#or those damn lotuses

[kradogsrats]

ghosts

don't follow me for ruuthari/moonfam content you will be disappoint

[randomciabatta724]

Some Polites headcanons because they're good for the soul.

Note: these are a mix of details from the musical I wanted to expand on, stuff I've read from other posts, and things I randomly came up with.

He was in the frontlines (or at least near them) during the Trojan war. Not because he wanted to fight, he just thought "if I have to join the battle, I'll at least shield those behind me". I took this from Survive, because he had to be pretty close to Polyphemus to be the first one hit by the club.

Self sacrificial. Very self sacrificial. Would die for the crew, especially for Odysseus and Eurylochus.

Loves dates. Either on their own or with honey. I don't know why, he just gives me the vibe.

Had night terrors both during and after the war. Either nightmares about the people he killed (let's face it, you don't come out of a 10 year war without getting blood on your hands) or his friends dying in battle. Never explicitly told anyone, but he would stay with his friends a little longer the morning after. Also picked a lot more night watch turns as a result, just to get his mind off of things.

Bruises/gets injured extremely easily, and doesn't notice/care. Especially if someone else is hurt too. "Are you alright?" asks Polites to another soldier while coughing up blood.

Also very durable, somehow. That's why Polyphemus had to hit him twice/j.

Myopic king. The glasses are a gift from Athena, because she was like "I think you're a soft-hearted fool, but I'll be damned if you embarrass my Warrior of the Mind because you can't see beyond the bridge of your nose".

The type of person to keep eating horrible/possibly poisoned food just to not offend the person who prepared it. Odysseus had to smack the lotus out of his hand because he would have still taken a bite to not make the lotus eaters upset (he brought some with him anyway, that's where Odysseus got the lotuses to put in the wine).

Many have already said this, he's the therapist friend before therapy was invented.

Gives the best hugs.

Taller than Odysseus but shorter than Eurylochus (Odysseus reaches Polites' chest, Polites reaches Eurylochus' nose).

Apologises when he bumps into furniture. It's a reflex, he doesn't notice he does it. It's a remnant of his pre-glasses days, when he couldn't distinguish a person from a vase.

The ancient Greek equivalent of a Godfather to Telemachus.

Extremely trusting, sometimes a little too much (fun fact: in the Odyssey he's like the first one to enter Circe's palace).

Very forgiving. He gives second, third, even fourth chances like it's nothing, no matter how badly someone hurts him. You have to be pretty forgiving to still think about greeting the world with open arms after being clubbed to death. (Note: this does not apply to his friends getting hurt).

When he takes off his bandana, his curls reach his shoulders and cover his left eye, and it gives him a whole different vibe. He still radiates warmth, but it's not the same. Kinda like the sun at noon and the sun at dusk. The second is still warm and welcoming, but dimmer, softer, maybe a little darker. People have mistaken him for someone else because of this.

Super heavy sleeper. One time when they were younger, Odysseus and Eurylochus decided to try and wake him up by making the most noise possible. They did not succeed.

His first kiss was Eurylochus while Odysseus was away in Sparta to court Penelope.

One time, someone tried to rob him. The guy was like "Give me your money!" and Polites was like "Oh dear, look at you, of course I'll give you my money, you look like you really need it. Also, why don't you come to my house so I can give you some food and clean clothes?". The thief was so ashamed of himself he ran away.

He befriended Charon in the Underworld.

You know the plague that Apollo sent during the Iliad? He may or may not have gotten it, I haven't decided yet.

Considering that in epic the sirens have the ability to shapeshift into loved ones, there was definitely a siren Polites somewhere during Suffering/Different Beast.

He's generally a very calm person, the only thing that really gets him angry is when his friends get hurt. And when he's angry, he's not someone to mess with. He can and will kick ass. And the thing that rubs salt in the wound is that if you get beat up by Polites, it's almost certainly your fault, because Polites isn't the kind of person that goes around randomly beating people up. And very few people wish to carry the title "The person who got beat up by Polites".

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

The last headcanon is something I've also based a scenario on. Basically, after Odysseus kills the suitors, they go to the Underworld. Most of them are still shaken up by the whole thing, which is understandable, getting shot by an enemy you can't see while unarmed in the dark is not fun, but not Antinous. Antinous is pissed. And so he rallies up the other suitors, he gives a whole speech where he basically says they can get revenge on Odysseus once he joins them there and also reveals all the shit they did while he was gone. And Polites is like, talking to Eurylochus or something, when he overhears. And so he goes to give Antinous the beating of his life because you do **not** disrespect his best friend and his family like that. And the suitors+Eurylochus are watching from a corner, with the suitors getting even more scared.

That's it. Nothing more :)

I know Eurylochus is married to Ctimene but I SHIP HIM AND POLITES SO BAD AAAAAAAAHHHHHH

[py-dreamer]

Ok so I might've gone over time again a lil bit BUT I STILL MADE IT!!!

"Why is it Nezha? First Mk, then Mei, why Nezha? Shouldn't it be Pigsy or Tang or Red Son? Why are you robbing the less popular characters their spotli-"

SHUSH!!!!

Ok so a reason I made Nezha next, is cause I have an upcoming project due soon and I require our 3rd lotus princey over here to come help me.

Look it's an art thingy and the theme is 'Legacy of the gods' and I did chinese mythology not LMK. As such I couldn't pick an lmk exclusive character like Mk or Mei. Furthermore, since it was about the 'gods' specifically, I'm more focused on the deities and less demons the like.

Also a lot of my project has featured so much JTTW, and I'm sure it definitely will in future...So to break up from that and for a bit of variety, I've added in our lotus friend.

(I mean, I suppose I could've done Chang'e but I just decided Nezha had more myths so he was my best bet)

And I couldn't do Wukong. Cause I'm already doing another piece with him, I made two stickers of him already. They will know I have favorites. And I do, I know I do but damn it if I don't wanna show it so obviously!!!

Actually, originally I had like a list of who I wanted to do and it was mostly like main cast of lmk with some fan favorites/my favs here and there and Nezha was towards the bottom but I moved him up due to the reasons above. And I was going to do Pigsy and Tang today but that's not how things turned out, I'll still do them just everyone's gonna have to be moved up in the list now.

Don't ask me what kinda cake it is, if I had to guess some kinda cheesecake with like a thin layer of jelly on top. The pink/red contributes to his main color scheme and the blue jelly makes it look like a pond and all the decorations and lotuses on top look like they're floating in water.

And I suppose it's different from Mk and Mei's cause like the KNY arts have different cakes sometimes why not do the same for these guys? And Nezha is a prince, and the patron god of children! I think he deserves something nice. (I used Giyu's cake for reference)

The filling is strawberries again, hopefully better drawn this time and actually sakura petals instead of lotus ones. I don't know why I used sakura petals, the color is more like lotuses but the shape is inspired after sakura so maybe it's a hybrid.

I do enjoy that it is more detailed than the previous two (especially since I'm using it for a project-)

I actually had a lot of trouble thinking of the sugar cookies cause there's not much associated with Nezha other than his lotus theme and his weaponry. Like at least Mei had her sword and her dragon insignia in different styles! I didn't wanna just do lotuses for like 3 times so I did his universal ring and that golden brick from that one episode. And yes, that brick is an actual thing in the mythos, it's not just a quick visual gag.

I did copy paste the frosting swirls and shells from Mei, don't @ me pls they just looked cool, I needed something to jush up the cake and COME ON THEY LOOK COOL HOW COULD I NOT

No I did not change the color but the minty green broke up all the pink and gold nicely, I think...

I did add the lotus flower and that green thing that triggers ur tripophobia is a lotus fruit. So for those who don't know, lotuses are edible! Not water lilies though. There's a difference. And lotuses can be made into lotus jam and it's delicious! I do recommend trying a lotus jam bao at least once.

Now I know Nezha is a chinese deity and mochi/dango is japannese but Idk what other desert to use and I didn't feel tanghulu fit the vibe...

But yea, those are his flaming fire wheels he skates on, that's why they're on fire, no it's not the rings of the samadhi fire. (I'll be saving that for RS) though now, I do wish I'd just done the outline in a darker shade to make it look like it was an actual image grilled into the mochi rather than a sticker slapped on.

The sneks! Omg! I almost forgot about them! But yea, those are the golden serpent shears we saw in that one episode. They are a bit last minute but I think they turned out decently well. Lil bleps.

Then we have the fire tipped spear and yes, that is Ao Bing. I'm sorry, I know I said I shipped them, and I still do (I see lmk nezha as both mentally and physically an adult don't try me) but damn that idea popped into my head and it was funny. He's fine...I think

(also funny to think Mei's is all dragon oriented and here's Nezha and Ao bing like bleep)

The reason the ribbon is so long is cause it's the goddamn armillary sash that Nezha uses, and it's its own canon magic thing, why not let it be longer and yes I did add some white detail but I just thought it looked more finished and it's a celebration! Let him be festive!

I really like the pose like Nezha receiving a lil present. I think he's the kind of person to not expect presents but be pleasantly surprised at them.

And btw that balloon has lily pads, it's not a globe. I know they should be elevated for lotuses but I can't exactly make the leaves pop out.

So later today should be Tang and pigsy hopefully!

(Also I've noticed a trend in general lmk posts. Ships, duos, trios basically anything with a relationship of some kind always do better than just one character so if I had to guess this like my other birthday posts won't do that well)

Oh and @leesbian42, before I forget, happy almost birthday! If I remember correctly you're turning like 24 right?

[fictionfixations]

masquerade malleus vignette

(spoilers for glorious masquerade)

aww

i refuse to believe lilia is oblivious enough not to notice that they dont like his cooking

..although solomon (from obey me) doesnt notice either iirc, but i mean..

..sebek. in a vignette, you literally got his help in cleaning a stain from malleus' labcoat???

...i never thought id hear azul say those words.... what?????

i dont know how it didnt hit me until now but the only reason rollo's plan in glorious masquerade failed was because he was so insistent on having malleus there and taking away all his power and shit?? like. cause. none of us had enough magic to actually overpower the fire lotuses(? i cant remember what they were called), although yuu would be able to make it through with no magic how could we even fight rollo at the end??

and at the point it reaches malleus and he could do something about it, it'd be too late?? because i REALLY doubt he has enough to reach all of those flowers and with enough to completely fry them out. and i doubt the bell would reach it by then.

silver...

is azul even human?? im like pretty sure-ish he's not human. not even half human. just entirely sea creature with a human-like body to probably be treated more normally and not hunted for sport/food through evolution shit idfk (like. idk im pretty sure its a thing where pets look so much cuter to cause us to take them in and shit.)

anyway im just imagining sebek talking azul's ear off about how great malleus is because he finally has a buddy who understands and therefore would be willing to listen to him talk for hours straight about malleus's greatness. AND APPRECIATE IT. HAUIHDSUIhd and azuls just like ………………….. floyd and jade laughing at him from a distance azul sets sebek on them like 'i think those two should come to learn about malleus's brilliance, don't you think? after all, as my colleagues, it is such a shame that they don't share my admiration for malleus, and i am unsure how to put it into words, as malleus himself is so magnificent that even words fail to describe him properly. so sebek, my fellow appreciator, would you lend me your aid in helping them grow to appreciate his brilliance?' okay i ran out of words and started repeating them because ic ant be bothered to look up for synonyms, im not THAT into it okay

ahhh so it is a fleur city song i wasnt sure. ive read in fics that it was, but it was also those fics where songs either have power, or yuu knows a bunch of disney songs that are considered 'forbidden/forgotten songs' or something like that and i cant remember which it was

actually if they put in all that work beforehand i think i get why they were so insistent on waiting for rollo to either confess or not AFTER the social ball and after they left and everything LMFAO

they suddenly changed into their school uniforms (still in diasomnia)

i honestly wouldnt know if id trust lilia that much but sure (i hope it doesnt turn to perfectionism levels tho)

first time we encounter italicized text i think. huh.

lmfao

oh my god (no but why choose idia at that point?? is it cuz his voice meshes well with them??)

ayoo its playing the make a wish (i think thats what the song is called) instrumental in the bg ive heard it way too many times not to recognize it (and sung along. its so fucking cool)

damn

my hands are actually protesting now ah geez (i took a break)

I GOT SO DISTRACTED BY DEUCE (i was re-experiencing enjoying looking at everyones costumes again) I AM AN IDIOT (its lower in opacity to show you that you're on it in the editor)

ooh

i didnt notice the insert paragraph im sorry lMFAO but id forget if i didnt SS it then

ooh some malleus riddle bonding

AH ITS A YUU JUMPSCARE

that seriously startled me like suddenly i just hear footsteps and then BOOM OPTIONS

ayooo malleus and yuu dancing

(alsoo yuu and deuce dancing :D)

WOOO

okay. now.

i feel like. im doing really good progress tackling all the vignettes (currently in EN. after that's GloMas, & Book 6 and 7. ive been avoiding it because not all of the Backgrounds exist, and GloMas has options with completely different dialogue which I can't see them all. i have three different videos of GloMas gameplay but they dont show all options...). all thats remaining is azul's tsumsitter (i have a vid of his vignette. ..i just dont like doing the tsum ones because i never know how to describe the tsum moving) vil birthday bloom (i FOUND A VIDEO finally oh my god. i love doing birthday vignettes) malleus dorm uniform (I have a vid) sebek new year (i have a vid) grim labcoat (i have a vid)

and then the rabbit costume ones which all of them have vignettes iirc and i have videos for all of them (i actually just found them as i was writing this. thank you god. they have no views tho geez. wonder if that means vil birthday bloom exists in a video but just wont appear. this is future me. ...i have been blessed with vil birthday bloom.)

[lovedbydottore]

Our Oath Under The Stars - Zandik

tw/cw: almost none lmao ig it's just fluff, also this is like....akademiya dottore so he's still "Zandik" goofy voice man here or smth anyways have fun ig, gn!reader hairful reader 😱😱 /j, friends 2 lovers trope my love ❤️ been obsessed with stars lately so I wrote this don't mind the fact that it's kinda idk sloppy

"Archons, why does this brat need me at this hour of the night?" You grumbled, as you hiked up the mountain in a gingerly manner. Just a few hours ago you had received a letter from a certain person who you had known for quite some time, Zandik. Zandik has always been the type to push away almost anyone who would interact with him, except if it's needed for a task to be done. You were one of the only people who could stomach his childish complaints. And here you were, also stomaching your friend's request which required you to get out of bed in the middle of the night.

You sighed, looking around the mountain. The luminous flowers glowed under the moonlight, the grass waved and danced with the warm howling breeze of the night. It was silent, the crooning of a nearby lake lulled the gentle sway of the night. The moon who governed the night, peeked through the curtain of leaves as it glowed throughout the night sky, almost making the stars look invisible. Your hair danced with the gentle dance of the wind, almost as if it was leading you to the summit of the mountain.

You stopped by a lake, it's pristine waters reflecting the moonlit night, fireflies danced, glowing so brightly you could mistake them as the shining stars. You chuckled, dipping your fingers gently in the waters, feeling its sway and flow. The lotuses rippled from the light waves caused by the sudden impact of the connection of your hand and water. You smiled, parting your submerged fingers from the water and stood up, but then suddenly a voice rang from behind a veil of leaves.

"Damn imbecile, how long will it take for (Y/N) to get here?!" The voice exclaimed, a slight rasp to the tone. It was pitchy and funny sounding, enough to make you recognize who's voice this was. You laughed silently and parted the veil of leaves slowly, revealing yourself to the familiar voice, Zandik. "The "imbecile" is already here, cretin." You spoke monotonously, emphasizing that last word with a vague smirk creeping on your lips. He turned around hurriedly, his red eyes shooting towards you. His mint hair was ruffled, his eyebags were much more emphasized by the dim lighting, and that scarf..you gave him that scarf which flowed ever so lightly in the wind. He actually kept it? Your face felt warm from the thought that he actually kept that gift you gave him, it just felt quite out of character for him, almost unexpected to the point where it caught you off guard. And not just that, his beauty under the moonlight was envy worthy, you've heard whispers from women in the Akademiya that he was handsome, but you just shrugged it off and never noticed how right they were despite spending so much more time with Zandik than those women, were you that focused on your work?

