#this's his room in the rising stones which i intentionally kept vague for now

[nights-at-crystarium]

✧✦✧ “Fragments” - episode 13 ✧✦✧

A Vivi episode with the Vivi colors, and a reverse strip show. At this point in his life he indeed lives to fuck and be pretty, and not much else.

New reader? episode list on tumblr | webtoon

[the-colony-roleplay]

No one had explicitly said so out loud before it happened, but there was something odd and stirring in the air the morning of that elusive arrival. And though it was quite possible no one said anything of it because a heavy, unspoken tension wasn’t a particularly unusual thing at this small Colony on the lonely Belvedere Island, but there would be a few after the fact who, if you asked, would swear that they felt no one spoke of it because there was some sort of spectral force that kept them from doing so. It was a chilling sense of dread that kept their mouths sealed tight, and breakfast was eerily quiet that morning. It was almost as if the Colony knew—as a collective, as a whole, though not in so many words, and certainly not on any individual basis—that something was coming.

And when it did, everyone knew that too. Even before those great, creaking wooden doors swung open, they knew, and heads began to turn or lift, as if hearing something troublesome that they couldn’t quite place. What was that? their eyes would say. Did you hear that? wary glances between friends would plea. 

She swept into the entrance hall with so much power in her stride that it was almost as though she was both stomping and floating. Her tall leather boots clacked menacingly on the stone floor, and her footsteps somehow seemed to shake the place down, even though watching her walk was like watching a panther stalk its prey. She was agile, surefooted, ferociously silent. And yet there was a loudness about her, one that shocked everything around her into an uneasy stillness. 

Laughter died and conversations ceased; citizens watched in a trembling and bewildered awe as she marched across the grounds and into the Colony with a handful of men at her wing—a foreboding emblem on their chests, which no one at Colony 22 would yet recognize, but would later come to know as the new official sigil of the NWRF. But they didn’t have to recognize the symbol, or the faces of these individuals, to know who they were and what they stood for. A bit like that unexplained celestial something in the air this morning, everyone already knew, without a doubt in their minds: these figures were from the New Wave Head Quarters—or were at least representing them. 

The woman, her brow severe, the set of her jaw intimidating, headed directly up the stairs and towards the Chancellor’s office. Never had she set foot in Colony 22 before (as far as anyone that day was aware) but it was as though she knew exactly where she was going. She never spoke a word, and neither did anyone dare utter one as she passed. She found Quinn in his office and the door slammed shut behind her, one representative following her inside, the others waiting at the door. The silence that followed was deafening. 

Rumours would start to circulate through the Colony like creeping ivy with every minute she spent behind that door, and by the time she left, as swiftly and ominously as she arrived, those rumours would begin to spread like wildfire. Somehow, it gradually became public knowledge that Reformists from HQ had been here, though no one knew who, or why—but the woman had had an aura of importance and power about her that could not be ignored. Just the breeze of her strut across your path sent shivers down your spine, chills to your very bones—like someone walked across your grave, if you were superstitious like that. 

But what no one would know was the details of what went on in that office—how this woman (who’d introduced herself only as ‘Imara,’) got right up in Quinn Dervilia’s face and told him that if he ever so much as whispered a word of the truth about the parasite to anyone else, she would personally see to it that he would face the consequences—and she could not guarantee that his wife would be exempt from those consequences. How, when Quinn had asked who she was to be making such a threat and if she had the authority to speak for HQ, she’d replied only with a contentious, ‘as far as you’re concerned, I am HQ.’ The average folk would also not know that Imara had, as she explained, made the trip over because word had gotten to her while she was at a Colony in France, that 22′s Chancellor was deliberating breaking the news to the public. Evidently, somewhere in Colony 22′s infrastructure, there was a leak. 

