#what i particularly appreciate about this is how because of my beloved rain

[khaotunq]

here comes the last thing on the checklist... The Trainee Episode 6 (2024)

[beevean]

a star ⭐ AND a query: are there any particular notes you have for Rain or What We've Lost and What We've Gained?

Ohhh!

Not much to say about Rain, it just came from a prompt and the idea that Hector would be "odd" enough to prefer rain over the sun. I'm not particularly proud of that one, to be honest, although I liked writing from Rosaly's POV and I took the chance to flesh her out a bit without straying far from what we know of her: she's disgustingly cute, she trusts Hector unconditionally and doesn't judge him for his weirdness, she's traditional in many aspects including having prejudices but willing to meet Hector halfway, and in short she embodies the better qualities of Christianity. I tried to incorporate other symbolisms, such as comparing Hector to a snake echoing his edgy moment in PtR, or Rosaly coming to appreciate the rain because it does kind of resemble his beloved in a way. And as I said in the notes, I just wanted to write a fully happy Hector for once lmao, let the man have one joy in the trauma conga line called his life :P

WWLAWWG is dearer to me, because I wrote a big part of it after suffering a loss - Julia's words about Isaac and her blaming herself for not loving him enough resonate too close to how I was feeling back then. I have all the feelings about her relationship with Isaac :) and i might have teared up a little when i wrote "i just want my big brother back!"...

It's worhty of note that it was born out of an idea that has little too do with the general theme of the fic - that Hector and Isaac can't have children due to their powers, something that would weigh on Hector when married to Rosaly as he'd see it as yet another consequence of his mistakes - and then spiralled into a much more wholesome headcanon that at last fixed all my grievances with the idea of Hector going to live with Julia. Maybe in the game Rosaly's makeshift orphanage doesn't exist... but nothing stops me from integrating it into the setting >:) I also go absolutely feral over the idea of Hector becoming Dracula, but this time in a positive way: by welcoming unwanted children and actually raising them with love, not to use them ;A;

Julia is a fascinating character for me to write, because she is a big big liar lmao. "Unlike her brother, whose thoughts and emotions were akin to a river in flood, and unlike Rosaly, with her clear, crystalline honesty, Julia was a placid lake, surface smooth and undisturbed." I could have phrased it better, but I liked the imagery here: Rosaly was gently honest and Isaac was brutally honest, but Julia hides everything behind her smile and slightly witty attitude, and Hector knows that something is lurking under the surface, and it's only a matter of time before it breaks the illusion. makes you wonder why she's like this...

I also tried to make Hector sound a little different here. This is post-CoD Hector, this is a Hector that has fully affirmed himself and his own agency. He's no longer the boy who would let himself be eaten alive to fill someone else's void :) it was very important to me that he took the decision to remove himself from a toxic situation, while still not looking like he was simply running away: I'm proud of myself for the idea of leaving the Devils with Julia, who in Kojima's art is shown taking care of them. There is something to be said that in theory, Julia would be an even better companion for Hector than Rosaly, because she fully understands Hector's powers and "curse", and being shunned because of it, and they can both be fully themselves around each other. This alone makes me imagine that the two would keep in touch through their lifetime, even from a distance.

(similarly I like the part where Hector muses that trying to assign blame on one person is eventually a futle endeavor, becase "it would always return to its starting place". You can't run away from grief, and what's the point in blaming dead people or yourself?)

And as I said in the notes, it's funny to me that it's the very first fic that used the Hector & Julia tag lol. But I still feel I wrote them as rather romantic, even though it wasn't my intention, perhaps for the moment of vulnerability they share together. I suppose you can read them as having the potential to fall in love, but kept apart by their trauma, which is the whole point of the story lmao.

and finally, this

“Then I’d better start packing as well,” she snorted, “for you seem hardly willing to part with your money.” “With all due respect, one hundred gold for a short sword may be on the excessive side–” “I’m simply teasing. Forgive me, but your pride is too easy to prickle.”

was a heartfelt jab at the game, specifically at my first playthrough where I didn't know how to stop being too poor for her shop :P

[unbidden-yidden-deactivated20240]

Honestly going to Israel kinda fucked me up in ways I'm still just beginning to unpack, because now I'm questioning the very meaning of "home."

I want to preface this by saying this is not about politics. I am not trying to make a particular political statement, nor is this commentary on or a reaction to any particular event or whatever. This is springing from a deep, primordial mental and emotional place that I can barely name or explain, let alone change or control. I honestly don't even feel like it's coming from a particularly religious place, although Judaism is the only language I have to even begin to attempt to explain it. You know how various animals just know certain migration stopping points that they've never been to or how to navigate back to the place they were born to have their own young? This feels far more like that.

I've definitely never felt anything like this before. Growing up, I felt a generalized connection to and love of nature writ large. It was very much a "the earth is a wide, wild, diverse, incredible place that must be loved and respected and cared for" rather than some deep tie to the particular land I grew up on.

In fact, the natural space I felt the most spiritual connection to and in was not where I grew up at all, but rather the Great Lakes area that my family traveled to on vacation. I grew up longing for the shoreline and woods of a place I'd only been a few times for a comparatively short period of time in my life, because I'd fallen in love with it. When I finally got to touch that water again as an adult, I greeted it like an old friend, and it lapped over my hands as if to return the favor. But I'm not actually from this area, and the way that it calls to me is one of possibility - this could be home, someday. Maybe.

It was only as I've gotten older that I've started to realize how deep the prairie lives in my subconsciousness. This was the local natural environment I grew up in and time has taught me appreciation for it. It shaped me. It left an indelible mark on me. Some part of me will always carry it with me, no matter where I go. Some part of me will always be the prairie, the flat farmlands and endless sky above, the deciduous woods, the ever-changing seasons and unpredictable weather. Some part of me will always taste the specific scent of rain on sun-ripened garden tomatoes, of sweet corn in July, will always feel the specific sun of the heartland on my face.

And yet, it does not own me. I carry it with me wherever I go and it will always be a part of me, but it does not lay claim to the very fabric of my being.

Israel, on the other hand.

I did not expect this. In fact, I was very wary going there, of it being a bit of a letdown. I fully expected that I would feel moved by seeing the sites, of going to these historical places, of finally seeing the place that so many of our prayers are about. I hoped I would enjoy the experience and find myself reconnecting with Am Yisrael and repairing some of the damage to my Jewish connections that Covid had brought on. I hoped I'd have fun, that I'd learn some things, and feel a spiritual connection. At worst, I was worried it would be extremely foreign and off-putting; that I would not be particularly moved religiously while there and/or that the kind of Judaism and Jewish community there would be so alien and unfamiliar that it would actually make me feel even more cut off from Jewish community.

Those were the possibilities I anticipated and was prepared for. All rational assumptions, based on the facts I had in front of me and my knowledge of myself.

What I was totally unprepared for was feeling like the land owned me the moment my feet touched the ground and that I would come back to the US - to the only home country I've ever known, where I was born and raised and have lived my whole life, where my family and friends live, to my house with my beloved partner and the beautiful life we've built together - incomplete, having left some essential part of my being there.

And it's not like this trip was all warm fuzzies. It was still a foreign country where I did not speak the language and where I was not acculturated. It was awkward in all of those ways. I'm not sure I would want to live there in a permanent sort of way; it would definitely make the way I prefer to practice Judaism difficult. I am quite sure that if I moved there even temporarily, I would quickly get quite homesick for being in a place where I'm not a foreigner, where I speak the language fluently and where I know lots of people. I'm certain that the culture shock would hit me like a ton of bricks and it would be very difficult to push through.

But.

Ever since returning, home has not felt the same. These places that I've lived my life in - that until this year I felt mostly comfortable in and like I was part of this culture - it's like I peeled the layers of reality back to reveal how much of a fish out of water I am here. It's still unclear to me if this is because I changed, or because I never truly belonged. I could definitely make solid arguments for both, but I'm not sure it matters much. Heartbreaking either way, to be honest.

What's frustrating is that it's not like I just felt totally at ease there. It wasn't like I entered this magical, perfect space where I suddenly made sense as a person and felt immediately comfortable and at home. It's still a foreign country, on a different continent, in the middle east. I was, and am, a ger. In every sense of the word.

But it's not about medinat Yisrael; it's very much an eretz Yisrael thing. Regardless of how I feel about it, something about eretz Yisrael has a claim on me that I didn't understand until I went there. The land doesn't in any sense "belong" to me, and it wouldn't even if I made aliyah and purchased a house there. I belong to it in some way that is as real and concrete as it is ephemeral and impossible to explain, no matter where I live or go.

This longing to return home, to end the diaspora, to bring about Olam HaBa - so much of our liturgy - it now makes sense. I didn't get it before, but now I do, and I really don't know how to process this information.

How do I explain this to myself, never mind anyone else? How do I explain that a Protestant-raised white-bread kid from the US who has no known Jewish ancestry and who converted as an adult on nothing but a shot-in-the-dark spiritual longing and numinous experience of the Divine, could go to a country where I am very much an outsider and a foreigner, and have it grab me by the kishkes and say hey - this, too, is part of your covenant. You will be held to your word. You belong to this place now.

Tisha b'Av hit so much harder this year for that reason, and I predict a lot sobbing in shul during the chagim.

Galus, indeed.

[bnha-more-like-bnh-gay]

Rarepair headcanons because I am ignoring my problems

Serodeku:

Izuku reenacts the Spider-Man movies with Sero. Izuku is MJ. They also alternate being Spider-Man sometimes

They skate together

They get very protective when people call their boyfriend “plain”

They play dnd together

Sero tries to make sure that izuku gets some rest

They’re both kinda insecure, izuku more than sero, but still; and they make sure to reassure each other as often as possible

Sero likes listening to Izuku’s ramblings and finds them cute. He has told izuku this, only for the poor boy to imitate a tomato

After Izuku has been particularly reckless, Sero takes advantage of his quirk, wraps Izuku in bubble wrap, and tapes it there

Tokodeku:

Jocknerd bf and goth bf, we love to see it

Tokoyami teaches izuku how to sword fight

They start a dnd club at U.A.

Izuku talks to dark shadow a lot, Dark Shadow approves of him, and has claimed the spot of best man at their wedding

Izuku comes up with ideas to help Tokoyami gain control with Dark Shadow

Dark Shadow is very protective over Izuku, no matter how many times Tokoyami tells him that he can take care of himself, Dark Shadow will put himself between Izuku and any form of danger as often as possible

Dekoyama??? Aoyama/izuku:

Aoyama gives him makeovers, obviously

Aoyama drags izuku to the mall and tries to revamp some of his wardrobe, but he actually finds the “pants” and “flannel” type shirts cute

They help each other train their quirks

Aoyama is trilingual, and teaching izuku English and French.

Izuku always brings Aoyama home some new cheese

Y’all, I love them so much. There needs to be more aodeku content

Monoshinsou:

They have people watching dates. They come up with stories for the people they’re watching; their job, family, background, etc.

They judge people together

They call each other “love”

They’re both dramatic bastards, who will flop onto their lovers lap and proclaim their death due to a minor inconvenience

They jokingly sh*t-talk class A

Shinsou said “I love you” first, and it was because Monoma brought him coffee to class

Monoyama:

Like monoshinsou, they’re both dramatic bastards, who will flop onto their lovers lap and proclaim their death due to a minor inconvenience

They go shopping together and pick out the most dramatic pieces of clothing for each other

I love them so much, please 😭✋

They have tea parties every week, where they sh*t talk everyone else and gossip

They are both fancy bastards, and they wear the most exquisite outfits to go grocery shopping, and the outshine everyone

They both actually make clothing, they’ll go fabric shopping together. Gift exchanges are often articles of clothing that they’ve made for each other

Momomei:

They work on gear together!!!

Momo makes sure that mei gets some sleep

Mei helps redesign momo’s suit

They often work together with izuku to work in gear and such

They actually got together after izuku introduced them. He had been working on gear with mei, and studying with momo and he thought they’d hit it off. He was correct

Shintsuyu:

Dude they’d be so cute

Tsu is a vent gremlin, and you can’t change my mind. So she and shinsou will play a game where they try to find each other. Tsu is in the vent and shinsou is in the classrooms. Shinsou will try to find whichever vent she’s in, or she’ll find whichever classroom he’s in, in 20 minutes or less

I always headcanoned tsu as a dog person, so they’d have two cats and two dogs, and a bunny that they named Deku

They like comparing their friends to animals, hence the bunny, Deku

Kamideku:

Kaminari is a flirt, and izuku does n o t know how to handle it

Kaminari likes listening to izuku’s ramblings, and can keep up with them. He’ll ask questions on things too, and Izuku has never felt more appreciated

I don’t know why I feel like they’d have so many animals, but I do. They’d have so many, man. Three cats, two dogs, four sugar gliders, a hamster

Adhd power couple. They hyperfixated on complimentary things at the same time one time

Kaminari tutors izuku in English, and izuku turots kami in some other subjects. He’s also teaching kami JSL on the side. Kaminari has a live of languages

Momochako:

Study dates, Momo asks ochako to quiz her a lot

Ochako takes to floating momo’s things when she wants attention. Especially when Momo is studying. She makes a game out of how many things she can float until the other girl notices

Uraraka’s confidence does wonders for momo’s. Uraraka always makes sure to reassure momo that she is strong and that she can do this

Momo makes Uraraka whatever her heart desires. Uraraka blushes all the time, and momo takes great pride in getting her girlfriend to blush

Minatoru:

Mina clings to everyone, but especially to toru

They give each other stuffed animals so often. They’ll go to the store to get food, and come back with three stuffed animals that reminded them of each other

Please, they’re so cute 😭✋

They will play hide and seek, I stand by this.

Mina helps toru design a new costume. I hate hers, it’s horrible, and sexist, and not suitable for a fucking child

Toru says that pink is her favorite color

They flirt with each other all the time. Half the class thinks it’s cute, half of them used to think it was cute.

Iidamomo:

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, but study dates. they quiz each other, and it actually gets pretty competitive

They also have rage room dates. I will not budge on this. Iida tried to murder someone, and I am excited to see momo finally snap. She deserves it

They alternate paying for dates, don’t try me.

The go hiking a lot

They started liking each other after one late night, both having nightmares. Momo had tea, and offered some to Iida. They talked until the early hours of the morning

They can’t flirt. They try. But they’re horrible at it. They’ll compliment each other all day long, but they cannot flirt.

KIRIDEKU, MY BELOVED:

Y’all,,, y’all, I love them so much

They train together, obviously

They ran into each other one night in the common room after both having nightmares. They talked about middle school, how they were both bullied, izuku’s quirk coming in late, katsuki being abusive, kiri being bullied because his quirk wasn’t “cool.” After that, they were practically inseparable.

They started going on dates, not that either of them knew they were dates. The entire class knew, so did the teachers, so did the rest of U.A. Kirishima picked up on it first after a comment from Mina, he had is realization.

So, he started courting Izuku. Not thag izuku realized this. He brought him flowers on most ‘dates,’ he bought him hero action figures whenever he could, he complimented him until Izuku was red in the face (which was honestly very easy.) Still, izuku remained ignorant to the fact that he was indeed dating Kirishima.

The final tipping point, was due to Uraraka’s help. She was quite tired of watching the two of them pine for each other. It was amusing for the first couple months, watching Kirishima try so hard, and Deku being totally oblivious. However, she took pity on her friends after a while.

So, Uraraka devised a devilish plan to get the two together. She involved Mina, Sero, and kaminari in this plan. What was the plan, you ask? Oh, simply to trap the two in one room until they broke through izuku’s obliviousness.

Kirishima finally “straight” up admitted his feelings, to which Izuku had the sudden realization of “oh my gods, have we been dating this whole time??” Yes, Izuku. Yes you have.

They have two anniversaries after that.

Let’s be honest, they are really, annoyingly, horrifically lovey dovey. Kirishima brags about having “the manliest and bestest boyfriend in the world.” Izuku flaunts his many PowerPoint presentations on how talented and incredible Kirishima is

Uraraka doesn’t know if she did the right thing by helping them. She is so tired

Tsujirou:

Jirou makes playlists for tsu

The few sane ones in class A, I swear

They go on walks in the rain as often as they can

They go for dates in the bookstore too. They each pick out an album and a book for the other to listen to and read

Y’all, they make so much sense togetherrrrr, I’m love them 🥺

Jirou started liking tsu after the crew saved bakugou. Jirou sat with tsu after momo, Iida, kirishima, Todoroki, and izuku apologized and sat with her. They had movie night, and Jirou joined the Bakugou saving crew and tsu with taking well into the night. She just appreciated how much tsu cared

Tsu started liking Jirou after she helped Iida, momo, and izuku try to keep the class in order. She appreciated how diplomatic and calm she was

Jirou would talk to izuku all night long about how gay she was, and how adorable tsu was. So, izuku decided to try and suggest ways for Jirou to ask her out.

She did not end up getting to ask her out though, as Tsu walked up to her the next morning f and asked if she wanted to go on a date. Jirou said yes. Izuku cried

Izujirou:

They make playlists for each other

They go for runs on the beach a lot

They both have insomnia, and often spend time making blanket forts and talking, or FaceTiming and listening to music

Jirou walks into the common room once a week looking for new music. She started liking Izuku after he made a playlist for her for one of these occasions.

They’re both quite awkward when it comes to romance, but neither of them will shy away from facing the truth. So, Jirou made izuku a playlist filled with love songs that reminded her of him and sent it to him. Sadly, izuku is dense as hell.

So, then Jirou wrote a love song and told izuku that the song was for him. Sadly, izuku is dense as hell.

So, then Jirou write analysis about izuku’s quirk for him. Sadly, izuku is dense as hell

So, then, after thinking that Jirou had done so much for him, izuku made her a playlist filled with love songs. Jirou took this to mean that izuku had finally picked up on her feelings, and accepted them.

So, they started to go on dates. Not that izuku knew this, as he is dense as hell. All leading up to izuku finally confessing his feelings on one of their ‘dates,’ to which Jirou responded, “dude, we’re already dating? Aren’t we? I- I thought that was obvious??”

May this awkward couple be forever blessed

Tokoyama:

Goth/prep boyfriends, we love to see it

At least once a day, Aoyama will proclaim that Tokoyami “shines almost as bright as he does, in his fabulous emo way”

They sword fight, and come up with really dramatic scenarios and scenes that they’re in

They bond over being in the izucrew and their shared love of swords. Aoyama took fencing classes in middle school, and Tokoyami got into sword fighting after watching it in pirates of the Caribbean as a young child. He is self taught and watched countless videos on the art of sword fighting

Tokoyami asked Aoyama our by dramatically presenting him with a dagger and going “will you accompany me on a formal outing as my lover?”

Shinyama:

They flirt constantly

No really, it’s getting quite annoying. Someone please stop them.

They both plop down in random areas and proclaim their deaths, the difference between them, is that Aoyama will burst into shinsou’s room, and yell “love, I’ve been murdered. Mourn for me” while plopping down on shinsou’s lap. Shinsou can be found laying face down outside aoyama’s door, and when Aoyama goes to open the door, he just goes “I’ve been murdered.”

^^ one time, shinsou did a very fun Halloween prank for this, where he poured fake blood all over himself for Aoyama to find him an hour later, asleep.

Nap dates. Aoyama get glitter all over shinsou’s room

Iiyama:

Aoyama enjoys making Iida blush, obviously. But he takes joy in doing it specifically when class is about to start. Aizawa is tired of his shit

Here is how I think an iiyama conversation might go:

Aoyama: I ask for one thing in this relationship-

Iida: Aoyama, you know that’s a lie-

Aoyama: for my boyfriend to carry me around all day-

Iida: Aoyama, I cannot feasibly do this with class-

Aoyama: and I don’t think that’s too much to ask for 😤

Anyway, Aoyama got carried around all day that day, despite Iida’s blush and Aizawa’s eye twitch

Everyone in the izucrew is close, but Iida and Aoyama started to get close after Iida told the crew about Stain. Aoyama wanted Iida to know that he wasn’t alone, and that he wanted to help him. So he started packing extra cheese for lunch and giving it to Iida. Iida was very confused at first. But this was Aoyama trying to court him. This was only made apparent by momo and Jirou telling Iida that this was aoyama’s attempt at expressing romantic interest.

Aoyama flirts with everyone, that’s just who he is. But with Iida? Oh it was tenfold. The poor boy was red in the face constantly. Aoyama was a persistent little bugger too, following him around and calling him ‘mon amour’

Kirikamideku:

My dearest traffic light trio, I’m love them

They train together, and kiri and kami always appreciate izuku’s analysis snd ideas

Kiri falls even more in love with izuku and kaminari when they go off on rants. Izuku rants and kami can keep up with him so he asks questions about it. Kiri loves to watch his boyfriends go on rants, I don’t make the rules, but I do enforce them

They started to get closer after kami and kiri found bakugou causing a ptsd flashback (could be on purpose of an accident, up to the reader.) they stated with him and tried to talk him through it. After this, izuku started to tell them about having been a “late bloomer” and being bullied, etc. (I don’t know, man; I tend to over share after flashbacks and after panic attacks)

Izuku tutors them in several subjects, but kami tutors them in English. Kiri just falls in love with his smart boyfriends

Izuku is teaching kami JSL and kami is helping izuku with English and Italian (personal headcanon that Italian has been one of kami’s special interests) kiri loves to listen to them, and finds it relaxing and calming to hear them do this. When he has panic attacks, he’ll ask them to tutor each other in different languages

[aio-rya]

Silver Birthday Card — SSR Personal Story

NRC Scholar Newspaper.

Interview with the birthday person.

~Feat. Silver~

ーCongratulations! How's today's birthday party going?

Silver: I'm so glad to see everybody likes to celebrate this way.

That's why if I fell asleep half way through, I'd feel very sorry for all the students who prepared this for me.

I got enough sleep yesterday and, just in case, I drank lots of black coffee earlier.

Now I'm sure, today I won't fall asleep.

—Do you have any memories of your birthday in your home town?

Silver: Of course... Every year, my father would have taken a commemorative photo. With Sebek and Malleus, who came to celebrate. He'd shoot it all of us, side by side.

The photo we took last year is displayed on the desk at the dorm lounge. It is a wonderful and irreplaceable birthday present.

When I became my father's apprentice, he was taller than me but, he was overtaken by me before we'd noticed.

When I realised about it, I was quite surprised.

Since then, we'd be asking for Sebek to take out the plates from the top of the cupboard.

You can actually do it with magic, but... Every time I asked for it, Sebek looked at me with a proud face.

Perhaps, I guess he likes to take things from high places. You may call it a hobby, just don't get on his way.

That's why I'll keep on asking him for it.

ー・ ⚔︎ ・ー

Part 2

Silver: Zzzz... Zzzz...

—T-this...

Silver: Huh... I'm sorry, I felt sleepy out of a sudden. I slept well last night but it didn't work as it should...

I'm sorry. Please, if I fell asleep again, don't hesitate on waking me up.

—Understood. How's your school life going?

Silver: I'm often surprised on how different it is. Until the day I came to school, I've lived in the depths of the forest of the Valley of Thorns.

For example, electrical appliances. It's very helpful being able to do cleaning and washing without using magic. Even after the sun goes down, I was surprised lights were shut off. Back at home, the forest at night became pitch black.

But, what surprised me the most was... That food was delicious.

Apart from making it by myself, I grew up with the taste of homemade food cooked by my father... So I was deeply moved.

—Has anything else changed since you entered school?

Silver: I did make a lot of friends. Back on the Valley of Thorns, there was only Sebek around, we were the only ones sharing the same age group. Buying something along my classmates during the breaks. That was something I have never experienced in my hometown.

When we go shopping, I often buy whetstones and the latest self-defense tools at sight. While everyone often seeks for sweets and manga.

Though, I was not familiar with fashion and entertainment. That's why Kalim has thaught me a lot and that's been very helful.

Ah! Speaking of which, Kalim sometimes invite to his dorm banquets too... Eating some fruits from the Land of Hot Sands, riding over the maginc carpet, it has all been a very valuable experience. Is interesting to make contact with things you've never seen. With everyone else, it's a completely new experience.