"AHEM! You're staring (Y/N)." He scoffed, crossing his arms and snapping you back to reality. You instantly fixed your composure and chuckled awkwardly, avoiding his sharp gaze. He raised one of his eyebrows and stared you down, from head to toe. You felt a bead of sweat drop from your face, grumbling a few words before finally turning to Zandik. "So, why did you call me here?" You queried, your gaze focused at his eyes. You noticed his expression soften, becoming gentle. His eyes kept wandering elsewhere which made you slightly tilt your head in confusion. He sighed loudly, making you jump a little bit from the sudden loudness which didn't go well with the silent ambience.

"Come." He mumbled, gesturing you to follow him. He walked calmly as you tread right behind him, admiring the flowers as you pass by. The night fell silent, both your footsteps being the only sounds heard throughout the night. His hands brushed yours, you hummed looking at him who seemed to be avoiding your gaze. You wanted to talk yet you stayed silent. The silence was almost suffocating. He stopped in his tracks, he had led you to a clearing where you could see all of the night sky. The stars twinkled, the moon hung low in the dark skies. You could see the slumbering city just right below you. His silhouette illuminated in the moonlight, his back turned to you. He was fidgeting with his hands for a while until, finally he turned to you with a stoic impression.

His cheeks flushed a slight tint of pink before grumbling and walking close. "(Y/N).." he whispered, taking your hands and enclosing it with his cold ones. You gasped lightly, heat crawling up your face. He pressed his lips together, looking down at both of yours and his hands before reeling them close to him, pulling you along. "You..what have you done to me?" He silently spoke, his breathe tickling your ears. "You, you have captured me in your embrace, making me fragile, vulnerable. You weaken me (Y/N), you break me into tiny pieces. What have you done? What have you done to me..please, I beg you, tell me." His grip held you close, his hair hung, covering the moonlight from reaching his eyes. His tone was desperate, but you had no idea how to respond, what did you do to him exactly?

You could recall moments of him acting peculiar around your presence. Sometimes avoiding you, sometimes clinging onto you like a lost, helpless child. You do well in your studies you admit yet, you couldn't find an answer for his question, not even a single word came to your thought, not even a mutter of an answer was spoken, just pure silence of confusion and desperation. The question rang in your ears loudly like a mantra.

What have you done to me?

What have you done to me?

What have you done to me?

"Zandik, tell me, why ask someone who does not have a single idea nor answer for such queries?" You muttered, caressing his cold, rough hands before turning your gaze to him, even a passerby could confuse you two as lovers from such a stance.

Lovers, love, in love?

Was Zandik, in love with you? Your eyes slightly widened at the sudden opening. A sensation of butterflies swarmed your stomach, so much that it almost felt sickly. You muttered something incoherent, something even you couldn't understand. He stood there silent, awaiting for an answer despite what you said just a few moments ago, desperation was truly powerful.

"Zandik, are you in love with me?"

He raised his eyebrows, his grip tightened on yours. Love? Did he love you? Even a scholar such as him couldn't understand. How come he had never thought of such a phenomenon? Had he been too naive, short on knowledge or had he been blinded? The signs were so clear yet he never considered them, it all felt so far and vague yet it was all so close and clear. He was in love with you, (Y/N). So, so in love with you to the point where it blinded him from seeing it. His mouth slightly hung open, staring onto your features.

"I do, yes I do love you. Words such a these can never express how much I love you (Y/N)." He blurted, leaning close to you, his forehead bumping into yours softly. "Do you love me? Do you truly love me too (Y/N)?" He asked, looking deeply into your eyes which could rival the beauty of the night sky. "I.." you softened your gaze. "Yes!" You smiled pulling your hands from his grip and wrapping it around his neck, pulling him down almost making the both of you fall onto the grass. His hands crept to rest on your waist, pulling you close.

"Can I kiss yo-" before he could finish it, you connected your lips with his, connecting like puzzle pieces. He swiftly placed a hand behind your neck and pulled you closer, deepening the kiss. He sighed in satisfaction and smiled, leaning into you, tilting your head slightly to get a better angle. You chuckled and pulled him into your warmth, breathing heavily. After at least a minute, you pulled away for air. He frowned slightly as you both catched your breathe. "It would've been quite romantic to die of suffocation from your kiss." He laughed throughout each inhale and exhale. You grinned widely, chasing your breathe before fixing your posture and looking at him with sheer admiration. You smiled, caressing his cheek with your hand and placing a little kiss on his nose. "May we never forsaken eachother.." you whispered, leaning onto his chest, listening to the whispers of his heartbeat. He smiled placing a hand on your head and ruffling your hair slowly.

"Our oath under the stars"

[mxliv-oftheendless]

No Peace for Us, Only Misery: Chapter 1 (Chirisu)

CW: vomiting, blood, Hanahaki disease

So since Ao3 is down for the foreseeable future, I’m gonna start posting my Alice in Borderland fics on here! This is a Chirisu Hanahaki fic that I posted on Ao3 in May, and I will begin to post the current fic I’m working on when I get home from work. But for now, enjoy chapter one!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Come ooon, spill! Everyone has to say their favorite flower!”

Usagi laughed at Kuina. “Why? Is it that important to know?”

Arisu leaned over to her and whispered loudly, “It’s so she can send us bouquets of our favorite flowers.”

“Ah!” Kuina lunged forward to swipe at his head, but Arisu just dodged it with a laugh. “Shut up! I just wanna know!” She huffed and took a gulp of her drink. “I can go first if you like, cowards. I like gladiolus flowers.”

“What do those look like?” Arisu asked interestedly. Kuina pulled out her phone and pulled up an image of them to show him. “Wow, they’re pretty.”

“I know, right?”

Usagi leaned in and read the text below the image of the flowers. “Says here they symbolize integrity and strength.” She grinned at Kuina. “Like you!”

Kuina smirked smugly. “Damn straight. Alright, I went. One of you has to go now.”

“I’ll go,” Usagi said with a shrug. “I guess I’ve always liked lotuses. I think it’s interesting how they can bloom in dirty water where other flowers can’t. It’s kind of beautiful, really.”

Kuina nodded. “That’s a good one.” 

She turned to give Arisu a fierce look, making him laugh and hold up his hands in surrender. “I’ll say it, I’ll say it, just don’t hurt me!”

“I won’t if you tell me,” Kuina said with a wide grin. 

“Okay, okay. I always thought…” Arisu flushed and scratched the back of his neck. “Um…”

“Tell us or I’ll whoop your ass,” Kuina demanded. 

“Okay!” Arisu laughed, keeping his hands raised. “Jeez. I always liked daffodils, I guess.”

“Any reason why?”

“Not really. I just always thought they looked nice.” Arisu grinned at her. “Can I put my hands down now?”

Kuina laughed and lightly hit his shoulder. “You can put them down, you dork.” Then she turned to Chishiya, who had up to now been sitting and watching quietly. “Alright, Chishiya, you’re next. Tell us your favorite flower.”

Chishiya gave her a bemused look. “You’re very obsessed with flowers today, aren’t you?” He looked at Arisu and Usagi. “I bet this is just a roundabout way to get inspiration for flowers to give to Ann.”

“Awww!” Usagi cooed, while Arisu slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter. “That’s adorable!”

“I—shut the fuck up, it is not!” Kuina pointed at Chishiya with her beer can. “Answer the damn question, coward!”

“Fine. I don’t have a favorite flower. I don’t like flowers.”

“Buuuuuullshit. Everyone likes flowers.”

“Not me.” Seeing the pictures in his medical textbooks of what Hanahaki disease did to the internal organs tended to turn one off of flowers. 

“You’re not getting out of this, man.” Kuina shook her beer can at him with emphasis. “Gun to your head, name your favorite flower or you die. What do you say?”

Chishiya smirked bemusedly. “In what scenario would it be so vital for my would-be killer to know my favorite flower?”

“ANSWER THE QUESTION, SHUNTARO!”

“Kuina,” Arisu said through his laughter as he reached out to grab her arm. “He’s just messing around. Don’t hit him.”

Kuina scoffed. “I’m not gonna, you sweet angel. I’m too drunk for that.”

Arisu laughed and shook his head, then turned to Chishiya. “What is your favorite flower, Chishiya? I’m curious now.”

“Me too!” Usagi agreed. 

Chishiya sighed. “I don’t know… I suppose if I absolutely had to name one, I would say roses.”

“Roses?” Kuina scoffed from where she was now slumped against Arisu’s shoulder. “That’s such a basic fucking bitch answer.”

Chishiya squinted at her. “There is a certain gesture I’d like to give you, but I won’t lower myself to that level.”

“Any type of roses in particular?” Usagi asked. “Like yellow, or pink, or…?”

“I guess white roses. I like the color white, after all.” He gave Kuina a snarky look. “Is that still a, quote, ‘basic fucking bitch answer’?”

“Nah,” Kuina said as she pushed herself up off Arisu’s shoulder. “At least you didn’t say red roses. That would’ve really pissed me off.”

“Ah. I’d like to change my answer then—”

“You better fucking not, you frosty son of a bitch!”

Chishiya dodged her arm as it swung out to hit him. In the process, the force behind the dodge sent him slipping off the couch to the floor. Arisu and Usagi just laughed loudly at him, making him raise his head to give them a stink eye. “You’re laughing. I have been embarrassed by gravity and you’re laughing.”

“Cheers to gravity!” Kuina raised her beer can. “You always know how to humble people when they need it!”

Chishiya turned his stink eye to her. “You live for my humiliation.”

Kuina just grinned at him around her beer can. “You love me.”

“Doubtful.”

“He says unconvincingly.”

“Awww, you love us, Chishiya!” Arisu teased. “Don’t deny it!”

Chishiya looked over at him, and he couldn’t for the life of him help the way he softened at the grin on the other boy’s face. “I will neither confirm nor deny.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was getting worse. 

Chishiya stared, almost dazedly, down at what he’d just heaved into the sink. Blood smeared the white porcelain around the clumps of flower petals. He’d coughed up more blood this time, the coldly medical part of him noted. He’d be vomiting soon. 

He’d read his medical textbooks, and seen glimpses of patients in the hospital; he knew the symptoms of Hanahaki disease. It began with a simple itching in the throat, as the flowers began to grow in the lungs. Then just dry coughs, as the lungs began to try rejecting what shouldn’t be growing there. Then coughing up a petal or two, then more. Then eventually, the petals began to be stained with blood. Then the victim began vomiting up blood and flower petals, their body growing weaker against the invasive plants overtaking the lungs and heart. And it would get worse and worse, until finally… 

Chishiya’s stomach rolled and he felt like vomiting, though thankfully it was just normal, everyday vomit. But the Hanahaki-related vomiting would start soon, he knew that. 

He didn’t mean for this to happen. Of all the people to get Hanahaki disease, he never thought he’d ever be one of them. He didn't mean to. He didn’t mean to fall in love with—

A knock at the bathroom door. “Chishiya? Are you okay in there?”

Chishiya hurriedly turned on the faucet and drank some of the water to clear his throat. “Y-Yes,” he called, hoping his voice didn’t sound rough from all the coughing. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You’ve been in there for a long time.”

Chishiya had to close his eyes tight when the sweetly concerned voice made him feel like coughing again. “I’m fine, Arisu. Just give me a minute.”

There was a pause, then Arisu said, “Okay. We paused the movie so you won’t miss anything.”

He waited for the footsteps to fade away, then ran to grab a fistful of toilet paper and pressed it to his mouth. Thankfully, this round of coughing wasn’t as bad as the first, probably because he’d coughed up all the petals for now. But the feeling like his chest was being internally torn to shreds still remained. 

He eyed the inside of the sink, watching as the cheerful yellow daffodil petals disappeared down the drain. He never meant for this to happen—really, he didn’t. He usually had more self-control than this. 

But he just couldn’t help it. How could he not have fallen for Arisu? How could he look at Arisu, endearingly awkward, with his mop of hair that fell over his big expressive eyes, his bright smile, and his heart that cared so much—how could he be around all of that and not fall in love? 

When Chishiya was sure the coughing had stopped, he threw the bloodied toilet paper in the trash and grabbed a few tissues to wipe his mouth. With any luck, people (Arisu, in particular) would just think he had a bad nosebleed. He tried not to look at the daffodil petals as he forced them to slide down the drain out of sight. 

There had been the briefest moment just now, where he considered telling him. He always considered it, just momentarily, whenever he was coughing up the blood and flower petals. It was considered, for just a moment, to ask Arisu to come into the bathroom or text him or call him and tell him he was in love. Then maybe he’d be cured, and never cough up another daffodil petal again. 

But no, he knew he wouldn’t be cured—because of course, these things were rarely so simple. The disease was cured by the confession only if the object of the victim’s unrequited love returned their feelings. And he knew that wouldn’t happen. This wasn’t some fantastic romance like the stories Kuina loved so much—this was real life. There was no mutual pining, no mutual unrequited feelings. Arisu wouldn’t return his feelings; Chishiya knew he wouldn’t. He already didn’t understand how Arisu could consider him a friend, when Chishiya was so coldly logical and apathetic and heartless, the very opposite of his kind soul. 

Chishiya took another drink of the water, swishing it around in his mouth and spitting it out to get rid of the taste of blood still there. Then he placed his hands on the sink and gripped it tightly, closing his eyes to try and fight back the emotion coursing through him. He sucked in a deep breath, blew it out, then repeated, until everything inside him finally settled down. He opened his eyes and looked at himself in the mirror. He wouldn’t say a word. 

When Chishiya rejoined the others in the living room, he immediately went to sit down on the couch next to Usagi. Arisu and Kuina were lying on the floor, chattering about some anime he didn’t catch the name of. “There you are!” Usagi said with a smile. “We were wondering about you. You didn’t fall in, did you?”

Chishiya cracked a tiny smile at her teasing voice, trying to ignore how Arisu laughed at her question. “I did, actually,” he said sarcastically, trying to sound like he hadn’t just coughed up daffodil petals into the sink. “It led to a strange, Wonderland sort of world.” 

Kuina scoffed and kicked him with her foot. “Don’t be snarky, ‘Shiya. Can we restart the movie now?”

“If you like. I don’t see why you paused it in the first place.”

“Thank Arisu. He insisted.”

Fuck. Of course he did. 

“I didn’t want him to miss anything!” Arisu defended himself. “It’s a good movie!”

Kuina scoffed again, this time with a smile, and ruffled his hair despite the boy’s protests. “You and your sweet heart. Now unpause it already.”

As Arisu did as asked and the movie resumed, Chishiya realized his throat still hurt from all the coughing. He nudged Usagi. “You brought water, right?” he asked quietly. He vaguely remembered Usagi entering Kuina’s apartment with a bag full of what she said were water bottles, ever prepared. 

“Hm? Yeah, I did. Do you want one?”

“If you don’t mind,”

“Of course not. I brought them for all of us.” She leaned down and fished one out of the bag to hand it to him. “Here.”

Chishiya muttered a thanks before uncapping the bottle and downing half of it. Usagi watched him with mild curiosity. “You were in there for a while,” she said quietly, so she didn’t talk over the movie. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

For a moment, Chishiya wanted to say no, no he was not okay—he was vomiting up daffodil petals, yes, the flower Arisu said was his favorite, because he’d fallen for Arisu and having to bear it all and pretend it wasn’t happening was probably the worst torture he’d ever experienced, despite his honed skill at pretending he didn’t care about anything. Usagi would listen, he knew; Usagi wouldn’t interrupt, wouldn’t judge, would probably even offer advice. 

“Yes, I’m sure. Really.”

