#my warden has suffered enough

[aur-eliaa]

It's time ♡

[salsa-di-pomodoro]

Has anyone ever thought of the possibility of people in hisui getting a magazine from AFTER ingo and akari go home with either or both of them on it. Like they've already left and lo and behold in the tail end of the entire mess a magazine appears with one of them on the cover looking fresh stunning and most importantly happy. If it were Ingo i feel like he'd be all dressed up goth on the cover of like Vogue or something lmao (i don't think he wouldn't get famous if he wasn't already after coming home. Theyd want the publicity+cool extint Pokémon on the cover). If it were akari shed probably be like posing all badass like the badass teenager she is, scars in full view (she's a survivor!!!!!!). Inside is a little tidibit of their life after coming home. It would be both funny as hell to see them react to how they are in their element and like connect the dots for their strange behaviors AND bring closure to the people they left in hisui. They may never know this but the people in the past do

If anyone uses this idea tag me i may or may not read it but i want to know if you liked it enough to do something with it. I'll probably just keep daydreaming to myself about it lol

Edit: btw there's a whole section talking about everyone's battle prowess and the battle subway for the funnies. Just so you know

[alliluyevas]

dragon age discourse but. even if i have considered a cousland dao playthrough because i love alistair and i kind of do want a happy ending with him, i also think that "fem warden cousland marries alistair and becomes queen" or i guess also "male warden cousland marries anora and becomes king" tho fewer people seem to play that is probably one of the most boring storytelling choices you could end up with lmfao

[euthymiya]

we’ll have a ball ft. wriothesley

in which you and your boyfriend are due to arrive at fontaine’s most prestigious event, but not before you give him a hand with a slight wardrobe malfunction

contains: female reader ; reader wears a gown ; established relationship ; quite a bit of suggestiveness but overall just fluff ; wriothesley hates fancy events he told me himself, and reader just wants to live her ballgown dreams—he indulges her because he’s a real man ; flirting with wriothelsey using his tie lol ; wriothesley has a brief jealousy induced existential crisis

despite wearing one every day, wriothelsey doesn’t know how to tie a tie.

it’s why it’s so loose around his neck—a stylistic choice, of course, but also a decision based around convenience. he doesn’t need to learn how to tie one if it’s already tied and loose enough to slip over his head. it’s easier that way, letting a complicated set of steps reduce down to just a quick garment to throw on around his neck, allowing him the ability to forgo the trouble of tying it altogether.

you think it’s a rather endearing shortcoming of his, especially when he stands in the mirror confused as he grumbles, fiddling with the material as he tries to properly tie it for once.

“you’re doing that wrong, you know,” you sing, walking up behind him in your gown as he pauses and meets your eyes through the mirror. “you’re hopeless.”

he ignores your quip, gulping slightly as he mumbles, “you look gorgeous.”

“and you look like a fool,” you snort, glancing at the messy knot at his chest.

“maybe they don’t need us,” he licks his lips, spinning around to properly look you up and down without the mirror. a reflection doesn’t do you justice, he thinks, he needs the real thing. “we should just stay here. and do other things.”

“and have lady furina behead us for canceling last minute? i don’t think so,” you wave him off, but your arms slip around his neck as soon his hands grab your hips, letting him pull you flush against his chest as his nose runs along your collarbone, inhaling sharply at the scent of your perfume.

the duke of meropide is, in its own right, a prestigious title. prestigious enough to extend wriothesley an invitation to the annual ball the hydro archon holds for the sake of extravagance. wriothesley manages to weasel his way out of it on most years—but this time, you’ve been newly added to the guest list as well, courtesy of your blossomed relationship with the warden.

you seem far too excited to attend for him to decline in good conscience. love is sacrifice, as they say—and wriothesley can happily suffer through an evening of small talk and formality while sporting an uncomfortably tight fitting suit.

the only problem he can’t manage to overlook so far is this cursed, wretched tie.

“you’re no fun,” he pouts slightly, trailing the tip of his nose to brush along your collarbone until it finds your neck, lips pressing a soft, lingering peck as you hum and play with the hairs at the nape of his neck. “i’ll show you a good time. better than a silly ball.”

“that’s a big promise.”

“well, i can think of a way or two to make it worth your while,” he grins against your neck, and you’re certain you’ve memorized that curve of his lips by heart. you can recognize it instantly when it sears against your skin.

“nice try,” you laugh, pulling away as he begrudgingly does the same. he sighs at your dismissal while you reach over to the tie around his neck. “but we’re going. and you need this tie looking…not how it’s looking right now.”

“m’trying my best,” he grumbles, looking away to the side, cheeks dusted a precious shade of crimson that you lean over to kiss gently.

your fingers undo the messy knot at his neck, expertly weaving the tie into a new and neat, flawless knot as you tighten it to fit around his neck perfectly. it’s unlike the loose, rugged knot he usually wears—much more proper, much more professional, much more formal.

wriothesley doesn’t look particularly thrilled at the adjustment, sighing as he watches you inspect his appearance and straighten his collar. your hand smooths over his chest as you give your nod of approval, and he wonders if you can hear his thundering heartbeat under your palm.

if you do, you’re gracious enough to cut him some slack from being teased.

“there,” you hum, “you look quite handsome.”

“does it have to be so tight?” he complains—and then his brows twitch, furrowing deeper as he pauses to look at you briefly with a puzzled look. “hang on. where’d you learn how to tie a tie?”

you raise a playful eyebrow, letting out an amused huffed out breath as you say, “well, you’re not the only man i’ve gotten to know.”

“so you’ve done this before? for another man?” he asks incredulously, miserably looking down at the thin piece of fabric wrapped around his collar as if it’s choked him before he adds, “i think i’ll be taking that dip in the primordial sea like i mentioned.”

“oh, quit being a drama queen,” you swat at his arm, chuckling as he gives you a theatrically pained look before burying his head back into your neck again, hand fitting in the small of your back as he rubs slowly circles into your gown.

“is this punishment for my crimes? because i’ve already served a sentence and according to fontaine laws, you can’t try a man twice for the same crime.”

“if it makes you feel better, i think you of all men pull ties off the best.”

“i suppose it minimally raises my spirits that you think i look good,” he concedes.

he does look good—whether it’s his usual loose, improperly fit tie or the fancy, silk material of tonight, you think wriothesley is most handsome when there’s a thin piece of fabric decorating his neck and chest, perfectly hanging and waiting for you to tug and pull him in.

you decide to demonstrate the wonderful opportunity his attire grants you, too, when you murmur, “in fact, i quite appreciate your habit of wearing ties.”

“oh? is that so?”

“yes,” you say slyly, pushing him back gently as you question, “want to see why?”

“do enlighten me,” he grins, eyes mischievously narrowing, a knowing glint sparkling in them as he waits for you to finish what you started.

so you do—reaching over and grabbing the silk, giving it a firm yank so he leans down, forehead pressing against yours and lips just a few millimeters away as you breathe, “i can do this whenever i want when you wear one. it’s very convenient for when i need a kiss or two.”

“i see,” he nods, his breath fanning over your lips. it’s hot and searing���you shiver at the feeling of him even when his lips haven’t even touched you yet. “well, if it keeps you satisfied, then i’ll have to make sure i’m always dressed appropriately for your needs.”

“well,” you bat your lashes, biting your lip as you give him a cheeky giggle and say, “there’s a good chance i might need something that requires very little attire, too, your grace.”

he closes his eyes, and you stifle a victorious laugh.

“you’ll be the death of me,” he says through a strained groan, leaning in to finally close the gap and kiss you deeply. his lips are hungry, pressing into you for another taste every time you manage to pull away for even a brief moment. you hum against his mouth, cupping his cheeks and holding his face as his fingers grip at your waist and feel the curve of you against him.

you always wonder if you and wriothesley were once the same person in a previous life. perhaps split in two, destined to find each other in the next. it feels like he completes you when you meet like this, pressing against you like one half meeting the other to make a whole.

it’s dizzying, maybe even downright risky the way you kiss so passionately just moments before you need to leave—you’re not sure either of you have the self control to break away if it comes down to it.

luckily, wriothesley travels his mouth to find your jaw after a few more moments, kissing through breathless pants as your eyes flutter open.

“we have to go soon,” you whisper.

“are you certain we can’t just stay here? i promise what i offer will be far more fun than listening to random wealthy folk running their mouths for a night.”

“but we get to dance,” you point out.

he pretends to think about it for a moment before offering, “i’ll dance with you here.”

“no,” you scold, swatting at his shoulder as you roll your eyes, “this dress is expensive. it needs to be appreciated.”

“oh i’ll appreciate it alright,” he drawls, grinning against your jaw as he whispers into your skin, “i’ll appreciate it all night.”

“no. we’re going, and that’s final, you sleaze.”

“hey,” he pouts, pulling away as you reach over one last time to straighten his hair and fix up his appearance, “i’m nothing if not a doting boyfriend.”

“wonderful. then i expect to have a drink in my hands all night,” you wink teasingly, patting his cheek, “you’ll be in charge of grabbing me them.”

he deflates in defeat, grumbling a quiet, “alright, fine.”

“you can appreciate my gown after,” you lean close, whispering against the shell of his ear and making him pause with a hitched breath as you press a kiss to the skin under his earlobe and murmur, “maybe you can appreciate some other clothing i’ve purchased too.”

“well,” he inhales sharply, grabbing your wrist and tugging you along as he nods seriously, “in that case, i look forward to it.”

ok so basically i went to the mall today and i walked past this store with mens suits and one of the posters on the window with the models was a woman pulling a man in by the tie and then i was like oh that’s so me and wrio and that’s how this drabble came to be 👍

[ebonyheartnet]

Clockwork was powerful, but he was far from almighty. Some paths could not be altered, some worlds were beyond saving, but this…

As he picked up his grandson’s broken body, the child’s clock began to spin.

🦇

Ignoring the pendant around his neck for a moment, Bruce looked at the world frozen around him. The last thing he saw was that damned alley behind the movie theater, but now he was in the manor. As he tried to adjust, a hooded figure melted out of the too-bright walls.

“Your assumptions are correct, detective. This is the end, but I come bearing cold comfort.”

“Who are you?” Bruce asked, weary but ready to fight.

“Your friend Diana would call me Kronos, but your son, Daniel, once called me Clockwork, then grandpa,” said Clockwork. “You don’t have to trust me, but you’ve loved them both. I just want to cushion the blow.”

“Explain,” Bruce demanded.

“Very well, but let’s go to your family.”

Clockwork led the way down to the cave, and Bruce followed begrudgingly. Several of the bats were huddled around the computer, with a few getting ready to head out. The screens showed the energy from Bruce’s final jump, all the way in that damned alley.

“Are they safe like this?” Bruce asked.

”No,” said Clockwork, “but it will be painless. When I restart time, you’ll only have a minute to speak. That will not be enough to evacuate.”

“Why not give me the hope then?”

“Bruce, I have already done something incredibly cruel in the name of kindness. If I gave you anything else—if I lied that there was a way out—you would waste the gift.” Clockwork shrank down to a child. “Daniel will know what happened one day, and I don’t want his hatred to extend beyond a few centuries.”

“Wait, Danny will survive this?”

“And only Daniel can,” Clockwork confirmed. “Leaving will hurt, but only a new lifetime could begin to heal what he’d already suffered.”

Before he could ask, a portal opened to several screens, and he could feel his heart break as everything played out: Danny’s original world and his first parents’ betrayal. The way that both Drake twins would’ve been stillborn without the swap. The nuclear war when he killed Joker—

“I’m sorry that Darkseid’s pact with Nergal delayed your friends. The worlds without a laughing magician almost always face excessive magical interference.”

“Then why not place Danny somewhere safer to begin with?” Bruce growled. “Why hurt him like this when my son’s already been through so much!”

“A laughing magician cannot be anticipated by the divine, and I…” Clockwork aged into an old man. “Bruce, I was a terrible father, but my little warden has me wrapped around his finger. I couldn’t risk him being banished or bound in a deal before he could advocate for himself.”

Bruce wanted to hate him for it. He wanted to hate the paranoid logic that would break Danny’s heart again and again. He wanted to tell his son the truth and hold him through the tears. He wanted to soothe the hurt himself. He wanted to hide it so that Danny never felt the blow.

He wanted, like any good parent, to keep his son safe and happy.

“You and I are far too alike,” Clockwork said bitterly. “Thank you for loving him. Thank you for refusing to forgive me.”

“So what now?” Bruce asked.

“I’m taking everything Daniel needs to the new timeline. His records, his things, and even the few articles. He acted like a ghost in public, so we can just slip him in.”

“There will be gaps,” Bruce stated.

“I will help bridge them,” Clockwork promised.

“And he’ll know about us?”

“There is no timeline where I attempt to keep the truth from Daniel and avoid him devouring my core,” Clockwork said.

“That isn’t a yes.”

“Though I would not begrudge him his vengeance, such a thing would make Daniel hate himself.” Clockwork smirked as he matched Bruce’s age. “That counts more than my word.”

“And where is Danny?”

“He had a headache, so he’s fast asleep upstairs.” Clockwork’s gaze softened. “He’s going to wake up in a world where no one remembers him, but everyone he loves here is alive and well.”

“And you’ll show him this one day?”

“I promise. He will know as soon as it will not destroy him.”

Bruce took a shakey breath and walked until he was halfway between both groups. He hadn’t bothered dealing with the tears until now, but he wanted to see them. He wanted…

“Will any of us join him?” Bruce croaked.

Clockwork hesitated.

“Ectoplasmic ghosts form when the soul condenses under pressure. If I tell you the truth, either anguish or relief will damn you. I’m sorry.”

Bruce wanted to push, but just this once…

“Do it.”

[cookiealchemieart]

Voices and the Hero I DID IT I FUCKING FINISHED THIS PIECE YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!! I have Thoughts about my designs for these guys so uh Design Notes under the cut!

I'm bad at drawing actual birds (if the narrator on the hero's shoulder is any indication) so I went with the next best thing that I'm better at: plague doctors! Plus plague masks are just fun to draw. I tried making each of the voices match the princess they correspond to, but it got tricky with a couple of them. In no particular order, here we go! The Hero is a bird guy with a bird mask. Perhaps the mask is meant to keep his identity locked away? Either way, the outfit is more shapes than actual fabric, similar to the Princess' gown. Simple enough to register as clothes, but vague enough to change and be recognizable as the loops splinter. Also the cape is hims wings! The Broken is made to be the wettest, most pathetic little guy, but also ever so slightly like a priest. This is to reference the Tower (mommy- I mean mommy- I mean-) saying that the hero's place by her side is "that of a priest, or a pet". So I made him look like a depressed little priest. The Skeptic is the voice that joins you on the route of the Prisoner, so what would be more fitting than a warden? Or maybe an escaped convict? Either way I love his little ponytail poking out of his hood. The Hunted looks like a feral wild child. Feather-hair out and messy, cloak made of scraps of fabric. I figured the most wild looking of the voices would be the one that corresponds to the Beast. The Smitten is all puffy and soft shapes to match the Damsel's rufflier dress and softer appearance. Also my friends recommended the hat and I agree 11/10 would hat again. Gave him a bowtie AND a cravat because the Smitten strikes me as just that extra! The Opportunist's beak is meant to resemble a parrot's, as he just parrots the ideas of whomever he considers to be "winning". This is also why he's dressed like a businessman. He kinda looks like a villain version of the Smitten, but I haven't played the Thorn's route yet, so idk if that's relevant. Also isn't this guy the only voice that doesn't show up in the Chapter 2 routes or am I forgetting one? The Stubborn has demon horns to match the Adversary (and the Eye of the Needle HOOGH MAMA). He's also got battle damage, and his mask is fashioned to look like he has a wounded and scarred eye. Fun fact! Stubborn was supposed to get the ponytail, but I decided while lining that a half cut looked better. The Cold looks the most similar to the Hero, but he's just a bit less put together. While I was drawing his hair I was thinking of L from Deathnote for some reason? Probably the cadence the Cold has. The Cheated is supposed to look like a gambler, given his title and speaking patterns. There...wasn't a good way to pair him with the Razor, but I suppose the spade on his cheek could be seen as a nod to the razor's blades? I dunno, I'm reaching here. The Paranoid suffers from my lack of impulse control when it comes to giving characters goggles. I fucking love steampunk goggles. Much like the Cold, he looks like a less-put-together Hero, but this one is a mess, actively having a panic attack, but is pushing through it because NEITHER THE HERO OR THE NARRATOR IS FUCKING HELPING. Also the stitches on his mask are meant to mirror the cracks on the Nightmare's mask. The Contrarian has a mask with three beaks as a mirror to the Stranger's three heads, but also because the two on his head make him look like a little jester and I felt that was fitting for this smartass. His cape is asymmetrical to spite the status quo.

I hope you enjoyed my art + rambles about these designs. I love doing this!

[ddarker-dreams]

Nexus V.

Yandere Blade x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, possessive behavior, codependency o'clock, implied/mentioned not SFW, coercion and mommy issues. Word count: 10.1k.

Nexus index.

Time is a way to measure reality. 

It allows the woefully inadequate mind of a sentient being to process a sliver of something greater. The senses are a sieve that retains what little they can of the universe’s riptide. Considering this, it’s no wonder the Aeons tend to keep to themselves. How long would you entertain the whims of a speck of dust? You’d gain nothing from it. The dust cannot understand, it lacks the means to properly perceive you. It simply wishes to find a nice, comfortable spot to occupy its days. It can loathe, revere, or fear you, it matters not; for in the end, it’s nothing but a speck of dust. 

So why do the Aeons occasionally make themselves known? What do they stand to gain? Further power, enlightenment, entertainment? 

They should’ve just kept wading through the stellar sea. 

Specks of dust shouldn’t be allowed to wield even an ounce of their power. 

All it does is let them destroy themselves and others in new, horrific ways. 

The white rings around your mother’s pupils shine. 

She subjects Kafka and Blade to concurrent curses. Cutting, snipping, trimming; their psyches are flayed one layer at a time. How she does so rivals a butcher preparing a tender cut more than a doctor performing a delicate surgery. Inky blots propagate along Blade’s vision. From this limited perspective, you can’t determine Kafka’s condition. Not that it would matter, you can barely comprehend what Blade’s going through. 

Mother has to be forming a link, right?

Ideally, both parties consent to a link’s formation. This grants stability and lowers the chances of complications. An unwelcome link is treated with the same hostility as an immune system that’s noticed a germ. It’s sought out, identified, then exterminated. The host may suffer malaise for a time, but if their body is in working order, the problem will sort itself out. 

There has to be more to this, you surmise. Mom, please, don’t let this be the end. You can’t. Not you. 

The disease inflicted on Blade metastasizes; Kafka is likely facing a similar predicament. Memories swarm around him like locusts, buzzing and biting. 

The Zhuming is the womb from which divine weapons are born. It is the warden to the subdued Flint Emperor, whose flames once burned hot enough to rival the stars. These flames will one day exterminate the rampant borisin, the young boy is certain. Whether it be in his lifetime or not doesn’t matter. No child deserves to be made an orphan. He can’t undo what’s been done to him, but he can help prevent it from happening to others. 

“If you believe you are up to the task, I will take you on as my apprentice. What you do with the knowledge I impart is your decision.” 

This Foxian lady sent to retrieve support for the fight against the borisin loves to chat. There’s rarely an instance where a grin can’t be found on her face, wide enough that her eyes must squish to accommodate her exuberance. 

“Just focus on what you want to do, and let fate take its course."

Those who belong to the short-life species cannot grasp a nebulous concept such as ‘fate.’ This sentiment is commonly found among his fellow Artisanship Commission members. It doesn’t deter him — if anything, his resolve is strengthened. His life won’t be as long as theirs, but it will burn hot and bright before it extinguishes. 

“The borisins must pay the price for their evil.” 

One day, a lady with long, silver hair, who has conquered the moon and brought it to heel, approaches him. The air around here is crisp, contrasting the sweltering air of the Zhuming. She reminds him of the winters he experienced on his home planet. He had forgotten how frost stings. 

“A talent such as yours shouldn’t be left to drown amidst a mediocre sea. After this visit, I’m bound for the Loufu. A seat will be made available for you. Come and reach your full potential, or, languish here where your accolades will fade from history’s recollection.” 

The Shard Sword, Starfall Reverie, Cloud-Piercer, and Baiheng’s recurve bow were no longer what he treasured most. Those monumental accomplishments don’t enrich lives, it ends them. Standing here, where the ocean’s blue is more brilliant than the artificial sky, is where he’s found something akin to peace. The Scalegorge Waterscape has become a gathering place for friends. Laughter, sparring, and the burning of liquor are shared beneath the moon’s watchful eye. 

He raises a cup to his lips and silently wishes this joy could last forever. 

“Do you remember?”

This voice interrogated him unceasingly for answers they both knew he couldn’t give. Again and again, he’d undergo a punishment disguised as a lesson. Frost didn’t just sting, it imparted necrosis, yet what is decomposition to an immortal but a joke? Again and again, his flesh would be pierced, organs punctured with expert execution. His body wasn’t allowed the privilege to rot. 

Again and again, he’d be swallowed by death, only to be spat back up, as it’s unable to digest him. 

"Listen, I can always kill you again, otherwise I can't bring you back."

What he thought to be prey standing in his way turned out to be apex predators. A woman who could render him useless with her words alone and a suit of armor that reflected the sun in his weary eyes. He had to get his fill of death before considering her offer. It sounded too good to be true, but he was reminded that the universe has enough instruments to perform the threnody he so desperately wishes to hear. 

