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teal-skull · 6 years

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Beyond the ending of the case (J&H fanfic)

This is basically a fanfic about how I imagine Utterson could have reacted after he read the final line of Henry’s confession.

Originally writen, during a time I didn’t have tumblr I read a lot about finnish Jekyll and Hyde fanfictions, shipping memes and posts made by @starlene @neroushalvaus @muplakuovi . My fangirling was set in fire and after writing some notes in the middle of a night, I wrote this in one day. So I have to thank you them for my inspiration. Thank you! I have made some edits in it so it’s not completely the original version.

“Here then, as I lay down the pen and proceed to seal up my confession, I bring the life of that unhappy Henry Jekyll to an end.”

Those were the last words on the paper. The last words of Dr. Jekyll. Mr. Utterson was holding in his shaking hands. He didn’t even feel them. The shock had made his blood to run away from his veins, in the rhythm of his beating heart. A lonely candle in his desk lighted up his white face. Somehow they seemed ten years older than an hour ago. It was visible in the dark circles around his eyes. The wisdom he had gotten from turning his whole world upside down.

The lawyer was sitting at his wooden desk, hesitant to rise up. The anxiety stormed in his stomach. Gabriel’s feet were powerless as if they had weight a ton. His feet could have gone through the floor and drag him underground. Actually, he would have been happy if that happened. Then he wouldn’t have to bare this truth. Nor the pain of keeping it inside.

Utterson was surrounded by heavy silence. The calm but dark atmosphere of the empty room suppressed him. But inside his head he could have screamed. Inside his mind there was no silence. it was an endless list of questions and terrifying thoughts mazing through Gabriel’s head. The image of Edward Hyde hunted his restless soul like a terrible nightmare. It was just like when Enfield had first told him about this mysterious man. But at that time he didn’t had a face. Now he had. And that wasn’t all. Hyde was wearing Dr. Jekyll’s face. Like a mask that hid the real person behind it. Gabriel saw again that pale and desperate face of Henry that he had seen at the window. The last time he ever saw poor Henry. And he hadn’t even had the faintest idea of how much pain his Henry had been in.

Suddenly Utterson had a desperate desire to look around. He felt the eyes of someone in his back. But there was no one else in that gloomy room. Only he and a crackling fireplace. The fire in it was dying but a small orange light still illuminated the empty room. The lawyer sighed and turned back to the letters in his hands. Utterson though that he was holding grave stones. At least it felt like it. Gabriel watched Lanyon’s letter. He remembered a thought that it had brought to his mind when he had got the letter: “I have buried one friend today, what if this should cost me another?” Now it seemed that his premonition had been terribly right.

He saw a picture of Jekyll in his eyes. Scared man chained to a monster. Or was it a dishonest man, with two faces to wear? Had he even known Henry for all this time? No, Henry had many bad traits but he was still trying to make the world better. Maybe the power he gained just had seduced him to the wrong path? Or had he been selfish from the beginning? Utterson didn’t know anymore. All the golden memories that Gabriel had about Henry were now shadowed by Mr. Hyde. Forever. He recalled the time he had met Hyde. Had he really talked to Jekyll but just with a different face? It was insane! Oh Henry… what did you do? And now he was gone. Not even his body was left. Only... A terrifying thought came to his mind: Shall he bury his best friend as a murderer?

It was too much. Gabriel put his hand on to his eyes and sighed again like a lonely soul in sorrow. A snivel escaped from his lips and soon little drops were dripping on the table. His shoulders were stiff. Tears did seem to have no end. In a moment Gabriel’s cheeks were all wet but the sounds of agony were only whispers in the room. He wasn’t aloud to make a sound any stronger. He couldn’t have opened up about his sorrow to any one else. So he just sit there. Alone with his heavy thoughts.