[funnel-webbed-au]

Scorched Petals

Tag List: @skellebonez

Riley's Notes: HI HI I'M ALIVE AND BACK FROM HIATUS also my brainrot isn't being useful right now posting will be weird

Nezha dragged himself through the doorway, the flames still licking at his body even though they weren't there anymore. The pain, the heat, the overwhelming sense of isolation and abandonment, it had been a very long time since he'd been punished so severely. He knew damn well it had been a bad idea to award the last Demons of Camel Ridge a begrudging salvation, and now that Li Jing had heard of his actions, he knew that his punishments would be far more cruel should he slip up on anything he was told to do. Disobedience, after all, was never tolerated well in a place like this.

The ancient Deity brushed past his beloved superior, the only man he would ever refer to as his father, and tripped over himself when the pain from the rings on his ankles overwhelmed his senses. As Erlang Shen reached down to help his student to his feet, the younger Deity smacked his hand away, hissing through his teeth in mind-melting discomfort.

"No. Don't... don't touch me. I'm still too warm." Nezha's words gave away what had happened scarcely an hour prior. The architectural Deity who had offered his hand pulled away, but did not leave his student's side. He had to be here to support him through such trying times, especially while Kui Mulang was busy drinking his cares away. Someone had to set a good standard.

It tore the old dog apart to see his son, his child, in such a state. How could anyone do this to their own blood? It completely escaped the ancient Deity how anyone would find such treatment permissible. Alas, there was little he could do in the state they were both in. Nezha desperately wanted to avoid being touched until the heat wore off, for fear of hurting someone with the way his powers were fluctuating.

"Just... give me something to do. Order me around if you want to, I just want to get these images out of my head." Nezha opened his eyes as he spoke, the vivid indigo now replaced with a vibrant, scorching shade of hot pink. It reminded Erlang Shen of the lotuses the Deity loved so dearly... but also of the fires that he harnessed and was burned by in equal measure.

"Nezha, my boy, would you do us all a favor? I'm certain I am not the only one who would appreciate a hot cup of tea right now." Those words seemed to relieve the tension from Nezha's body. Erlang Shen breathed a sigh as he relaxed, thankful that even such a small task could bring his son reprieve from the stress. It was a welcome distraction, a welcome return to the idea of 'normal' that he was so used to.

An idea that had been (literally) beaten into him.

Nezha filled the kettle, then turned the stove on and set it on the burner, waiting impatiently for the water to boil. As he scrolled through his phone, it dinged from a text message from one of his siblings. For whatever reason, Red Son wanted him in his lab. Nezha sighed. He figured the fire Demon wanted more samples of his ichor for experimentation. He couldn't blame him; the intense magics in it made it a fascinating lab reagent with a variety of applications before and after processing.

But that could come later. Now? It was time for him to rest and breathe off that memory.

That damned pagoda... and those heartless men... one day, he vowed, he'd make a statement so harsh, that Heaven would cast them out.

One day.

[brooklynislandgirl]

@kylo-wrecked   {{And angels weep}}

A single word ought not bite and make the wound bleed, but it does. She feels it slink its way into her at too-damn-late in the early morning, reeking of stale beer and blue jazz flavoured smoke. Helps itself to left over cold sobe noodles right out of the carton in the fridge. She doesn't remember giving it a key or extending him that kind of invitation but there they have it. She still manages to roll over ~all of her body turned toward him~ and let it stay. Regardless of his intentions perhaps she's fallen pray to the depth of potency that he holds, the faint strains of a sonata she cannot remember the name of, if he's an original composition created in the moment or something classic from a time long before they were even born. He slices through everything else with a clean edge. Scores her in a way she can't put a finger on. He leaves behind the kind of desecration with that duality of expression, which itself hinges the world on her own empathy. She cannot make herself look away.

At least not until the waitress edges her way into the middle of this stunted conversation, a wall built with speed as if by Hadrian. It's enough to shunt her nearly back into her liminal space. Not the first time she's been culled from a conversation, not the first time she's experienced the sudden and bitter realisation that she's competing outside of her weight class. As such the surprise when she notices him still casting his Stygian gaze her way is genuine and not one she can easily hide behind a mask of feigned apathy. He draws over himself, night over a starless sea. No. That isn't right, implies a seamless fluidity. Neither is it chorea or myoclonic muscle disorder. It's the spasm of a jellyfish on the body of a robust and beautiful orchid mantis. Does he eat lotuses? She's a hundred percent sure that if he did, they would melt on his tongue, just to be that much closer to him. But she isn't blind, she can see a glimpse of something darkly fragile beneath his gilded facade. She gets completely blind-sided. "How...." did you know what I was going to ask you? "How you know dat word?" It's a co-opted word from when missionaries came, the advanced scouts of what would become a occupying force, one that would illegally overthrow the monarchy and drag her kingdom into pampered slavery. A much larger scale than what was done to her very own mother. It can mean half, or it can mean part, and is used, sometimes welcome and sometimes scornfully for those with island blood. Later it was borrowed by others and Beth can't really blame them for stealing a stolen word.  For him to know it? A new flare of intrigue lights her gaze as she gazes more boldly. Just in time to see the mouthed words. What Beth lacks in aural capacity she more than makes up for with sight and smell and taste. Her tongue flirts with the edge of her lower lip and she swallows. She nods even as her face screams in red. They really are beautiful. He rises like a wave and the feel of his crashes over her. As her head tilts up to meet his face she finds her hand of its own accord reaching out. She'd intended to catch him by the wrist, halt his inevitable flight. Instead, she brushes his hip. She nods and in turn climbs off the couch. She’s all sand coloured skin and the skeleton of some kind of perfume that’s subtle but sweet. The whisper of a dress she wears hugs her in shadow as she asks "Go wheah? Some place mo' quiet?"

[meliorist-midoriya]

chasing the sun

synopsis: there’s something screaming in familiarity—in mourning—deep in his soul at the sight of you, a complete stranger. this is the price you pay for resurrection, the sun whispers as it rises.

pairing: takami keigo x fem!reader

genre: angst with a happy ending, reincarnation au

warnings: mentions and depictions of death, major character deaths, mentions of war (+ description of a battlefield scene), injuries, blood.

word count: 11.7k

a/n: happy (extremely belated) birthday, bird boy. and aaaa my baby’s here, she’s finally here! i’ve been working on this fic for a little over two months now, and i’m so happy to see it fully fleshed out! thank you to @dimplesum​ for beta reading, and the tumblr chaos server for listening to me yell all the time abt this fic :’) disclaimer, i did as much research as i could, but any historical depictions are not 100% historically accurate and i have taken some creative liberty, so please take the historical scenes with a grain of salt! 

important: there will be songs linked throughout the fic to be played in accordance with the scene, i do hope you listen to them for the full experience! it is okay if the ost ends before the scene as that is also on purpose. the beginning of the song will start with 【 ☀︎ 】 with a link to the song. with that said, i hope you enjoy, and happy reading!

crossposted on Ao3

【 ☀︎ 】

Dawn finds Keigo, the youngest government official in the empire, stumbling upon a lone concubine in the eastern lotus garden. 

He’d been searching for solitude, away from the viper’s nest of samurai-turned-aristocrats, strutting around the castle with their now-useless weapons strapped to their hips, discussing poetry and politics instead of battle and war tactics.

It’d been disgustingly easy for them to make the switch from warrior to bureaucrat, taking the status boost in stride. Those who couldn’t, they stayed with their lords if they were lucky. The warriors who weren’t… Keigo would need an abacus to count the ones who weren’t so lucky, the countless rumors and reports of wandering rōnin with familiar names never failing to reach over the palace walls to get to him.

(Oh, what he would give to join them.)

Of course, he’d been intending to brood ponder over this in the seclusion of the garden he’d discovered a few days ago, staring at the green buds of the young lotuses in the water until his head spun. The sight of the concubine sitting in his spot (that he was certain was too secluded to be found) told him fate had other plans, however.

He cleared his throat and forced down the grimace once he saw the concubine jump, startled, before trying her best to smoothly turn and bow without looking too flustered.

“Good morning, madam.”

“Good morning—”

He smiled through the static in his brain at the mention of his surname, messily tacked to the honorific that he would never get used to. 

That name… it’s not mine. Don’t call me that.

A discordant mess of jumbled kanji that sounded nothing like the powerfully elegant names in the court. The ill-fitting characters standing out like an eyesore on his documents, the syllables falling awkwardly off the tongue in conversation.

Wholly fitting for an outsider like him, really.

The mention of that name grated something terrible in him, and he settled for keeping his teeth grit into a smile. A sheltered concubine wouldn’t know, of course she wouldn’t know. Practically no one did, so he had no one to fault but his own cursed sensitivity to a name he wanted to burn.

“Do you mind if I join you?” The slight twitch in her demure smile was answer enough, but he’d set aside time for this escape, and damn if he was going to let it go to waste.

“Of course not. Please, don’t mind me, my lord.”

He dipped his head in thanks and you bowed in return, the silence hanging in the air settling into something stiff and awkward. 

A minute passed… 

Then another… 

Then five… 

Keigo was going to go mad at this rate. Neither of you had any intention of leaving the rare pocket of seclusion, and the competitive whisper in the corner of his mind told him that leaving first meant conceding, meant losing.

(In his world, losing meant death.)

Keigo’s had enough of losing in life despite his dumb luck, thank you very much.

So, he did what he knew he did best. He talked. Shattering the awkward silence in an effort to coax the tranquil silence he was searching for back into the little gazebo by the pond. Maybe if he ran his mouth long enough, you’d get tired and leave.

“You’re a new face in the palace.”

With an expectant gaze, he watched the telltale shift from awkward to apprehensive, the rigidness of your stature sharply contrasting the flowing brocade of your kimono as you looked back at him with a too-sharp gaze before casting your eyes away to the green buds in the water. Had he been any slower, Keigo would’ve thought that the conflicted expression you quickly smoothed over was solemn (it was anything but). 

“I would say the same to you, my lord, but every face in this castle is a new face to me.” You tilted your head with a thin-lipped smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Although… I’m sure an official who just arrived at the castle for his yearly residence would be an especially new face. Please excuse my rudeness.”

Keigo blinked. Once, twice, his jaw relaxing into a disbelieving smile at the sight of your steely gaze bright with a challenge and a smile sharper than the blades at his waist, the unsaid words ringing clearly. 

Two could play at this game.

Well, now, this was new. 

Perhaps it was your defiance that remained steadfast in this castle, or the blissful ignorance that made you one of the few to look at him straight on instead of down your nose. A little voice whispered that this would change in due time, the politics and power struggles confined within the castle never failing to break down even the most resilient. Those that didn’t know how to play the game correctly simply… vanished.

“Someone’s well-informed, I see.” He folded his hands behind his back, his wish for tranquility long forgotten. “I heard a new concubine has just entered the castle as well. A consolation prize, of sorts, from the farthest reaches of the country. Of course, as I’ve been gone for a year and have only been here for four, I’m not too sure.” He flicks his gaze to you, accepting your challenge with a knife-sharp smile of his own.

“I am curious as to what this concubine’s name is, however.”

You arched a brow, the thin-lipped smile widening into something sweet (that looked better on a fox rather than a beautiful concubine), and you bowed. Any trace of that stiff apprehensiveness dissolved into a graceful fluidity that seemed to disappear within the rippling silk of your kimono.

“Lady Y/N. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

To this day, he’ll never admit how surprised he was at your reverence, nor how his heart did a funny little flip in his chest when you giggled at his flustered response. What kind of fool gave respect to a commoner picked up from the slums?

You. Except you were no fool, and maybe that’s why he kept coming back like a moth to flame.

Time passed, and he found himself in that little garden day after day, morning after morning. Listening to the concubine who told vivid stories of lands he could only dream of, foods he found himself craving, and tales of warriors past. 

The conversations at dawn soon turned into stories of the past, the laments of the present, and dreams of a bleak future. With delicate hands and gently prying words, you two unlocked every bar and lock you’d put over your souls and allowed yourselves to lay them bare for each other, the intimacy of a bond forged in secrets and solidarity far stronger than any alliance or contract.

You two confided in each other in that garden, staring at the dew on the lilypads as you two whispered how you didn’t belong in the palace. How the confines of grand walls with ears and eyes were no place for the adopted commoner and a concubine far from home. Two people in this big world who were just lucky enough, fortunate enough to end up within this lavish palace, your lives guaranteed splendor and comfort. 

Then again—you two would share a conspiratorial laugh—maybe you two were unfortunate instead. What was splendor and comfort when you had to constantly watch for a knife in your back or poison in your cup? When a single misstep could cost you your life? 

Conversations shared with you, the concubine with a sharp tongue and even sharper wit, were the most fulfilling he’s had in ages. Maybe it was the sense of formality that the intimacy of the waterside gazebo stripped away, or the unraveling realization that he hasn’t breathed this freely in ages, that he was looking forward to these moments in the morning. The intimacy shared in the garden he selfishly liked to call his own little world.

Keigo catches the smile you hide behind your sleeve when he steps into the gazebo, and he realizes you’re being selfish, too.

He didn’t know how the conversation got here, he didn’t know why he had a hairpin meant for you tucked into his sleeve. All he knew was that when it came to you, he was helpless to the whims of rambling and buying a pretty hairpin made of red jade because it reminded him of a sharp wit with a pretty smile.

“I live for this country and I die for this country. Well, not that there’s anything much to die for anyway.” Keigo’s laugh is empty, and your melancholic gaze even emptier. A fog had blown in that morning, covering the pond in a soft cover of white, and your soft voice and softer touch on his arm (careful, almost) silenced his dry laughter and left his throat even drier. 

“What you would die for is also an excellent reason to live, is it not?”

Your words, whispered into the stillness of the moment, resonated so loudly within his soul and forced a shaky breath out of his lungs as he gazed in awe at you. At the soft, ethereal glow in the fog cast by the rising sun breaking through the clouds, the scent of bloomed lotuses wafting in on the breeze that rustles the dangling pieces of your hair ornaments. He is weak to whims when it comes to you, so he pulls out the hairpin burning a hole in his sleeve to slip into your hair with shaking hands unbefitting a swordsman. Keigo watches your eyes sparkle like the gem in your hair, and his heart lifts with hope as he whispers his devotion into the warm morning, carried by the wind into a sea of blooms.

“I’ll live for you, then.”

And with a smile, you fall in love.

(Keigo falls even harder.)

【 ☀︎ 】

He should have known.

“I don’t know what I was expecting from the son of a criminal.”

He really should have known.

“What was that fool thinking, taking a street rat like you in all those years ago?”

Honestly, he’d like an answer to that, too. Too bad the old man was dead and left him to inherit a position he didn’t even want. To think he’d agree with the emperor for once in his short life.

“Tsk, a son will follow in his father’s footsteps, after all. A grave in Kozukappara should suit him well.”

Keigo should be concerned that he couldn’t feel how the coarse dirt dug into his knees anymore, his cheek still aching from where the guard had punched him. 

(Okay, yes, he deserved it, but he could’ve done without tasting iron.)

The sadistic glee in the guard’s face after he landed that “disciplinary strike” told him otherwise. With a bitter grimace, he spat red into the dirt.

How long has he been kneeling here? Minutes? Hours? The words echoing over and over in his head pulled him away from his present reality, bringing him back to the blur that was the past two days.

(Three? He couldn’t be sure, time passes oddly in a prison cell.)

The servants whispering about a concubine being expelled from the harem, the handmaid being promoted to concubine suspiciously quickly, and sudden memories of too-loud rustling coming from the treeline that he’d foolishly brushed off. All of it culminated in the form of palace guards dragging him from his study all the way to the harem to throw him at the emperor’s feet.

“Could the street rat not keep his hands off the women of the court? Plenty to pick back where you came from.” 

Keigo wanted to vomit at the cloying stench of sake, unpleasant memories rushing to the forefront of his mind and forcing his limbs to lock from age-old fear. Not like he could use them anyway, with heavy hands on each shoulder pinning his knees to the tatami and his blades having long been tossed away in the struggle to drag him here.