“Having trouble settling on a gift? Hm… I suppose that’s to be expected. Any off-world flora you leave behind will shrivel beneath the planet’s atmosphere, unless it possesses special qualities. It’d be a bad omen to give her a lotus that can wilt. Why not try a different approach?”

He stands solitary on the cragged terrain around the LOTUS-EATER. Though she’ll soon emerge to gaze up at the starless sky, his wait won’t end there. It’ll bleed into the next day, then the day after that, on and on the cycle will spin. Destiny’s Slave promised this vortex would end so long as he remained patient. Once he fully bows down before her, damnation will be her crown. The weight of his burden is to be shared by two. 

He considers the iridescent crystals in his bandaged hands. 

He thought the joy he found in creation died the same day ▇▇▇▇▇ did. 

This emotion’s resurrection, however…

… If it’s a sin, then what’s another addition to his list? 

“Listen, Blade, snap out of it.”

The swarm falls silent. 

Bright screens, the thrum of the oxygen generator, sterile colors. Kafka towers over him, implying that he’s fallen to the ground. Her complexion lacks its usual glow. While Blade stands, she reaches inside her jacket and pulls out a portable blush. She dusts the rosy powder over her cheeks. 

“That was unpleasant,” Kafka sighs. She snaps the container shut. “I guess that’s to be expected from one of Noct’s Emanators. It seems you bore the brunt of it, though.” 

Mom, an Emanator? You think. Maybe… maybe that means she had a chance to get away. This was a diversion that she used to go into hiding. Faking a corpse is within their skillset, Silver Wolf can hack reality itself. I only looked at it long enough to confirm her identity. 

Blade places a hand on his throbbing head and grimaces. His vision alternates between different degrees of blurriness. Kafka’s positioned in front of him, which prevents you from seeing the area your mother occupied. You pray to anything that might listen for her to fucking move already.

“That trip down memory lane was a red herring,” Kafka says. “She bought herself enough time to complete her real objective.” 

Even Kafka thinks so! 

Instead of explaining further, she leisurely reaches for her lipstick. Your frustration boils over. You aren’t the only one feeling impatient. Blade hasn’t uttered a word, but his typical apathy ebbs and flows irregularly. Kafka hums a tune as she smears the rouge pigment along her puckered lips. This whimsical attitude shows no signs of tapering off. 

Blade exhales sharply, belying his annoyance. He’s near his limit as well.

Kafka clicks her tongue. “Don’t be so impatient, you two. I’m dolling myself up.” 

…‘You two?’

“Yes. Now, let me assess the damage,” Kafka switches from looking at Blade to inspecting his psyche. She gasps, playing the role of a melodramatic damsel perfectly. “Oh my. Ania did a number on you.” 

This woman is insufferable, always playing coy. I swear, the next time I see her—

“Your memories of [First] Phaeales, the visceral emotions she stirs up in you; they’re growing fuzzier by the second, I presume? In an hour or so, they’ll be gone altogether. Hmm… ‘gone’ might not be the best word to describe it. Sealed away might be more appropriate.” 

A premonition too cruel to put into words coils around you. 

No, no, no. 

“Can you fix it?” Blade strains. The hypothetical Kafka suggested encourages his mara to writhe and hiss in dissatisfaction. It crawls around his head, murmurs near his cochlea in a scratchy voice, demanding a quick fix. To be deprived of you is unacceptable, it insists. This sentencing must be overturned. It wants you, needs you and will destroy anything to have you. Himself included. 

Pandemonium wreaks havoc inside his head, it’s like he barely exists. The warring influences rip away as if drawing and quartering him. 

“I can’t, no. It’s beyond my abilities,” Kafka’s smile is all teeth. “Fortunately, I do know of someone who can undo it.” 

His mara hushes so it may hear her out. 

“Contact them,” he snaps. 

“You’d get all bashful if I did. Besides, I don’t think she’d do a very thorough job if she knew the context.” 

Kafka stares Blade in the eye and tilts her head like she’s posing for the camera. “Isn’t that right, Miss Phaeales?” 

You think you might be living in a nightmare. 

Please, no…

Blade’s heart lurches inside his chest at your mention. 

“Listen, Bladie. Until [First] Phaeales undoes her mother’s seal, you’ll be unable to remember the past twenty-four hours. The second the seal is undone, this memory, on June 8th, 2153 AE, starting from Eris’ local time of 0223 and concluding at 0214, will resurface in your consciousness. It will play for her so she’s fully caught up.” 

How could something this awful… ever happen…? 

The edges of the memory fade and curl inward like burning paper. 

“I’ll throw in some advice, just for you, sweetie. He’s bound to get tongue-tied around you, so remember to be patient,” Kafka’s suggestion is muffled. “Oh, and another thing. You might want to get a headstart while you can.” 

… 

You can’t breathe. 

The room performs for you, rippling side to side, hypnotizing as a pocket watch. A white blur whirrs by. Clink, clink, clink, it crashes, spurting its innards in a splatter of red and glimmering gold. The sound itself seems delayed, echoing a moment too late. It isn’t in time with the opal shards that scatter like teeth along the polished floor. The deluge is offbeat, dissonant, yet the song continues.

You can’t breathe. 

The percussion is ousted, making way for the woodwind section. The flutes raise and raise in pitch. This tocsin sounds shrill and consistent, stabbing your eardrums, and vibrating your bones. Dizziness makes for a distracting audience member, its dry, unblinking eyes landing on you. It opens its maw impossibly wide, tearing the tendons around its cracked lips, and swallows your head. For some reason, it cannot go past your neck, so it contents itself with gorging on your cranium like it’s sucking candy. 

You can’t breathe. 

There’s something living inside your throat. A parasite, leech, or slug, maybe. It wriggles back up whenever you try swallowing, like jello on a wobbling plate. The tiny hairs along its gelatinous body tickle your esophagus. You’re always on the precipice of choking, but not quite. It delights in the warm and moist cavern you’ve provided. 

You can’t die because it wants more from you. 

You can’t be reduced to a husk because your vitality sustains it. 

You can’t breathe, you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe—

Something awful touches your skin and you want to burn the residue it leaves behind. 

“[First].” 

You scramble back until your spine hits a cold, solid surface. A hand retracts. 

What is this thing before you? It’s tall and has eyes like vats of blood. You see your reflection held captive inside the crimson miasma. The woman it shows resembles you in some ways and doesn’t in others. She looks afraid. Sickly. Lost somewhere between the junction of life and death. Traipsing, testing the fraying line’s integrity. One wrong step guarantees a plummet to inconceivable depths. 

“[First].” 

“Don’t,” you rasp, your voice wobbling like a transmission with a poor signal, “Don’t you fucking dare come near me!” 

He listens. For now, at least. You’d be a fool to mistake stalling for surrender. You press your back into the wall hard enough to ache. The enclosed space seemingly shrinks around you. You press a trembling hand over your heart, feeling how it hammers against your chest cavity. The room’s air is stifling. Your sympathetic nervous system can’t decide its course of action. Should the little oxygen you’re inhaling go to your brain or your heart? Delegation is a tricky endeavor. 

Blade’s gaze eats you alive.

He’s starving and you’re the only thing that can fill him.

The manifestation of his mara frightened you less. 

 Mom, what have I done? What can I do? 

“You should sit,” he says. You want to rip his vocal cords to shreds. “There’s nowhere to run and you know better than to fight.”

As if he had to remind you. 

The Shard Sword. So that’s the name of the terror he wields? You’ve read about it in history books, there are entire chapters dedicated to the High-Cloud Quintet’s exploits. Even if he were unarmed, you wouldn’t stand a chance. Any flesh wound will heal, any organ will stitch itself back together, and any death will be a temporary visit he’ll saunter back from.

Blade takes a step closer.

How do you get out of this? How do you get him to stop? What would get him to stop? 

What could he possibly want more than you? 

Oh.

The answer unfurls like a body bag. 

… There is one more thing, isn’t there? 

You thread your psyches together with a thin string. It’s too weak in its present state, the weight of your goal will make it snap instantly. You need to fortify it as best as you can. Otherwise, there is no place you can go where he won’t find you. The prismatic shards that record his history are no longer indecipherable, each moment is visible to you, forming a macabre mosaic. 

The second you finalize this link, he’ll know. Your touch isn’t a stranger to his mind anymore. Nothing about you is. 

You recall the shattered opal goblet a few feet away. 

You let your knees buckle like they’ve desired all along. You fall toward the jagged shards and you brace yourself. It happens as swiftly as you expected — his inhuman speed allows him to catch you easily. He steadies you against him, holding you up since the strength leaving your body wasn’t an act. 

Your hand brushes over a sliver of his skin. 

You wanted me to show you what it’s like to die, you think. It isn’t beyond my means at all, Yingxing!

The Synalink is a success. 

He might want you, but his longing for a permanent death eclipses that. 

This is a scenario unlike any you’ve ever built before. The dimensions are simple, you’re creating one static scene. It isn’t a vast galaxy with trade, economies, and conflicting ideals, teeming with planets that house millions of individuals who each have their own role in the story to play. Grass doesn’t have to blow just right, there aren’t bystanders whose conversations you need to generate and perform maintenance on. 

The stage you’ve built is, at its core, nothing. A vacuum you’ve molded into a cube and placed him in the middle of. 

You’ve cut off stimuli to each of his senses. He can’t perceive anything, because there’s nothing to perceive. 

His psyche shows no signs of resistance. This is what he wants, isn’t it? Total absolution. The loss of self, to be undone and woven into the universe’s indifferent tapestry. Every factor has aligned in your favor like a once-in-a-millennium syzygy. Your newfound knowledge of his past, his most innate desire being death, then the amplification physical touch brings. 

This isn’t an unknown pathogen, it’s a welcome salvation. 

You just have to maintain it. 

Your main hurdle is finding a way to do so while navigating the physical world. The slightest deviation could have catastrophic consequences, his acumen is that competent. How long can you sustain this Synalink if you don’t dedicate your entire attention to it? There’s no point of reference. For all you know, it could be impossible. 

Regardless, you have to try. 

Reopening your corporeal eyes, you find yourself in the private room. 

The Stellaron Hunter, who uses the alias ‘Blade,’ stands behind you like a cocked gun. 

He isn’t moving. The white rings in his eyes match yours. His vitals are consistent with what you see in clients immersed in Synalinks. Low respiration and heartbeat, and the paralysis of limbs so as to deter unwanted motor functions.

You hold your breath, shimmy out of his loosened grasp, and then cautiously take a step back.

Your heels crunch down on a stray fragment from the broken goblet. You cringe.

You expect the worst when you gather the courage to look at him again. 

Still nothing. 

Keeping your back against the wall, you awkwardly slide toward the door leading to The Lounge. 

The burning question of what to do next sears your mind. You have no faith or trust in Chrysus. There’s Caicias, but he’s in Mele. The fastest nectar guide would still take two hours, factoring in the repairs being done to the one in Thelx. Even if he did make it here, what could he do? Help you negotiate? Would Blade even give him the chance? You’d be condemning the elder quadrant leader to certain death. 

Who is in your star system? You’ve heard that the Astral Express has had run-ins with the Stellaron Hunters, but they could be millions of light-years away. Then there’s Kafka. If she goes too long without hearing from Blade, she won’t just sit around and let you scheme. Silver Wolf could hack into the LOTUS-EATER’s surveillance system or use thermal imaging to gauge the situation. 

The price of hope is too steep. 

Your fingers grope blindly for the door’s switch. You refuse to take your attention off Blade for a split second. You feel a protrusion, start to flick it up—

Sparks fly from the wall like frantic fireflies, joined by chunks of dark debris. Strands of your hair blow aside as if subject to a wicked gale. Sediment scratches at your skin. Out of instinct, your eyes squeeze shut, shielding you from what they can. A figure towers above you. You can’t see him, but you can feel him. The torment, bloodlust, and yearning are so prevalent that they may as well be in the room alongside you. 

Through a looking glass, you saw the reflections of a wretched life.

How he fell victim to a friend unwilling to accept a comrade’s untimely demise. That for this incursion, death would never grant him permanent residency. Over a thousand times, a swordmaster gripped by madness tested this ordinance, her strikes colder than winter’s wrath.

He’d lose a piece of himself each time, leaving a mangled afterimage of what he once was.

A sinner rendered mara-struck and immortal — a shade that will dye you his accursed color. 

Blade pins your wrists above your head. It hurts, but you’ve learned there’s pain worse than this. 

“Open your eyes.” 

It isn’t a request. 

You hesitate for as long as he allows. Ultimately, you have no choice but to give him what he wants. Scarlet eyes reward your reluctant obedience. Leering, glowing. Your chest heaves beneath the burden of each breath. Something wet and warm trickles down your cheek. It titillates the flames of his mara as if it’d been lathered in oil. He shackles your wrists with his gloved hand and drags the other downward. Over your temple, cheekbone, then finally, your chin. 

He tilts your head up. 

Neither of you speak. 

How? How did he break free? 

You didn’t sense any fluctuations, nothing that’d warn of your incoming fate. Your control didn’t slip, it was pulled out right from underneath you. 

Isn’t death what every segment of his psyche seeks? His rationality, morality, and base instincts were all in agreement, a unanimous jury that didn’t require deliberation. 

What unforeseen note upset this triad? 

Your reflection in his eyes is drenched in red.  

“Haha… seriously?” You laugh a humorless laugh. “Me?” 

Blade doesn’t respond. You don’t know if he heard you. Either way, it doesn’t matter. He is the author of whatever happens next. 

A butterfly with injured wings loses none of its original beauty. If anything, it’s made easier to admire, now that it can no longer fly away. You have nowhere to go, nothing to do, and not a word to say that’d make a difference. This futility reassures his mara. That which was held above its head has been made to crawl along the ground. Blade seizes total control of himself as his mara slinks away. Cognizant of his bruising grip, he releases you. Without his crushing support, you collapse like a house of cards. Your knees hit the ground. 

You sink down further and squeeze your head in between your hands. 

It hurts, mom, it hurts. Why couldn’t you give me up one more time? ‘My’ life never belonged to me in the first place, anyway. You should’ve granted the shift in ownership when it was still a choice. 

… I’m scared. 

There is no getting out of this, is there?

Metal clinks by your side. Dazedly, you inspect the sound’s source. A silver dagger rests beside you. It’s small in build, yet pointed as a weapon should be. Your attention flitters between him and the blade. What is this? A pitiful attempt to level the playing field? Has he not humiliated you enough? Taken everything that wasn’t yours to give? 

Sensing your confusion, he explains, “Sins should be punished.” 

You grasp the hilt. 

It’s heavy. 

“What… are you even saying…?” You murmur. Is he referring to your mother? “It’s ‘permissible’ to take life, according to you.” 

You recount his creed with the venom it merits. 

He falls silent. 

“Not yours… not for free,” he drawls. “I’ll pay any price.” 

Transactions benefit both parties. What’s there for him to gain? 

You stand on unsteady legs.

Blade’s countenance is an impenetrable fortress. The violent waves have settled, leaving still, murky waters. Is it twisted affection swirling in his gaze? Guilt? The celebration of a long-fought battle? You don’t know. You don’t know what to think, feel, or do. You’re just numb. What will you be after this? Your mother likened their designs for you to a ‘retractable leash.’ Close, but not quite. 

You’ll be more of a portable oxygen tank. 

Kafka can’t always be there to soothe Blade’s mara, but you can. You will. You have to. It’s a duty that binds more than marriage. 

If transactions benefit both parties, then… 

What he’s offering to pay for here is you. 

Your eyes drop down to the dagger. 

The currency will be blood and flesh. He’ll let you kill him, however you want, for as long as you want. Ten, one hundred, one thousand times or beyond, until you feel the scales have balanced. The blank canvas has given you the tools to create your final masterpiece. Once the paint dries, the roles will reverse. The subjugated will become the subjugator. It isn’t a matter of if, it’s a matter of when. 

You raise the dagger, his cold heart your target. It’s yours. A gift, a burden, an unbreakable vow. 

You plunge it down, and—

—He doesn’t even flinch. 

The tip of the blade rips his shirt, but not his flesh. 

You toss it aside and shake your head. 

“Has anything worthwhile… ever come from killing you…?” 

Blade doesn’t respond, but you know he heard you. 

He furrows his eyebrows, your question hanging over his head. Whatever he expected, this must not have been a possibility he accounted for. Had he been anyone else, he might conflate mercy for forgiveness. He isn’t, though. He knows the crippling weight of guilt. How it secretly imbues you with a craving for more, so you can finally be crushed to death, instead of being forced to roll the boulder onward. 

Each slice would be for him as much as it is for you. 

If that’s penance to him, you will never grant it. 

“My mom…” you trail off, not because you don’t know how to complete the sentence, but because finishing it will finish something inside you. “Is she…?” 

Blade’s memories have made their way back to him using you as their bridge. You could parse through them, but you don’t want to. You don’t think he’ll lie. He hasn’t lied to you as far as he knew. The truth is worse and the truth is what you’ll get. The emotions you pick up from him hint at what you already know. They nibble at you as piranhas would. Notably missing from the onslaught is any iteration of guilt or its distant cousin, regret. 

He’d die a thousand deaths to pay the fee of having you. What’s a little more bloodshed to someone who views death as enviable? 

“Never mind,” you murmur. “Forget I asked.” 

He won’t. 

He refuses to forget anything about you ever again. 

For now, he’ll pretend otherwise. 

You’ve decided that from this distance, Eris looks like a marble. 

It’s just a little black sphere, infused with the occasional stream of gold. You center the image in between your thumb and pointer finger, making minuscule adjustments until it fits just right. Once you’re content, you hold it there, squinting your left eye so this speck’s the main focus. 

As of the latest census in 2155 AE, the planet Eris is thought to have a population of 2,912,840. 560,432 in Ade, 1,510,781 in Mele, an estimated 200,400 in Arc, and 641,227 in your home quadrant of Thelx. Each of those numbers can be attributed to a living, breathing being. Someone with their own family, history, ethics, dreams, and struggles. Your fellow Nymphalians, descendants of prisoners dumped on a dark and frigid planet to die.

You thought you’d given them your life before. In a pretty, metaphorical sense, that could be made into poems for generations. 

Your conversation with Destiny’s Slave reassured you that no, there’s nothing pretty or metaphorical about what awaits you. No one will be penning sentimental poems detailing an ascetic’s life led in solitude so that the people may prosper. You’ll be a cold case. For a week, your name will be a hot topic on primetime television. A headline sprawled in large font across news media companies. ‘Tragedy Strikes: Eris’ [First] Phaeales Kidnapped, IPC Implicates Stellaron Hunters,’ or something to that effect. 

Then another calamity will occur and you’ll be pushed from the public’s consciousness. 

You might get a special mention on anniversaries. The first, fifth, tenth, fiftieth, then the hundredth. Podcasts will do deep dives. Books will be written. Forum boards will swap theories. Who knows? An anonymous user might guess the truth and be labeled a conspiracy theorist for their troubles.

You pinch your thumb and pointer finger together, smushing the faraway planet from your perspective. 

“Boom!” You exclaim in a whisper yell. “Is that how easy it is to you?” 

He doesn’t respond. 

You turn away from the sheet of glass separating you from the limitless depths of outer space. 

“The silent treatment, huh?” You muse, drumming your fingers against the window pane. “You saw this future and worked oh so hard to procure it. What? Having second thoughts, now that it’s here? That’d be a shame.” 

There’s something ugly living inside your heart. It’s been there since you were born and will remain until you die. Maybe it lives inside everyone, you can’t say, you can only speak for yourself. Kindness isn’t inherent, it’s learned. Practiced so that it may be honed. Otherwise, the steel grows dull and rusts. Sharpening means losing layers of yourself against a whetstone. Those layers are worth losing, you’re told. Spite, vengeance, hatred; they’re all so, so ugly. Little imps that should be sandpapered away. 

An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind, that sort of platitude. It’s nice bumper sticker material. Something to slap on a graphic tee or coffee cup, maybe. To be fair, practicing the antithesis isn’t so simple either. 

You don’t want his eye, it’ll grow back.

You don’t want his life, he’ll just be born anew. 

You don’t want him, but from now on, he’s all you’ll get. 

“Are you curious about the deal I made with Elio?” You probe. 

Blade sighs, likely preparing himself for the vitriol you’ll slew his way. 

“I don’t need to know.” 

“You want to know, though,” you smile thinly. “I could feel you brooding from rooms away. What? Does the thought of me speaking to another man displease you that—” 

He rushes forward and lifts you by the collar of your blouse. You don’t waver, if anything, you could get drunk off this emotional outburst. His nostrils flare and you can feel his warm breath fan against your face. Your heart whirrs strong against its bony restraints, adrenaline blasting throughout your system. 

“That mouth of yours is testing me,” he chuckles, although he’s far from amused. “Have you forgotten the position you’re in?” 

“Have you?” You scoff. His grip tightens. “Go ahead. Choke me, ravish me. You can’t bring yourself to though, can you? Want to know why? Hm? You’re holding out for the slim, impossible chance that I might return your fucked up feelings, even if just a little bit.” 

Scornfully, you whisper, “Elio was generous enough to answer some of my questions. The extent of the Stellaron’s influence, the true perpetrators behind the nectar guide bombing, why you’d get so pissy whenever Lear swung by… in retrospect, it’s painfully obvious, really. Messing with the LOTUS-EATER’s noise-canceling software is child’s play for Silver Wolf. Did you enjoy eavesdropping on us? Probably not, huh?” 