He didn’t know, how long he had been sitting there, when the church bell’s dragged him back to the harsh reality. Finally he managed to rise but he still needed to lean on the table. He wiped off tears and tried to calm down. He took a few breaths. Utterson looked at the papers. He took those letters that revealed a horrible truth and put them to his private safe. These papers shall never see the light of day again. If they would get in the hands of the public they would be like a burning match that was dropped to oil. Dr. Henry Jekyll’s good reputation was the only pure thing that was left of him. Only thing that Hyde had not ruined. At least he could save his legacy even if he couldn’t save his best friend anymore.

He walked to the fireplace and looked to the fire. Trying to come up with a believable lie that he could tell to Poole, who was probably still waiting for him. It proved to a challenging for he had always been quite honest. How had Jekyll been so good at lying? Was it something that came naturally from him? He started to deepen once again among his thoughts.

Warmness off the fireplace somehow calmed the lawyer a bit. Utterson watched the slow dance the flames performed to him. They gave him an idea. He walked to his safe again and took the letters of his dead friends. Gabriel glanced at them for one more time before throwing them to the fire. He watched as the reddish flames started to gnaw the edges while the papers twisted in their hold. Almost like they were screaming. Screaming like his friends had.

Mr. Utterson’s heart was full of agony as he realised he was a lonely man again. Only the now ruined memories of Jekyll and Lanyon remained. He wished the flames would burn away the agony with the papers. But he knew that they wouldn’t. Those twisted words would hunt his dreams forever. His voice was quiet, full of grief and coldness:

-Those letters have accomplished their purpose. I have the full story. This strange and horrific case is solved. I have the knowledge but what has it cost me? The death of my friends and the peace of my mind. My curiosity is fufilled but...To be honest… Now I wish I didn’t know.

#dr. jekyll and mr. hyde #the strange case of dr. jekyll and mr. hyde #john gabriel utterson #parts of this were writen in the middle of a night #turquoise writings

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sologxlaxies · 7 years

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Not About Angels - Part 6

Antisocial Animals

Bucky x Reader series

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Summary: Loving him feels like the most exquisite way of self-destruction. Too close, and you’re radioactive. Too far, and your heart shatters, and the city cracks in two while debris scatters in the space between your ribs. Pining over a brooding, unstable Bucky Barnes isn’t exactly your brightest idea, especially when you’re just as damaged as he is, and he doesn’t seem to love you half as much as you love him.

Warnings: Swearing (tons of it), drinking and smoking, mentions of death.

Word count: 2720

A.N: This one’s pretty exciting! In other news, I’m finally back!! My writing inspiration isn’t back in full swing just yet, but I’m trying my best to post again. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter.

Bucky isn’t there by the time you wake up.

The first moment after you open your eyes seems to stretch for hours as the events of early morning flood into your mind, fuzzy and fleeting to the point where you wonder if it might have been a dream. It is only when you stretch along the bed that your fingers brush the other side, feeling the faintest hint of body warmth still lingering on the sheets, and your entire body tingles with the ghost of his touch fresh on your memory.

He had been in your room, after all, you think to yourself. But after that, he’s nowhere to be seen.

Bucky doesn’t show up for breakfast that morning, nor does he appear after that. He’s not at the table when Wanda calls everybody for lunch, and he doesn’t show up afterwards either. Even without him, lunch is a tense affair, with everybody quietly eating their food and dancing around the elephant in the room that is your presence in the compound.

It’s been exactly three years since the night of the accident at the tower. Three years since you killed a SHIELD agent during Clint’s birthday party.

You don’t blame Bucky for staying away, opting yourself to stay away from the common area as the final preparations for Clint’s birthday party are set up in place, just like three years ago.

An all-too-familiar sense of dread starts building in your stomach the moment you see the giant birthday cake being brought into the living room. That, along with the presence of the crew Tony hired to decorate the place is enough to trigger bad memories of the night of the accident.

You try and do your best to keep the panic down; breathing in and out for what could easily be a thousand times, but the feeling doesn’t go away and you remain antsy all over, without being able to shake off your uneasiness.

This isn’t the kind of night for you to appear in public, and you know that much. You’ve learned to notice those subtle changes around you; how the air thickens up into a toxic cocktail, and the bracelet on your wrist has to work double to counteract the effects, dosing you up on Bruce’s drug cocktail.