I'm very grateful for my friends.

ー・ ⚔︎ ・ー

Part 3

—Please, tell me about your family.

Silver: I'm an orphan. but I have a father who raised me.

When I was little, I thought he was my real father. When I think about it now, he looks completely different.

Finally, one day, I noticed my father's ears and mine had different shapes. "Why does our ears have different shapes?", I asked him. Then, he explained at me that we were from different races. And, that's how I realised we were not blood connected.

"So, you did notice it!", he laughed a bit confused. When I noticed, I was already jumping out of my house while it was raining...

Eventually, I was found by my father and he brought me back home. After that, I got a fever and fell asleep. My father told me, "I can't help it". He laughed again and took care of me.

He must have been tired of looking for me in the rain, but he didn't leave me until the fever went down.

..... I. The smile of my father that day, is something I don't think I could ever forget.

..... That's it.

That was the father who named me Silver.

When I asked him for the origin of the name, he said "Your hair color!". I got a clear answer. I guess he is that kind of person, after all.

The name given to me by me beloved father, is the one I will continue cherishing forever.

—That's a wonderful parent-child relationship.

In regard of the hair that inspired him to name you, do you have any special care on it?

Silver: I have not taken any special care. I'm not particularly worried about my hairstyle, so I always try to cut it properly. Sometimes I cut it by myself, other times I ask for my father and my friends to do it.

...... By the way, I have been questioned about my hair before by senior Vil. I told him I was not doing anything on it.

I remember being scolded.

Perhaps it was because of that that, after I helped him with the Movie Appreciation Club some time ago, he gave me a special hair care set as a thanking.There were two types of shampoo on it. It also contained some creams and oils I couldn't understand how they worked.

Senior Vil said, "Beauty must be done evercyday"... but hair care is a hassle, it takes too much time and effort.

Certainly my hair had changed, I used what I got at hand, but it seemed I wouldn't be able to continue.

Now that I have finished it,I wash myself with the same soap from head to toe when I take a shower.

—Thank you! And once again, happy birthday!

[hawkinsindiana]

this changes things

ALMOST PARADISE: PART THREE - CHAPTER FOUR OF ELEVEN (!!)

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!reader

word count: 2.3k

a/n: we’re back to eleven chapters baby!!!! this one ended up being longer than i thought. i know i usually post on friday nights, but i couldn’t help but give you all a lil valentine’s day treat. pls enjoy!!!!

masterlist

Steve’s nervous. 

It’s down to the wire; there's only a few short weeks left of his final high school semester. Four out of five college applications have been rejected. Each one received has fed the anxiety more and more. 

Every day that passes without a lick of news from the remaining university has him reconsidering everything. His education. His career. His future.

The only thing Steve knows about his future is that he wants you in it, in whichever form that might be. You’re the constant. Without you, he’s afraid he’d eventually go back to being that person he was before. You make him want to be better. Trying to be worthy of you gives Steve purpose. 

He imagined that getting a college education would help keep him on that path. It seems farther away with each rejection letter he receives. 

Steve hasn’t told you that he hasn’t gotten into any so far. He’s afraid of disappointing you, especially after everything you’ve done for him. 

The spring of ‘85 has been particularly unforgiving. It’s been storming all week - the air still hangs with that familiar smell of rain soaked concrete. You read that the Hawkins Post reported a record amount of rainfall; the local stream overflowed and flooded a few basements. 

The mail is still damp when Steve retrieves it after practice. It sticks to his fingers as he shuffles through each envelope, drying his sneakers on the welcome mat. 

And then his eyes linger on one addressed to him; Steve nearly drops his backpack when he sees who sent it. 

Haphazardly, he tosses the rest of the mail onto the kitchen counter as he contemplates whether to even open the damn thing. Steve’s pretty sure he knows the answer. Is it an answer he wants?

Whatever the words inside this parcel read, it changes Steve’s life forever. His future is planned from the moment he breaks the seal - there would be no going back. Either he stays here in Hawkins, trapped by an education he neglected for far too long, or he gets to take a step to distance himself from this shitty town and prove his worth. 

Steve isn’t a fan of the former option.

He wishes you were here to read it for him. He’d rather you tell him the news; hearing it come from your lips would make it easier. 

By the time Steve decides to open it, a few minutes have passed. Why does this feel like the scariest thing he’s ever done?

Due to the water, some of the ink bled through the paper; pieces of the letter are illegible. But at the top, a familiar phrase answers his question: Unfortunately, we regret to inform you-

Steve curses, angrily throwing the envelope and its contents into the trash. He refuses to read anymore. 

He has no one to blame but himself. Maybe that’s why he’s so angry. There were multiple opportunities for him to change course and put effort into his schoolwork. By the time he finally tried, it was too late. 

Thunder booms in the distance once Steve parks his car beside your mother’s. He doesn’t remember deciding to come here; the only thing he can recall is grabbing the keys, without a destination in mind. His heart brought him to your warmth. 

As Steve gets out of the car, he wonders if this was maybe a bad idea. It isn’t very often that he feels afraid to face you - he’s scared of your reaction, and the outcome that could follow.

He knew that he could love you, that he could fall just as hard as you did for him. But admitting it to himself, and then you - he doesn’t know if he has the strength to do it again. That phrase has left a sour taste in his mouth, one that Steve hopes he can wash away. Because you deserve to hear it too. 

Maybe he’s closer to saying it than he thought, perhaps that’s why he’s so scared to tell you. Maybe-

“What the hell are you doin’ here?” Dustin’s voice startles Steve, who turns to see the boy walking his bike up the driveway. Steve fumbles his response, head spinning with thoughts about you, “I don’t, uh-”

Dustin interrupts him, not noticing the nerves Steve displays, “Hey, you should come in! It’s mac ‘n cheese night.” 

Steve hangs his head in defeat, knowing that he’s going to follow your brother inside. He can’t say no to this kid. 

Dustin hangs up his raincoat once the pair of them enter the house; the bell on Tews’ collar jingles as they run to greet the boys. The kitten weaves between Steve’s legs before he kneels down to give them a few pets. 

“That you, Dusty?” Your mother calls from within; clattering silverware echoes from the kitchen. Steve chuckles at the nickname. Dustin punches him in the bicep. 

He kicks off his shoes as he replies, “Hey Mom! Get out another bowl - look who I found loitering around.” 

Steve scoffs, shoving Dustin as they walk forward through the threshold into the living room. Your mom moves to welcome them; her warm smile widens when she sees Steve by her son’s side, “Well look who it is! Steve, sweetheart, how are you?”

He’s baffled by her every time he shares a meal with your family. Her kind soul is infectious, and drastically different from the parents he was raised by. Steve tries not to think about the fact her beloved pet is secretly buried out back - he’s reminded of it whenever he sees her. 

“I’m good, Mrs. Henderson. How are you?” Steve answers, returning her grin. She envelops him in a quick hug, “How many times am I going to have to tell you? Just call me Claudia, hon.”

Steve laughs along with her as he follows her to the kitchen, “I think you’ll need to remind me one more time.”

And then his eyes meet yours from across the room. They smile nearly as much as your lips at the sight of him; your heart flutters at this unexpected surprise. 

When you catch onto the sadness in his expression, the corners of your mouth drop. It’s obvious to you that something’s wrong. Steve doesn’t usually stop by without an invitation; something must’ve happened. 

Throughout dinner, you take mental notes on his deflated behavior. It’s subtle enough to fool your family, but you know him better. With each minute that passes, the more anxious you become to hear the cause. So when he volunteers to help you with the dishes, as he always does, you know it’s only a matter of time. 

“How was practice?” You ask before drying off a cup. Steve takes it from your hand as he replies, “Uh, it was good. Although it’s annoying that we’re still practicing even though the season’s over.”

You hum in agreement as he places the glass on the shelf. Steve glances back at you briefly, “What about you? What’d you get up to?”

A beat passes - you’re looking for the words to describe your afternoon. Maybe not the words, but the courage. It’s only when he turns around, brow creased, do you answer him. 

“I studied at Nancy’s,” You say. Steve’s eyes widen in surprise, “Oh yeah? How’d that go?”

You nod your head, focusing your gaze onto the floor, “It was nice, actually. It wasn’t as awkward as I thought it would be.”

“Now when you say studying…” He trails off for a moment as he thinks, “You two didn’t… exchange notes about me or anything, did you?”

Steve’s growing smirk makes you laugh; you hit him playfully with the towel, “No! And I haven’t told her, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

A part of him can’t help but be relieved. There’s no limit to what you two could chat about.

“We just ended up talking about college most of the time,” You add, “She wanted to know some tips since she’ll be applying soon.”

Steve grabs a plate to dry; in order to try and quell his anxiety, he has to do something productive. But your mind recognizes it as a distraction - you’re no stranger to coping mechanisms. 

“Have you figured out where you’re gonna go yet?” He questions, praying your answer isn’t far; lightning flashes outside the kitchen window, followed closely by the low rumble of thunder. 

You sigh as you lean back against the counter, “I’m not sure. Nancy was helping me talk through my options earlier, but it’s such a big decision to make. I wanna make sure it’s the right fit.”

Steve nods slightly, forehead creasing as he wipes his hands on the towel. And by the way he clenches his jaw at your reply, you know that this is the source of contention. 

You nudge his leg with your foot, “What about you? Get any responses back?”

The breath hitches in Steve’s throat; there’s no way this conversation doesn’t end with his reveal. The longer it takes for him to speak, the more concerned you grow. 

“I, uh-“ A sigh passes his lips as he grips the counter, keeping his focus away from you. He doesn’t want to witness your reaction. 

“I didn’t get in,” Steve mutters. He exhales, shaking his head in disbelief; until now, it almost didn’t seem real. It took admitting it to you for his brain to accept it. 

You shift on your feet, unsure of what to say. Over the past few weeks, you and Steve had been discussing how your relationship would persist once you both had made your college commitments. This wasn’t an outcome either of you prepared for. 

“Holy shit, Steve. I’m sorry…” You whisper. Steve pushes his face into his hands; his voice is muffled from behind his palms, “Yeah, yeah… holy shit.” 

You don’t hesitate any more to comfort him. Steve straightens as you place your hands on his arms; he melts into your touch, unable to prevent you from turning his body to face yours. 

“Hey, it’ll be fine,” You reassure him, “College isn’t the only option, you know. There are other things you could do.” 

The expression on Steve’s face breaks your heart. You’d do anything to wipe it away and brighten his mood. But Steve just sighs again, appreciating your efforts to help him, but nothing seems to be working. 

“How’d your parents react?” You ask. The only thing keeping Steve grounded to this moment is the firm grip you have on his shoulders; he thinks he’d float away without it. 

He scoffs a bit; the sound breaks the deafening silence that formed as he thought of a response. His eyes are still focused downwards as he finally answers you, “They don’t know yet. I just got the last letter today. I couldn’t think of going anywhere else.”

When your fingers brush against his cheek, Steve instinctively moves his hands to rest on your waist, “I’m sorry, I just-”

Steve finally lifts his head. Your eyes are wide, pupils filled to the brim with nothing but your fondness for him. All of a sudden, he’s confused why he was so scared to tell you. He realizes that he never should’ve doubted you. 

“I was scared this would change things. Or that you’d be disappointed in me or some shit.”

Your brow furrows as you laugh softly - baffled by his words, “What could ever make you think that I’d be disappointed in you?” 

A flash of previous memories answers your own question. You decide not to pull on that thread anymore. 

“This changes things,” You mutter. Your eyeline drops as you pause, choosing your words carefully before continuing, “But it doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Finally, Steve feels a bit of relief. The sincerity in your voice calms the fear, and a deep exhale allows him to let it go. Your compassion and understanding permits him to begin thinking clearly again. He knew there was a reason he came here. 

You’re right though. This does change how you both navigate the future. But with you here to support him, Steve figures he’ll be just fine. 

“I mean…” The corner of your mouth curls up at the thought that pops into your head, “The only way my opinion of you changes is if you killed my brother or something like that.”

Steve chuckles slightly, “But Mike’s still fair game?”

“Oh yeah, go ahead,” You quip, “He’s had it comin’ for a while.” 

Even though your voices are hushed, the joke still makes you crack a pair of brilliant smiles; it almost makes Steve forget about his future for a moment. Standing here in your arms, Steve can’t help but realize how safe he feels. 

And then you sigh, reaching up to brush back a lock of his brunette hair - the sensation of your touch fills Steve with something new, something different. A direct contrast to the violent storm brewing outside, this is soft, warm, and golden. Like daylight.

Your eyes meet again. Honestly, he’s not sure he ever wants to look at anything else. 

Your hand lands on his chest, “This doesn’t make me love you any less.”

Steve throws caution to the wind - he kisses you. And already, you can tell that this is one you’ll remember. His lips are soft against yours, but without sacrificing an ounce of passion. You almost forget that someone could walk in and expose your relationship; when Steve finally pulls away, it doesn’t matter anyways.

As if you weren’t left breathless enough from his kiss, the words he mutters afterwards could’ve done it themselves. 

With one of his trademark smirks plastered across his face, Steve moves to hold your head between his palms, “Fuck, I love you.”

You kiss him again so quickly that you both didn’t have enough time to wipe the twinkling grins from your lips. Your noses are squished against each other, but neither of you cares enough. Your shared love dulls the pain. 

Steve smiles into the kiss even further. This is what it’s supposed to feel like.

—   taglist: @djjarin / @hannarudick / @crazycookiecrumbles / @hellisateenageheather / @alewifex / @l0ve-0f-my-life / @naomiiiiiiiiiii04 / @daddystevee / @thecaptainsgingersnap / @let-the-imaginationflow / @asianravenpuff / @im-a-stranger-thing / @mikariell95 / @pilunb / @harringtherin / @royalestrellas / @ultrunning / @buggs177 / @poutfull / @yoheyyosup / @duchessdaisybat / @janieavalos / @sassisaluxury / @beththebubbly / @i-bitch-you-bitch / @captainstilinskis / @juliebean247 / @im-nada / @whatabeautifulsurrender / @rexorangecouny / @pass-me-jeez-it / @ahoy-scoops-troop / @halefirewarrior / @jointhehunt67 / @peanutem / @ketchuplukehemmo / @m-a-r-i-n-t-p / @fangirl485 / @emmegirl827 / @lookalivesunshine-x / @elite4cekalyma / @marjoherbo / @just-my-fandom / @idumpyourgrass / @alafolieee / @mochminnie / @phantomalchemist / @dustyblueboo / @alonewolfsblog / @ggclarissa / @hufflepuffing-all-day-long / @bippityboppitybabe / @readinthegarden12 / @bakugouishusbando / @stxtch72 / @random-girl-army / @wisdaemon / @thatawkwardlittlefangirl

if you want be added to the taglist, just lemme know!

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

so, i had the very surreal experience of finding out that there were four surprise new eps of grace and frankie this very morning and then watching them on my phone while i sat outside in the pouring rain and 52-degree-fahrenheit-in-august air because the vents in my house were being cleaned and my dog refused to sit outside alone and insisted that both of her human parents sit with her that whole time. therefore i don’t entirely trust my perspective here, since the whole thing feels VERY surreal and if i check netflix again i kind of feel like there won’t be any new eps there and i just hallucinated them.

but anyway, my preliminary thoughts on gaf 7x01-7x-04--

i overall felt really underwhelmed by the writing here, and sort of felt like i was watching the kevin’s-in-the-scene parts of kevin can f**k himself with some of these plotlines. (particularly the ones about the supporting cast, as always but even more so now! oh my god, what do they have against bud these past few seasons??) i was definitely missing the emotional intelligence and nuance of the earlier days of this show; it felt largely absent here to me. the humor is so broad that it kind of makes me feel like i’m going full on bonkers. this is the same show as seasons 1-3? as season 6, even?? WHAT? i get that the writers were working during a stressful time, so i hope they found their groove more as the season went on. alternately: did all the normal writers quit or something?

the idea that i was going to have to watch grace hanson and frankie bergstein become money launderers and THAT was the plotline we were going to be stuck with for our LAST SEASON EVER of this beloved show was really putting me through it. hopefully the end of ep 4 put that to bed? i cannot possibly express how much i do not need “grace and frankie are criminals now” as the final arc on this lovely friendship-and-family dramedy.

i do love getting to see grace and frankie again, which is always a balm for the soul. frankie is pure effervescence with her every second of screentime, as always, and grace is certainly in it in a whole new and very grace way. (i know the writers apparently do not see grace as a lesbian, which, okay. it’s totally fine that her ideal relationship with nick is HE IS LITERALLY IN PRISON AND THEY CAN CHAT FOR AN HOUR EVERY DAY BEFORE SHE DOESN’T HAVE TO HANG OUT WITH HIM ANYMORE. and that she fundamentally hates being a man’s wife. that’s fine. okay. sure. like, she literally loves this arrangement so much that she does not even seem to feel horrified about her husband being in PRISON and what that experience is like for him as a human being. oh, grace. grace.)

VERY EXCITED TO SEE WHERE GRACE LIVING WITH HER TWO SPOUSES (the one she wants and the one she technically has) GOES. OH, IT’S GONNA BE A BIG MESS.

some random thoughts:

i wish they’d given robert and sol a bit more nuance and meaning in any of their storylines; it feels weird to have it not be there when it used to be in the early seasons. the thing with robert and sol living with grace and frankie felt pretty squandered in general; i think that could’ve been mined a lot deeper for meaningful content. i feel like in earlier seasons of this show, we would have seen more actual interaction between robert and sol re: how sol’s surgery was affecting them and i’m kind of disappointed that it wasn’t there, because i think that’s such a true part of life getting older and it’s the sort of storytelling that could be really resonant. i don’t want it just wrapped up a dramatic zoom on grace as her eyes are injected with her own personal nightmare fuel!

i think the one scene that i really appreciated with the kid storylines was coyote and jessica talking about the coin in the car, that was nice. i’m glad jessica and coyote are still together and settling down!

i just spent the whole bunny episode like “wtf is happening” but it was also raining especially torrentially at that point, maybe that warped my perception

i don’t like the money laundering turn of events but i do like the consistent character note that joan margaret is just frickin’ wild and down to clown

also, the visual of grace with her hand in the corn flakes box and just absolutely not relenting was pretty glorious. and brianna and mal watching her put it in the safe, bwahaha! thank you for your comedic service, corn flakes box.

i love carl, he is cute, him peeing on the couch money fully encapsulated my feelings on the couch money storyline and i don’t even care that he didn’t fight that burglar. (if anyone is reading this for some reason despite not having watched the show, i’d like to clarify that carl is a dog.)

i would really like to know frankie bergstein’s take on the paddington movie franchise and it would be so nice if this season could tell me at some point.

i feel like this show often doesn’t know what to do with g&f when they’re on good terms and happy together, and i wish it would figure that out, since clearly there’s still so much more you could dig into there. i do, however, feel like where we left off could bring us some juicy stuff in that department. fingers crossed!

ALSO I REALLY WISH GRACE DECIDING TO GROW HER GRAY HAIR OUT HAD BEEN AN ENTIRE EPISODE PLOTLINE. I FEEL LIKE IN THE EARLIER DAYS OF MORE THOUGHTFUL WRITING IT WOULD HAVE BEEN.

okay, now i’m gonna watch it again on an actual tv, not having the audio drowned out by the pouring rain, and see what i think this time ‘round. HAPPY RANDOM GRACE AND FRANKIE DAY TO ALL! s7 is a little confused, but i appreciate the spirit of gifting us random episodes.

[infinites-chaser]

Aaaaaaaaa vaaaaal! I love it! You’re amazing! Can i request for a dictionary prompt: wonderstruck, fluff with my beloved victor?

won·der·struck. adj. to suddenly feel awed delight or wonder.

(a word whose origins lie in Taylor Swift’s song, ‘Enchanted,’ in which she sings: this night is sparkling/don’t you let it go/I’m wonderstruck/blushing all the way home.)

there's a Rumi line he'd read once:

trade your cleverness for wonder.

and there are more eloquent translations (sell your cleverness and buy bewilderment, or perhaps it’s purchase bewilderment in this money-driven world), but he likes this one, likes its simplicity, its straightforward nature.

but here's the thing: he doesn't do wonder. because what's there to wonder about, when your day's perfectly planned, what in the mundane and routine schedules is there to be surprised by, to find awe in?

there's nothing, that's what. he finds flaws. finds errors, wrinkles in reasoning and calculations. irons them out.

meetings, paperwork, rinse, repeat. day in, day out.

nothing changes. he's not sure he wants it to.

he likes it when everything's predictable. some days he uses his Evol to make sure it is.

better a moment planned, he thinks, a moment perfected, than a moment missed because he hadn’t anticipated it at all.

day out, day in. paperwork, meetings. rinse. repeat.

.

.

.

because he doesn't do wonder. he doesn't. not like she does, her eyes as wide as they’d been seventeen years ago, still seeing the world at its best, as it could be, still seeing things in it to find beauty in, no matter how small. to love, no matter how silly, no matter how simple, no matter how mundane.

(and what does it mean to have gone through the worst of the world as a child and come out of it still hoping and dreaming, still full to the brim of kindness, still offering up love, unconditional, still wishing the world would do the same?)

she turns her face to the sky when the sun’s come out after a dreary morning’s rain and ends up five minutes late to their meeting,

she comes into his office one day, her hair mussed, jacket wrinkled, gasping out a breathless explanation of how there’d been a child on the bus complaining of the cold,

she sends him hastily captured pictures of things from her walk to work and the places the company takes her, flowers or pretty pebbles, the crack in a wall that she claims looks like his initials, clouds and the sky, once a blurry sunset captioned you should’ve come with us!

and he calls her dummy. says, don’t waste your time on things like that, says, don’t send me a picture of a ladybug, send me a copy of your finished report, silly,

when what he really wants to do is ask, why?

why send him blurry pictures when they both know with a DSLR in hand, she could create real art?

why turn in a report half-finished an hour past their agreed-upon deadline, filled to the brim with ideas that could be promising if she’d given them more than a moment’s thought?

why— why settle for imperfection if you know you can do better? what’s there to marvel at in the world’s flaws, in a fluke of a moment, clumsy and inelegant?

he watches her. watches how she moves through the world, tries to understand it. tries to ask her, but the words always come out wrong, too sharp, too confrontational, because half of him desperately wants her to do better, while the other half’s caught up in worrying if the way he’s been living hasn’t been quite living at all.

he snaps at her. she snaps back. (they’re both too stubborn for their own good.)

she turns in her reports with a huff. after a particularly scathing comment from him, she gives the next report to goldman, and he goes a week without seeing her at all. 

in her absence, he pulls all the reports she’s ever given him from the file in his desk, reads them through, once, twice, thrice. again and again, until he’s worn his pride thin enough to let himself admit that she’s taken his criticisms in stride, that she’s improved. (he wonders if he can say the same for himself.)

the next time she walks into his office to deliver her report, he bites back his instinctive snipe. doesn’t rise to the bait of her clumsily-worded, thinly-veiled insult. instead, he counts to ten in his head. once, twice, thrice. takes a breath. tries a “well done.”

“this idea’s a good one,” he says, the words coming slow and stilted but genuine. “i can tell you put a lot of thought into it.”

he adds on a “dummy“ before the shocked silence can stretch on for even longer.

she blinks. a slow, hesitant smile spreads across her face.

“thank you,” she says softly.

then, with more confidence:

“but, tell me, what can i improve?”

and against all odds, he feels an answering smile form on his lips as he replies.

because he doesn’t do wonder. doesn’t know how to see beauty in anything less than perfect, doesn’t know how to default not to criticism but to finding the silver lining of a situation.

he doesn’t. not like she does. but he wants to learn for her. he wants to try.

———————————–

ALIA! ALIAAAA! this is abysmally late and i am here to thank you once again for this prompt meme hnNNNNNGh i swear iM still working on your librarian ask too classes have just been devouring me :> but i just. really love this word and imo it r e a l l y suits victor goD you didn’t hear it from me but i have been developing the biggest appreciation for the victor/mc pre-relationship dynamic just like!! the new side of mc we see through victor and how his time’s frozen and her coming back into his life unfreezes it and to be human is to grow!! and be imperfect!! blahblahblah valslifephilosophysoapbox.txt and YEAH. i had this idea a while back and didn’t have time to finish it until now and hOPEFULLY IT DIDN’T GET TOO p r e a ch y and hopefully?? this is fluffy(?!?!) but gosh this was fun ^^ hope you enjoy <333 love you lots!