He growls your name, low and menacingly. It’s a warning.

You ignore him. Maybe you shouldn’t, but you do. 

“I never told him,” your lower lip trembles. “Because of you, I’ll never get to, either. You want to pay a price? Have your sins punished? Start by listening to this!” 

His mara bubbles up as if it were magma. For someone unraveling from the inside out, he doesn’t look the part. Emotion and vitality have drained from his face. His complexion is that of the dead man he wishes himself to be. Pale, vapid. He wants you to stop, yet the only way you would is if he tore out your tongue. To do so would guarantee he’d never get to hear those three words directed at him. He must consider that fate harrowing indeed if he allows the means for you to utter your next sentence. 

The finger you pricked all those years ago tingles. 

“Lear is the only one I’ve loved. The only one I’ll ever love. He gave me a life; you’ve destroyed mine. How could you ever compare, Yingxing? How can you even come close?” 

You wrench yourself free from Blade’s grasp. He lets you. 

His hands remain where you once were. Gradually, they fall, as do his shoulders and head. It’s peculiar. You’ve come to be so in tune with his emotions, picking up on frequencies only you can hear. This pitch falls silent. His mara is too. The infighting over where he should begin and end calls for a temporary cease-fire. Neither madness nor sanity care for victory, their attention has been cast elsewhere, to a more prominent problem. 

“It is.” 

You narrow your eyes. “What?”

“Earlier, you asked if it’s that easy for me,” he says, plainly. “It is.”

Your system absorbs the implication as well as it would cyanide. 

“Eris and all of its inhabitants are strictly off-limits. I figured you'd already heard this.” 

“I have.” 

“Then—” 

“It’s not loyalty that ties the Stellaron Hunters together,” he interrupts. “It’s the pursuit of individual goals which just happen to align.” 

Blade saunters forward. You bristle, awaiting unwanted physical contact, yet he brushes by your shoulder. His footsteps echo throughout the ship’s hollow corridors. You pivot, intent on following his every movement. He gazes out the window, your home planet his point of interest. The little black and gold marble orbited by four moons, far away from any star. 

“Goals change, lotus.” 

His eyes find yours in the window’s reflection. 

He’s bluffing. He has to be. 

“You’ve sought death for over 700 years,” is your uneasy reply. “Surely, you wouldn’t risk the one avenue you have to reach it.” 

“Didn’t I already betray that expectation of yours?”

Death is no longer what every segment of his psyche seeks, as it’s the one place he can’t have you.  

“... You’ve stopped running your mouth. Clever girl,” Blade flexes his fists by his side. The leather glove on his hand creaks as he does so. “If you think this an empty threat, I have a suggestion.”

Blade grins from ear to ear. 

“Repeat any of what you just said to me and I’ll prove it isn’t.” 

It’s as if his mara forms tendrils that slowly slither up your body. It caresses your thighs, your midriff, and your chest. Breathes against your nape and coils around your neck. You can’t find the strength to move. It wishes you would so that it’d have an excuse to hold you tighter. Squeeze harder. Sink into you deeper. 

You glower at him. His mara keens, finding the expression delightful. 

“Look at me like that any longer and I’ll take you up on your suggestion.”

You pinch your eyebrows together, belying your confusion. 

He wets his lips with his tongue.

“‘Choke me, ravish me,’ was it?” he muses, chuckling breathlessly. “Who am I to deny such a tempting offer?” 

Finally, you muster the effort necessary to break free from his hypnotic stare. You’re overcome with the need to scrub off every part of your skin he’s touched. You want the residue gone, purged from your flesh. Nausea floods you like a broken dam. 

You let him touch you, you let him kiss you, you let him fuck you.

He can’t have anything else. 

You don’t know what more there is to take. 

His eyes are heavy on your back as you leave the room. This spaceship’s decently big, but it’s not enough. A universe could separate you, but it still wouldn’t suffice. You’ll create any gap you can, illusionary or otherwise. You speed through the ship’s main corridor until you near what’s to be your room. Before you can open it, your hand stills.

Elio said we’re to leave on a job the second Silver Wolf starts distracting the IPC’s blockade, you think. That should be any minute now. 

Your blood freezes over.

After this ship makes the jump, you’ll never see Eris again. 

Or Nona. 

Or Lear. 

Will Nona continue to pursue her studies without you there to teach her? Is there a reason for her to? She’s come so far since you first met. That harsh, untrusting girl with a permanent scowl blossomed into something truly special. 

“Seriously? You’re supposed to be my mentor?”

“Alright, lemme set one thing straight. I’m here to save up enough to leave this shithole. If that hurts your feelings, go and cry to mommy about it, I couldn’t care less. It’ll be bad press to ship your latest Arc rescue back over, after all.” 

“Why do you care about this planet, anyway? Beyond whatever sense of purpose you get from playing the hero, I mean. All anyone here ever does is complain and half-ass things. ‘Let’s give anarchy a shot guys, but like, a nice version of anarchy, where we all hold hands around a campfire and sing songs.’ It’s hilarious.” 

“The first time I made it to Thelx’s border as a kid, I thought I was hallucinating. I asked my older travel buddy, ‘What’s with these tiny, floating yellow spheres?’ She didn’t even spare me a glance, she was so enchanted. ‘That’s light,’ she said. ‘Take a good, long look. You won’t be seeing much of it.’ I remember how angry hearing that made me. Not just what she was saying, but how she said it. Like she’d given up. Like that was acceptable.” 

“A cargo ship bound for Rosiz is heading out in three cycles. You and Lear could come with me, y’know. Elope, or whatever. My contact would allow it. Probably. Hey, don’t give me an answer right away. Geez. At least think about it.” 

“Yep, I’m still here. Surprise! My other plans fell through, what can I say? Apparently, Rosiz is run by a weird blood cult. I don’t want anything to do with that. Guess you’re stuck with me a while longer. What’s with that look? Yeah, I still think this planet’s a shithole. But, you’re here, so… it’s 5% less shitty, give or take. Lear brings that up to a whopping 15%. Yes, he gets a value of ten. Have you tasted his cooking?” 

Will Lear ever know how much it meant when he comforted the haughty and naive girl you once were? How without him, all you ever would’ve known was loneliness? You were a handful, there’s no doubting that. It’s a miracle he put up with you. 

He had the softest voice when you were kids. 

“I’m supposed to play the princess? But… but… I’m a boy, and you’re a girl… so shouldn’t you…? Ow, ow, stop pinching! Okay, okay! I’ll be the princess! Eh? Whaddya mean ‘you’ll kiss it better?’ Miss Phaeales? Miss Phaeales…?!?!?!”

“I’m back from work, my wife. Huh? Husbands don’t say that? No no no no, you can’t play the husband, I have to play the husband! Lemme try again! Ahem. From work, I have returned… woman�� I’ve married. That’s no good either? This is so complicated!”

“I dunno why you like Connect Four so much. I mean, we could play Monopoly, but you always steal credits when I look away. No, that's not allowed! … You’re just ‘being a capitalist?’ What’s that mean? Cheater, or something?” 

He didn’t lose this soft quality when he became an adult — his tenderness was the air you breathed. 

“‘What do I want,’ huh? Where do I begin? To be a part of you, I guess? Ah, if I’d known you were going to grin like that, I wouldn’t have said anything. W-Well, of course I want you. I just don’t think the phrasing’s right. You’ve always viewed yourself as a commodity. I don’t want to reinforce such a terrible thought.”

“It’s… so good, so warm, so… fuck, please, don’t look at me like that. I can’t believe… that I get to do this with you. You’re beautiful, you’re everything…! I’ve always loved you so much. So, so much. Is this okay? Is it really okay? If it is, then please, let me pleasure you.” 

“Quit messing around with me already. There’s no way that was your first time. Because, I mean, you’re so sought after, y’know? You must’ve had tons of opportunities to— ow ow ow, again with the pinching?! Alright, I get it, I get it! Pfft, stop, don’t make it weird. Okay, fine, hearing that does make me a little happy. Aaand there you go, making it weird. No, I’m not possessive. You said you don’t like possessive men, so… what? Of course I remembered that. I remember everything you say. Wait… are you embarrassed? I didn’t… didn’t think that was possible… one sec, lemme get my camera…” 

You swore an oath not to cry.

You didn’t when packing the few items Blade approved of, or when you negotiated with Elio. 

It’s not that you don’t want to. Should your resolve slip for a second, you grow dangerously close to drowning in a puddle of your own tears. There’s plenty to cry about, plenty to mourn. Once you start, though, you don’t think you’ll ever be able to stop. You’ll waste away as your body’s wrung for all its worth. Should that happen, you won’t be able to uphold your end of the bargain with Elio. 

There’ll be a lot more to cry about then. 

For this reason, you don’t turn back. 

Your deal with Destiny’s Slave consists of two elements. 

First, you are to serve as Blade’s ‘field partner,’ offering him your unremitted support however he sees fit. And second, you pledge the full extent of your psionic abilities to further the Stellaron Hunters’ mission. This second condition perplexed you, but it wasn’t like you had many bargaining chips. For so long as you cooperate, Eris will remain unharmed and the nascent Stellaron neutralized. 

Kafka had called to ‘celebrate your inauguration.’ You braced yourself for the worst, but she was surprisingly amicable. 

“Have you really never considered your utility outside of parlor tricks?” She wondered. “The power to create fantasias and read memories certainly has its uses, no?” 

“I just don’t see how it’d contribute much,” you replied. 

“If it stopped there, maybe. Should you be able to replicate Ania Phaeales’ seals, though… that’d come in handy.” 

You gritted your teeth and read between the lines. They want that too, huh? 

You’ve since worked tirelessly to understand how such an anomaly is possible, much less replicable. Silver Wolf provided an updated version of the Arbiter training software to aid your endeavors. You’ve tried and failed hundreds of times. Deleting fragments of a person’s psyche has disastrous results, as you once hypothesized. If the Stellaron Hunters wanted a foe lobotomized, they wouldn’t have gone through all the trouble of obtaining you. 

The holographic screen floating before you presents an error message. 

‘Generated psyche #643, Garçia Chamora, has been rendered comatose from suffering damage to his cerebral hemispheres. Press here or say next to generate a new psyche.’ 

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. 

This job on Rosiz requires a nobleman’s lifelong fealty to be sealed, you think. If I can’t figure this out before then… 

Your stomach jumps to your throat like you’re in a free fall. 

Leaning back in your chair, you swipe the screen away. You look at the digital clock in the ship’s common room. It reads 2:05 a.m. This shift to a twenty-four-hour time has been a pain, but you think this number means it’s late. While glancing around the uninspired decor, your eyes land on a solitary figure. 

Blade sits on a beige couch with his arms and legs crossed, his eyelids shut. You assume he’s asleep. There are plenty of comfortable beds he could veg out on, but wherever you are, he isn’t far behind. You don’t get why he’s playing prison warden. He can’t think you’re stupid enough to try escaping with almost three million lives dangling over your head, can he? Perhaps he’s getting off on your suffering. 

Whatever the case, you loathe having to breathe the same air as him. You wish he’d fuck off already. 

You’ve barely spoken to one another since he made his threat. If it has to do with the upcoming job, you’ll give a few curt words and nothing more. He’s never been outgoing, so without you initiating conversation, hours trudge by in tense silence. You’ve recently made the unfortunate realization his input on your mother’s seal would be useful. He was under it for two years, there must be some information you can glean from him. You need anything you can get.

The thought of asking him for assistance, though… it makes you sick. 

“What?” he asks, his voice gravelly from unuse. 

You tense. He could tell you were looking at him without opening his eyes? 

“Nothing,” you reply. 

He grunts and that’s the end of it. You pull the holographic screen back up, eager to distract yourself. Except, all you can focus on is the #643 in the bottom left corner. You’ve already made that many attempts without any progress? One of Kafka’s contacts is going to help sneak this ship onto Rosiz in two days. You’re running out of time. 

You spare Blade a quick glance. Unsurprisingly, he hasn’t moved. 

Every muscle in your face scrunches up as if you’d bitten a lemon. 

Just get it over with, you tell yourself. 

“Blade?” 

He makes a noise to prove he heard you. 

“Can I… ask you a few questions?” 

“That depends on what they are.” 

You exhale shakily. “When your memories of me were sealed away, what did it feel like?” 

His mara murmurs, discontent at this reminder. He appears outwardly unaffected. 

“Why do you want to know?” 

You play with your skirt’s hem, picking at a loose thread. This is what you were afraid of. 

“Knowing will help me understand and replicate the seal better,” you explain. Then, you hastily add, “For the job.” 

All is silent. You shift in your seat. 

“That isn’t my concern,” is his eventual answer. 

Your jaw drops. “Wh— are you serious? You wouldn’t want to botch a job, would you?” 

“It wouldn’t be me ‘botching’ it,” Blade says, coolly, evenly. “It would be you.” 

You gnash your teeth together but bite your tongue. As callous as he’s acting, he isn’t wrong. He doesn’t owe you anything. Especially after you said what may have been the worst combination of words to him. You refuse to regret it, but you can follow the cause and effect. 

“You really don’t care about what’d happen?” You press, breathless. “Eris is my home. You lived there for months yourself, experienced the culture… does that mean nothing?” 

“Why do you ask questions you know you won’t like the answers to?”

Blade hasn’t so much as opened his eyes. You just don’t get it — you’ve peered inside his mind multiple times and still struggle to understand him. To what extent does he care about you, if that word even applies here? Does it stop at your physical well-being? Can his current nonchalance be attributed to your diatribe, or would he have acted this way regardless? He doesn’t make sense. He’s an enigma.

You decide to try another approach. 

“What about Nona? You’d still feel nothing then?” 

Finally, he opens his eyes. The warm hues feel cold. 

“I hold no ill will toward your student. I’d consider it a shame,” he says. Despite his impersonal word choice, he isn’t being sarcastic. That must mean something. Before you can expand on this, he smiles. It’s far from kind. “I see you’ve omitted your boyfriend from this thought exercise. A wise choice.” 

Your heart skips a beat.

Ah, fuck. 

“A word of advice, girl. Manipulation isn’t your forte.” 

It feels like a struggle between life and death to maintain eye contact. 

“Negotiation, though, you’re half-decent at,” Blade muses. He inclines his head to the side. “Well? Make me an offer.” 

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. What do you have to offer? In a business setting, you can lowball some figures, that’s how everyone starts. You doubt he’s interested in money or stocks. There’s your Synalink ability, but there’s no way he’ll put himself in a vulnerable position like that again. Everything’s been taken from you. Your business, assets, connections, leverage; all you have are the clothes on your back. Still, if he’s entertaining this conversation, there must be something. 

Goosebumps erupt all over your skin. “Are you… propositioning me?” 

“Oh? That’s how you’ve chosen to interpret it?” he raises an eyebrow. “If that’s your offer, I accept.” 

“No, I’m not—!”

“I know. Calm down,” he interrupts your panicked exclamation. “You’re easily rattled when exhausted.” 

Your heart’s pounding so loud in your ears that it’s difficult to hear him. 

“Relax. The next time I take you, I want you willing.” 

The next time? Is he delusional? Has he suffered long-term memory loss? You’d sooner saw off your hand than sleep with him ever again. You come dangerously close to voicing this, but ultimately decide against it. You need him in an agreeable mood. This seal — have you been set up for failure? You can’t imagine why they’d bother. Still, there’s no singular script, as per Elio’s own admission. It’s a string of possibilities loosely connected by little choices. If one script isn’t followed, that means another has taken center stage. 

Should you be unable to deliver, that future has been accounted for as well. 

It’s a future that can’t come to pass.

Blade speaks your name. 

“Come over here,” he says. 

Your eyes widen and lips part, horror painting itself across your countenance. 

He clicks his tongue. “Trust your own intuition. You said it yourself, didn’t you? That I’m ‘holding out.’”

You fight the urge to wince at the quotation. He’s the one who mentioned it, not you. This can’t count as an infraction on your behalf. Taking a deep breath, you start trekking over, counting each step. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen… ah, it didn’t take anywhere near long enough. 

He pats the spot beside him. Once you’re situated, an arm coils around your shoulders, tugging you into his side. Your heart thumps away. This is reminiscent of the evenings you spent together in your office and on the balcony. The high you received from sex would fade away, replaced by this nice, soft haze. Talkative as you were then, there was something about those moments that kept you quiet. You’re not sure why. 

Maybe it’s because you realized you’d finally met someone lonelier than yourself. 

“You’ve hardly eaten or slept. That I can understand,” Blade says. “What I don’t get, however, is why you haven’t cried.” 

“I can’t.” 

“You’re often on the verge of tears. Like now, for instance,” he points out. You struggle to swallow the lump in your throat. “Why not let it go?” 

Something already broken in you shatters beyond recognition.

“What good would that do?!” 

Your fingernails dig into your palms hard enough to bruise the sensitive flesh. 

“I’m nothing, I-I have nothing, I’m—” you laugh and laugh, making your throat feel scratchier than it already is. “I wanted to do so much…! I was stupid. So stupid! I actually thought that I could— could find a way to fix things, if only I kept working, kept trying! There isn’t a way. There never was a way. We’re greedy, we’re awful, we’re ignorant. A planet like that… a universe like this… so long as we’re in it, it’s fucked, it’s all fucked.” 

You shake your head. “I may have hated her, but I still wanted to be her. To outdo her. Prove that I could’ve done it better, that change was possible, so she’d have no excuse. I couldn’t do either. Even if I had, it wouldn’t have mattered. I’d just be delaying Eris’ inevitable fate like she did.”

Your shoulders heave with each painful breath you take. 

“Did she feel vindicated in the end? Think that by saving me once, it’d make up for all the times she didn’t?”

Whether you’re talking to him or yourself, you can’t tell anymore. It doesn’t make a difference. Speaking the truth aloud doesn’t make it any more or less real. It just leaves a bitter taste that’ll never go away. 

“If she cared so much, why did she never tell me?” You whisper, your voice cracking. “What was she so afraid of…?”

What was I so afraid of?

Tears trickle down your face in a free flow. The drizzle shifts to a torrential downpour, no matter how hard you try shaking or shutting it off. There’s no point in telling him this. You’ll probably regret it, somewhere down the line. 

You faintly register how your body moves without your input. Blinking the wetness in your eyelashes away as best as you can, you see gold patterns. There’s weight around your shoulders too. Weight and warmth. The scent of blood and anise. 

He’s pulled you into an embrace against his chest. 

You twist and jerk your limbs around, attempting to purchase freedom you can’t afford. You yell at him, curse him, beg him to let you go, and still, his grip never relents. He just holds you there, your struggles amounting to nothing, your pleas falling on deaf ears. His grip doesn’t feel tight until you try wriggling yourself out of it. Then, and only then, are you hit with the realization he could crush you so easily. It must take a great deal of self-restraint to avoid doing so. 

The fight leaves your body and you tremble like a leaf in the wind.

His large hand runs over your back, slow and steady, as if his touch were destined to soothe rather than destroy. 

Your well of tears runs dry eventually. 

“When you live for others, you’ll die for them too.”

Blade’s statement doesn’t make you feel better or worse. It washes over you without soaking in. Whether it’s a warning for you or condemnation for yourself, you don’t know. Perhaps the two overlap in an unsightly hybrid. 

Some time passes before he speaks again. 

“The day that man drew his weapon on you, I felt something stir, as rousing from a long slumber,” Blade reveals. “I assumed it should remain undisturbed.” 

This is your chance. You detach yourself from him enough to look him in the eyes. He loosens his grip just enough to allow this, but no more. The vice would tighten should you try extracting yourself further. You wipe away the moisture clinging to your lower eyelashes with your wrists. Since he’s sitting, he isn’t towering over you. This small detail aids your waning resolve. 

“What made you assume that?” 

His bandaged hand cups your tear-stained cheeks. You wince, but allow him his indulgence. 

“Instinct,” he murmurs. 

Your eyebrows pinch together as you think. That wasn’t what you were expecting. You guessed that’d it feel like something significant was missing — a gaping hole. That the individual would want to fill it. Curiosity is the sentient being’s natural state, after all. Especially since this should’ve been an element of itself the mind wishes to reinstitute. Yearning, affection, and care; even if it’s a vestige of the full experience, these positive emotions shouldn’t set off alarm bells. 

Unless the mind decided it was worth suppressing. 

Maybe your mother wasn’t using the influx of memories inflected on Blade as a ‘red herring.’ Kafka adores messing with you, she could’ve floated the idea because she knew you’d hear it in the future. What was your mother doing then? Pulling up key instances throughout Blade’s life, specifically those with heightened emotions and long-lasting influences… 

What if it’s not so much altering memories, but altering the mind’s perception of them? 

The Arbiter training software is bound to your movements, which allows it to manifest with a few hand gestures. The screen displays itself close to your right. You’d prefer to figure this out elsewhere, but Blade doesn’t appear interested in letting you go anytime soon. He silently observes as you pore over the generated psyche. You’re too focused to comment on how creepy he’s being. 

Liliana Kokot. 34. Short-life species. Citizen of the planet Punklorde. Witnessed the murder of her parents at a young age. Came to despise gang activity. Joined police academy. Assigned to the Homicide Unit by age 25. Discovered possible connections between the police chief and organized crime. 

You pull out the prismatic shard containing her parent’s murder. 

The mind has mechanisms to inhibit trauma that’d otherwise obliterate it. Repression, denial, projection, displacement, rationalization, and regression to name a few. In the same way, prisms have multiple sides. The one which refracts the most light will change depending on how it’s angled. 

