings for him were more than just a sympathy and compassion came when you made a stop in Rivendel. With full stomach and a sense of relaxation you let your mind catch up with what had occurred. Having allowed that, it dawned on you, leaving you anxious and worried.

What if someone noticed? What if you’d die? What if he would die and you would mourn him for the rest of your life, him and the fact that he passed without knowing he was loved?

Yet, you could not bring yourself to confess. You could not let those three words fall from your mouth without a painful clench on your heart and a sickening feeling in your stomach.

You had quietly suffered sleepless nights and hours of dread while you continued the journey, protecting the dwarves and the hobbit with all your might. Gandalf, your dear friend, not once admitted that he saw a change in your attitude. You knew that he knew – he was a wizard, wizards noticed everything, after all.

Even staying at Beorn’s house was not peaceful enough to make you utter a word. As you were nearing the Mountain, Thorin was becoming more and more focused on accomplishing his goal, unable to see a shift in your demeanor and that you became almost as distant and silent as he was.

You almost cried when Gandalf announced that he had to part ways with you. Mirkwood forest was dark and uninviting and you prayed that you would be lucky enough to pass through it with no bad adventures.

Of course, you were attacked by giant spiders and captured by elves. You should not have been surprised.

And now, after you were thrown in a cell, laughed at for joining the pointless quest and left alone, you were on a verge of breaking down and giving up entirely. To no avail Balin was soothing you with kind words, to no avail was Fili’s attempts to cheer you up.

You curled up in the far corner of the small cell and rested your head on your bent kneels, trying your very best to not burst into tears. In your mind, you were recalling every moment of joy you shared with the Company, every joke you, Fili and Kili made and every time yours and Thorin’s eyes met even for a brief second.

It must have lulled you to sleep, because when you opened your eyes, a figure was leaning against cell’s bars.

“No deal?” you asked miserably, looking up at Thorin, who gave you a stern look.

“I will not bargain with a foul Elven king, who once refused to help us.”

“So, we will not reach the Mountain.”

“We will. Master Baggins-“

“Bilbo is not here. I have not seen him. What if something happened to him in the woods, Thorin? What if we lost him?” you whined, covering your face with your hands, concern and panic overwhelming you.

You heard a shuffling and suddenly Thorin was crouching in front of you, reaching for your palms with a gentle touch.

“Do not fret, he is well. He’s more of a burglar than we may think.”

“But he’s alone in a palace full of guards.”

“Are you worried about every one of us?” Thorin’s voice was surprisingly amused and you furrowed your brows as you stared at him.

“Yes, my dear King, I fear for all of your fates. That’s what friendship means.”

“Y/N,” he started and shifted closer to you, finding it rather hard because of your position. So, he sighed and moved around you, motioning for you to create some space for him against the wall. When you did that, Thorin sat on the ground and gingerly eased you against his chest, wrapping one of his arms over your shoulder, with the other he began stroking your hair. The unexpected tenderness and closeness made you freeze at first but as his caress carried on, you relaxed into it.

“Is that why you have been so reserved lately? Because you’re scared?”

“Aye. And you are not?”

“If I am honest, the closer we get to Erebor, the more frightened I become. I never expected we’d encounter so much.”

“We almost died so many times…” you mused and Thorin nodded, letting out a soft hum.

“But we’re alive. And we will survive, Y/N. We’ll defeat Smaug and the Mountain will be ours again.”

“You sound very sure, Thorin.”

“I need to believe in our luck, otherwise I would give up even before the quest started.”

You had no answer for that, so you remained silent, choosing to simply enjoy Thorin’s presence and the way his fingers brushed through your hair, your fear slowly ebbing away.

He started to hum a tune, unknown to you and you assumed it was a Dwarfish song. It was slow and calming and Thorin’s deep voice only made it more beautiful.

“I can’t even imagine what would happen if one of use fell. I only know that I’d be unspeakably heartbroken if you died. I accepted that I could die throughout the journey but if you did – that would be worse. I know that we don’t speak much but I grew rather fond of being around you, Thorin, even when you’re quiet and lost in your thoughts.”

His hand in your hair stopped, falling eventually on your shoulder as his chest rose with a deep inhale.

“Thought of losing you is what I can’t stand,” you carried on, not wanting to pause, “I could not… I didn’t mean to love you. I didn’t plan to. But it happened and I will not see you dead. I will not bear it.”

“Y/N?” he whispered, reaching to touch your cheek but you flinched away, ashamed of saying so much. The tension you felt and that serene moment between you and Thorin lured you into confessing and now, now you started to regret it.

“Please, look at me,” he pleaded, his voice soft and you turned your head to a side to fulfill his ask.

“If you feel guilty for your feelings for me, then so do I for my feelings for you. I’ve tried to fight it, but I cannot. And I don’t want to. I didn’t tell, simply because I am not of race of Men, and how could I expect you to love me back?”

“But I do,” you found yourself admitting quietly and Thorin’s lips curled into a small smile.

“I know it now.”

“How long will it take for you to kiss me? Or should I wait until we are imprisoned again?” you chuckled, watching his face as he cackled, a sound you never thought you would hear. It filled you with happiness and relief.

Thorin said nothing, yet his hands cradled your face, thumbing at your cheeks as he leaned in and brushed your lips with his two, three times before he pressed them firmly against yours, swallowing your gleeful yelp.

And all you could think of was that Bilbo wouldn’t free you too soon. You needed to make up for the time you and Thorin wasted.