“Oh, my lord, haven’t you heard?” A sickeningly saccharine voice pulled the man’s attention away to coo at the woman curled into his side, cradling a bottle of warmed sake. “Apparently the small-time nobleman who adopted him, did it knowing he was the son of that criminal you were having trouble with all that time ago.”

The grip forcing his head down loosened from the resounding laughter that rippled around the room, just enough to allow Keigo to glare at the loose-lipped concubine. Your opportunistic maidservant who’d been all too willing to take your place in the harem, having taken her chance and fleeing with it. Her tittering giggles and power-drunk grin grated his ears, and he kept glaring. Daring her to look back, to look him in the eye without feeling an ounce of guilt for what she had done.

Almost as if she heard his furious challenge, she took a glance at the man pinned to the floor (trying to look down her nose like she had been looked down on. Pathetic fool.)  only to jump at the righteous fury burning in his gaze, fear clouding her conscience for a precious moment. 

More, Keigo urged, rage bitter on his tongue, Guilt, shame, despair, all of it.

I hope you regret this for the rest of your life. Lament, as punishment for ruining hers—

“Don’t assume what I have and haven’t heard, woman,” The drunkard grunted, holding his cup out for her to pour with shaking hands and a meek surrender, “But, the man was losing his mind from age. What was that fool thinking, taking a dirty brat like this in all those years ago? Too useless to bear a son nor keep a wife, so he had to stoop low enough to take in a criminal’s son from the slums.”

Righteous fury welled up in his chest, and his body moved before his brain could catch up, spit landing at the emperor’s feet. Almost immediately thereafter, his head whipped to the side, cheek smarting from the sharp strike the guard’s knuckles had indented into his swelling cheek. He grit his teeth as that same cheek came down on the tatami, someone pressing his head into the ground.

“Years upon years of trying to force yourself into nobility, and you’d think you’d learn some respect along the way.”

Had he not been the one with his face pressed into the ground, Keigo would’ve laughed at the shade of fury-red the man’s face was turning. Sake did not treat him well. The concubines at his side, fearing for their lives, immediately rushed to whisper soothing words and calming pleas. Somehow, it worked, and he reclined back into his seat with a heavy sigh, draining the sake in one gulp.

“The son of a criminal shall inevitably become a criminal. Now that I think about it, this is a wonderful opportunity to get rid of an eyesore. A grave in Kozukappara should suit him well.” A sadistic grin split his lips around the cup, chortling with laughter at his own (terrible) wit. “Being buried next to his criminal father! What a filial son!”

The table shook from the force of a fine porcelain cup slamming down on it, as if the emperor were stamping his death certificate right then and there.

(He was.) 

“Get him out of my sight. The next time I want to see his head is on the gates of Kozukappara.”

Keigo the official had died in that room, and the man that was dragged out by his shoulders left the castle as a criminal.

“Done saying your prayers?” 

Slowly, he looked up from the white paper fan set in front of him in place of the tantō that should’ve been there for his use (obligatory seppuku, his muddled brain supplied with annoyingly familiar haughtiness, so the ex-warrior could die a warrior. What a joke—) to the man he’d chosen to be his executioner. Normally, he would’ve snapped back with something witty, something sharp, but going days without water wasn’t treating him well. A heavy sigh, and the man ran a frustrated thumb down the bright blue wrap of his katana hilt. 

“The concubine, of all women? An imperial concubine, at that. I’d expect you to know better than that, my friend.”

Ah, the static in his head was a little stronger today. Wonderful.

“I thought I knew better, too. At least I get to die to someone with a steady hand.”

He scoffed, thumb running over the blue hilt again. Keigo idly remembered seeing the man rub his burn-leathered skin the same way countless times, the anxious habit having stubbornly ingrained itself into his being since childhood.

“Must you be so dark?”

“When am I not?” He managed to muster up a slow grin. “I’m hurt, I thought my closest companion would’ve known this after years of keeping swords out of each other’s backs.”

The heavy gong announcing his execution sounded, and he watched his best friend’s melancholic gaze glaze over into soulless steel that mirrored the blade drawn from its hilt. Keigo dipped his head with a solemn smile and shut his eyes in resignation.

I really… should’ve known…

“Keigo!”

Everything paused for a breath, in shock at your shout breaking the stillness of the moment. He didn’t have to lift his head to know who was crying out, trying to delay the inevitable certainty. A sharp smile and an even sharper tongue reduced to nothing but cries and desperation.

“...I’ll continue.” The executioner ignored your desperate “No!” as he shifted his stance, scarred hands steady as he placed the blade against the back of his neck despite the pain Keigo knew he was in. 

It would’ve been nice to hold you in his arms, at least once— 

No, for eternity.

The blade came down and, like a lotus facing the sun in supplication, you screamed your despair into the heavens. 

That day, the blood red sunset matched the crimson pooling on the execution ground’s floor.

【 ☀︎ 】

Dawn finds Private First Class Takami Keigo marching into a small city on the way to the front lines, rifle slung over his shoulder and feet aching.

They’ve been marching through the night, and for the first time in his life, he found himself grateful for Japan’s humid summer nights. He’d take sweat over losing toes from frostbite any day. 

But, he decides, sighing in relief along with the rest of the company at the sight of a town once they crested the hill, there was nothing like the relief of a warm bed and any food other than the tasteless military rations.

“Tired already?” The low voice beside him would’ve made him jump had it not been so familiar.

“Aw, what’s this? Is Touya-kun worried for little old me?” Keigo shot a grin at the man marching next to him and dodged the elbow that he aimed at his side with a short laugh.

“A tired soldier is a dead soldier.” A pause, and the next response came backed with a dry laugh. “Not like it’d affect you and your monstrous instincts, anyway.”

“Yes, as we’ve been told a thousand times, General.” The teasing tilt to his voice came easy, and he let his best friend elbow him this time, too busy laughing at his annoyance. 

Should he have been a little more worried of the captain catching him messing around? Yes, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. Judging by the restless shifting rippling through the soldiers, no one was too worried about getting a scolding when they were so close to a warm meal and rest.

“Think the inn will be big enough to house all of us? Another night sleeping on the floor doesn’t sound all that nice to me.” 

Touya scoffed as if his question was the stupidest thing he’d heard all day, keeping his gaze straight as he adjusted the rifle on his shoulder, the company shifting around them into formation as they approached the gates.

“You’re complaining like it’s anything new to us.”

“Harsh.”

The conversation faded after that, the rough dirt under his boots soon transitioning into the packed earth of the town’s main street as residents gathered to whisper and gawk at the soldiers passing through, the sight of their uniforms a jarring eyesore in this sleepy town. 

A sleepy, familiar town.

Keigo’s mind was spinning. His restless gaze kept flicking around the too-familiar buildings and shops and people that remained after all these years. The restaurant with the broken kitchen window that was too easy to sneak into, the grocer who still kept his trash bin too close to the alley, the old woman sitting in front of her izakaya who always had ginger candy and a meal to give. 

They slowed to a stop in front of the large inn, and he stared up at the building that looked much smaller than he remembered, the interior much less grand than he’d imagined it to be as they filed their way in, and he found himself in the room he once dreamed of sleeping in. There, Keigo sat in near disbelief, on the futon that wasn’t as soft as he thought it would’ve been.

“How time flies, huh?” He looked up to see Touya dropping his pack next to his futon and sitting down across from him with a melancholy grin.

There was too much Keigo wanted to say, nostalgia bitter in the back of his throat, so he settled for a matching smile.

“Old Man Yasutaro never got around to fixing that boarded up window.” 

Touya barked out a surprised laugh, Keigo’s smile widening into a self-satisfied grin.

“You ever think he did that on purpose? He always did stock too much food.”

“Are you kidding?” Keigo shuddered at the phantom pain of the beatings he earned. “He was scary whenever he caught us, there’s no way mean ol’ Yasutaro would do all that just for a pair of orphans on the street.”

“Mm, I don’t know, he was always pretty sweet to Granny Tamayo, so anything that made him look good in her book.” Touya leaned back on his arms, the melancholy melting into the ease of bittersweet nostalgia. It was easier to smile through the painful memories rather than dwell on the past, so Keigo let himself toss his head back with a laugh.

“God, her ginger candy was the best.” 

“You sure it was the candy? Or the granddaughter who always snuck an extra piece to you?” That earned Touya a frustrated noise of protest and a half-hearted kick he dodged.

“That was ages ago!”

“And you still react like a little boy!” 

Keigo groaned, burying his face into his hands as if that would tune out Touya’s cackling laughter. It was short moments like this that took the weight off his shoulders, the murmurs of public dissent, the leaked plans of a planned riot, the magnitude of his actions tomorrow morning.

(Civilians. Of all things, why did it have to be civilians?)

He suddenly pushed himself to his feet, the heavy weight having pushed itself back onto his shoulders and slotting the familiar hum of alertness back into place. Touya gave him a knowing look that he, decidedly, ignored in favor of getting out before his mind swallowed him whole.

“Dinner is supposed to be in a bit, we should get going.”

“Wonderful job of changing the subject, really.”

“Wonderful job of being annoying.”

Touya dodged another swipe of the leg, laughing at his displeasure as he stood to follow.

“Why thank you, I try.” His grin widened with a certain glint in his eye that Keigo found himself dreading. “Now let’s get going, I heard some of the guys are at Granny Tamayo’s izakaya.”

“What?”

“My, isn’t that little Keigo? And little Touya?” 

Keigo faltered halfway through the entrance, smoothing his grimace into a smile as he watched the old lady totter over from her seat with all the coddling of a grandmother. The soldiers within earshot (who were already drinking and eating away. It was barely sunset—) paused to gawk and grin at the endearing interaction.

“Not so little anymore, Granny.”

“I’ll say. Are you eating alright? Is the military treating you well?”

“Granny!”

“What’s this? Speedy and Torchface have some history here?” Keigo kept his smile smooth, only shifting it just the slightest bit into what he knew would look like a sheepish grin instead of the pained grimace underneath the surface. Boisterous laughter that only alcohol could bring rippled around the spacious izakaya, the men cracking jokes over drinks and food.

“Careful calling him Torchface, he has the temper to match.”

Ah, there it is. Touya shouldered past him to stalk towards the offending table with a scarily wide grin, pulling the loose-lipped rookie into a chokehold, his wide grin unmoving.

“‘Has a temper’ my ass, you’re just jealous that a guy with a bunch of burn scars has an easier time with women than you idiots.”

The laughter only grew louder, Granny Tamayo’s expression softening at the interaction before turning back to Keigo with a nostalgic smile.

“Not so little… I see.” She motioned to the table Touya had made a space for himself at, shoving the rookie (who was still in a chokehold, poor kid) aside to make room for him. “Take a seat, dear, and the drinks will be right out.”

The too-loud laughter and incessantly clinking glasses filled the space up with ear-grating noise, and Keigo wanted to leave. Search for peace and solitude in the quiet streets in a way that was strangely familiar. 

(For a fleeting moment, he thought a quiet garden would be nice.)

However, he’d rather eat with the company of drunks rather than the void of his own mind and the horrors silence tended to bring, so the migraine starting to brew in the back of his head was a small price to pay. As was the heavy arm slung over his shoulder from some random soldier, alcohol-loosened and heavy, and the awkward conversation he found himself following along with perfectly tailored humor.

“Alright, I have two beers as well as a few rounds of edamame and—” 

The familiar voice stopped short, and Keigo felt his heart stop in tandem. Slowly, he looked up and saw the girl who used to sneak out an extra candy when her grandmother wasn’t looking, now a woman in the izakaya uniform balancing trays in one hand and two mugs in the other. 

“...Keigo?”

Almost as if the locked gates had been thrown open, a new rush of memories past had overcome him. Jaunts through the town disguised as adventures, clumsily dancing around an old gramophone and calling it a waltz, and the start of blossoming love. Keigo simply smiled, easygoing and familiar, like it hadn’t been years since you saw him run to the military with Touya the first chance they had, drawn by the promise of food and shelter. Like he hadn’t left a malnourished boy and come back a man with more scars than skin.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“‘Been a while.’” You rolled your eyes, setting down the mug in front of him with a huff. “The two most important people in my life run off to join the army without so much as a word, and that’s what you say?”

His words stopped halfway up his throat the moment he saw Granny Tamayo come up behind you to pinch you on the arm, the half-formed response morphing into a laugh as he watched you flinch back with a surprised (and betrayed) yelp.

“Y/N, darling, don’t be rude to the customers.” You pouted, rubbing at the sore spot on your upper arm.

“Yes, Grandmother.”

“It’s fine, Granny. Nothing new, right?” At the sight of his cheeky smile, the old woman scoffs, something endearing, before nudging him out of his seat despite your noise of protest.

“Well, since you two seem to be talking of nothing but the past, why don’t you go take a walk down memory lane?”

“Wha— Grandmother! There’s still customers—”

“Kaede can handle it just fine! Shoo, shoo, get out of my hair.” 

Without missing a beat, Granny Tamayo smoothly plucked the trays from your hands and nudged you two towards the door as the soldiers watching roared with laughter and cooed jokes at the two “childhood lovers”. Keigo turned towards Touya, almost desperately, in a futile search for— what? Escape? Wasn’t he looking for escape in the first place?

“Wait, Granny, come on. Touya’s part of this too, isn’t he?”

“Don’t drag me into this, a trip down memory lane isn’t for me!” With an arm still slung over the now-wheezing rookie’s shoulder, Touya raised the cup of sake he’d ordered as if in toast. Whether it was to Keigo’s mortification, or to the potential opportunities this meant, Keigo didn’t want to know.

Probably both.

(...Probably the former, if he were to be honest with himself.)

A flurry of drunken laughter and lighthearted jokes, half-hearted protests that fell on deaf ears, and insistent pushing at his back later, he found himself standing outside the izakaya, blinking up at the full moon before looking over at you.

“...Did we just get kicked out?”

“I think we did.” You snorted, scuffing a mark into the dirt path with your heel, and Keigo wanted the earth to crack open and swallow him whole. What was he supposed to do? Stuck with the remnants of a rekindling love, the awkwardness that tended to come with years of estrangement and words that failed him when it came to you. 

Well, there’s really only one thing he could do.

Talk.

“So, what’s new with you?” He immediately cringed at his choice of words, forcing himself to school his expression over into an easygoing smile instead of recoiling like he so desperately wanted to do. 

Nice going there, Keigo, really.

“...Same old.” Your quiet answer snapped him out of his thoughts, and he tilted his head, almost like he was beckoning you to continue. “Same old town, same old job, same old life. I pretty much walked the path everyone knew I was going to go on as the granddaughter of the izakaya’s owner.”

You looked up with a sheepish grin, the bright moonlight casting the world (and you) in a silver glow, and Keigo felt his heart leap into his throat.

“Not the most exciting to a man from the military, huh?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say I’ve seen a lot—” Keigo rubbed at the identification tag hidden under his clothes by force of habit, the leather cord heavy around his neck. He has seen a lot. Too much, to be exact, but how would he even begin to explain the horrors of man to someone… “normal”? How could he?

For someone whose wit and silver tongue helped him survive all these years, he was awfully tongue-tied tonight. Or maybe it was just you, and the surreal lightness settling into his soul that had him stumbling over his words.

“But you’ve seen enough?” You finished his sentence with a wry grin, and the surprised laugh found itself past his lips before he could catch it. How could he forget? You were always, always a step ahead of him. Back then and even now.

“Enough of my barracks and Touya’s face? Yeah, definitely.” You swatted his arm with a huff, and the familiar action made the next laugh come a little easier, his chest a little lighter as the awkwardness slowly dissipated into something… comfortable. Normal.

“You know that’s not what I meant!” 

“Well, that’s your answer, Y/N. Don’t know what else to tell you,” He shrugged in mock ignorance, and you groaned, going back to worrying at the deepening scuff in the dirt. 

“What, so, we both had boring lives?”