You adjust the shard without changing its shape. Eventually, you find a side that deems this memory too much, beyond what Liliana can handle. It’s easily absorbed back alongside the other fragments. Except that now, the mind chooses to repress the memory, deep down in the subconscious where it cannot do irreparable harm. 

A ‘seal.’

“I get it now,” you wave the screen off. “It’s similar to a heart transplant. Mechanical valves aren’t integrated as smoothly as tissue valves. The body’s more willing to accept what’s similar to it in composition, as is the mind.” 

“You don’t look less troubled,” Blade notes. 

You scrunch up your nose. 

“I mean… this is— I don’t even know. It undermines what makes a person, well… who they are to the very core.” 

“When you accepted Elio’s deal, you knew you’d be an accessory to criminal activity. How is that any worse than homicide?” 

Blade’s refusal to sugarcoat the truth slashes through you like a phantasmal sword. Perhaps not a thousand times, but close enough. 

“This is your price, lotus.” 

You want to avert your gaze, but you don’t. It’d feel wrong, somehow. Cowardly. Hypocritical. 

No longer can you dwell on the currency itself. What matters now is ensuring you pay your dues on time. 

Your debt extends beyond Destiny’s Slave. There’s another proprietor you must settle with, for even the slightest peace of mind. 

“Blade— no, Yingxing,” you correct yourself. His muscles stiffen, his true name having gone unspoken for so long devoid of contempt. “I may have made a deal with Elio, but… I haven’t personally made one with you. I’d like to change that.” 

You can tell you’ve piqued his interest. 

“I swear on everything that is sacred to me that I’ll remain by your side until my final breath. In return, regardless of if I’m alive or dead, you’ll never harm my home or the people who inhabit it. Intentionally or otherwise.” 

His long, dark eyelashes flutter shut as he mulls over your proposal. He doesn’t take long. Soon enough, vermillion bores into you again. Candle wicks flicker inside them, alight with an emotion you refuse to name. 

“How do you finalize deals, Miss Phaeales?” Blade asks, moving aside a stray strand of hair from your face. 

It’s like the air’s been knocked from your lungs. He couldn’t have known, right? The ripples born when those two words are stitched together? Your chest feels tight and hollow all at once. It’s like your internal organs have liquified, leaving nothing but shapeless viscera. This isn’t the right voice. It should be softer, a tenor’s pitch, not a sonorous bass. 

“M-Miss Phaeales?”

You blink away a fresh set of tears. 

“A promise? Miss Phaeales, I don’t know if I can.”

“Hand me the dagger from before.” 

“I don’t really get you, Miss Phaeales, but… I wanna.”

He does, after a moment’s consideration. 

“It’s my fault, I should’ve killed that man, and now she’s in that criminal’s debt, because of me…!” 

You prick your pointer finger with the dagger’s tip, just enough to create trickling blood.

“Everything you just said — I can tell you believe it.”

He mirrors your actions. His skin quickly mends itself back together. 

“So why… why do you look so sad?”

I had so much to say, you think, bitterly. So, so much.

Blade’s bandaged hand falls to your lower back, where it softly pushes you forward. His gloved hand envelops your face, the leather refreshing against your feverish skin. His lips descend upon yours. You may have called the kiss tender had you known nothing about him. You do know him, however, as fate has decreed he’d get a better future at the cost of yours. It’s as if everyone was in on the joke, leaving you the odd one out. 

He murmurs words in between kisses that you fight desperately to unhear. 

When you pull back for air, you notice how madness surges and retreats in his eyes, as if it were ocean waves washing against the shore. 

The likeness helps. 

Pretending the red shade’s a brilliant blue instead comes easier. 

The next time he kisses you, you cautiously kiss back.  

A/N: i thought i'd feel satisfied when i finished nexus' last chapter, but i actually feel rather sad JTFSIKL i cannot overstate how much i enjoyed working on this story. it scratched a sci-fi itch i've had for over a decade now. when writing longer works, it's rare for me to not get caught on snags that sap my inspiration away. that never happened with this story though. from start to finish, i was contentedly tip tapping away on my keyboard.

i became enamored with this idea of a yandere story that didn't just revolve around the MC and yan, it just wasn't until i started outlining nexus that i had an excuse to explore this concept further.

the main cast of n darling, nona, and lear (an anon affectionately dubbed them the lotus trio, which is a term i loved enough to hijack) has become close to my heart. for that reason, writing this chapter physically hurt at times 😭 i wanted to swat blade away like a fly and have everything end nicely. from the very first sentence though, i knew this would be a tragedy, so it'd go against the Themes to pull a power of friendship ending.

at first, i worried about the reader's ability to empathize/connect with n darling, since her status and abilities aren't universal. like at all. the solution presented itself rather naturally. n darling, at least to me, stresses that simmering anger women feel the need to hide for professionality's sake. her experiences as a child where she's given responsibilities beyond her age's capacity, then in adulthood, where she isn't taken seriously (chrysus) or unintentionally infantilized (caicias). i'm sure many afab individuals can relate to some extent.

my primary interest was in having these two deeply frustrated individuals crash together and spill debris everywhere. i was given a little more liberty with blade's actions and dialogue, due to miss phaeales' id inducing presence, which drew out more than he'd normally give. as for blade's characterization, if he isn't in the throes of mara madness, i really can't see him being a hellion 24/7. he feels more somber to me when lucid.

of course, that changes if the right buttons are pressed... but that isn't exclusive to him.

since the final chapter is divided into three main scenes, i wanted to fully explore the three predominant ways i picture a yandere version of blade acting. the first is his guilt and shame, the second, his mara-induced sadism, and the third, a more neutral self where reason prevails.

i hope that you enjoyed reading nexus as much as i enjoyed writing it!! although the main storyline is finished, i'm by no means done with the universe as a whole. i'm planning a little epilogue for starters. then maybe some side stories from blade's perspective ?? who knows, the motivation's still there, so anything is possible.

thank you again 💖

-sincerely, lock.

Tag list: @99-nct @pixiestixes (idk why the tag thingy won't work but an effort was made) ...

[onigiriico]

Kazui audio drama (t2) - English TL

[ links: Spotify / Youtube ]

I cannot believe my hs philosophy class came in handy as I was translating this. Thanks Milgram your references never fail to astound me

Aaanyways you know how it is,, feel free to send an ask or hit me up on Twitter if you’ve got any questions or other feedback re: this translation etc 💪 (<- sincerely hoping that Twitter DMs still work these days)

⬇️ translation under the cut ⬇️

(door opens)

E: I’ve kept you waiting, Kazui.

K: It’s been a while, Warden-kun.

E: Yeah… It has been.

K: Things have gotten pretty tough inside the prison, but… well, you’ve probably heard all about that from the others already, haven’t you?

E: Yeah… I heard that you protected other prisoners from Kotoko. I owe you my thanks.

K: That much is only natural. However… she really is strong, isn’t she? I mean, I’ve experienced some fights myself, but [going up against] a woman like her was a first.

E: Hm… Is she strong enough that even you can’t stop her from doing harm?

K: Well, in cases like this, it’s generally the heavier person who ends up winning. After all, if she really does have proper killing intent, I can’t afford to let her injure anyone. It’s difficult, isn’t it.

E: Is that so…

K: I was afraid that it’d come to this from the very beginning. There’s a lot of young kids here, too. It’d be hard for anyone to keep a decent mentality in a situation like this.

E: …You’re pretty rational.

K: I wonder. Maybe it’s because I’m used to violence. Even so… I couldn’t make it for Shiina-chan. I feel responsible for [what happened to] her.

E: …

K: Well, rest assured, though. As long as I can move, I’ll be protecting [the others]. After all, it’s pretty much just me who can fight her on equal terms.

E: Mikoto, too.

K: Ah… yeah. Like back when he went out of control, right? I can’t quite read him, though… If both of them were to attack us, it’s possible that we’d suffer a total defeat. 

E: A total defeat…?

K: If that happens, this prison game would probably come to an end as well. All of that depends on your judgment, right, Warden-kun? Who will be forgiven by you and who won’t be…

E: What are you trying to say?

K: If at all possible, I would like you to choose a method that will not get any more people hurt. That’s what I’m saying.

E: So you’re telling me to forgive you?

K: (laughs) Oi, oi…! Don’t look at me like that.

E: I’m the Warden. If I forgive you, I forgive you. If I don’t, I don’t. There’s no other factors to it.

K: (sighs) Wouldn’t it be okay? I mean, this situation with prisoners being hurt wasn’t what you wanted either, was it?

E: …

K: Just pretend that you’re looking at our sins, and make your judgment with the protection of the prisoners in mind. After all, nobody can read your mind – so that much craftiness would be fine, don’t you think?

E: Hmph. That’s a very “you” kind of pretentious solution.

K: It’s the most natural conclusion, isn’t it? Do you think it’s a sin to lie in order to protect people?

E: That would be Kant.

K: Kant?

E: A philosopher who stated that lying is inherently a sin, no matter the circumstances.

K: Huh…

E: Apparently, even if your friend is being chased by a murderer and the murderer asks you about their whereabouts, you shouldn’t lie, according to Kant.

K: That’s ridiculous. If you can save someone by telling a lie, that’s what you should do.

E: However… You killed someone with your lies, didn’t you?

K: … Ah… You forgave me, didn’t you? Aren’t you being especially strict towards me?

E: Am I?

K: Mmh, it’s obvious. You said you would figure out my murder by watching the footage of my mind. Is this the result of that?

E: You were unfaithful, right? That’s stupid.

K: Hmm…

E: The reason I forgave you was because I was lacking details. I still don’t understand your true feelings or how things got to that point, either.

K: I see.

E: It was extremely hard to understand. Even with all of that poetry, though, your self-absorbed nature was more than obvious.

K: Ohh my… That’s quite the sweeping generalization, even though you forgave me.

E: It’s a personal dislike of mine. People who act based on their sexual urges like that, that is.

K: It’s personal?

E: Yeah. That’s right.

K: That’s strange. I did think that, despite being neutral as a Warden, you had some things you dislike, but…

E: …

K: Isn’t it unusual to openly reveal a personal dislike as a personal dislike?

E: You’re splitting hairs.

K: Seems like you really disliked my crime… I get it! Maybe it was because you’re so young, which is to say… …

E: Hah? Stop staring at me so openly. It’s disgusting.

K: …

E: …! (punches him)

(clattering)

E: (sighs) Now I feel better.

K: — Ow…! What are you doing all of a sudden…?!

E: It was an instinctive reaction. Don’t take it personally.

K: Would you stop just punching me in the face without hesitation? … (sighs) Anyways… that’s how it is, huh? That’s how it is…?

E: Hah?

K: I didn’t even consider this a possibility… Personal impressions sure can be scary.

E: If you say any more things than this that I don’t get, I’m hitting you again.

K: Geez, cut out the hysterics… Hmm, if it’s like this, that explains some things, though. I don’t have kids, but I’ve heard that this is what it’s like.

E: Hey. Stop blabbering on while looking like you know it all. It’s obnoxious.

K: Hahaha! But you know what? You’re wrong.

E: …? What are you talking about?

K: You’re wrong.

E: …

K: You said I was unfaithful – in other words, that I cheated or committed adultery of some kind.

E: Yeah. That’s what I deduced from your footage.

K: It’s not true. It didn’t even turn into infidelity. It didn’t turn into anything like that. For me… In my case, you see.

E: … You’re married… You’re a married man, aren’t you?

K: Hm? Yeah, that’s right. Oh, right, I never told you, did I?

E: You’ve taken off your ring.

K: … Right… I did take it off, huh. Right…

E: Yeah.

K: Mh. … I do carry it with me, though. See? – I was forgiven. My feelings were validated. So… maybe that means that I don’t have to do this anymore? Thanks to that, I was feeling better when the second trial started… I really do feel sorry about that. Towards my wife.

E: If that ring is a symbol of punishment to you… There really is nothing that could possibly be more cruel towards her.

K: Mmh.

E: Marriage is something that both partners want equally, isn’t it? It’s something you can’t do if only one person wants it. Deciding to treat it as a punishment all on your own… You’re making a mockery out of it.

K: I really am. Ah… She must have thought so as well. My wife, that is.

E: I’ve said this before: You’re a liar. Those lies have killed a person.

K: (sighs)

E: I forgave you. While I wasn’t sure yet, I thought that it didn’t seem like you killed her directly, and with all sorts of things taken into consideration, I judged that your murder was not a sin. However. That doesn’t mean that I’m praising your nature as a liar.

K: Yeah. I believe you’re right about that.

E: In short – between love and hate, [I would say] I hate you. Remember that.

K: … I get that.

E: Huh?

K: I despise myself for lying, too. Being a liar, you see – it’s painful.

E: Heh. Then just–

K: So I’ve tried to change! I’ve tried to change. I have tried to stop lying to myself and others!

E: …

K: I’ve confided in others. I’ve tried to be myself! I’ve tried to just be the way I was born!

E: …Hey, Kazui–

K: It’s not my lies that killed her. She’s dead because I stopped lying to her! If I had just kept lying- She wouldn’t have died…!

E: Kazui…

K: I can’t live unless I lie. That’s how I was born… I’m pathetic, aren’t I?

E: (sighs) I really can’t seem to understand you.

K: …

E: Just when I thought you weren’t letting out any of your true feelings and cleverly hiding your actual emotions… Now here you are, drowning in self-loathing like this.

K: (weak laugh) An old man in unstable condition… that’s not something you’d wanna see, is it. Sorry about that.

E: You know, about Kant…

K: Ah, the one who said you shouldn’t lie even if your friend might get killed.

E: From his point of view, if your friend dies because you didn’t lie, there’s no causal connection between the two… or so I’ve heard.

K: I don’t think so, though…

E: Even if you don’t lie, your friend might survive. And if you do lie, your friend might end up dying on a different occasion. That’s the reason why you’re supposed to always tell the truth.

K: …That’s convincing.

E: It’s not really.

K: Yeah, it’s not.

E: It may not be, but… I thought that for someone who has failed in their attempts to be honest, it might be a [saving] grace so they won’t end up doubting honesty in its entirety.

K: …

E: I still don’t know what happened, but… isn’t it okay to be proud that you made an effort to be honest in the first place?

K: … You’re so kind all of a sudden.

E: I just said what I was thinking. And besides – I forgave you. I made it as if your sin wasn’t a sin at all. And yet, you don’t seem the slightest bit relieved.

K: I know right.

E: Everyone else seems more or less liberated by the fact that they were forgiven.

K: That’s right.

E: Just from that… I understand that having your feelings approved of by someone else can have a major impact on the development of one’s personality.

K: …

E: However… You have not forgiven yourself. That’s why you can’t change.

K: …

E: Alternatively, even if your lying self was forgiven… it would still do nothing to help you.

K: …Aah, you really are impressive. You think so much.

E: I am watching over ten troublesome prisoners, after all. Even if I don’t want to, I’m being relied on.

K: I haven’t forgiven myself… even if my lies are forgiven, it won’t resonate [with me]. It might just be both of these. All the lies I’ve told are tying me down. Ever since I was little, I’ve never truly opened myself to anyone. But in the end, people can’t be saved if they don’t [open up]. And by now, it’s gotten to a point where I can’t do it by myself anymore…

(machinery whirrs, bell rings)

K: I did think Milgram would be able to force its way past that, though.

E: Is that an attempt at provocation?

K: You didn’t manage to reach my sin.

E: …

K: Even though I want you to… Milgram isn’t so great after all, is it?

E: …Heh. Don’t push yourself too hard, after all that whining from earlier.

K: Ha. [This is] the wish of a liar who’s reached a dead end – come and figure out my lies, Milgram. And, Es… please, free me from these lies.

E: Yeah. Leave it to me. – Prisoner no.7, Kazui. Sing your sins.

[vigilskeep]

wait, Minerva "canonically" has a baby?? i want to know everything!! when how what - how does motherhood change her, pls elaborate, srry if you talked about this before, i just love them so much

she does!! i talk abt this less bc i think its self-indulgent jghsskks and that people are less interested in this, but it’s super fun to think about for me

the baby was a surprise, minerva was kind of being stupid about it lmao because she was being less careful than she might have been in the circle, especially because she’s a warden now so she’s less likely to get pregnant at all, without really thinking through what might happen. (i’m sure our local kinloch hold spirit healer companions both had their field days telling her off for this at some point.) but as soon as it does happen she wants the baby so badly. as a circle mage and then a warden she had never really seriously considered it a possibility for herself, but she loves children, and it’s been so long since she had a real family

it’s zevran’s and zevran is in antiva most of the time. i think she has a weird crisis about whether he’ll want anything to do with a baby, and she would despise for him to come back just out of obligation but also what if he doesn’t come back, and she ends up procrastinating telling him for, like, months. just a stupid amount of time. bc she was born to stress her man out and to give her wardens unnecessary grudges against him because they thought he had obviously chosen not to be here because obviously she would have told him. truly when will his suffering end. anyway he’s thrilled when somebody eventually does him the courtesy of letting him know

the baby’s a boy, she names him duncan, it sparks a whole other argument with alistair that we won’t get into here. he gets nicknamed junior a lot, partly bc he’s duncan jr, partly bc of the ongoing joke that he’s the resident Junior Warden. he was very much raised in warden blue since the cradle. because minerva is so busy and zevran is often away, he’s pretty much collectively raised in vigil’s keep by the awakening squad and whoever else gets added to that trusted inner circle. which works out bc wardens don’t often have kids of their own so they all just kind of... share this one lmao. (and possibly sometimes also oghren and felsi’s kid if they stick around?) it’s velanna who instigates this bc that’s what the dalish do and she’s also literally the only one here who knows what to do with a baby so thank the maker she’s here (minerva’s practised with kids but by nature they don’t have babies in the circle)

i’m so thrilled that spellblade is a crow-themed rogue-like mage subclass bc that’s exactly what i always pictured for duncan jr eventually. he’s a mage, his magic manifests very young, but minerva is very strict abt his studies and it has the unfortunate reverse effect of making getting his dad or nathaniel or sigrun to teach him combat much more fun. it works out really bc his magic having manifested is a tightly kept secret so it’s good for him not to have to rely on it

being a mother kind of changes/crystallises a lot of minerva’s priorities. it’s one thing to say, like, i would like to improve the situation for my fellow mages at some point, or, it sure would be nice to live past a warden’s usual limits. it’s another thing entirely to have a mage child and need to make a world that’s safe for him and live long enough to see it done. it ends up being a key issue of her conflict with the chantry between origins and inquisition because nobody’s quite certain what the rules are. obviously if she were still a circle mage any child of hers would be taken away. but she’s not a circle mage and arguably the chantry has no right to a child born outside of the circle, with no sign yet (as far as anyone outside vigil’s keep knows) of magic. (like i say it manifested younger than normal so this is believable even to those who think he will eventually show.) it definitely exacerbates tensions, shall we say, because obviously they can pry him out of her cold dead hands

he’s probably still only quite young in inquisition. six or seven? somewhere around there, i hate timelines. not sure where he is while minerva and her squad are on their quest, but given the very short list of people she trusts that much, i have to say that the most insane answer is likely: he’s in denerim as a temporary ward of the king. probably the first elven kid to be such

[yshtal]

brosca is the only one who will ever see Duncan as a savior, at the end of the war.

you’re a human noble. you’re a proud, happy member of house cousland. when howe betrays your family and you’re there, terrified, in the cellar with the shattered remains of your dying family, it’s you and your mother against the world. your mother: the pain-in-the-ass, hardheaded, spitfire of a woman that sassed you yesterday about manners is beside you, her eyes haggard and haunted. “He’s my husband,” she says, begging, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “He’s your father, and he’s dying, and I love him. Whatever he faces next, he faces it with me.”

She cannot be argued with. She cannot be reasoned with. You can beg and beg and beg your mama to come with you, to survive beside you, but the outcome will always be the same. Duncan will ask you to leave, and she will choose to stay. How can you live with that?

(It’s poetic justice, perhaps, how quickly you come to understand it.)

—-

You are a dwarven princess, beloved of the house aeducan, noble of caste and certain of birthright, when your brother betrays you.

Not the brother you expected to betray you, of course. Your bosom friend, your sovereign sibling. The one who would’ve had your back eternally, if the wide expanse of the throne hadn’t stood in the way. If only love could’ve bridged the chasm. the warden bridges what Trian could not, what Bhelen would not - a last-minute pardon, excusing you from a game you never knew you were playing.

(you had a birthright, certainly, and it was taken from you. all else you cling to is stolen valor now.

checkmate.)

—-

You are the young bride tabris, and your husband stands there bleeding.

Your cousin has already been stolen away, and it hurts, how innocent she was, when so much of you had been stolen away. You would’ve stood in her place a thousand times, and all the evil, lecherous, unspeakably human hands in the world wouldn’t have stopped you, if it meant shielding Shianni. Your husband, bright-eyed and already dying, even if he knows it not, comes to save you. He does not know you, but he saves you from horrors that you have braced against a thousand times before, before he knew you, even if it does not matter. he is noble, in that way.

Duncan is noble too. He offers you a way out - a way out from your family, from your friends, from the only world you have ever - could ever - know. he offers you a chance to die on the battlefield instead of dying in the cellar, before you would ever know this suffering, the suffering laid on you at birth, by mere sin of being elven.

(To die without knowing. Isn’t that worse?)