[seijuurouxryuu]

Title: I am you, and you are I Author: Shiro (TeitoxAkashi [AO3]/ seijuurouxryuu [tumblr]) Rating: T Pairing: Kozarto Enma/ Sawada Tsunayoshi; Giotto/ Cozarto Event: @khrrarepairweek Prompts: Mistaken Identity AU | Courting Tags/Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning, Graphic Depiction of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warning

Day 1: Storm Day

In all the years of Tsuna's life, he had never expected that one day, he would find a child bundled in long, dirty cloak right in front of his humble abode. Mouth opened in mid yawn, Tsuna stared at the body with bulging eyes. He blinked once, twice, thrice, and to his horror, the child was still there.

AO3

The sky was dark, clouds heavy and looming as it brought the lightnings and thunders that flashed and roared. Bright and loud, both blinding eyes and rattling bones, created a cacophony for the harsh rain that came down as though in anger and grief. As if they were the tears of heaven as heaven abandoned their beloved child.

With the storm raging above, a cloaked being rushed through the forest, soaked from head to toe and panting from fatigue of running for hours on. Traces of blood trialled behind, mixing with the soft mud that got kicked up by the boots. One step wrong and the being slipped hard, slamming to the group. The being hissed, pained by the fall but clambered up and continued running despite limping in pain, more blood soaking through the already dirty cloak.

The being could not stop running because once stopped, death will arrive.

Beyond anyone's knowledge, a tear dripped down the being's face and disappeared with the raindrops.

.

In all the years of Tsuna's life, he had never expected that one day, he would find a child bundled in long, dirty cloak right in front of his humble abode. Mouth opened in mid yawn, Tsuna stared at the body with bulging eyes. He blinked once, twice, thrice, and to his horror, the child was still there. Mouth clamming close, he slowly crouched down a good meter away, and stared intensely at the pale dirty cheek peeking out from the cloak. It seemed bloodless, but to Tsuna's relief, they were moving slightly from the shallow breathing. He sighed and hung his head.

If only the child was dead, he would not be in such a dilemma. He could have just buried the child and forget as time rolls by. But the humane piece of him that was dormant for years woke up, beyond happy to know that a young life was not lost.

Tsuna stood and pulled the sleeves of his robes up slightly. He reached over and carefully lifted the seemingly weightless child up, gently holding the child close to his body. Cold, he noted. The child was shivering and feverish all at the same time. Injured too, Tsuna deduced from the strong smell of iron mixed with the smell of rain and mud. Ignoring how dirtied his previously white robes were, he turned back into his small wooden shed.

He paused for a moment and turned, side glancing to the edges of his barrier, through the boundaries that separated him from humanity, his eyes flashed bright orange.

The ghastly death dissipated unreconciled.

His door closed shut with a quiet click behind him.

.

It was only ten days later that the child woke up, much to Tsuna's relief. He almost had to visit his own friend for advice, which he definitely did not want to, if not for realizing that the child's wound was healing up without any external aids. He was out finding fruits and nuts when the child's eyes opened.

Blood red eyes dazed for a moment at the sight of wooden roof. The child's breath slowed down quietly in alarm as eyes shifted around to take in any possible danger and any escape route. Moments later, the child realized that there was no one else around, and that it was as safe as it can be, the held breath was let out in a gentle, relieved sigh.

The child slowly sat up and glanced at the warm, thick covers that slid down. It was comfortable, the child felt, despite just waking up. Intuitively, the child thought that the owner must be a warm and kind person, having to take in a stranger and lend their bed. Reluctantly, the covers was pulled off but before it was truly away, the child was stunned in place at the tiny pair of hands.

"What?!"

And Tsuna came back to the sight of the child hugging the mirror tightly, staring into the reflection in horror.

Not particularly surprised at the reaction, Tsuna put away his haul onto the dining table and tilted his head at the child. "You're awake." He stated, smiling. He found it rather amusing at the sight of incredulous thoughts fleeting through those pair of muddy red eyes. He pointed over to the table beside the bed and said, "Your clothes are there, but I doubt that they would fit you now."

Yes, Tsuna knew that the child was not really a child, but a child-sized adult. He speculated that either the other's body was too heavily wounded that it transformed into a smaller and easier body to heal, or that it was a curse. It could be anything, honestly, and Tsuna wouldn't know because his senses were sealed, unfortunately.

"What did you do to me?" Tsuna almost laughed out loud at the horror that took over the chubby face at the squeaky voice. It was hilarious, and Tsuna had not seen anything funny in years.

"I did nothing. When I found you, you were already like this."

Truth.

Muddy red eyes narrowed. Lips pursed and those tiny hands clenched the mirror tightly, almost shattering it if not for the warning creak. Tsuna watched as the other put down the mirror back to where it was on the shelves and thought things through. It wasn't hard not to understand what was going on, and neither was it easy to accept it.

"I... Thank you for saving me, I owe you one." A grimace at the squeaky voice, but it was steady and full of convince. "I really should not impose you any further but, as you can see, I am not in my best state. So, can I shamefully bother you for a little longer? If it is not possible, then--"

"Sure."

"I--I'm sorry?"

Tsuna smiled, the corner of his eyes crinkling. "You can stay a little bit longer. After all, it has been far too boring recently so a company is still better than none. Of course, it wouldn't be a free stay. You'll have to help out with chores. What do you say?"

Delighted, the child-adult nodded. "Yes! Thank you very much! Once I recover, I will be sure to repay the favour!"

Tsuna waved it off carelessly. "We can talk about that after." He walked closer and reached out his right hand. "I'm Tsuna, you?"

Tinier hand touched his and shook it. "Enma." Enma smiled. "I'm Enma."

.

A month later, Enma was still in child form.

Depressed by the lack of changes despite being fully healed, Enma sighed gloomily as he stirred the stew he was making. For a month living with Tsuna, he realized that Tsuna was really, really bad with taking care of himself. He would only eat raw fruits and vegetables, meat being out of the picture since he sucked at catching live animals. He could not cook so much without hurting himself too, which Enma always found painful to look at. Two days into cohabitating and Tsuna burnt his own hand trying to cook congee, Enma decided to took it to his own hand and cook.

Despite his smaller stature now, he was very familiar with cooking. After all, he had been doing it for years. Mami always liked his cooking, so he wasn't afraid of accidentally poisoning his benefactor. In fact, cooking was one of the things that Enma loved doing. It was a stress reliever. And he missed doing it after... After that time.

Nostalgia flooding his muddy red eyes, Enma unconsciously smiled at the memories of his younger sister. He missed her.

Stuck in his memories, Enma failed to realize Tsuna's presence when the other snuck up to him. It was only when a shadow loomed over him with an eager 'Oooh' from his back that he snapped out of it. Jumped, he turned around and looked up at Tsuna with a surprised face.

"You're back! I thought you said that you would be back in late evening!" Tsuna had went out early in the morning, saying that he had to check on the barriers around the forest. He said that the storm previously might have ruined parts of the fences and he wanted to repair it before any feral animal barges in. Honestly, Enma doubted the existence of a fence that spanned almost half the forest as how Tsuna had described. Even if he couldn't recall everything that happened the night he found Tsuna's shed, he knew he didn't come across any form of barrier, much less a fence.

Still, everyone has their own secret, thus Enma did not question him and nodded.

Tsuna hummed at that, still savouring the delicious smell of stew. "Well, thankfully there's no damage this time so I came back early. And look at what I found at the other side!" He grinned as he showed Enma a piglet's corpse.

"It was dead when I found it and it’s a waste to just bury it so, why not eat it? As a thank for mother nature for the feast."

Enma was amused, clearly, but his muddy red eyes were shining brightly at the thought of meat after so long. He missed eating meat. "So your idea of repaying mother nature is eating its creations?"

"Of course, eating is appreciating."

Enma laughed and shook his head exasperatedly. He nodded nonetheless. "Fine, fine. Help me out then, I can't exactly carry it with these miserable tiny hands."

Enma hated how small they were, ugh.

Tsuna snickered. He, albeit clumsily, helped carrying the piglet onto the chopping board and listened to Enma's instructions on dealing with it.

Despite joking around while helping out, the piglet was dealt with and cooked properly in an hour's time. Tsuna's mouth was watering by the time Enma plated it.

Hopping down the steps, Enma washed his hands, sat down opposite of Tsuna by the dining table and said, "Bon appetit." He smiled when Tsuna immediately dugged in and moaned at how delicious and how long he had had abstained from meat just because he can't catch one himself.

Enma found him so cute.

Honestly, he really shouldn't be having any good feelings for a practical stranger despite the other being his saviour and all. Who knows what he really wanted to do to Enma, but he couldn't help it. After all, they had only known each other for about a month, and neither knew much about one another other than their name, who can or can't cook, Tsuna loving to laze under the sun, Tsuna occasionally telling him about the myths of the forest, Tsuna checking if he was healing up well with worried face, stupidly strong Tsuna, Tsuna smiling at him...

That was beside the point. That was all besides the point.

Enma really, really shouldn't develop anymore attachment towards him. After all, once he was back to his original form, he would have to leave, right? Tsuna did let him stay because he was in a child form right now, and Tsuna was so sweet and soft and concerned about letting him go off like this. 'Tsuna...' Enma's muddy red eyes softened at how happy the brown hair man was, glinting slightly under the light.

Tsuna lifted his head from his plate when he finally realized that Enma had not started eating, and blinked curiously. He tilted his head and asked, "Are you not eating, Enma?"

Enma snapped out of his trance and coughed into his hands. "I am, I am." His voice cracked a little, but he feigned ignorant as he tried to be as casual as possible while eating. Gears running in his mind, he desperately looked for a change of topic. "By the way, do you mind if I ask how long you have been living here?"

It was a genuine question, so he managed to turn the attention around. He had been wondering about it for quite some time now. The shed was very deep into the forest, far, far away from civilization. Too far, actually, that a trip down to the nearest village at the edge of the forest would take a day and a half. Although Enma knew some people can live in seclusion away from others, it would rather be difficult to do so. If any consumables such as ink, parchment for letters, candles, or even clothes, were to run out or spoil, would not it be inconvenient to restock them? Granted, so far, it seemed that there was never a lacking of these items even though Enma was sure that there was no store room to hoard them.

Not to mention, judging from how old and well lived in this shed was, he doubted that Tsuna lived here for a mere year or three.

Tsuna hummed at the question and shook his head. "I don't mind. It has been..." He frowned, mentally calculating the years he spent alone. In the end, he shook his head again. "Too long, I don't remember anymore."

Enma's heart lurched, but his face remained unchanged. He had some speculations, but neither of it seemed valid. "I see," He did not pry further. "Then are there anyone else living in the forest? Sounds a little bit lonely if you are the only one."

"Oh! There are. My m-- friends. They're around. Somewhere. In the forest. Well, they rarely come visit because they are busy with their duties but they live near enough for me to get to them if I have an emergency." Tsuna explained, but he did not provide the full details. Rather, he couldn't. After all, none of his friends settle around for more than two to three days, and they could easily disappear for almost half a decade without contact. It was true that if Tsuna had an emergency that needed their help, he could find them easily though.

"I see. That's good. I'd be very worried if there isn't anyone."

"Why?" Tsuna did not understand, but Enma's face started to flush and he started to stammer. "W-w-well--"

'I would be very concerned if you're alone every day once I leave. I would be wondering if you have eaten properly, if you have slept well, if you have smiled. I would be wondering if you missed me, if you feel lonely, if I can be with you to chase away that darkness. I...'

The loud sound of impact that resonated from the middle of the forest saved Enma from actually answering. Breathing out a sigh of relief, Enma looked out of the window and saw a flock of birds flying away, squawking in a way that sounded like fear.

He frowned, wondering if something bad happened. The tip of his fingers tingled.

With him turned away from Tsuna, he missed how Tsuna scowled and how his eyes turned bright orange from the usual brown.

"I'll go check." Tsuna announced, eyes turned normal again as he smiled. He pushed himself off the chair as Enma turned to him with a surprised look. "That sounds dangerous." Enma wanted to follow, but he knew that with how he was, he would be more of a burden than help. Still, he didn't want Tsuna to go. Not when he didn't know if it’s truly dangerous.

Tsuna smiled. "Don't worry." He said, petting Enma's on his head, something that Enma liked yet find it irksome because that meant Tsuna took him as a real child. Tsuna did not realize the changes and walked over to a small cabinet beside the sink, pulling out a pair of worn-out mittens and a dagger. There were engravings on the handle, but Enma was too far to clearly see what it was. Tsuna wore a cloaked and kept it by the time he walked back to Enma.

"I'm strong, you know it." Enma does. He knew. For a man that is slightly shorter than his own height, Tsuna's strength was actually stronger than his by a degree. (He did not want to remember the time Tsuna one handily pushed the heavy wardrobe full of clothes away just to reach for something that had fallen behind it like the wardrobe weighed nothing. Nope. He definitely did not want Tsuna to use his strength on him as well. Definitely nope.)

"But still..."

Tsuna grinned. "I'll be back faster than you'd think!"

"... Alright, stay safe!"

Tsuna paused a moment, figure softened at that. It had been so long since he last heard people wishing for his safety, he couldn't help but cherish it for a moment longer. "Hmn!"

Enma watched the door close shut and sighed.

"He will be alright..." He whispered to himself.

.

They did not talk about what happened when Tsuna came back bloodied yet uninjured. Enma wanted to ask, but Tsuna skirted around the topic and Enma stopped. He told himself, as long as Tsuna was uninjured and safe.

He asked whose blood it was that had stained Tsuna's cloak and mittens, however, as he watched the other wash away the blood stain in a very practiced manner.

"Oh, it was a deer's blood. Poor thing had stabbed herself with a protruding branch." Tsuna offhandedly replied.

Enma was suspicious. "A deer's blood."

"Yep!" Tsuna cheerily replied.

Enma did not believe that, because for all he knew, he smelled the stench of human on Tsuna.

He kept quiet.

(When he had fallen into deep slumber that night, Tsuna was still awake. Sitting on the roof with the will-o'-wisps whispering into his ears, he sighed.

"Not yet." He whispered, archaic and foreign. "Not yet."

The will-o'-wisps burned indignantly.)

.

Three and a half months later, Enma could not wait any longer. He was clearly all good, and that his power was still with him. It did not disappear nor did it weaken. In fact, the capacity increased, his power strengthened. He could feel things more vividly, like how the world shift and ground tremble. He was stronger than ever, and yet he was still in a child form.

Honestly, Enma wanted to stay longer, but he could not, not when his mission was incomplete still, not when his family and friends were still waiting for him. He had thought of it; he wanted to bring Tsuna along, wanted to introduce him to his family so that Tsuna would no longer be lonely.

He did not want Tsuna hide that sad look whenever he thought Enma was not watching.

But Enma couldn't. With his mission, with the safety of his family and friends, with his own secrets... He couldn't. He couldn't bring Tsuna even if he wanted to. (Not to mention, that incident did not happen just once and every time Tsuna settled it, he would always bring home the smell of human and blood that was not his nor an animal's.)

Enma's heart was in pieces as he tore himself to make a decision.

"Tsuna," He began, looking straight at Tsuna's eyes. They were sunbathing by a river near the shed and Tsuna was lying beside him with his arms as pillow like a content cat. Making a sound to acknowledge Enma's call, Tsuna squinted his eyes at Enma, light from the sun blinding him momentarily. "What's wrong?"

"... I think it's time I contact my comrades."

Tsuna blinked once, twice, and 'oh'-ed. He sat up and looked at Enma carefully. He nodded, hiding the reluctance and unwillingness in him. "Yes... Yes, it's probably time. They are most likely worried sick about you."

"...Yes." Enma found that Tsuna was being weird. "They most likely are."

Sighing inaudibly, Tsuna dropped the eye contact and stared at the ground, legs crossed as he ran a finger over the grass. "How--How are you going to get in touch with them? Anything I can help you with?"

Enma pursed his lips and shook his head. "No, I... I will leave this evening and reach out to them."

"Oh." Tsuna said again.

"I'm sorry."

"No, no. It's okay! I understand, really! I-- well, I guess this is it?"

"Hmn. I will definitely repay you for your kindness someday."

"Oh, you don't have to, really." Tsuna laughed awkwardly. "I mean, you already repaid me with the delicious meals you cooked every day and the company. I really appreciate that, you know? I--it's been a long time since I... I had company."

Enma's heart hurt. It hurt to see how Tsuna closed himself off so suddenly, but he couldn't say anything more. He couldn't comfort him while he was the cause and that he was the one who wanted to leave. If he did comfort Tsuna, he knew it would bring the latter more pain than before.

Anymore, and Enma could never leave anymore.

However, Enma couldn't help but blurt out one thing: "I liked accompanying you too."

Tsuna smiled sadly.

"Well, when?"

"In a bit." Tsuna nodded. "Alright. Alright. I guess I won't be sending you off?"

"Hmn."

"Then," Tsuna turned to him with a grin. "Thank you, Enma. I hope your future endeavors go smoothly." He reached out his right hand. Enma's eyes softened, muddy red brightening slightly. "Thank you, Tsuna." He said too, grabbed the hand and shook it firmly. "For everything. I will find a way to repay you soon."

Tsuna waved him off with that. "Like I said, you don't need to." He seemed a little sad. "You can't even if you want to, anyway..." He whispered beneath his breath, so low that Enma couldn't catch it properly.

Enma did not say, but he would really do as he say, he would soon figure out a way to repay Tsuna. Definitely after his mission, of course. He stood up from the ground and patted away the dust and dirt. "Take care, Tsuna."

"Hmn."

Tsuna pointed off into a distance and said, “That way, it’s safer.”

“Thank you.” Enma bowed one last time and turned, leaving without turning around and looking at Tsuna one last time.

Glows of fairies chattered angrily beside Tsuna’s ears as he watched Enma’s back disappear into the forest, some even kicked him on his arm. It didn’t hurt, of course, and he paid no heed to their anxiety until he was sure Enma had disappeared from sight.

“No.” He flicked one of them off his head gently. “Don’t hurt him.” He sighed once again and lied back down. His eyes were closed, hiding the blazing orange under the thin skin. “Anyone who dares to touch him, you know what I will do to you later.”

Shadows all over the forest scattered back into their hiding spots as the threat resonated into their soul, planting fear in them. The fairies flew away too, leaving Tsuna alone beside the river.

Quiet, at last.

Tsuna thought.

‘Too quiet.’

.

“What the fuck happened to you, Enma?!”

Enma regretted immediately that he had reached out to Aoba instead of Adelheid. Aoba’s eyes were literally bulging out as he tried to make sense of Enma’s form like Enma is some sort of specimen. It made him uncomfortable, but he had no choice. Aoba was the only one who is the most sensitive towards nature than the others; others may not necessarily sense his call but as long as Enma uses his power on one of the nature’s vein, Aoba can sense it immediately. Adelheid is sensitive enough towards his power that she could do it herself, but her strength in that regard was not as good.

And since Enma did not know his exact location, he could only count on Aoba. At least it wasn’t Shitt. P. He didn’t want to be taken as a specimen for her various weird experiments.

“Don’t ask.”

“Well, I already did.” Aoba sassed as he poked Enma’s chubby cheeks. “You looked exactly like how you were young, did you regress?”

“I’ve no idea.” Enma was on wits ends by the prods and swatted the next attack harshly. He usually wouldn’t be so harsh with his friend, but being in such a tiny body did strange works on his temper. Plus, he was in a bad mood from parting with Tsuna.

“Adel will shit her pants…”

“She will kill you if you don’t bring us back, Koyo.”

“Shit, you’re right. Let’s go.”

Enma grabbed Aoba’s hands and finally turned back to look at the forest one last time. His eyes glowed bloody red as he and Aoba disappeared with a gush.

When the wind settled, the shadows popped out and whispered to each other, hushed and frantic. Each and every one of the creatures questioned their lord’s decision, but none had the courage to find him. Their lord was still in foul mood after all. Despite his gentle temperament, his rage was not something they weak followers could handle.

Without a solution, they could all only dissipate silently and wait for their lord’s next move.

.

After a series of arguments and laughter from his friends and family, they finally came to a conclusion that Enma was cursed by the forest’s guardians, and it was far too archaic for them to break. It was not strong, but it was strange and none of them knew if anything would happen to Enma if they forcefully break it.

Adelheid was pacing around the room, muttering to herself as she tried to figure out a way to break it without any whiplash. Julie watched from the side while Shitt. P and Ooyama flustered around Enma. Well, Ooyama was flustered, Shitt. P was just prodding and poking while asking series of questions that Enma couldn’t even understand.

“It doesn’t make sense… That forest had been deserted for years, and none of the guardians there are strong enough to put such complicated curse on Enma.”

“Maybe all of the creatures there banded together to do it?” Kaoru quietly voiced out, to which Adelheid shook his head.

“No, impossible. Even though it’s no strong, the amount of spiritual energy that has to be put into use is far more than all the creatures could every contribute. Not to mention it was far to complex that any little disturbance would render it useless.”

“Then what do you think?” Julie drawled lazily, but his eyes were particularly focused. “What do you think could have been the one who put such a curse on Enma? It’s not even a dangerous one other than putting him in a child form.”

Adelheid’s steps paused. Her head raised and she looked at Enma with an incredulous yet anxious look.

“No… It wasn’t intended to harm Enma… The coronation—” Adelheid gasped. “The coronation! Enma can’t possibly be crowned if he’s in this stead! No one would allow it, much less those that still oppose the Shimon!” She bit her finger nail, eyes flitting as she tried to figure out the culprit. Who, exactly? Who had such grudge with the Shimon? And with archaic knowledge at that?

Remembering all the names of those that opposed their rise since the last generation, Adelheid’s mind halted at a particular name, one that she had not remembered for a long, long time. “… The Vongola?”

Julie scowled at the name as the others all fell silent, listening carefully.

“They had been annihilated for so long, what makes you think the old skies would hurt us? Not to mention, it hadn’t been us who killed most of them all. It was the previous generations that they should have a grudge with, not us.”

“Yes, which is why they did not harm Enma, but rather cursed him into such state! They were probably trying to stop the coronation ceremony from happening, so they could counter attack.” Adelheid ruffled her hair, frustrated. “Shit, they really did used their advantage! With how their historical records burnt down during the siege, no one knows how their powers were passed down and used! No one knows how to break them either! Once they achieve their goal, we’d all be dead!”

Julie fell silent in a thoughtful manner. Enma pursed his lips. “I don’t think they really wanted to kill us…” Adelheid gave Enma a hard look as his voice faltered.

“Did you not remember the history? Did you not remember how bloodied the siege went? All except the four children survived! And these children were banished down to purgatory without anything else but their clothes behind their back! Even if we were not the one who did it, those kids, would they not harbour the grudges of the death of their loved ones? Would they not desire for revenge? And since the previous generation has passed, would they not transfer their hatred to us, just like how we did to the Varia back then?”

Enma did not reply. He knew that that was the most likely explanation. Vongola and Shimon had long broken apart from one another that the tangled wires of misunderstanding and hatred could no longer be separated.

It hadn’t been like that; Vongola and Shimon were once allies, and their leaders were once best friends. Vongola ruled the skies, while Shimon ruled the lands and seas; it had always been like that since the first sky leader and first gaia leader came to existence. It always had been, until one particularly greedy Vongola subordinate betrayed them; the creature besieged the Shimon on ground, taking them off guard. The creature killed a lot of them, friends, family, comrades, beloved.

Shimon finally managed to weaken and capture the creature, but not without a huge cost. The first gaia leader was gravely injured and had fallen into a coma.

Enraged, Shimon demanded an explanation and compensation as well as help from the first sky leader to save the first gaia leader, but they got none of those. Instead, the first sky leader turned away from their indignant voices, and Vongola pressured them to release the creature.

