#still noticable on the color shift but its a lot better than before

[leggo-my-eggo-sum]

Thank you to this person because I did not even think to check fathom for my sanguine/sanguine/umber gen1 And I've been having a *time* trying to get this dragon designed

mulberry / violet / fire

[mika-mp3]

The treasure is all mine!

-chapter one-

(Prologe, chapter two)

Genshin Impact x Creator!Reader

warnings: no y/n used, slight yandere behavior, possible spelling errors and maybe a bit off to the Aranara Story (but I've read lots about it in the wiki so should be fine)

summary: Aramasu offers you to come to the Aranara Village, you agree and enjoy it at first but soon notice someting off

characters: Arana, Arama, you , Araja, (Aranara!OC:) Aramasu

word count: 1756

wattpad story here

(here are pictures of the Aranaras if it makes your reading experience better)

Nara = Human Vana = Forest

https://pin.it/6cQzybFhG

"Perhaps," Aramasu continues, its voice carrying a gentle, melodic resonance, "you are more than what you think you are. The forest knows you, and so do I."

You pause, considering Aramasu's words. "I don't remember anything from before. I don't even know my own name."

Aramasu looks thoughtful for a moment, its eyes reflecting a deep, ancient wisdom. "Names are important, but even without one, you are still you. You need a place to rest, to think. Come with me to Mahavanaranapna, where we live. You can stay until you find your name."

"Mahavana- what?" you ask, curiosity piqued. "What is that?"

"Mahavanaranapna is home. Located in Varana, Hidden from Nara eyes, safe and warm. It's our village, with houses made of leaves and branches. Beautiful lakes, giant trees, plants protecting us. It is invisible to all eyes that aren't supposed to find us, I'll take you there."

You nod, a deep sense of gratitude welling up inside you. "Thank you, Aramasu. I would like that."

With that, Aramasu begins to float ahead, guiding you deeper into the forest. The journey is enchanting; each step you take brings the forest more vividly to life. You pass by flowers that emit a soft, ethereal glow, their petals shimmering like tiny stars. Streams murmur happily as they weave through the underbrush, their clear waters reflecting the sunlight in a dance of liquid light. The trees seem to hum with an ancient, serene energy, their leaves whispering secrets to the wind.

As you walk, the scenery grows ever more vibrant. The trees tower majestically overhead, their thick, emerald leaves forming a lush canopy that filters the sunlight into beams of golden light, casting intricate, shifting patterns on the forest floor. The air is fresher here, imbued with the scent of blooming flowers, rich earth, and the faintest hint of wild herbs.

After what feels like a timeless journey, you arrive at a hidden entrance. A colossal tree, its trunk twisted and intertwined with thick vines, stands before you. As Aramasu approaches, the vines gracefully part, revealing a path that seems to beckon you forward into a secluded realm.

"This is Mahavanaranapna," Aramasu says with a hint of pride, its voice almost a song.

You step through the archway and are greeted by a breathtaking sight. The village is nestled around a vast, crystal-clear lake, its serene surface reflecting the towering trees and a kaleidoscope of colorful foliage. Quaint houses, crafted from natural materials and adorned with leaves and moss, blend seamlessly into the vibrant landscape. Giant trees with immense trunks stand sentinel around the village, their branches forming a protective canopy that feels both sheltering and sacred.

Aranaras of various shapes and sizes go about their daily activities, some tending to the verdant plants, others making music and playing by the lakeside. They glance curiously in your direction but their eyes hold no fear, only a gentle curiosity and warmth.

"I will talk to the others," Aramasu says. "You are welcome to stay, to rest. Maybe here, you will find answers."

You look around, taking in the serene beauty and harmony of Vanarana. Despite the uncertainty about your past and identity, a profound sense of hope and belonging fills your heart.

"Thank you, Aramasu. I think this is exactly what I need."

As you settle into the village, you feel a warm wave of acceptance from the Aranaras and the forest itself. This hidden sanctuary offers not just safety and rest, but a chance to discover who you truly are. The journey to uncover your past and your identity has just begun, and with the guidance of the Aranara and the magic of the forest, you feel ready to face whatever lies ahead.

Months have passed since that fateful day. You have spoken to many Aranaras, each with different interests, personalities, and stories. They are just like normal people. Normal people? What does that even mean anymore? You can't recall what normal is, but it doesn't matter now. You've made friends—very good friends—friends who stand by you and help you uncover the truth about yourself. At least thats what you think. Araja, the village chief, accepted your presence and has grown quite fond of you over time. He too sensed something special about you but never divulged further details.

Sadly, you still don't know your name. However, you did discover a particular dish that you enjoy. On days when frustration weighed heavily on you due to a lack of progress, Aramasu and the others would prepare that dish to lift your spirits. The name of the dish was difficult to pronounce, not being in your native language, but that never hindered your enjoyment.

Each day, you delved deeper into the community, learning and sharing moments that felt both new and strangely familiar. You participated in their daily activities, from tending to plants to joining in their joyous celebrations. The Aranaras' simple yet profound way of life became a source of comfort and inspiration. Despite the challenges and the ongoing mystery of your identity, you found solace in the bond you shared with your new friends. They taught you to find joy in the present, even as you searched for answers. And while the journey to uncover your past continued, the warmth and kindness of the Aranaras made the journey a little easier.

At least for a while.

It was a morning like any other. You woke up, greeted your friends, and enjoyed a simple breakfast before taking a walk. Arana, one of your closest friends, usually accompanied you, sharing stories along the way. Later, you listened to the Aranaras' delightful music, a cheerful and soothing melody that filled the air. Arama had taught you how to make flower crowns, so you often found yourself sitting in the grass, surrounded by your friends, weaving pretty flowers into delicate crowns. As the day passed, you felt a sense of contentment. By the time evening fell, you gathered for dinner, the warm glow of the setting sun casting long shadows across the village. After dinner, you retreated to one of the cozy houses to rest. Each day followed this familiar rhythm, a comforting routine of friendship and tranquility.

However, despite the lovely stories and enchanting music that changed each day, you felt a stirring within—a desire for something more. The villagers often warned, "Vana can be very dangerous!" You understood the forest held dangers, yet your curiosity and yearning to explore the unknown parts of this land remained strong. The beauty and peace of your daily life in Vanarana were undeniable, but the call of the mysterious forest beyond your safe haven was growing louder. You wanted to see more of Vana, to experience its wonders and challenges firsthand.

It didn't make you happy. Sure, it was a peaceful life, but besides the stories, you had learned nothing—nothing about yourself or this world. The lack of progress became increasingly frustrating. Whenever you mentioned the idea of leaving Vanarana, the Aranaras grew defensive, almost… hostile? Surely, that was just your imagination. They had been so kind before. Why would they want to keep you here against your will?

Yet, you couldn't shake the feeling. The longer you stayed, the more you felt trapped. Your longing gaze often drifted to the horizon, wishing you could soar through the sky like the birds, flying toward freedom. Every day, your desire to explore the unknown parts of Vana grew stronger, and the village's comforting embrace began to feel like a cage.

That's it. You are done.

Determined, you decided it was time to break free. The forest, with all its mysteries and dangers, called out to you. You needed answers, and you realized that staying in Vanarana wasn't going to provide them. The beauty of the village had lost its charm, replaced by an insistent need to discover your true self and the secrets this world held.

No more waiting. No more wondering. It was time to take your fate into your own hands.

Packing your bags with a few supplies, a blanket, and one last flower crown for memory, you couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. Sorrow, that describes your feelings pretty well. This village, with its serene beauty and gentle inhabitants, had been your home for months. Leaving it behind felt like leaving the part of yourself that you just found. Yet, despite the sadness, there was also a glimmer of excitement. The unknown world beyond Vanarana beckoned, filled with the promise of discovery and the hope of finding your true identity.

You took one last look around the small house that had been your shelter, your sanctuary. The familiar scent of the fresh forest air mingled with the earthy aroma of the village. Memories of laughter, shared meals, and quiet moments of reflection played in your mind. You gently placed the flower crown in your bag, its vibrant petals a poignant reminder of the friendships and bonds you had formed.

The Aranaras had been kind, but you couldn't ignore the defensive looks and wary glances whenever you mentioned leaving. It only fueled your determination. You needed to find out who you were, and you knew you wouldn't find those answers within the confines of the village.

As you slung the bag over your shoulder, a sense of resolve settled within you. Stepping outside, the village was quiet, bathed in the soft light of dawn. The giant trees cast long shadows, and the stillness was almost tangible. You took a deep breath, letting the crisp air fill your lungs, and began to walk.

Every step away from Vanarana felt like a step toward your destiny. The path ahead was unknown and undoubtedly fraught with challenges, but it also held the promise of adventure and self-discovery. With each stride, your sorrow was tempered by a growing curiosity and the thrill of what lay beyond.

You glanced back once, taking in the sight of the village one last time. The Aranaras were nowhere to be seen, but you knew they would understand, eventually. They had given you a place to belong when you had none, and for that, you were grateful.

Turning back to the path ahead, you embraced the uncertainty. Your journey was just beginning, and with the forest stretching out before you, the world was full of possibilities.

With a final look at Mahavanaranapna, you whispered a quiet farewell and stepped into the unknown, ready to uncover the mysteries of Vana and the secrets of your own past.

https://pin.it/5CQX3f1ed

Thank you so much for reading! Fell free to give me feedback and ideas how to continue this!

Mika

Taglist: - @wutap

[something-wild-calls]

Getting another part out before Christmas, woo! :D

Previous

FIRST

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Cody trotted alongside Jordan, who had a rather chunky brilliant red and orange feathered staffwyrm clinging to him. He met its flame-colored eyes, but couldn't guess what it might be thinking.

They passed through clusters of buildings that nestled in patches of greenery and perched atop small hills. Today was the fifth day since his encounter with Jamie in the woods. He'd completely healed, and not for the first time he found himself enamored by the possibilities that came with magical healing.

It was a pleasant town, with folks they met along the way waving good-naturedly. Most had curious glints in their eyes at the sight of the stranger among them, but none held any hostility.

He had to wonder... how long would that last?

He gently wrapped his arm under the tattered bag draped over his shoulder, feeling comforted by the lump that weighed it down. To take his mind off his worries, he asked, “No Jamie today?”

“She might be around somewhere.” The chief shrugged. “She hangs out at the edge of the valley most of the time. Or with the griffins.”

“Griffins?” Cody glanced at the sky, as if the mention of them would summon some of the large winged beasts. He caught sight of some in the distance, but he couldn't make out any details on them. “Are there a lot around here?”

Jordan nodded. “There's a huge colony living in the northern cliffs of the valley. There's something of a long-held agreement between our town and them—We work together to keep the territory safe.”

The blond boy smiled. “Huh. Neat!” At the same time, a chill ran through him as well. He considered asking on a further thought, but decided it would be better to hold off. The need to ask may not even arise, but if it did, it might be better to be in the Chief's good graces than a stranger among his people.

As they continued along in discussion, the houses and buildings began to thin out, with the paths being edged in more and more wild growth.

Soon the path they walked was alone in the wilderness aside from lampposts to light the way come night. A smaller path split right from the larger main road that led out of town, and Jordan took Cody down this way. The trees and plant life filled the boy with a sense of calm. Birdsong filled the air, and the quacking of ducks sounded, rising in volume as they walked.

~ ~ ~ ~

~ ~ ~ ~

Cody stood in the entry way as the door clicked behind him, uncertain where to go from here.

His host, Frenzy, hung his hat on a coat rack nearby and gave Cody a nod. Without saying anything or changing his expression, he strode into the heart of the house. The blond boy noticed his gait was uneven, and the man now gripped a tall cane in his hand that clacked softly on the floor as it matched its owner's footsteps.

The place was cozy, dotted with dressers, bookshelves, and small trinkets. In the living room, a couple of comfortably padded chairs sat invitingly, a coffee table shared between them. Against a wall was a couch with small tables on each end.

Cody turned to Frenzy. "Do you, uh... does someone else here?"

He shook his head. "Nope. Just me." He beckoned. "I'll show you to your room."

With his bag strap in hands tight and slicked with sweat, he followed the man.

"Here y' are."

Frenzy flicked on the light, and Cody scanned the room. It wasn't terribly big, but it still seemed like a nice place to call his own, at least for the time being. As he stepped in, he let out the breath he'd been holding. "It's nice here, Frenzy."

"I like to be open to company. If needed."

Cody looked toward the older man, who stood in the doorway of his new resting place. His hands wringed the bag's strap anxiously. "You, ah, d-don't seem like the type to like company."

For a moment, Frenzy was silent, and his expression shifted, though Cody still couldn't read it. Then, he shrugged. "No. Not really. But I don't hate it."

The boy hesitated, still unsure about his new situation. "Uh, do you mind if I take a moment to get settled?"

Frenzy nodded again, backing away from the door. "Go right ahead." He paused a moment, and Cody caught a flicker of something in his gaze. "My home is your home now... 'Cept my room. Andy my workshop. Stay outta those. Please."

Cody nodded. "Yes, Sir."

Frenzy gently shut the door. Cody listened as the sound of his steps and the tapping of his cane faded away, and once he was alone, he approached the neatly made bed and sat on it with a sigh. A clock ticked on the wall in the silence, and the boy looked around.

A window caught his attention. He set his bag gently on the bed and walked over to it, fiddling with the latch. He was happy to find it slid open smoothly, and no screen barred it. Leaving it open a considerable amount, he returned to the bed. Before sitting, he leaned over to see what kind of space was underneath it.

Plenty.

Good.

