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imagine-loki · 4 years ago

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Pride and Prejudice

TITLE: Pride and Prejudice CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 61 AUTHOR: wolfpawn

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki was raised on Jotunheim as Laufey’s son after the war, but an agreement was then made that he would wed Odin’s daughter so Odin could secure the alliance of Jotunheim through the marriage. Loki, in turn, was raised to be king of Jotunheim, but how he views Asgard is far different from how Odin’s daughter is raised leading to a clash of cultures as well as uncertainty between the pair of betrothed youths. RATING: Mature NOTES/WARNINGS: Forced Marriage, not all fun and games. My first real step back into the Loki scene in over a year.

Tags - @skulliebythesea @asimovethroughthisworld @blackcherry26-blog @we-shadowhunter2901

“You should be resting.” Loki looked disapprovingly at his mate.

“I am not tired, what reason have I to rest?” Ella walked slowly along the corridor. “My gait is slow because I wish for it to be so, not because I need for it to be. Therein lies the difference but I thank you for your concern.”

It had been a week since Loki all but confessed his love for his mate in their bed chambers. Since then, there was a slight awkwardness between the pair. Ella was scared that Loki had not meant to say what he said in the manner that he said it and that she merely misinterpreted what he had said so she had not said anything to him on the matter and Loki had realised that he had said too much after he said it making him awkward around Ella since.

When they were required to talk, they did so, but at other times, being in one another’s presence caused both to feel ill at ease. Instead, both sought comfort in the presence of his brother’s for Loki and their mates in the case of Ella.

“You are getting to a stage where you should be resting.”

Ella laughed slightly. “According to whom?”

“Your own movements. I can see, you know? I see you beginning to get easily tired more.”

“On occasion, yes but I am fine,” Ella dismissed. “I have four months left of carrying this child and I am not sitting in bed just waiting and getting big.”

“You make it sound like growing bigger to facilitate our son growing is a bad thing?”

“It is not, you make it sound like it means I am an invalid.”

Loki could only scoff at such words. “Such is never likely to occur. If it did, you would make it seem you were perfectly fine to one and all anyway, myself included.” Ella could not argue that assessment. “But I stand by my statement that you need to be resting more. It is significant pressure on you.”

Ella turned her head slightly and rolled her eyes. “Very well, I will not consider going and hiking Mt Fervi this afternoon as I had previously planned.”

Loki was used to Ella’s sarcasm. He found it one of her more interesting traits but when it came to anything relating to her health and the child, he found himself irked by it. “It would not be recommended.” His voice was deadpan to show his displeasure at her jestful remarks.

“I would have thought you would be used to me by now. Shockingly, it has been two years since you were forced to take me as a mate.”

“Two years, three months, two weeks and a day, but who is counting?” Loki scoffed. “I enjoy your humour but not in relation to our son.”

For her part, Ella was somewhat startled. She had not realised he had been counting. She felt awkward whenever she felt that Loki was getting too affectionate as a result of wondering if it was how he genuinely felt or if, perhaps, he felt he should say such things because she was quite heavy with child. She knew their relationship was nothing like it had been at the beginning but that did not mean she did not sometimes feel wary. “You sound like one forced to serve a sentence in the dungeons with the manner in which you counted that out.” She tried to sound jestful but the way she looked at Loki told him there was more to her words.

Sensing her discomfort, Loki was unsure of how to react. He wanted to comfort her but felt that in itself could be the cause of her discomfort. His natural instinct was to tend to the needs of his childbearing mate but he felt as though his tending to her only exasperated her anxiousness, leaving him to feel apprehensive as a result. He had thought to begin with that he had not admitted to his feelings aloud, but seeing her reaction since, it caused conflict in him. The contentment she showed in his embrace, the slight show of affection when she kissed him chastely told she held affection for him. He was relieved when she never tried to do the more...intimate version that he found unappealing. The version she did was acceptable to him, he liked it. She also seemed to like bestowing it. But now it had ceased and it upset him greatly. “There are worse punishments.”

“Not many though.” Ella stretched out her back as best she could. “It feels peculiar. So many Jotnar have been pregnant longer than I am and have so much longer to go.”

“Most are envious of you. When I speak with some, they are shocked to hear you can have three children in the time it takes us to have one.”

Ella glared at Loki. “Don’t even think about it.”

For a moment, Loki did not grasp as to what she was referencing before his eyes widened. “I would not dream of it.”