—-

You are mahariel, free to the wind, to the rain, to the very corruption of nature.

shemlen in the forest was an ill enough omen. to come with grave warnings of burial grounds and curses and demons? you should have fixed your young dalish curses on them, da’len, on what they wrought, and you should’ve turned and fled

you did not, and, by your side, he did not. in another world, you would have lived by his side. in this one, you watch him die again and again.

(it is in your nature, after all, the watching over of dying things.)

—-

You are a mage, human or elven, and it makes little difference.

the maker hates you regardless, or so the templars say. You are good, perhaps, and you turn them in, or else you are kind. It matters little to Andraste, if she’s the one listening, or to anyone else.

Duncan speaks. He offers you refuge, outside of the Circle, far from home. You’ve never seen sunlight unobstructed before, let alone war. You have to choose - Tranquility, or a noble death, somewhere down the road.

(it isn’t a choice, not really. it was made for you before you were even born.)

—-

but you, grey warden, you are something special.

He offers you a worthy death, somewhere in that nebulous future, and you don’t have to worry about how it comes anymore. You know where death will take you - on the doorstep of one darkspawn or another, not here, gasping, in the dirt.

Your sister says this life is worth it.

And it is, isn’t it, for yourself, for your family, for the few lonely friends that you leave behind? for finally, desperately, clawing your w ay out of poverty, even when it costs you everything? for rica to be safe?

(It will be worth it.

It must be worth it.)

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

I said I wasn't going to get started on the topic of Aveline ruining Carver's chances with the guard but I lied okay, it's Carver Hawke defense hours.

Here's the thing; it doesn't matter if you believe Carver was or wasn't fit for the guard. That's a different debate that I'll get to. What matters is Aveline's in no position to tell the guard not to accept his application. Why does she think that's her right to judge whether or not he's fit?

Carver should've had the chance to prove himself one way or another. If it turns out he's not a good fit, then let him fail. Let him learn from it.

"Oh but failure could mean lost lives-"

Aveline doesn't get to talk shit about failure and the people. Plenty have died on her watch yet she still believes she's a good guard and Guard-Captain.

"maybe Aveline's protecting him, Carver could die while on patrol-"

Carver could die working in the Bone Pit, or serving as a templar, or when he's running around with Hawke. Carver could trip and fall down a set of stairs and die. In fact, he can die in the Deep Roads, somewhere he wouldn't have to go if the Hawke's weren't desperate.

Either Carver fails as a guard, or more likely, he succeeds and proves himself worthy of it.

But let's be real, Carver probably kept getting rejected due to being a Fereldan with a past of smuggling/mercenary work and Aveline only reaffirmed the decision, either because they asked her what she thought or she stuck her nose in unprompted.

But what irritates me is that she admits to telling them not to accept his application, and then has the balls to call Carver too proud to take up a trade or find another line of work.

Carver tells her, "And who would take on a Fereldan apprentice? Maybe in another year I could work my way up to pissboy." He has a good point here. Aside from the guard, the only other place Carver could work and use his skillset is with the Templars. Or go back to mercenary/smuggling work.

And Aveline doesn't even have a real answer for him. No suggestions, no encouragement, nothing. Just "Fine, let's crawl down some holes. Good bloody luck for your sake."

Also, if you do the Mark of the Assassin DLC in Act 1-

Aveline: You should see if any of the noblemen are looking for new men-at-arms. Carver: Are you trying to get rid of me? Aveline: It's a role with some autonomy. A good fit with your training and... tendencies. Carver: After serving King Cailan? You want me to suffer some poncy git who needs two servants to wipe his own ass? I'll find my own way, thanks. Aveline: I wish you would.

You wish he would?? Aveline, he was trying to find his way into the guard, a position he'd make a good fit for, and you helped deny him of it because YOU didn't think he would be good enough, I just-

If I haven't made it clear yet, I firmly believe that Carver would've made a great guard. He wants to help people, to be a protector. He's loyal, and despite what Aveline claims, he can follow orders and take his duty seriously. We see him do incredibly well with the Grey Wardens, after all. If he were a guard, he wouldn't have to go down into the Deep Roads with Hawke, and I think he would've been okay with that! He's so hurt and bitter when you leave him behind because that effectively tells him, "I don't need you." Carver's spent the whole first act telling you he wants to go on the expedition aka that he wants to be needed.

But if he were a guard, he would be needed elsewhere. He'd be in training as a recruit. He'd look after Leandra while you go. He wouldn't be backed into a corner with no income and only the templars left as his chance at forging his own path and providing for his family.

He doesn't get that opportunity, though.

By the way, if he becomes a warden, you can get this banter:

Aveline: I'm glad you found a place with the Wardens. Carver: Well, it's not the city guard, but it'll do. Aveline: Carver... it wasn't the place for you. Carver: No, it's all right. It is. It cost a lot, but I get it. I really was a bit of a tit those days, wasn't I? Aveline: Well...

This banter makes me want to scream.

Aveline's just... she's so insistent that she's right. She's someone who will double down rather than entertain the idea that she's wrong and it's not just with Carver and the guard, it's with everything. The "my beef with Aveline" list gets longer and longer every time I replay da2, I swear.

Say what you will about Carver, whether you think he would've been a good fit or if Aveline's right and it wasn't for him, he was denied a chance and it cost him so much in the end. He either dies, or he joins the templars where he deals with Chantry's bullshit trying to brainwash him with "mages aren't people" and "magic is a cancer in this world", or he's infected with the blight and becomes a Grey Warden, forced to serve the rest of his life fighting darkspawn, tormented by voices and nightmares.

I will never not be bitter about this.

[lil-binuu]

did someone ask for a…WARDEN NAMES TIER LIST????? no? i made one anyway 🥰

Here’s the tier list ^^ and below i’m ranking them all and adding a 30th one right at the end!

i wanna know everyone’s favs and maybe i’ll make a poll?

1. Bruce. It just gives gangster. (also bcs of batman bcs let’s be real, warden is so batman.)

2. Henry. IT JUST SUITTTSSSSSSS

3. Frank. can anyone else hear that stereotypical new york gangster accent?

4. Danny. YALL ITS SO GANGSTER?????

5. Richard. V sophisticated.

6. Authur. It’s giving grandaddy

7. Alan. Not bad. Nickname: Al? Al the gangster? wait no that’s so un-intimidating 😭

8. Mark. pretty good, would suit him, difficult to scream tho

9. George. Classic ig

10. Steven. the name is bad but the vibe is decent

11. Johnny. Again, i can hear an american gangster being called this but it’s quite un-intimidating

12. Kenneth. i don’t have any words.

13. Wayne. Icl i can see it?

14. William. This one i think should be moved higher bcs it’s acc not bad.

15. Micheal. It would suit him it’s just a bit basic

16. Thomas. Bluds a tank engine ig 🤷‍♀️

17. Edward. hmm quite posh

18. Kevin. Doesn’t suit that much and also a bit plain

19. John. please no the poor guy has suffered enough.

20. Steve. I can see it being a gangster name but it’s laughable

21. Dennis. no…

22. Donald. Is it bad that i can see this??

23. Willie. please don’t send a bomb to my house

24. Paul. he’s not that old

25. Larry. it’s american ig?

27. Gary. better or worse?

28. Ronald. Mcdonald?

29. Gregory. Im sorry but why can i see it… Like someone calling him Greg? maybe i’m just desperate for this guy to have a name idk

before the last one, i wanna know what y’all think!! any suggestions or opinions? should i make a top 10 poll and we can all vote?

now finally, last but not least,

30. Daddy. NO IM KIDDING AHAHHAGAGAHG

[tiyoin]

hi hi! i'm a very anxious person but when my friends need me? oh you best believe i will order for you and complain when you asked for no pickles.

do you think twisted anxiety reader would be the same? they struggle now to be of help to yuu and grim, but picture early book 6? grim attacked yuu and is gone for the week. yuu is strong yes, and it was only a scratch, but it must have taken a toll on them to be attacked by their best catfriend and then not being able to see them. they still go to class but they go home as soon as the bell rings and talks only when necessary. there's a vacant look in their eyes.

yuu is popular and is bound to have people going to them at all times, public they can't evade forever. while exiting the classroom, a random npc goes to chat with them and while yuu would humor them any other time, now they can barely pay attention to the corridor and reader. the npc is persistent on chatting even though yuu's body language tells them to fuck off. yuu does not utter a single word, and keeps walking with reader trailing behind them. would reader intervene for yuu?

(english is not my first language so sorry if it's hard to read :c )

HELLO MY LOVE 🫶

EVERY TIME SOME SAYS ENGLISH ISN'T THEIR FIRST LANGUAGE THEY ALWAYS CREATE BANGERS- AND I KNOW BANGERS MAN. AND THIS IS ONE OF THEM

but no you're so right. maybe the over blot's are starting to catch up with yuu. especially after grim accidentally hurting them and the whole styx drama. in the game we can't see if yuu is affected by any of the overblots. we don't see them get properly.. compensated. although vil and leona's are different since they helped out with ramshackle.

but 🌀 yuu is NOT having a great time. and only reader is there to witness it, to help them through it. like jekyll and hyde, yuu is all smiles and sunshine during the day when out and about. but as soon as they get home... once they step into ramshackle.. it's a different story.

they're feeling the angst, they're telling reader how sometimes they can't even look the over blotter's in the eyes sometimes. especially azul and leona because all yuu can see is their more animalistic eyes that serve as a reminder to what they really are.

how they sometimes flinch from their enemies, now friends. how they always keep their guard up around the beast folk who were involved with the overblots.

yuu is... angry. how dare these teenage boy's do this to them, how dare they pretend like nothing happened. but what makes this all worse is that they understand that pretending like nothing happened brings back a sense of control, of normalcy for the victims.

yes the whispers in the hall seem to dim, but never silence. but with the encouragement of Crowley they become more controlled, no longer hallway chatter as people are making light of the situation.

"say that one more time and I'll over blot" "uh oh! looks like Reese has some blot on his shirt!"

and it's always 'poor house wardens this, poor house wardens that-'

WHAT ABOUT YUU??? they're always- always at the brunt of the over blot's and they don't even have magic!!

some days, when yuu doesn't have enough energy to spare their other friends, they silently haunt reader. staying by their side like an otter, only breaking apart for the few classes they have apart. and as soon as the bell rings and reader is done gathering their belongs and making a beeline for the door- yuu is already there, waiting outside the door. a brief moment of eye contact before they fall in line with each other.

if grim is there and trying to bug yuu, reader is there to play buffer. trying to distract the cat-monster as yuu gives them a grateful glance. but if he isn't, then it's silence between you two.

I think the reader doesn't like silence because if they aren't talking to someone then their thoughts catch up to them. but if it's for yuu? what's a little suffering if it's for a friend right?

if some of the first years pop up and try to drag yuu away, yuu will usually be able to fight their own battles, giving them a charming smile and saying that they'll join them some other time. sometimes it works, other times it doesn't. and when it doesn't reader has to take a deep breathe, and force themselves out of their two-person bubble.

they'll either irish goodbye the the lot, playing the bad guy as they're seen stealing yuu away. or say some kind of comment to one of the more prideful members to get them to start a inter-group conflict while reader and yuu slip away. or just lie, lying's good too.

but 🌀 reader would do anything, for their friend's.

one time, I was at the gym with my sister and this guy came and asked if we were using the machine and turned that into trying to hit on my sister- LITERALLY ENCAGING HER AGAINST THE WALL AND 2 MACHINES. and I humored it for the rest of my set because I know she can take care of herself, but when nothing was working I pulled my phone out uttering some bullshit that we needed to leave now. ofc she didn't even realize I was lying until I told her. but you'd be surprised how many guys can't. get. a. hint.

so reader saving the day from yuu getting hit on by an npc, or one whose yapping so much they don't even realize yuu is inching away is a common occurrence. with a quick '1,2,3 fuck it,' reader is rolling up their sleeves, marching over while creating a fake text from the ghosts and- "yuu we gotta go! grim has destroyed the curtains again!" and with a tug of their arm reader is dragging yuu away.

and- god forbid the npc follows, saying that they weren't done... is when reader becomes 'uncharacteristically' snippy. "unless you want to help clean cat vomit from the curtains, you're welcome to join us" you see a dust cloud in his place from how fast he ran.

yuu lets out a chuckle, looping their arm around yours as they lean their head on your shoulder. a small 'thanks' as they make their way back to good ol' ramshackle.

(there have been a few cases where the npc does offer to help. but yuu pulls out a smile and says 'next time')

[raineandsky]

#116

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3)

As of yesterday, the worst pain the prince had experienced was when he accidentally nicked his finger with his father’s sword three years ago.

Today, that has been replaced with the red-hot agony of a bear trap snapping shut on his leg.

It wasn’t meant to go like this. Get to the city borders and disappear into the wilderness—that was the plan. It’d seemed such a good plan too, from the comfort of his bedroom. Easy.

Yet here he is, thrown to the floor by merciless, metal teeth. It’s more blood than he’s ever seen in his life. He’s starting to feel faint, though whether that’s the sight of his own mangled leg or the pain jolting through him at the slightest move is unclear.

Darkness is throwing a blanket over the sky. Forcing the trap open has proven fruitless, dragging himself back to the road impossible. Every fibre of him, down to his very soul, is crying to rest, to ease the pain, to just have stayed in his ivory tower prison like he always had.

Something yellow—a light!—ripples through the trees. The prince thinks, for a rather depressing moment, that heaven might be approaching, and the warden has arrived to drag him into death. It would explain why he can’t feel his hands.

“Huh,” says the warden, “that ain’t an animal.”

The light is blinding now, the person behind it haloed invisibly in its spray. The prince can see them turn, kind of, to a figure next to them.

“Well, no.” A gruff laugh. “That’s very much a human person.”

The light lowers slightly, enough to get a glimpse at the people hiding in its shadow. Oh—not the warden. A common woman, in fact, her and an equally common man, staring down at him with varying amounts of surprise and annoyance.

“Hm,” the woman says again, thoughtful. “Looks expensive. D’ya think we’d get much for him?”

The prince’s stomach does some acrobatic somersault that almost makes him throw up. He tries to move, crawl away, anything, but the trap sinks its teeth into his flesh even more, like it's trying to stop him escaping. A cry falls from his mouth, some incoherent mix of terror and agony.

One of them says something, but he can’t hear it. He can’t hear anything; blood rushes in his ears—it’s a miracle he has any left to do such—his breathing hard and laced with irrepressible noises of his own suffering. 

Another laugh as the man steps forward and back into hearing range. “We should probably make sure he ain’t from one of those places that’ll lob our heads off for the crime of looking at ‘im first.”

“He looks like one of ‘em, don’t he?” The woman steps too close. The prince scrambles without thinking, and gets the treat of the teeth gnawing harder into his leg. “Let’s get ‘im home, at least. Get the trap, Skat, and I’ll get the bag ready for it.”

“Skat?” The name rolls off his tongue so easily. Both of the commoners stare at him like they’re startled he can speak at all. “You– you were in the royal guard. I recognise your name.”

The man’s stare has turned to a hard glare in an instant. “Where’d you get that from?”

The prince attempts a smile, but the burning pain ripping through him makes it difficult. “You were one of the top knights in your guild. I– I came down, sometimes, to watch you practise. My father adored you. I adored you.”

“You’re the boy prince?” It comes out almost immediately. A connection made. A recognition. The prince could laugh with relief if he weren’t already crying. He nods quickly. “Wh–What’re you doing out here?”

The woman snorts behind him. “Sounds like a fat sack of cash,” she mumbles.

The man ignores her. “Don’t answer that; it doesn’t matter. Let’s get you inside and cleaned up, huh?”

“Are you serious?” The woman scoffs as the man sets his gaze on the bear trap. “We’ve stumbled across our biggest catch yet, and we’re just throwing it away? We could be absolutely minted off him and you want me to just send him on his merry way?��

“Well, Gvette,” the man says flatly, “do you really think anyone’s gonna wanna buy something that looks like it’s been dragged through ten inches of mud?”

That gives her enough pause for Skat to don a smug grin and shoot a quick wink to the prince. “Open the trap, will ya?” he adds.

It isn’t gentle. The woman—Gvette, the prince assumes—rips the trap open and lets its barbed teeth tear through any part of his skin they haven’t already. Skat holds him, almost vice-like, as he squirms and cries against Gvette's heartless freeing of his leg. He can’t help but bury his face into the man’s shoulder when Gvette first wrenches it apart.

Skat grabs his hands to try and help up to his feet. The prince shivers at nothing. “Am—” His voice catches when he puts a little too much weight on his leg. “Am I dead?”

“Well, I ain’t one for talkin’ to spirits,” Skat says brightly, “so I’d assume not.”

“I can’t feel my hands.”

There’s a pause that’s a little too thick. “You’re cold, kiddo. You’ve been lying in an inch of wet mud.”

Gvette takes the prince’s arm, rather reluctantly, as Skat pulls a blanket from his bag. He swings it open and onto the prince’s shoulders in one easy move. “A’ight,” he says as he ushers Gvette away to retake his spot at this side. “Let’s get you warmed up and into some new clothes, maybe.”

So we can get you home hangs unsaid in the air. That, or so we can see how much people are willing to pay for you.

Neither of those are an option.

They might want his leg healed before they try anything. That would give him time, and it’d certainly give him a means of escape.

The prince clings to the old knight, with no other choice, and prays that the man’s warmth to him is true.

(next part)

[rel124c41]

THE LOOK ON YOUR FACE IS THRILLING, AND I CAN'T TAKE MY EYES OFF IT. jade leech

♛: It’s coming. It is the end of the world, armageddon and doom’s day. It is the feeling of walls closing all around. It is like missing on a pre-order sale of a figure you had coveted for months! It’s coming. Crashing right into Idia. Jade places a hand on his shoulder and Idia fights with the sudden numbness in his legs. “Idia Shroud. How fortunate of me to have run into you.”

tags: mind manipulation, emotional constipation, pining, not actually unrequited love, pop culture refrences, manga & anime, male-female friendship, board gmae club (twst), fights

Azul and the word ‘mistakes’ are oil and water. They keep themselves separated from one another, boundaries drawn quite clearly. Though it has been his pride since his first year attending Night Raven College, Azul cannot always be there during its operating hours. Schedules eventually collide and two events overlap. And though it was an honest mistake of Azul’s to forget a club meeting, Jade was surprised to see which had reigned more important to his house-warden's attention.

“Keep a keen eye on the bar. Most tables are already in rotation for waiters. I do not anticipate any unruly customers this evening,” Azul says, folding the scarf five times in his arm. 

Dorm coat draped on his chair and dorm hat rested on the hanger, it seems evident that Azul will actually be leaving.  Of course, Monstro Lounge has managed to sail without her captain. It has perhaps experienced a few scratches in the helm but nothing more. Truthfully, the worst she had suffered was under the hand of her own captain during his incident. Jade smiles at the memory: tables splintered down the middle, a flower field of glass shards, dehydrated fish upon the marble floor. Since then, nothing that they cannot handle! But still Jade wants to push, just a bit! 

“And if we have the misfortune of taking in an unamiable student?”

It is unlikely to happen. Today is a Tuesday, they are not in the middle of any exam season and no holidays are around the corner. Today is perhaps one of the most quotidian days of the year.

“The same old, same old, you know. Call in Floyd if you need assistance. No stains this time.”

“And if Floyd is wrapped up in something else? Would you really leave me here, with no protection?” Jade puts his fingers to his lips and bats his eyelashes once. “Poor and unfortunate me.”

Azul makes his way to the door and fixes him with a glare. “No stains this time,” he repeats. 

“Of course.” 

Jade lifts a hand to push the bridge of Azul’s glasses up. How entertaining it is when he bristles under the slight touch. Scoffing, Azul leaves his office to the roaring waves that await him. The eelmer giggles as his captain abandons the ship. And when an hour later, a customer gets short with him at the bar, Jade is benevolent enough to remember the little pledge of his and simply wrings the breath out of him with his own tie instead of anything more drastic. However, the customer falls limp off his stool and Jade judges this might be the best time to retrieve their captain. 

He puts down the drink for the Diasomnia student’s friend. “I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere ~” his tone is saccharine but his grin is venomous. And the terrified student does not dare to move an inch as Jade abandons the ship. 

It is very unusual for something other than profit to capture Azul’s attention. What matters most to Azul is coins and contracts, then whatever monetary profit that he can squeeze from each item.  Perhaps a game of poker that he is betting on would prove more profitable than a mostly uneventful Tuesday in the lounge. But, valuable time spent playing board games? Jade surmises that is a bit strange of his housewarden. He takes a right turn down the college’s hallway. 

The Board Game Club’s meetings were typically Wednesday, but the designated classroom for the club was empty both Tuesday and Wednesday evenings. Perhaps they bummed up the date of the club meeting because of a riveting match of Sorry. Not that Jade himself would get the appeal. To each their own. He takes another right. 

Jade guesses that Azul won’t be too upset by his disturbance. If that fae student had simply refrained from species targeted insults and focused his animosity towards his drink being made wrong, it would have been smoothed over. Not that Jade made his drink; as rare as mistakes are from Azul, they are even rarer from Jade Leech. He takes a left and opens the clubroom door.

His eyes widen momentarily before his typical expression returns. Jade expects to be met with a crowd of people that he would have to navigate through to locate Azul. But the place is desolate besides the table where Idia Shroud and Azul reside. And as Jade is an observative person, he does not fail to notice the claymore resting on the table’s edge. His skin buzzes. Oh are you perhaps –The thought is snipped when he feels a ruffle of limbs push through the space made by himself and the corner of the door. He lowers his gaze to apologize when his eyes widen much larger than before. 