Finally he sat back on the bed next to his bag, and, carefully, he unzipped it. The pink head of Pari peeked out at him, the russet mark across her face beaming a false grin while her pale purple eyes shone anxiously.

Still, they exchanged a smile as Cody gently cupped her head in his hand. He leaned in close to her, glancing at the door.

In a whisper, he said, "Guess we're gonna have to be careful again, Pari." He sighed. "Just until I can find a good time and way to tell him about you..."

And what for?

The mental voice growled, low and hopeless.

Just to be back on the road, traveling endlessly to each town that will let you in only long enough to gather your senses.

Cody laid back onto the bed, his legs hanging where he'd sat them.

He tried to tell off the voice of doubt, but it persisted.

We should just thank Frenzy and Jordan for their willingness to help and move on. There's no point in staying.

Pari hopped onto the boy's chest, gazing down at him with concern.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a crouch on top of him, and she nuzzled his chin. A purr rattled in her throat.

At that, Cody couldn't help smiling.

How many people were bold enough to learn that imps could purr?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Introducing a new cast member, ~Frenzy~

Previous

FIRST

[nomstellations]

Voretober D1- Space

Stargazing was your unfortunate hobby, as you lived in a place with lots of light pollution and cloud cover. You never did let that stop you- on a good night you could make out a few stars in the sky, and that was enough for you. You couldn't help but yearn for more, though....in certain places you could behold the whole Milky Way. If only that could be you...

Yet here you were sitting on your roof as you did every night before bed.

The stars above were sparse. Only a small handful of the brightest ones in the sky were visible beneath the moonlight's glow, faintly twinkling. It was the same view as always....but you swore you could see two new bright ones up there in the sky. They definitely weren't planes....but there wasn't any way you could've simply missed them on your countless nights stargazing. Though come to think of it...the sky was darker than usual. All the clouds were gone, and...

The two stars blinked. Slowly and in sync, like a pair of eyes.

You had just enough time to register that those might not be stars at all when the whole sky moved. An unfathomably large head craned to look at you, and then...in an instant it was gone. Instead of a giant figure you registered that before you was something well over 10 feet tall, gazing down at you with those white starry eyes. It was wearing an astronaut suit- though it looked worn and damaged in some places, with holes leaking blacker-than-black goop. Its head was round a with a bright orange ring around it, and you swore you could hear a faint whistling coming from it....like it was sucking the very air around it into itself.

"You..." It spoke; its voice was a deep baritone that sounded as if it was trying words for the first time. "You...look? At stars?"

Needless to say you were hesitant- some weird dark alien showed up out of nowhere and offered to show you the stars. Would you be abducted...? You DID want to see, truth be told. And who knows, maybe this could be a fantastical adventure away from your boring life. Deciding to go against your gut instinct, you nodded.

While you were hesitant, it nodded. It tilted its head to the side for a moment, in deep thought. You could swear you heard some sort of growling sound from it...but it didn't look hostile at all.

"I am....Sygnus. Of the stars, I am born. I can show you...what they really look like, if you would like."

Sygnus shifted, moving closer to you. He really towered over you- his hands were big enough to eclipse your head! He was pretty gentle with lifting you up, and his featureless blob of a head suddenly split at a hair-thin seam...revealing a slowly opening maw full of glittering stars. It twinkled and shimmered with a rainbow of colors from nebulae and stars alike. You could even swear you saw miniature planets in there! It was like he had a whole universe inside him, and you were entranced.

So entranced....that you didn't notice the pull on your body that started the moment they opened their mouth. You also didn't notice you were being placed inside until the cool and gooey texture of their body was apparent. Before you could move or protest, a VERY powerful gulp sent you straight down their starry gullet. In an instant, you found yourself floating in a galaxy. The stars twinkled around you, nebulae swirled around your body, the planets danced and shimmered...it was like you were transported to the center of the universe. You could still breathe, and while you were floating...reaching out to touch a planet resulted in you touching something slimy and cold. Was this the stomach of that alien? You didn't feel hurt or anything...

Maybe you could stay for this light show, for a while. This was better than any planetarium you've seen!

[who1ssheesh]

Paint me burgundy

Pairings: Xanxus x Artist!S/O

Snippets (not really connected) of you both being pseudointellectual snobs. Xanxus likes classics, you like suprematists and other stupid things he doesn't.

Warnings: some suggestive and violent themes, swearing, nor beta-read; self-indulgent, S/O has specific traits. some references are quickly explained right in the text lol just in case, they are marked in a red color. not specified how he met the reader and i dont care much

A/N: first of all, I love to headcanon Xanxus being a fan of classic and very expressive art, and second of all, YES this is a very self-indulgent + YES its Xanxus again + i don't care + L + ratio, at least i had fun. Actually there is also "Paint me azure" with Squalo in my drafts, please please please let me know if i should keep it with an artist s/o or switch to some other artistic skill </3 or maybe that idea is a really bad one to begin with lol

Some would say art for Xanxus is merely a bullet hole in a canvas, but they completely miss the point that he in return to that statement would himself a Lucio Fontana of the mafia world.

-

Being raised in a high-society - he would say that word with a snort though - he is around art a lot, and you should give credit to Timoteo who tried to educate his son and open all the possibilities no ordinary man can ever afford.

-

Xanxus has such a delicate soul. Like a silk string, tense and easy to rip. Sometimes daydreaming about dying a poetic death to be remembered for generations. "What an artist dies in me", he mutters expressively while smoking a cigarette on a balcony viewing the old Venice.

Quote on an Emperor Nero, said before he died. Known for tyranny, cruelty and debauchery, he had a big passion for art. And still he proved himself as a good ruler until he devolved to despotism and cruelty after his mentor died. Nero delved deeper into art, forgetting about his duties which led to his demise. Emperor found out he was going to be assassinated and said the quote before slitting his throat. Does Xanxus see himself in Nero? Maybe he doesn't want to but he does. A lot.

After that Xanxus laughs. He will not die.

-

Xanxus is inevitably intertwined with death. He remembered seeing Caravaggio as a child. A big canvas looking at him threateningly with an unknown feeling of dread, leaving deep red in his memory. Latter works beckon him with the despair hidden in them, and this was the first time in life Xanxus was left...breathless.

Being the famous artist Caravaggio is, his life was filled with tragedies due to his aggressive character. He was exiled from Rome after killing Tomassoni and in the end, though there are a lot of rumors, historians are convinced he was killed by Tomassoni family in revenge. His works after the incident noticeably shift tone.

Xanxus realized he likes burgundy.

-

Xanxus develops a taste in a bold art. Something aggressive, not afraid to challenge the viewer. He likes gems that shine silently, being able to catch the eye only of the knowing one who understands its value, not a colored glass attracting every fool with its...vulgarity, i'd say. Xanxus loves himself too much to be surrounded surround with anything but the best.

Still not an "accepting modern art" level of bold art but he will go there if he wants or not.

You haven't considered yourself a suffering artist. It's easier to day that you are not the artist than to spend all the money you have on a way too expensive materials to profit...nothing. You could leave that a little cozy dream to achieve in life - to have a small studio of your own.

But for now you can appreciate the art of the greatest. Or so you think, because a bored Xanxus accidentally turned out to be in a museum right next to you in contrary thinks you're an idiot.

"You're looking at a fucking black square", he says almost disgusted for no reason.

"Well, you're looking at me looking at a black square. Who's better?"

Xanxus barks a laugh.

"What's the point though?"

"You want a boring one or a funny one?"

"I'm too sober for a boring one."

"Imagine it's like...a background of a Caravaggio painting. You're standing your back to the main painting and looking at the blackness. You know what I mean?"

Xanxus smirks.

"Let's go."

"Where?"

"I need a shot before I hear your other bullshit."

A manifesto. Suprematism being the new step for the philosophy of things - exploring not the outer shape but the true meaning of it. A simple square being the beginning of all shapes. "A quadrangle", you call it. "It's a square, you idiot", Xanxus tells you. The first name being the quadrangle because there were no right angles to show a dynamic form in a static quadrangle, you explain. Xanxus doesn't answer not knowing if it's fucking stupid or equally genius. Black square for economy, red for revolution and white for a pure action, which one would be you?

"Red", Xanxus says confidently.

"Why not all of them? If you mix them all...let's roughly say it's something pretentious like burgundy".

He likes that. Why choose when Xanxus can have all. And he likes burgundy. A lot. Maybe he even could like suprematism with your bullshit. He doesn't like economy at all though, but the sound of having all at the same time is good.

Xanxus has never gave a shit about architecture. His architecture is having a lavish house and a comfortable expensive bed to fall asleep after too much drink. Or work. Or both. Not long ago having you in the bed naked was added to that wish list.

But "never have a shit" doesn't equal to "never knew".

"I would make a fucking impluvium in m'house", he lazily gesticulates a square while comically standing in the center of your small apartment which, you feel, has Xanxus as a pretty much a resident. You're not sure how to hide an absurd ton of alcohol from your visiting family and friends or what to do with his sour strong cologne trail. But should you bother at that point?

"Why?", you snort.

"Why the fuck not?", he moves closer with hand in his pockets and jokingly threatens you. "To be filled with the blood of virgins or sum, duh".

Your laugh fills the room, and Xanxus feels at peace. Sort of, he still doesn't have an impluvium filled with the blood of a hundred virgins.

Xanxus is fully aware you are an artist of a huge potential. He pretends he didn't see your albums here and there filled with his sketchy portraits, and deep down he can't understand how you...like him so much? How you notice small useless things to the point of learning exact pattern of his scars and somehow also add some shitty sappy poetic-my-ass comparisons.

So judging that he was expecting something pompous of you for his birthday, especially after his "Just do me all cool in a suit, naked whores here and there, dead Sawada on the wall instead of a tiger skin and Squalo on his knees.", and still he is convinced that is going to be your life masterpiece, a magnum opus.

But here he is, Lussuria showing him an unpacked painting of... a burgundy square. Some of the guests starts whispering that it's some mockery.

"Boss, it's a square of all things?"

"It's a quadrangle, you idiot".

Just in a couple of days there is a bullet hole in the painting, but you would be not a xanxus-said-idiot but a real one to expect something different from your pretty extravagant man.

No matter how hard some people try to hide it - Fran was too late with his illusions, Lussuria was scared for your "soft" heart and it feels like even Squalo has some pity towards you - you're still here, looking at the ruined canvas with...not sadness.

"I like that", your eyes shine while looking at whatever you can call it now. "Ever thought about Lucio Fontana? He was the first one to use canvas as a piece of work itself, not as a base for the art. Aggressive and not afraid to challenge the old ways, isn't that Xanxus as a whole?"

"He used a sword to cut the canvas, duh!" Squalo screamed while taking his leave clearly being offended with that comparison.

Since that day if someone says art for Xanxus is merely a bullet hole in a canvas, but they completely miss the point that he in return to that statement would himself a Lucio Fontana of the mafia world.

He doesn't give a shit who he is and doesn't understand whatever the hell he did. but at least rich idiots believe when he says it's some extremely expensive unique art piece.

He has his own manifesto in a way.

[shakingparadigm]

idk if your still busy so obviously finish what your doing before doing anything else but do you know how hyuna's prosthetic latches together?? I think theres like a knee-latch on her prosthetic that's a bit father down than her other leg but theres so much going of its hard to tell whats going in that area

Honestly I'm not sure how the mechanics of it would work, especially since there's got to be some weird alien technology or structure at play there. It's pretty different from what a prosthetic leg is like in real life, so it's tricky to make assumptions based on that, too.

There's some stuff I noticed about Hyuna's leg across the various official arts, though. Mostly the fact that it's inconsistent, and I kind of see a reason for it. Please forgive me as I go on a bit of a ramble.

In her original performance outfit the prosthetic is structured almost like it's just a normal leg molded out of metal. It's a lot more solid and is dark in color, almost black. It also seems as if it goes up to just her knee? Maybe it still goes up to her thigh and she just ripped her pants until the knee for better/unobstructed joint movement. It joins at the ball of her knee and seems to be composed of quite a few different parts, somewhat complicated.

In All-In, Hyuna's prosthetic is still mostly of average leg shape. The most notable difference is that the leg includes hollow spaces, most likely thinner parts assembled together as opposed to one solid leg. It's also a different, lighter color. We can infer from this image that her leg is until her upper thigh.

And then we have the latest one. Hyuna's leg in All-In seems to be until her upper thigh, but this image makes it seem as if it goes much higher than that (although it's most likely an artistic choice. maybe I shouldn't look into it too much. I've learned my lesson 😭). But it's interesting how this leg is the most unique, solid and without hollow spaces, but considerably thinner, more simple.

There's also the fact that you mentioned, the latch being farther down in comparison to her actual knee. It's different from her previous prosthetic legs which seem to join at the knee exactly and are much more similar to that of normal leg anatomy. For this prosthetic, her leg doesn't actually latch at the knee, it latches just a bit below it. The prosthetic knee may look a little lower, but it's just the way she's angled, left leg facing left and right leg facing forward.

Maybe I'm overexplaining something that's already obvious/basic knowledge, my bad. Also I'm no scientist, so I could be wrong.

Anyway, the fact that Hyuna's leg changes quite a bit is interesting. It could be a design shift from the earlier production of ALNST to the finalized version, but I personally like to think that Hyuna's leg changes because she replaces it sometimes. Her lifestyle calls for a lot of action, and while her body can heal itself overtime, her prosthetic leg is prone to wearing and breaking apart.