As soon as FRIDAY announces the first guest, you all but dart to the roof, a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of bourbon in hand. You’d rather freeze to death on that roof than set foot in that party ever again.

“You got a smoke?”

The voice behind you makes you tense up for a second, catching you off guard. You were so immersed in your thoughts that you almost missed the sound of the metal door opening and closing, revealing the presence of someone else on the rooftop. Almost.

“You know that shit’s bad for you, right?” You retort, adjusting your position on the cool concrete.

“Says the woman chain smoking on the edge of a roof.”

“Touché.” you huff, watching the cloud of smoke float away at your harsh exhale. “Why are you here Barnes?” You’re hyper-aware of his presence, slightly uncomfortable to see him in his party attire, with the top buttons of his shirt popped open and suit jacket hanging from his shoulders. Neither of you has spoken about last night, and you don’t want to be the first to bring it up.

“I was bored.” He’s skating around the subject too, you notice. Good. But then- “I saw you leaving-”

“I swear to god Barnes, that if you just came here to lecture me you might as well go back to the party.” You practically growl. “Steve’s already tried—and failed—and heaven knows I only have the patience to deal with one supersoldier’s broken ego.”

He laughs heartily when he watches you take a long gulp of bourbon, his amused smile turning into one of disbelief when you keep chugging it down without signs of stopping.

A part of you almost expects him to stop you; to make a comment or try to pull the bottle away from your fingers, but you’re surprised when he doesn’t. Instead, Bucky just watches as you take gulp after gulp, whistling after you’ve put the half empty bottle down.

“That bad, huh?” He asks.

You wait a couple of seconds, taking a drag from your cigarette before answering. “Yeah” It leaves your lips as a soft sigh, accompanied with smoke as both get lost in the night.

“Want to talk about it?”

He catches you off guard, again, with his question. Even more so when you hear him rustling behind you and all of a sudden, he's plopping right next to you, making himself comfortable with his feet dangling off the rooftop just like yours are and his jacket bundled up at his side.

It's new and unexpected; the feeling of another human acting so normally around you after all this time. You can’t help but look at him unabashedly, your eyes probably growing triple in size at his question because it’s been so, so long.

You’ve spent the last few years letting others determine who you are and what you do, and now that somebody’s asking for your story, wanting to hear your experience and giving you the reigns, you suddenly feel so clumsy. It’s like waiting an entire lifetime for something but not quite knowing what to do once it’s within your grasp.

Instead of answering him, you reach for the box of cigarettes inside your pocket. It’s almost empty and crumpled, but the cigarettes are still good and so you take another out before you pass him the box.

“Don’t touch the upside-down one” you warn him without even looking in his direction. “That one is mine.”

He doesn’t say anything about it other than humming appreciatively when he fishes out his own smoke out of the little carton box, waiting for you to provide a lighter. After he watches you scrambling for one—patting all your pockets and turning them upside down but coming up empty—he finally speaks again.

“You know we don’t need a lighter, right?” He asks, motioning towards your lit cigarette. “I trust you.”

His comment makes you scoff. Mostly because of how naive it sounds, knowing awfully well that your powers aren’t something you control, but also because trust isn’t something you’ve seen much these days. “Well, you shouldn’t,” you grunt, and yet you find yourself stretching your hand towards him with your lit cigarette held between your fingers.

Bucky takes it, maneuvering it carefully as he removes the filter from his own and puts it between his lips. He places them together, end to end, with the utmost care, and then he inhales, making the embers of your cigarette flare up as they light up his, and he breathes in through his mouth, sucking in the smoke.

It feels like an oddly intimate gesture, watching as his eyes flutter closed and he relishes the burn of the smoke on his throat before he slowly breathes it out. It becomes even more enthralling when he licks the tip of his ring finger, the one he used to remove the filter, and you can’t seem to avert your eyes from the sight until he hands you your cigarette back.

Both of you stay in silence for a while, acutely aware of each other’s presence as you smoke, until you finally speak.