Far from boring.

“...Yeah, I guess so.” 

You pursed your lips and stared out at the quiet street, the beat of silence almost bordering on awkward by the time you broke it with a resolute sigh, starting to walk forward into the moonlight.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to make up for it somehow.” 

“And how would you do that?”

“By going back to when life wasn’t so boring,” You hummed, spinning to face him and grandly spreading your arms, as if you were presenting the lantern-lit street to him, “C’mon! Tonight, this main street is memory lane!”

“Aren’t you taking me out of town at one point, though?”

“Oh, hush. Are you coming or not?”

“I’m coming, coming.”

Oh, your smile was radiant, and Keigo had to force himself to keep moving instead of gaping like a fool.

(Was it possible for him to make you smile like that all the time?)

For the next hour, time seemed to stop. The moon stood frozen in the sparkling sky, watching two star-crossed lovers go around town, laughing and reminiscing on what could’ve been. What could be, if Keigo were to be bold. You took him down Main Street as promised, and he found it hard to relate to the memories you spoke of, associating each store with scornful stares and pitiful ignorance. Eventually, you two looped around to the outskirts of town. To the river that looked more like a creek now, and the quaint houses and maze of alleyways. To familiarity.

He smiles as he watches you skip rocks in the creek, laughs when you wrinkle your nose at the dog that always seems to only bark when you two pass by Old Man Yasutaro’s gate, and revels in the memories.

“You still suck!”

“Hey! It’s not like we skip rocks all the time in the military.”

You merely rolled your eyes and continued to skip ahead, the slow and awkward trudge from before revived into the enthusiastic step he remembered, fueled by the joys of nostalgia and escape. 

This, Keigo realizes, is nostalgia.

Not the pain of remembering a past he wanted to forget, not looking at alleyways to remember what used to be his childhood, not thinking of the shops as someplace otherworldly. Rather, it was this. The joy of reminiscing on good times. The joy of breathing new life into old memories.

The joy he now knew was to be found in you.

“Hey.” Your voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see you grinning, the moonlight illuminating something akin to mischief in your eyes. “Remember that old gramophone we could never figure out when we were little?”

“You mean you could never figure out. I didn’t want to touch it because Granny Tamayo is a scary, scary woman.”

And a dirty street orphan’s hands had no place on such an expensive thing.

You rolled your eyes and he chuckled, following along anyway as you set off down the path with a new purpose. The route was familiar, and Keigo already had an idea of where this was going, but who was he to speak when you were nearly buzzing with excitement?

“What I mean to say is: I figured it out, so—” You spun in place again, taking his hand, and his heart damn near stopped, “—would you like this dance? To some actual music, this time.”

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you? A proper lady needs the proper etiquette, after all.” His cheeky grin betrayed the politeness of his words, and you scoffed, tugging him along.

“Like you would ask me first.” Keigo’s tongue stalled around a response, scrambling for a proper comeback because you were right. Deep down, he knew that he still never would’ve asked you first for anything. It wasn’t his place. First, as a kid on the street compared to the granddaughter of the izakaya owner. Now, as a man with blood on his hands compared to an innocent civilian, untainted by the shadows of war.

Who was he to ask anything from a normal person?

“Lead the way, then.”

There was that radiant grin again, brimming with excitement and sending him reeling. Keigo couldn’t help but let your enthusiasm rub off on him as he followed you to the little communal courtyard behind Granny Tamayo’s home, where he knew that she liked to keep that Western gramophone to play for guests. You broke away to go and try and work the old machine, mumbling to yourself as you fiddled with the knobs and rifled through the records filed away in the ornate cabinet it was sitting on. 

He took the chance to look around the empty courtyard, struck with the realization that it hadn’t changed at all in the years he was gone. He left all those years ago, only to return to a town that seemed almost frozen in time. It was too far from the cities for all the modern inventions to catch up with it, so the only things that changed were, well, the people. Keigo most of all. What if he hadn’t—

The sudden burst of music and your shout of victory cut off his wandering train of thought, and you walked back into his line of vision with a triumphant grin.

“I still don’t know how to fix the tempo, so the song’s a little slow. You’ll have to forgive me for that.” You offered up your hand and tilted your head, still smiling. “May I have this dance?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“Like you’d ask me first.”

【 ☀︎ 】

Keigo grinned in well-earned defeat, and his hand slipped into yours with the other on your waist. The music swelled, and he took the first step.

One, two, three, one, two, three…

With too-slow, clumsy steps, the two of you slowly began waltzing your way around the small courtyard. You still kind of didn’t know how to work the gramophone—the song almost eerily slow, despite the years of fiddling—but that didn’t matter in the face of the giddy smiles shared, your soft laughs when he spun you in a flash of spontaneity, and the nostalgia of old times.

Before, he was a scrawny kid on the street who clumsily tried to follow the steps of the pretty girl playing a song on her father’s gramophone. Tomorrow, he would be Private First Class Takami Keigo, fighting for his life on the battlefield. Tonight, he would be normal again, slow dancing to Clair de Lune playing off an old, off-beat gramophone with you in his arms, mourning a start he didn’t get to have.

(As normal as a kid scrounging for scraps on the street could’ve been.)

Your voice, soft and wavering, broke the stillness of the moment, as if it were something taboo that shouldn’t have been uttered into existence at all.

“Keigo?”

“Yes, beautiful?”

You flushed at the endearment, the next words shattering his illusion of happiness within nostalgia with the renewed vigor of confidence in the face of the impossible.

“Will you come home?”

Home.

A simple word, really. And yet it dropped like a stone in his chest. Home meant a roof over his head. Home meant warm food on the table. Home meant a simple life in a sleepy rural town. Home meant the promise of a new beginning.

To you, “home” probably meant nothing more than the place you had known all your life.

To him, “home” meant you.

So, like a dreamer in love, he answered with all the confidence of a fool.

“Yeah... I will. I don’t care how long it’ll take me, but I’ll come home.”

He thought the shaky lilt to his voice would’ve given him away, or the way his step faltered in the already clumsy waltz as if trying to step around what he knew should’ve been the answer. 

Instead, you laughed. Something soft, and let him spin you once more.

“Well, I’ve already waited a couple years, what’s a little more waiting?”

Keigo had to keep himself from double checking if this was real. Dancing with you in the moonlight as he tried to step around the reality of that answer with all the awkward grace of a scared child.

One, two, three, one, two, three… 

Truth be told, the both of you knew the answer long before you had pushed the question into desperate existence, searching for a shred of hope. That his simple answer should have been an realistic “I don’t know” or a pessimistic “no promises”, instead of a foolish “yes.”

Instead, he slowed the waltz to a sway, pulling you close to both ingrain the feeling of you into his soul and to hopefully hide the resigned melancholy of a soldier being carted off to uncertainty.

And, for a traitorous moment, Keigo wondered.

Dreamed, even.

What would it have been like to have a “normal” life? Instead of grasping the hand of desperation, would he have grown out of the side alleys and homes made of boxes into a “respectable” man? Maybe he could’ve gotten a job at the grocer’s, at Old Yasutaro’s restaurant, or maybe even Granny Tamayo’s izakaya. Could he have—he pulled you closer, pressing a ghost of a kiss to your temple—could he have courted you the “right” way? Brought you flowers and honey-sweet words of praise and promises of a happy future, instead of a single night dancing in the moonlight with a brittle promise hanging in the tense air that the both of you clung onto like a lifeline. A promise that Keigo wasn’t even sure he could fulfill.

He would later come to regret this single moment. Of this, he was sure.

(But, as you lifted your head from his chest with glassy eyes and a shaky smile, he knew he wasn’t alone in this regret.)

Keigo knew the words that you wished to let fall into the night air, in hopes of making that brittle promise tangible. Of giving life to a bright future with three little words. The reality crawled up his throat like poison, bitter and cloying, something that he knew shouldn’t be said. Keigo settled for gently wrapping his hand around your head to pull you closer, filtering the harsh truth into something a little softer, the bittersweet tone marking the unspoken truth as a reality instead of the dreams of a future.

One… two… three… 

“Don’t,” He muttered, heart tightening as he felt you go rigid in his arms, “I know. Please, God, I know—”

You slowly relaxed in his arms with all the bitter acceptance of a night before battle, and he murmured the next words into another ghost of a kiss. A whisper against your lips, seen only by the fading notes of a song in the moonlight.

“—but don’t.”

【 ☀︎ 】

Keigo’s breath was rattling, ears ringing with war cries, death wails, and everything in between. The once-blue noon sky was now a startling haze of ash gray, thick with the choking scent of the world burning.

He couldn’t even tell where the carnage started or ended anymore.

(Would it ever end?) 

How long has it been since the first shot?

(Too long.) 

Would he live to see the sunset?

(Of all times to worry about this, why now?)

The incessant drill of artillery fire was nothing new to him, as was the stench of the battlefield that could only be described as death.  What was new, was something that pushed his aching body to keep moving, the autopilot state he usually entered backed with something raw. Something like fear.

Something like the will to survive.

The pain that set his nerves on fire has long since faded, all the pain of countless wounds blending together into something numbed by the adrenaline of survival. Were the wet patches on his uniform sweat? Blood? Both? He couldn’t tell anymore, all he knew was survival and the persistent voice whispering deadly distraction in the back of his mind.

Civilians. You’re fighting civilians, you mur—

The skin of his back prickled, the telltale whistling of something flying screeched in his ears, and his reflexes yanked him to dive out of the way before his mind could catch up. Not even a second later, another explosive detonated behind him and heat blazed across his back. His nerves screamed fresh pain into his senses and he grit his teeth, ignoring the concerning sound of sizzling over the ringing in his ears in favor of ducking into cover, collapsing against the wall of a destroyed building. 

Since when did regular people know how to make bombs?!

In the next breath, someone else had ducked into the small shelter he’d found in this hellscape of a city. 

Well, the remains of one. All hell broke loose once the other side brought homemade explosives into the fray and now, as he stared at the burning and destruction, Keigo wondered if those Westerners who muttered meaningless blessings whenever they passed were right. 

If this “Hell” they spoke of really was on Earth. 

He turned his head, suddenly sluggish, to the man that had joined him in the makeshift cover, and grinned at the familiar face.

“Hey, man.”

(Maybe giving his body a chance to slow down was a mistake.)

Touya ignored his exhausted greeting, instead opting to yank a rag from his pouch as he pulled Keigo to sit up so he could press the rag into the deep gashes the shrapnel had gouged into his back. Keigo immediately groaned in protest at the stinging pain, despite how necessary he knew it was.

“Fucking— how did you even survive that?”

“Dunno,” He let out a weak laugh, “Don’t think I will—”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll kill you myself.” Despite his harsh threat, Touya pressed the slowly darkening rag deeper into his wound. A desperate (futile) attempt to stop the life pooling onto the floor underneath them, steadily flowing from the deep gashes in his back and all the other wounds peppering his body.

“Isn’t that the exact opposite—” He hissed in pain at the pressure on his wounds, “—of what you want?” 

“Shut up.”

“You know you don’t want me doing that.”

(He was right. Keigo running his mouth meant that he was breathing. Meant that he was alive.)

Touya pressed his lips into a thin line, Keigo blearily tracking the way his burn scars pulled with the movement. 

Grounding himself, that’s what he’s supposed to do during times like this, right? Hell, he didn’t know. Not every day he came so close to death. Touya really needed to look into something for those sc—

“For the love of the gods, I am begging you to shut up.”

Ah, he said all that out loud? He managed to muster up a sheepish grin, despite Touya’s grim expression.

“Ooh, Touya? Begging? That’s a first, I should stay awake to hear it.” Keigo didn’t have to look to know that the rag was soaked through and Touya was fighting against the inevitable at this point. Keigo? He… he was too tired to fight to keep his eyes open. Too cold.

“Maybe you should stay awake to go home, loverboy.”

“I should.” He fumbled to find purchase, pressing his palm into the ground and scooting his feet closer for leverage. “Can’t leave Y/N waiting after all.”

Maybe it was the delirium from the blood-loss, or the desperation of this cursed situation, but Keigo tried to pull himself up. To move, to get somewhere safer, somewhere where he could survive. His palm slipped on the blood-slick floor underneath him and he came crashing down once more, his strength disappearing along with it as he slumped against Touya.

“Ah—”

“Shit, I’ll get you to the medic.” 

Keigo groaned at the pain of his wounds being jostled as Touya tried to haul the deadweight of his sluggish body up. The reality of the situation weighed heavy on his shoulders (or was it his strength leaving him?) and he licked his chapped lips, whispering the grim truth into the ash-hazy air.

“I’m not gonna make it to the medic.”

“How many times do I have to keep telling you to shut up?” Another attempt to pull him to his feet, and Keigo managed to push out a weak laugh.

“Just a couple more times.”

“Hey… hey, c’mon now, I still have to make fun of you and Y/N for being the most disgusting couple I’ve ever met.” He carefully shook Keigo, trying desperately to get him to keep his drooping eyes open.

“Aw, don’t tease Y/N too badly.”

Something changed in Touya’s voice, a block in his throat that he had to force his words through, and he clutched the dripping rag closer to his wounds as he muttered out his response.

“I won’t.”

“Good, good,” Keigo’s hands clumsily fumbled for the cord wrapped over his chest, tugging at it until it came loose. “Hey, can you tell Y/N that I’ll do my best to come home? In any way I can.”

“...Just do it yourself.” 

“Mm, that would… that would be nice. Coming home, I mean. I promised… Y/N… I would…”

His words faded, and Touya froze, arms suspended in midair around the slumped form of his best friend, his stunned gaze locked on the identification tag hanging from a limp, bloody hand.

“Kei...go?”

【 ☀︎ 】

Waiting was agony.

You used to think you were a patient person, years of dealing with drunks, horrible customers, and everything in between training the patience of a saint into you. 

Today, however, revealed that you were anything but. The moment the company had crested the hill and out of sight, your anxieties slowly overcame you the farther they went. Working in the izakaya helped, the constant flow of customers and orders kept you on your feet and your thoughts off the battle that was no doubt waging mere miles away. Every so often, a wandering patron would come in murmuring that they heard bits and pieces of the battle, and you forced yourself to forget again.

All that effort was lost once the company’s runner came barreling through the town, shouting that the soldiers were on their way back. That they needed spaces cleared for the wounded and their lodgings secured. They called for the doctor, they called for food, they called for supplies. 

If you didn’t know any better, it would’ve sounded like a cry for help.

Word spread like wildfire, and the rush of serving customers turned into the rush of trying to help prepare for the soldiers’ return. None of it helped get your mind off the one thing you didn’t want to worry about. If anything, it just shoved all your worries to the forefront of your mind, accompanied by the dull headaches of something you hoped were just random fantasies.

(Fantasies of a lotus garden, a guarded grin, a red hairpin, a betrayal—)

Would he have to be wrapped in the bandages you were carrying? Would he have to rest in the bedding in your hands? Would he be able to eat the food your grandmother was preparing?

Then, they came. 

A slow straggle of wounded and weary men, leaning and limping on each other as they slowly trickled in through the main street.

There were many things that wouldn’t happen, you would later realize, watching the company trudge back into the town. Their formation was shaky from the hobbling wounded, and you felt your heart drop as you desperately searched the noticeably thinner crowd, trying to peek through the uniforms and bandages and dented helmets for any sign that he had come home. That he had survived.

How many men did they lose?

(Too many.)

You watched the flow of soldiers slowly follow their commander to their lodgings and the doctor, the once boisterous crowd now silent and battle-worn. The rookie that had just been under a chokehold the other night was now cradling bandaged wounds and a gaunt expression that only told of his first brushes with death.

One soldier broke from the crowd to make his way towards you, and—for a fleeting moment—you hoped. 

And just as quickly as it came, that hope you had soon sunk into despair once you saw who it was, and what he held in his scarred hands.