This is how I see it (just a theory/maybe headcanon):

The leg she has in her performance outfit is one supplied to her by the aliens, which is why it looks much more sturdy, more like a true human leg. They're very advanced, so they'd know exactly how to make one that best suits her. Once Hyuna escapes to the rebellion, she doesn't have access to that kind of material anymore, nor does she know how replicate it. So instead she gets creative, taking scraps of metal and joining them together to make another leg, which is why it looks considerably lighter and less complicated. Whenever her leg breaks, she (or someone from the rebellion) creates a new leg from the material they can find, which is why her legs become progressively more simple and less conventionally "leg-like" . It's no problem to her though, and she's very proud of it.

[cornbread-but-cringey]

Cornbread's Texture Fixer Devlog v0.9.0 - Beta 6 December 8th, 2024

i've decided i'm going to be doing weekly devlogs for whatever pack i'm working on at the time. primarily so this blog (pretend i posted this to the mc sideblog; i saved the draft wrong) isn't overrun with my responses to the vanilla change logs, but also, it adds a bit of structure to this whole thing. (well, i say this, but i've also put this off by multiple days).

anyway, first things first, i have updated my fix to the sides of grass blocks to account for the pale garden. (vanilla on left, resource pack on right)

it isn't perfect, but that's mostly because minecraft's biome blending as a whole isn't perfect.

also, i only included the colors for transitions to dark forests, birch forests and groves, since i'm contemplating increasing the number of colors for each biome transition again. that'd be a lot of work for something that i don't even know if it'll be more accurate, so i haven't yet come to a decision, but once i do, i will finish the pale garden biome transitions.

these are the only transitions i even found generating naturally anyway, and bedrock edition does not yet have /fillbiome, so this shouldn't be noticeable in-game, but if it is, i would appreciate if people told me.

i fixed the issue this pack was having with cobblestone walls, as i said i would.

i removed the textures for the different types of nether bricks, since vanilla fixed their issue, but to match them (and other kinds of bricks), i shifted the texture for mud bricks over a pixel to the left, so that the stuff in between the bricks (i forgor what it's called) is on the right side.

in very early versions, this pack and Conglomeration were initially meant to be one and the same, but that ended up getting changed. while a bunch of features got removed in favor of just having them in conglomeration, bedrock edition's green item slot highlight is just really ugly, and so the java-edition-styled highlights stayed in the pack for a long time, up until their removal in Beta 5.

i reverted that back.

turns out, the green slot highlight, apart from being really ugly, is also really difficult to work with from a creative perspective. particularly, in the crafter screen and the new bundle tooltip (bundle ui changed slightly in game version 1.21.50).

so i re-implemented all the JE-styled highlights i had from Beta 4. (i also reverted the changes to the buttons on the beacon screen, since those use the same color palette). there were some small changes to the json, but those aren't super important. what is important is that these changes meant i had to start paying attention to the bundle ui, which, of course, is off center. so i fixed that.

sidenote, but you ever notice that light blue and light gray bundles have long enough names to stretch the ui?? java edition has its bundle ui pre-stretched to deal with this, which is kinda silly imo.

anyway, i also did the highlight inside the bundle ui:

this is mostly accurate to java edition, except the slot background doesn't disappear when the highlight is visible, since the background of the tooltip is already opaque (and therefore inaccurate) anyway.

this uses two different textures (directly adapted from the java edition textures) because i couldn't get it accurate otherwise, but it might still be technically better optimized than vanilla, since it isn't needlessly checking whether touch controls are being used (selecting an item with touch controls instantly closes the bundle ui).

speaking of which, i also fixed bundles with pocket ui.

i'm holding off on pocket ui until the end of this pack's development, but i figured since i'm already here and pocket bundles are in the same file as classic bundles, i might as well.

aaaaand before we leave bundle land, i just want to say that Beta 5 has an issue where a closed bundle is visible behind the open bundle when scrolling through a bundle's contents in a crafting grid specifically. i don't have an installation of Beta 5 right now to show this off with, but i fixed it.

one of my favorite parts of this pack is the way it changes the recipe book (/creative inventory). in vanilla, as with the rest of the ui, things are just kinda scaled willy nilly. the scrolling part of the recipe book doesn't quite fit into the space allotted, but this pack fixes that. (would you believe me if i said it was difficult? you shouldn't, because that would be me lying.)

one of the things this pack neglected to fix previously was the length that the recipe book scrolls. in vanilla, as with some other parts of the ui, the recipe book scrolls down farther than it should, leaving a noticeable gap between the buttons and the bottom of the scrolling area.

i didn't previously have any idea what the issue was on account of scrolling panels being complicated, but i've since messed around with dropdowns, learning a lot about scrolling in the process. the issue was the exact first thing i thought to check. mojang should be ashamed.

Holy Shit It's So FUCKING SNUG!!!!!!!

last things last, mojang added an option to the GUI Log Level dropdown in the settings screen, making it scroll. this pack previously made it not be considered scrolling, since it didn't scroll before, but now that it does, this change has been reverted, with the fixes for scrolling dropdowns now in effect.

[immoralimmortals]

A Song With Ten Names

Chapter 31: Sally's Song

Chapter 1 ☆ Next chapter ☆ AO3 ☆ Featured song playlist

Summary of chapter: What’s so wrong with Kakuzu playing around? It’s not like her affection will last. Nothing ever does.

Author's Note: I have a very strong attachment to this song. I try not to be *super* 1-1 with my personal experiences to what the reader analog "Takara" is supposed to be, but this one can't be helped. I love this song, it's the first song outside of church that I memorized, first song I sang for the purpose of wanting it to sound good. If Sally's Song has no fans, that means I am dead.

I really, really admire the Fiona Apple cover of this song especially, but for whatever reason it was removed from Spotify, apparently a couple of years ago. The rendition added to the fic playlist will be a music box instrumental by Music Box Rockstar. (Forgive me if I change my mind later).

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

And does he notice my feelings for him?

And will he see how much he means to me?

I think it's not to be

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Dappling light is a lot more awe-striking when you’re relearning how to see the world, the way it blots over each thing like flecks on a watercolor painting and makes you reevaluate its shape. The sun isn’t visible right now where the performer is, instead diffusing its rays through the fading foliage in this magical way. It’s fascinating, really, how in autumn so many plants seem to give one last hurrah by bleeding out all their bright colors before it’s time to die. There’s a similar reason why the performer is now stuck with her once favorite dress and sweater.

She wears both now, of course, as there is nothing else in her wardrobe. In the springtime with Hidan and Kakuzu’s initial company, it was quite fitting! White with pink and blue detailings, sort of like flowers fresh from the melting snow. Summer managed to fit still, sweater removable and sunhat appropriate. But now in fall, the warming hues of crimson, orange, gold, and brown make her miss a scarf she used to have with matching colors. The fiery rainbow refracts in her eyes until a cool-toned finger gently brushes up and down her arm. Kisame always oozes with a strange, contagious sort of vibrancy even though he doesn’t bounce off the walls like Tobi nor raise his voice like Hidan. It’s subtle, and though his color is blue, it’s an attitude that suits red maple leaves and yellowing morning glory vines that climb up old, moss-sodden lattice.

“Told you it’d be nice to get out of the place,” he asserts, having figuratively dragged her from bed for this. And she beams up at him, as though the woman is bone-tired, he is still right.

“Hey!" 

…Someone shouts to get their attention. A head of spiked hair perks up with double the attentiveness for his ward who can hardly blink, shifting his shoulders to turn them both around. Once it's had, Hidan purses his lips and gives the fish a judging look; he lets it sink in before putting in his two cents. "You shouldn't be carrying her everywhere.”

The privacy is quickly shattered, the interrupting voice reminding the performer of how, exactly, she even managed to go outside: that Kisame only got her here by picking her up and taking the lady himself. He’s so strong that it became second nature for a few minutes, and the silly thing entirely forgot that she is a grown-ass woman that can suddenly be held like a toddler. Mute, she instantly shrinks closer to his cloak— which he now dons over his indigo tank top with the chiller weather— a redness on her cheeks. The taller man blinks with a frown at his sudden opponent with gray hair and righteous attitude. "It's better than her staying in one spot for too long, isn’t it?”

Hidan effectively scrunches one half of his face, corner of his mouth pulling up and the right eye squinting. He’s seen her move on her own; why not just let her? It doesn’t make sense! Will she forget how?! “Then have her walk!”

A whimper is all she’s got, hiding more into the dark cloth at the shark’s neck. Kisame defends, a snarl curling his upper lip: "She's enjoying it."

The shirtless grim reaper stares long and hard to verify this to no avail, rolling his eyes back up to the fellow Akatsuki. "She looks unhappy, asshole."

"Yeah, now that you're scolding her,” the swordsman parries, holding her just a little bit closer as if the arm of his cloak can shield the poor woman from misunderstanding cruelty. “Can you either get with the program or shut up?"

"What?!” Hidan, of course takes offense, redirecting his attention to the one he’s actually worried for. “Girlie, hey! Look over here!" To Kisame’s dismay, ever so slowly…she abides, and he notes the anxiety in her eyes. "You enjoying that?" A flush in her cheeks...but she nods. There is no way to deny that this is oh so very wonderful. The priest blinks twice in disbelief. “W—... really?”  

Hidan’s double down is about to knock her off her feet (metaphorically, too): 

"Then— then let me carry you, too!"

Kisame’s response is immediate: "...What the hell?" he blinks back with his own shock. His shaming doesn’t work on a man who has no shame to speak of.

"If you get to, so do I,” Hidan argues, folding his arms matter-of-fact. “Simple as that!"

...By technicality, that is true. The kiri-nin looks to her attached to his side for approval or lack thereof once more. "You don't have to say yes...” he reminds under his breath.

But the consideration is heavy, her soft eyes glancing over to the silver-haired man standing on this path outside their house. Is Hidan only asking because he's jealous? Does he even want to? They haven't really talked since they…you know. But the firmness there... Regardless of motive, it does seem to be a sincere want. But she has her own, in spite of how she misses him: "I don't...want to be a bother..."

To that he frowns, and his hands lower onto his waist in a sure, somewhat annoyed stance. "Yer not." His half-lidded stare alone dares anyone to ask why he wants this, including her.

Unable to formulate an acceptance as an apology...she just nods up to the shark to abide by the other man’s wishes. Kisame reluctantly, awkwardly passes her to him, muttering something about not fucking dropping her, and she’s unsure what to do with her own arms in this exchange—

"Come ‘ere."

So Hidan does the actions for her, careful fingers with a ring like dusty dry blood adjusting her hands to loop around his neck and the back of her knees to go over his cloaked arm. The way he looks at her...hooded eyes so close to her own... Geez, it's a bit more believable Kisame is so strong, being so very tall and less human looking. Hidan is just... a guy. But she gives him no problem whatsoever...!

She remembers abruptly how heavy his scythe was. Oh.

…

...

"Okay..." Hidan asks the swordsman after glancing her up and down, "Now what?"

It's Kisame's turn to raise an eyebrow this time. "...What do you mean,” he asks flatly.

"The fuck do you do next?"

Kisame squints so much harder that his actual eyes aren't visible, merely small black gills over a widening grimace. He is starting to regret this pass-off. "You...hold her...?"

"I'll do it, un."

Before Hidan can argue his place, a blonde takes her into his own sure, smooth grasp. Oh dear. He's even smaller than Hidan but picks her up like she's lighter than a kitten...! It shuts her up into pure, unadulterated silence with a stare as big as two dinner plates. "Hey, darling." The artist blinks, smiling still but brow curling, shy girl saying nothing to help alleviate tension. "...What are we carrying you for...?" Deidara inquires.

"That’s what I was asking! Now let her down, okay?"

"Why?” Deidara scoffs at Hidan, backing half a step away as the latter ninja approaches to grab her back. “You were the one holding her, un."

"You didn't ask!"

"...Did I need to?"

"Yes," both fish and Jashinist confirm in aggravated unison.

Ohhh my gosh. Her face hurts from blushing so much, eyes from being so wide. Kisame takes it as his cue and he tentatively steps up, reaching out to take her back from this problem he incidentally started. "Let me...just—...” he stammers, ready to rescue from a social faux pas. “Come here, Takara-hime—"

"Swoop!"

With a flash of black and orange, an unexpected fourth man slips between them and flees, pastel-dressed prize in his arms. He trots away with the speed of a child stealing from a candy store, reaction stagnated by shock just until his long, trailing scarf is out of sight:

“TOBI!”

“TOBI?!”

“TOBI, YOU GODDAMN COCKSUCKER!!!”

The chase begins, a whine at the back of the kidnappee’s throat that wavers with each bounce of his feet. “Heehee!” he laughs, “Takara-chan is mine, mine mine mine!” the jester teases, shit-eating grin surely behind the spiral he wears as he revels in the tight grip lovely fingers make into his clothes. The swift shinobi weaves around one corner of the house, speeding through a pile of leaves which scatter about like Tobi had stepped on coals of a fire, flying sparks and embers that crunch instead of crackle. “If—” he huffs an exaggerated breath, “—They can’t decide who has you—” Breath. Another corner of the house is rounded. “—Then—” Breath. He stomps through a couple-days-old puddle, water droplets splashing cold against her legs. “It’s gonna— be me!”

The thief twists around one more side of the ancient home lined in dead vines like a gold trim only to be caught by surprise. Abrutptly, he stops to a halt, seeing something before his dear Takara-chan can register the new danger.

“Oh?” One...Two...Three. Surrounded!

Kisame is grinning to the left, Hidan is frowning to the right, and a fuming Deidara is directly behind, sliding open the back door with Tobi’s name cursing from the back of the tongue within his head. She’s not even the one running and this is all making the traveler lose her breath. How the hell did they move so fast...?! It’s only been all of, what, ten fucking seconds?!