“They hate me because I killed their partner,” you whisper, so softly that even Bucky with his enhanced hearing has a hard time to catch it. Then you continue. “After the Triskelion leak, the team started to get suspicious of me. My file… it, uh, had some inconsistencies.”

Why you're telling Bucky about this is beyond your understanding. Maybe it's because he asked, maybe it's because of the slightly intimate moment the two of you are sharing, or maybe just because you're slightly tipsy in both alcohol and the cigarette smoke. Either way, it feels good to talk, so you keep going.

“You know where I come from now, but the team… nobody knew anything back then. Nobody knew I’d worked for HYDRA.”

There’s no missing Bucky’s sharp intake of breath, no mistaking the way he almost chokes on the smoke even as he tries to hide it. You don’t blame it on him; HYDRA is a touchy subject and even if he’d heard it from the team before, you confessing it to him only makes it more real.

“What happened then?” He asks, careful not to push you too much for the information.

“Tony was throwing a birthday party for Clint and his S.H.I.E.L.D. friends. One of them didn’t trust me at all, and so he confronted me and I freaked out- I didn’t mean- he just dropped-” One of your hands reaches for the bottle at your side, but it’s dark and you’re shaking. Instead, you knock it to the side, effectively spilling its contents on the floor. “Fuck!-”

There’s barely enough time for the words to leave your lips when Bucky’s already at your side, carefully placing a hand on your shoulder. It’s only when his words—not his touch—jerk you out of your thoughts that you notice the fresh tears on your cheeks.

“Whoa doll, it’s okay” He’s prying the cigarette from your fingers as he discards his own, throwing them to the floor before he squishes it with his boot. “It’s over now, it’s okay. There’s no need to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

The next second he’s grabbing his jacket from the floor and placing it over your frame, careful as he lightly envelops you in his arms. You rattle against him, shaken by both the bad memories and the cold but he makes up for it as he pulls you closer, allowing some of his body warmth to seep into you.

“I need to-” you sniffle, “Can we go back inside?” Your throat feels tight from holding back a sob and your fingers are slowly getting numb from the cold. Still, the request in plural takes the both of you by surprise, although Bucky seems to understand better than you think because he only gives you a short nod before he’s ushering the both of you inside and closing the door softly behind you, all while he keeps a hand hovering right behind your back.

He's quick to guide you both to the living quarters, his steps as silent as he can make them when you pass the living room and try to walk by unnoticed as Clint’s birthday celebration goes on.

You duck your head down at the sound of voices, but Bucky knows better than to ask after his conversation with you. Instead, he takes you up the stairs and down the hall that leads to your bedrooms, but just when you think he’ll walk until the end of the hallway where your bedroom is, he stops at the room that’s right before yours. His room.

“Are you going to come in or not?” he asks as he holds the door open, noticing how you haven’t followed him inside.

“I- I don’t” you stammer, clearing your throat. You shake your head briefly, trying to dissipate the thoughts that have begun to crawl into your mind, edging into it like growing vines. “It’s a bad idea, Barnes. You don’t want me in your room.”

This time it’s him who’s frowning.” And what exactly makes you say that?”

“Because the last time I was in a bedroom with a man, he ended up dead.” You deadpan. Memories of that night flashing before your eyes.

The silence that stretches between you and Bucky suddenly becomes anything but pleasant as the air noticeably thickens around you, the more upset you become.

As you begin to recognize the feeling in your gut, the panic inside you sparks up after the realization, and for a full two seconds you try and get as far away from Bucky as you can. Yet, instead of moving further, you stumble and crash against the opposite side of the hallway, practically clawing your way up the wall in your haste to move.

You know what comes with the burning sensation on your skin; you fear it, but before your brain can fully process what’s happening, the bracelet on your wrist beeps, delivering yet another injection, and the air around you dissipates as the drugs force you to calm down.

“Hey, hey-“ -he catches you just as your knees buckle, and no sooner does one of his hands splay flat across your back than it takes for your skin to break into goosebumps. “What just happened?”