Across the street, a man broke rank, with a heavier burden than most would’ve thought and few would ever experience. He hoped that no one would have to experience this, a death and the task of delivering such news weighing heavy on his shoulders.

Life, Touya thinks, is cruel.

It left such a brilliant mind like Keigo to starve with him on the streets.

It forced him to run to the military in desperation, searching for steady food and shelter.

It snatched away the one man who had salvation waiting for him.

Death, Touya grieves, is even crueler.

Keigo would never get to go home.

He wouldn’t get to see the joy on your face once you welcomed him home with open arms. 

(How could he? When your expression twists into something akin to dawning horror instead of joy, watching Touya make his way up to you with downcast eyes and a heavy bundle of fabric carefully cradled in his palm.)

He wouldn’t get to start the new life he deserved, in a sleepy rural town with the one he adored.

He wouldn’t get to fulfill his promise to you.

A promise that everyone knew was too risky a promise to make. Yet, he believed enough to make it to you.

A promise that Touya holds back on his tongue because he knew this—a little metal disc on a bloodstained cord—wouldn’t fulfill it, not when he hands you the neat square of scrap fabric and watches your tears flow before you even open it. Not when you slip out a worn identification tag, holding it up to the sunset to try and make out the letters you already knew were there.

A lantern illuminates what the fading sunlight could not, casting the stamped characters of Keigo’s bloodied name in an amber glow, and you crumble.

【 ☀︎ 】

Dawn finds Professor Takami, Head of the Sociology Department, first through the doors of the campus café with essays to be finished grading in one hand and his laptop bag in the other.

The cashier greets him with a familiar warmth as he steps up to the counter, his staple order already halfway punched into the register with a knowing smile that he forces himself to return. There’s a nervous energy simmering under his skin that he can’t seem to shake, and it shows. The barista (Touya. His name is Touya. He literally has one of the guy’s essays in his hand, fucking hell. Get it together, Keigo) shoots the normally easygoing professor a worried look as he slides the warmed pastry across the counter to him, the full sleeves of swirling blue and black ink a stark contrast against the smooth wood of the counter.

“Everything good with you, Professor?”

“Perfect, now that I got my pastry. Think I’ll be even better once I drink some coffee.” 

Nothing was perfect, and he couldn’t even put a finger on what it was. 

He plastered a convincing smile on his face as he picked up the too-heavy plate, careful to hold it steady before making a beeline for his usual table. The faster he got to sit down at his usual corner booth and sort himself out, the better. 

He knew that he would just drown himself in grading papers instead of figuring out what was making him feel off, but it was the thought that counted.

The hum of energy under his skin was nothing new to him. Something deep inside that made him almost jumpy, wary of the peaceful days that had consumed his entire life, lying in wait for… something. For what? Keigo wished he knew.

(For battles yet started, for warcries yet sung, for survival yet fought for.)

All he knew was that the strange hum that threatened to vibrate him out of his own skin was different this time. Wrong. It didn’t help that his sleep had been suffering for the past week, plagued by dreams and nightmares both of eras past, the blurry picture of the same person a constant sight in the swirling mix of history. Images flickering between a secluded lotus garden and an elaborate kimono to an old izakaya and Clair de Lune at moonrise. Images of yearning and blood and tragedy and endings before the beginnings.

At least his conversations with the once-intimidating Japanese Literature professor got a smidge more interesting.

With the resolute click of a red pen, he swept away the thoughts clouding his mind as he resigned himself to his fate of just dealing with the strange mood for now, fully intent on getting to work. Years of repetition and muscle memory had him opening up his email with practiced ease, quietly sighing to himself as he waited for the doubtlessly endless emails from students and colleagues alike to load. 

Would procrastinating just the tiniest bit by fiddling with the rolled cuffs of his sleeves or pushing up his glasses for the nth time help at all? 

No, but it let Keigo expel the weirdly restless energy in what ways he could, the creeping sense of foreboding setting his nerves into overdrive. The page loaded and he frowned at the onslaught of emails he knew were going to flood his inbox. 

Hell, he expected them to.

What he didn’t expect were the contents, the subject lines all variations of “Did you know?” and “There’s no way” and “I can’t believe it” from colleagues he didn’t even talk to regularly. Sure, the email from the cultural anthropology professor made sense, but the graphic design professor? The head of the business department?

Before he could open the first email of many, his laptop chirped out the familiar ‘ding!’ of a new email, the sound rippling through the café as everyone’s phones and laptops lit up with the same message. 

A schoolwide email? Okay, th—

The world slowed to a crawl, everyone in the packed coffee shop silencing almost at once and the shocked whispers rippling throughout the space only serving to make the silence all the more deafening (“Hey, check your email.” and “Look at this.” and “No way.” and it was too loud someone please make it stop—), his ears near ringing as he struggled to tear his gaze away from the picture embedded at the top of the page.

“Looking a little rough there.” The cotton suddenly stuffing his ears muffled the barista’s voice and would’ve made him jump out of his skin had he been focused on anything but burning the email into his eyes. God, he’d barely even registered the guy coming up to serve his coffee, what was wrong with him? “Professor? Was it that email?”

“Y-Yeah, I just read it.” He cleared his throat and slid the mug closer to himself, taking a sip of the scalding hot coffee to ground himself as he stared at the picture of you. 

The barista merely arched a pierced brow and muttered a soft “ah.” before going back to his spot behind the espresso machine, vibrant blue eyes tracking the rattled professor suspiciously. Keigo was too preoccupied to thank him as he usually would’ve. Too preoccupied with what was staring back at him from his laptop screen.

A picture placed right under the subject line plastering “Unfortunate news about Prof. L/N Y/N” across his screen, the few words in the body text (that he could pick out through the sudden tidal wave of memories past clicking into place) painted an image that he couldn’t help but mourn.

After being reported missing… remains found… will be missed.

Will be missed… 

Well, now that he thought about it, Keigo had been missing you all his life, hadn’t he? 

Both figuratively and literally, always arriving after you left and vice versa, never really seeming to connect in person. Any emails were shrouded with a veil of professionalism that he couldn’t pierce through. Yet, there were things so irrevocably you that he knew to pick out now. The jovial note at the end of your emails, the unapologetically confident sharpness to your words, the extra mug you left for the next person that passed through the faculty lounge (that somehow always ended up being him on the days he was rushing to his next lecture). 

All these things, all these moments, and the fool had passed all of them by.

The restless energy humming under his skin through his entire being disappeared much quicker than it had come, its job done, leaving a gaping  void in its wake that was shockingly familiar. Almost as if this wasn’t the first time this had happened, where the curtains never raised on the beginning you two could’ve had. He took a shuddering, stabilizing breath (that didn’t work), too numb to feel the freshly brewed coffee scalding his tongue that he had hoped would pull him back to reality, hoped the sweet taste would wash away the bitterness at the back of his throat and the splitting headache of years upon years of memories crashing into him like a tidal wave.

Professor Takami had work to get done.

Keigo could mourn later.

Even as he convinced himself of that, he couldn’t even bring himself to brush the dead lotus petals off his work, the sight of the wilted centerpiece only bringing more pain. The cruel coincidence of the once bloomed flowers now dead in his hands didn’t go unnoticed, and Keigo desperately tried to bore the printed words laid in front of him into his mind. 

As if doing that would sear away the sudden onslaught of memories, dead lotus petals igniting a yearning for a long-demolished lotus garden and a pretty concubine who didn’t belong in the palace (or was it a small town and the life he could’ve had?) and the love that slipped through his fingers once more.

Did you go through this too? When he—

The half-graded essays lay untouched for the rest of the day, red ink disappearing in the crimson light cast by the setting sun.

【 ☀︎ 】

When did I…?

He blinked down at the concrete under his feet, stunned, before looking up to see an endless sea of trains passing in front of him. The incessant rushing of the trains around him had replaced the silence of the hotel room he was supposed to be sound asleep in, the too-rhythmic noise of the train tracks surrounding him in an almost ethereal white noise. 

I had just gone to bed… How did I end up at a train station?

He winced at the glare of the midday sun reflecting off of the last car of the train passing in front of him, before stopping short at the sight of someone standing on the other side of the tracks—alone—revealed by the passing train. His heart leapt into his throat and pushed a name he didn’t know and wouldn’t remember out of his lips. There was no way he knew her, the multi-layered kimono and elegant hairpins looked like something out of a millenia-old ukiyo-e print and wholly out of place in a modern train station. But... something deep in his soul knew that it was right, and it sang as he watched the woman turn around. 

“You’re dreaming right now, Keigo. Go back to sleep,”

“What…?” 

“It’s true,” The woman tilted her head with the soft smile that he’d missed so much (missed? Wasn’t this his first time seeing it?) and the ancient hairpieces jingled and swayed with the movement, his gaze locking on a familiar crimson gemstone catching the sunlight, “Don’t believe me? Try to count some numbers, then. One… two…”

Another train hurtled past, blocking his view once more as her painted lips moved soundlessly around the final number.

“Three.”

Keigo sat up with a gasp, staring at the soft shafts of light the sunrise painted on the walls.

It was the start of a new day, and he found himself mourning something lost that he couldn’t even remember.

Dawn finds Hawks, the number two hero, leaping out of his Tokyo hotel window, wind catching on vermilion wings to buffer his descent to the sidewalk.

He was far from home, his current mission dragging him all the way to Tokyo from his agency in Fukuoka. Sneakers touched concrete, and he started down the path where he was supposed to meet with the last person he wanted to see right now. Especially after that mess with the High-End Nomu. He shuddered, spreading his wings as if to remind himself that they were all there, recovered after that hellish fight.

Come to the location on foot, he’d been told, and don’t be conspicuous.

Weird request, and it was kind of hard to remain inconspicuous when he was the number two hero and had a pair of bright red wings announcing his identity to the world. Alas, he needed to cooperate or else he’d end up jeopardizing the entire mission, so Keigo settled for ditching his hero costume in favor of casual clothes and a cap to hide his identity. He pulled a mask over his nose and tucked his wings closer to further help conceal himself as he walked down the street, dipping into the first alley he saw.

His path through the grid of alleyways and side streets had already been mapped out the days before, so it was just a matter of making the short trek there. Unfortunately, the area wasn’t the best, and Keigo found himself slowed by sidestepping trash and the occasional bottle of liquor. The scent of stale alcohol only brought unpleasant fragments of memories, and he pushed them aside in favor of quickening his pace.

“My, not every day I see such a bigshot hero pass by.”

He almost tripped over another bottle, wings ruffling in surprise as he cursed himself for being caught off guard.

There was an old woman sitting there, a steaming cup of tea in her hands as she sat outside her quaint little storefront. 

A flower shop, in this secluded side street? 

“Ah, sorry, ma’am, you have the wrong person. I mean, me? The number 2 pro hero?” He was quick to deny her, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. She merely hummed and took another sip of her tea.

“Do I? Well, this old woman’s eyes aren’t what they used to be after all.” She set down the cup and stepped out of her chair, shuffling over to the water feature on the other side of the doorway that served as an attraction. He could see why, the soft rush of the small waterfall and fragrant lotuses drawing his attention the more he stared.

Suddenly, the woman plucked one of the younger lotuses, patting the stem dry before handing it to him with a smile.

“Uh—”

“You saved my son that day, from the Nomu attack in Fukuoka. This is the least I could do.”

Against his better judgement—he really needed to get going to catch the train in time—he took the half-bloomed lotus in his hands and pulled down his mask to smile at her.

“Your eyes are… actually pretty sharp, ma’am. Thank you.”

She laughed, sitting back in her seat and sent him on his way. The rest of the walk went smoothly after that, and he soon found himself jogging up the stairs to the station, muttering under his breath as he checked his watch. 

Right on time.

【 ☀︎ 】

A strange sense of deja vu creeped into his chest as he stepped onto the platform in Minami-senju station. He’d been feeling off all day, and the weird sense of familiarity that had been tugging at the back of his mind didn’t help. Luckily, he’d managed to arrive in time to catch the noon train so the rest of his schedule should hopefully go smoothly from here. A departing train screeched into motion, and he winced at the rippling glare of sunlight that reflected into his eyes, the strange deja vu rearing its head again.

Keigo stared at the train passing in front of him as he idly twirled the lotus stem in between his fingers. The words left his lips before he could catch himself.

“One… two…” He cut himself off with a sigh, dropping his head and dragging a hand over his face.

It was ridiculous. He was being ridiculous.

Keigo.

His head shot up at the sound of his name, the world darkening under the shade of a passing cloud. Did he just imagine that? He had to. The train station was practically stranded, and there was no one even close enough to call his name without shouting across the station (if they even knew his name in the first place). Despite his better judgement, he wet his lips and shut his eyes, the strangely familiar words passing his lips once more as he desperately tried to recall the familiarity he longed for.

“One…”

I want to see you.

“Two…” 

I don’t even know who you are, but I miss you anyway.

“Three—”

Suddenly, the steady rhythm of the train tracks silenced and left him with the raging drum of his heartbeat, the blood rushing in his ears as he stared at the person standing on the other side of the tracks. The emerging sun smiled upon him, casting the world in light once more as his voice locked around a familiar name he’d never spoken.

It started as a hushed whisper, and he swallowed the lump in his throat to call the name thrice ingrained into his soul.

“Y/N!”

The familiar smile that bloomed across your lips was answer enough as he pushed through the newly arrived train to the other side, to you. He reached out, clawing through the rush hour crowd (why were there so many people? Why were you so far? Closer, closer, closer—) and he nearly sobbed in relief as you fell into his arms, clinging to each other as your souls finally, finally, melded together as one. Now and forevermore.

The questions could come later, but now... he had a promise to fulfill.

He was home.

notes: minami-senju train station is located in very close proximity (a two-minute walk) from what is left of the kozukappara execution grounds, where a temple now stands in its place. he’s made quite the journey to come full circle, hasn’t he?

[frostfeather13]

Talking About Cookies Part 1

Hydrangea Cookie

Spoilers for Season 7 of CR:OB ahead! And a major spoiler for The Frost Witch and the Lantern in the Snow story from CR:K

So Hydrangea Cookie is probably one of my favorite cookies across the entire Cookie Run Franchise.

She’s so pretty from her color palette to her design motifs, I especially love the long flowy sleeves and the colors!

Her trial theme also slaps and was the first I got the Diamond Rank on.

She also has a god damn frog as a pet!! And the frog has a costume!!!

This frog costume makes me wish we had a costume gacha for the pets. 

There are only two cookies that are canonically friendly to her. The rest are tense. Lotus Dragon (obviously) and Cherry Blossom. Cherry Blossom is an odd choice but I can see it.

Just imagine these two going on long walks admiring the hydrangeas and having picnics. Them watching the fireworks together, Cherry Blossom getting Hydrangea more off track of her duties to have picnics. Them looking longingly into the other’s eyes as they slowly move closer… and I am practically writing a fanfiction at this point. 

She’s in general pretty friendly towards the other cookies (even Pomegranate) but isn’t a fan of Purple Yam (cause he’s loud) Ginseng (cause they don’t agree on the whole ‘life draining lotuses’ thing) and Bellflower (because she tries so hard)

Her Magic Candy skill is also pretty cool, the color of the hydrangea jellies depend on how many of bear jellies she collected. If she collected mainly yellow bear jellies then the hydrangea jellies are yellow and it’s the same rule for pink and frozen bear jellies.

Oh and her main skill is beautiful, I love the look of the hydrangeas and it just looks so pretty. Did I mention how much her music slaps? Because the music slaps.

One thing I love about Hydrangea’s personality is that she will drop everything to look at the flowers. She also doesn’t mind getting soggy unlike most cookies. She just goes with the flow and I love that about her. 

That is where I was originally going to leave this, but then season 7 came out.

So now I have so much more to say!

First off, she straight up was willing to die for the Lotus Paradise. 

The way she was just so okay with it, makes me a bit concerned about what is going to happen to her during the story. 

So I did some digging into what hydrangeas symbolize and found out it depends on the color, given that Hydrangea walks through pink, blue, and purple hydrangeas I’ll be going off of those colors.