“Good, I want to recover after this one before fulfilling the rest of that agreement.” She turned to deal with the fact that she could feel some milk leaking, something she had been experiencing for a short time.

“Ella?”

“Yes.”

Loki inhaled. There was already a tension to everything and he knew it could easy grow as a result of his words. “You know I don’t care about that agreement, don’t you?” Ella faced him once more and frowned. “I never wanted it.”

“I know. You never wanted me, much less children with me. You looked like you were going to baulk there in the middle of the Throne room when your father mentioned it.” There was neither hurt nor anger in her words, they were stated in a manner to imply their factual nature.

Loki could not argue that. He knew his face showed his disgust that day. “I am not referring t simply to then, I am speaking about now.”

“I don’t follow you?”

“I am speaking about now. I don’t care about that agreement.”

“It was part of the marital contract, whether we care or not is irrelevant. It renders void all matters of opinion and indeed renders the marriage void should it not be upheld.” She pointed out.

Loki scoffed. “You cannot render us void. We are mates, you don’t void that. It’s impossible. Not to mention, what does it do to our son? He cannot be rendered obsolete. How does that work?”

“Well, in other realms, he would be deemed illegitimate and not be in line to yours or indeed my father’s throne, as Thor’s successor should he die childless, something my mother is already fretting.”

“Illegit...what would that mean? How does that stop him being in line for my throne, he is my son, until we have others, he is the only one in line?” Loki could not grasp what she was saying.

“Illegitimate means that he would not be eligible for such. I thought you said you read and studied other realms? He would not be recognised as your line.”

“But he is.” He pointed out.

Ella sighed. “You need to read about other realms.” She walked over to the bookshelf and took out a book she kept on the different royal lines and protocols from other realms and handed it to Loki. “It is in Aesir script which you told me you are proficient in so you should have no concerns reading it. I am not really in the mind to discuss it and personally, I think you will not react well so I am going to bathe and see if I can get my back to cease bothering me. You know where I am if you require me for anything.”

Loki could see in her features that she was beginning to get annoyed. Her temper and tolerance were lower than previous at the current time so he said nothing more and looked down at the book before flicking through different pages which showed all the different royal lines for Alfheim, Vanaheim, Asgard, Jotunheim, and startling numbers of such for Midgard, which he knew was a complex planet with wats of life that made no sense to him. When he got to what she was referencing by way of lineage, he sat and began to read. It explained children born to monarchs in wedlock and those born to mistresses, how the latter could not be recognised fully by the King. One Midgardian king had his son by such made all manner of titles and recognised but could not call him a successor. The word illegitimate was used multiple times in the text, it was used in reference to those children not able to take the mantel of ‘heir’. He disliked the word before he knew its meaning but he disliked it all the more after. When he read of what it would mean for his son, his eyes widened.

Ella half knew what would come. Two years taught her a lot of Loki’s personality. She soaked herself in the bath, enjoying not having the pressure of carrying a sturdy child on her back whilst the water took the weight from her. When he burst into the bathing room, his face showing how appalled he was at the words he had read, she looked at him with almost an unsurprised and expectant look.

“That is disgusting.”

“That is how it is for so many.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t make the rules, I merely am here by the happenstance of birth, just like you, just like our brothers, our fathers, our son.” She sank a little lower into the bath. “It is what it is.”

“Never in a million years is that going to happen our son.”

“If we don’t have a second one, it does not matter what you think, it is the agreement. If the agreement is not upheld, it has consequences.”

“But Asgard and Jotunheim are allies again. We fought together, bled together, died together, does that mean nothing?”

“To many, no. A biological link must bind the realms. One to rule has a half Aesir blooded being, one in case he fails to do so. There’s a saying for it on Midgard, ‘The heir and the spare’.”

“The is disgusting. My brothers are not ‘spares’. You are not the Allfather’s.”

“I was meant to be. Sadly, my mother was not able to carry more. If I had been born male, I would have been but the agreement was, two children, I fulfilled that agreement. My parents are very happily married, they care deeply for one another, but my mother hated pregnancy. She felt horrendous with me and positively awful with Thor, she was ill-suited to it. So with the agreement fulfilled, she told my father she wanted no more and he respected such, though both knew that should Thor do something even more stupid than usual, the Odin line dies out unless our sons are legitimate and to do that, the agreement must be upheld.”