What could Shimon do at that time? They were far too weak with the decreased manpower and they were without a leader. Vongola was too strong, especially after the Mist and Cloud guardian took over the manpower distribution.

The creature was returned to the skies.

Still, a lot of the Shimon was still hopeful that the Vongola would help them, that the first sky would hear them and save their dying leader.

Until the day their first gaia died, Vongola paid them no heed.

Shimon could not swallow the anger and started a siege. Thousands of years later, Vongola was annihilated and fallen to purgatory, with the mercy of allowing four children live as a repayment for Vongola letting go four of theirs during one of the clashes.

Shimon since then turned the sky and land over and became the rulers of both.

And Enma was the tenth in line for the crown.

Enma’s head lowered. He hated that story. He hated how their people died, how arrogant Vongola was, how the thousands of years of war washed the skies and lands in red. He was not born then, but growing up listening to such horrifying story, Enma grew to hate conflict. He grew to hate how everything ended up with people dying, and vowed that so as long as once he was the leader, he would never allow anything to escalate to such degree.

He would never allow another bloodshed to happen.

And even if Vongola wanted revenge, he would not allow that to happen either, bloody red eyes narrowed.

“… Adelheid. First, look for the traitor. During the previous mission, I was ambushed but a group of reapers; the location of that mission was supposed to be top secret so someone must have leaked it. There must be someone who was controlling the reapers as well because it did not distinguish between good or evil, find them if possible.”

Adelheid nodded.

“Second, tighten the security around the palace ground, especially the inner palaces and library. We mustn’t let anyone unauthorize into these areas or else we would be as good as showing our back to the enemies. And third,” Enma paused.

“Call Cavallone leader in. Besides Shimon, Cavallone was the one who was closest to Vongola back then. They might have some idea what this curse is.”

“Understood.”

.

It was late into the night where most creature had slept, leaving the shadows and nymphs awake to accompany Tsuna. He was hiking up a mountain, path hidden and messy. He would have got himself lost if not for the little glowing swallow that guided him, Jirou. In his grasp was Natsu, his familiar, purring as he listened to the fairies’ chatters.

“Soon, alright? Stop nagging me all day long, you’re going to talk my ears off.”

The fairies were incensed and tugged on his hair. They were too weak, however, that it felt like a mere tickle to Tsuna. Still, to avoid their attacks, Tsuna quickly placated them.

“Yes, yes. I understand. After all, it has been so long; your queen must’ve been very anxious. We’ll capture—We’re here.”

Jirou chirped as they reached a cliff, surrounded by trees and bushes. Before the edge of the cliff, to the side was a very steep ascend up to the tip of the mountain. It seemed normal, like any normal wall of soil a mountain would have, but Tsuna could see a glowing mark, one only those of blood could see.

Vongola.

“Please be patient.” He said, and went to touch the wall. None of the fairies dared to come close, the powers radiating from the glow far too powerful for them. Tsuna smiled and his eyes glowed.

He walked into the mark and disappeared from sight.

Left behind, the fairies decided to trust Tsuna and waited there along with the shadows.

Inside was as dark as outside where moon did not shine, but Tsuna could see perfectly fine. Jirou who sat on Natsu’s head chirped once, twice, a signal for his arrival, as he moved further in until a door.

Without even knocking, the door swung open and closed heavily behind Tsuna when he walked in.

“Long time no see, Reborn.”

Beyond the door was a large room, not unlike a lounge a palace would have. There were sofas, chairs, tables with beverages and snacks. The only weird thing about the space is that other than the door Tsuna walked through, there were many doors all around and no windows. Reborn, a creature with ghastly shadows was lying on one of the sofas, languidly resting his eyes. At the call, he cracked an eye opened.

“Yo, dame-Tsuna.”

Tsuna rolled his in fond exasperation at the nickname, shaking his head as he made his way over to the sofa. He nudged the latter over and sat down beside him, patting Natsu as it purred at the sight of Leon on Reborn’s head. Reborn grunted and sat up, still lazily leaning against the cushions with his long limbs spread apart.

“You’re being a nuisance, Reborn.” Tsuna grumbled, but letting Reborn place a leg on his lap. He was far used to his old friend’s antics. Also, he sorts of missed such physical contact with him. Reborn scoffed.

“Not like you’d die.”

“I’ve already died once, thanks but no thanks death. By the way, where’s the others?”

“They’re here.” The moment Reborn replied, some of the doors swung open at the same time and came in a group of people.

“My lord!”

Tsuna smiled at them, more delighted to see his family than he let on. He wanted to chat with them, but they had an agenda to plan. “Come on, lets start the meeting. It’s going to take a long time.

.

Cavallone could not help them. Their current lord had no idea what the curse was and how to break it safely. It was far too out of their scope of knowledge, and none was like the ones recorded in Cavallone’s history books.

Adelheid almost strangle the second in command to death. She was far too at the edge that she ended up snapping at everyone including Enma. Enma understood though, because none of their plans fall in place. The traitors were not found and the curse was still unknown. The only thing that went well was the tightening of security.

Too well, actually, that Enma found it suspicious.

Mami patted Enma on his head—she liked to do that now that she found him shorter than her by more than a head—and said, “Don’t worry, nii-chan. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

Enma smiled at her and nodded. “Hmn. I believe you, Mami.”

Mami grinned.

Adelheid almost blew her fuse at how relaxed he was but managed to hold it back because Mami was there. “Enma, my lord, we must figure out a way to turn you back. The old advisors all had heard of your current predicament, and I doubt that they would not have a plan on pulling you down with the charge of ‘cursed’! You know how bad most Shimons are with the word ‘cursed’! Those advisors would surely take this chance to nominate their heirs for the position!”

Enma sighed. “I know, Adel. I know. But there is nothing we could do. I want to forcefully break this curse now with the consequences be damned, but who is to say that we will succeed? At first glance it doesn’t seem that we need a lot of strength to break it, but I can feel that it is not the case. Even we might not necessarily be able to forcefully break it.”

“But—”

“Adel,” Enma cut off, frowning not in irritation for a subordinate’s disagreement but rather in concern for his friend’s wellbeing. Adelheid could tell, so she shut up and listened. “Adel, I know you’re worried. After all, if I don’t take up the position of the leader, we’d be besieged by our own instead. Our peace faction will fall and those who preferred war would reign. We cannot have that happen; I know. But right now, we are truly out of options—no.”

Adelheid frowned. “’No’?”

Enma suddenly remembered someone. “… Maybe he can help.”

.

Enma hated going down to the prison; he hated the grim and darkness, hated the stench of water, hated the claustrophobic environment. He loathed the most is the fact that they had imprisoned people, stripping their freedom away from them for eternity.

At the deepest end, there was a door; heavy in metal and locks, sealed by countless of spells and curses.

The very last survivor of the Vongola other than the four children: Ricardo.

Enma nodded at the guards and peered into the prison through the small bars where they deliver food and drinks. “Ricardo Vongola.” He called, respectful despite being the next in line for Shimon.

Ricardo did not so much as react to his call, sat on the chair he was chained to with his head lowered, eyes covered by his messy hair.

“I’m Enma Kozato of Shimon, I presume that you know me.” He continued and yet Ricardo still did not react.

“I need your help.” At those words, Enma could feel the guards looking at him with incredulous gaze, but they were in no authority to question their future leader—even if they were curious as of why he was in this form. At that, Ricardo peered up slightly.

“…”

“I’ve been cursed by someone—I’m now stuck in this child form and I can’t return back to normal.”

Ricardo finally looked up carefully and sized him up. Despite the ragged and dirty form, Enma could tell the second Vongola sky was prideful—his eyes were alive despite thousands of years of captivity. Enma admired him, how strong he was in the face of Vongola’s fall, how he pulled up Vongola during the war when their first sky fell. Enma wished to be as strong as him.

“Please help me.”

“… Tell me, young Shimon,” Ricardo rasped, voice hoarse after years of silence but was still steady and firm. It has an archaic tone. “What gain do I have to help you who cursed my people to death? Why should I help you whose blood belongs to my enemy?”

Enma clenched his hands into fists.

“… Because once I successfully gain the position of a leader, I will bring you out and clear the misunderstanding between Vongola and Shimon.”

Everyone was stunned. The guards exchanged a look of shock but they could tell that Enma was serious.

Even Ricardo could tell.

“What misunderstanding is there? You Shimons were the one who stole our treasure and then when our people fought to bring it back, you guys claimed we mass murdered most of you for greed! You thieves stole the vitality of our people and dared to say we Vongola was the one who did you wrong! What great voices you have, that now Vongola is viewed as cruel killers!”

“Insolent--!” One of the guards started, hissing in anger. Enma quickly shot him a glare that shut him up, before turning back to Ricardo.

“I know.”

Ricardo looked at him with a piercing stare, seemingly stripping his soul bare. Enma let him. “I know the truth; I know that it is us Shimon who has wronged Vongola, and I want to let the world know—

“I want to reveal the truth that broke the friendship between us Vongola and Shimon.”

Ricardo studied him, analysed, contemplated. He was a Vongola—still is—and like all Vongola skies, he could tell if Enma was telling the truth. He knew the man thousands of years younger than him was speaking of the truth. Enma really knew what happened years back when only the first sky, first gaia and him knew.

Should Ricardo really trust him?

“… I will speak to you alone.”

.

On the day of the coronation, the sky was crying. It was not an uncommon sight; all the coronation of the previous Shimon leaders would be accompanied by rain, a symbol of washing away the past and accepting the future. It was a symbol of peace and blessing.

Enma loved the rain.

Adelheid grumbled beside him as she checked and double checked his attire, making sure that it was neat and tidy. She pinned the Shimon insignia onto the coat carefully with an edge of agitation. “I can’t believe you actually believed that guy. And talked to him alone! Without the guards protecting you!”

Enma looked up at the sky from the window. “He wouldn’t hurt me. Not when his agenda is the same as ours.”

Adelheid gave him a glare. “Still, he’s unaware that we are on the same side. What if he decided you’re not worth it and offed you?”

“He won’t.” Enma repeated with a smile. “He will never.”

Adelheid did not understand. Grumbling still, she gave up on scolding Enma and picked up the cloak in silent protest.

“Adel, I know you’re worried, but look, aren’t I back to normal?”

“… Can we even trust him? It’s not even a permanent solution!”

Enma was back to his normal form. It felt weird being tall again but Enma appreciated the bigger hands that let him grip things properly. Tightening the scabbard of his sword, Enma sighed, feeling more comfortable than ever. “Yes, we can. Besides, didn’t he say we would be able to find the culprit during the coronation? At that time, we will be able to force them to break the curse.”

(“I don’t believe you. I know you know why. But I will help you. It is not permanent—no one other than the caster can break the curse—but it’ll last you through the coronation ceremony. The culprit will most probably show up then, so you’ll see to it yourself. I just hope that you’d carry out what you’ve promised. Remember, the skies are always watching.”)

“As if the culprit would actually do it even if we capture them…”

He gave her a feral grin. “Well, we have you, don’t we?”

Adelheid rolled her eyes but said nothing more. As soon as she finished putting the cloak on him, there was a knock on the door, signifying that the ceremony has begun. She sighed and readied herself.

“Well, there’s no going back at this point.”

Enma smiled. “No, there isn’t.”

The ceremony begun.

.

“My lord, Tsuna,” Gokudera called out, voice carried steadily to Tsuna’s ears through the wind. “We’re arriving.” Tsuna looked away from the Vongola ring on his middle finger and looked up. He was sitting on Natsu as it flew up the skies to the palace where the coronation takes place. The rest of his friends and family followed closely behind, with Gokudera opening the path with Uri. Breathing in the air, every part of him screamed home.

He missed the sky palace.

“Okay, get ready guys.”

Yamamoto began to whistle loudly, warning cry sharp. Tsuna gave Ryohei and Lambo a look. They both nodded and broke apart from the group, Gyudon bringing them around the palace ground unnoticed. Chrome and Mukuro switched from Tsuna’s side to the back of the group, letting Hibari guard him.

At position, Yamamoto whistled again and this time, it was a war cry, loud enough that all creatures of the sky heard—even the Shimon.

.

The attack by Vongola was taken by surprise, obviously. Everything happened in a blink of an eye. One moment, the coronation ceremony was going well where Enma took the Shimon ring and put it on, the next, a sharp whistle followed by a sky lion’s roar reverberated through the hall.

Enma’s guardian immediately surrounded him as Shitt. P casted a spell around them, creating a dome-like shield. The guards reacted immediately, but none of them were a match for Vongola’s skylark as he descended in a furry of attacks. The advisors tried to run, but the twin mists covered each other and surrounded the palace as a whole in a never-ending illusion of loops.

They were thoroughly surrounded by the Vongola, and there were only six of them.

Enma wasn’t surprised, because after all, Vongola belongs in the skies while Shimon belongs to the lands. Shimon would never be able to win against the rulers of skies.

What surprised him, however, was Tsuna.

Bloody red eyes widened, he stared at Tsuna as his guardians forcefully killed a path open for him, straight to the throne where Enma and his guardians were. Tsuna was smiling, yet Enma could tell that it was a sad smile.

Enma’s heart hurt for Tsuna.

“My lord! What should we do?!” Aoba shouted, watching carefully to prevent any of the Vongola or anyone else who wanted to fish in muddy water approach them. Plants surrounded them; thorns sharp towards the outside away from them. His powers were limited, however. Unlike on ground, these thorned plants can never be an iron fort. Against the illusions Chrome and Mukuro made, they were nothing.

Enma did not pay a heed, however. All he could think of at that time was how beautiful Tsuna looked in a suit—he was always wearing casual attire during the time he stayed with him so it was novel.

Enma liked Tsuna.

Their eyes met somehow as Tsuna made his way towards them and memories flitted through their mind. It surprised them, but Tsuna did not stop, and Enma started making his way to him too.

“Wha—Enma!!” Adelheid called out, trying to grab him and pull him back into the dome when a chain smashed against where her hand was. “Do not interrupt, herbivore.” Hibari snarled as he continued fighting against the countless of guard.

Strangely enough, none of those he knocked down were dead or gravely injured, Julie noted. The smile on his face slipped slightly.

When Enma and Tsuna came close enough, they stopped.

A pair of bloody red eyes and a pair of bright orange eyes glowed.

They smiled.

“Time to take back your place.” Tsuna jested. “I can’t believe you’d actually fallen for the trick.”

Enma sighed. “Yes, it’s time.” He shook his head and pulled out the Shimon ring and handed over to Tsuna. “Death really did me over with that curse.”

“Enma what are you doing?!” At that shout, the fight stopped. It wasn’t much of a fight, anyway. Gokudera and Yamamoto were in charge of holding back most of them while Hibari knocked down the stubborn ones; Chrome and Mukuro had the whole palace under lockdown. The Shimon stopped and gasped, some even started shouting at Enma to not give in to the enemy.

Enma did not even bother looking at them.

Tsuna grinned, laughing. “Death had fun.” Instead of taking the ring, he pulled out the Vongola ring too and hand over to Enma. “I had fun too, when you come find me.” This time, not only the Shimon was shocked into silence, even the Vongola guardians were stunned. “Tsuna?” Yamamoto asked uncertainly.

They exchanged the rings. The moment both of them had a firm grasp of the rings—Enma with Vongola and Tsuna with Shimon—flames ignited from the rings.

Enma’s bloody red eyes softened down to bright orange while Tsuna’s bright orange eyes darkened to bloody red.

Everyone gasped.

Standing where Enma was, Giotto sighed. “Too long. It has been too long.” He said, nostalgia as he looked at the ring. He looked up at Cozarto. “Right, Cozarto?”

Cozarto at where Tsuna was, agreed in a heartbeat. “Agree. It has been too long. It shouldn’t have been… So many of ours had died…”

Giotto nodded, forlorn and regretful. “Yes… If only we could wake earlier. But I guess, better late than never?”

“Yes.”

He turned around and smiled at the Shimon’s youngest guardians. “Isn’t that right?” He said again, looking straight at Julie. “Better late than never, huh, Julie?”

Julie scowled. “I don’t know what—”

“Or should I say, Daemon.”

The dome that protected the guardians broke at the name and all of them scattered far away from Julie, weapons pointed at him.

Julie gave them a bewildered look. “Wha—What are you guys doing?! Why are you believing an enemy’s words?! We should all trust each other especially at this time!”

“We all knew who you truly are.” Ooyama said. “Since the beginning.”

Julie gritted his teeth. “I can’t believe you guys. Years after years of friendship, estranged like this all because of a word from someone who’s supposed to be dead?!”

“No,” Adelheid refuted. “It wasn’t just a word. The Vongola had long contacted us about this. We knew all this while that you aren’t Julie.” She sounded as though she was grieving. “Julie… He… He’s long dead.”

Julie was stunned in place.

Years ago, when the war was at its peak, eight children of Shimon ran away from their home, a hideout where Enma’s father built for his family and closest friends. Their location was leaked, and Vongola, to seize Enma’s father who was a general at that time, attacked them. At first, they merely wanted to subdue them but for some reason, all of the Vongola soldiers’ eyes turned indigo and they started slaughtering with abandon.

Enma’s mother noticed that something was wrong the moment the first blood was shed, and immediately ordered Enma to bring his sister and the other kids to run. There were only eight of them then, so they ran and ran and ran, away from their home and into the woods. Vongola chased them, but the shadows held them back; the creatures of the forest screaming at them for harming their own.

The eight of them managed to escape and hid in a cave. It was safe at first; they could stay there until Enma’s father come to them. However, Kaoru and Ooyama was gravely injured, and Aoba fell ill. They could not wait any longer. Thus, Julie, being the oldest among them, went looking for herbal medicines and food. He never came back.

Ooyama soon fell into a coma from heavy loss of blood and stopped breathing the next day. Kaoru so to not be a burden forcefully stopped his own breathing the following day. Aoba lasted longer, but his cold was too serious and he died in shock.

Four of them died. And four of them were left behind hungry, cold and scared.

After burying their body, Enma and Adelheid decided that they could not stay any longer. Mami, too, was falling ill and Shitt. P was barely holding onto sanity. In the dark, they made a decision to leave and find their parents in the frontline.

In the end, they were captured by the Vongola midway. They were the four children who were released by the Vongola, the children that they let go and not killed.  

“That time, we actually tried to look for Julie, but he was gone. The spirits of the forest said Death took him, and there was nothing else we could do.”

Julie was persistent. “But I’m here! I came back!”

“No,” Shitt. P shook her head. “No, you did not. You infiltrated us. Julie never came back; Daemon you took over his soul and killed his chance of coming back with Ooyama, Kaoru and Koyo. You killed our big brother.” Her eyes were teary, but blazing with rage. Shitt. P was closest to Julie besides Enma then, but no more.

Julie gritted his teeth. He lowered his head and his shoulders trembled. He looked like he was crying in frustration from the lack of trust of his comrades, but they all knew better.

Cozarto and Giotto walked over and stood in front of them, shielding them in a sense.

“We all know what you did, Daemon.” Cozarto said. “Its over; don’t torment the children with that face anymore.”

Julie suddenly tilted his head back and laughed, almost maniacally. Shadows stirred and swarmed him. Indigo mist tinted in midnight blue burned his skin and suddenly, his form changed. “My, my. You guys truly, truly played a trick on me.”

Daemon clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Well play, honestly. But so what if you know who I am? My goal is almost achieved after all.” He showed them a deck of cards—50 pieces. All bloodied and with the horrific face of the dead figures of both Shimon and Vongola.

They were the cages of those who held significant power in Shimon and Vongola.

“2 more, and I will get my wish.” He laughed hysterically, as though he could not believe it. “And these two… I reserve them for you two, Cozarto, Giotto!”

Daemon threw over two soul catchers.

Giotto sighed and closed his eyes. Cozarto smiled sadly at him as they reached for each other’s hands. ‘This is the end…’ Upon seeing that, Ricardo, who was brought out by Ryohei and Lambo, shouted, “No!!”

The rings in their hands joined together and a bright, blinding light flared, forcing everyone to close their eyes.

When they can finally open their eyes, Daemon, Giotto and Cozarto disappeared; the deck of cards and two rings were left behind.

Ricardo pushed off Ryohei, who was healing him and reached to grab the rings. “No, why…? This is not what they told me, why?!”

Death approached him and sighed. Reborn crouched down and looked at the rings, glowing faintly. “It’s their repayment.”

“Fuck their repayment!” Ricardo sobbed. Reborn’s expression was shadowed as he pulled him in.

“No, w-what happened? Where’s Enma?!” Adelheid rushed forward and questioned. “Why is the first gaia still alive?! Why did the first sky take over Enma’s body?! Where is he?!”

“Reborn-san, where’s Tsuna?! Didn’t he say nothing will happen?! That we will be able to live happily after all this ends?!” Gokudera snapped. Among all of them, the ones who rejected this plan the most was him, because no matter how he calculated, he could not figure out the way Tsuna can defeat Daemon, the defect. If it wasn’t for his trust for Tsuna, he would have long vetoed the plan till the end.

Reborn looked at the both of them. He was silent, but still explained in the end.

“Both of them were long dead.”

When Enma was released by the soldiers along with Mami, Adelheid and Shitt. P, it was not without a condition; for Enma to be the Vongola heir, Tsuna’s, servant. Of course, the Shimon were not willing, but for their youngest survivors’ lives, they had no choice. Enma had no choice too, so while the three girls were brought back home, Enma was brought up to the sky.

That was Enma and Tsuna’s first meeting.

Tsuna was a kind boy, hidden deep in the palace by the leaders of the Vongola. He was pure and innocent, but he was not ignorant. He was aware of the war outside, and he was aware that Enma was brought in to be his servant. He could tell that the boy was unwilling and was just as lost as he was with the arrangement.

Tsuna’s first decision was to make him his friend instead.

And so Tsuna dragged Enma everywhere, telling him to call him by his name, chat with him about things that fascinate him, protecting him from the other Vongola’s sneers and insults. He outright called out anyone who dared to bully Enma in front of the court and the leader—his father—and demanded punishment.

After three times, no one dared to treat Enma any other way than with respect.

“Why? Why would you do this?” Enma asked one night as they cuddled under the blankets watching the stars shine. Tsuna was yawning, tired from playing around all day. He looked at Enma and smiled with his bright orange eyes glowing. “Because you’re my friend. Because you bleed the same red blood as I do, feel the same pain in your beating heart as I do, breathe the same air as I do. But more importantly,”

He paused, flushing slightly.

“Because I like you.”

Enma was stunned.

He smiled back, eyes soft and fond.

“I like you too, Tsuna.”

Their hands intertwined under the blankets.

Three months later, Enma and Tsuna sneaked into the mausoleum where the first sky and his guardians’ remains resided. Tsuna wanted to tell him about the first sky, wanted to explain that history was not as it was.

They had never expected that they would find not just the first sky, but also the first gaia.

“They look just like us.” Giotto said words archaic and ancient all the same as he mused to Cozarto, both watching the children who was in awe and vigilance. “Just like how we were when we were brats.”

Cozarto laughed and nodded. “Exactly the same.”

“A-are you the first sky and gaia?” Enma, shielding most of Tsuna with his body, asked warily.

Cozarto smiled. “Yes.”

Tsuna gasped. “You guys are still alive? P-please, your eminences! Please stop the war! T-there’s too much bloodshed! Too many innocent lives are sacrificed, and even those in purgatory were dragged into this!”

Tsuna was just a child, but he was so, so pure. His wish was solely for the blood to stop; for the war to end; for the peace of his dead friends. (Yamamoto had gone first when he accidentally stumbled into a crossfire; followed by Lambo who was abandoned by his parents in an alley on lands without the knowledge of the rest; Mukuro shielded Chrome from a Shimon suicide soldier; and Hibari died protecting the creatures of the skies when Shimon set fire to the nursery in retaliation for the forest fire on land.)

Enma’s wish were the same. He wanted peace for the three who were waiting for him, wanted them to smile and live without danger.