In general - sincere emotions, gratitude, deep understanding, grace and beauty

Pink - heartfelt emotions, romance, true feelings, and heartfelt emotion.

Blue - feelings of regret, frigidity and apology.

Purple - deep understanding and a desire to deeply understand someone.

To quote the book Tar Baby, Toni Morrison says “A dead hydrangea is as intricate and lovely as one in bloom.”

Just an intresting quote I found while looking up what hydrangeas symbolize. And it kind of ties into her max affection jelly quote:

“None can stop the cycle of blooming and wilting.” 

So given this information, I think something terrible is going to happen to Hydrangea during the story. I don’t want her to get hurt but given her devotion to Lotus Dragon, it’s possible that she could sacrifice herself for Lotus Dragon (and she attempted to with the whole ‘live draining lotus’ thing). If anything does happen, I’ll cry more than I did during Sherbet Cookie’s death. 

There was also recently an official ‘Which Cookie Run Villian Lies Within You’ quiz, one of the results is Hydrangea and it labels her as ‘the Unintentional Villain’

It mentions that she has an easy time understanding others and that she has a lot of optimism. It calls out that if she keeps empathizing and understanding others she could be ‘the World’s Greatest Advisor’. (Which ties into the symbolism of hydrangeas)

Then it mentions that if you (the reader/Hydrangea) were traveling with heinous criminals you would be okay with it. And it explains that it maybe makes you the scariest out of all of them.

Given that this was from an official personality test, it’s easy to say that this is how Hydrangea is and feels. 

Needless to say Hydrangea has some issues. 

Regardless, Hydrangea Cookie Supremacy

Anyway this was pretty fun, I might do this again if y’all are into it. 

Before I forget here’s a doodle/sketch of Hydrangea in my own style instead of me trying to replicate the CR art style like I normally do. 

[beautifulterriblequeen]

AMA reread headcanon #1

Somehow I got looking through my old screencaps of the Reddit AMA for TTM’s release, and I’m having a whole new batch of thoughts on some of them!

In this one, @lily-lilou​ asked whether Rayla’s flower bobbed underwater while she was in the Moon Nexus lake, and the answer was:

“Oy... yeah Ethari would feel dread and pain, and would probably cry with relief when it bobbed back up to the surface.”

Which, ow, okay, wow, damn. BUT. I have more thoughts now!

I’m looking directly at “dread and pain” here and wondering... what kind of pain is this? Because I had assumed it was emotional pain at the horrible prospect of losing Rayla so soon after seeing her again. But what if it’s something else?

I always wondered: What if Ethari wasn’t lurking by the pool when Rayla yeeted into the Moon Nexus? He’s trying to move forward in his grief, he’s probably working day and night on something or another, he’s not hovering by the pool.

How would he know that something had happened to Rayla’s lotus?

My exploration of this possibility is kind of tied to another ama question I want to write about--and this is all speculative, since we don’t know whether Ethari actually did see the lotus sink, or if this is just a hypothetical--but if he did, I think it would be connected with with how Moon magic works.

There seem to be a lot of pairings and balances in Moon magic, specifically in the life/death magic. The binding ribbon even forces a binary situation: your hand or your target’s life. Life and death are inextricably linked, and so the magic that utilizes this aspect of the primal Moon energy also seems to be connective, in one way or another.

In this case, I think it could connect Ethari to Runaan and Rayla via some kind of magical notification or bond. Perhaps Ethari adds a bit of spell to connect each assassin to their loved one(s), so if something happens to the lotus--and to the assassin on the other end of the connection--the elves in the Silvergrove will feel it somehow and come running to the pool.

It seems a very Moonshadow kind of magical tether to link an assassin and their loved one via something that would hurt when they’re dying from afar. Super angsty, holy cats. It would make Ethari rush to the pool no matter what he was doing, and considering what he’s been through over the last year, yeah, dread sounds about right.

Also, though, him crying with relief, obviously that can be taken at face value and I’m sure he’d feel the weight of the world lift off of his shoulders to see Rayla’s lotus rise again. But if Rayla’s lotus being sunken was somehow magically straining on Ethari, as a physical representation of grief, because he’s her loved one and he’s tethered himself to her life force? Well, gosh, that’s angsty too.

Oh, no worries, it’s about to get worse. Because if he were feeling physical or magical pain from Rayla’s lotus sinking, then he’s been feeilng it from Runaan’s sunken lotus all along. Whatever connection might exist between Rayla’s lotus and Ethari probably also exists between Runaan’s lotus and Ethari. The primal magic is still in that lotus, doing its job, hovering the flower between the surface and the bottom of the pool. Its connection to Runaan isn’t severed. So if there’s any connection to Ethari, it’s intact as well.

If Ethari had to feel the physical toll of two lotuses sinking at the same time, that’s... a lot for any one elf to bear. So it’s perfectly understandable that he would cry with relief at having one of those burdens lifted away, aside from the sheer relief of knowing that, somewhere in the world, Rayla wasn’t dead after all. Ethari’s heart has been through enough since Winter’s Turn. Let him rest!

So maybe it’s just better all around if Ethari wasn’t at the pool and didn’t see Rayla’s lotus sink and didn’t feel any direct magical consequences of Rayla’s Nexus dip straining the lotus’s bond. Because if he did, then he’d have been in constant pain since Runaan’s lotus dipped under. And he doesn’t deserve that, however much he may welcome its distraction from how much his heart aches.

Okay. Okay. I gotta stop hurting the poor craftsman. The lotus doesn’t need to cause pain, right? I’m just angsty. Moonshadow elves have some kind of way to sense life, like Lujanne did with Zym’s egg. Maybe that ability is involved in creating the lotus magic in the first place, so Ethari’s really good at that skill. Maybe he can just sense that Rayla’s life, specifically, has suddenly tanked, without it physically hurting him. That could be a thing. Still gonna stab him in the feels, though, I mean. Obviously. He loves Rayla. But her lotus does come up again! Poor guy, what a rollercoaster.

On the other hand... because I have to think about what he’d do next... if Ethari did see Rayla’s lotus dip and then rise, surely that’s got to get him thinking with a lot of question marks and exclamation points over his head, right? I mean, can you imagine? He would have such questions. Maybe he’d do research or cast some diagnostic spells at the pool or Rayla’s lotus, and maybe, if Rayla visited him after she left Callum at the Moon Nexus, they’d each have some very interesting information to share, which could set off a hunt for Viren’s coin pouch.

[thesappiestnap]

i've had this idea for a long while, and finally wrote it down. this is like... familial type relationship, like i imagine reader as a slightly older sibling type friend to tommy. i may also make this a series! i'll almost definitely have a part two at the very least. anyways, thanks for reading and enjoy,

Lotus (Rebirth)

"Here. I thought you might like this."

As you plopped the bucket into his hands, you watched with a wry smile as Tommy's whine about a bit of water spilling on his shirt dissolved into stunned and awed silence as his eyes fell onto what was inside.

The flower, barely bigger than the palm of your hand, floated delicately on the surface of the water, its unfurled petals seeming to give off a gentle glow even in the sunlight.

"It's a lotus," you say proudly, "I found it when I was digging up clay in a swamp."

Tommy's mouth drew into a tight line for a moment while he stared at the flower, blinking a little rapidly for a moment before finally clearing his throat. "Yeah, it's alright, I guess," he said in an attempt to sound nonchalant. "Thanks."

You could tell that he was touched by the gift, and wouldn't admit it. But it wasn't even the biggest part of it. You'd had the idea for a while, ever since Tommy came back from the prison... from death... You just couldn't watch him keep falling into more and more hurt. And you had gone a bit on your own since after L'manberg was destroyed, finding it easier to stay away from the fighting of others. Tommy deserved that sort of rest too. You just had to think of how to ask him.

"Did you know that lotuses symbolize rebirth in flower language?"

"Really?" Tommy's tone changed immediately, intrigued. "There's a language for flowers?"

"Yeah, like how you give someone a red rose to symbolize love and passion, other flowers have those kinds of meanings too."

Tommy looked back down at the flower floating in the bucket in his hands, eyebrows furrowing. "Are you trying to send me a secret message? Wai- is this cause I died and came back?! That's very rude, you know, to bring up," he said in the way you knew he was doing a bit.

"Well, no, actually, I hadn't really thought of it like that. But, uh..." You shuffled your feet slightly, fidgeting with the strap of your travel bag on your shoulder. "I was thinking, ya know, maybe it was time for a change for you. I mean, all this shit you've been through, maybe you should sorta... start over. I thought maybe I could help you do that."

He was only more confused by that, tilting his head to the side slightly, looking like a confused puppy. "How's that?"

"Well, I've been working on making a farm since... ya know. Sorta away from everything, but still close enough that I can visit. I made an extra room, ya know, in case I needed it, and it's kinda quiet there and I thought you might like it there." You glanced up at him to see a wide open mouthed smile spreading across his face.

"Are there cows?"

His smile was contagious, you found as one spread on your own face. "And sheep, and chickens. I've been supplying Niki with milk and eggs and crops to start up her bakery again. I was thinking about starting up a shop to make and sell jams and fresh veggies, too. Milk and cheese and butter, maybe bread and cookies. But, ya know, I'd need help for that."

Tommy's eyes- his entire face, really- was aglow. "Yeah! I can help you sell, I'm a great businessman! Salesman Tommy, they call me!"

You smiled as he launched into a tirade about how good at business he was, reminiscing about Tubbo Bathwater. "So you're in?"

"Fuck yeah! We can be business partners and I get 50% of all profits!"

You rolled your eyes a little, but you didn't care much about the profit part of it. "You can take over my spare room then, or build your own place close by, whatever you want. I can take care of most of the farm work if you want to take care of the animals. And since I know you secretly like flowers," you added a bit cheekily, "I have a little garden started. Not much, but you can expand it however you want. I have books that can teach you about gardening techniques and stuff, and I have one about flower language too, if you want to learn."

Tommy jumped around like his feet were on fire, yelling incoherently with happy Tommy noises as water sloshed around his hands onto the grass below. He stopped suddenly- "I have to pack then, make sure I get all my valuables from my 'ome. Oh... my house. What do I do with my house?"

"You can always come back to it. Use it as a place to stay when you come visit, or like a second base or something," you suggested.

"Yeah. Yeah! Right! We have GOT a PLAN! I have to get Friend, and Shroud, oh, do you have any leads-" You had already procured two leads from your bag, tossing them over to him. He beamed, shoving the bucket with the lotus back into your arms. "RIGHT! Hold this for me- I will go get my things, and we can start up, chop chop, there's work to be done!"

He had a fire in his eyes as he ran off towards his little hovel, a look that you hadn't seen in a while, a reminder of the carefree, excitable boy he used to be. You couldn't change what had happened to him, but you'll be damned if you wouldn't help him change his future. You looked down at the lotus, still gently touching the surface of the finally still water in the bucket. This would be Tommy's rebirth.

[djinmer4]

Matchmaking for the Greater Evil (2/4)

He’s always had a soft spot for Nie Huaisang.

Granted, it hasn’t always been a priority for him.  Between trying to pass classes at Gusu, running after Wei Wuxian, that road trip trying to locate the Yin Iron, his crush on Wen Qing, the Sunshot Campaign, then finally rebuilding Lotus Pier and raising his nephew, there had been plenty of things to distract him.  But it had always been there in the back of his mind, driving him to let the other copy answers off of his notes, watch him take hours to paint his fans, protect him against the various threats on the road trip, and preventing him from raising a fuss whenever the Second Young Master would come by with orders that he’d rather ignore than follow.  Really, he’s just lucky Huaisang’s not the type to take advantage, otherwise, he’d be completely screwed.

As time goes on and their childhood companions fall away, Nie Huaisang becomes a larger and larger part of his life.  By the time Chifeng-zun passes away, Jiang Cheng takes it upon himself to aid the new Sect Leader.  Lianfeng-zun and Zewu-jun were there to help, of course, but neither of them had rebuilt their sects from the ground up the way he had.  The Unclean Realm’s in much better shape than Lotus Pier was, but on the other hand, Nie Huaisang had never dedicated himself to learning how to run a sect the way Jiang Cheng had.  The other is grateful for his advice, although perhaps a little embarrassed to be losing face by revealing how ill-prepared he was for the role.  Huaisang is fine pushing off his diplomatic duties on his brother’s sworn brothers but hesitant to ask for help on internal matters.  Fortunately, Jiang Cheng finds he enjoys helping the other out.  He always felt like such a helpless mess compared to his older siblings; it’s nice to be the one someone else depended on.