“Excuse me, Jade,” you move deeper into the clubroom, a bowl of watermelon in your hands. 

“No, my apologies, Prefect,” Jade assures and places a hand over his heart to cover the wrinkles in his purple dress-shirt. Are his clothes wrinkled? He had not even considered checking after incapacitating that Diasomnia student. He straightens his already straight posture and discreetly pats his clothes down. Gloved hand over his breast, he can feel that quivering rabbit pace of his organ. 

Diligently, he follows after you. “Have you switched from Track & Field to Board Games this semester?” It is unexpected of you. You had only ever missed one of the twenty-six Thursday club meetings due to an illness. Perhaps, your physical prowess was complete and you were focusing upon intellects. If that is the case, he could tutor. His strong suit was not board games but with a mind that is always mapping out the second or third steps of a plan, he could prove to be quite of use. Would you use him? Should he ask you if you  –

“No, I'm still running at Track. But, today is the final day of the big Idia versus Azul showdown,” you place the bowl of watermelon down on the table. “To be frank, I think both of them are liars and this will go on till graduation.” You take your seat … to Jade’s displeasure, in a chair shoulder to shoulder with Idia Shroud. 

“Oya, knowing them both, I’d wager you might be correct, Prefect,” Jade smiles despite your seat. “Have you –”

“Jade.” His organ quiets down, regaining the typical pace of a wolf rather than a rabbit. “Did I not put you in charge of the lounge today,” and though Azul smiles, he has just barely managed to leash the snarling beast of aggression that wants to make itself known on his face. 

“Oh yes, but you see, there has been a complication. I endowed the lounge to Floyd for the time being. Perhaps, we should switch positions?”

False kindness melts off his face as Azul groans into his gloved hand. Jade notes it is odd of him to release his guard in front of you. To show genuine dissatisfaction, unhear of. Idia, he can understand as Idia seems to be the only one Azul finds on equal standing but you? Have you two perhaps gotten closer? “Not necessary. I will take care of it.”

“Rung in a friend to avoid losing Azul-shi, fufufufu,” Idia grins. “What a cheat~”

Azul sends Idia a glare. “Nothing of the sort. I’ll get this matter sorted then we shall continue. Unless … you would like to phone in an excuse to prolong your inevitable downfall? Ortho perhaps?”

“Damn, and it was just getting riveting.”.

“Can you really call a game of Monopoly riveting,” Idia asks you.

“Well, not riveting in like the terms of Evo Moment 37 but riveting in like entering the basement in RE: Biohazard. The anticipation of it all,” you defend. Idia chuckles at the comparison. However, the laugh is snipped by Jade’s irate voice.

“Don’t worry, Prefect. I shall return Azul so he may defeat Idia shortly.”

Idia shrinks back at being acknowledged by one of the twins. He puts a cube of watermelon in his mouth to avoid carrying on conversation. You, everlastingly polite, supply both vice housewarden and housewarden with a wave. “Looking forward to it.”

Jade flashes you a smile. A tiny centipede of teeth wiggling on his pale features. Teeth that are sharp enough to bite into steak like dull human teeth bite into whip-cream. And despite his unnatural teeth that unnerve others, your lips inch up a slight bit. As they say their own goodbyes, you hum and return to analyzing the Monopoly board too. Outside the door, Azul turns towards Jade sharply. Where Jade’s teeth are razor-edged, Azul’s glare is of a similar caliber. 

“There are no stains, just as promised. Aren’t I too good to you?”

“You’re comparable to a splinter.”

“Fufufufu, so cruel, Azul.” The words hardly mean anything. It was an unexpected but welcome surprise to see you. Perhaps, Jade could even manage shrinking off the responsibility of Mostro Lounge to return and spectate with you. Yes, that sounds ideal.

──────────────────

Jade did not get to return to the club meeting nor was the scolding from Azul pleasant. If Jade was more impressionable like Floyd, he would have spent the last two days sulking around. But his brother is who he is and Jade is who he is. So, he continues along seemingly unbothered.

Jade did thrive in observation, however. Collision of two stars was too ephemeral; Jade preferred being the satellite, influencing slowly. Glimpses of you fed him until today where he could feed you.  Of course, he would not deprive himself of food either. The returning violetish-red heat of the lava lamp of blood under your skin, hand, and fingers, passing by him to grab another serving. That pleasant burn of your body heat would soon return to him tonight.

He had attempted various times for you to open up about your interests. They were as successful as trying to get a flower to bloom during the off-season. You wilted at the emotional tweezers snapping at your petals. Resolutely, you bite your tongue. Though, he admired your foresight to never reveal too much. He still remembers three weeks ago that you had mumbled into your hand “, no, you wouldn’t find my interests all that interesting.” And Jade should have denied that acquisition or at least persuaded you otherwise. But he predicted that if he had pushed, it would have revealed his hand of cards. Instead of balancing a bit of mushroom on his fork, he would have been balancing his poor, unfortunate heart on the prongs. He too had the foresight to never reveal too much. 

So while he took great delight in your shared Thursday nights, you two were crashing into an inevitable pause. But, no, he should focus on cooking. After Track and Field, body hot and stomach empty, you dragged sore feet to Mostro Lounge all to see him. He provided free food and you provided the conversation. And if you stop providing conversation, he’d resolve to beguile your pretty tongue. 

Afterall, you were a busy student. You made the choice he was worthy enough for your time. Jade was no stranger to the value of that ticking march. So the conversation too must become valuable as what fills your stomach, or Jade would be seen as an inadequate provider. 

The timer dings. Putting down his pen, Jade crouches to the mouth of the oven. You are unexpectedly optimistic about trying new foods — a trait both of you share that makes him more endeared towards you. He pulls the mushroom lasagna from the steel tongue. 

Unlike Azul and Floyd, you will humor him in trying his mushroom-themed plated meals at least one. At the very start, he tested you and put a slightly paralyzing type of mushroom in both of your portions. Your reaction was amusing, poking at the dead pink member with fork prongs, seeing if you would start to slur certain letters, not the least bit unnerved. Perhaps, you thought it unintentional because you did return the following week. You even made intriguing observations on the meals he served you. Enoki blooms: you compared those to coral reefs. Hen-of-the-wood mushrooms: you compared those to a dissected brain. 

Jade is delighted to hear your pending reaction about tonight's dish, cutting into the pasta. You should be here soon. 

Once the dish is sliced and portioned, he moves to check the voices coming from Mostro Lounge. Some unorganized customers? Some intruders? He keeps the cutting knife on him, concealing it behind his back. Cannot have you getting you harmed by any brutish students, though with that sword on you, you should be — hm. Oh, you are here!

Under the gleam of the lounge’s cobalt lightning, you look riveting. Stubborn droplets of sweat remain on your biceps and cheeks but it does not subtract from the sight of you. Your forearm muscle slightly bulges as you hold your sword’s handle to your hip. As you talk with whoever is on the other side of the entrance, you slightly straighten up. Jade wonders if something is wrong and tightens his once relaxed hold on the knife. However, the grip is nothing to the tremendous squeeze he gives the knife upon hearing your huffing snickers. 

Now who was making you —

“No, I promise! Gojo’s feats can walk Diavolo like a dog.” You start forming words around a laugh. “When Diavolo looks into the future, he’s gonna see the strongest sorcerer kicking his ass.”

The other voice starts growing louder, so you join along. “Dude! I swear! — No, Jotaro is not winning! He literally has infinity, no JoJo is beating him — But you can’t! Wait! Hahaha, Joseph and Gojo would be drinking instead of fighting — Come on, Dio is not winning that.” 

You are so caught in power-scaling that Jade’s presence surprises you. Muscles bulging, you jump slightly as an aerial voice sings, “I hope I’m not interrupting anything too pressing. Am I, Prefect?” 

Jade has both of his hands on the door frame. Faithful cutting knife still clutched in his dominant hand, he crowds over you. His body bent forward, left foot toes tapping on the ground. A weaker individual would have swooned or shivered at the lack of distance between his chest and your skull. His presence engulfs and swallows you like you are Jonah sitting like a pill on the whale’s tongue.

Instead of shivering or swooning, you relax and answer, “No, just some power-scaling between Idia and I.”

Smile dropping, Jade turns his focus onto the eldest Shroud. He had not realized the two of you were so close. What meets Jade’s glare is just the floating tablet that Idia uses. And though he is safe in Ignihyde, a full body shiver spiders its way through Idia’s bones. Despite his polite smile, Jade’s eyes are two coals of vexation. 

Is that a knife in his hand! All the blood drains from Idia’s already moon white face. 

“Hm, power-scaling. How interesting. Is that a method of testing your own strength against one another?”

“Um, close. It’s more like between,” but you slowly trail off and do not finish your sentence. 

“Ah, you’ll have to tell me more over this lasagna I prepared. Mushroom ragu and prosciutto cotto. The pasta sheets are even handmade.”

“Hah, yeah I will. Um, Idia, I—“

“I’m afraid I only have enough servings for two.” That is a lie. There are enough servings to provide you and Grim a week’s worth of dinner. There is a second lasagna already tinfoiled for you that you will be taking home. 

He knows your routine to prepare protein meals.  He also knows that Dire Crowley provides low income that makes meat a rare treat instead of what it truly is, an everyday diet necessity. And though you two at ten P.M. will go through the same dance of ‘oh, i can’t accept this much food’ and ‘I insist’, Jade smiles at the thought of cornering you once again into taking his cooking home. 

“A-ah, that’s completely fine. I have to run maintenance with Ortho. I’ll see you around, Prefect?”

“Yes, yes, see you, Idia.”

“Bye bye~” When you are not looking, Jade reveals the front gallery of his teeth. Thin lips pushing up and up to give Idia a warning smile rather than a winning smile. 

Intelligent Idia Shroud employs the unused emergency motor to make a swift escape. 

──────────────────

To be honest, one of Jade’s favorite days is the day of Azul’s overblot. Unfathomably cruel, others would criticize if they knew. Trey might even shrink away from the friendly terms they established; Jade smiles at an image of uneasiness etched on the baker’s face. Though Azul’s foundering had been entertaining, it was not the fondest memory of that day. No, it had been you. You and your scrambling friends. You and your sword. You and your wrath. 

You always had that claymore on you. Perhaps even more commonly than you were seen with Grim. Snaked around your waist with a baldric, no matter where you spent your time, it stayed. It was an extension of your body. 

Jade came to learn much about it through honed investigation. One: you acquired it from Sam’s Shop after Riddle Roseheart’s overblot. Two: it was prematurely infused with magic to give the user support, ideal for some magicless as yourself. Three: it had a blessing put upon it by Malleus Draconia, making it unbreakable. Jade’s mood had soured quite some time ago from unearthing the third fact. Though his own magic was not on par with the prince, he would have bled and forgo sleep if it meant he could add a spell you wanted added to your claymore. To protect you, he melts at the thought.

Despite that, it was still magnificent seeing you work with your sword. Raw, nude desperation to attack each movement. If you missed one counter, you would suffer far most of all. Jade mourns that you had not actively participated in the fight against him and Floyd in the Coral Sea. Your physical prowess was both elegant and gauche. You reminded him of a shark-mer locking onto the smell of blood but you reminded him too of a struggling seal with its neck between a shark-mer jaws. Winning and losing. Volatile in every swing that you did. Most people were at the very least stunned when seeing his mismatched eyes; however, they were nothing compared to the color of yours. Two moons trapped in red skies. When Azul had thrown your body into Mostro Lounge’s centerpiece aquarium, you had broken a blood vessel in your eye and it only made you more irresistible. Watching your stumble, crawl, limp back to your claymore, past the flower field of glass and starry night skies full of dehydrated, dead fish, lifting back up your secondary arm and yelling out in pure wrath, “ Azul Ashengrotto!”

He shivers at the memory and almost drops the glass he was polishing. 

Yes, you had acted as splendid entertainment that day. When both Ramshackle and the photograph were temporarily taken, your eyes were weak. You glared at him and Floyd but it was a childish glare. The hardened stare of a child who had gotten their favorite bear taken away by an adult or older sibling. A powerless yet vexed look. You were pitiful and laughable to Jade before the hour of Azul’s overblot.

But since then, Jade had yet to see any of it resurface. Not that that disappointed him. As you had already caught his eye, he would be even harder to shake off than Floyd. He was going to remain. A flea that can only be torched off and, in removal, singe the skin it has burrowed into. 

Sighing, Jade put the last polished glass up on the bar-shelf. Enough reminiscing. He keeps remembering those bright, evocative sclera and iris, he will be forced to retire to his room and take care of a physical burden. Now, next Azul wanted the aquarium whipped down, then I should check upon Floyd’s process in the kitchen. So much to be done. As Jade crouches to grab the window cleaner, he realizes one essential thing. 

He never wants you to look upon anyone but him. It’s a desperate, unattractive yearn in him. If he could capture your precious face in his hands, eyes tilted up towards him, glaring, it would feed him to the fullest he had ever known. 

──────────────────

Idia tries to keep his physical presence in school down to one time per week. If it is a good week, he physically enters Night Raven College zero times. If it is a terrible week, he steps foot on college ground twice. 

This week has been horrible to Idia. He entered the college once each week for the Board Game Club. The rules he and Azul mapped out stated that both of them needed to handle the dice with their own flesh and blood to avoid a cheating move. Then, he is entering Night Raven College a second time to retrieve the paperwork from Dire Crowley on Winter Break preparation. Today Ortho’s ancient curses exam was keeping him busy. Oh, woe is him. All of this grows into pulling the blue of his lips into a desolate frown. His glum mood is already making him anticipate the worst to come. 

“Just get this done as quickly as possible” he mutters through gritted teeth . 

His anxious nature makes him more susceptible to what he knows is going to go wrong. It is written all in the air. It’s coming. It is the end of the world, armageddon and doom’s day. It is the feeling of walls closing all around. It is like missing on a pre-order sale of a figure you had coveted for months! It’s coming. Crashing right into Idia.

Jade places a hand on his shoulder and Idia fights with the sudden numbness in his legs. “Idia Shroud. How fortunate of me to have run into you.”

Sevens, please hear Idia, and let his death be swift and please don’t let anyone see his browser history. Amen.

“Classroom 3-B is void currently. Come.” Not like Idia has much choice. The door clicks behind them. Shivers convulse in Idia as Jade pushes him to sit down at a desk.

The look on Jade's face is deadly. Shadows cut and slice over his oily pointed features. Almost Rembrandt-like, the darkness on his face is painted by the jaw of the light overhead. The intensity of his glare would cause even wool to ignite in seconds. His eyes glimmer like yellow embers or olive beetles of hate hate hate. Idia could envision smoke starting to float up from his eyelids with the fire they held within. The housewarden is glad for the seat because his legs are numb now. Terror pins him down as Jade calculates. 

This might not be effective, Jade surmises. Idia Shroud is a third year student, advanced in magic studies, and sometimes resistant to magical attacks. But – an image of your wrathful eyes appears in his head. But he had calculated all the risks beforehand, plan after plan, for days. Manipulating his premature failures to even turn into successes. Idia Shroud was a skittish individual, if his resolve was shaken then he could win this battle, here on the stage.

Jade slams his hands down to the desk. The sound will disrupt his mental fortitude. One of his gloved hands striking out to grab Idia’s face in a vice grip, he pulls his mug forward. The close proximity will unnerve the touch averse housewarden. With his index and thumb, he pulls the blue shaded skin of Idia’s eyelids. “Shock The Heart.”

Jade waits with bated breath. Searching in the housewarden’s face for a twitch or spasm. He cannot feel if his magic was effective, which wasn’t too surprising, but … “What are your opinions on the Ramshackle Perfect?” 

“Hm? (Name)?” Jade’s eyes turn sharper. He still can’t gauge if Idia is influenced by his unique magic. Yet, as panic settles in, the word vomit that Idia drools out is satisfactory enough. 

“Um, well! They’re kind of stoic and standoffish but really staunch too. Energy is trying way too hard to be ‘mysterious’. And they don’t make friends easily because of it. But they’re great! You know, Mifune from Soul Eater and Teresa of the Faint Smile, totally their kins.”

Kins? Are you perhaps related to someone that he hasn’t heard of? The thought of missing information about you vexes him. His grip tightens up on Idia’s face and his lips are squeezed together, hushing his sentence. 

“Do they have relatives in Twisted Wonderland?”

“N-No, they have no family in Twisted Wonderland.” Idia speaks through the hole in his squished lips.

“Hm, then who are you comparing them to?”

“Anime characters. Ones that stand on business. Same personality and same True Neutral Myers-Briggs type. They both wield swords and their strength is unnatural.”

Yes, Jade knows this. Impatience burns his skin. He knew because when you and Jack Howl had been helping around the lounge by proxy of your trio of friends, you had broken off a bit of a table in your hand with the ease of snapping a graham cracker. Your unexplainable strength was perfect for you surviving in the Coral Sea. And he knew you wield a sword, anyone with eyes knew!

You were stoic, loyal, and strong. All of this Jade knew because he had been observing you! 

His unique magic might not hold for too long with Idia. He needs information that is new and valuable, or else he will be stuck with prodding Ace or Deuce or either of their acquaintances for information. Already, Jade had calculated out how to talk to you and get you two on friendly terms. Thursday’s meals, offering help with botanical garden exams, and being ready to assist. All that paled in comparison to the friendly terms settled between you and Idia. What did he have, that spineless housewarden? If intellect was the key to your heart, Jade had that and then some. 

His nose scrunches at the question he is about to ask. “What does the Ramschakle’s Prefect find … desirable in people?” What do they look for in a mate? If anyone knew, it would be Idia or that senseless trio. 

“Formal with ulterior motives. They’re totally into your character archetype. Really gets them going. Shit, last week, they were being super cringe and ranting about the Falling Devil when she –” Idia luckily stops himself when he sees the startling intensity that Jade is staring at him with.

Was this perhaps … a code of sorts? 

“My character archetype?” 

“Your personality is appealing to them,” Idia seems to gag around the next word “, ugh, romantically. A normie crush”

Idia immediately regrets his words. Because as the spell starts to splinter off him, his brain returning, the look he is confronted with is even more terrifying. Idia panics that he might be in the hands of the more openly unhinged twin because Jade’s face is split ear to ear in a wide grin. 

“Fufufufu, is that so~”

──────────────────

Night Raven College’s beauty is most prominent to you during the night. Up the stairs, down the hallways, into the Hall of Mirrors, there is an inkling of hypnotizing beauty in a college that is otherwise a pain in your ass. Burning cat eyes of lanterns dance on the top strip of walls. Marble statues in the Hall of Mirror seem to shine, oily in their strict features. Mostro Lounge is exceptionally gorgeous with its low cobalt lights. 

As winter draws nearer, days shorten. You have gradually lost the fear of walking alone at night. Everything that went bump in the night seemed trivial in the face of a rose tyrant or dethroned lion. You felt what bruises on bones felt like. That causes anyone’s well of fear to eventually dry up.

So, stepping into Mostro Lounge, you are quite surprised when a tiny droplet of fear falls on the tip of your nose and rakes down your body. Because, well, the scene in front of you is quite startling.

This can’t be – No, it’s definitely not. 

What catches your eye is not the company. The company, though weirdly dressed, is expected. You are fearful of the way all but one of Mostro Lounge’s booth-table has been cleared away to Sevens knows where. On the tabletop rests a delicate medusa lamp. The five heads are nude fluorescent bulbs blown to the shape of jellyfish. Plates and silverware for two are present too. Even a tea kettle has joined the group. Why won’t you two be sitting at the bar like usual?

You try to shift your attention to the meal in the center, avoiding what you do not want to acknowledge. From this distance, it perhaps looks like a type of filet of steak or chicken. Something you have never tried before obviously. You try to distinguish what mushrooms were used. Maybe if you focus all your attention on that, you can avoid it. Steam still rises from the plate. And your foolish eyes follow the gray wisps up to the nightmare. A vase of red roses decorates the frightening table – coincidentally or purposefully? Your favorite flowers. Roses still are your favorite despite Riddle’s overblot. You had only told your Heartstlabyul friends that. 

Trying not to panic, you decide to look at your company, especially since he is approaching you. 

Usually, Jade stuck with his student uniform despite how late you two kept each other. Personally, you hated peeling off layers to change at night. But tonight, he has switched his attire for a simple button-up and his usual slacks. His tie and gloves are still on but his sleeves are rolled up. In your scan, you notice he is wearing Floyd’s Santoni charcoal gray shoes. 

You look past Jade, trying to gauge if you can grab that chicken or steak and make a run for it. Tragically, Jade is already in front of you. You innerly grumble because you know Track and Field has mostly drained you of most of your energy. Well, nothing you can do now.

Hand over his heart, the eel-mer greets you with his polite, trained smile. “How lovely of you to make it tonight, Prefect. You look quite breathtaking.” He closes his eyes and hums at you. Trying to appear less predatorily? You remain tight-lipped but the silence does not deter him. Instead, he scoops your callous hand and presses a kiss to it. “I have prepared a, let’s say, compulsive meal tonight that I would be honored to share with you.”

EW! You repress a shiver quickly.  “So-sounds good.” Jade drops your hand and, once he is turned, you quickly scrub the kiss off on your sweats. This isn’t what you think it is – It’s a mind-game of Jade’s and you love deciphering those. Try to enjoy it, (Name), the inner voice scolds. 

You follow and take your seat when he gestures at it with one hand. Still standing, he begins to cut up the portions of your shared meal. Ah, so it is chicken and typical field mushrooms. 