No one would know these things save, of course, for the Chancellor himself, Clove Modius, who was in the the room at the time as the Chancellor’s right hand, and a certain patrolling NWRF guard named Charlie Essex, who’d overheard, not all of it—not by a long shot—but likely more than he was meant to. Of course, he’d only been following orders—keep this hallway clear, the reps had told him. No one comes this way. And he’d done just that, ensuring that no one would overhear anything if voices were ever to raise—so it was hardly his fault, of course, that when her threats did rise, that he was around to catch some pretty alarming things. 

Later, when the Reps left, the Chancellor would notify all NWRF members (and lab assistants or researchers already unfortunately involved) that they would, under no circumstances, be telling the public about the truth of the NWRF’s ‘experiment’. He would do this via PDD and Echo alert, as it was not open to discussion, or contestation. He would not say why, but he would not need to; that much was obvious. Someone had come. Someone had made it quite clear that their hands were well and truly tied. 

The Chancellor did not know who had reported him to HQ, but he did not dare ask, and if Imara had known, she’d had no interest in sharing. Quinn also did not know for sure if the leak had been intentional or accidental, but either way, he was furious. Furious—but powerless. So he did not interrogate or attempt to flush out the nark, because it seemed futile at this point, and doing so would only implicate him further. Instead, he would abide by the NWRF’s demands and say no more of it. There was too much at stake, now, and his own life was but one of those things. 

That isn’t to say, however, that he would be able to resist wondering: who had this person been who’d betrayed him? Had it been an act of spite or sheer stupidity? Should he take it as a threat or simply a wake up call? And finally, did these questions even matter? Would having any of these answers make any difference at all? 

A/N: Hey Fam!!!

So welcome to the next Fever State related plot drop!! As always, if you have any questions at all, or even ideas/plots you want to throw at us/run by us, do not hesitate to ask! But for now, here are a few of the standard things to keep in mind: 

The ‘truth about the parasite’ remains something that ABSOLUTELY CAN NOT under any circumstances be released to any none NWRF individuals at this time (with the exception of people like Mei Zhu, who already knows because she was involved in the initial discovery). That reveal is... on the horizon, haha. 

This incident, however, does address the plotting and fallout from the discovery of the truth among the NWRF at Colony 22, and the discussion that had gone on between Quinn and some of the NWRF Reps concerning what to do with the information. Obviously, while Quinn was fretting about how to handle this bombshell, someone made up his mind for him be it intentionally or not.

In terms of plotting/gossip on the dash: 

ANYONE (Elite, NWRF, Civilians etc) can know about the arrival of the HQ Reps, and gossip can reach anyone at any time concerning who exactly they were, and what business they had with Quinn, but it will get around quickly that they went straight to Quinn’s office. Other rumours will be vague and there are bound to be a few variations of the story, as there will be a lot of speculation about the true purpose of the visit. Who exactly was that woman? Was Quinn in trouble? If so, why? The NWRF around the Colony seem tense: Why? Is it over something that already happened or is it perhaps something that’s about to happen? Is this mysterious arrival a bad omen? The sign of the start of something, or rather the end? It will likely be difficult to tell where facts end and pure speculation begins.

ALL NWRF can know that Quinn has announced his final decision about not telling the public the truth, as he has said as much in a PDD/Echo alert sent to them all. He won’t have directly mentioned the arrival of the HQ Reps nor Imara, but it’ll be obvious the timing isn’t a coincidence. They are also free to speculate amongst themselves. 

ONLY CLOVE & CHARLIE will have been around to hear exactly what was said in the office (Clove in a more direct way, but Charlie will have heard enough to piece it together more or less) but in this case, we actually encourage the spread of this information but among other NWRF only. Having some of these details get out (among the NWRF) will hopefully give you guys lots of threading/plotting opportunity and drama to sink your teeth into. So, if you have an NWRF character that you are interested in having find out some of these details, you can either plot/headcanon with someone(s) how the word got to them, or you can thread it out directly on the dash! The world is (sort of) your oyster! Just remember to:

check in with this post for verse-details,

ask questions anywhere you need clarity,

connect with your fellow rpers involved in the plot,

make sure not to reveal the parasite scandal to any Non-NWRF aligned folk,

and remember you have the NWRF OOC at your disposal for convenient NWRF brainstorming!