Giotto shook his head. “We are no longer living, child.” He crouched down in front of them, sadness crafted deep into his eyes. “It is our fault—we should have ended it while we could, and now we can’t…”

Cozarto patted him on his back comfortingly, yet he said nothing because that was the truth.

Enma clenched his hands into fist, understanding what he meant easily. “Please. You must have a way. Otherwise, both of you wouldn’t stay here for so long even after death.”

Cozarto looked at him in the eyes. “… Indeed.” He admitted. “We do have a way, but we both do not have enough strength.”

“Tell us! We’ll help!” “Yes, we’ll do it regardless of the cost!”

The first gaia and sky exchanged a look.

Half a year later, the Shimon found their way up to the sky palace and ambushed them. Tsuna and Enma was hidden deep in the palace, so they were as safe as they can be, but somehow, one of the Shimon managed to enter the restricted area they were in.

“Young master! I’m so glad that you’re safe! Please step back so I can eliminate him—”

Enma and Tsuna smiled at each other and injected their souls into the rings; Enma with Vongola ring, and Tsuna with Shimon ring.

They both disappeared into the rings. In their place, Giotto took the face of Enma and Cozarto took the face of Tsuna. Both of them fainted and forgotten their memories.

The Shimon soldier took Enma back and left Tsuna on the ground, death hovering around both.

.

It happened like this:

Years back, when Vongola and Shimon was first established, Giotto and Cozarto took because the first sky and gaia with the former taking the sky and the latter taking the land. Both were good friends and partners, and both of their guardians got along. They were happy, holding the world up together in peace. Every day they will watch over the world, smiling as all creatures lived, helping in small ways they could in disasters, praying for them if they couldn’t. They will, together, guard the meaning of their existence—

Each other and the world.

One day, a plague spread across the lands and took millions after millions of lives. Cozarto could not do anything, for that was the curse of Death and Death could only obey the rules of the world. Helpless, he could only watch on even as the pleads of the creatures reached his ears. He could only hold onto Giotto as they supported each other, praying for the end of the plague.

It did end after a long while, but not without many lives lost, especially Cozarto’s people since they lived on land. They were in grief and rage that Cozarto did not save their loved ones, unable to understand why Cozarto only watched on.

There was a break in the bonds of the Shimon—one that hated Cozarto and wanted him dead, and one that supported him even if they did not understand.

Cozarto kept mum.

Death had once said: “These people may be yours, but so as long as they do not understand, they will not follow you. Why not—"

“Reborn.” Cozarto, the corner of his eyes red in anger, glared at Death. “They are my people still. They are Shimon, and so as long they are, I will accept them.”

Death closed its mouth and Reborn turned around to find Ricardo. Giotto did not so as much as give him a look as he grabbed Cozarto and pull him into a hug. “I understand, Cozarto, you know I do.”

Cozarto buried his face into his shoulder, holding on. “I know.”

Soon, it wasn’t known if someone from Vongola leaked it or that Shimon discovered from the old archives, the Shimon discovered that Vongola housed a creature—the queen of fairies who can call upon the souls of the dead and let them speak to their loved ones—and started demanding for the queen to lend them their power.

They called upon the skies for the fairy and under the reason ‘as a compensation for watching their beloved die’, they pled for the fairy to call upon their loved ones for one last farewell.

And how would the Vongola allow? How would the queen of fairy do that? Yes, she could call upon the souls of the dead, but that was under the premise that death allows; so as long it don’t, she couldn’t do so. And even if she could, how much strength does she have? Calling upon one soul took almost a quarter of her strength; how could she call upon thousands after thousands?

Naturally, even if she wanted to help, she couldn’t. Not even her spouse, Daemon Spade, the first sky’s guardian, would allow.

Cozarto also denied their pled for his aid and tried to dissuade them. A lot of them were not satisfied, so they banded together and kidnapped the fairy queen, forcing her to call their loved ones.

Daemon Spade was infuriated and descended onto them in vengeance. In the process, when he saw how his wife was dying from the torture, his eyes turned indigo and he started slaughtering those who kidnapped her.

He failed to bring her back as she fell into purgatory, barely saved by the other fairies who brought her back to the Tree of Life.

“Daemon, please. Calm down. You have killed all of those that laid their hands on Eleanor. Please, stop doing anymore unnecessary bloodshed.”

Daemon, who was brought back bloodied and chained, glared at him, eyes dark indigo and turning midnight blue. “No, it’s not enough! You did not see the state of my beloved; any longer and she would have died! I will never forgive those dirty blood, never!”

Giotto frowned, concerned about not only Eleanor and Daemon’s state, but also Cozarto who had to do damage control on the lands. He too was helpless in this state, because the wrong was in the Shimon just as much as it was in Vongola turning a blind eye to the Shimon’s plight.

All Giotto could do was lock Daemon up.

“Cozarto, how…?”

Cozarto shook his head, temple throbbing in pain from stress. “No, none of them wanted reconciliation. They… They’re starting to turn everything around and say that all faults belong to Vongola. I… No matter how much I try to explain, none of them would listen.”

Giotto sighed. “I guessed just as much… I’ve locked Daemon up for now. Hopefully he’ll calm down soon and then, we can do an announcement to both Vongola and Shimon. I’ll try to get Death to explain.”

“Will he though? I thought Reborn hated explaining to the living. He wouldn’t even tolerate us if it wasn’t for Ricardo.”

“We have no other choice; no one wanted to listen to us. Only Reborn as Death itself can help us now.”

Cozarto hummed, exhausted both physically and mentally. He was tired and hurting, not just because his people were rioting, but also because Daemon caused the death of many. But he also knew the Shimon were at fault even if he understood the reason for their desperation. All and everything were just giving him a huge headache and he felt like he couldn’t even breath. On one hand it was his people; on the other it was his friend’s guardian. He was stuck.

His only solace at the moment was Giotto—one who understood him from the beginning till the end.

“… I miss you.”

Giotto smiled sadly, palming the ginger’s face on the mirror. He leaned his forehead against the cold glass, imagining the warmth, and said “I miss you too.”

They both thought that as long as they held on, they would eventually be able to overcome this crisis.

But the rules of the world had another idea.

Daemon broke free. Daemon was a genius of his own, different from G who invented many, many technologies. Daemon created many spells, seals and curses, all with the inner strength all living creatures possess. He had even wanted to spread his creations one day to everyone in the world so that they can learn and strengthen their power, to live a stronger life.

Who would have thought, because of the incident, he no longer wanted them to have this knowledge but he wanted to kill them all with the tortures he invented?

Daemon sacrificed his corporal body and turned into mist. He knew Giotto would stop him, so he temporarily decapitated his soul and took over his body. Because Alaude, who could usually tell, was no around, he managed to trick the other guardians into thinking that he was Giotto. And so, he created his plan.

Since the Shimon wanted Eleanor to call upon their dead family, he would fulfil them. He created a deck of empty cards, 52 of them. He would capture the souls of those who are truly desperate and seal them in the card. Once all 52 were filled, he would bring them to Death in exchange for those who died before. Death would not be able to reject him because he had Ricardo in his hands.

And when those who died before are brought back to the land of living, they will be his puppets; and he would make those sealed in the cards watch how he torture their beloved just as they did to his spouse.

Giotto was so spiritually wounded by him that he could not respond to Cozarto’s call.

Cozarto realized soon enough that Giotto was unresponsive and immediately tried to find him, but instead, Daemon took the chance to heavily injure him as well.

“You, as their leader, shall take the blame as well.”

Cozarto fell into a coma.

When Alaude came back, it was too late; Daemon had long killed the Vongola guardians when each and one of them realized what was happening. In the end, Alaude, too, was sacrificed in order to wake Giotto up and expel Daemon from his body. Giotto was spiritually broken then, but in his last breathes, he connected with Cozarto’s spirit on land and developed a plan.

Like Daemon, they both abandoned their corporal bodies and wait for an opportunity. Who would have known that Daemon had long thought of that and planted a curse on their souls? So long as they are no longer bound to physical body, they could no longer find another and no one could see them.

Cozarto and Giotto could only stick to each other as they watch Vongola and Shimon fall into war.

It was only until they saw Tsuna and Enma years later that they had a chance. The children had to exchange their souls with theirs so that they can break the curse. It was all at the cost of their lives and no matter how Giotto and Cozarto explained, they wouldn’t back down. So they exchanged. And they couldn’t do it alone, so they asked for Death’s help whilst passing a message to Ricardo.

“Soon, a child will come to you. He will tell you that he wanted to expose the truth behind the war, why it started and how it had come to be. He will tell you that he wanted peace, that he wanted Vongola and Shimon to reunite. Help him.”

“Who is he?”

“My prodigy,” Giotto smiled. “He will survive.”

“But will you, brother?”

“… Yes.”

“… Alright. So as long as you promised to come back, I will.” Giotto smiled sadly and said nothing.

Years later, the child came, and everything fell in place.

.

Enma and Tsuna were asleep, in the Tree of Life, hands intertwined. Eleanor watched as they sleep, smiling sadly.

She looked up to the sky and sighed.

“Daemon, my love, I will see you soon.” She scattered and her powers were transferred to the two children.

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

A/N: WELP YET ANOTHER YEAR! HAPPY KHR RAREPAIR WEEK!!!!

as usual, its unedited because am busy with studying. Finals!!! qwq

This is a mess of a story and I can tell yall, that summary of mine is v click-baity. Its not even that good. Its full of plot holes and you guys can tell where I gave up and where I started miserable attempts to patch the plot holes lmao. Just imagine that its not there :3

Anyways to summarise this confusing story of mine, basically a few centuries or so (timeline what timeline?), plague happened, shimon on land died, urged vongola in the sky to help, no help, war. Cozarto and Giotto died in attempt to find peace, and because Daemon is cray cray, so they ended up possessing Tsuna and Enma respectively. You can tell this is where I try to make it mistaken identity AU lmao. I don't even think its this AU but whatever, right? :D

I was surprised that it went 11k tho... Hope you guys enjoy this messy 'little' story and stay safe!

[I apologize for any grammar, spelling, etc. etc. mistakes]

[goldandlights]

the white wolf’s pelt

rating: teen+ pairing: geraskier, brief mention of jaskier/some-other-guy tags: established open relationship (will I ever write anything else anymore? unlikely.), casual sex, body hair (lots of it), scent kink, sad!Geralt, tooth-rotting fluff and crack

In which Jaskier makes a terrible decision and his Witcher pays the price.

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

Geralt is truly addicted -to Jaskier’s body hair, that is.

When they're in bed the Witcher will nose and scratch at the thick mat of hair on the bardlings front, greedily sucking in the musky rich smell of him like there is no finer scent in all the world. Hell, Jaskier is pretty sure the only reason Geralt hasn’t yet tried to physically roll in it is because such an action would surely crush some ribs and Jaskier needs those intact! Thank you very much!

It is kinda weird. Maybe a lot weird even. But then again, Jaskier is probably even weirder for getting off on it so much. There are few things which can make him as instantly, desperately hard as having his darling lover reduced to a growling mess, pawing at Jaskier’s body eagerly, almost reverently. It makes him feel loved and wanted, deeply flattered at the shameless display of desire from his taciturn companion.

Sadly he takes neither of these things into consideration, when, one rainy summer morning in a tiny village at the ass-end of the world, Jaskier decides to shave it all off .

Geralt is out on a contract, gone for four days and likely not to be back for another two or three. Jaskier would be out of his mind by now, close to death by acute boredom, if it wasn't for the handsome blacksmith with whom he enjoys himself at every possible opportunity (which are many… Jaskier can be quite persuasive).

This blacksmith though, himself a tall, broad, hairy fellow, quite clearly has more of a taste for boyish sort of men. And Jaskier might look the part while all donned up in his colourful, pretty minstrel clothes but not so much when those clothes come off . The smith is too sensible to say anything of course, yet Jaskier can feel the slight hesitation whenever wandering hands encounter a patch of his thick, dark body hair.

So, with literally nothing else to do but wait for the next round of fucking or Geralts return (whichever comes first), Jaskier borrows a nice, sharp knife and goes to work.

After three painful little cuts in his armpits and one by his hips, he wisely decides to leave his pubes untouched. Accidental self-castration would be quite exciting but he’s not that desperate yet.

Otherwise though, the bardling ends up nice and smooth, skin pink and flushed from the unfamiliar irritation. It’s actually quite pleasant to touch and he spends some time exploring the new sensation before presenting himself to his bedfellow. Predictably, the blacksmith goes absolutely crazy, taking Jaskier right where they stand in the middle of his workshop and then twice more on the way back to the bed.

Living in a secluded, mostly conservative little village like this must be an intensely frustrating experience. Jaskier can’t relate but for the time being, he's happy to help out.

Regret sets in 48 hours later, which is when the lovely feel of baby smooth skin has fully turned into the burn of itchy stubble. It becomes complete after yet another day when the clopping of hooves announces his White Wolf's victorious return.

Depending on how a hunt goes and how much distance there was to cover, Geralt will usually be either horny as hell (if it was too easy or just challenging enough to get him pumped but not to tire him out) or exhausted as hell (mostly when customers lie to drive down the price and two drowners turn out to be a whole pack of werewolves). This is one of the horny cases.

Apparently the Nekker nests were both well hidden and unexpectedly large; It took Geralt two whole days to find them, a day to form a plan of action and another four days to prepare, carry it out and return to the village trophies in hand. Not a hard contract but definitely a tedious one. Especially since it's been raining cats and dogs for weeks and every square centimetre of uncovered ground has turned into ankle-deep, stinking muck.

The Witcher standing before Jaskier looks more like a drowned rat than the strappingly handsome hunk that left here a week ago and the bard insists on a bath before any reunion ravaging is allowed to happen.

He feels a bit sorry now for having allowed the blacksmith such frequent use of his body; it will be a few days before his hole can take another pounding (even more so because Geralt’s huge girth is a challenge at the best of times). Luckily though, Jaskier knows about a hundred ways to satisfy the itch under his Witcher’s skin. He will endeavour to make full use of that knowledge tonight. For better or worse, the White Wolf, bless his affection-starved little heart, is not particularly picky about the loving he receives.

What Jaskier didn't prepare for is the look of damn near devastation on Geralt's face when he, scrubbed pink and clean, finally allowed to embrace his much-missed bard, greedily pushes his hands up under Jaskier’s loose white shirt and finds only prickly stubble instead of the usual magnificent pelt.

Oh, it should be funny. And Jaskier will laugh about it later, but at that moment, the utter betrayal on his partners face makes it seem like breaking all four of Roache’s legs would have been the lesser offence by far.

“Uhm, I can explain?” he tries tentatively, “You know, there was that smith that I told you about and he seemed to-”

“What you do with your body is none of my business.”

Hmhm. Yeah, that's what Geralt says and Jaskier appreciates the sentiment, really. But the strangely forlorn way his hands still roam the bard’s belly, dipping under the waistline of Jaskiers trousers and relaxing almost imperceptibly at the still intact thatch of hair they find there is... well, it's just sad and makes Jaskier feel quite terrible.

“If it’s any consolation, my hair always grows really fast?” he ventures, trying to console his distraught Witcher, “I shaved just a few days ago, see, it's already coming back quite vigorously…”

“Hm.” Geralt grunts. It’s not working.

“Oh come onnnn…” Jaskier whines, putting both his hands on his beloved's dour face and pushing at his cheeks obnoxiously in a vain effort to cheer him up. “It’s just some hair. Is it really so important?”

“Smells like you,” the squished Witcher replies with a grumble.

“Uh, yeah. And it's actually kinda rank sometimes. I don't get how it doesn't bother you with your enhanced senses.”

It’s true, Jaskier has been curious about that for a while now. Releasing his hold on the Witcher’s face, he moves to card his fingers through the invitingly soft strands of hair instead. Geralt shrugs lightly in response before turning his head to nose at Jaskiers wrist.

“It's you. So it's good,” he murmurs, muffled against the skin.

It is such a simple explanation but might just cut to the very core of the matter. Jaskier’s chest swells with warmth and adoration. He knows to listen for the words that Geralt does not say.

“Alright,” Jaskier peppers feather-light kisses from the Witchers' cheek down to his mouth. When their lips meet, it’s like rain after months of drought. A week apart was a week too long.

“Tell me how to make it up to you, darling,” another kiss, “Wanna suck my cock? You can fuck my thighs later.”

“Mmmh.”

They’re moving again. Stepping lightly over hastily dropped clothes to the bed allocated to them in one of the empty cottages.

Jaskier will never really get used to staying in the houses of the dead but in villages such as this, where there is no inn or tavern, it’s vastly preferable to whatever barn or stable they’d be offered instead.

“Was he good to you?”

“Hm? Who?”

Jaskier’s last piece of clothing falls to the floor. The bed is soft and Geralt less so, mouth sucking bruises into vulnerable skin.

“The blacksmith.”

“Oh.” Jaskier has already forgotten him, “Oh yes, he was very nice. It’s always amazing to meet someone even less talkative than you.”

The low growl rumbling through the Witchers broad chest makes Jaskier giggle and push closer. He wants to feel those vibrations in his own body, through every centimetre of his skin. Geralt's cock jumps where it’s pressed against his hip, already wet at the tip.

Yielding easily to the bard’s hand pushing on his shoulder, the Witcher soon starts moving downwards, nipping reproachfully at Jaskier’s plucked-chicken chest all the way. The human huffs out a laugh, painfully fond; may the Gods save him from the wrath of this grouchy creature.

Geralt visibly (to the trained eye at least) perks up when he reaches the v between the bardlings legs and settles in, immediately pressing his face into the nest of pubic hair. He hums happily and breathes in deep, nosing at the base of Jaskier’s swelling cock. Propped up on his elbows, Jaskier can see the Witcher’s hips twitching down into the sheets already. He’s sure to come like this at least once, mouth stuffed and all senses overloaded with Jaskier’s taste, his scent and the lovely sounds spilling from his bitten-red lips.

Fucking adorable is Jaskier's last haphazard thought before Geralt swallows him down to the root and stars burst behind his eyelids.

fin.

read it on ao3

[typewriterghcst]

Title: Leave Us Your Stardust Rating: G like all my other fics l m ao Characters: Natoru, babby Lune, Natori. Mentions of other characters. Words: 2730-ish Summary: The World can be quite an intimidating, tough place for a seven-year-old, particularly after the sun goes down for the first time. Written for the 2020 TCR Birthday Bash, in particular the ‘Ghosts’ prompt. Notes: This is chock full of headcanons regarding these three, particularly during Lune’s childhood, so uh. Hopefully someone else finds this interesting or amusing like I do orz I will admit I’m hesitant on Natoru’s portrayal here because I’m not sure how most people interpret her (or him, if you prefer the dub, aha). I haven’t gotten the chance to write her that often on my RP blog, so this kinda feels to me like jumping headfirst into a shallow pool

                                                          &&&

Natoru plays a lot of roles. She is at once first-line defense and confidante, exorcist and companion. She weaves wild stories and tall tales while battling and eradicating the monsters that manage to sneak out of their imaginary environments to threaten her little ward’s security. She takes care of spiders and hornets. Checks the closet for less rational pests. Peers under the bed each night to shoo out the monsters, too.

It’s because of this, she thinks to herself later once her wits finally arrive, that she ends up being very gently nudged awake by a visibly shaken charcoal-colored kitten in the middle of the night during an extended visit to a neighboring but distant kingdom (the queen’s original home, in fact, a detail that still brings Natoru no small amount of confusion).

“...Natoru..?” Lune sounds hopeful but timid.

“Ehhh.” It’s vaguely questioning, she rationalizes, if a little muffled. She hasn’t quite found the motivation to lift her face from her sleepy haze just yet.

“Can I… can I sleep in here?”

“Why do y’ wanna sleep in ‘ere..?”

Lune fidgets, plays with the edges of his sleeves. “...be… because there’s a ghost in my room.”

Oh. It takes at least a solid minute for that childish (albeit straightforward, she’ll give him that) reasoning to sink in, but once it does, Natoru realizes she’s not getting off the hook that easily. Finally resigning herself to being awake and active again, she hauls herself up from her face-down, torpid position and searches for Lune in the darkness, rubbing at her eyes sleepily.

“Should I go throw him out?”

It takes Lune some time to answer, and when he does, he stares down at his feet as he speaks. “...N-No. I’d rather just stay in here.”

“Eh? How come?”

“...b-because… um. What if… what if the ghosts here are stronger than the ones at home?”

“There are no ghosts stronger than me,” Natoru brags. What a more sweet-natured, maternal cat might have claimed only in the interest of reassuring Lune, she seems to wholly believe, and not for the first time it becomes obvious just why the kitten has taken such a shine to her.

“Really..? How do you know?”

Natoru doesn’t falter, patting her chest with one paw and planting the other on her hip.

"Because I'm the strongest," she answers matter-of-factly.

Lune, still standing at the edge of the bed she'd chosen (though now noticeably with a straighter posture than before), seems to spend some time thinking that over. Finally, hesitantly, he says, “But this isn’t home. What if the ghosts here are stronger than the ones you know? What if the dark makes them stronger?”

Natoru pauses thoughtfully, but ultimately shakes her head. “Nah. I’ve been all over, Lune. And I was born in the human world-- it gets dark there, too. Still no match for me~” She gives him a sunny smile, patently cute as it always is because of her soft, chubby face, but the undercurrent of chaos can not be denied.

What had been a gradual and noticeable decrease in his fear appears to reach a plateau; Lune is convinced, his tail and ears perking back up.

“I’m so grateful! You’re super cool, Natoru!”

“Yep,” Natoru agrees as she hops off her bed to join him on their trek back to his room.

                                                         &&&

Lune begins to trail behind her the closer to his guest room they approach, but she neglects to comment on it. Instead, she tosses the beaded curtain in the doorway aside like a particularly bothersome obstacle, and strolls inside. In stark contrast, Lune tiptoes in behind her, looking furtively from one corner of the room to the next as if he expects to be ambushed. (Well, perhaps he does.)

“Okay, Ghost, you had your fun!” Natoru starts as boldly as she can, paws on her hips. “How’s that one song go? You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here! It’s bedtime for Lune.” Then, a little quieter but just as determined, and in a smug tone that shows she absolutely relishes saying it, “And if you don’t listen, then I’m gonna kick you in the head.”

To Lune, she adds, “That’s another great song. Recommend it.”

“It’s about kicking monsters in the head..?”

“Yeah,” Natoru says with a cheerful, heedless shrug.

The two of them are met with a stifling silence afterwards, as Natoru expected, but still she waits for Lune to give his approval. Creeping out from behind her, he pads softly further into the room, one, two steps at a time, again scrutinizing the corners. In the end, he doesn’t turn directly to face her, most likely mindful of the darkened void beneath the bed behind him, but he does look back to her.

“...will you check the bed and closet too..?”

“Of course.”

                                                         &&&

It’s after he’s tucked back into his own bed that Lune asks, “It gets dark in the human world?”

“Every night.”

“How long does a night last?”

Natoru pauses there. 

“...I don’t remember.” She does remember it feeling quite long sometimes, though. It doesn’t seem pertinent to tell Lune. “Time feels different in the human world.”

“How so?”

Again, she pauses, this time in thought more so than in uncharacteristic caution.

The truth is, she thinks, maybe it’s not that time feels different in the human world, but simply that she had once been different. A long time ago, before she came to the Cat Kingdom. Those memories are odd— they don’t fit like they should. She thinks sometimes it may be akin to trying to play one of Natori’s beloved records in a CD player. 

“It’s different because you can tell time has passed just by looking around at the sky and the ground, but it doesn’t actually feel like time has passed. It’s disorienting.”

“The ground changes, too?”

“Yeah!” She chirps. “Sometimes it snows, or it rains. Then you get mud. That stuff’s tons of fun.”

“I’ve seen pictures of it,” Lune starts thoughtfully. “It looks messy.”

“Mm. Natori would have a fit if you discovered how fun it is, too.”

“Maybe I’ll get to play with it, too, then. Someday.”

“Probably! You’ll have your own adventures in the human world, eventually.”

“I hope so,” Lune starts. “It sounds like such a funny place.”