"Oh— guess you got me!” He's playing, the fellow performer can still tell. Something's up his sleeve. Okay...so what does that mean—? “Catch!"

It means she's not ready for what's next, not all.

“AAAAAAH-!”

The woman screams as she’s tossed unceremoniously up to the clouds, feeling the force of gravity first in the way that her body attempts to break it, climbing up and up and up with the power of his throw. A couple of times on roller coasters have prepared her instincts well: her stomach sinks in anticipation for the rest of her, just as the acceleration slows and the drop is about to begin.

“AAA—” … And she waits for a fall that does not come. “...Oh…?” The first thing in her vision is the bright blue sky in contrast to the vast forest. Wow...what a view. It’s open like she’s high above—

—Oh. Oh Jesus. Is she really two stories up in the air? TOBI?!

A heavy, heavy sigh is heard from an open window nearby, practically behind her ear. It wakes her up to look down, first at the guys staring up at her from the ground, then a bit closer to her own self. Black threads wrap around her body, around from her back and then loop over and over around her legs; it feels as secure as, well, if you somehow warped metal straight out of the flame to a custom fit just for you. The sight of herself is enough to swallow further shrieks, much to the relief of he who has rescued her from such reckless affairs.

Kakuzu leans down, open fist outside the threshold of the window pane with threads weaving out of rips in his skin that keep her in place. Menacingly, his glower rolls down to the ants below. "You...stupid motherfuckers."

"IT WAS TOBI, JACKASS!" Hidan quickly accuses, pointing to the culprit. A growl and a death glare is all it takes for the masked man to whine like a scared puppy. That’s good enough to appease Kakuzu. For now.

Ironically enough, it's his turn in this ridiculous game: "Come on, then..."

The three watch as the woman flies back into the house, a small eek on the back of her tongue and window promptly shut behind her with a slam. A moment of silence, all four men staring up to where she was spirited away.

…

…

“He’s going to kill you, you know,” Hidan states without any urgency, glancing over to the orange spiral. “He’s kind of famous for that.” And though Tobi fakes shaking in his boots very, very convincingly, everyone else still thinks he’d deserve it.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

What will become of my dear friend?

Where will his actions lead us then?

Although I'd like to join the crowd

In their enthusiastic cloud

Try as I may, it doesn't last

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

What a mess, Kakuzu thinks. He exhales, fully undressed besides a pair of pants, no face covering nor shirt to cover his unnerving stitches. Thanks, Tobi. A small “oof” is muttered as the woman is set down on his bed without a second glance, man himself turning around to retain what little respect he has left. It's an opportunity for the performer to briefly gain her bearings. Kakuzu’s room, she vaguely recalls. Really has been inside it only once— no, not even inside . She’s only seen into it less than a handful of times. Frankly, it’s pretty...ordinary. It’s clean. It at first seems to lack hobbies. No piles of clay, no sword to polish (re-wrap??? Samehada is a stick of bandages, after all), no circle to pray in. But it becomes apparent that what he has instead of things to humor him is...finances. Receipts and bills are nicely organized or are in a pile waiting to be, a bingo book of wanted criminals open that perhaps may promise enough funds to keep this makeshift horrid fucking family alive another day. A couple of briefcases are neatly lined next to his desk, metal and heavy looking as if to transport valuables.

Her head shifts side to side. Grumbling, taking no heed, the treasurer has walked over to his closet in search of attire to make him better suited to be around a lady. He forgets so easily that the strangest thing about him isn't just the stitches but what they lead to on his backside…

"What...?"

Thinking this is about the metal threads, he looks over his shoulder as she finally looks to him and speaks. “They—” he begins. But, oh. Oh, no, it isn’t those her eyes are locked on; the threads have slunk back into his hollowed body already. What he sees, instead, is her pointing squarely at the masks. There's four of them, different animals and colors.

"Are those...attached to you?"

Ah. Right. Damn . He exhales yet again, not moving so she gets a good long look, ogles to her heart's content at the freak he is, get it out of the way. Guess it was inevitable she find out. "Yes." Then he reaches forward, a tank top chosen off the shelf with an open back for these creatures. It’s more comfortable, for one, and for another makes it easier to fight if they don’t have to pop through and ruin a perfectly good shirt. Never can be too prepared. Not too fast as to not scare, he turns his front back around despite his bare chest facing her. She looks so small, somehow, head hunched down and eyes angled up as she sits upon the edge of his own bed. How do they always get off the wrong foot when they don't even try?

"I'm sorry." Because of course she is. There’s footsteps coming up the stairs.

One thing is sure: "Don't be."

A thread drifts away from his bicep like an autonomous, thin tentacle, locking the door just in time to hear the nob shift futility and Hidan knock ever so impatiently to be let in. His head turns sharply, a snarl on his face. She notes how the way his eyes scrunch up is such a common expression above his usual mask; does he always frown like that when they do? "Give the girl ten damn minutes without your nonsense!"

Vague but clearly angry response muddles through the closed door, but Kakuzu's expression stays and so does his order. A moment of silence and gradually the arguing fades, something about promising to be back later. The hunter’s tense brow relaxes and so do the corners of his lips, and red and green eyes stop bulging. In. Out. He catches his breath and turns boiling rage to a simmer. For her sake. Calm down, for her sake.

The stitches on his face move with his cheeks, she can tell from where she grips the edge of the bed; they are, most certainly, not just burns or scars or face paint. His eyes catch hers, a challenge in them that regains a sliver of the anger he managed to beat back, daring her to call him a monster. Unnatural. Hideous. It’s all true, just get it over with. A flash of something else was before that, though, on his face. It's an emotion that feels familiar in her own chest.

Despite his expectations, she reaches out to him, slowly raising her wrist with a begging, upward-facing palm. He doesn't flinch, eyes starting at the woman’s fingertips, trailing up her arm and to her face.

"...What?"

How can she say it? Both palms, now, come back, gesturing together for him to come here. Out of pure confusion and desire to know what the hell she means, Kakuzu simply obeys.

Shaky hands go to the brown arm as he grunts with the unexpected contact, even as her touch is more gentle than he could have imagined. Maybe even especially so. As she sits on his bed, one hand goes under his palm to steady it in place while the other wanders up to explore, both visually and tactilly...

The bounty hunter…has two tattooed bands on his forearm. At first she assumed that's where they come from, but no, the actual stitches are higher up, unmistakable as the source of his eldritch-seeming threads. She traces up to the shoulder, then under his chin. There's even more of these lines on his torso, seen far, far too easily as he hasn’t yet slipped on his top in this unexpected intermission, and she can tell they all lead like train tracks to the masks embedded into his latissimus dorsi. Her eyes consume him, taste him, know him. She's far from the first to witness him like this, in battle or otherwise, and so he ignores the sense of novelty that washes over him and behaves with expectations that are tried and true. Something Kakuzu and his musician have in common is how they’ll insult themselves with the truth before you can turn it against them first.

"...I know. I know what I look like." But she acts like she hasn't . She's seen him before, though, the times she barged in at the peak of midnight...why is it different now?

Sometimes trauma heightens the senses, lets you take in things better than before. The quivering touch of the performer moves to reach further upon his skin, still. In awe, fingertips barely brush against his chest and most unbelievably, he doesn't stop her.

Tears well up on her eyes, which to his surprise turn up to his own instead of staying locked lower down on his ugly, deformed self.

"Does it hurt?"

...That’s not something he's been asked before. IF it hurt, yes, when “it” happened decades ago. If it does when hearts pump out of his back to attack and spew the elements at his enemies. Yes and yes, answers to both as well as if others have been so brave as to inquire directly to the bastard himself. But does he hurt now , merely existing with this curse? It's been so long with the aches stitched into him that he's forgotten, so he searches the numbness under his skin for what the answer may be.

"...Yes," he discovers, despite how it might make her cry. He knows she likes the truth. "...But it's better than before,” Kakuzu softens. In several ways. Better off with than without them. Better off than being fully human. Better off than being dead.

He sits down next to her and unbelievably, after rubbing the saltwater from her face, this woman shifts. Yes, yes, he is not mistaken; this woman now crawls onto his lap.

And he lets her. 

All hearts pounding in discordant, unmatched pulses, he lets her. Legs wrap around his side, thighs seated atop his own. She trusts him. Even after everything, even seeing him like this...—? Oh so delicately, with a hesitance that draws her away before curiosity pulls her back in, this soothing lady traces the metal woven into him. The way he is… It reminds her of something. Something distinct. A visceral sort of memory, one from long, long ago…

…Kakuzu notices before she does that his performer is humming.

It's a tune both sweet and melancholy, befitting a creature like her and somehow, too, the way she approaches a beast like him. His gaze softens, lips no longer a stern, stretched line, and he drinks her wonder in. Kakuzu missed the songs that used to always tinge her voice, and this is the first it’s come back since she has come back home to him, even if so, very small.

“...Oh…!” The woman pulls back, somehow both after too long and far too soon, and she...smiles up at him. This…who he is…makes her happy? “...You remind me of...a rag doll.”

…

Dark brown hair drifts past his face as he savors that nickname, elaborates to himself on the implications. He’s been called it before, yeah...usually just before deciding to detach the person by their arteries. How can it seem so... kind from those lips? So adoring…? She has an answer, and it’s silly just like her.

“When I was little…” the performer tries to explain with stilted words, as plainly as she can so as to not confuse, “...I loved a story. It had a rag doll...who...stuffed herself with leaves.”

The Frankenstein's Monster stays silent, does so regardless of if there’s more for her to add. The slightest, softest inhale and the humming begins again...this time closer to the singing the Akatsuki miss, just without words. Down, up, and up...down… Down, up, and up...down… Lovely indeed, whatever it is, even if simple and bouncy. It was, after all, one of the first melodies she memorized on her own volition. Idly, she traces him again, finding a spot just at his collarbone and right at her line of sight. The threads are stiffer than they look, less like woven fabric and more like surgical staples. How do they move with such lithe grace, so little effort?

As she ponderers this question, one of his own springs off Kakuzu's tongue like a diving board.

“...You never sang when you were alive?” To his relief, the humming doesn’t stop; it��s such a piece of her, this melody that she can do it without thinking. A free hand wipes her eye again, and despite the nature of everything, her tiny smile does not waver nor flinch away as she answers.

“...I wanted to,” she murmurs after a moment, voice light and wispy much the same way as she seems next to someone rough like himself. “I wanted to be a singer...a musician…” A guitarist, a keyboard player, a...star. A performer. “I...learned...to stop doing it...just because I felt I had to, and started doing it...for fun by myself.”

Eyes close, and she tries to identify these marks on him with touch alone, tries to narrow down exactly what he feels like skin on skin. Kakuzu wonders if she can feel how his pulse is stronger than one any normal person should have.

“You could have been.” And she is now, he reminds himself. Or at least she will be once this nonsense is said and done and she can get back to a nondescript civilian life. But...she shakes her head.

“Too scared,” the woman says, “Too shy.”

“How do you know that? Did you try?” Perhaps foolish to challenge; the thing she is surest in besides the persistent strength of humanity is the failures of her own making.

“I had the chance...I was offered...to be in a play…” The smile widens, showing teeth and hiding a grimace. “...I was too little and too scared. And I never…”

…

She doesn’t continue that thought.

“Why didn't you try again? You were just a child, right? Children are allowed to be wrong.” But as soon as he says it, he knows this isn’t true. He knows from experience. So does she. A long, painful silence...and then her eyes open. The humming continues, sweet and sad. She reaches up into his hair, delicately, to see if it feels as smooth as it looks.

"She falls in love with someone...who can't see his demise coming,” the woman explains of the rag doll with leaves. His brown hair is silky and soft. “She tries to help. In the end...it gets her in trouble. He realizes she's in danger and saves her." Kakuzu raises a brow, stitches at his mouth exaggerating a purse of his lips.

"What monster pairs with a living rag doll?" And to his surprise, she beams once more:

"A skeleton!"

...Oh. He grunts, his way of chuckling without being so vulnerable as to give off actual mirth, eyes hooding and smirk forming. "I know what you're going to say, Takara...that that’s like us."

The combing stops, big eyes blinking their befuddlement as the curled fingers pull away. "Excuse me?"

...Oh, dammit. She has never even seen Hidan's ritual form, and so Kakuzu feels his face flush at making the connection himself. Goddammit… As if Hidan could ever save him. It's always the other way around...

"Am...am I...a...a skeleton?" she stutters, not getting it.

"No,” he cuts in sharply. Too sharp, in fact— “I mean— ...never mind."

…

…

The now free hands of the woman fidget index fingers, pressing tip against tip. "There's another character...that's filled with bugs," she adds, as if this is helpful in any way whatsoever.

"…" Kakuzu answers, gaze narrowed and mouth in a straight line.

"I like bugs."

And so he exhales yet-fucking-again. "Takara, you're very fortunate I happen to be tolerant of the dumb shit you say." Hidan owes him for that, too, really.

"Oh." The woman on his lap doesn't need to say: she's sorry. She gets shy and withdrawn and her hands drift even further away. Exasperated, Kakuzu takes them into his own grasp.

"...But it's better than you never talking again."

He can't touch her with his own hands; surely he's too rough, both literally and figuratively. The threads come instead, strange and cold and inhuman. It only makes her remember what it was like to hold him by the fingers, though, as she did once when Kakuzu taught her how to read the stars.

"...Can I ask you something rude?"