CONCERNING ‘IMARA’: It’s evident she’s an important figure with the NWRF, but we currently do not know what her story is, or her specific title. To many NWRF Reps around the world, the ‘founders’ and personnel at HQ are sort of a ‘board of shadowy figures’ in many cases, because Reps don’t often have the opportunity to meet the highest on the food chain, so to speak. It’s safe to assume HQ is intentionally cagey about a lot of these details; it’s also safe to assume that at least one of the motives for this is precautionary. But Clove and Quinn had not even met or explicitly heard of Imara before her sudden arrival at Colony 22 (at least not by name), so whoever she is, she is either new to her position of power or... something has rattled her cage badly enough to make her come torpedo-ing out to the front lines.  Whatever the case, no one will know the details of what she represents, (other than a vague and cryptic ‘HQ’,) and only Clove, Quinn and Charlie will have heard her name initially. However: rumours about her will likely get around overtime through these three individuals (and whoever they happen to tell) and her name CAN in fact get leaked to the general public here and there. The only thing that can’t, is her reason for being there that morning, and anything concerning the parasite scandal. But in terms of details about Imara herself, so little is known about her in general at this point that everything will be speculation at best, even among the NWRF.

The only other thing to note is that this happens near the end of the fourth week of February: so towards the later part of the week following the Games. This means that we are not yet jumping the whole timeline forward, but you can assume we will be sometime after the initial buzz of this plot drop quiets down. 

Alright, that’s all we got for now gang! Hit us up with any questions on the main if you have them! 

Love you all and have a blast!!

xxMods

[whitewolfbumble]

Of Gods & Goddesses - Chapter One

A Modern Greek Mythology AU with Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: The connection was immediate and the mystery behind Bucky Barnes ran deeper and deadlier than you thought. Falling in love has never been this complicated, for a goddess or otherwise. A modern reimagining of Hades and Persephone, with Bucky the God of Spring and you the Goddess of the Underworld.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader (aka God!Bucky x Goddess!Reader, Persephone!Bucky x Hades!Reader)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: New series for ya’ll! It’ll be fluff and drama and hopefully a blast to read. Please let me know what you think!

MY MASTERLIST // OF GODS & GODDESSES MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAG LIST

The party was as lively as ever, the guests a display of gods and goddesses, showing off their opulence and grandeur as only they could. A black sky with white stars was the backdrop to this soiree inside, the warm glow of the party spilling out from the Stark Tower and down to the city far below.

It was the usual decadence, with glittering dresses and top shelf alcohol both flowing. The suits were cut and tailored, as prim as all those here feigned to be. The pale champagne in every delicate flute was as bubbly and light as the laughter that sounded in every corner, though the only the former was real.

“You could pretend to have fun here,” whispered Natasha in your ear, coming up from along the bar. A drink was place in your hand and you took a sip absently, eyes still out on the crowd from your little corner of the marble-topped bar, crowded with delighted party-goers.

“I do like these… parties,” you said, reasoning it was somewhat true. 

You could admit you did always enjoy the good quality champagne Tony imported in, taking another sip of the smooth liquid Nat had given you. It at least helped to pass the time more pleasantly until it was a reasonable hour to say your goodbyes and head home.

“Please, your face looks darker than your attitude usually is,” she said into her glass, taking a delicate sip of her whiskey with those all-too innocent eyes just above the crystal rim. Hard to pull off with her devilishly thick lashes and black winged eyeliner, but she did it.

You huffed and turned to her, knowing she was just trying to get a rise out of you like always. But again, like always, you fell into her trap anyway. Hardly your fault though; she was the Goddess of Strategy, Wisdom, and Warfare. Leave it to her to wheedle anyone into revealing anything.

“I’m having fun, Natasha, but thank you for checking up on me,” you said clipped and mouth setting into a bit of a frown.