“I- shit!” You try to pry yourself from his grasp “I almost killed you.”

“What?” He freezes for a second, and that’s more than enough time for you to put some distance between the two of you.

“What I’m saying is,” You huff, “You just witnessed my powers, Barnes. My lethal powers.”

“And I’m not dead yet,” he shrugs, and it just makes you want to strangle him, because how can he be so fucking stubborn- “So I don’t see why I should let you go away and lock yourself up.”

“I can’t stay Barnes. You already have enough shit to deal with as it is, there’s no reason you have to put up with mine as well.”

“Don’t you think that’s my own call to make?” That takes you by surprise, “Why are you always trying to run away-”

“It’s all I know!” You’re panting now, careful not to scream in case the others can hear it, “Running away is all I do now. I tried settling down with Steve, I really did, and all it just backfired-”

“I didn’t know you had a thing with Steve” He mumbles, so low that you almost fail to hear it, but it’s enough to distract you from your tantrum.

“We… yeah,” You shrug, “We were together for over a year, but I’m not surprised he didn’t tell you.”

Bucky frowns, but you keep on talking. “He’s probably ashamed of it by now… Who wouldn’t be, if their girlfriend turned out to be a freak?” You can’t help the bit of venom in your tone, and it suddenly hits you that you actually resented Steve way more than you’re willing to admit.

He doesn’t miss your sigh or the way that your head hangs slightly lower once the words leave your mouth, and it makes something in his gut clench. Something about the way you hold yourself that reminds him of how he felt before.

“Tell me about it; about you and Steve.” Bucky says then, once again catching you by surprise, “Come to my room and talk. You don’t have to do anything else, just… talk, spend some time with me.”

You blink up at him, arms crossed protectively in front of you, and you raise an eyebrow at him. “Why?”

It sounds half pathetic, and it only makes you want to slam your head against the nearest wall, but it’s the only word you can come up with.

“Humans social animals. You’re human”

“That doesn’t mean anything-”

“Oh, but it does.” He smirks. You suddenly feel the urge to wipe it off his face. “We need social interaction because it’s part of us, and you, my friend, are in desperate need of some.”

“I didn’t know we were friends.” You counter, but you can’t help the small smile that makes its way to your lips.

There’s a breath of silence, as he watches you intently, and notices your smile. His smirk softens at the sight, morphing into a small grin. You decide then, that you like it when he smiles.

Bucky takes a step back, motioning towards his open bedroom with a subtle nod of his head.

“Come on in, sweetheart.” He says. It’s almost a whisper, but you like the sound of it; it makes you feel safe.

“Okay…” You exhale “Alright, let’s talk.”

Almost without thinking, you nod your head. It’s more of a gesture that you make for yourself instead of him, but a second later you’re following him across the hall and inside the bedroom, shutting the door behind you with a soft click.

Next part

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#bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier imagine #avengers imagine #marvel imagine #Bucky Barnes #Winter Soldier #Not About Angels series

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onceabluemoonwrites · 7 years

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Here We Are (Don’t Turn Away Now)

Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn

Summary: ‘’Once upon a time, Mortak saw the world’s end and jumped in a well to prevent it.’’ In which Skull was from Atlantis.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.

Also on AO3 and ff.net

Thanks for the title prompt to @operaeagleicelynlacelett , to who this fic is dedicated as well!

Inspired by @wolfsrainrules ‘ Immortal Skull

This fic is part of the 0027 Population Project

Ragnarok, apocalypse, armageddon, the end of the world, it lies in the future, and he must prevent it. Time drags on slowly, yet endlessly fast. It swirls and twirls, like the makatti on the Day of the Waves.

It dizzies Skull, shakes up his head, holds him upside down until the blood in his feet has long since left. It pools in his head, bloats him to the max, and by Poseidon, the pressure is crushing.

He is no kitara- has only walked the sacred halls on behalf of the Kings, the proof of the union of ten. But he knows what is coming, can feel it thrumming in his veins, as sure as the heartbeat thumping his ribcage. He has seen it in the well, and it tore him apart until he dove in, in, in.