“I believe I have already disclosed this information to you, but please let me continue, Prefect.” He grabs your plate and starts filling it. “Agaricus campestris, known by many as field mushrooms, actually share a resemblance with one of the deadliest mushrooms, amanita phalloides. It has been used in many assassins attempts. It has snatched the life of a Pope, Roman Emperor, and a Russian tsaritsa.” Returning your plate, full of half of the main course’s field mushrooms, he reaches out to fix a bit of your hair. “How cleverly deceitful Mother Nature can be, yes?”

Okay, this is more like it! Though Jade is certainly acting more Jade-like tonight, you can deal with this in stride. You refrain from lifting up your fork as he starts to fill his own plate. “Mother Nature certainly has a sense of humor that is both sycophantic and prepotent. She is such a whore.”

Jade openly laughs at that. Finishing his own portion, he sits and continues, “I think she is giving her subjects a word of warning. Those who don’t finish their food will taste death.”

Your first hint? No, it is too early and you should not jump like a humping dog on every word of Jade’s. “Even she plants her roses with thorns. Her prettiest creation even bites. That warning that she will certainly turn on you, eventually. She would take her tea with both poison and honey. Don’t you think, Jade?”

“An astute image of her. ‘Mad honey’ and regular honey on her spoon. Would you perhaps like to try the blend tonight before we feast?”

“Of course,” you chirp. As he pours you a cup, you continue, “Tonight’s blend won’t happen to be roasted oolong?”

“A keen nose on you, Prefect.” You assume that this one is safe and you waste no time in sipping it once it is in your hands. This seems to be the right move in the game because Jade’s expression flickers. It … It grows a bit softer around the edge, happier? You drain your cup to the middle and absentmindedly stroke the ridges on the ceramic squid design. 

“Perhaps, a tea made for a Pope?”

“Ah, more commonly, oolong is a blend dancing on the tongue of a Russian tsar.” 

Your pride takes a hit; you got one of the answers wrong. Finger moving down the squid’s arms, you take in a bit of the scenery. Usually, clues are not in the backdrop but it is never an impossibility. You look back at Jade and see he is staring at you with a certainly strange look. Hm, odd. You turn away. But you think you finally got it. 

Confidently, you push your plate into the middle of the table and finish your tea. Perhaps the outfit and scenery change was only a red herring to deceit you away from the real mind-game. The meal is most certainly poisonous! Inside, you beam at guessing correctly until you hear a hesitant voice. 

“Are you not going to eat?”

“No, I don't think I will.” Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner.

“Is the food perhaps not to your liking?” Well, that tone of voice is certainly concerning. You turn away from the aquarium you had been looking and return to Jade’s sight. Panic is almost dotting his features; his teeth pulled back in a vulnerable grimace. “It was my mistake to make a meal you hadn’t tried before for this. I know your fondness of trying new meals but I might have overstepped. I’ll remedy this. My apologies, Prefect.”

HUH! You quickly grab back the plate before Jade can touch the edge. Why did that voice unnerve you so – “No, no, I just.” Great, now you have to find a way to remedy a mistake you made. “I just wanted to test your resolve to this.”

To you, you are talking about the mind-game Jade is playing. To Jade, he thinks you are talking about this date and the relationship that he wants to foster with you. Rejuvenating, he chuckles and shows his full smile. “I want you to know I am very committed to this.” 

Still, unsure of your steps, you wait till Jade takes a bite of mushrooms first as you focus your fork at the chicken. The conversation dims down like the autumn sun. Though, it has never been unpleasant with Jade. Eating and nourishing your bodies: that is a big part of Mother Nature’s hierarchy of needs. Company is less than food, but it has never been absent from that hierarchy either. You always enjoy meals with Jade.

Am I doing this right? Jade questions.

Jade peeks around the roses as he watches you eat what he can provide. He is grateful that you are eating the mushrooms; field mushrooms were both fascinating and delicious. He knew how to differentiate between various mushrooms in the fungi field and had yet to make any mistake when selecting them. Moving onto the next step, Jade hopes that your aversion to eating at first was just a malnourished mistake. 

Finger by finger, Jade removes his gloves. Delicately, he plucks one of the roses out of the vase. He had retrieved them from Trey that morning, specifically asking for the thorns to remain to the baker’s confusion. The thorns prick at his rather soft human skin. Under your watchful eye, he takes the stem and squeezes off the head of the rose.

“Roses, your favorite flower, correct?”

That fear comes back like a returning tidal wave. You feel your spine lock up and you swallow around your bite. “Yes, I enjoy them very much. How did you know?”

“I have my ways~” He takes the rose and tucks it behind your ear. Anxiously, he wanted to feel some warmth on the tip of them but nothing sits there but cold sweat from Track and Field. “Though I have a fondness for the ecosystem of fungi, the floral kingdom is not without its appeal.”

Your heart hammers. No, no, no need to panic, (Name). Perhaps you are jumping to conclusions and are mistaken, an inner voice speaks out. Slowly, you unfurl your tensing hands and ignore the blood you had drawn. Yes. You are mistaken, you reason. 

“I actually grew a fondness them because –”

“Because it is your middle name.” You only revealed that to Grim. And well, the recorded files that Crowley had on you in your school information center. So, your surprise is a guarantee. 

“Yes, hah. It is.”

“Both of you are parallel in your looks. I can see why Heartslabyul graciously accepts your company. Though, really, I sympathize with anyone who wants to keep your company.”

“Hah, well, being a Prefect is certainly time consuming. Grim, Ace, and Deuce are certainly not the best at dodging trouble.” You place one of your hands on the leather and squeeze your nails tightly into your skin. 

“Yes, I certainly remember that. Some of my fondest memories actually came from the time after those three made their deals with Azul.”

You stay silent. 

“(Name), you know that mistakes are a rarity from me. However when I am around you, I feel that I am always balancing off the edge of falling into one big mistake. And though I take everything in stride, I find the thought of making mistakes with you is far from thrilling. But, I’m willing to remedy those mistakes whenever the time comes.”

This – This, you realize it with impending horror. Harshly, your teeth snap together. This is – Your palms are slick with new sweat. THIS IS A DATE!

“And, I know, that perhaps —“

“Please, Jade, please stop.” The look on both of your faces is shared: a pained expression for entirely different reasons. Immediately, his faux politeness is dropped to reveal worry. You, terrified you, cannot handle a confession in this world. 

“(Name)…”

“I have to go.”

You quickly push away the plate and stand. Stirred by the motions, the rose balancing on your ear falls to the ground. “The meal was delicious. You’re a brilliant cook, Jade. I just —“

“Please, let me apologize to you.”

“No. No, it’s alright.”

“(Name).” 

Your strict avoidance of looking Jade in the eye is ruined as he grabs you by your wrist. Quickly, your eyes climb up to meet his face. What returns your look is terrifying. No, it is not a smoldering look of anger that three-fourths of the student body is terrified of. The vulnerability in his eyes terrifies you. In Jade’s face, there is the slight hint that this was not a meticulously crafted confession. In his face, you can tell he does not like the action of confessing. Showing his hand of cards, slitting his wrist, wearing his heart like a cufflink on his uniform. 

Well, fucking hell, you don’t like this either! Romance, you simply cannot. “I have to go, Grim needs me back at Ramshackle.”

By some miracle, you manage to free your wrist. And the look on his face is easy to tear your eyes away from. 

──────────────────

Has anyone ever been isekai-ed twice? 

You gnaw around the cover of your phone. You know you will be scolded when Idia gives your phone another upgrade for higher speed or more data space, but that concern pales in comparison to the terrifying concern you’ll need to face. Now you understand Idia’s apprehension to leave his dorm. Perhaps, you can lay here and rot away. Wait till your skin sinks down like pastry crust and your bones moss over the sheets. You will nourish yourself slightly. Perhaps, three cigarettes? Or another bottle of vodka? Which would be more of a soothing balm to the flame that has engulfed your skin? Your thoughts are cut when the phone in your mouth buzzes.

Isekai Shoukan Wa Nidome Desu, not worth the watch bro was trying too hard to be Guts LOLOLOL

Good, reliable Idia. Despite all your stress, you can always smile at someone who has similar, admittedly nerd-routed humor such as yourself. You type back, Do you think the black carriage can cart me to another universe?

u probably haven’t buffed up your stats enough to cash in another isekai

Is that your ‘sweet’ way of saying I don’t deserve a second try in a new universe?

not sweet, just based

Kys actually. I have like a real problem this time. 

something you can’t just punch through? u’re literally Saitama just punch your problems

This is emotional, I can’t punch it.

EW! IDIA LOGGING OFF. NO NORMIE EMOTIONS HERE.

Idia

NO

Okay, you forced my hand. Yoko Littner ¼ Bunny Scale Figure. You patiently wait. The dots appear, sink away, reappear until …

boxed? You are already digging the box off your display shelf when your phone vibrates. You confirm it is boxed, even sending a picture and verbally highlighting how the tape is still intact. You can almost feel the bone-deep sigh Idia must have taken as the bubble returned. k normie, what’s going on?

So, you recount it all for him. Fleeting touches, warmth on your tongue, the ease of banter, and the security that you had felt in your long-standing friendship only to be disarmed by words that sent a ripple of lightning down each vein in your arm. You could not comprehend it. Just … Jade Leech? Fucking Jade Leech. One whose intellectual prowess could perhaps even puppeteer the downfall of any house-warden. And he had looked upon you with such affection. The whirlpools of his eyes reaching out towards you. His eyes … mutilating your common sense … God, why did you long to see that look again? Why did he say that to you? To manipulate you for what purpose? 

You wish you had punched him.

As soon as you revealed to Idia that the person who had confessed was Jade Leech, your steady back and forth came to a halt. Idia? Idia. What do you know? Two minutes passed. Idia Shroud, remember Yoko.

okokokok listen, he used his unique magic on me! i am not in violation of any normie code, none! but … a week ago Jade caught me off guard and asked me your, uh, type. pls don’t be mad. 

A tiny tiny part of you is flattered to see Idia try to keep benevolence in your friendship. The oldest Shroud is not one to worry about friendships. However, that tiny part is smothered by something much bigger. Crunch. You look down at the electronic you have broken in your grip. Anger growing, you start to scream. Not even words, just ah, ah, hah, ah, AAAAA!

──────────────────

“If the Prefect takes down one of those eels, it wouldn’t be so bad. I still haven’t forgiven them for the exam scheme.”

“Yeah, but wouldn't they have a vengeful Floyd on their hands?”

“I say one down, one more to go. My Henchman’s got this.”

“Isn’t it so romantic! The tenacity to fight for another’s hand in love. The agonizing beauty of having to harm that certain someone. Like a lioness who sees herself unfit to be a mother devouring her cubs. Quelle vue! Blood drawn by the brawn of love. Hah.”  

The three shiver at the intruding voice. Maybe if they do not look at him, he will find another person to entertain himself with. Minutes pass by and they still feel his presence. Cracking first, Deuce is the only brave soul who turns around to greet Rook Hunt. 

“Bonjour to you too, Monsieur Spade. Do you know how long Monsieur Mastermind has been coveting our fair Trickster?” It seems like he is asking out of genuine curiosity instead of bragging that he himself knew before. 

“Actually, none of us knew. Apparently, it’s been a while. The Prefect said Jade integrated Idia before confessing.”

“Hm, and Roi de Ta Chambre is missing from attendance. Perhaps jealousy?”

“Nah, more like fear. (Name) almost tore his tablet apart when they crossed paths on our way to potionology.” Ace chuckles at the memory. 

“My Henchman isn’t too happy about it.”

“Still, I figured (Name) would just ignore it forever. Any emotion they can’t solve with anger is just pushed to the side.”

“Their emotional intelligence is sooo low.” 

At Ace’s words, they all cast a look out onto the center of the track-field. Jade stands, arms folded behind his back. Oddly, he has only chosen to waive his jacket and rolled up his button-up’s sleeves. He is comparable to concrete whereas you are like a spinning power-drill. You are pacing back and forth, randomly swinging your claymore at times, pacing again. You switched your uniform for a tight black shirt and white tai chi pants. Content is Jade’s expression, watching you warming up to fight him.

The crowd has grown quite a bit. On the farturn and backstretch, most of the crowd has accumulated. And at the start of that farturn is Azul behind a fold-out table, sign shouting “Place your bets. Jade Leech vs Ramshackle’s Prefect.” Outstretched like a cat, Floyd is the only one of the crowd lounging on the bleachers. 

Deuce is quite surprised to see that every housewarden has shown up. Even Malleus Draconia is flanked by his two bodyguards, his vice-housewarden floating a bit off ground and excitedly rambling in the taller fae’s ear. There is a sizable gap in where Malleus is standing among the crowd. 

But, he also feels quite bad because he isn’t too sure who to support. You had gone to Azul Ashengrotto with a proposition that you said should reach the ears of a certain eel-mer. Your conditions that you and Jade would battle on the upcoming Sunday morning. If Jade bested you, he would be granted a date. If you bested him, the matter would be dissolved. Deuce was anxious about seeing perhaps one of the brutalest rejection of his life.  To surely be beaten up by the person you desired, he groans at the idea. Poor Jade. 

Thankfully, Rook Hunt leaves to stand by his own housewarden. The crowd waits anxiously, wondering who will start, before Ortho Shroud enters the green of the track-field. To the trio’s surprise, you do not seem agitated at the interruption. The boy comes up to you both, hand altering itself into a megaphone. 

“The rules are,” the crowd hushes “, if either opponent is knocked into the red of the track, they lose. If either opponent's injuries stop them from fighting, they lose. If either opponent vocally forfeits, they lose. Jade Leech will be fighting to win a date with Ramschakle’s Perfect (Name). Please start in 59, 58, 57…”

You track Ortho leaving the green. Somberly, you take steps to make a little gap between Jade and yourself. You gradually stop fiddling with your claymore; from flipping it to and fro in your hand to letting it lie cement at your thigh. Victory was simple and foreseeable for you. Ace had asked you before if you planned for a fight against Jade Leech, one of the finest alchemical students. But you recited what you said during each overblot, “All I gotta do is win.” The simplicity was laughable, even you know this but, you glance up at Jade, all you really have to do here is one thing: win.

“4, 3, 2, 1. Go.”

Magic in Twisted Wonderland comes in categories. The basic elemental forms are flora, water, fire, and cosmic then it branches off into sub-genres. Certain magic in Twisted Wonderland is palpable and, most important to you, able to support the weight of a body. So when Jade miscalculates and flings a beam that you can jump upon, you waste nothing. 

Being airborne is thrilling. You tuck your legs up to your rear as you cup your claymore’s handle in your hand like a child holding a fragile insect. Ground rapidly approaches you. Arms up, back arched, eyes front. You swing down with all your might with the full intention to slice Jade Leech down the middle like an unbirthday tart. These first three minutes will give you plenty of time to judge how he fights. You got to observe him in the Coral Sea; that gives leverage. 

Jade goes to counter what seems like an attack raining straight down. You maneuver your body with the pressure of the spell, drop your right foot, and snap right towards Jade’s body. Got in, now deal a blow. Shoulders inches from each other, you wind up like a baseball player and go to lock eyes with Jade. 

You expect frustration. You expect his typical calculated yet distant look. Yet - tch! You drive your sword into a swoop. No matter what his eyes look like, time to win. 

You two dance in a tsunami of black-red sparks and thumping air. You two whip around each other, arms repeatedly tearing in and out to the collision of yours and his attacks. When either of you stumbles, the other relentlessly pushes. You can admit as a flora attack pushes you back that Jade, despite his eyes, is calculating each motion of yours. Trying to get two steps ahead but stumbling along. You both stumble in your little dance, too evenly matched.

But, the count in your head ends; three minutes have passed. Time to get serious. As Jade raises his pen to the sky to send a wave of energy at your body running towards him, he stops. Not in submission but because you have disappeared from his sight. Where did you –

Hm, Jade’s back is surprisingly muscular. Swimmer muscles? You can feel it through the tight shirts both of you are wearing. On your own latissimus, the turbulent avalanche of blood roaring through his system pounds at you. Back to back, you gently decline your head to rest on his dominant shoulder. His scent is quite sweet too when he is sweating like a cooked lobster.

You move your mouth near his ear. The words you speak cause his sturgeon scales to sway a bit. “Jade.” His back shivers under yours. “I’m gonna show off a little, kay?” Then once more, you are gone.

Jade catches a flash of silver, swooping right down to his neck. Time does not even allot for him to counter against your claymore specifically. Instead, he sums up magic to bubble around him and push everything back. Finally, you return to his vision, feet dug in soil and running right back at him as soon as the magic presence wilts off his pen.

To the left, to the right, to the left again, the dance resumes. Cornered right back into defense, Jade mourns. You attack faster than before, faster than what he witnessed at Azul’s overblot. Your claymore moves like a flickering light. You move around him and manipulate him to twist like a puppet to counter each strike. Down to his legs, up at his shoulders, behind his back. Unlike the noticeable strain in Jade’s face, you remain pouting.

His scent. You attempt to cut his left arm off and he counters. His scent. Why was it still distracting you! You pivot your feet, fall down in a swooping arc, and attempt to cut his tendon. That scent was all you could think of. Not that anyone could tell as you were moving both faster and more dynamically than before. He smells so good, you agonize. It bleaches the inside of your memory. To rid yourself of it you would probably have to crush up peppers and grind them into your nose until it bled. You had been around sweat enough in Track and Field but none sweated so saccharinely. With a vertical swipe, you try to cut off the hand of his that holds his magic pen.

Jade counters and you two are caught in a standstill. You two push at each other, magic pen and claymore vibrating against one another. Speckles of dirt start to fly up from the ground. The jet black strand of Jade’s moves wildly at the air pressure. Is that bastard locking you close to him on purpose! Sparks start to fly off the middle of your blade. Elbows lowering, you strain against the spell but you will – you – you will find that weak area in his counter. 

It comes in one explosive burst as you push harder and send Jade a mile or so back from you. The ground settles. Typically, you would make no mistake to run back in and continue, but - ugh! Quickly, you start to rub at your nose. Murmurs start up again but you keep scrubbing. The stench of bacteria from blisters and new blood is a welcome relief. Once his smell is thoroughly gone, you get right back into it. 

You planned to close that distance but it seems Jade Leech did not let an opportunity go to waste. As expected of him –

You sweep underneath the crackling violet of a cosmic attack and redirect a burst of thorns aimed for your heart. Some time was allotted for Jade to think when pushed down, but you will not allow that to be unfortunate for you. You said you were going to show off, so show off you will. Tucking your non-dominant hand to your breast, you cut a canyon’s mouth into the fire attack Jade sent at you. 

Again, you two clash, synthetic grass leaping up like a million frogs. You unlock from the exchange, tilt your blade, and start stabbing at him. “Tch,” is all you get from Jade as he tucks himself to become smaller and dodge each incoming stab. By the shoulder, by the ribs, by the tip of his nose. Rapidness and precision is your groundwork. Jade jolts back and forth to dodge each incoming strike, playing into your hand.

Then, unexpectedly, you abandon your claymore by the effort of launching it into the air. You can see it in Jade’s eyes that he sees this as an opening. Then in his next blink, your foot is connected to his ribs. His heart pounces on your sole. You grant him a small smile then thrust all your strength in your kick. 

He has to use two air spells to stabilize himself. Two caverns blown into the field. Damn, you had meant for that kick to knock him into the red.

Without looking, simply outstretching a hand behind yourself to catch your sword, you wonder if Crowley will make you pay for property damages. So be it. With that too enticing smell drawn out of your nose, you can go all out.

You start closing distance when – shit! You are suddenly knocked off your feet when Jade lands an attack at the place your running feet were going to land. The fall you take is not elegant. Your dominant shoulder bounces once then twice more on the ground. Your bones clang but you manage a grip on your sword. Metallic warm blooms on your tastebuds, did you bite your tongue? Groaning, you go to stand up when suddenly Jade Leech is towering over. Face shadowed, eyes bright.

Ah, teleportation magic. 

Instead of threatening your life like all the overblots did or moving in to kill you, Jade says with his typical sycophantish smile, “I was thinking of cooking maitake mushrooms for our first date, Prefect.” Smug bastard!

You smile wide around the blood coating your teeth, “I actually prefer portabella.” In a blink, you pivot your body to wrap around the back of his leg. Like a scorpion launching an attack, you swipe at him. The connection is perfect. You watch a squirt of blood spit from the back of Jade’s thigh. As you are rounding your body back up around him, you laugh, " if you really want to win this, you need to fight with at least seventy percent more effort.” Then, another perfect collision that makes you giddy of all things. His head is thrown back by an elbow to his nose.

And to complete the full rotation, you aim your sword towards his neck once more. But you are caught by surprise when that elbow did not knock around his brain enough to disorient him. Where your sword should have landed is intercepted by his magic pen. Another time-wasting standstill. This time feels different though. Rotating your wrist up and down as you might, you cannot gauge a weak point and you are forced to look at him.

Red is slick down his upper lip and chin. It shines violet, blue, and a blackish-green in the light of his counterspell. Tidiness is swept and rustled out of his typical hair-do. The ‘J’ of his black stand resembles more of a combination ‘K’ and ‘Z’ the way it is blown through. His matched eyes? Arrowed directly onto you. Olive brown and canary yellow, wide and crazed. And that look – That look!