This conversation, or at least the underlying intention of it, happened about every month, coinciding with this parties Tony insisted on throwing. Natasha always tried to goad you into dancing or mingling or pretending to have more fun than you probably could at these things. Sure, it was all to get you to loosen up and relax for a change, but this was not your version of relaxing.

Your home was a tad darker, quieter, softer than this, and had the added benefit of not needing sky-high heels and constricting floor-length gowns. Everything here was rather different, with a warm glow like gold had gilded every surface, every smile, every pair of gleaming eyes.

Just like fool’s gold.

You knew a fake when you saw it, and this room, however lavish, was full of them.

Everyone put on that mask of light and warmth, but underneath you felt the decay. Natasha had said- and Steve too on more than one occasion- that you it was simply more a reflection of your powers that caused you to view this world so. Always seeing the dead, hidden things underneath it all, and always judging people (intentionally or not).

Maybe that was true. But still, the reason why changed very little when it came down to it, the enchanting music and enchanted guests displayed like an open, boring book to you. After so many of these parties there wasn’t much to keep your interest.

So when you saw one dark figure muted and cold, you were stopped short.

Your champagne and friend beside you were forgotten, your eyebrow quirked and mind hummed with activity to clue in to who it was that caught your eye so.

He was taller than most here, built and admittedly beautiful. He was even more removed from the party than you, going so far as to stand out in the cool night air, separate and distant from the revelry inside.

He was leaning back against the railing, though looked anything but comfortable. In fact, he looked rather miserable. It was a kind of expression on him that looked practiced and familiar, eyes cast just slightly down along with the corners of his mouth. Eyelids blinked slow and almost weary in a way, big arms crossed tight against his chest.

But still, you felt it.

Just as you felt the supposed warmth and decay of those around you, you felt the stark contrast in that figure, that mystery god out there in the night.

He looked cold and miserable, and surprisingly full of life.

An impossibility to explain, you were drawn in like a curious moth to an out-of-place flame.

“Natasha,” you said to the woman beside you, who was signalling the bartender for two more drinks. “Who’s that, over on the balcony there?”

Natasha followed your gaze, taking a moment to spot the man in question.

“That’s Bucky,” she said, whatever spell cast over you bypassing her completely. “He only just got back a few weeks ago.”

“Back?” you questioned, eyes roaming from his ocean blue eyes and long chestnut hair, both catching the soft glow of the silver moonbeams. “Back from where?”

“That’s complicated,” she said vaguely, sipping now on her fourth whiskey of the night, passing you one too. “We don’t know where he was or why he was there yet, but do know what he was doing.”

“Oh?”

“Adding a few extra names to your list of the dead, for starters,” she said, leaning back on the bar casually. “Which is only part of the mystery. His memory was wiped and was called the Winter Soldier, believe it or not.”

She scoffed, finding something sardonically amusing that you didn’t quite understand.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, turning to her.

“Well, it’s twistedly ironic and bit cruel, I think,” she responded, though not answering your question. At your confused looked and furrowed brow she carried on.

“He was called the Winter Soldier, set out by some taskmaster, ordered to kill people,” Natasha said. “But in actuality he’s the God of Spring, if you can believe it. That stone cold man is responsible for creating life and warmth and all that. Or least he’s supposed too.”

How hadn’t you heard of him before now? Maybe you should have mingled more at these parties, or at least visited the Tower more. But your work kept you busy, and it looked like Bucky had been part of the reason why.

“The Winter Soldier,” you whispered slowly, gaze glued back to the man standing alone. “Hmm, that’s all just awful.”

“Until he remembers more, there’s not much for Steve or the rest of us to do about it.” She took another sip. “Might as well get him back into the land of the living.”

“The God of Spring,” you again muttered absently to yourself, matching that description to the man verses the previous moniker.

Surprisingly they both fit: the cold, hard winter and the living, muted spring you both saw and felt. It was a juxtaposition and contrast that sparked something in you you couldn’t’ve remembered feeling before.

“Yeah, hardly your type,” she mused, a quick glance your way.