“What happens if such were to occur and we have two sons? How would that work?”

“The eldest is naturally in line for Asgard. If he is not what is to be for Jotunheim, as with your situation, the younger can take the throne and he will get Asgard. If this child is suited, he will rule both.”

“Both?” Loki’s eyes widened.

“Both.” She repeated. “That is why you will find that my brother will be all but thrown to a woman and she will be pregnant post haste. Too many old bigoted farts will not want a Jotnar mix on the Aesir throne. Being raised here will make him more inclined to our way of life, something many in Asgard would not like.”

“Really?”

“Do you not recall my acclimatisation to this realm? I was open-minded and I found it difficult, think how difficult it is for those less inclined to do so.”

Loki could not disagree with her statement. He had found going to Vanaheim and Alfheim difficult and he did not have the want to get it right as Ella had because he knew he would not be remaining on the realm. He shook his head as he spoke. “I still will not hear of it.”

“You will not have a choice.”

Loki walked over to the bath and knelt down beside her, causing Ella to look at him, concerned. “You are my mate. I want no other.” He leant in close to her, his face against hers and he placed his hand into the notably warm water, something more than a little uncomfortable for him and place it on her stomach. “He is my son, my heir and I swear to the Norns, no one will change either of those facts. If you birth him and say no more, then no more. That is final. I am Loki, King of Jotunheim and I will fight it, but come to it, I will pick my mate and our son over a throne any day.” He leant in more as her hand went to cup his face.

Ella did not know why she did it but she gently placed her lips against his softly for a moment. She knew he hated those sorts of kisses but hearing him declare such words made her want to convey her own affections more. She made sure not to do it for too long but Loki did not pull back in revulsion instead he sighed contently.

#Loki #others #submission #submitted fic #chapter 61 #wolfpawn #Pride and Prejudice

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silverliningslurk · 6 years ago

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Living at Zero

Rating: Teen and up Pairing: Bokuto Koutarou/Kuroo Testurou Additional tags: mentions of death Creature: Reaper Word count: 6,831

Notes: I’m very, very sorry this is late, @humandisasterbuckybarnes! I hope you like it, and again, sorry for its lateness! This is for @fantasyhaikyuuexchange‘s Halloween exchange. Thank you for holding it!

Read on AO3

Reapers walk among us,

At death's door you may find,

And so to not be taken,

You must avoid their eyes

(Transliterated poem found in Old Irish inscriptions, c.1400)

<hr>

He doesn't know all the lives he's lived.

He's been young, he's been old. He's been black, he's been white, and every shade in between. He's spoken every language under the sun, he's spoken his prayers in every faith. He's lived in every time. He's been a boy, he's been a girl. He's been a boy that was born in a girl's body, and he's been a girl that was born in a boy's body. He's been neither, and he's been something else entirely. He's loved girls, he's loved boys, everything in between, and he's loved no one. He's been poor, he's been rich, he's been everywhere in the world and-.

He only remembers the life he lives right now.

<hr>

He is not unique. But he is the only one of his kind. He remembers nothing, but he's been here before. He's seen everything but not with these eyes.

It is a familiar newness.

But things have changed; he meets his doom far before his time.

And he lives.

It's a hot summer day in Tokyo, nothing new about that. The Fukurodani team have made their way over to the Nekoma High School grounds for a volleyball camp, nothing new about that. His old eyes have forgotten Tokyo, have never been here before, and drink it in. He is a mere first year, and new to the school at that; new to Tokyo in this life.

The Nekoma team are stood out, looking in various shades of discomfort with the heat. His eyes scroll down the line as the seniors shake hands and say their greetings, and his gaze catches on one of them. His hair is swept over his eye, he looks ready to start playing already, and his eye catches Koutarou's.

Koutarou knows him.

He doesn't know where, but he's seen those eyes. There are depths there he can't imagine, and he tries to dismiss it as they shake hands as instructed. There is a visceral fear in his gut, a snake coiling up and whispering for him to run. But another latching around his neck and telling him to stay, and it is too strong, allied to his curiosity.

He wants to know more. He wants to get to know this person.

He introduces himself as Kuroo Testurou, and Koutarou has fallen.