Di-Did your heart just skip a beat? No. No. No. What is wrong with you today! You are never so distracted by an overblot or sparring partner. You never had some kind of revelation during your training with Silver or battles with Riddle, Leona, or Azul. Are you falling ill of all things!

Your face luckily does not change. The only indication of your inner crisis is a bulging vein in your arm. Relentlessly, your claymore and his magic pen scraping against each other, you try to dictate where his weak spot is. Clump by clump, ground starts to be serrated by your combined efforts. Then, fuck! Your face crinkles with pain. Bits of magic jump over your weapon and start to cut paper-thin lines on your cheek. One. Two. Three. Tiny whiskers of hot pain. You grind your red teeth and push even harder. You silently mourn the opening you lost before as Jade starts to push you back. You are growing angrier. 

Separate from this moment, Silver mutters under his breath, “The Prefect is going to win.” He meant to keep it to himself, but –

“Huh? How can you tell?” 

“I- Master Malleus. Well, because,” and before Silver can start, there is an explosion of noise in the crowd. Joined by an explosion of red coming from Jade’s left shoulder.

Crouched on the ground, behind Jade, you cross both of your arms to your chest. Red rain drops down onto your back as the appalled noises grow in volume. Uncaring, you spin back and once more throw your sword into the dry blue skies. You plant your feet. Instead of feeling the pulse of Jade or smelling his sweat, you shift all attention to the Earth like you should have from the start. The gumminess from the blood in your mouth gradually fades away. Your labor torn veins gradually relax. Air is cold. You are warm. As Jade struggles to comprehend where you even went, you perform tomoe nage on him backwards.

Jade only sees four images: your face when locked in a standstill, emptiness, emptiness again (in the form of sky), and then he is blessed with your face again as you retrieve your claymore from the air and hold the tip of it to his throat. Laid on the ground, he gasps. That expression has returned to your face. Wrath. Your scleras are white but it is still the same. A tightened and angered expression that one would think could cause a head to implode with a single look. Crazed and wide. The rhythm of your wrath thumps around him like crashing waves. The ferocity of predator’s teeth and riptide’s rocks in your eyes. Sevens, he wanted a life with you. Yearned for you to join him, Floyd, and Azul. If this is the last time, you’ll talk to him – if this is the last time, you’ll see him – His heart aches like a fresh bruise at the thought, hurting more than the slash from his shoulder. If you will no longer cross paths with him again, then he needs to say what he always wanted to. He needs to reveal his hand. Pierce his heart on a fork so you can eat it whole. 

“Sevens, you’re beautiful,” Jade rasps. 

HUH!

You leap back. Your claymore clatters to the ground. You care little for the starting murmurs of confusion, spinning your head away from him to put a hand over your mouth. Mortified, your fingers collide with skin and reveal you are starting to blush of all dreadful things. You turn your head back towards Jade. He is looking at you with th-those soft eyes again. You turn away faster the second time.

Your fingers start to climb up towards your nose bridge and eyelids. Mortification is an inadequate word for you now. Hotter than Grim’s or Idia’s flames, you swear your cheek could start expelling smoke in the dry autumn air. Instead the air whispers and theorizes: “Is it over? Who won? Did Jade poison them before the fight? Is that a forfeit? Do I still have a chance with the Prefect?” 

For the first time ever you do not care about retrieving your blade from battle. If you had to encounter those eyes, you could not direct the head on your shoulders to act civilized. Why did he have to be so – ugh!

With a huff, you start walking towards Ortho. Your eye must be drawn in a monstrous glare because the robot boy turns his head back and forth to avoid your gaze. You school your features as you get closer. When in front of him, you raise your dominant hand and say “Announce Jade as the winner. I sprained my wrist.” 

Ace and Deuce vocally make it known that they are confused and bewildered. You do not spare them a glance, watching as the yellow of Ortho’s eyes shift, little rectangles in the artificial irises shrinking and rotating. His gaze lasered down on your arm. “Prefect, your wrist is not –”

“Announce that Jade won.”

With a smile, you turn towards Ace, Deuce, and Grim. Somewhere that feels as far off as another country, Ortho’s hand changes back to the megaphone and announces “Jade Leech is the winner! As a result of injury!” That makes little difference to your overall mood. Your smile grows and you ask your friends, "Are you guys willing to walk poor, unfortunate me to the nurse?”

“S-Sure, Prefect.” Deuce agrees, catching on.

Sighing, Ace crosses his arms and remarks “ Always relying on the magic-able students, aren’t we, Prefect?” 

“Yeah,” you agree, knowing you saved them both four times over. “A magicless student like myself needs all the help she/he can get. Come on, Grim. My wrist is injured, but my shoulder’s completely fine.” You crouch and Grim reclaims his usual spot.

“(Name),” he whines in your ear “, you better not skimp on feeding the Great Grim because of your new boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend. And it’s just one measly date; you three will always be more important.”

“You got a good head on you, Henchman!”

“Damn right.”

“Still, Jade Leech? Do you want bodyguards for this date,” Deuce asks you as you all start walking. 

Another tiny smile crawls on your face. Now that you are a safe distance away, you think you can finally look back. The crowd is peeling away in sections. Some students are cheering. Others are forlorn. The most miserable of them seemed to be gathered near Azul Ashengrotto’s betting table, where the octo-mer is counting his thaumarks. In the center are your claymore (which you are slowly itching to retrieve) and Jade Leech and his twin brother. You chuckle watching as Floyd goes through the motions of shaking his brother excitedly by the shoulder, throwing his own arms up in the air, whooping and hollering, and taking Jade’s limp arm to raise to the sky. 

At this distance, Jade’s eyes are blurred upon his face and safe to look at. He is staring straight at you. Hm, he does have some appeal, you muse. Raising your ‘injured’ wrist, you wave to him. “No, that won’t be necessary. I would’ve mopped the floor with him.”

“Huh? But you lost?”

“Huh? Did I say something,” you respond to Grim, faking a sheepish look. You return your arm to your side. “Ow, my wrist really hurts, guys. Ow ow ow~”

──────────────────

The worst part of it all was the wrist splint. That black, velcro monstrosity wrapped on your lower arm seriously took a nasty chip off your pride as a student of Silver Vanrouge. You bowed so low to him that your forehead hit your knee. However, that was not even the cherry on top. You had to cry out in pain every time Ace or Deuce took your ‘injured’ arm and pinned it behind your back instead of fighting back like you wanted. Though Riddle did collar them, the day the nurse ‘cleared’ you, you made it known that that would never happen again. Ace did actually have to borrow your wrist splint after.

You did get your sword back. You swear on the Seven, you were having withdrawals from the first night away from it. Tossing and turning enough to cause Grim to bite your ankle. Jade was gracious enough to return it two days after the fight, just as you were zippering up your coat to meet up with Tsuntaro. He even polished it for you!

You exchanged your thanks and then stood for too long at your threshold, waiting for him to leave. You were unsure if you could really look him in the eye. When he knocked and you received him, you busied yourself with looking at your sword. 

“You know, I could provide a spell that might be of use to you for your weapon. Free of charge. I know that it already has –”

“Jade.”

“Yes?”

“I really don’t want our date to be at Mostro Lounge. There’s an ax throwing place on the island. We can take a bus route to get there.” You finally look up.

Wrathful eyes are not what makes you swoon. To you, there is little appeal being crushed by pulsing anger. Jade’s eyes are completely antonymous and devoid of that fiery emotion, but they still burn you because, because — Well, he is looking at you as if you yourself hung stars in the sky and whittled the mountains’ edges by your hand. He is looking at you with such warm affection. And you, emotionally constipated you, are smitten with that warm expression. 

Ears tinted pink, Jade  says “, Yes, arrangements can be made for that. This weekend?”

“This weekend.”

When the cloud of jade green fireflies arrive by your gate, you actively have to ignore the way Jade bristles and glares. You learn that day that a hand placed upon his lower back calms him down perfectly fine. A trick you will use later. And use it later you did~

It had been about two months since your first date. The winter break came and went. You defeated Jamil Viper, suffered a few snake bites but nothing tremendous. Then at Kalim’s party, you had to defeat Jade’s seven evil attempts at getting a kiss from you. Both successful, as expected of Night Raven’s Prefect. Another success of yours? Defeating the newest game Idia gifted you as an apology with an S rank, which you were journeying to Mostro Lounge to tell a certain someone about. 

“Hey, you can’t just cut the line!”

Well, that might not be good. Steadily, you place your hand over the auburn pommel of your sword. Eyes narrowed and piercing to find the line-cutter, you turn. And for some reason, the host panics. “A-Ah! It’s just you, Prefect. Go ahead. Sorry!”

Hm, did the matter resolve itself? Well, you hope the host finds the line cutter eventually as you venture deeper into Mostro Lounge. You scan briefly over the tables and aquarium lighting. Persistent cobalt shadows are quite enchanting to you now. Gratefulness pushes your lips up a small amount when you locate Jade Leech among the swimming blue. 

“Jade!”

The vice-housewarden’s head almost comes off his neck at the speed he looks towards you. That familiar, once tortuous look returns to his eyes. “(Name), what a pleasant surprise.”

“Jade, put down your tray.”

“Hm? Whatever for?”

Well, at least you gave him a semblance of a warning. Advancing on him the whole time, you reach chilled hands to the back of his neck. His pulse is relaxed; you think it’s a shame because you love hearing its rapid speed. One hand cups his cervical and he reasonably tenses because last time you did this, you spun him into a headlock. But that’s not the agenda and he can start to piece it together as you push his head down to meet lip to lip. Ah. That beautiful pulse is back. 

His lips are well kept, soft and thin. This close you can smell the sweat of a hard day on him. You tilt your head to the left to deepen your first kiss. It is no question to invite tongue into the kiss, though it certainly catches Jade by surprise. 

You can tell Jade is upset that he had not put down his tray because the dishes upon it are rattling. And his one free hand is tightly holding onto your waist like a snapping turtle locked onto a finger. You push up harder into the kiss and almost start laughing when his reaction is a muffled groan. “Ag - Agh,” his throat hums at you. 

During this rather inappropriate display, your hands have been focusing on running through his hair or gliding over the skin of his neck. Boldly, you inch one hand down his arm and wrap it around to hold the middle of his back. AH! His pulse is exploding now. This time you actually do need to pull away to laugh a bit. 

Your laughter gradually stops as you hear Azul Ashengrotto emerge from the kitchen, chastising both of you for your display. In your ear, Jade asks “Do I get to know what I did to be rewarded with such a pleasant surprise?”

And in the face of teeth that could tear your throat out, you hum “I just ranked S on my new game.”

“In my lounge of all places! You two are so indecent. You have dorm rooms; Perfect, you have an entire house to yourself. You couldn’t have possibly waited; you just had to come in during rush hour on a weekend!”

Jade smiles despite being clueless of what you mean. “Well aren’t I one lucky eel~” And he means it, the efforts and mistakes made to get to this moment … Jade’s smile grows as he watches you and Azul bicker. All that effort was worth this.

[monsoon-of-art]

Donut Hole - Chapter 21

Everything Goes On

When you meet me in the daylight, like we did before Then I felt you on my shoulder, and you weren't suffering anymore You said: "I'm sorry that you worry, but don't apologize" I told you to forget me, but you stayed by my side, when I said- - Everything Goes On, Porter Robinson

[it's...over?] [ao3 link]

Dawn tugged at the edges of her scarf. The commander sat at his desk, Cyllene by his side, and the Clan Leaders stood besides her. The air was tense, terribly so. It did not help that neither Irida nor Adaman could seem to look her in the eyes.

There was no talking. There was no sound, period.

Finally, Kamado cleared his throat, and addressed Cyllene without looking away from Dawn and the leaders. “Cyllene. If you’d please.”

“This list has been compiled from eye-witnesses.” she began. “From both clan members, Wardens, and Leaders.”

To her left, Irida shifted nervously. Adaman crossed his arms over his chest.

Cyllene continued. “Assault. Theft. Destruction of property. Assault.”

Dawn’s blood turned to ice, and the weight of this meeting finally settled on her like a rock.

Barry, evidently, had been very, very busy.

He had said something earlier, about being ‘stupid’, but Dawn couldn’t ask about it before Cyllene came to visit.

It was probably a good thing, in hindsight, that Barry fainted almost immediately after. If he really thought this was a universe where Cyrus won, that interaction could’ve gone much worse.

“-Causing a landslide and destroying half of the Diamond Clan Settlement. Burning down half of the Pearl Clan Settlement. More Assault. Deliberately attacking the Noble Pokemon.”

Dawn was starting to feel lightheaded.

This had to be a mistake. Barry couldn’t do all that, Barry wouldn’t do that! He was so thin and tired and weak in the medical wing, he was a danger to himself more than anyone!

“Another assault, this time using a pokemon. Attacking a Noble Pokemon. Assault. Assault. Attacking a Noble Pokemon. Attacking a Noble Pokemon.”

How was there so much?

Kamado raised his hand. “I believe that’s enough.” He leaned a bit closer over his desk. “Dawn. If I recall correctly, this is your friend? ”

She tried swallowing the lump in her throat.

“Care to give us an explanation?”

Dawn briefly thought about lying. Thought about lying her little heart out. She had been barely accepted by Jubilife as an outsider, but Barry would have to fight uphill with a list a mile long like that.

He'd get kicked out. Thrown to the luxrays to be devoured and torn to shreds. He could even reflect badly on her , and she'd be tossed out after him-

No. No more lying. She had done enough of that, lying about her memory.

Dawn took a deep breath. “I've been doing a lot of…thinking, since Barry arrived. About him, about me - about my life before here. It's still so fuzzy, but he's helped me fill in some of the gaps.”

“There was a group of… Bad People. They were Bad People who did Bad Things. They stole things, attacked others, they planted explosives in the local lake...They wanted to destroy my home, they wanted to destroy everything. They wanted the world to be reduced to ash and darkness and nothingness. ”

She tried not to look at anyone directly, but she almost swore she saw Kamado’s face soften.

“Barry and I tried to fight back, tried to drive them away. We barely made it out with our lives. I think…” she hesitated. “Barry thought that the clans were the Bad People. He thought you took me away, he thought I was in danger. His memory is faulty, just like mine, and he’s terribly sick. I’m sure he didn’t mean it! He was just worried about me!”

Irida put a hand to her face, and Adaman uncomfortably shifted from one foot to the other. Kamado leaned back in his chair with a thoughtful hum. “...hm. I see.”

He addressed the leaders now. “And you two. What do you wish to do with the boy?”

Dawn tried to subtly glance at the leaders to see their faces. They looked just as anxious as she felt.

“Well, we…we still think-” Irida stuttered and stammered.

“The boy needs to be punished.” Adaman finished for her, speaking in a rush, as if he just wanted the words out of his mouth as fast as he could.

Dawn felt her heart stop and tears well in her eyes. They were going to exile him, or maybe they were going to do something worse. Was this the time period where they stoned people to death? They were going to kill him, either directly or indirectly.

How could they say that? How could they think that after telling them why?

Kamado nodded and looked at Cyllene. “And what do you think of all this?”

Cyllene looked at the leaders. Cyllene looked at Dawn.

“...you want my honest opinion, Commander?”

“Your honesty is all I ever ask for.”

There was a long period of silence as Cyllene thought of an answer.

“I believe the boy should contribute to the Survey Corps.”

“WHAT?!”

The leaders and Dawn were on the same confused page, it seems.

“I believe we need a bit more from you, Cyllene.” Kamado said, sounding a tad confused as well.

Cyllene straightened at Kamado’s comment. “The boy was brought in with a bag containing five Pokeballs. Each ball contained a pokemon he had caught, raised, and trained with no guidance or assistance from us. A single person training any pokemon is a feat. A young boy training five pokemon is astounding.”

She turned to Kamado. “The fact that he could use Pokeballs with no training, and the fact that he was able to survive Hisui alone, shows his resourcefulness, strength, and his adaptability.”

Cyllene turned back to the Clan Leaders, who were still clearly surprised by her thoughts on the matter. “Here, not only will he work for his room and board, but he will work to repay his crimes…perhaps by assisting you?”

Adaman and Irida were stunned into complete silence, looking at one another to try and force words to appear.

“I find this solution to be agreeable.” Kamado interrupted. “That way, we can keep a close eye on him, to make sure he doesn't cause any more trouble. You two can't seem to come up with a reason as to why we should not …so I am going to assume this is the best option going forward. Dismissed.”

Having lost their opportunity to object, Irida and Adaman slowly left the commander's chamber. Dawn waited for them to leave, not wanting to talk to them at the moment.

Before she could leave, Kamado cleared his throat to get her attention. “I'm serious, Dawn. We'll be watching your friend very carefully. Just as I have told you, if he wishes to be accepted and trusted, he will need to work hard. And he hasn't started on the best foot forward.”

Dawn nodded, almost bowing, before quickly darting out of the room.

While she did not want to see Adaman and Irida, she did linger a moment to try and catch Cyllene. 

It took Dawn a great deal of effort not to tackle the captain in a big hug. She hoped a warm smile would have the same effect. “Thank you, Captain Cyllene.”

Cyllene kept her stoic composure. “I have no idea what you're implying. You and I both know that Laventon requires all the help we can afford to give him. Speaking of, I believe you have duties to attend to. You need at least a Four Star Ranking before you can take on the Highlands.”

It appears as though Irida and Adaman shared Dawn’s plan, for they too had lingered down the stairs, waiting for her. She bristled at the two upon seeing them.

Some part of Dawn knew, deep down, that being the leader of a Clan of people must be hard. And some part of her knew that Barry - supposedly - did a lot of stupid things out in Hisui.

But the larger, louder part of her was mad at them. They wanted to punish her friend! How dare they! He didn’t know any better! He probably didn’t mean it! She knew he didn’t!

Both of them started talking - quietly, sheepishly - but Dawn didn’t stick around. She brushed past them without a word, making a point to not look at them with a huff. A little childish, maybe, but she wanted to get the point across.

Adaman and Irida didn’t go after her. 

Instead, Irida turned to Cyllene. “Be honest, why did you suggest taking Barry in? It seems…extremely charitable, even for the Galaxy team…”

“Yeah, that kid may be Dawn’s friend, but you read what he’s done. He could still be a threat. Are you certain that’s a good idea?”

“I went to visit him. It was a surprise visit, and in hindsight, I should’ve given him warning.” Cyllene said slowly, making her way back to her office. “In the brief moments of consciousness the boy had, I studied him. And do you know what I saw?”

She stopped in front of the doors to her office. “I looked into his eyes, and all I saw was complete and utter terror.”

---

“Dawnie, give me the other mochi.”

“No, Barry, Miss Pesselle says you’re eating too fast. You need to eat slower, she says your tummy is all shriveled up like a dried leppa berry.”

He tried not to pout so much. But he had been eating berries for…who knows how long, and this potato mochi tasted like Heaven in comparison. “Tell me more about the Survey Corps.” said Barry, trying to change the subject.

“The Pokedex doesn’t exist yet.” she began explaining again. “People and Pokemon relationships are still a little rocky.”

“So…we’re just filling out the Pokedex. Didn’t Rowan ask you that too? Give me a mochi. Please?”

Dawn relented, placing a mochi onto his plate. As soon as it touched the plate, he scarfed it down as fast as he could.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s different than that. We’re not just catching pokemon, we’re studying them. Catching different specimens to get an accurate weight distribution, observing them in the wild, seeing that foods they like-”

“That sounds really boring.” he said through a mouthful.

“Well, it can be, sometimes. Some of the tasks Laventon wants us to do are…boring. But it can be dangerous! It can be really dangerous! Pokemon-”

“Will attack you?” Barry finished the sentence for her. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve experienced that first-hand. And there’s these really really big ones-”

“Those are Alpha Pokemon. Also very dangerous.” She set down her plate and raised up her sleeve to show a long, pink scar running up her arm.

“Whoa! How’d that happen?! Who did that?! I’ll fine them in to the next century!”

“Alpha Parasect got me as I was trying to run. But then-but then you see momma and poppa pokemon caring for their babies- or or a tiny baby spheal rolling up to you-”

“And why am I doing this?”

“Because.” She set another mochi on his plate, which was quickly and ravenously devoured. “In order to live in Jubilife village, you work. You need to earn your keep. Secondly, you have a rap sheet a mile long-”

“I plead the fifth.”

“That only works in Unova.”

“It was self defense!”

“I know! But they’re still mad. So you’re kind of working off your crimes, too.”

“I demand a lawyer.”

“Barry, please. Take this a little seriously.” she sniffled, wiping at her eyes to try and preemptively stop the tears. “I thought they were gonna kick you out. I thought they were gonna kill you. S-Stone you to death.”

His eyes went wide. “They stone people to death here??”

“Maybe…I dunno…I was really scared.”

Barry slid over on his bed to make room. “Come here, come here.” he said, patting the space beside him. Dawn put the plate of mochi on the bedside table and sat down next to him, pulling him into a squeezing hug.

“I’ll join the Survey Corps. I’ll do what they ask me to do, I’ll do it! No more worrying. Me and you, it’ll be like when we started our journey!” said Barry, squeezing back.

“Nothing bad’s gonna happen. I won’t let it.”

[And...Close Scene! That's it guys, that's a wrap for Donut Hole!...but I'm not done with Barry yet >:)]

[And now, a shameless plug for my besties fic: "When you reach the end of the line, you must be brave." By Pinkrhin0. "In which Emmet arrives somewhere new, makes a new friend, travels cross country, and, most importantly of all: Stays alive- No matter what." A fun take on a reunion fic where Emmet has a very bad time!! Yippee!!!]