“Yeah,” you whispered, clutching on to the champagne flute in one hand and whiskey in the other, as though trying to use them both as anchors to keep from whisking over there. Or, for some reason you thought, whisking him away from this event completely.

He looked like he wanted to be here as much as you did, probably less so. You had friends like Natasha and familiarity of this routine. Plus, champagne. Bucky didn’t have any of that. 

Was that why the intrigue? The mere curiosity of a person out of place and the sympathy that came along with it? But that couldn’t explain the full extent of your captivation. Or the heat you felt on your skin, spreading across your chest and on your cheeks. How your eyes couldn’t stay off of him, memorizing every detail. How you could feel who was underneath that exterior.

Without a word you stepped off through the crowd, weaving in and out to reach this God of Spring, those two anchors in your hands not enough to hold you back. Because your mind was set. And gods help anything that got in your way of what you were set on.

_______

CHAPTER TWO

_______

A/N: Thanks for reading! If you want to be tagged in this series or put on my tag list let me know!

Permanent Tag List: @dontpanc, @smodvocate, @bunsterjonez, @buckybonky, @marveloustrashpanda, @hangirl93, @captainrogerrsbeard, @friendly-neighborhood-lich-queen, @thisgirllikeme, @jjsoccer11, @innerpandablizzard-blog, @fanatic-fanfic, @mdgrdians, @christinky, @universal-death-of-a-fangirl, @cauraphernelia, @ailynalonso15, @cassiopeia-barrow, @1elboomdemsechevarria, @cameronskywalker, @rogrsnbarnes, @verygraphicink, @onlyanothersocialcasualty, @lisalisa007, @james-bucks, @zannemes

Bucky Barnes Tag List: @bexboo616, @kaaatniss, @lost-in-translating, @emabookcookie, @crazybutconfidentaf, @jitterbuck, @msruchita

[tenspontaneite]

Paper Cranes Partial thing (Chapter 22 first scene)

Happy holidays, all! Those of you who feel like reading arguments for Christmas, be my guest. Have fun!

Partial chapter 22: in which Hikaru and Akira have a disagreement.

Very carefully, Touya smoothed out the covers at the end of the hospital bed, and assembled the goban there. He withdrew the cardboard boxes of glass stones and placed them on top of it. Finally, he pulled a chair over and settled in front of the board. He stared at Hikaru wordlessly for several seconds, bearing the expression of someone whose capacity for sentence construction had unexpectedly deserted him.

Hikaru looked at him with vague encouragement until he eventually managed a word. “…Well?” His awkward visitor demanded, when the silence had finally grown too uncomfortable for him and Hikaru had won the contest of awkwardness-tolerance.

Feeling as though he had, in some small way, established dominance, Hikaru shuffled forwards to better witness the board and inspected it. He nodded decisively, pushing back the sudden choking wave of memory and regret, and said “Put both of the stone bowls to your side, like you’re replaying a game alone.”

Touya eyed him strangely, but obeyed, moving the boxes over. “And now?” He asked, expectantly.

“We play. I’ll call out my moves and you place my stones.” It would be quicker if I could gesture with a fan but – no. Hikaru shoved the thought away with ruthless experience and fixed his attention onto the board. How strange it was, to have gone over a week without playing a single game… “You take black.” He added, on impulse, and immediately regretted it.

Sai, after all, had played white more often than not. What was he thinking, putting himself even more into that position? Maybe Setsu was right, and he was a masochist.

“…Alright.” The boy’s eyes flickered to his and narrowed, slightly. Interest prickled at his rival’s soul, in a sharp-edged tracery of analytic thinking that Hikaru was not privy to. He opened both boxes of stones, setting the black stones closest to him, and looked up. “…You’ve done this before.” He said, quietly certain in his intuition, and waited for the response.

Hikaru went carefully still. Touya really was too observant for his comfort, sometimes. “Yeah.” He agreed, eventually, and exhaled. “We going to play, or what?”