Into the well of Atlantis, to leave his homeland.

Into the well of the Gods, to save them all.

Into the well, because the world is beautiful, and Skull is a selfish man.

Into the depths.

Fathoms below lies the future.

Before he was in the Place-Not-His in the Time-Not-Thine, his name was Mortak. He whispers it to the moon at night so he won’t forget because names are power and the moon keeps many secrets.

Mortak- the framework made of calcium. Mortak, child-not-holy. Mortak, the bone that protects the brain.

Calling himself Skull makes people look at him strangely, but retaining a sliver of his past, a reminder, is exactly what he needs.

A skull is sturdy, a skull must not break, it is rigid, and mankind has had it since their race was born, a crucial memorial of what they are. That is what Skull must be.

Especially now, in this place where the buildings are not white, where pillars are gray and concrete, no marble to be seen. This is an age of technology, they say, and he laughs, laughs and laughs because the only thing close to freedom he’s found is a motorcycle and even those have no wings- not like the Atlanteans.

He misses the city, misses the people, misses the elephants in the streets. If he looks far enough, he’ll find elephants. If he looks far enough, he’ll find people with skin as dark as his own. But nowhere does he find purple lips and ki-coloured hair, no matter how far and wide he searches.

His heart heavy and his brow furrowed, hands empty and still alive.

The others are not.

‘’I swear on my ki to be Mortak, protector of Worlds, of Atlantis, of the Citadel. May my breath be stolen only by the Gods, may my blood be the dye of the Weaver, for I shall serve no one King, rule over no man, and be the Proof of Ten being One, in spirit if not in body.’’

Atlantis was called the city of Atlas- when it crumbled, the sky fell down. At least, that’s what it felt like.

He knows he’s losing memories slowly, but he can’t write his thoughts, his past, down fast enough, and eventually, he forgets. Too much is lost in his passage through time, and he fears his sanity was among it.

He must preserve, he must remember. As long as he lives, Atlantis is not dead entirely. He must seek further, deeper, wander into the halls of the long forgotten, and find it. Find that corrupted remnant his home, and restore it to it’s proper state.

Once he met a woman that felt like a sea storm, like ki, like King, but he turned away.

She’s not real, she’s a fata morgana.

Her name is Daniela, but Skull calls her a ghost.

One from the past, that is.

Wingless, a King wingless! Such abomination shouldn’t exist. It doesn’t exist, because Daniela is not real, no matter how much he wants her to be, with her sea foam royalty riding her carriage in the maelstrom.

When she leaves, he can breathe again.

(Her golden eyes haunt his dreams and the colour red is stained with regret.

She did not phase through him when she kissed his forehead in farewell. It was not motherly, not even remotely warm. It was cold and furious, raging in contrast with soft touch, but so undeniably human. What if- Could he have- Why did he not-

He locks her away in a box in his head, but the memory of her is too vivid to be caught, and he spends his nights staring at the ceiling and wondering:

What if?)

Once upon a time, Mortak saw the world’s end and jumped in a well to prevent it. Through time, he was dragged, and spit into a world he knew not, where only the sea lay past the pillars of Herakles, and tales of sunken cities were told.

So romantic, they said. So beautiful, they cried. Such a myth, some scoffed.

Dead! Skull wailed, dead, gone and rotten in the waves! Not even Poseidon’s embrace could save Atlantis, and that was a bitter pill to swallow.

He looked far and wide, but there was nothing but heartbreak to find, so in the end, he decides to wait. The Kings must come, and spread their wings, to spin the wheel of the world and save it by existing.

In the meantime, he amuses children with skills from times long past, defies gravity with a bike the way he once did with the wings he can’t bring himself to stretch because by the maw of the Kraken, to fly alone is worse than never leaving the ground.

So of course, they’re the ones that find him.

Or, well, Checkerface did. The man who shuts the shackles around their wrists, without any of them knowing- except for Luce, the seer, who seems to be some sort of mix between kitara and makatti that Skull for the life of him cannot understand. Kitara and makatti are not meant to be mixed- his throat burns, bile rising.