What a weird thing to ask. He shrugs, just barely so not to shake her too much up and down as she sits on him. Is this fine? Is she safe so close to him? Is it proper for a man to let her do it? And yet he can’t bring himself to pull them apart. "Alright."

"Why is your skin... so...?"

It isn’t a sigh this time as he releases air from heavy lungs, but a chuckle. You can tell it comes from deep in his chest, even if quiet. "It'd be rude if you ignored it. That's just how I am now."

She blinks again, lashes fluttering. "You weren't... always...?"

"No. I was someone else a long time ago."

"Like me?"

…

He thinks about this, long and hard. This girl does, after all, remind him of who he used to be. So what does that mean of her before? He recalls her mentions of a life before a death, an existence riddled with agony, debt, and servitude. A broken loyalty to a system that felt nothing for her, and waking up to abandon it by any means necessary. …So, perhaps, they have switched lives. Silly boy to serious man. Serious woman to silly girl. Funny how life works out. They both had a death of sorts in between to make it happen, and here they are.

"Sure. Like you, I guess."

"Thank you," she responds inexplicably, despite the implications he sees, an emotion so bright dripping from her mouth like honey from a hive. There isn’t even a blush on her face; with the next action, it’s all whimsy and instinct and no thought whatsoever. It has to be, to be so silly.

The woman leans up and presses a kiss on his forehead, for once bare of the headband marked with his betrayal. A sensation tingles down his own cheeks, down his neck, into the depths of five dark hearts. Despite it all...he feels joy. It makes him tense up. Alas, this is so easy to pick up on with how close they are, and she jerks back immediately, crawling off his lap just as quickly as she got on. Now her face is red.

"Sorry…! I—... Sorry."

Sorry... That’s the right word for giving a guy like him the time of day, the warmth from a sixth blood-pumping organ somehow tied inseparably to his quintet. "It's fine,” he responds in calculation, choosing not to tell her how much he enjoyed it. “Just...be careful who you do that to. Alright?"

Instead of asking why, she simply says, unable to look him in the face: "I'm bad…" And calmly— oh so calmly compared to a moment ago— he retorts, his own voice murmured and already longing for her song.

"I didn't say that."

...

"I meant it,” the taki-nin elaborates, both as a comfort and an admonition. “We're all like this, Takara. ...If not outside like me then on the inside. Keep your wits about you. Save your affection for those who are deserving. It isn’t you that’s wrong, here. If someone has to be called 'bad'…" Childish worldview as it is, to be so black and white, the answer is undeniable. “...It’s us. They threw you, for god’s sake.”

"But...I...—"

"And if you can't," he adds selfishly, and the next is a whisper. "At least be tactful about it." The scariest part about what happens next is that he does, indeed, mull it over before it’s done. The outcomes are considered, the details poured over, and the fool still does exactly as he's warned her of.

A press of his world-weary lips comes from out of nowhere yet arrives so, so gently, just as soon pulling back before she can even tell what's happened. And though he isn’t brimming with sunshine like Takara can, this old man still can’t hide he’s making a silly, silly choice. "...Duckling."

And that’s it. There’s the slightest smirk on his face as he slinks backwards off the bed, visible until Kakuzu turns around and throws the signature cloak of his ilk over leathery-textured shoulders. The traveler gapes, what she thought as her mistake now his confirmation—

“Oi!” another guilty pleasure beckons impatiently behind Kakuzu’s locks. The bounty hunter huffs, allowing the woman one last opportunity to see a widening grin before the mask slips back on.

“Perfect timing.”

Before she knows it, another, paler set of arms come around the performer, Hidan complaining with his chin upon her head of her terrible, unforgivable absence for all of ten minutes. It really is over so very, very quickly. It has to be, lest the choices grow poorer and poorer between a half-naked man and a lady not even back to herself.

But he hums the lonely rag doll’s song back to himself all the same in private the rest of this day, up through dinner, in the bath, hell— maybe even in his sleep. It somehow sounds just fine on his old, gravely tongue as a mind re-walks the life it’s led just to work up to something as stupid and risky as this. Dead leaves fall down past the window where the zombie scooped her into his waiting lap, and he wonders what it would be like to stuff them underneath his patchwork skin.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

And will we ever end up together?

No, I think not, it's never to become

For I am not the one

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[hanniewannie]

Raising Roses | twelve

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Summary: Seungcheol wants to date again, but his daughter keeps on calling you "mommy".

Tendrils of white light up the sky as lightning makes its first appearance but it is not until a couple of seconds before thunder follows suit. Jangmi jolts in her sleep at the loud boom and reaches for you on your side of the bed on instinct like she knows you’ll be there no matter what. Scrambling, you place your hand next to her, afraid that she’ll wake up. Thank goodness, she doesn’t. Instead, she simply wraps her small hand around your pointer finger as you let out a small sigh of relief.

“You should be resting.”

The startled noise you make is not pretty and your unoccupied hand flies to your mouth to keep the rest of it from escaping. Shoulders rolling to release the tension, you turn to look at the owner of the voice and see him casually leaning against the door frame of Jangmi’s room.

“Don’t creep up on me like that, Jeonghan,” you whisper, careful not to wake the little girl next to you but also wanting Seungcheol’s best friend to know you’re serious.

He dislodges himself from the frame. “Sorry,” he shrugs, totally unapologetic.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. This is a far cry from the somber attitude he has a few days ago at the hospital when you have been asking about Seungcheol’s whereabouts. He’s livelier, brighter somehow. Maybe because both of them are out of the woods already. Not that they’ve ever been, but they’re both feeling better now.

Jeonghan lowers himself on a beanbag on the other side of Jangmi’s bed. When it’s clear that you’re not offering him any conversation—you’re far too tired—he takes Jangmi’s coloring book from the nightstand and flips the pages like it’s a magazine. He carefully studies each page as if there’s more to a four-year-old’s coloring book than it lets on. You turn your attention away and check your phone.

In your friend group chat, Soonyoung and Seungkwan are bickering again. Since it’s not anything related to the shop, you let them squabble to their hearts’ content and just observe on the sidelines. Chan and Mingyu are stupidly goading both sides on with Jihoon interjecting every once in a while. You notice that Joshua still hasn’t opened the chat since the accident. Jihoon says he’s just been busy but it’s not like him to be away for so long even when he’s got a lot going on.

You open your text thread with him. The last conversation is you thanking him for driving you to the hospital. He just replied with a simple ‘anything for you’ and a smiley face. Nothing else followed. The next days after that have been a blur and you hardly have had the time to yourself much less anyone else other than Seungcheol and Jangmi. So, you haven’t really checked up on your friends until yesterday.

Mingyu wanted to go out and eat barbecue. Everyone else was available except you and Joshua. You, because you have your hands full with Jangmi and Seungcheol. Joshua, because he’s been MIA.

You’re about to type a message to Joshua when Jeonghan clears his throat. Jangmi’s coloring book is already abandoned back on the nightstand and you notice him threading and unthreading his fingers together. There’s a shift in his mood that you have missed while you were checking your phone. Whatever it is, Jeonghan’s discomfort is palpable in the room.

“Look, I wanted to apologize for what happened at the office.”

This takes you by surprise and you open your mouth to say he doesn’t need to apologize for anything. It was you who refused to hear Seungcheol out. But Jeonghan holds a hand up to stop you.

“Please, let me do this. I almost destroyed everything between you two so please just let me explain what happened.”

When you don’t say anything, Jeonghan clears his throat again. “I’m sorry you both got tangled in the mess between me and Eunji. She’s just a girl I hooked up with who caught feelings." He winces a little when he sees the face you make but continues anyway. "When you went to the office that day, she was there looking for me. Cheol just happened to be there. She knows him from the first time we met and maybe from stalking me—who knows? Anyways, he was there. She wanted to know where I was, and when Cheol refused to tell her, she came unhinged. She pulled her own hair, and basically trashed the place. At some point, Cheol tried to stop her but she ended up just assaulting him. So, whatever you think it looked like when you got there, I can assure you, it’s not it.”

You straighten up from where you’re sitting. To be honest, what with all you’ve done in the past days, you’ve almost forgotten about that woman. Hearing about it again now, it seems like it’s happened a lifetime ago.

After that long revelation, you realize you don’t have the heart to tell him that Seungcheol has already told you. So, you just settle in asking him something that you have a mild interest in. “Why are you telling me this?”

He sinks lower into the beanbag, like he wants it to swallow him up somehow. There’s shame in his eyes when he meets yours. “Well, I can see you mean a lot to him. And I don’t know how it is between you guys right now but I want to clear things up. It’s just that he likes you so much and after…after Iris I feel like he deserves to be happy again, you know?”

You inch closer, genuinely more curious now. “After Iris?”

“Yeah,” Jeonghan says, “you know, Jangmi’s—”

“Aren’t you supposed to be home already?”

You look up to see Seungcheol standing in the hallway, wearing a pair of pajamas and the comfiest-looking oversized shirt. He looks absolutely adorable if not for the deep frown marring his handsome face. Jangmi’s grip on your finger loosens and you stand to meet him by the door.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” You place a hand on his uninjured arm. As you do, your fingers graze over his flexed muscles and you realize that his hand is curled into a fist, the sharp glare he throws Jeonghan alerts you.

“Jeonghan and I were just talking,” you offer, feeling the need to somehow diffuse the tension.

Seungcheol softens a little under your touch but his eyes are still pinned on his friend. “Yeah, too much apparently.”

“Dude,” Jeonghan groans, rolling off the beanbag, “I’m just trying to help.”

“Thanks but we’re good here,” is Seungcheol’s clipped reply.

Jeonghan waves his hands in surrender and shoves them in his pocket as he walks toward the door. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I just thought YN would wanna know about—”

“We’re good, bro. Thanks.”

You raise an eyebrow at Seungcheol but he isn’t looking at you. His eyes are focused on Jeonghan, who shrugs at you apologetically this time before slipping out Jangmi’s bedroom door.

Sighing, he waves at both of you. “I’ll let myself out.”

Once he’s out of sight, Seungcheol enters Jangmi’s room without a word, his figure now noticeably more relaxed than it was before. You can’t help but mull over what has happened. Jeonghan coming over to explain and apologize is one thing. Seungcheol reacting the way that he has is another.

Why is he so mad at his best friend? You don’t think he’s said anything wrong, but there is something that has piqued your interest. Not sure how to breach the subject, you remain by the door. When Seungcheol turns around to look at you, something about his eyes gives you the courage to finally speak up.

“Is Iris…” you start.

The question is barely out of your mouth when you see Seungcheol nod his head in the slightest way possible.

“Jangmi’s absentee mom.” He finishes for you, disdain staining his baritone voice.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he confirms again, as if it needed any more confirmation to make the point.

It doesn’t bother you more than you have thought it would. As it seems, Seungcheol’s willingness to talk to you about his past trumps any ill feeling you might have felt while talking about a woman he used to love. 

“So that’s why…” you muse, a chuckle escaping your lips faster than you can stop it.

Seungcheol turns to you with a confused frown. “That’s why what?”

You walk up to him, a small smile playing on your lips. “That’s why Jangmi is named Jangmi because her mother is named Iris and the name Jangmi means rose.”

He doesn’t respond, but he studies you closely. In fact, he studies you so close, you feel like you’ve grown another head that you have no idea of. You giggle nervously, taking a step back.

Noticing what you’ve done, Seungcheol leans away. “You’re not mad.”

It doesn’t sound like a question, but you shake your head anyway. “Mad about what?”

“Me, talking about my ex?” he offers, head tilted curiously.

Heat creeps up your cheeks and you turn away. “Why would I be mad? It’s not like…like you’re still seeing her, right?”

Seungcheol scoffs. “Good god, no way.”

“I mean, it’s going to be awkward staying here if you’re still seeing her, and I know I’m not your girlfriend or anything but—“

“You are.”

“—I feel like—Huh?”

“Girlfriend,” he points at you. “My girlfriend.”

You look at him stupidly. “Huh?”

This time, Seungcheol finally laughs. “You mean to tell me all this time, I’ve just been assuming that you’re my girlfriend?”

You gape at him.

You? His girlfriend? Well, surely you’ve both established a really close friendship by now but when exactly did you two become a couple?

Stammering, you look at Seungcheol, who has apparently decided that now is the right time to laugh his ass off. “What…What are you…Stop laughing at me!“

But Seungcheol can’t help himself. At least that’s what it looks like. Your face flames up and you’re almost certain that you’re now as red as a tomato.

“Choi Seungcheol, stop it!” you whisper-yell, afraid that if you make any more noises, Jangmi will wake up.

Her father sobers up at your pointed look. “You know, I could kiss you right now.”

“Stop it, Cheol,” you warn him.

“Why?” he asks, eyebrow raised in that cocky way only Seungcheol can do. “I confessed to you already and I’m pretty sure you said you liked me back during that long speech of yours at the hospital.”

Seungcheol steps closer to you and you step back, sweat trickling down your spine. His eyes are locked on yours and you’re almost positive he can read your mind like a big, flashing neon sign.

The discomfort you feel almost chokes you. What exactly were you expecting? Obviously, you care about him very much so what’s holding you back? His kid adores you just as much as you adore her and clearly, as evidenced by your conversation with Jeonghan just a while ago, the best friend is on your side as well. So, why are you still hesitant to commit yourself to this…whatever this is?

“You’re not yet ready,” Seungcheol’s voice shakes you out of your head and you hear the hurt in his voice before you even see it on his face.

A desperate feeling flows through you, turning into a dull pain in your chest as you stare back at him. You step forward, bridging the gap between the two of you that you have created earlier. The look on his face stills you, though.