Touya observed him for several more seconds, and then bowed. “Onegaishimasu.” He said, and Hikaru followed suit, albeit slowly. He had to be careful with the positioning of his hands. He noticed a second later that he hadn’t actually done anything about the wide reach of his energy, and scrambled to reel it in, finding the task unexpectedly challenging. It was certainly far more voluminous than it had been, and now…it was as though he couldn’t actually compress it that far anymore.

Touya’s fingers placed the first stone while Hikaru was still having something of an internal battle. He couldn’t rein his senses in completely – it simply wasn’t working. There wasn’t enough soul to host the dramatically increased energy, and he just…couldn’t. In the end, frustrated, he swept it all out behind him and intentionally omitted Touya from his range.

He breathed in, then spoke his first move. It wasn’t anything remarkable, but Touya still faltered slightly on retrieving the white stone for it, looking vaguely disconcerted. Hikaru wondered, briefly, how he would have held up, if he’d been Sai’s host, and hissed slightly at the bite of the thought. He didn’t think Touya would have been able to see Sai in the goban, his soul looked too different, but…it was hard not to think about it, with Touya sitting there playing Hikaru’s role.

It was an odd game.

Both of them were somewhat subdued in their playing styles. For Hikaru’s part, he was sick and hadn’t played in a week, and there was also the unforgettable pain of being in…this position. Sai’s position, unable to place his own stones, reliant on the hands of other people, and drenched in the memories of the many times he’d acted as Sai’s hands.

Touya, though…Hikaru wasn’t quite sure what was up with Touya. Part of it might have been the boy’s obvious awkwardness in the hospital room, and his discomfort at the sight of the intimidating braces on Hikaru’s hands. The procedure of the game was definitely a factor, though. While Touya had undoubtedly replayed many games alone and was used to playing stones for both sides, he seemed entirely unaccustomed to doing so in an actual game.

Hikaru felt somewhat sorry for him, really. Whenever he started to get really into the game, eyes going intense and focused in the usual way, Hikaru’s moves would shake him out of it again; either when he heard the move, or when several silent seconds had passed and he remembered it was his responsibility to place it. Hikaru had become accustomed to that sort of game fairly early on, so it was something he was well-acquainted with. Touya, however, had spent a lifetime playing the game without any ghosts or maimed friends in the picture.

In any case, the combination of unfortunate factors made it a pretty lacklustre game, and thoroughly uninspiring. At the end of the hour Hikaru resigned early just because he was sick of playing when neither of their minds were actually in it. Touya didn’t look annoyed, which was a pretty tell-tale sign that he’d not been any more invested than Hikaru.

They both stared at the board and the utterly unsatisfying game there for over a minute. The shapes were just…ugly. Bland. It was such a pathetic example of a game that Hikaru was almost embarrassed to look at it. “…I’m not certain this game is worth discussing.” Touya said at last, voice frustrated and vaguely lost.

“Let’s just leave it.” Hikaru suggested, sighing. He let his energy loose again and winced a little at the turbulent, displeased texture that was all over the other boy. “Sorry it wasn’t a good game.”

“You are in hospital.” Touya replied, not sounding particularly as though this absolved Hikaru in his eyes. He made an odd face as he reached forwards to clean the stones away, and went quite stiff before he added “I found myself…distracted, to be placing your stones as well as mine.”

“It takes some getting used to.” Hikaru agreed, shuffling backwards to lean against the upright half of the hospital bed. His back had gone somewhat stiff during the game and it was a relief to sit back.

The other boy swiftly went all sharp-looking again, and Hikaru hastily thought back to what he’d said. Oh, right. Whoops. “About that, Shindou,” Touya said, setting the cardboard stone containers atop the board. “Why have you played like this before?”

“I haven’t.” Hikaru said, truthfully.

His rival straightened, glaring a little. “That is not what you said before.”

“No, I mean I was – I was placing the stones.” He clarified, very uneasy with the topic of conversation. “I used to play with a…disabled guy, for a while. So yeah, it does take some getting used to.”

Touya’s eyes narrowed. “Who was-“

“Which you’ll have the chance to,” Hikaru interrupted, forcefully commandeering the conversation before it could go too far into dangerous territory. “Considering how long it’s going to take before I can hold stones again.”