Whatever Natoru might have planned to say to that, no doubt to agree, to tell him of the other oddities abound in the human world, it’s lost in obscurity, as, of all cats, Natori seems to see fit to enter at that time, peeking in through the beaded doorway with a look of subdued disapproval. In some distant part of her brain, the part that’s always faintly amused at her coworker’s finicky quirks, Natoru briefly entertains the idea that perhaps he’d been supernaturally summoned by the talk of mud.

“What on earth are the two of you doing awake at this hour..?”

Natoru answers easily enough, tone blithe as ever. “Don’t look at me, Lune’s the one who dragged me out of bed ‘cause of a ghost.”

Judging from Lune’s offended expression in return, he’s not at all appreciative of his idol throwing him under the bus. Natori, also, regards her with a disapproving frown, paws settling at his hips. To herself, Natoru thinks his current countenance lines up pretty solidly with that of the quintessential, matronly governess.

“Natoru, don’t go blaming your foible on the child.”

“But he did wake me up because of a ghost,” Natoru protests.

It’s at this exchange that Lune’s indignation seems to fade, so that he appears relatively chastened, shamed. “...I’m sorry, Natori, I did wake her up for that.”

Natori seems to… deflate, almost, padding to Lune’s bedside with a sigh. “It’s nothing that warrants an apology, my prince. You’re in no trouble.” Then, while busily straightening the crocheted blanket atop the comforter, “...another ghost, then..?”

Lune’s embarrassed silence says it all, he supposes. So it appears then that Natori decides to move past it without comment in response. A phase, he tells himself, brought about by recent stressors, and one that will fade as they do.

“Well. It is quite late, and there’s an early morning ahead of us all. We should all be more rested, you know. This isn’t the night for tall tales.”

“Hey, speaking of, how come you’re awake, Natori?” Natoru starts shrewdly.

An inquiry the grey cat was clearly not prepared for, as his first response to it is to open his mouth to voice his answer… only to close it again with a light snap once he realizes either he has no suitable excuse or that that suitable excuse is tremendously weak in theory.

“...It’s not important,” he eventually settles on, formal, demure. Leaving precious little room for followup clarifications, though he must know by now that such a thing will not stop Natoru.

“Natori, have you ever been to the human world?” Lune asks.

“Yes, occasionally,” Natori replies, head canted just slightly in curiosity at where Lune’s evident investigation is going.

“Do you have a favorite thing about it?”

“A favorite thing? Well, let me think…”

After a moment, all too aware of Lune’s expectant gaze on him and doing his best to ignore Natoru’s amused, knowing stare (yes, Natoru, he realizes he’s being massively hypocritical right now), Natori seems to decide on, “I suppose I’d say it’s probably the scenery— er, the variety in it, in particular.”

Lune nods excitedly. “The variety! That intrigues me so much, Natori. I’ve seen the pictures of the  forests and mountains and the oceans— they’re all so huge, Natori, aren’t they? I can’t imagine how big the human world must be to have multiple oceans in it..!”

“I do imagine it must be hard for you,” Natori agrees indulgently with a laugh. Then, a touch diffidently, “...having seen but a fraction of it myself, I must admit it’s rather difficult for me, as well, at times.” His attention wanders to Natoru, who is still lounging propped up on her paws on the end of Lune’s bed like a proper house cat. She wears a thoughtful, somewhat faraway expression, and he wonders what it is she’s thinking of. But, unobtrusive and respectful as ever, Natori doesn’t pry. Instead, he asks, “Did you shoo out the ghost, then?”

Natoru snaps out of her apparent reverie, nodding a time or two and waving her paw in disregard. “Oh, yeah, he’s toast.” And to Lune, “I scared him off, didn’t I?”

“Yup! You said you’d kick him in the head if he came back.”

Ah, that earns her another long-suffering look from Natori, though he doesn’t voice his disapproval this time. Natoru just gives him another of her patented sunny smiles.

“...Well,” Natori starts readily. “If that’s the case, I think that’s enough ill-timed chatter to last us the night. Morning will arrive before you know it, and I’ll not oblige any requests to sleep in.” Spoken while gently tugging the comforter up over Lune’s shoulders, now that the crocheted blanket has been righted.

“Can I ask one last question, Natori?”

“Yes,” Natori answers primly, somewhat absently, if his concentration on Lune’s already straightened bedcovers is anything to go by.

“It’s about the human world again.” And there Lune hesitates, at least until Natori gives another acknowledging noise. “I keep reading about... how big the human world is, and you and Natoru say it is, too. And— and all the stuff that’s in it, things you can’t see here. Do you think… I mean, because it’s so… There’s so much in it, so do you think… someone could go there, but eventually run out of things to see?”

His voice has lowered to be so soft his two companions nearly miss his question in its entirety, and it along with his insistence on keeping his gaze glued to some indeterminate spot to his side tells them both this line of questioning is not just a child’s rambling, all-encompassing curiosity. Because of this, it seems the two of them struggle for an answer for some time— one that must be reassuring and optimistic, but also can not conclusively discuss the issue. It hasn’t been named yet; it has yet to be spoken aloud to Lune, and it is not the place of the royal advisor nor their vaguely-defined assistant to do so.

Paws lingering over the plush comforter where he’s folded it over Lune’s shoulders, Natori finally replies, timidly, “...Anything is possible.” 

“Sure, there’s a lot to see. But nothing beats good old home,” is Natoru’s helpful addition. “A cat’s bound to get homesick at some point.”

Lune doesn’t respond for a few long minutes, but neither Natori nor Natoru move to prompt or hurry him, even when the silence begins to feel acutely oppressive, and Natoru almost wishes a real ghost would break the tension. Eventually, however, Lune gives a very small sigh, and his attention wanders from his earlier inconsequential spot to Natori’s face. It’s not quite his more usual bright and inquisitive demeanor, but it’s at least a step away from the nervous reserve he’d been exhibiting just moments before.

“...I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Yes. It’s certainly a fascinating place, but it’s no Cat Kingdom. The comforts of familiarity compel all of us to look homeward at least occasionally.”

Lune seems to think that over for a moment, glancing down to the hem of the blanket covering him once (Natoru thinks he must be imagining his own bed back at home, and his colorful bedroom, eternally bathed in sunlight). This time, when he looks to the two of them, it’s with a decidedly more self-assured air. 

“Okay! So I’ll stay as familiar as I possibly can!”

Natoru laughs— she can’t help it. It’s such an endearingly straightforward conclusion to come to. Natori, however… she notices the way his expression tenses, the conflicted, nervous debate he must be waging on the inside. Lune has taken away the wrong message from all this, and it should be addressed and amended, but... it’s only getting later, and Natori had entered the conversation with a chiding lecture about the late hour. He looks tired, too, Natoru notes to herself, probably a crucial trigger for his indecisiveness.

“You got it, Lune,” she decides to chime in, pushing herself up onto her haunches now. “But I think it’s time to stick a fork in this one, because I’m ready to go back to dreamland.”

Lune’s eyes light up further. “Oh! Maybe I’ll dream of the human world.”

“Maybe!”

Natori seems to just accept this abrupt left turn in the conversation in his usual yielding way, but he does see fit to add, in a soft tone that comes perhaps dangerously close to pleading, “...Lune… it’s all well and good to desire to remain... recognizable, but…”

There he dithers for some time, at a loss for what he wants to say or how to say it, most likely, as he utters numerous false starts before finally appearing to give up. Instead, lips straightening to a thin line, he fixes the kitten with a sort of wistfully helpless smile, and gives a comically uncharacteristic shrug.

“...Well. It’s late, as we’ve all pointed out. Goodnight, my prince. Now that your room has been cleared of its phantoms, please don’t dawdle on your way back to the Land of Nod. The sun will rise before you know it.”

“I won’t, Natori.”

Natori inclines his head once in wordless approval as he turns to leave, gaze also lingering meaningfully on Natoru (one she again only returns a blithe smile to), before he leaves in much the same natural way he’d first arrived. Natoru takes the opportunity to hop off Lune’s bed and dust herself off, though even her own reasoning for doing so escapes her. Lune, meanwhile, appears somewhat thoughtful, if distantly uncertain.

“Is it really so close to morning? I’m sorry for waking you, a-and for keeping you up all this time.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I’ll let you in on a secret, actually—” Here she glances behind her to confirm that Natori has, indeed, left, before continuing in a hushed but shrewdly amused manner, “I know Natori said he wouldn’t let us sleep in, but just keep in mind that what your dad says goes, and he hasn’t seen a morning in years.”

And so it was that Natoru gained another point from the child prince to set in her ‘cool’ pile.

[noctuascion]

cryptage angst prompt: "I'm scared of losing you because I'm not enough"

Simple but effective. I like it!!! I'll see what I can do. ✨

---

Another match had finished with Park's team being taken out rather early, much to his chagrin. He was teamed alongside Pathfinder and Octavio. The speed demon was adamant in hurrying the group along, and, with Pathfinder's endless bundle of energy, the automation kept up with the stim addict without much issue.

Park, however, had suffered sprinting through the entire arena, had to climb over every rock, and, even when he was sure he caught up with them, he'd look up and see they were still miles ahead. It left him exhausted and absolutely useless during the fights they got caught up in.

The hacker had decided he deserved a little relaxation, so he immediately collapsed on his bed and watched the rest of the game play out in the comfort of his bedroom.

The screen would swap to Elliott on occasion, and, immediately, he could feel his focus sharpen and mood lift just a bit. The man was all smiles and charm, as always, even when a bombardment was coming his team's way—which consisted of Natalie and Bloodhound. Makoa's squad—consisting of Renee and Anita—nearly had them, but Elliott managed to pull a decoy escaped that allowed him to escape, heal, and return to Makoa trying to revive Anita. Thankfully, his R-301 shredded his remaining shields and tore through him.

Park had watched Mirage even before he entered the games. Mystik was always quite a fan, and, frankly, the glamor, flaunting, and charm was lost on him. Then he got to know Elliott, and, suddenly, he saw where his caretaker was coming from.

The man always knew how to raise his spirits, even when he was feeling particularly down. His mere presence was enough to make the hacker smile, enough to make the events of the day wash away with ease. He had his own off days as well, but he was normally a source of sunshine and positivity for the normally brooding surveillance expert, so much so that Park sometimes forgot about the rain clouds that sometimes hung overhead.

The match had nearly flown by, the last squads duking it out, before Elliott's squad secured a well-earned victory.

Park decided to indulge in the after match interview. His boyfriend looked stunning, as always, and the charming smile he directed towards the camera was enough to make him forget about the fact that his legs felt like jelly and the plans he had for making Octavio's legs "malfunction" at random times.

Eyes wandered over the man's handsome visage, looking over every detail and appreciating just how beautiful he looked, even after such an exhausting match, even when obvious fatigue weighed him down—he was absolutely breathtaking.

Microphones were eargerly shoved towards Elliott and his teammates, the group answering any questions and humbly accepting compliments sent their way—well, except Elliott. He always did enjoy praise, showered in adoration, so Park wasn't too surprised to see him winking and grinning, brimming with pride.

The hacker let out a sigh, adjusting how he was laying, his phone now laying on his thigh. The interview was still on his screen, but other thoughts were beginning to bother him—more distracting, unpleasant thoughts.

He's handsome, charming, and kind… he thought idly, hands moving to rest on his stomach. He really could have anyone he wants. A lot of people just throw themselves at him—and he could do better than me…

Park wasn't exactly one to detest his appearance. Sure, he was skinny and average, but he never actively hated how he looked. It was a waste of time and didn't matter in the end. But that mindset was present when he was single and had preemptively hung up the towel for relationships. Being with someone—someone as amazing as Elliott—was kind of a wake up call, though; he was relatively average compared to the beautiful, sweet, and adoring women that always sought Elliott's attention.

Hands raised to instead run through his hair, mussing the strands of ebony before easily falling back in place, looking down at his phone again. Natalie was on screen now, and, by now, she looked rather uncomfortable with the noise. They'd likely end the interview soon.

A moment passed before Park reached out to shut his phone off, tossing the device aside, before pushing himself off of his bed.

—;

Elliott stretched his arms over his head, hearing his joints pop, a pleased groan escaping him. Winning today's match was a reward in itself, but the real reward was his beautiful, entrancing boyfriend waiting for him in his room. The hacker apparently had gotten wiped out pretty early, and, according to Octavio, he was apparently "too slow to keep up," so they left him behind a lot, which probably meant he was in a sour mood.

"Time to be the world's best boyfriend," he muttered, hurrying over to Park's dorm, raising his hand to knock—once, twice—before he waited.

… No response.

"… Probably sleeping."

The trickster let out a soft chuckle—ah, just hearing laughter made him think of Park's, how soft and shy it was, how it lit up an entire room, how absolutely breathtaking it was every time he heard it, how he wanted to hear it happen everyday—before slipping his hands into his pockets. He rifled through his pockets for a moment before letting out a small "aha."

A key was pulled out, inserted in the hacker's door, before it was unlocked and pushed open. Park always was a bit too secure, so he ended up giving Elliott his spare key just in case the other needed to get into his room for whatever reason.

"Don't touch anything, don't eat anything, and don't lick anything," were the oh-so-strict rules his beloved had put in place—jokes on him, because he never follows the no licking rule (wink wink).

Park's room wasn't the cleanest. Wires littered the floor, books were tossed about with little care, and his desk had a few takeout cartons left on it. He really needed to help the other clean up his room—and maybe convince him to buy a lamp, because his room was dark.

Laying on the bed, however, was the man on his mind, sleeping peacefully, which, in itself, was rare—though it was slowly becoming more and more frequent, his boyfriend finally getting some well-deserved sleep.

A smile curled his lips, softness touching his eyes, before he moved over, sitting upon the mattress, the slumbering hacker remaining undisturbed by his presence. His visage remained content, a seldom expression of Park's, though no less endearing. He looked… sweet in his slumber, and, for a moment, Elliott allowed himself to indulge, a hand reaching out to gently cup his cheek, a thumb rubbing the smooth skin there.

A soft sound escaped the smaller male, causing the sun-kissed hand to pause in its actions, before Park settled once again, and he returned to caressing the soft skin, admiring his striking features.

God, he's gorgeous, he thought, hand moving to now run through the messy black locks, so soft and smooth. Geez… do I even deserve someone so beautiful…? Oh… fuck, do I?

Elliott's hand suddenly stilled, blinking in shock, like the thought surprised him. He could admit that his insecurities oftentimes caused some rather unpleasant thoughts to plague him, but, with Park, he hadn't exactly felt like he was entirely unworthy of his attention. He liked to think the other was enough of a distraction for him to forget about his insecurities, just for a bit, but he wasn't, apparently.

Park's fans weren't as, er… excitable as Elliott's. Crypto was a silent, broody character with incredible tech, sarcastic quips for days, and an absolutely beautiful ass—er, face. He totally meant face. His fans made that apparent, too, but the hacker wasn't exactly there for the limelight. In fact, so much attention made him uncomfortable, so Elliott wasn't too surprised to hear he didn't really know what his fans thought of him.

But Elliott knew just a little too well. Frankly, just about anyone was a better match for Park. Elliott was a social butterfly, and he knew the other got easily exhausted with his presence at times, that he was overwhelmed with so much social stimuli. It didn't escape his eye that Park also worried constantly about him, worried about him being out longer than intended, worried during matches—hell, he worried even when he was right next to him. He didn't deserve so much stress, so much constant fatigue.

"Mm… Elli…"

The trickster jumped at the tired voice suddenly disrupting his thoughts, the drowsy eyes of his boyfriend staring at him. Apparently, he had begun to unconsciously pet Park's hair, a bit of a nervous habit.

"Oh. Sorry, sugar," he whispered, hand slipping down to press against his shoulder, covered by a black tee. "Didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep if you want."

"No…" Park pushed himself into a sitting position, rubbing his eye, before letting his other hand settle on Elliott's, still pressed against his shoulder. "I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"Eh, well, you apparently ran around a lot today." Elliott snorted when Park pouted in annoyance. "How's the ol' nerd walkers doing?"

"Do you have stupid names for everything?"

"Well, not everything—just stuff you have."

"Is that why you called my drone 'bacon'?"

"No, that's because I was hungry. I'd call him… flying hotdog."

"And that is why you're not allowed to name anything."

Elliott held his free hand to his chest, over his heart, allowing himself to pull a dramatic faux pout that drew a snort from the other. "You would me, babe. I give great names."

"Your pet names need work."

"What? Don't like being called 'the outlet to my plug'?"

The unamused glare sent his way was enough to cause him to laugh.

Once the laughter died down, Elliott reached out to gently pull Park's hand off of his own, encompassing the smaller one in his own easily.

"So, did you watch the match?" he asked, almost hesitantly.

"I did," was Park's simple response. "You did well today."

"Did you see the interview, too?"

"Mmhm."

"… You okay, shortcake? You seem quieter than usual."

"I just woke up."

"Excuses! I woke you up at three once because I needed to know what the chemical symbol for tellurium was and you told me immediately. And you told me that if I called you copper and tellurium that you'd ban me from your room for a week."

"I don't see your point."

"Something's bothering you. Tell me, angel face. I'm here."

Park released a sigh. He could be way too intelligent sometimes. "I… was just thinking about how you… um…" The hacker paused, eyes drifting elsewhere. "You're… you. I'm… me."

"… Are you insulting me?"

"That's what I mean." The look painting his beloved visage was that of guilt—and Elliott hated that it was such a common. "I don't deserve you. You deserve someone… better—"

"Okay, whoa, stop right there, because let's get something straight—and no, I'm not gonna make a gay joke," Elliott said, now scooping the other hand up, holding both up and pressing a kiss to his knuckles—that beautiful synthetic skin of his. "Where's this coming from? I didn't… make you feel this way, did I?"

"No. During the interview, I… realized I'm not exactly… anything special. You… could have anyone, and I guess that…" Scared me was left unsaid, leaving Park to drift off into silence. "You're so much, and I'm so little…"

"Hey, hey, can you look at me?"

It took a moment, but Park's gaze eventually met his, the trickster trying his best to appear supportive, soft smiles and adoring gazes. He sometimes forgets the other's still completely capable of having issues like this; he isn't all blank faces and emotionless schticks.

"You don't ever have to feel that way. You're—You're so amazing in so many ways. You're so beautiful and awesome—a genius and way too incredible for someone like me. Y-You—Dude, I can't even begin to explain! Everything you do and say takes my breath away." Elliott released a breath, almost like he really was breathless. "I'm not nearly enough for you, a-and, sometimes, I-I worry—worry that, maybe, I'm just fooling myself into beli—believing that I'm actually enough for you."

"Elli, don't be stupid—"

"But, Hyeon!"

"Elliott—"

"I'm just—"

"But—"

"I'm worried I'll lose you because I'm not enough!" was nearly shouted at the same time, the two merely looking into each other's eyes, a bittersweet sorrow tainting their orbs of chocolate.

Eventually, Elliott broke the silence, leaning forward and pressing his forehead against Park's, tightening his hold on the other's hands—such fragility in such strong hands. "I wouldn't ever leave you. Not for all the pork chops in the world, and definitely not because some chick complimented me."

"I can't find it in my heart to leave you either, even if you can be dumb." Park allowed a small smile to tug at his lips, watching as Elliott gave him a bright smile—the one that always lit up his world, made him feel a little less cold. "I, um… love you."

"Aw. I love you too, kid, you awkward mess." Elliott allowed a laugh, hands now moving to release Park's and wrap around his waist, feeling the smaller's hands grasp gently at his shoulders, and pressed a kiss to the other's cheek. "Now, I dunno about you, but I'm starving."

"… You came over without eating first? You really are an idiot."

"Oh, shove it, shortcake."

[scoundrels-in-love]

We draw a line in the sand, We say don't cross this or else (Take this from me, take this lonely heart )

Brienne hasn't believed love itself is enough to defeat all obstacles for a long time.

When Jaime comes to join the convoy returning North after Dragonpit, it's not about them loving each other - it's about survival.

But maybe it can be about love, too.

Also on AO3.

I

 Brienne hasn’t believed love is enough in a long time.

 Like a flower, this childish belief has gradually lost its colorful petals - blown away by harsher fall winds that had blown out candles of her mothers’ and infant sisters’ lives, trashed to ground by cold rain like waves had battered Galladon’s body against the cliffs, fallen away from the first touch of frost that her decision to leave had brushed upon her relationship with her father.

 Love could not carry you over the pits in the road or take you over the mountains life raised in your path. Only you yourself could try to overcome these obstacles, assisted by it’s sometimes gentle, sometimes bruising hand.

 She still carries imprints of those, they ache dully into the night when she could not sleep, when neither crackling of fire or familiar shuffling of camp settled down (but never quite at peace) could soothe her.

 Her love could not save Renly when he bled out in her arms, so far from his own beloved.

 Just as her oaths and beliefs could not save Lady Stark - or her late Lady’s love had not saved her family.

 Much like Jaime, whose golden, cracked heart could not dispel darkness over Cersei’s mind with its glow.

 And, in turn, she could not follow its shine into the marshes, in hopes to find him and pull him back on safe, stable ground.

 Yet, she had dared to hope, for a brief moment in Dragonpit, when their traded glances held the weight of gathering storm clouds upon the horizon - they could dispel yet, giving way to a sun so bright it blinds in its play or unleash a storm that would devour fleets in minutes.

 She had been blind, alright. But no sun had been present, except for the resplendent Lannister twins. And what cruel desert suns they could be.

 “Fuck loyalty,” she had told him, but now it tastes like salt and ash of burned would-bes in her mouth. Brienne would feel better if she could truly, honestly say she had meant it, without a single, passing thought of ‘fuck loyalty to her, your sister, and maybe you will find a different sort loyalty in the smoking ruins of what Cersei has reduced your love to’.

 Selfish, even when she tried to do what is right, even when she tried to save him.

 And so, so godsdamn angry when she could not.

 Podrick calls considerable amount of it upon himself, when she glares at the boy as he tumbles into her tent, red faced and out of breath.

 “Ser Brienne, Ser Jaime just arrived with a handful of men and announced he has a meeting with you.”

 II

 Jaime looks slightly out of place in her tent, but that is less disconcerting than the fact he is here and how much he still looks like he belongs. She has spent many years in war camps, too, but Brienne knows she looked a lot more misfit in his lavish Commander’s tent back in Riverrun.

 (She tries not to think about the implications of that, tries and fails.)

 “I could have exposed your lie,” she tells him, plainly. The implied should sways between them like an axe’s blade, edge of it glinting in the candle light.

 “But you didn’t.”

 “Do not make me regret it.” She regrets immediately, for the flicker of doubt, an almost hurt that casts shadows over his eyes, dips into the lines of his face, making her think of all the pain that others have inflicted on him with their dismissals and accusations.

 “Cersei does not intend to send her forces. I overheard her speaking with Qyburn, her rat of a Hand, about how she intended to keep me in the dark until the last possible moment.”

 He barrels on, which is for the best, because with a moment to speak or act, she might have walked up to cup his clenched jaw, take his fist in her hands until it warmed and melted open again under her touch.

 “I bade my time, took my most trusted men and raced to catch up with you. I doubted I would be given a chance to explain myself and enter the camp, so I lied and said this is what we had spoken about at Dragonpit.”

 She knows there are countless questions to ask, about logistics, about how many men he had trusted and if they could indeed be trusted, about, about, about, but all that she has on her tongue is: “Why?”

 It comes out quiet and paper thin, a rustle of dry leaves to reflect the drought in her mouth.

 Jaime walks forward, stops a step away from her, and she can see more clearly now how distraught he really is. It’s not even the way his beard is far from the well-maintained form it had been back at Dragonpit or the tension in his shoulders, his whole body, really. There is something broken and hopeful and soft in his eyes, which she has only one word for, but not one she can give it.

 She thinks he looks like a page torn from a book that hopes she will sew him back into another tome, instead of tossing him into the fire.

 “If I have to go North and die fighting decayed monsters, at least we can do it together, Brienne.”

 She has been addressed in many ways and her name dragged through spit, blood and mud, but the way he says it now is as if he has washed it clean and is holding it tenderly. It lances through her heart, right next to where his solemn proclamation is buried hilt deep.