“Cheol, I—“

His soft finger against your lips ends whatever you are going to say. He shakes his head gently when you try to protest. “You don’t need to explain yourself, YN. I’m sorry for putting you on the spot like that. Just pretend you didn’t hear what I said earlier.”

The uncertainty must have shown on your face because he takes your hand in his and squeezes it reassuringly. “We can take it one step at a time, Y/N,” Seungcheol whispers.

You find yourself nodding, relief washing over you like fresh air. “One step at a time,” you echo, “Okay.”

A/N: It's been almost a year, I know :((( I'm so sorry it took me so long. A lot has happened to me since my last update and I can't promise I'll be consistent in posting as I used to but I'll try my best. Hope you guys haven't forgetten about Prosecutor Choi Seungcheol and his adorable daughter, Jangmi.

Taglist: @shiningstar-byulxx @alegingerale @r000l @begentlewithme-please @namjinholic @justasoftstan @jxnem @giantmuschroom @cheolright @jeongiegram @instantkittyland @mitchieki @mimaisiomai @junglewoos @cherrycheolcoups @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @cheolright P.S. If I missed anyone else who asked to be in the taglist, please just let me know.

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masterlist

[masonhaind]

«Outrage»

- Farz, are you crazy?! What if he finds out? - Raven asked in a panic, controlling a part of Farz's body.

It was the day after the incident, or rather the next evening.

- He won't find out! - He replied sharply. - Everything will be fine. Besides, I don't think it'll last long. Vayt didn't seem like the kind of person who would brazenly stay on.

- What if he finds out?! What do you suggest we do then?! Who knows what he might think or do?!

- Raven! He's a normal guy, you're slandering him!

- I have your memories! He's causing a lot of problems, this could end badly!

Farz exhaled irritably.

- That's what you think, give him time. It'll be fine, you'll see.

Before Raven could object, the front door opened. Farzen turned around and saw Vayt walk in, who was now looking at the door, closing it.

The blue eye had regained its green color and the pupil had blackened back. Raven gave control of her body back to Farz.

Vayt silently turned on him as he closed the door. Murphy tried to act calm. But Vayt didn't seem to notice anything.

- Hey, everything okay? - Black asked, not taking a step away from the door.

His voice was calm, but his eyelids touched the edges of his irises almost perfectly. It could have been considered surprise or incomprehension.

- Yes, everything is fine. - Farz answered and still managed to suppress the breaking of his voice.

- I bought some food. - Vayt said, stepping closer to him, not noticing Murphy's nervousness. - We'll have to feed THIS one, too, right?

Farz smiled a little.

- Like it or not he's going to eat what he finds anyway.

Vayt frowned slightly. As much as he didn't like the fact that he would have to feed someone he had extremely negative feelings for, he had no choice anyway. Okay, it was better than with THEM.

- Then let me cook us something while he's gone. - Black offered, and then without waiting for an answer, he just did as he was suggested.

Farz didn't answer, but just sat down at the table, without interrupting him.

Vayt had made something as primitive as he could, but it was enough to get a good night's sleep without stomach rumbling.

After the meal, they sat in the kitchen talking for a while. They returned home separately, so it was logical that they couldn't talk. However, everything was interrupted by a brazen intrusion. Namely a loudly opened door and a voice.

- Hey, Farz! I'm going to tell you something! - Sid shouted, coming into the kitchen.

His mood immediately soured when he saw Vayt.

- What's that guy doing here? He wants to sleep over again? - He asked dismissively, pointing at Vayt but speaking to Farz.

- He's going to live with us now. - Farz answered promptly.

Sid froze for a second, trying to process what he had just heard. And just like that a second later, he raised a loud and annoyed voice:

- What do you mean he's going to live with us! I'm against it!

While the punk was indignant, Farz sighed quietly and rubbed the bridge of his nose. As soon as the last word was spoken, Murphy looked up at him and frowned, asserting his personal boundaries:

- Sid, this is my apartment and I can decide who stays here.

Just like Vayt taught, who just sat nearby and looked like a kid who got caught in the middle of his parents' argument. Though instead of tears or fear there was only irritation on his face, irritation at Sid's words.

- You should have discussed this with me! What am I paying for? - The punk didn't calm down, as if he had really lost a large sum of money.

- You're not paying me.

Murphy's answer was harsh, and it surprisingly shut the punk up.

- Fuck you both. - Sid hissed, and then went off to find some food.

Vayt and Farz followed him with their eyes, then Black shifted his gaze to Murphy.

- I'm proud of you. - he whispered, smiling slightly.

Farz turned his head toward him. Seeing his faint smile, Farz smiled himself and turned away, rolling his eyes and clucking his tongue.

- Go to hell. - without the slightest desire to offend, he said.

- Can you keep your voice down? - Sid opened his fucking mouth again as he finished making the sandwich, waving the table knife around.

The very fact that there would be a third person in the apartment made the punk resent it.

Farz covered half his face with his palm and shook his head silently. That bastard would whine a lot. For some reason, Sid didn't like Vayt right away. Why the hostility? Was it because of that incident at the cafe? No, hardly, it was just a sudden shouting match, which in fact was nothing compared to those instances where Sid provoked his own beating. Maybe because of the threat? Also unlikely... it looked pathetic. He obviously couldn't take offense or get angry over bullshit like that. Then what's the matter? Why the animosity? Guess it will be had to find out in the future.

[lyutenw]

ACOD| Chapter XV

The words of the man kept ringing inside Aria's ears. She tried hard to brush them off, but her mind would wander back to them, wondering what they had meant and whether he was a gifted or not. None of the maids nor her sister had heard what he had said, so at least no one was bothering her with questions, but Zaya had noticed her mood shifting despite not saying anything.

"Do you want to drink something?" Zaya offered with a worried smile, "You seem pale."

"No, it's fine, don't worry." Aria's words were curt and cold, and she knew that her sister would be hurt by that tone, but it was already too late to get them back.

The maids had noticed nothing and were still going around the town excitedly, looking at every shop and dreaming of wearing the dresses advertised. Zaya had also joined them, leaving Aria on her own a few steps behind.

"We meet again, darling." A voice snapped Aria out of her thoughts and when she looked up her eyes met with black, messy hair and a set of different colored eyes.

"Raven!" All her thoughts disappeared and the only thing she could think about was how relieved she was that he hadn't abandoned her. There was still hope.

Aria looked towards her maids and Zaya, now a lot further than before, not having noticed her stay behind with Raven. Satisfied, she grabbed Raven's wrist and dragged him away from the crowd to a small fountain with birds drinking from it and chirping happily. There was a willow tree above them, hiding them from the crowd and giving them sufficient cover and silence.

"Did you make the papers?" Aria asked, intertwining her hands, and digging her nails on her skin, biting her lips.

"Not even a question about how I am?" Raven smirked and placed his hand at the edge of the fountain, supporting all his body weight that way. Aria's eyes narrowed at him, turning into a deathly stare. Raven seemed unfazed and didn't talk at all, a smirk spread across his face.

"Okay, how are you? I hope you are well, and your days away from me were great!" Aria gave in and with every word raised her voice. "Did you make the papers?" She could barely keep herself sane; her heart was about to jump from her chest.

"I'm not that well actually, had this mini accident-"

"I swear to the gods that gave you your power, I'm going to return it soon if you don't answer my question." Aria knew better than to make Raven mad, but she didn't know what to do. She needed to escape, and it had to be soon.

Raven didn't get mad at her raising her voice; instead, he smiled and chuckled at the sight of an infuriated Aria. There was sadness in his eyes, but he had accepted his fate, so he might as well have fun with it.

"Yes. I found the guy and your papers are ready." Raven said and as soon as Aria heard she let out the deep breath she had been holding all that time. She placed a hand on her chest, on top of her heart, to calm it down from beating so quickly. Raven reached out and touched her hand without thinking; he didn't want her to be anxious. Aria was at a loss for words, and they stayed there for a few seconds, their hands on top of one another's, Aria's heart beating quickly again but for a different reason.

For a little while Aria could only focus on his lips and the curve of his upper lip, and how it would feel to kiss him. It wasn't the first time she had thought of him kissing her and she didn't know why she wanted to do it. There was something about him helping her when no one else did; something about his touch that was electrifying and something about everything bringing them together despite being from two different worlds.

It seemed as though it was only the two of them in the world, but then Raven took his hand away and everything returned back to being loud. The birds were chirping again, the fountain running, the people talking and the willow tree whispering to then in an ancient language as the wind caressed its leaves.

"S-sorry." Raven stammered and looked away from Aria, scratching his head and nape in embarrassment.

"It's okay." Aria muttered, her cheeks a flushed pink. "So, about the papers, can you hold on to them?" She quickly added, desperate to forget the previous moment.

"Uh, yeah, sure." Raven was disoriented, cursing in his mind. Her fate hadn't changed since he had last touched her and so hadn't his. Their path was inevitable.

"So..." Aria trailed off, her thoughts jumbled. She couldn't stop thinking how hot his hand was when he had touched her, and how rough his skin had been.

"Do you want to go for a walk around the town?" Raven suggested with a smile.

"Sure." Aria answered, unsure of how to feel about him. On one hand he was her 'escape partner', the one helping her get away; someone she had placed all her trust blindly. On the other hand, she desired him. She wanted to touch him and kiss his red lips. There was something inexplicable drawing her to him. She was reminded of the red string of fate, and she chuckled on the irony of it existing.

❋

The walk around the city's center with Raven was silent. Aria didn't know what to say and Raven was calculating her every move, so he didn't try to make any kind of small talk.

Aria was on edge, trying to find her sister and the maids, wondering whether or not they were searching for her or whether they had already returned to the palace thinking she had as well.

"Were you here alone?" Raven asked, his eyes fixated on hers.

"No, I was with my sister and our maids." Aria answered.

"Why is your sister here?"

"She was sent with gifts for my wedding, and she decided to stay for a few more days."

"Is she as beautiful as you are?" Raven bit his tongue as soon as he realized that he thought out loud. Aria had heard him clearly though, and she chuckled.

"If you are asking if we look alike... No, we don't. She is my half-sister; the daughter of the queen."

"Are you not the queen's daughter?" Raven was taken aback by her statement; Ellian hadn't mentioned Aria not being royal.

"No, I am the byproduct of the king's affair with a servant." Aria explained bitterly, looking down. She had grown up ashamed; ashamed for being a servant's daughter and ashamed for being the first one born. Ashamed that she was the reason her mother had died.

"So, you are half-royal then." Raven understood why Ellian hadn't said anything. Celenial's king was a snake with many heads; it made sense that he wouldn't have sent his pure royal daughter to marry the prince of the kingdom he had been at war for all these years. The bastard daughter would have to be sacrificed as per the queen's orders.

"You are putting it lightly." Aria stopped dead in her tracks and looked at him with a pained expression. "Most call me a bastard daughter."

"I'm a bastard child too, so I have never liked that word." Raven placed his hands in his pockets and broke eye contact. He noticed a small canteen shop.

"Want to eat something?" He asked and Aria's eyes lit up. She not only was hungry, but she enjoyed his company and needed ways to extend their little date. She nodded and they both walked towards it.

They looked through the scribbled menu, almost everything sounded delicious. Aria settled for the minced duck and vegetable rolls, something she had never tried before.

"Go on and sit down wherever you want." Raven said and Aria did just that.

The sun was still up over the mountains in the distance, painting everything golden. As Aria sat down it was the only thing she could focus on; how beautiful the pink and orange rays of the sun were. Her mind knew that this was not a date between them, it was a random encounter and he accompanied her since she was alone, yet her heart was about to explode. Se couldn't understand why she felt the way she did for him; he was an almost stranger that was being nice to her and helping her escape her abusive husband. She had barely seen the guy more than a few times.

Raven coming to the table with their food interrupted her thoughts and the smell of the food made her mouth water in anticipation.

"Your food, darling." Raven said and placed it in front of her then sat down himself. He also placed a big bottle of wine in the middle of the table with two glasses. He hadn't bought anything for him to eat.

"Don't look at me like that, I really need some wine right now." Raven chuckled and poured himself a full glass of wine, downing it immediately. His eyes were slowly growing darker, and he filled his glass again.

"Don't you have anything to do afterwards?" Aria asked taking a first bite of her rolls and a small sip of wine. He seemed lost in his thoughts, and she wondered how someone could change so much in such little time.

"Yeah, so?" Raven downed his third glass, the bottle already halfway finished.

"I will manage, darling." He smiled but in a way that hid great sadness. Aria couldn't say anything to him, so she lowered her eyes to her plate and continued eating. She had no way of knowing the reason he was drinking so much but she also didn't want to think of it.

"You know what the worst part is of being a gifted person in Oceana?" Raven put down his glass down on the table with a clank and looked at the sky that was now a dark blue.

"No. What is it?" Aria asked, thankful that he broke the silence.

"That you are a slave. You don't live for yourself but for others." Raven circled the rim of the glass with the tip of his finger, still not taking his eyes away from the sky. Aria let the words settle down in her mind and even though she understood what he meant; she couldn't truly feel his pain. Maybe it was an even worse one than hers.

"Maybe you should change that. Live for yourself..." Aria trailed off. Raven chuckled bitterly and drank one more glass of wine, his cheeks now a flushed red. He turned to look at her and his eyes were glassy, but still shining under the streetlamp's lights.

"Do you know that I can see the fates of the people I touch?" Aria nodded and she realized where this was going. She could feel a pang of sadness in her heart.

"I was born knowing my fate, darling. I knew you before I met you; I knew Ellian before he was even born." Raven got up from his seat and went next to Aria.