His rival paused, visibly caught between two avenues of attack. Reluctantly, he took the conversational bait, though Hikaru had no doubt he’d be asking about the ‘disabled guy’ at some point. “And how long is that?” He asked, moving the stone boxes aside to fold the board. “I’ve not seen braces like those before.”

“I can’t do basically anything with my hands for like six weeks.” Hikaru bemoaned, and Touya nearly dropped the board.

He looked up incredulously. “Six weeks? What have you done to your hands?” He quickly slipped the board into the bag and leaned forwards to scrutinise the orthoses. “Surely if you’d broken them they would be in casts?”

“The bones are fine, I’ve not broken anything.” Hikaru said, lifting his hands carefully to show the thin dressings underneath the hell-implements that were the braces. “I’ve kind of messed up some muscles and tendons and apparently a couple of nerves too, so.” He shrugged. “It’s going to take a while.” And in the meantime, he would be playing like a ghost.

Touya stared at him, his face settling into a frown. “…I suppose that would explain the two months of medical leave.”

“Yeah.” He sighed, morose. “It’s going to be such a pain.”

The other boy scrutinised him wordlessly for several seconds, his expression becoming hard and almost confrontational. “…Shindou. What happened.” It wasn’t composed as a question. It was flat, uncompromising, and demanding.

Without any conscious effort on his part, Hikaru bristled. “I got injured, obviously.” He said, with an edge to the words.

“How?” Touya demanded, leaning forwards. His expression was fierce and impatience was written all over the flesh of his soul.

Almost immediately, because Hikaru had been thinking about this, he shot out “I punched a wall.” He watched the renewed incredulity rise on his visitor’s face, and kept his own expression perfectly level.

“…A wall.” The seventh-dan repeated, slowly.

“A very sharp wall.” He added, with an utter lack of any sort of shame.

“And I suppose you punched this wall with both hands.” The words were…not quite mild.

“The first time was because I wanted to punch something.” Hikaru clarified. “The second time was because I was angry at the wall.”

Touya took a very deep, slow breath. His voice was increasingly strained as he spoke. “And your neck?”

“Wall debris.” He replied promptly.

“….Wall debris.”

“Yep.” He observed the increasing agitation of his rival with a conflicted eye. On one hand, riling each other up was just was they did, and he usually enjoyed it. But, on the other…

His rival’s fists were clenching, and there was something unfamiliar about the look in his eyes. “That’s…what you’re going with.” He said, quiet. “That.”

This was…kind of a different feeling to usual. Hikaru watched angry red rise in the other boy’s skin, and couldn’t feel pleased about it as he usually could. He watched, gut twisting, as frustration frothed and contorted in the other boy’s soul, already too-raw and poised to snap-

“Why do you even bother saying anything when it’s obviously all lies?” The boy burst out, his anger and upset uncomfortably real, his shoulders drawing up and his soul bristling in a threat display, and. And sometimes, Hikaru didn’t really know how to stop, or slow down, or de-escalate.

His response fell out of him on reflex, harsh and cold on his tongue – “Why do you even bother asking so many questions,” He said, voice flat. “When what I say is ‘obviously all lies’?” It was possibly the most genuine, honest thing he’d said to Touya in months, realer than he’d meant it to come out, and shit. This was actually a fight, wasn’t it.

At the thought, Hikaru drew back, feeling half-guilty and half-hostile. Maybe it wasn’t fair to be messing Touya about like this, but for fuck’s sake, did he never understand that sometimes Hikaru didn’t want to talk about things? Might not even be ready to talk about things?

The temperature in the room seemed to have dropped in the space of two exchanges of words, leeched away to leave something tight and angry in the air. “Sometimes, I truly don’t know.” Touya’s voice was even colder than his, now. “Futile hope, I suppose.”

It was a world of difference from their meaningless squabbles. Those ran hot, furious but also inspiring. Fun, even, a lot of the time. This…wasn’t fun. This was cold, brittle, and painful like a lungful of glass.