<hr>

When reapers reap the world shall know,

The crows will fly and the mould will grow

When reapers reap the world shall know

They sow their seeds from down below

When reapers reap the world shall know,

Those seeds will grow o'er all to show

That when the reapers reap and the world does know

There is nowhere left to go

(Transliterated extract from a Chinese poem, c.1200)

<hr>

He's young when he sees a vague shadowy shape pick its way through the carnage. It delicately steps over shattered glass and around chunks of wall, separated from the house it originated on. It's small, he thinks, but it's a little hard to tell. The world is all upside down, and a stair rail over his chest hurts.

He's young when the shape pauses by one wreck, and taps someone underneath with a long rod with a curved bit on the end of it. It's a bit far away. He doesn't know if that's quite what happened.

He's young when the shape picks its way towards him, skirting a small fire. He feels no fear, a numb sort of calm having settled over him. It doesn't occur to him to panic, or be scared. Not yet. He's fixated on this shape, shadowy, its edges not fully defined. It's hard to look right at it, but he does anyway because he's decided to.

He's young when the shape stops in front of him, facing his dad. He's young when the curved thing arcs down and taps him, and this awful wheezing sound starts, suddenly so loud.

He's young when the shape turns and its sunken eyes meet his and widen in terror.

He's young. But it looks young too.

It stays so still, he can only look back; it's hand twitches, and that blade shudders into motion.

He is young when it hits him, and the last thing he sees are those eyes, etched into his soul's mind

<hr>

By the end of that week, he is tied. They've become fast friends, because Koutarou is very good at ignoring his gut reaction of fear. He doesn't like fear. It doesn't have a place in his life. He's learned to dispel it with ease, and does so constantly. He leaves with Kuroo's phone number and begins a long strand of messages. He leaves with a thousand thoughts in his head, and all of them are linked to volleyball, Kuroo, or both.

They meet up sometimes to play - although they often get distracted. Once, they school some kids in the park at volleyball. Occasionally they go and see a movie, and Koutarou gets kicked out for using his phone because he couldn't focus that long and it wasn't interesting enough. They usually go for food.

No matter what they do though, Kuroo has a small weapon on him. It's hanging from a belt loop, on his bag, tucked into a pocket. Koutarou never sees him without it. It's like a stick with a curved bit on it. It emanates a sense of foreboding that Koutarou doesn’t really understand.

Once, when Kuroo wasn't looking, he tested the blade. His finger came back slit and bloodied, and that snake in his gut he usually ignored so well told him to lie. There were other people around at that point. Maybe that is why.

He asks about it though, once.

"Your keychain, what is it?" He murmurs: they are both lying on the floor, exhausted from an intense serve practice that had devolved from that to basketball to dodgeball to some combination of the three. He thinks next time he should invite some more people.

"Scythe," Kuroo utters back, eyes closed. They both are tired.

"Cool. But why do you always carry it?"

A strangled noise. Kuroo snaps his head around to stare at him. Koutarou blinks, raising his eyebrows.

Kuroo stares at him for a long time. Koutarou, tired, just stares back. He can't think of anything else to say, and he doesn't see why he shouldn't get an answer.

Kuroo doesn't blink that much. Eventually he turns his head back to the ceiling and snorts.

"Didn't think you'd notice it."

Koutarou huffs.

"Was I not meant to? ‘Cause you always have it on. D'ya shower with it too?" He teases, but Kuroo just peers at him.

"Most people don't."

"Whadd'ya mean?"

"Most people don't notice." He says, but there's something about it - like he's saying 'don't' and actually means something else. With his surprise, it seems almost like 'can't'.

"Maybe I just look more than most, bro." Koutarou murmurs, and Kuroo just hums faintly in agreement, and falls silent.

They don't speak of it again.

<hr>

Fear no witches fear no storm

Fear no spiders fear no form

Fear no ghosties under your bed,

Fear no madman way up ahead

Fear no devil fear no fall

Fear no pirate lost in the squall

Fear no illness under the sun,

Fear no violence not yet done

Fear most nothing though this be due

Do fear the reapers comin' for you

Children’s chant, believed to be sung in large areas of West Africa from the 1200s. Has also been adapted to refer to slavers and traffickers.

<hr>

He is old when he sees it again.

He is old, sitting on a rocking chair, his sandals toed off to one side, looking out over the rice paddies and the workers within them. He is waiting. He doesn't know exactly for whom he waits, but there is a vague memory that he is waiting.