"My fate is set in stone. All of ours are."

"Is there no way to change it? If you know what will happen, you can make different choices." Aria looked at him, his lips dyed red from the wine and wondered whether her fate was to kiss him or not; she certainly wanted to.

"Fate is a cruel thing, darling." Raven bent down and was now a breath away from her.

"I cannot help but fall in love with the one that destroys me."

-------------------------

Tag List: @angie-j-kay @mysticstarlightduck @boundedsea @pheonix-thefirebird @quillinhand @lottierae1 @puckpuckett @aalinaaaaaa

[every-bad-thing]

You’re Your Own Goldfish

( "goldfish" by josullivan.59 is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0. ) You, like many millions of people before you, buy a goldfish in a large bowl. It does all the typical goldfish things: swim around, float around, look around. You take care of it in the way millions before you have taken care of them. You feed it flakes every morning and clean its bowl every week and have the occasional one-sided conversation with it. It's nice having it around. Sure, it's just a fish, but its presence adds an element of life to your room, however small. You often wonder what it's thinking. You hear goldfish have only a five second memory. Seeing it swim around the same bowl day after day, you really hope it's true.

You spend a lot of time staring at it. Eventually you realize it spends a lot of time staring at you too, its fishy gaze always following you around. It will look your way as soon as you enter the room and slowly turn as you move about, keeping you always at the front of its vision. You've walked back and forth a few times, to see whether it's really you it's looking at, and each time confirm that, yes, it is looking at you and only you. It starts making you uncomfortable once you notice. Even when you're not looking at the fish, you can feel its stare on your back, never letting you forget it's there. It's creepy, but that's pretty much it. After a little hesitation, you go about your days as normal. The fish keeps staring, but you don't really care anymore.

Years pass. You keep taking care of it: feeding it flakes in the morning, cleaning its bowl every week. The fish is still doing its intense, intelligent gaze and now you think it's kind of cute. Your fish likes you. And why not? You take very good care of it. That must be why it's lived such a long time--much longer than you'd think a goldfish would. So then you're surprised when, one morning, you spot a strange growth on the top of its head. It starts out almost invisible, but within a week balloons to the size of a pearl, which on this fish is rather large. You've never seen anything like it, in or out of water. It glows with a brilliant light that shifts rapidly from one color to the next, pulsing out shades of red, green, blue, gold and every shade between them. It lights up the water, making it shine like a sparkling star.

You kneel down next to the bowl to take a closer look, your eyes squinting against the brightness. The fish floats right up against the glass and raises its gaze to you. You stare at each other and the light gets stronger. You want to look away, to close your eyes, but you can't do either, it's like your body won't listen. Soon, your entire world goes white as searing pain beams down your face and into your body, which is now wracked with convulsions. You can't see a thing, but you feel yourself go limp and fall down. You expect to hit the floor but instead crash through a pool of water, like some hole to the sea had been waiting below you. You struggle and flail for a moment, your heart beating fast, but pause when you realize you can still breathe. You don't know how this can be, but you calm down a little. You're not drowning. You feel better. That stops when you finally open your eyes.

You see your room, but from a much different angle. Everything is strange and distorted. Lines are curved, and proportions are off, everything looking much bigger than it should. Suddenly, your entire perspective shifts as you feel the water move around you. It feels like you're moving up, so very fast, until something huge rises into your entire field of vision, dominating your view like an endless horizon. It's a face. Your face. It smiles, a grin that, to your little eyes, looks as big as the sky. You try to ask what's happening, why you're in water, why everything looks so weird, but nothing happens. The thoughts form--telling your mouth to move in certain ways, for your tongue to position itself correct, for air to move from your lungs--but you remain silent, no matter how much you try. You involuntarily try to whimper and find you cannot do even then. Then, it speaks with a big booming voice that you recognize immediately as your own.

( "Bedroom" by Studio Sarah Lou is licensed under CC BY 2.0. ) Your voice says You must be feeling very confused right now, and you try to say Yeah No Kidding, but once again no sound comes out your mouth. You feel your world start turning around as your voice says Maybe this will help you understand. Your vision rotates until you see you're in front of a large mirror. Reflected inside is your room, with your bed and your shelves and all your stuff. And there's you! You see yourself, holding the goldfish bowl. That's strange, though: you don't feel yourself holding anything. The you in the mirror smiles. That's also strange, you think, because you don't feel yourself smiling. You move closer to get a better look. At the same time, the goldfish moves forward. You feel weird and stop. The goldfish in the mirror stops too. You feel even weirder and move away. The goldfish swims backward.

With a sudden, painful burst of revelation you finally understand.

You try to scream. You want to scream. You need to scream. But that's something humans do. All goldfish do is swim, so that's all you can do, though you do it as frantically as possible. You hear your voice say Now you're getting it. Your hands set the bowl back down and the face, your face, returns. The thing using your body says it's unfortunate things had to be this way, and that it understands you'd be upset, but to try to see things from its perspective.

It began life at the bottom of a cold, dark lake. Back then, it was just a worm, one of thousands burrowed in the muck. The nutrients there could sustain it, yes, but not forever. It knew it was only a matter of time before all the minerals were leeched out and starvation would begin. It had seen it happen to others and feared it would share the same fate. Its only hope, your voice explains, was to be consumed by some sort of animal, where the next stage of its life could begin. Daily it prayed, every time a passing fish or crab swam by, that it would be the one to be finally plucked from the muck and ingested to safety. Daily it was frustrated, seeing hundreds of others chosen but not it. Until one day, it said, salvation came in the form of a goldfish that dug through the mud and slurped up the worm in a single motion.

Once inside, your voice says, it was a simple matter to fuse with the fish's spine and take control. From there, all it had to do was wait for the next stage of its life to begin. Eventually it was scooped up in a net and brought to a pet store, the same one you bought it at. You never suspected a thing, but then why would you? After all, until recently it looked just like any other goldfish in any other bowl. By the time the glowing growth finally appeared on its head, it was too late. The only thing it needed to do then was wait for you to make eye contact for just a few seconds and, says your voice, you know the rest.

And finally, it says, the last stage of its life cycle has begun: being human. Having now taken over your body, it can move through society freely with no one suspecting that this perfectly normal person is secretly, inside, a goldfish. And similarly, no one would look at you, in your new fish body, and suspect you're really a person. You want to cry, but that is something else fish can't do. The thing says that it's looking forward to finally meeting the others--those just like itself, who switched minds with some unlucky human and took over their life. It tells you there's millions and millions of them on Earth, as it has been for thousands of years. You've probably already met one and never even knew. The only way to tell would be to run their waste under a microscope, to see all the tiny eggs they release every time they go to the bathroom. And who's really going to do that?

(By SuSanA Secretariat - https://www.flickr.com/photos/gtzecosan/15518236248/, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=38222502)

So what's going to happen to you? Your voice explains that it will take good care of you, just like you took good care of it. You'll get flakes every morning and a bowl cleaning every week. In the meantime, you'll be free to do whatever you want, even though the only thing to really do is just swim around, float around and look around. And, as the hours turn to days and the days turn to weeks, you find that's exactly what you do. It's not very exciting. But that is the life of a fish. It is your life. Forever.

[wynilthyrii]

Scars and Souvenirs

A gray sliver of dawn appeared through the trees that lined the road through the Everlight. For a few moments, she watched that slice of sky shift its color, growing lighter with the sunrise. A mist hung thick and heavy, as was common this time of year, threading through the trees the same as it would hang over the markets at the township, at the Reprieve, as it would drape itself over still-rebuilding Whiteblade and lay like velvet over the fields outside of Anu’shalah.

Thoughts tangled, images from the previous night’s nightmare mingled with the conversations of previous days. The argument with Tyr. The discussion with a stranger near the steps. Then Aison Bloodwrath the previous night, with a ranger’s teasing to break the brittle ice that might have settled without it. Maybe that had been the spark that set the fuse that led to the terrors that had plagued her sleep.

“You’re quieter than usual for a morning you’ve asked me to ride with you,” her companion ventured softly. Tenebre sat easily in her saddle, body swaying with her mount, bow hanging from a hook near her knee. The ranger watched her for a few seconds, then glanced away, tracking the motion of one of her foxes as it veered off toward the edge of the road to investigate something, only to return a moment later.

Wyn noticed, too. “Anything?”

Tenebre shook her head. “No. So what is it?”

She winced. “Just a lot on my mind, I think.”

“Ah, well. Join the club, there.” A wry smile curved her lips, then faded. “So what piece is it? The thing that has Tess wargaming, the fight that no one is supposed to know you had with Tyr, or something else? Sleeping giants stirring?”

Wyn winced again. “How did you know about—”

“Ardus is worried,” Tenebre said, her voice even even as her tone remained light but almost wry. “When it comes to the two of you he falls into that brotherly role pretty easily. His only saving grace is that he didn’t inherit the same drive to fix things for everyone all the time.”

“I don’t do that. Not all the time.”

“Only sometimes,” Tenebre agreed. “So is it that, or…?”

“No,” she said. “Not just that, anyway. “More than that, and less. It’s a lot of things.” Wyn paused, eyes roaming across the road ahead of them. They’d clear this section of the forest soon, emerge into fields near the lake. “Maybe it’s just the weight crashing back down again.”

Tenebre was silent for a few seconds at her side, following her gaze. The forest grew lighter as the sun climbed into the sky. “I don’t know. It seems like the balls are in the air.”

“For now,” Wyn said softly. “I was talking to someone yesterday about the Order. Something he said…I don’t know. It just brought everything back. The choices you try to make to make things better until suddenly there’s no more choices—the choices are all bad.”

“Service teaches us to obey orders in those situations,” Tenebre said quietly. “And command teaches us to make them and damn what it might do to us.”

“I can’t let the Order turn into some kind of meat-grinder again, Tenebre. But that almost seems secondary to here, to this place and these people. And at the same time, what kind of person would I be if I stood back and just let the old patterns take hold again?”

“Not the person any of us know you are.”

The brush thinned. The gray light of a misty dawn folded around them. Tenebre nudged her horse closer, reached across the gap to squeeze her knee.

“I had nightmares last night,” Wyn said, her voice barely audible over the sounds of the mist-shrouded wood. “My mother. The war. The aftermath. That—all of it.” She swallowed hard, closing her eyes for a second. “If he hadn’t been there this morning, I’d have woken up screaming.”

Tenebre’s fingers tightened a little more on her knee before she let go. “You’re not the only one with nightmares like that. More of us have them than don’t, I think. It’s…it’s another part of what we are, I guess. Part of the kind of life we live. I think…” her voice trailed away.

The silence lingered for long enough that Wyn began to wonder if the Farstrider by her side would say anything at all, would finish the thought. She nearly told her that it was all right, that it was just that she needed to wrestle with some things, to sort through them, and all would be well. It was perhaps only half a lie.

But Tenebre eventually continued, as they cleared the edge of the forest and began up the road that curved toward the lake and the Caverns, green grass rising on either side of the road. “I think the fact that some of us find a way to keep on, to keep trying to make it all better than it was for us for those that come after—it’s good. Maybe it’s not all good for us, but it’s good. It’s something. Somehow it’ll make a difference even if it doesn’t make everything worth it.”

The nod came slowly, but it came nonetheless. Wyn reached across to squeeze her arm, then let go, turning her attention back to the road, to the stillness and quiet around them.

”There’s more coming,” Wyn said, her voice nearly inaudible.

”I know,” Tenebre answered. “There always is.”

Somehow, the way she said it didn’t leave her stomach clenching or her blood cold. It was just an acknowledgement. Not something to fear, to run from.

It simply was.

Just another thing that would leave them bent, but not broken—or, if broken, remade. Perhaps it had always been that way, would be that way, until cycles were broken.

They’d already broken one. How many more would there be?

“Thanks, Tenebre,” Wyn murmured.

“Yeah,” the ranger said softly. “Of course. Anytime. You all right?”

“I will be,” Wyn said, one corner of her mouth quirking toward a smile. “Probably. Eventually.”

Tenebre laughed. “The story of our lives.”

Wyn grinned, then kicked her horse into a trot. Tenebre kicked hers into a gallop, setting off across the dew-damp grass.

Laughing, letting go of some of the weight, Wyn followed.