 “You are seeking out an honorable death, is that it?” Later she wonders if her voice rose in volume, but right now, all she can feel is anger as a wall built hastile in response to the hurt.

 “We all die and this is perhaps one way I can actually be useful doing it.” She sees him closing up, too, retreating now that the conversation had spun out of his hands, though Brienne does not know where he had wanted to take it.  

 “Ser Jaime, do you intend to live or to die?” He flinches at her use of his title, the moat she has haphazardly dug around herself filling with water rapidly. And yet, she still hopes he will give something, so she can lower the drawbridge.

 “You know none of us can intend much in a battlefield.”

 The gate falls shut and she knows Jaime sees it, hope that has been crumbling already turned into foggy resignation and yet the softness stays.

 “Very well, Ser Jaime. I will make necessary arrangements for the stay of you and your men. I am sure your brother will be happy to let you spend tonight in his tent.”

 “Good night, Lady Brienne.”

 III  

 Handful of men turn out to be a good fifty well armed and equally trained soldiers and while rest of the camp is vary of them initially, enough for them to be somewhat glorified prisoners, the trial which Brienne had worried for is seemingly postponed until they reach Winterfell and over the journey, the tension eases and connections are made.

 She, too, finds herself making some - particularly with Jaime’s second in command, Addam Marbrand. Next morning, after she had finished training with Pod, he had strode over to her, all easy swagger and seemingly genuine respect, introducing himself and pressing kiss to back of her hand as he told he had heard great many things of her valour and battle skills.

 Perhaps it is what he chooses to praise or his eagerness when sparring, or the way he lures a shadow of smile or a familiar scowl out of Jaime over stories he shares of their childhood that makes her feel more at ease around him than she normally would.

 Or maybe she spends time with him because it is closest to natural excuse she has to be near Jaime. At first, she had avoided him and he seemed to do the same, but then Addam had started dragging him to campfires and early morning spars.

 “If you intend to watch Lady Brienne’s six, you could do better than merely be a body shield for one or two wights,” he had said the first time, ignoring Jaime’s grimace (and earning a notch on her appreciation scale).

 After she and Addam are done with him, he has more than a remark to make faces about. But he grins and bears it, quite literally, and within a week he taunts them in return and the improvement is clear. Sometimes, she almost forgets where they are and what awaits them, with the way their swords sing and banter warms the space between them. Some of it is stilted still, bear pits of silences they stumble into, especially when it is just her and Jaime, the unspoken things just as dangerous as the beast that left its mark on her body.

 Especially so on quiet nights when they find themselves sitting together and gazing at the moon in her milky garden, promising cold weather. It makes her wonder if that single, wilted flower could’ve been part of an azalea instead, which now mistakes the warmth of his shoulder for the arrival of Spring. But the Winter is not just coming - it is already here.

 IV

 Though Winterfell is half-sunken in snow, something seems to thaw in Jaime after his trial has passed. There is uncertainty to him still, like he is a spring that hasn’t found the path it will carve out ahead just yet, but he throws himself into the preparations earnestly and his eyes glint with color of laughter (green of new leaves) more often.

 It feels selfish to seek him and Addam out, under guise of discussing strategies and overall progress, when she merely wants a moment of breathing, away from everything that they’re actually supposed to think about. She draws in air so deeply, so greedily it actually hurts - hurts when Jaime’s hand hovers near hers as they stand on battlement and his smile is warmer than memories of sun, clouds on its edges because they know this is not enough. And he cannot give her more.

 Yet he does.

 Addam had mentioned her (lack of) knighthood before, but she had brushed him off. It is the last thing on her mind, when Jaime stands up abruptly after Tyrion mentions most of the people present have fought the Starks at one point, yet now they are united to defend their castle.

 “There would have been no one to truly reclaim it, if not for Lady Brienne, who brought Lady Sansa home,” he says, almost conversationally, but she can sense the flood of certainty rolling generous waves within him. She fears she is the river banks it intends to swallow.

 “And if there is to be a new dawn, it deserves to be greeted by one true knight in these seven wretched kingdoms.” Jaime sets his cup down and moves to the center of the room, the sound of him unsheathing Widow’s Wail almost deafening in the quiet that has entangled everyone.

 “Kneel, Lady Brienne.”

 She wants to laugh it off, before he can, before someone says ‘women cannot be knights’, before -- but only he exists outside the silence and she has no voice. Somewhere, on the edges of her vision, Addam and Podrick smile at her with such pride and encouragement that it sweeps her off her chair and toward Jaime, like he is the lighthouse and the cliffs that could shatter her all at once.

 He guides her to the shore, gleaming in the firelight, and her legs wobble as her lip does when she stands up, now a knight.

 In that moment, love isn’t just enough, it is everything, and all she can see is flurry of pink in golden sunlight.

 V

 Morning comes, but the night has taken many under her cold, silent wings.

 She has lost the count of how many times she thought it will carry away those dearest to her, instead it had become a rod of ice next to her backbone that hadn’t let her bend or break, or stop even for a moment as they fought through the Long Night.

 It still has not melted, almost a day later, because Addam is laying pale in a makeshift infirmary bed. Only for a moment, she had lost sight of him, but it could as well have been an infinity, because next time a wave of wights crested and fell apart, so was he crumbling to the ground. They had managed to drag him along as they were forced to retreat towards a wall, clinging to the ragged breath he still drew and the hope it could be over soon, but if the battle had lasted even half an hour more, he would have faded away propped against the stone, now uselessly protected by three swords.

 She has not seen him since they brought him to Maester that night, immediately overtaken by  duties, interrupted only by short and restless sleep where sometimes it was Jaime, sometimes Addam and even Podrick that fell (and then rose) in her dreams. But now she is here and so is Jaime, who has little else to do than to be by his friend’s bed and mend his own wounds.

 He chides Brienne for looking as if she will keel over herself, has few choice words for Lady Sansa’s inability to manage even a day without her, and drags her on a stool next to his. Doesn’t let her hand go even afterward - it is rough and warm, and familiar somehow, though they have barely ever touched. As if all the countless dreams she has had have somehow become a piece of truth, reality, embedded in her body and mind.

 “Brienne, he will live,” Jaime tells her and she wants to tell him he cannot know that, not with the clarity he bears, but she smiles a little and nods in return, because it is good one of them can be so assured of it.

 “And so will I.” His voice is almost solemn, trembling just a little like he isn’t sure if this promise is even wanted, though he must, just as she had known his heart. And she thinks of the gaping abyss they still have yet to cross which love will not lift them gently over on its own, and of the way she cannot think of taking another step without his hand in hers, and then she is kissing him, soft and sweet and he cannot taste like first warm spring rain, yet he somehow does.

 “Could not wait until I am good enough to say finally with all the panache it deserves, could you?”

 They startle apart, though Jaime’s hand stays on her shoulder, still drawing her closer even if it is awkward at this angle. Addam still looks pale, but she appreciates seeing his eyes again, the glimmer of mirth and relief making him seem more lively than he logically can be.

 When she stands to call Maester, she thinks she was right - love itself might not be enough. But when it is encased with support and trust and oaths that are hard to give but easy to uphold once said, and life that shall be lived and shared, it becomes something that makes roads and homes in impossible places. And somewhere in her heart, azalea blooms dizzyingly as the color drips back into the landscape.

[minah-delacroix]

Complicated

Universe: Dynasty AU

Characters: Minah x Sungjae, Tyler 

Word count: 2,7k

Like it or not we live in an age of dynasties. Who else can you trust around the family business, except family?

I am a Delacroix and our business is fashion. For generations, this has been our dynasty and today my grandparents give it to me.

Finally.

I know what you’re thinking… I’m young, I haven’t earned words like “finally”, but don’t underestimate me.   Every day I take one man’s dirt and turn it into diamonds.

I know a lot about being overlooked. My grandparents wanted my brother Suho to follow in their footsteps and I wasn’t the most obvious candidate at first. But as it turned out, Suho had his own path to take, as far as possible from our grandparents…

“Suho, please, I’m asking you” the young woman pouted, eyes wide open and eyelashes fluttering.

“Oh, no. They started it” Male Sports Star of the Year and UEFA Champions League Best Midfielder, Suho Kwon, said tiredly as his face filled the screen of his younger sister‘s phone. He wiped the sweat from his forehead while taking a deep breath.

“I am pretty sure our aunts would like to differ” Minah Delacroix, heiress apparent to the Delacroix fortune, said back. Her eyes rolled almost imperceptibly as she brought a flute of Armand de Brignac champagne to her red-tinted lips.

“Minah they literally said I am a disgrace to the family and forced me to pick between my career and the family” Suho huffed as a vast green field materialized behind him. Minah thought she could recognize Suho’s friend, Minho, running up and down the field kicking a ball. She sighed thinking about the time she was first introduced to him.

“And you packed your bags and left thirty minutes later. It literally broke granddaddy’s heart” Minah laughed softly, still thinking about her brother’s friend, although there was nothing funny about her grandfather suffering a heart attack after finding out his beloved grandchild had chosen to play football over his family. “Face it you’ll never see eye to eye, but there’s something you will always be able to agree on and that’s your love for me” Minah made a pause on which her lower lip jolted the slightest bit “Come home”

The sound of a jet roared overhead, descending and angling for the runway. Inside the plane, Minah Delacroix looked out the rounded window, her mind occupied with a variety of thoughts ranging from the upcoming merger of one of her family’s minor companies with Durand & Drummond to the dress she’d be wearing to the party where her hard work would finally be recognized. Thinking about it, Minah’s chest inflated almost automatically, the idea of finally taking an active role in her family’s company almost seemed surreal.

Her appointment as the COO of Delacroix Fashion House had been a dream of hers since her memory allowed her to remember.

Now, she was finally getting it.

The landing was smooth although London was typically rainy. As soon as Minah stepped from the aircraft, water glittered like jewels in front of her. She thought of it as a good sign; rain was revitalizing.

Causing her to come out of her thoughts and back to reality, a man’s voice called her name. She slightly smirked upon recognizing who the voice belonged to. “Welcome home.” Sungjae Lee said, suddenly appearing a few stairs down, holding an umbrella over her head. There was a clear contrast between his expressionless, almost unemotional face and the gentle way he offered his hand to help her descend the stairs. The young woman tried to ignore how her heart skipped a beat, but Sungjae was already grabbing her hand and probably noticed her pulse accelerating.

With considerable giddiness, Minah managed to make it down the stairs, feeling like a stupid and immature version of herself back when she had a teen crush on Julien Toubeau.

“How was Cannes?” Sungjae asked once they stood facing each other, Minah handing him her Dior hand luggage.

“I miss the heat already” She shrugged and started to walk through the private airport gate, passing by other million-dollar jets parked on both sides.

“I’m glad you had fun” Sungjae replied, but he looked anything but glad, which made Minah chuckle a bit as she slid a hand through his arm. “But I am pretty sure it has nothing on London now that the winter is coming” He added naturally, guiding the heiress toward a black limousine parked a few meters away.

“Probably” Minah conceded.

None of them added a word until they reached the car and Sungjae opened its backdoor for her to climb in.

“Straight to the manor?” He asked.

“Unless you’re open to a detour,” Minah replied putting on an innocent face as she slowly moved to the other side, inviting Sungjae to sit next to her.

Minah and Sungjae are a strange pairing. They have one hell of a complicated relationship that started the day Minah landed her eyes on the young barista that served her coffee across the street from her uncle Jerome’s office. He carried the same expressionless face he carried when he picked her at the airport that morning and a tough-guy image that managed to spark her curiosity. Minah Delacroix had never been intrigued by men, let alone one of his type, but Sungjae Lee was a clever, mysterious, one of a kind guy. And he proved his worth —and hidden tech genius— on a cold winter day when he helped Minah retrieve a deleted file from her phone and saved a business she had been working hard for months.

Fast forward to the present day, Sungjae has become her Aunt Aurelie’s right-hand man, but he’s also managed to gain the trust and appreciation of the Delacroix, going as far as to move into the pretty rustic home across their manor, a house that once upon a time belonged to Minah’s grandfather’s first butler, but that Sungjae received as a “reward” for his loyalty toward the family.

Sungjae is a stable presence in Minah’s life. Something akin to a friend and an ally. From the business meetings to the high society parties her family hosts every other week, Sungjae is always right there making sure nothing ever goes wrong and fixing every little problem on behalf of Aurelie. That means that the two of them have seen each other at their worst —well, mostly Sungjae has seen the worst of Minah—, know embarrassing stories about each other —better said Sungjae knows embarrassing stories about Minah— and probably have enough blackmail material on the other—well, this one is pretty even considering any of Minah’s family members wouldn’t hesitate a second before destroying Sungjae’s life if they happened to find out he has been fucking her for years, on a near daily basis.

It all started a summer night when Minah was feeling particularly adventurous and asked for Sungjae’s help to get privileged info from Olivier Corp  —the Delacroix’s self-proclaimed business rivals, though Minah and her family regarded them as a nuisance if anything—. They had sneaked into Maude Olivier’s office, copied all the information on her computer, and fucked on the ugly mahogany desk that apparently was a family antiquity.

It was initially meant to be a one-time thing, but a few weeks later Minah found herself sneaking with Sungjae for a quick “staff meeting” in her office. It eventually turned into a short-term deal —after all, Minah was a Delacroix and she made everything about business— but unknowingly —or not— it stretched for the years to follow.

“Do you think my aunts know I’m closing the Durand & Drummond deal tomorrow?” Minah asks Sungjae whose head is buried between her legs.

She’s currently sitting perched on the edge of her desk, barely able to hold herself from letting out loud moans, but she still has the nerve to bring up the business that's been occupying her mind lately. “I snatched that deal from the Olivier’s, they must know I am valuable,” She says, fingers sliding into Sungjae's hair to hold him closer.

“Minah, can we stop talking about your aunts for a minute?” Sungjae says lifting his head and looking at her with a quirked eyebrow “It kinda makes it hard to concentrate” he says, eyes rolling a bit when Minah jumps from the desk laughing. She moves to sit on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him lazily

“I’m sorry,” she says, breaking their kiss “It’s just that I’ve spent 5 years preparing for this, Sungjae, you know how much I want this,” she says, innuendo present as she unbuttons his shirt. However, Sungjae is still looking at her seriously.

“What if they don’t give you this job, Minah?” He asks reluctantly “They always disappoint you, what if they called for something entirely different?

“You know what’s disappointing, Sungjae?” The woman asks in his ear. Sungjae shakes head as a reply “All this talking”

Minah’s limousine parks in front of the castle-like construction the Delacroix manor is and the French chauffeur is quick to open the doors for her and Sungjae, who immediately moves to pick her hand luggage and ignores the way Minah throws herself into her brother’s arms a soon as Suho gets out of his car. 
 “I can’t believe your old car actually made it from Manchester” Minah is genuinely smiling when she separates from her brother, softly punching his arm.

“And I can’t believe you just spent my weekly income on jet fuel” Suho retorted, wrapping an arm around his sister’s shoulders and dragging her in the direction of the family’s residence. “You know that if a Revolution happens it’ll be your head people come for first, right?”

“I’ll make sure to get my hair done, then” Minah shrugs nonchalantly and chuckles at her brother’s silliness —or cruelty, she doesn’t know which one it is—.

“The sooner the better, you’re clearly disheveled. What were you doing?” Suho asks “And how come I beat you getting here, though?” He adds, eyes narrowing the slightest bit as he stops his sister from walking through the door of the manor.

“I took the scenic route?”

Suho looks at Minah in disbelief but there’s no time for him to point out the flaws in her excuse because she goes on

“Thank you for coming home for me”

“Actually, grandad called me after you did”

Minah can’t even pretend she’s not surprised her granddad had invited Suho over to announce she was given the position of COO, but it doesn’t matter because as soon as the door opens, the astonished voices of their aunts Valerie and Caroline can be heard resounding through the exorbitant hall of the manor.

“Minah?”

“Suho?”

The women speak in unison, looking from their niece to their nephew as though they can’t quite believe they’re real.

“What are you two doing here?” Valerie inquires, rushing to the door “I didn’t know mommy and daddy were expecting you two”

“Especially you” Caroline adds, walking behind her younger sister and looking at Suho with a wrinkled brow.

“I came for the hospitality”

“No, sweetie, don’t get me wrong, but-“ Caroline trails off

“But dad said you never responded” Valerie shrugs before sipping from the Martini glass she’s holding and Minah is surprised she hasn’t spilled in her quick little jog for the door.

Turns out the promotion and the apology Minah and Suho are respectively expecting never arrives. In its place, the Delacroix patriarch has gathered all his family to deliver the news about his sister’s grandson, Gabriel, being appointed the COO of Delacroix Group.

Although MInah likes Gabriel —everybody likes Gabriel—, she can’t help but feel wronged by this decision. Being looked down on by her grandparents is nothing new, but Minah had genuinely hoped she was finally getting the recognition she deserved for her hard work and loyalty to the family business. Minah could’ve quit years ago, after all, her paternal grandparents had bequeathed a large trust fund to her. She doesn’t need the Delacroix money; she is an independent woman and she’s also built her own reputation. Unfortunately, Minah is also stubborn and holds on to the belief that the legacy of her family has to be passed down to her and not someone like Gabriel, who doesn’t even carry the Delacroix name.

Minah deserves it, she has managed to close deals that tripled the profits of the corporation the last year and she has campaigned for the good nameof the Delacroix  ever since the press became fixated on her and her personal life. Minah is the face of the Delacroix Group, she is far more business savvy and intuitive than her cousin.

She deserves it more…

Shaking the thoughts off Gabriel and her grandparents Minah rolls onto her side to face Sungjae.

She knows her family must be wondering about her whereabouts, but she’s found refuge in Sungjae’s arms and his bed all afternoon. The thing about Sungjae is that she could always trust him to be smart enough not to ask any questions. Not to mention he lets her release her anger in ways that not even her current favorite sport —boxing— allows her to.

“I can’t believe they’re picking Gabriel over me, I am their own blood” Minah finally says after a second round that seems to have somewhat encouraged her to speak. “They didn’t even react to the Durand & Drummond merger.”

“That’s because…” Sungjae’s hands move to grip Minah’s hips, pulling her closer “that was your idea and not theirs”.

Minah huffs in disbelief.

“I am serious, Minah” Sungjae’s voice turns solemn “You’re intelligent and you have a natural talent for business.  They know it, but pretend they don’t”

Minah reaches up and runs her fingers through his hair  “What do you know, Sungjae?” She teases him, slipping her arms around his neck and kissing him briefly, her lips barely touching his.

“I’ll need more encouragement if you want me to talk” Sungjae presses Minah harshly against him, making her instantly aware of what he wants.

Minah doesn’t waste time and before Sungjae notices she’s straddling him, her eyes darkening. “Tell me what is it”

“You’re not supposed to know this, but they just entered a bid for The Magpies” Sungjae reveals before rolling Minah to her back and moving on top of her.

“They hate football,” Minah says completely caught off guard by both the news and Sungjae’s boldness.

“Well, not nearly as much as they hate Tyler Lee” Sungjae explains, but Minah still looks confused so he adds “Who they’re biding against”

“You have to be kidding me, you knew this all along and didn’t bother telling me” Minah tries to buck her hips up, but Sungjae is keeping her in place, enjoying the needy look on her face. “What do you want for the tip?”

“Nothing”

“You’re gonna help me this much and not ask for anything in return?” Minah asks suspiciously.

“I don’t need anything” Sungjae laughs, briefly pressing a kiss on her neck.

“You’re living in a barn,” Minah says rolling eyes.

“It’s a rustic house” Sungjae corrects, pressing another kiss this time on Minah’s jaw.

“You work for a woman that bosses you around all day” she replies almost squirming against him.

“She pays me a 200k a year and I get to fuck her niece” Sungjae chuckles

“Sounds fair” Minah smirks before pulling him down for a kiss.

Twenty-four hours later Minah and Sungjae stand by the bar at the party the Delacroix’s are throwing in honor of Gabriel. Minah sports a beautiful couture dress —that overshadows Gabriel’s Louis Vuitton custom-made suit— and a kilowatt smile that hasn’t faded from her face despite the grand toast and endless compliments her grandfather offered for her cousin.

“I didn’t expect you to look this happy” Sungjae points out, handing her a flute of champagne. “Did you make up with your grandparents?”

“Something like that” Minah shrugs enigmatically, winking an eye and smiling fondly at him “I’ll tell you everything about it later”

“Minah Delacroix” A manly voice coming from behind the couple seemingly catches Minah off guard, but she still turns around and smiles at the Gucci clad figure —that Sugjae immediately recognizes as Tyler Lee— as though she had  been expecting him “I have to say, I was surprised you called. I always assumed you were friends with my sister because hanging out with the enemy made you seem edgy”

Minah briefly looks at Sungjae, as if trying to study his reaction before greeting Tyler with a kiss on the cheek. “Tyler, it’s been a while-”

“Hey, can I get a glass of champagne?” Tyler slides a hand around Minah’s waist and asks Sungjae.

“He is not a waiter” Minah replies almost offended. She throws a nasty glare at the man and shifts, uncomfortable at the way he talks to Sungjae. 

“I’m sorry, man. I-“ Tyler notices Minah’s reaction and offers a hand for Sungjae to shake “I’m Tyler Lee”

Sungjae doesn’t respond, he just looks at the man with that signature expressionless face that Minah has known for so many years. 

“And he’s Sungjae, my-“ Minah starts but is quickly interrupted.

“Assistant,” He says, shaking Tyler’s hand fleetingly.

“Ok, cool, now can we get out of here? I can’t wait to hear your proposal” Tyler is back to ignoring Sungjae’s presence, pulling Minah by the hand and dragging her outside.

Minah and Sungjae are a strange pair. They have one hell of a complicated relationship, and none of them is ready or in a position to acknowledge that they’ve been harboring feelings for each other from the day they first met.

That’s exactly why Sungjae just watches Minah walk away with the man that can give her the power she’s always fantasized about, although he knows this is about to get even more complicated. 

***

[robinskey]

Could you maybe write something for Steve where the reader and him date and they always get made fun of by the gang and by Robin but they all love her, and one day Steve and her fight and they all take her side. Thank you so much, and I understand if you can't write it. Thank you❤

Taking Sides

A/N: Thank you for requesting, anon! This took me approximately forever and a day, but I loved every minute of writing it. :) I got a little carried away with the story (as I usually do), so there’s a lot more under the cut. 

Warnings: swearing, angst

When you started dating Steve Harrington, you didn’t expect to gain a bunch of kids, too.

Of course, Steve wasn’t their biological father. The oldest of his friends was seventeen and the rest fourteen. However, they all acted more like nine-year-olds. They had the maturity of fifth-graders at best.

Whenever you were around them, there was constant, merciless, inevitable teasing. Usually, it was over the little things-when you and Steve wore matching sweaters at Christmas time, the way Steve did anything you asked him to without question, or how the two of you always laughed at each other’s terrible jokes. You quickly learned to avoid PDA unless you wanted to deal with incessant mocking. For example, you once accidentally referred to Steve as your “baby boy” in front of Dustin. The kid laughed until he ran out of oxygen in his lungs. Then, he promised that he would exclusively refer to Steve as “baby boy” from now on.

Originally, their jokes and snide remarks started out as a way to test you. They had to make sure you were good enough for their beloved Steve, after all. Before long, though, the gang accepted you as one of their own. Nonetheless, the teasing didn’t stop after they decided they liked you. If anything, it only worsened.

An endless string of dirty jokes ensued every time you and Steve arrived somewhere late because you’d “just lost track of time”-even if you actually had simply forgotten to keep an eye on the clock. Robin often wondered aloud how someone as smart as you could end up with a person whose two brain cells bounced around his skull like ping-pong balls. And on one occasion, you even caught El whispering something to Max about whether or not you and Steve ever had “happy screams” together.

The harassment was relentless. Nonetheless, if it meant spending just a little longer with your favorite person in the world, you could deal with it. Besides, by now, you were in too deep to simply walk out. Steve’s friends had begun to care for you almost as much as they loved him. In some cases, it even seemed like they liked you just a little bit more.