But Luce is kind and Luce is sweet and her ki shines so brightly. He melts in her presence, her song like a hymn the Kings sung in the olden days.

So he stays.

That she has no wings despite having ki is something he has come to accept. He pities her, child of the wind, cast aside forever. But he loves her more and calls her his sister, as Yiken did to Rai in the Chronicles of the Kings.

The others, oh, they astound him too. Who would’ve thought he’d finally find ki-users in the mafia, of all places? Their lips don’t possess the faintest trace of lilac, but their eyes and hair tend to let their ki bleed through in displays of colour.

They’re not his people, but they’re familiar, and it’s much harder to think of them as tainted when they are so adamant they are not. When he knows them.

He dreams of a city full of water, of salty breeze and waves breaking, but for once smelling fish does not make him homesick, and it’s all he can ask for these days.

They’re cursed, and disguise the squabbling among them as hate and indifference, but are a family all the same.

(Still, there is not a single person with a feather on their back)

Luce dies and her daughter Aria appears. She sings the same song, the olden hymn, and has eyes too knowing. She’s too much like her mother, sees too much and feels too much, young and old at the same time.

Aria is her own person, yet not, and this must be what a mingling of kitara and makatti brings forth- the dying undying, reborn in each other, destined for a tragic end indeed.

Aria is Luce, but Luce was not Aria, just as one day, Aria’s daughter will be Aria, but Aria, not her daughter.

What a curse indeed.

Atlantis is not dead. Atlantis lives, ever shape-shifting as she is.

She lives in the veins of the Vongolean boy- the youngest one, he has the potential. But he moves too rash, too lost in his anger, screams too much to hear the world sing.

He is no King, not yet, perhaps never, but what a court he has.

He loses to the Sawada boy- who swings his fist like prayer, who pleases the gods with every breath, a King in motion.

But he’s a sea that wants to be a flame, and it doesn’t work that way.

Skull mourns for innocence he scarcely remembers having.

The future was a strange place, where a man had wings of ki again, and forced Sawada to be a flood, washing a man attempting to become King of what was not his away with one great bellow.

Skull does not understand Byakuran- who can stretch his wings but ignore the earthen oath of Ten Kings ruling only.

Ten Kings must be One, for One cannot be Ten.

Elementary, is it not?

…Sawada must find his companion-kings quickly.

The makatti survived as well- their ways ever strange, refusing to enter the heaven’s temple but claiming the earth for their own.

Their King has a crumbling mind, fragile, lost in a black hole hungry. Revenge drains and drains and drains, even Enma Kozato.

Makatti may never be Kitara- A mix between the two will belong to the wind, banished from heaven and earth both, as Luce and her kin.

Sawada saves Kozato, Kozato saves Sawada, and their ki melts together in the only way it may- and something deep down purrs, because they are One even without proof, and Skull smiles when asked to help.

Representative battles- forced to fight against each other. (But lips pressed and fingers slid, and ki was one again. They’re entangled, limbs and spirit, hearts beating to the same drum.

….Maybe this new Atlantis needs only two Kings to be whole).

Perhaps he should learn how to look at things the way they are, instead of the way they used to be.

The Ki of a King surges to a crest in Sawada Tsunayoshi and Skull want to see him become a sea. There may be rocks and his waves will break, but he will form and form again until rock has been worn away with time. Sea and river will feed land, make it fertile as ever, land cultivating the trees that purify the sky.

Sky-Sea and Earth embracing- Kitara and Makatti. The forbidden being One.

Boy Kings become man Kings, and these Kings give Skull hope.

Once upon a time, Mortak saw the world’s end and jumped in a well to prevent it. His city still sunk, but Atlantis rises again, for its spirit is no rock, and it has joined a new body.

As the sun rises and heaven and earth are one, Skull knows he saw not the world ending- He saw the birth of a new one, in all its glory.

Poseidon, what a dawn of a new age.

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