Hikaru bristled, his energy churning erratically. He was guilty and angry and didn’t know what to do about it, but the thought of…of conceding, was near unbearable. “For what.” He bit out, and he was defensive, because what else could he be?

“I don’t know. Answers, perhaps?” Still glacial, but…edged with a raw, angry hurt. “Shindou. You’ve been…hiding things, for weeks, and now you’re in hospital. And you still won’t say anything.” His expression was drawn tight, and Hikaru…sort of felt bad, at that. But then: “Don’t you think you owe me some answers?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Hikaru had been…not settling, but becoming more guilty than angry, but- “I don’t owe you answers.” He snapped, because that was what pissed him off. “If I don’t want to talk about something then I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t have to tell you.”

“Not even how you got hurt?” Touya demanded, and his voice was rising now. “Shindou, it’s all over the news. Everyone knows that there was an incident at the shrine near your house and then you turn up in hospital? It’s not hard to make the connection!”

Hikaru opened his mouth, and stopped. “…It’s on the news?” He asked, uncertain.

His rival blinked at him, deflating slightly, and offered a jerky nod. “The incident is being reported as linked to the Yokohama murder.” He said, voice ruthlessly level. “They have a name for the suspect, now. ‘Kaminaga Keiji’. An iaido instructor, apparently.” He leaned forwards, eyes narrow. “I don’t suppose that name means anything to you?”

He flinched, and then wasn’t sure why. “Touya.” He said, warningly.

“He wouldn’t have been the one ‘stalking’ you, perhaps?” The boy’s voice was a cruel breed of mild, now. The daggers in him were roused and it seemed he didn’t know how to stop any more than Hikaru did. “Don’t think I didn’t hear that, just before I came in. So is that it? Is that why you’ve been so erratic recently – you were being harassed by a murderer?”

Hikaru’s hands ached horribly in several vicious lines. His blood beat against the wounds on his neck. “Touya,” He said, voice rising, and his energy writhed with warning, rising defensively at the memory of pain. A spirit would have seen that and known to back away. A spirit wouldn’t have risked the backlash, and would have stopped. “Shut up.”

Touya was not a spirit. He did not stop. “Was it Kaminaga Keiji who did that to you?” He demanded, gesturing in a rough, sweeping motion from Hikaru’s hands to his neck. “Because you certainly didn’t get those injuries from a wall, Shindou-“

Hikaru remembered blood, hot and slippery between his fingers, remembered his desperate pulse thrumming against the edge of a blade – “Stop.” He said, the sound of the word thin and far-away as his energy snapped outwards.

Touya was opening his mouth to refuse when it reached him. It wasn’t an attack, wasn’t shaped that way and wasn’t aimed that way, but the energy was thick with anger and didn’t avoid the human soul in its path. Hikaru’s energy brushed over him in a prickling, threatening snarl of motion, doing no damage and leaving no scars, but the soul visibly shuddered nonetheless.

And Touya stopped.

His mouth closed, expression changing rapidly from hostility to confusion. He shivered, almost imperceptibly, and stared blankly like he had lost his train of thought.

Hikaru observed these things and the faltering of his soul and…everything halted. His energy stilled, and then drew back sharply at the memory of I can kill people with my mind, horror rushing over him. He reached out again, half-terrified as he inspected his rival’s soul. He couldn’t see anything wrong, it looked like it had just been disturbed, but…

He took a steadying breath. “Touya.” He said, voice tight. “I think you should leave.”

Touya blinked at him, soul clicking its way back into rightness as the effect passed. Briefly, he looked like he had remembered to be angry. A moment later, it looked like guilt instead.

He rose to his feet, fingers curled neatly into fists at his sides. Then without a word, he turned and swept out of the room. His bright, conflicted presence pressed its way steadily out of the hospital.

Hikaru slumped forwards into the bedding, and breathed, and didn’t know what to do.

end partial chapter.

Cheers all. Thanks for staying with me another year.