[honorhunt]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 still purple with a sun too frightened to set. a low, ghastly moan crawled from the indigo hills that embroidered the horizon, reaching across the seemingly endless flat of sunbaked clay. for miles the desert spread uninterrupted by man. undulating Ss in puddles of sand left behind by unnerved hunters escaping the air’s scarlet taste. long-eared silhouettes huddled in the sagebrush, their black noses twitching restlessly.

      mankind’s only foothold in acres of inhospitable desolation resembled the garrish flavor of its scarce clientele. a towering sign, crowned by a decapitated starburst, displayed a partial name. more than half the letters were gone, remembered only by faded scars too sunbleached to read from the ground. while the survivors spasmed in decades-long deathroes of neon glory. the parking lot look just as depleted. most of the cars parked haphazardly around imaginary lines had seen their heyday when the motel’s googie groove was the charismatic rage.

      the office was sad, the rooms sadder. interiors once boasting a doo wop palette all aged into an antagonistic puce. room numbers were scribbled with sharpie below the peephole on each cyan door. the bygones haunting the creaky walks and the empty pool had company tonight. bleary-eyed silhouettes in various states of undress huddled outside their rooms, drawn from their twenty-a-night caves by the low of indescribable torture. even the front desk with her pilling orange concealer stood gaping, frozen to a half-open door, more awake than she’d ever been in her twenty years of graveyard shifts.

      boba fett was alone in his lack of resemblance to a plastic deer. propped between the hood and the door, boba was a satellite stationed in the dreary parking lot, gauging the mysterious howl. distortion rendered it unrecognizable. even for a man who spent his life listening to preternatural animals sing. regardless, a local who’d probably witnessed more than a fair share of strange resembled an owl shivering in the evening heat. that was more than enough to suspect a revenant was out there in the shimmering distance.

      without a word to the girl riding shotgun, boba retrieved the rifle behind his seat and refilled the few bullets missing from his utility belt. two pistols joined his on-hand armory along with a thirty centimeter bowie knife to accompany the smaller drop point forever on his person.

      as a loaded a custom shotgun, pulled from a massive lockbox stored under the narrow backseats, fett finally acknowledged his passenger. not with eyes that were fixed to the lethal tools passing through his hands, but with an order. ❝ get that inside, ❞ a jog of his chin motioned the collective of fast food bags meant for the gaggle of mouths left behind while he and the youngest of the bunch went hunting for the closest town. ❝ and get munson out here. ❞

      fett didn’t wait for maxine to reply. he tossed her the keys, slammed the door, cutting off any unnecessary commentary when his instructions were clear, and expected the results to follow him across the lot momentarily.

      he on the edge of the property glaring at the dark blue peaks. the howling continued, growing longer and more mournful with each cry. a shuffle of movement in his peripherals drew a sliding glower to a bald man in a towel fumbling with the keys to a prehistoric sedan. the man rummaged for a moment before he noticed his audience. like a hairless prairie dog, his back straightened as he returned boba’s stolid stare with a boggled imitation.

      ❝ you know what that is? ❞ fett nodded in the direction of the mountains. the bald head shook, water drops shaking from pufferfish cheeks. ❝ then you better get inside. ❞ nothing more needed to be said. what little color the bald man had in his face flushed away, leaving a waxy pallor. the bald man closed the driver side door and nearly lost his towel when he tried to walk away. it took several panicked attempts to free himself from the door before waddling in retreat to his room.

      hmph, was fett’s lukewarm response. not long after another set of steps approached from behind. these sounded more purposeful, and he almost held out the shotgun when he realised there was a girl-shaped mutiny afoot.

                        ❝ i said munson, not mayfield. ❞

a desert motel, one ghost shy of abandoned for @godsdeal

[thefailguard]

the idea is so silly so have a bit of the mage-killer finding out he's working for the Crow-killer's daughter.

Even after the first safe night's sleep in many years Lucanis was still uneasy with the idea of existing in the Fade.

Safe, of course, being relative, but anything was better than being imprisoned by Venatori.

It sounded horrifying- at least to himself- but whatever 'bubble' of the Fade they found themselves in was oddly peaceful. Here all the strangeness, chaos, and danger seemed far away. It wasn't the worst place to hole up while fulfilling this bargain struck for his freedom. Much better than prison.

The kitchen was lacking, however.

He poked his head out as another, louder clatter drew his attention. The woman they called Rook was perched on the mantle above the wolf-guarded fireplace, going through the shelf of spices. She was dressed simply, in a sleeveless gray-black linen top and leather pants that cut off below the knee, the dark colors contrasting with the golden warmth of the athletic young woman herself. Resting at the edge of the well-tended flames was a squat, fire-blackened pot with steam spilling out from under the edge of the lid.

There was no point asking why she hadn't used a chair, he understood.

Climbing walls was faster.

"If you're looking for something..."

She shifted on the narrow ledge to glance over her shoulder at him with eyes like polished gold, one hand still braced on the shelf. "Dal'einas."

"Is that a Dalish spice? Have you asked Bellara?"

"It's a wrinkly brown root," she said, turning her attention back. One leg dropped off the ledge, perching atop the wolf-statue's ear with her toes curled towards her sole. She looked small out of her armor, but that wouldn't fool him. He'd seen her fight.

He'd never even met a Crow that moved that fast.

"Are you making something sweet, or savory?"

"Arroz con leche," she replied simply in a flawless Antivan accent, to his surprise.

She didn't sound Antivan at all.

"The small blue pot has saffron. It would be best with pistachios, but unless you have some..."

"No, but we have raisins. A lot of raisins," she said with a lopsided smirk.

"I thought you wanted to make it taste better, not ruin it."

Her laugh surprised him, as bright and quick as she was. Snatching up the blue ceramic pot in her long fingers, she hopped off the mantle, alighting easily before the fire. As she crouched down, Lucanis was finally lured from his doorway, wandering over to lean nearby, folding his arms as he watched.

As she opened the pot, the contents surprised him- they looked right, short, thick grains of rice simmering away in a milky liquid. There was a hint of cinnamon in the air, warm and familiar and comforting.

"How much?"

"Just a pinch."

She added it, and then gave the pot a generous stir, smacking the spoon on the rim of the pot with a clang afterwards to knock clinging rice grains back into the pot.

Rook was a puzzle. She spoke Antivan, sounded Ferelden, and her tattoos were Rivani. She used Dalish ingredients but didn't wear any Vallaslin, and most confusingly...

She fought like a Crow.

"I don't believe I even know your name."

With a blink, she jerked her chin up to stare at him, hair falling in her face. Impatiently she shoved it back, her free hand re-capping the pot of saffron almost as if it moved of its own volition, her entire focus on him.

"Oh. Adaia. Adaia T- Laidir."

He noticed the slip-up, but he could tell she'd noticed his slight eyebrow raise right back, because she smirked impishly at him and tapped a finger to her lips.

"Me old da prefers I don't use his name, but I forget."

Telling defeated the point of a pseudonym, but he had a feeling she knew and didn't care.

"Is he the one who taught you to fight, I wonder?"

"Hmm? Oh, no! My other father taught me," she said cheerfully, bouncing to her feet. With a quicksilver grin, she spun away, climbing the wall again in a quick hop and grab, toes catching in the stone and pushing her up so deftly it almost looked like she was floating.

Adaia twirled back around and landed on the mantle again, leaning over to put the jar back. Lots of flourish in the way she moved; it was as much showing off as it was practical. Inefficient, but playful.

"Your father was trained by a Crow? Interesting. If I were you I would keep that to myself. The Crows guard their secrets carefully."

She just laughed heartily, amber eyes crinkling at the corners. They were the color of late afternoon sunlight, the last light of full day. "My father was a Crow, actually!"

Ah.

"My condolences," Lucanis said, head tipping, arms still folded warily across his chest. A hidden child wasn't the most uncommon thing for a Crow. He knew of many that would much rather hide a child than admit its existence, lest they be claimed and taken from them.

"What?" Her puzzlement was no more acute than his as she tilted her head and spoke again. "He's still alive. The particular part that called for a was was the allegiance."

The idea was so ludicrous that Lucanis couldn't stifle his faint chuckle. Ah. "Well, perhaps he called himself a Crow, but-"

As her smile widened knowingly, a hint of slyness twinkling in her eyes, he paused. Well-trained instincts insisted there was something she knew that he didn't, and was dangling it just above his head. His mind raced, to not be left behind. There was no way her father had left the Crows, no one left the Crows-

But the shadow that had stalked their steps for years until a desperate peace was brokered to stem the loss of life. Now it was anathema to so much as mention the man. All knowledge of Zevran Arainai had been wiped from their records, but his name was still whispered in the dark places.

The only man to take his freedom at knife-point.

His revelation must have shown somehow, though he wasn't certain what she'd seen. Lucanis had a very well-trained poker face. But Rook- no, Adaia- smiled broadly with her lips pursed, tongue poking out with impish glee.

"He's going to think this is very funny."

Lucanis felt a sudden stirring of uneasy dread. "Will he...?"

"Oh, yes," she said with a hint of wicked glee, staring down at him from her shadowy perch. "Very, very funny."

"As do you, it seems," he said, suddenly guarded. Tipping his head towards the pot steaming merrily away, filling the air with the unfamiliar smell of home and warmth, Lucanis pushed off the wall. "Enjoy."

Her unrepentant, mischievous laughter followed him as he returned to the safety of his room.

...

Saffron Arroz con Leche

1 cup short-grain rice (bomba if you can get it)

4 cups whole milk

1 can evaporated milk (12 oz)

1 can sweetened condensed milk (14 oz)

1 cinnamon stick

A pinch of saffron

Pinch of salt

Tbsp vanilla (optional)

Crushed pistachios to top.

Directions:

rinse your rice until the water runs clear

In a pot on medium heat, add rice, cinnamon, and 4 cups milk

Heat to a low simmer, reducing heat if it begins to bubble too eagerly, and stir every 10 minutes until rice is softened and done, about an hour

Remove cinnamon stick, add evaporated and condensed milk

Add saffron, salt, vanilla, and any other warming spices you want

Keep cooking and stirring sometimes until it's thick and creamy, like a really good yogurt

Serve with pistachios!

since I swore to myself I would give the game a proper chance, starting over completely. I have decided to make Zevran's daughter <3

[cemoras27-but-writing-this-time]

Danny's Evil Jaunt. It's Evil He Swears. Ignore the Charity pt. 1

Hi! its me again. I saw this prompt thing on @im-totally-not-an-alien-2 and it had me in a choke hold and held me hostage until I wrote it. Its where Danny becomes a supervillain using his machines instead of his ghost powers! Have Fun!

AO3: Here

EDIT: the text color should be fixed now I think let me know if it isn’t

“Hello Daniel,” Clockwork greeted Danny as he entered the Clocktower with wringing hands. The young halfa had been incredibly stressed ever since Dan, hiding any perceived negative emotion in his attempts of the best timeline. An appreciated thought and effort, however more harmful than the boy anticipated. Perhaps he should listen more to that sister of his a bit more.

“Heey Clocky, um I just-”

“You're worried about Dan.”

“Yeah. I was. I just- just want to make sure that things are still looking good y’know!” Danny said, arms flaring out to his sides dramatically. “I’ve been behaving! I haven’t lashed out at anything. Haven’t even pranked Dash or his friends!”

“Daniel,” Clockwork turned from the timeline he was observing.

“What’d I do?” Danny’s eyes filled with palpable panic.

“Nothing. However, suppressing your emotions will do nothing but cause harm to those around you and yourself. Come.” The shifting ghost laid a hand upon Danny’s thin shoulder, and led them to a small table that Danny wasn’t entirely sure was there moments before. There was a small tea set he noticed as the baby Clockwork set Danny in the comfy chair. “However, I think I may have a solution. A way for you to ‘lash out’ as much as your core can handle.” Danny’s eyes glisten in interest; similar to those stars he adores so much. “I will take you to a different realm, similar to your home, and you may concoct as much havoc as you wish. I will pause the time in your home so that you may continue your life as you want. All I ask is that you truly allow yourself to let your emotions run their course, else I worry for the future.” 

“What? Like a rage room? Like the ones that they give you a bat and let you go ham? That sounds cool…” 

“I suppose that is a fair comparison. I won’t allow any consequences to come  to you either. It is supposed to be therapeutic after all. All you must do is let me know and I will give you access to the realm.” Clockwork grinned, blue hands -now old- creaking around the teacup that he filled at some point. 

“You sure nothing  bad will happen? What if I-”

“Nothing of the sort will happen. If you need guidance I and others will be happy to lend you a hand. Though now that I have you here, how are your lessons with Wulf going? Have you successfully made a portal?” Danny perks.

“They're going good! I actually made one to come here. I like how Wulf teaches,” the half-ghost chimes, an airy quality unknowingly weaving its way into his voice. His Espernato is getting better the Keeper of Time notes, enough for it to slip into regular conversation. How nice.

They talk for a while after that.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Danny stares at the small hole in reality, an adult Clockwork stands beside him and takes the first steps forwards.

“Beyond this portal is the realm where you may do as you wish. You may take as long as you like, and the consequences will not apply to you. Again all I wish is for this to be therapeutic. Your sister gave you quite the monologue, didn't she?” The old time piece drones, stepping to the side to allow access to the portal and gestures for Danny to step through. 

On the other side is an open field. The grass is yellowing in the lowering temperatures as the familiar autumn chill flows through them. Clockwork emerges from behind him. 

“We are close to a rather large city, Star City I believe, home to several heroes. You can open portals consistently now yes?”

“Yeah! Thanks again Clocky, this- this means a lot y’know” Danny stammers. 

“Of course Daniel. I am here to guide. Please let me know how you find your visit.” 

“Are you ever gonna call me Danny?” He only gets a small smile before Clockwork floats back into the portal - it closes- and he is left alone.

Danny turns and takes a deep breath in, and starts to think as he heads towards ‘Star City’. What should he even do? He thinks hard before coming to the conclusion that, if he became evil by holding in his emotions, then why couldn’t he just be evil while feeling. Why not let his anger and disappointment and sadness run amok? After all, there are no consequences here! But he doesn’t want to be Phantom, as much as he loves being Phantom, he's so tired of the consent ghost attacks and being shot at by ecto-guns. 

The halfa takes a small break and sits by the dirt road he had been following, maybe it was time for Danny Fenton to do something. He was a Fenton! His parents built a portal to Hell in their basement using household Items, sure he wasn’t as book smart as Jazz or a techie like Tuck, but he could whip up something he's sure!

With newborn vigor Danny sets off again while drawing up his plans. 

A world where he could do anything he wants. The world is a big place. He wonders if Dani would want to visit.

Tag list: I saw that some people wanted to be tagged if anyone wrote something

@amuseofminds @roseinbloom02 @starkcravingmad @little-pondhead

sorry victoria-has-no-secret I can't seem to tag you correctly