And it gives him a chance to reminisce with someone who doesn’t need everything spelled out.  Huaisang had been there for most of it after all.  Even when nostalgia turns from bittersweet to just bitter and the words choke in his throat, the other man will take up the narrative, bleeding some of the pain off as he cites some unimportant detail or forgotten memory to distract him.  Nights like that, Jiang Cheng finds he sleeps better, the nightmares not so dark.

~~~~~~~~

“Jin Ling!  What the hell are you doing?  I could do a better job with my eyes closed!  You don’t have to get a bull’s-eye, but at least hit the damn target next time or I’ll break your arm!”

“Now, now, Sect Leader Jiang.  Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh?”  He turned and saw Sect Leader Nie coming up to the Lotus Pier training grounds.  The fan he waved in front of his face did little to hide the soft smile he directed at the trainees.  “It’s a shichen past noon and the hottest part of the day.  Surely you can let them take a break now?”

Jiang Cheng tried to ignore the pleading glances of his trainees but made the mistake of looking at Jin Ling.  The boy had just reached his eighth year and had already mastered the art of using puppy eyes to get his way.  “Fine, you’re all dismissed.  Make sure you practice and do a better job tomorrow or I’ll have you all restring your bows with your own hair!”  The disciples bowed in a hurried manner, thanking him for the training then headed towards the cafeteria.  “Jin Ling!”  A single yellow petal in a river of purple lotuses swam upstream against the current.  “This time make sure to maintain your own bow and arrows and quiver.  Your servants won’t be accompanying you on night-hunts and if you try to foist that task off on the quartermaster again, I’ll break both your legs!”

“Yes, Jiujiu!”

Satisfied he’d made his point, he turned to his other honored guest.  He held out his arm for Huaisang to take and ignored the Zidian-like thrill that went through him as the other accepted.  “You’ve completed your correspondence then?” 

“Most of it anyway.  There’s one issue, not urgent, that I’m going to need to deal with in person when I get back to Qinghe.  And two border disputes with some minor sects, one about fishing rights to the East and one about a river that changed course in the West.  I’ll forward both of those to Jin Guanyao.”  The shorter man looked around and pouted.  “This isn’t the way to the commissary.”

“It’s not.  If you’re done with your correspondence, we might as well take the time to have a meal in private.”  Jiang Cheng waves down a passing servant and orders a meal for two with tea (no alcohol this early in the day) to be served in his private study.  He felt his face fall into a familiar frown.  “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Let Zewu-jun and Lianfeng-zun handle all your diplomatic relations.  You’re smart enough to do all that yourself.  I know you are.  I’ve seen how you handle everything in the Unclean Realm and you’ve always been ten times better than I am at dealing with people.  Why not prove all the fucking idiots who think you’re an idiot wrong?”

Huaisang looks up at him through his lashes, one corner of his smile curled up just a little higher than the other.  He stretches up and Jiang Cheng can feel his breath on his cheek.  He can also scent a recent change in the incense the other uses, from citrus to something that smelled of pine and apples.  “Let me tell you a secret.”  He feels his heart skip a beat at those words.

“You’re absolutely right.  I could handle all those issues with other sects by myself.  But do you know what the reward for doing a good job is?”  Jiang Cheng shook his head.  “The reward for doing a good job is more work.”  Huaisang’s voice adopted a familiar, whiny tone.  “Running a sect is so hard, Jiang-xiong!  It takes so much effort, I barely have any time to paint anymore!”  They continue to walk along the docks, the taller man deftly guiding the other along a more circuitous route that showed off Lotus Pier’s best features.  “And San-ge always loves being needed.  Really, if he didn’t want to help me with these things, all he would have to do is either push them off to Er-ge or leave them for me.  Why should I bother when he’s so willing to do the boring stuff for me?”

Despite himself, Jiang Cheng feels his mouth twitching into a smile.  Some things never changed, and he’s glad Huaisang’s still has the laziness from Gusu.  “Besides, you know what the best part is?  Since everyone’s expectations are so low, they never ask anything extra of me.  Or if I need something from them, they’ll just say yes without arguing because obviously, I’m too incompetent to take care of things myself.  I can foist all sorts of unpleasant duties on other Sect Leaders.”

He gives up and lets the grin spread across his face (two Jiang Sect cultivators stop dead in their tracks, quickly turn and all but run the other way).  It’s ridiculous but he feels like bubbles are rising through his chest.  This secret, this thing that no one outside of Qinghe Nie knows except him, makes him feel special.  Like Huaisang is giving Jiang Cheng a little part of himself to keep.  The thought of being allowed to know something so precious makes him giddy.

Then the last statement registers and the smile drops off his face as if it had never been.  “Wait a moment.  Have you been tricking me into accepting some of Qinghe’s night-hunts?”

Huaisang drops his arm, laughs, and sprints away from the enraged cultivator.

“I don’t know!  I don’t know anything about that!  I don’t know anything at all!”

[crossdressingdeath]

Why do people act like WWX is a terrible parent? Yes it was a little silly that he buried A-Yuan in the dirt but that's the only thing I can think of that he did that could be seen as even slightly "bad". Other than that he's actually really good with kids based on his interactions with A-Yuan, the juniors, those random kids in that town in his 2nd life that he plays with, even his shidis at LP pre-fire. WWX would be a really good dad so I don't get why people act like he's a horrible parent.

I mean he did also teach A-Yuan how to disguise porn as normal books which is certainly an interesting thing to teach a four year old. But even with that I don’t think he had actual porn, so he was probably just messing around with paper; Sizhui says he taught him how to disguise porn, not that he showed him porn.

Yeah, the thing people need to remember is that WWX was keeping fifty people from starving on a mountain of corpses. Did he do a perfect job? No, of course not! How could anyone be a perfect parent in that situation?! But he did everything in his power to ensure A-Yuan felt safe and happy, and you know what? He succeeded! Sizhui’s memories of his childhood are happy! Sizhui adores him! He did a damn good job with what he had! I hate CQL adding that scene where he yells at A-Yuan over the lotuses because resentful energy or not WWX would die before talking to the kid like that! WWX loves Sizhui so much and worked so hard to keep him safe and happy in a terrible situation and he deserves more credit for that.

[evergreen-dryad]

day 5: mythology AU

Title: rain comes when death is sated

Author: evergreen_dryad, betaed by the amazing @bradburymeinfire aka inverseR

Rating: E (for the latter half)

Warnings: mentions of blood, bone, insects etc. Mildly dubious consent for the latter half

Summary:  —he was spring come before, and he made the world anew, but now he is trapped within himself. the black festering rot that comes after every birth and growth: death.

Spring used to come to him every year, but now he has locked himself down in the depths of the underworld, refusing to come out. The world is frozen, unable to live or die.

So Winter sets out to journey into the underworld for the god he loves. He may not want to emerge anytime soon. How can he stay there with him?

(The answer lies in swallowing the seeds of the underworld.)

[Or: the mythological gods AU combining Amaterasu and Persephone starring Yiling Laozu Wei Wuxian as Death, and Lan Wangji as Winter.]

Link to AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23702596

Excerpt:

—he was spring come before, and he made the world anew, but now he is trapped within himself. the black festering rot that comes after every birth and growth: death.

He is Death, and the dark has come to swallow him whole. He is now adjudicator of the dying, of souls reaped by all forms of natural law and violence. He is Death, he of bone-white pallor and gaunt-grey eyes and stark-black hair, that sweeps like the ravens and crows to eke out the last bits of flesh.

You will know it is him when you see the flap of his red ribbon, like the red of rivers run after wars. You will hear the ghostly wail of a flute, heralding the end of times, the screams and sighs of the damned.

The world is dying under his feet (—why did he do it? they cry—), his name lies forgotten. The green-eyed peck out his name from history, call him a tyrant grasping for power in the pantheon from his earth-grown forbearers.

The winds bear whispers of how he caused each one of those delicate, beautiful people that grew on elegant stalks from the riverbank, those people who raised him, child of spring—

—to die. perish horribly, their petals wilted and fluttering purplish-red amongst the rot.

The one that survived through it all was reforged as a storm.

They say they have never met since.

They say after the last death he had to reap what he had sowed, Death went and hid deep into the bowels of the underworld, where no light may reach him, and none of his reek and poison may reach the surface.

He cursed himself. He—

had wrested power for freedom, bit of the forbidden fruit for knowledge, to master Death — but the price was great. Too great, the juice poured down his chin and soaked crimson his hands. 

He bled inside. Blackest of blood ran on

and on

  and on

   for days.

     weeks.

years.

They all forgot that because he was once spring (is still spring, he is life and death incarnate, all coiled up and the same, inseparable aspects) the world could not live (—rejuvenate, breathe—) anymore.

Corpses remained immobile and immaculate. They had wished him dead, but it seemed as if things could no longer die either, without him to section off the souls to their allotted places in the afterlives. 

The world lay in an everlasting winter. Winter breathed in, but he remained. Exhalations of ice stayed frozen, his robes of purest white remained as blankets of snow, feathery and soft. The deep sleep did not lift.

The cold seeped everywhere, and the sun’s rays could not break through.

So the sun lodged a complaint to winter. Winter took it silently, and shook his head slowly at the end of the tirade. 

He did not know what to do either. Usually spring came to take the grasp from him, in the first generations happily (—he would come, capering in with a little tune on his lips, laughing and with a lilting tease in his tone that made the tips of his white ears flush—), then sombrely, but dutifully, and still with a smile to spare, and at last grimly. But he had still come, even while shadows and death draped over his feet, and the white of bones scraped at the air around him.

It seemed that all he could do for now was layer the world most gently in soft snow, and ensure everything stayed alive until spring could take back the reins. He breathed, and plucked a chord. Another. 

-nother. 

     -ther.

           -r. 

              . 

With this, he soothed even the most pugnacious into slumber, together with the bear and the flies. 

He smoothed his robes. He stilled his beating heart, and began his journey into the shadowy recesses of the underworld.

With each step he took, frost took forth, but he quelled it to stay still with a look. Do not go further. Behind him trailed his rabbits, soft and white as the snow that was his mantle. They lolloped, hoping to follow and guide him, with their pure light—

—but he forbade them.

He eyed them a reminder that they were of the living world, and would not come out unscathed. So they stilled, but did not stray until all red and black eyes had watched him descend into the gloom safely.

Winter walked for a long time. It seemed that the fog would be interminable down there, for the underworld was an undulating, honeycomb stretch of tunnels with no sense of space and time — truly the work of a madman, they would have said up above.

Here was full to bursting of souls and ragtag remains of corpses and those of the night, crammed to the brim in every chamber. While Death had not reaped any souls for a time, he had also not expanded the spaces for each section, so the necropolis had become a nightmare of living quarters, a housing crisis for the dead. 

Souls cried out to him, grasping for his cape, for the crisp, wintery coolness he brought with him. When he turned to look at them, they silenced, and stayed at a distance. Nevertheless, that did not stop them from following him to get a taste of his divine aura.

They could not follow him far. No soul could venture further from the section they’d been allotted in afterlife.

Up ahead he thought he noticed a glowing outline of a familiar being ahead (—a ringing bell—). When he turned to follow, it winked and disappeared. But Winter thought he knew the way through Death’s personal hell.

The glint of water greeted him, and he nodded. Just follow the river that runs through, a constant in all layers of the underworld.

Winter walked. Through caves,

through winds,

through storm,

through immense heat,

through the sticky wails of the swamps,

through fire,

through the far lake of boiling blood,

and through the ice that threatened to capture his feet.

But he was Winter. He is Winter, cold personified, and no ice or storm could have halted him in his tracks. Through fire and other conditions, he brought the chill, and made it bearable to cross.

All through the way, the glowing outline had chimed in and out, always ahead, a faithful lantern to guide him through the unknown. Lilac lotuses floated above the murk every now and then like half-eaten dreams.

And at long last—

—he finds the heart of the maze.

Deepest darkness. It yawns, and the abyss stares back at him. Smoke wafts, and it is hair, shifting, roiling. Eyes like swirls of mist to get lost in, in which he could stare forever. There is a god present in his right eye, numinous in his entirety with every sweep of his lashes.

His breath hitches. The pressure of his being is suffocating.

“Why are you here,” it rasps in his voice. The head turns, and there is the incline of jaw, the paleness a relief against the inky sweep of his mane that has swept round him, and the skulls he had wrapped himself round in eternal penance.

[space-blue]

Artist and Hound

Iain Hund, former supernatural homicide detective, now mere magical vandalism inspector, feels the staleness of his car's air like a strangling hand upon his thoughts. He sends a last baleful glare at the wall he has pointlessly stalked for the past eight hours and starts his car to drive back to the station.

In all his years in the Sup-PD, Hund had never doubted his own righteousness. When the Harris case had come his way, he'd broken all the rules necessary to land the damn man behind bars and still felt like it was right. He had accepted his demotion as a cheap price to pay to save the public from the likes of Jack Harris. So when he put down his things on his new cramped desk at magical vandalism, and even after a year chasing Blues dealers, petty curse carvers, and weres doing their claws on public property, Iain Hund had remained serene. Regret bloomed in him when the Artist's case was made his top priority.

Tom, whom he shares his desk with, is a cold shoulder to cry on.

"No chance with this new stake-out then?" Met only by moody silence, Tom pushes a box of donut accross the desk. "You look like you need some."

"You eat donuts like a road cop."

"Well, those guys know what's up. Didn't you work with them, back in the day?"

"Yes," Iain sighs, dunking his hand in the proffered box, "and this case is the most pointless and disheartening task I've been given in my career, which includes these old patrols with the normal's police, writing tickets and shit."

"Come on, the Artist has been taunting us for years, but she can't be flawless. Guy with an ability like yours, what's that? Magikolour synaesthesia? Why go for stake-outs and CCTV? Why not make some traps? You've got more magical ability than this whole floor put together!"

"Tom, I'd need so many warrants for one trap, it's not ever happening. I think I got given this task as extra punishment. Something senseless to run after until I retire."

"What if they really think you can catch the vandal who's never been caught?"

"Why do they want that anyway? Because some loony normal might scrap some paint off a wall and somehow figue out there's something off with it? What am I to say to her if I catch her? 'You're under arrest for artistry. Your fingers will be broken... No, sorry, I mean, I need your address so we can send you fines!' Don't you think we'd all be better off with more art like hers in NY, and less wendigos or murderous weres I could put behind bars?"

"Hund, I don't wanna disappoint, but the world's been doing just fine without you. Also, moaning to me isn't getting you back into homicide and you know it. Artist is no murderer, maybe you've got to change your tactic, get original."

Iain, knowing good advice when he hears it, wonders about the changes he could make. The police, sup or normal's, has no name or face to put on the Artist. Even her gender is as good as the street word, rumours from the guy who knows a guy who's seen her.

Dusting donut crumbs from his notebooks, Iain peruses through weeks of drawings. When seen by normals or photographed, the Artist's work is static, if beautiful graffiti art. The drawings were to capture the details of what sups–anyone with a shred of magical ability–saw instead: myriads of images, sometimes a whole scene, with characters turning to the watcher, mouth opening in mute calls, sometimes the paint exploding out of the walls, pulling you in clouds of coruscant particles. In his book Iain has little boats on the calm waters of a lake, the face of a submerged god half hidden under lotuses; a pale man weeping liquid gold; a woman playing a sitar, each sound coming alive in the shape of a fantastical animal; a highway bridge pillar turned into an aquarium in which twirled a bigger-than-life mermaid; and many more. His notebook is far thicker than the case file ever was. In the last pages he finds the sketches made of a long mural of dancers. Their appearance changed depending on the angle you looked at it, a masquerade of shape-shifters. In it is a message for the man the Artist knows is on her trail, for hidden behind the legs of a dancer stands a black wolf-dog and though it has no collar, a golden tag gleams beneath its jaws, etched in the faintest strokes with the name Iain.

That's how she must see me: the law's dog on his invisible leash.

"Alright, let's get original."

"Mmh? Where are you going?"

"Hudson Heights. I'm gonna get friendlier with our local alchemists."

He leaves Tom to choke on his donut.

Alchemists have no claws or tooth to rend through you, but they don't need them. The power they wield, and their tendency for single minded obsession, makes them a prickly bunch, and the Sup-PD has a special unit for policing them. Iain's badge feels like a flimsy shield in his hand as he steps down from the sunny, all-American street and into the subterranean entrance to the alchemy quarters. The skills of the Artist and the finesse of her alchemical paints has already sent Iain deep inside those hidden galleries of shops and studios, where his questions revealed envy, admiration, and wholesalers of raw materials who did most business online and all proudly claimed her as a loyal customer, whilst unable or unwilling to prove anything.

The man at the entrance smiles at Hund.

"What do you want this time, cop?"

"Just visiting Toby Smith as a customer today." Iain grimaces. "Please."

The doorman grins sardonically, Smith being a famously irascible alchemist. He reaches for the door handle and applies his magic to it. To Iain it looks like a blue aura. A small displacement magic, that opens doors to other places. He nods his thanks and scuttles past and right into the maddening chaos of Toby Smith's shop.

"You again? What do you want now?" a disembodied voice asks from all corners.

Smith does business like this, never bothering to be present in the same room as his customers, his store guarded by an arsenal of curses that would make any hardened criminal as docile as a puppy.

"Paints."

"You're still after the Artist?"

"Ah, yes sir."

"You planning on defacing her work?"

"No sir. I–well, I like her work too. She caters to her fans though, and I thought, maybe, I can get to discuss with her somehow?"

Drawers open at invisible hands, glass jars and packets start drifting towards Iain.

"You're planning some sort of painting show-down? You've got guts Hund, I like it. Leave two hundred behind, follow the instructions on the packs, and work on your magic before mixing, unless you want blowing your moronic face off."

"Thanks sir."

"You're a better guy than I assumed."

"Sir?"

"Mixing paints to life is a tiny magic, but it's also very rare. The Artist has a unique gift. That someone with such a high grade magic as yours can appreciate her work is good. Maybe with you on her case she won't get wiped after all."

Iain mouth goes very dry.

"Wiped? Why would..."

His mind reels. It makes perfect sense now. Why bother with breaking fingers, indeed! Such a small gift, to breath life into a pot of already alchemical paint. It would take a tiny trap seal with her name on it to erase her magic as surely as if she were born a normal. He can picture his bosses, patting him on the shoulder. Good job Hund.

"Hund?"

"Thank you sir. For your honesty."

Iain goes home on autopilot, lost in his thoughts. He spends several evenings practising, and more building the final spell-works and paints before going out. He's mapped the Artist's work throughout Manhattan, and picked a wall she is likely to walk by. Finally he sits behind the wheel of his car and works a small shifting magic on his face. He has decided to go into the night to do what he's paid to stop. He feels shivers of anticipation and dread, a kinship and a respect stronger than ever before for the Artist who so inconspicuously prowls the nights.

He does her portrait, suggested, unfinished, broad strokes of paint revealing how little he knows of her. Sitting beside her stands a black hound with a golden tag, his muzzle resting in her lap, adoring eyes gazing up into her unpainted face waiting to be filled. Artist and Hound, he titles it.

A promise.

Two days later, Iain finds that the mouth of the Artist has been painted over in a slight smile.

~~ October 2018 – Theme : Small Magics