One such situation occurred in the winter of 1985.

It started off as a normal night. You, Robin, Steve, and the party were hanging out in the Wheelers’ basement. After weeks of begging, Will had finally wrangled the gang into a D&D campaign. Max and El, who’d never played, both scrunched up their faces in confusion as Will emphatically explained-or rather, tried to explain-to them the rules.

The kids were crammed around a table with dice, paper, and pens in the middle. When Mike suggested that El sit on his lap “to conserve space,” no one questioned it. After all, Mike was the ringleader of the group, and no one would dare to mess his superhuman girlfriend.

Meanwhile, you couldn’t even sit next to your boyfriend on the sofa-not in the Wheeler house, at least. Once, shortly after you and Steve started dating, the kids had left you and Steve alone in the basement for five minutes while they grabbed snacks. Because you were still in the honeymoon stage of the relationship, it was simply impossible to keep your hands off each other. A little peck on the lips quickly morphed into a full-on makeout session. The two of you got so carried away that you forgot the kids were coming back. Upon returning, they discovered their favorite babysitter shoving his tongue down his girlfriend’s throat. Dustin awkwardly cleared his throat, and Steve gave such a start that he tumbled off the sofa and onto the floor.

After that scarring incident, Mike decreed that, under his roof, you and Steve needed to maintain three inches of distance between each other at all times. It was a completely original rule that he definitely hadn’t ripped off from somewhere, and Robin found it hilarious. She always made sure to act as a barrier separating the two of you “to prevent any funny business.”

Tonight was no different. Robin had squeezed into the narrow space between you and Steve while the three of you chatted on the couch. Now, she was ranting about a particularly annoying regular at Hawkins Family Video.

“…and he wastes so much of my time. Like, the store can be swamped, and he’ll still come up to the desk, looking for recommendations. He constantly asks if we have any recent releases, even though I’ve told him on multiple occasions that new shipments only arrive once a month.”

“Jeez. He must really like movies,” Steve said. When you scoffed, he frowned at you. “What? You don’t think he likes movies?”

“He might. But I’m pretty sure he just likes Robin,” you said. The girl in question rolled her eyes toward the heavens. You didn’t appreciate the attitude. “Oh, come on. He’s clearly just trying to get your attention. Nobody actually likes movies that much.”

“Hey!” Steve pouted. “I like movies!”

Robin glanced at Steve out of the corner of her eye. “Really, dingus? Because when we interviewed for this stupid job, you couldn’t even name one.”

“Well, yeah, but that was only because I was nervous,” Steve said. “I clammed up.”

“Sure it was.” Robin leaned her head back against the couch and turned her face toward you. “You really think he’s trying to flirt with me?”

“Yes, I do. Not that it matters, though. I’m pretty sure sweaty middle-aged guys who wear nothing but stained tank tops is pretty much the opposite of your ‘type.’”

Robin chuckled. “Yeah, you’re right. I think my type is ‘straight girls who are way out of my league.’”

“Hey, that’s my type, too!”

You and Robin both looked over at Steve. A smug smirk tugged at his pink lips; he was clearly proud of the clever contribution he’d just made to the conversation. It was cheesy, sure, but you still appreciated his slightly-clumsy attempt at complimenting you. However, Robin was quick to knock him down a peg.

“First of all, the whole ‘out-of-your-league’ thing is obvious, because you’re…in a league of your own, dingus.” Robin drew a tiny dot in the air with her pointer finger-“This is you”-and another, larger circle off to the side-“and this is everyone else. Besides” -Robin clapped her hands together once- “you’re clearly not just into straight girls. You had a crush on me, remember?”

“At the time, I didn’t know…“ Steve’s voice trailed off as blush crept onto his features.

“No, you didn’t. But that doesn’t mean I was any less of a lesbian when you confessed your love for me,” Robin said, eliciting a laugh from you and a glare from Steve.

“You’re the exception, not the rule,” he said defensively. “And I didn’t confess my love for you. The only girls I’ve ever said the ‘L-word’ to are Y/N and-”

“Nancy!” Robin exclaimed.

The name hit you like a slap in the face. Of course Steve had loved Nancy-you knew that-but Robin didn’t have run around yelling about it. You were about to mention that to Robin when you noticed someone standing at the foot of the stairs to the basement.

Someone needed to put a bell on Nancy Wheeler. She moved gracefully as a snowflake floating to the earth; her footfalls pattered against the ground like sprinkling rain. You sometimes wondered if weighed anything at all, or if helium ran through her blood instead of oxygen, always lifting her toward the heavens. She even dressed like an ethereal being, always wearing pastels, frills, lace, or a combination of all three.

Surprisingly, though, none of those elements had made their way into Nancy’s outfit that night. She wore a form-fitting red dress and matching lipstick. Her hair fell to her shoulders in loose curls, and the low neckline of her dress exposed her collarbones. She wore a touch more makeup than usual; in addition to the lipstick, she had applied a thin layer of eyeliner, blush on her already-rosy cheeks, and dark mascara to elongate her lashes. In spite of the skinny, unstable heels on her feet, Nancy’s smooth gait never faltered as she sauntered toward the sofa.

“Hey, Robin,” she said, then gave you and your boyfriend a nod of acknowledgment. “Steve. Y/N.”

Following Nancy’s lukewarm greeting, the four of you slipped into an uncomfortable quietness. You didn’t have anything personally against Nancy, but you preferred to keep her at a distance. Even though she and Steve had been broken up for more than two years, you knew how strongly he’d felt about her. Those feelings had definitely faded. However, you occasionally questioned whether or not the burning torch he carried for his first serious girlfriend had ever completely burned out.

The reminder from earlier that, once upon a time, Steve had confessed his love for Nancy Wheeler certainly didn’t help the situation. You glanced over at your boyfriend and immediately wished you hadn’t. He gazed at Nancy with wide, somewhat-wishful eyes.

“So,” Robin said, finally breaking the silence, “I assume this isn’t a lounge-around-the-house look.” She gestured to the red dress.

“No, it’s not,” Nancy said with a terse, nervous laugh. “Holly’s staying with a friend tonight, so my mom and dad offered to take Jonathan and me out for our anniversary. Celebrating our one-year with my parents isn’t exactly ideal, but they suggested this really fancy restaurant that we definitely wouldn’t have been able to afford otherwise. I tried to dress nice enough that I’ll be able to blend in-”

“You’re trying to blend in? In that?” Steve blurted.

Nancy’s face fell. “What? You think I’m still underdressed?”

“No, no, no, it’s not that. That’s not what I meant,” Steve stammered. “Red’s a good color on you, actually. You look great.”

The awkward silence returned with a vengeance. Heavy tension hung in the air like thick smog, soundlessly choking you. It even penetrated the little bubble the Dungeons-and-Dragons-playing-preteens had formed around themselves and settled over their conversation, too. No one dared to speak a word.

“We’re ready to go, sweetheart!” Mrs. Wheeler called.

Nancy mumbled something of a goodbye before turning on her heel and sprinting up the stairs. You waited for the sound of chattering voices growing muffled and a door slamming shut. Then, you looked over at Steve.

If he liked red so much, he must have loved the color of your skin.

“What the hell was that, Harrington?” you demanded. Robin, who was still parked in between the two of you, pressed into the back of the sofa, trying to create as much distance as possible.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked, big stupid doe eyes glimmering with perplexity. “I just gave her a compliment.”

“You’re not serious.” When he shrugged, your eyebrows flew into your hairline, and your voice rose an octave. “Steve, you were practically drooling over her.”

“She has a boyfriend, Y/N.”

“Yeah, and you have a girlfriend. But that didn’t stop you from flirting with your ex.”

An echo of “ooh”s sounded from the card table with the kids. When you raised your gaze, it met six pairs of eyes. A couple of them sheepishly cast their gaze downward, but the rest continued to stare unapologetically.

“I need some air.” You hopped up off the couch, grabbed your jacket, and stomped up the stairs. As soon as you were out of sight, everyone’s gaze switched back to the other half of the unhappy couple.

Steve made no move to follow after you. Instead, he stayed put on the sofa, arms crossed over his chest and lips pursed into a pout. If it hadn’t been for his excessively long limbs and the hint of stubble on his chin, one might have mistaken the almost-twenty-year-old for a toddler in time-out.

Once again, Robin was the first one to speak. “I can’t believe-”

“I can’t believe her, either,” Steve interjected. “God, overreact much?”

Robin puffed up her cheeks with air, then blew it out. “Actually, Steve, it’s you I can’t believe. That was a dick move.”

Steve leapt to his feet. His hands landed on his hips as he glowered down at Robin and asked, “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

Robin stood up, too. Even though Steve’s legs were a couple inches longer, it seemed like Robin towered over him as she said, “I’m on the side of reason.”

“And I’m not?”

“Not in this situation,” she said. “You’re in the wrong here, bud.”

Max’s whoop of agreement drew Steve’s attention to the kids. El nodded fervently. Steve, however, waved his hand dismissively and wrote them off with, “Of course you think that. You’re girls.” He turned toward the boys with a desperate glimmer in his eye. “I mean, you guys agree that she’s blowing this out of proportion, right?”

Much to Steve’s chagrin, they all shook their heads. With the exception of Will, all of the boys had something to say. Unfortunately, none of it was what Steve wanted to hear. Mike claimed that it definitely seemed like Steve was hitting on his sister, and Dustin suggested he stay away from Jonathan for a few days, unless he wanted to get his ass kicked again. Lucas warned that Steve was in “really deep shit.”

“Like, take the deepest shit you’ve ever been in,” he was saying, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. “Then, multiply that by a hundred, maybe even a thousand-”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I messed up.” Steve plopped back down on the couch. He ran his fingers through his hair and wondered aloud about what you were thinking right now.

“She’s probably debating whether or not to key your car,” Max piped up. El stifled a giggle.

“God, I hope not. I drove one of my dad’s cars over here, and if that thing comes home with even a scratch on it, I’m dead meat.”

(Fortunately, you hadn’t built up a sufficient store of rage to fuel a desire to do permanent damage to Steve’s vehicle. You were, however, angry enough to trace profanity into the dust on the car. While your act of vengeance would go unnoticed for several days, Mr. Harrington would eventually notice the word “shitface” written in looping cursive on each of the dirty windows and ask his son what kind of dumbass prank he thought he was pulling.)

“Okay, so, what do I do?”

“Go talk to her, dingus,” Robin said, nudging his foot with her own. 

“What do I say?”

“Tell her you know you messed up,” Lucas said.

“And that you’re sorry,” El added.

“And that while Nancy’s hot, Y/N is way hotter,” Dustin suggested, eliciting a “Dude, that’s my sister!” and “Hey, that’s my girlfriend you’re talking about!” from Mike and Steve respectively. The three immediately began bickering.

“Shut up!” Max interrupted. “While you’re here arguing about which hotness-which is incredibly objectifying, by the way-Y/N is out there in the cold, waiting for her asshole of a boyfriend.”

After Max’s harsh words, Steve looked to Robin for reassurance. However, his friend gazed back without an ounce of sympathy. “I hate to agree with your children, but Max is right. You should go before she decides you’re not coming and starts to walk home or something.”

Steve nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. Then, he rose to his feet and retraced the path you’d taken minutes before-up the stairs, through the house, and into the crisp December air. The obnoxiously creaky door announced Steve’s arrival. However, the figure sitting on the porch gave no indication of recognition. 

You sat on the Wheelers’ front step, curled into yourself. You blew air into your bare hands in a vain attempt to warm them. Little clouds of your breath floated toward the star-speckled sky. Your thin jacket wasn’t nearly heavy enough to withstand the bitter cold of the Indiana winter; as a gust of wind blew across the porch, a shudder ran down your spine.

Automatically, Steve shrugged out of his coat. When he draped it over your shoulders, you continued staring straight ahead. As Steve sat on the ground beside you, it took every ounce of self-restraint to keep from wrapping his arm around you, too. The two of you simply existed there together silently for a moment while Steve gathered his thoughts.

“Look, Y/N. I’m really sorry for what I said in there-how I acted.”

Aside from a sniffle, you made no other noise, so Steve continued.

“I made a dumb comment, and then I made the situation a hell of a lot worse by-by everything I did, honestly,” he said. “I was a real dick.”

“Yeah, you were,” you said, finally breaking your unofficial vow of silence. 

“I know.” Steve heaved a hefty sigh. For the next few moments, only the whistling wind dared to make a sound.

Then, you spoke a single word: “Steve.” He’d heard his name hundreds, maybe even thousands, of times. Yet, he’d never heard it like that. No one had ever woven such deep sorrow into his five-letter name.

And when you turned your head, your bloodshot eyes conveyed the exact same sentiment with a million times the intensity.

“You still love Nancy, don’t you?” Though a “no” automatically rolled off his tongue, your somber expression never faltered. The strain was evident in your voice as you told him, “Don’t lie to me.”

Suddenly, the lump in his throat was back with a vengeance. He choked out, “Why would you say that?”

You scoffed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“I saw the way you looked at her, Steve,” you said, though it came out as more of a hiss.

Steve’s single brain cell once again bounced around in his mostly-hollow skull. This time, it desperately tried to connect the dots. What were you talking about? Honestly, as soon as Nancy had come down the stairs in that red dress, he’d blacked out a little. Steve figured he had to be dreaming; he couldn’t believe Nancy Wheeler, who Tommy H and Carol had long referred to as “the school prude”, wasn’t covered from head to toe. 

What you’d mistaken for desire was genuinely just surprise. Steve communicated this to you to this best of his ability, and while your boyfriend certainly wasn’t the most eloquent speaker, you got the point. “Besides,” he said, “you’re way hotter than Nancy Wheeler.”

You gave a small “tsk” vaguely reminiscent of a laugh. “Did Dustin tell you to say that or something?”

“…maybe,” he admitted. When you gave him a playful shove, he knew all was forgiven.

“You know, someday, you’re going to run into trouble, getting dating advice from literal children,” you said. 

“It works in your favor, though. They always take your side.” 

Steve reached for your hand. You watched as your fingers intertwined and winced as his icy palm met yours. It felt more like holding hands with a popsicle than a warm-blooded boy.

“Come on,” you said, pulling him to his feet and starting the three-foot-trek to the front door. “Let’s go inside before you get hypothermia.”

“Wait.” A gentle tug of your hand brought you spinning back into Steve’s arms. “While I can still touch you without Mike Wheeler chiding us for PDA…” 

Steve pressed his blue-hued lips to yours. Somehow, his mouth was still warm-the only part of him, aside from his heart, that the elements could never truly touch, try as they may. Steve tasted of chocolate and sickly-sweet marshmallows from the hot cocoa Mrs. Wheeler had made earlier. This wasn’t the first time you’d kissed him. Yet, Steve still left you lightheaded after he pulled away, as though he’d sucked all of the oxygen right out of your lungs.

“I love you, you know that?” he murmured, leaning his forehead against yours. “I really, really love you.”

“I love you, too, dork.” You kissed his cheek before untangled yourself from him and slipping your palm back into his. “Now, come on. I need to thank your friends.”

“Thank them?” Steve asked, tilting his head slightly like a confused puppy. 

“Yeah,” you said with a wink. “I’ve got to thank them for taking my side.”

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[aziraphallist]

the yoke of inauspicious stars

Inspired by this tweet.

*

Crowley’s drunk when it happens. Story of his life, right? He should stop drinking so much.

Except he doesn’t know, at the time, the trouble it will cause. Not just him. The trouble it will cause, in general. More trouble than he ever cared to cause intentionally. (See also: the story of his life.)

He’s with Aziraphale, obviously. That’s probably the root of the problem. It’s—he’s losing track, now, of how many years it’s been, how the humans are counting these days. Though maybe that’s the drink. It’s, what, four thousand years since he sheltered under Aziraphale’s wing on the wall of Eden, watching the first rainfall. Crowley’s been in love with him for all of them. 

Humanity has always loved storytelling. Crowley appreciates each new stride forward, as a rule; stories are knowledge, and Crowley has, historically, always come down in favor of knowledge. It remains to be seen, though, where he stands on the issue of literature.

Aziraphale, sitting in a tavern in Rome, could not be more pleased. Careful to keep his cup far from his prize, he pushes a scroll across the table, practically vibrating with joy.

Crowley concentrates very hard on not feeling jealous that a simple inanimate object can provoke this reaction when he himself cannot. “What’s this, then?”

“Metamorphoses.” Aziraphale says it the same way he will one day say crepes. “Book four. Ovid. I’ve been waiting for a chance to get my hands on a copy, you know.

“Book four?” Crowley repeats, taking the scroll without really intending to. He unrolls the first few inches.

“Of fifteen,” Aziraphale confirms, and Crowley spends a moment wondering anachronistically when humanity will get around to inventing editors. “But this one’s my favorite so far. Oh, do read the second one, there, that’s the best one.”

Crowley can read, though his eyes aren’t exactly designed for it. He can coax them into submission for brief stretches, but it’s taxing, and he doesn’t want to sober up. He hands the scroll back. “You read it to me, if you like it so much.”

This is his second mistake. Third, if he counts the alcohol. Fourth, if he’s feeling particularly uncharitable with himself and tacks on the fact that he, a demon, gave his incredibly stupid heart to an angel four thousand years ago.

But he’s drunk. He almost can’t help himself. He knows it doesn’t mean anything if Aziraphale acquiesces. He merely likes the poem and wants to share it. His capitulation has nothing to do with Crowley except as a captive audience; Crowley has long known Aziraphale likes to hear himself talk.

It certainly doesn’t take much cajoling for him to start reading this one, which begins:

When Pyramus and Thisbe, who were known

The one most handsome of all youthful men,

The other loveliest of all eastern girls—

In the many years to come Crowley will hear a thousand stories like this. In years to come he’ll think back on these verses and think they’re so simple, that so few lines can’t convey the depth of emotion of a play or a novel or a film. But those years are still to come and this is the first love story he’s ever heard, read to him in the voice of the being he has loved hopelessly for more than four millennia. And it speaks directly to him.

He finds himself leaning forward, wine forgotten, as Pyramus and Thisbe whisper to each other through the shared wall of their homes, make a plan to defy their families. His heart, heedless of its own irrelevance, beats a steady pulse in his throat, the story lending it optimism, a borrowed maybe one day. For a brief, absurd moment, the air tastes like freedom.

His fingers clench into fists when Thisbe encounters the lioness. Relax when she escapes. But when the lioness tears at her dropped veil, a pit of ice forms in his chest. His palms sweat; his hands feel weak. Horror makes him pale as Aziraphale reads on, oblivious to the crisis happening two feet in front of him.

“Now Pyramus had not gone out so soon as Thisbe to the tryst; and, when he saw the certain traces of that savage beast, imprinted in the yielding dust, his face went white with fear.” Aziraphale’s voice is steady; he doesn’t even look up. Crowley’s heart thinks he is discorporating. “But when he found the veil covered with blood, he cried, ‘Alas, one night has caused the ruin of two lovers! Thou wert most deserving of completed days, but as for me, my heart is guilty! I destroyed thee!’”

Despite his every effort, a pitiful, animal sound thrashes out of Crowley’s throat. Literature might be new, but Crowley is a suspicious bastard, and he knows how to hurt people. It’s his job. He knows exactly how this story will end.

The way it must end. The way any story like this would end.

Theirs too, provided Aziraphale could ever love him. And for that aching, horrified moment, Crowley finds himself fiercely glad he doesn’t.

“Now the gods have changed the ripened fruit which darkens on the branch: and from the funeral pile their parents sealed their gathered ashes in a single urn,” Aziraphale concludes with a veritable sigh of satisfaction, and sets the scroll aside, only now to gauge his audience’s reaction. “I—Crowley? Are you crying?”

Crowley is not crying. Crowley is furious. Even if his face is wet. Tears of rage don’t count. “Who,” he says, over the screaming beat of his heart, “who would write such a thing?”

Aziraphale frowns at him, leaning closer across the table. “I told you. The author’s name is Ovid—”

“No,” Crowley cuts in, slashing a hand across his face, “Never mind, I don’t mean who, I don’t care who, I mean why? What’s wrong with these humans? Is this what they left the garden for?”

Whatever is happening on his face, it’s enough to alarm Aziraphale, who moves his chair closer still. “Crowley, you’re not making sense.”

“I mean, what’sss the point of it?” There are a thousand different things wrong with this story, a thousand reasons Crowley feels the need to slink into the desert and shed his skin, find a rock and crawl under it for the next fifty years, and he can articulate none of them. Something is boiling inside him, threatening to spill over if he can’t take the lid off the pot, but he doesn’t even know where the fire is. “Four thousssand years practicing free will and they’re no better at it than we are! Worse, even, here they are just, just taking it for granted—”

A line of consternation appears between Aziraphale’s brows. “But it’s not about free will—”

Crowley laughs bitterly. “Everything is about free will, angel.” He thumps a hand over the scroll. “That bit at the end? Where the gods change the mulberries and their parents sssseal their ashes in a single urn. That’s what free will gets them in this bloody poem.”

“For goodness sake, Crowley, it’s poetic!” He draws back, searching Crowley’s face. He’s not only surprised, he’s bewildered. Because of course he is. Because he has no idea Crowley has been breaking his heart over him since the invention of rain. Because he doesn’t see their story paralleled in this one at all. “I thought you’d understand.”

“Poetic doesn’t make you any less dead,” Crowley snaps. Belatedly he remembers the wine and quaffs the rest of his cup, barely tasting it above the ash-and-sulphur burn of rage on his tongue. He ought to give it up. Walk it off. Next time he sees Aziraphale, fifty or seventy or a hundred years from now, he’ll have forgotten all about this.

But that will be fifty or seventy or a hundred years from now. And even here, sore, angry, hurt, even laid bare, Crowley cannot bear to deprive himself of a single moment. “The author,” he begins.

“Ovid,” Aziraphale supplies.

“Whatever.” Crowley inhales unnecessarily through his nose. “The author has free will too, yeah? So he’s writing this poem. Two young people fall in love in defiance of the rules.” Oh, he’s skirting trouble here; if Aziraphale sees him—but then Aziraphale’s been drinking too. “He could do anything he wants. They could get away together. Their parents could change their minds. Thisbe could catch Pyramus before he falls on his own blessed sssword.” He clenches his teeth. The hiss is starting to get away from him. “For that matter, Pyramus could investigate a bit further than a bloody veil before he decides to off himself!”

He punctuates this last with his fist against the table, and Aziraphale jumps. Good.

“But no,” Crowley continues. Bitterness leaches into his words like lead, urged on with the liberal application of alcohol. “Free to give the story any ending he likes, he chooses this one: as punishment for daring to choose each other over family, over rules, the lovers perish.” He scoffs, wishes his cup full again, takes a swig.

“But they’re together in death!” Aziraphale protests. “And the gods grant Thisbe’s last wishes. I think it’s a very romantic notion, to die for love.”

“Maybe if your death would mean the survival of your beloved!” Crowley ripostes, swaying a bit in his seat, furiously willing himself to believe he’s never personally considered that particular inevitability. Because yes—that’s it, that’s what’s getting to him. “But this—to romanticize dying for love, for no reason—it’s deplorable.”

Crowley would do it. He’d fight like heaven not to have to, he’d pull out every last miracle he has. He would do it with very little regret. But calling the idea romantic is an unconscionable sin.

Aziraphale sighs, but it’s fond, the irritation fading from his countenance and leaving behind a trace of softness around his mouth. “Oh, of course you would be a pragmatist.”

Crowley almost chokes on the irony.

It’s pure bad luck that the tavern barmaid walks by just then, and bad luck that Crowley’s so deep in his cups, and worst of all that he’s just suffered through Aziraphale reading him a poem that might as well be called “What Would Happen To Us.” Because what comes out of his mouth next has the force of untethered power behind it, and it changes her life, and Crowley’s, irrevocably. “Might just as well choke to death on lovesickness, if they like suffering so much,” he mutters, mulish.

The barmaid pauses on her way past, then seems to shake herself.

The next morning she’ll wake with rosepetals spilling from her lips, that ache in her chest turned physical.

It will be another thousand years before the same happens to Crowley.

He gets a commendation for it.