He is old, appreciated the late afternoon breeze over his creaky joints, the knarled hands of his. They twitch to join those in the field, help the young ones working so inefficiently, only going to tire themselves out like that. But he's tired and old, and he doesn't want to move. He might miss what he's waiting for. Who he's waiting for. He's at peace, assured that all is well. The harvest will be plenty to feed them all, just the right balance of rain and sun to bring bounty to their fields. They have never eaten lavishly, but they will eat well. With lazy fish trapped in the streams, they will eat well.

He breathes out, a long dwindling sigh. He doesn't want to go, but he knows he can't stay. They will be fine without him.

He is old when they sidle up beside him.

Ready to go? they whisper. He merely nods, and takes in his final sight for a while. The scythe comes down on the crown of his head, he imagines those eyes, and he is old, this time.

<hr>

Koutarou stares. Kuroo stares back.

This lasts quite a while. Koutarou wonders if he's dreaming.

"Dude, did you just kill someone’s rabbit?"

How else it he supposed to appraise this scene? Kuroo, adorned with a cloak and a very large, very sharp looking weapon - scythe, a scythe, and where has he seen that before? - and a rabbit, much of its blood and innards looking to be exterior to its body. It is certainly not on the living spectrum of the world any longer.

Kuroo looks- horrified. Scared, even. Does he regret his actions? Or being caught?

"Kuroo? Tell me you didn't. That's wrong." He musters, as the horror starts to leak into his mind. His friend has just killed something.

"No! Yes, I- I finalised it. It was already dead. I put it at rest." Kuroo frantically corrects. Koutarou blinks long and hard, looks at Kuroo, then the corpse, then Kuroo again. It feels too surreal, him in flip flops with a seven-eleven bag full of snacks, and Kuroo with-

"That's still killing it. Why not just take it to the vet?!" And his heart is at war in his chest, horror fighting against a far fonder emotion, and trying to contemplate the two co-existing. It doesn't feel like it can.

Kuroo groans loudly, and waves the scythe about. He then paces up and down, and back and forth, multiple times. He's muttering, but the exact words slip past Koutarou's ears even when he tries to focus. Come to think, his everything is hard to focus on. Koutarou blames the disgust that's sinking in, joining the fight in his heart.

Kuroo finally stops a few metres in front of Koutarou, and nigh-on slams the scythe down. Koutarou can't help but flinch.

And it disappears. It reappears, small, in Kuroo's hand, and gets tucked away.

"I had my suspicions. So there's no way around this. I'm not human." Kuroo says, like it's easy. Maybe it is.

"Not if you go around murdering pets." He utters, still shocked. Kuroo hisses through his teeth.

"No not- fuck. I'm not human. You shouldn't be able to see me right now."

"But you're not disappearing."

"I'm a reaper."

Koutarou blinks.

Kuroo stares back.

Koutarou opens his mouth.

And shuts it again.

"Wait what?"

"I'm a reaper."

"What's that?" He asks, but he knows. There have been stories and rhymes since forever. He's heard them, sung them, read them. Don't look in their eyes.

"We let the dead pass on." Kuroo states, after a moment of thought.

"You kill people. Things," he corrects after letting his gaze wander back to the unfortunate rabbit.

"Bokuto, listen. This rabbit, it got hit by a motorbike. There wasn't a hope of recovery. I stopped its suffering. I let it pass on. I let its soul go free. I helped, Bokuto. That's all I do. I help."

Koutarou's finding it hard to think right now. It's a lot too much to process. He'd been excited about snacks, but now he's not even hungry.

"I gotta..." He motions going with his free hand, still flabbergasted. Reapers exist. And his best friend is one? It doesn't compute. It doesn't make any sense. They're fictional characters, but here one is, apparently, walking straight out of a folklore book, called down from a song.

"Bokuto, please, don't- don't let this change anything." Kuroo looks worried, almost. It's confusing.

"How? You're not even human, or so you say, that changes everything, doesn't it?" There's a hurricane in his head.

"It doesn't have to. It won't." Kuroo says, although even he sounds uncertain about it.

“But it will, won’t it.” He says, and backs up one step. Kuroo makes a conflicted face. “I can’t look you in the eyes-”

“Which is a total myth by the way.”

“Your whole existence is supposed to be a myth, Kuroo!” Koutarou snaps, feeling hurt. How is he meant to deal with this? How is he supposed to be friends with a creature that shouldn’t exist, by human law? How are they supposed to get on? How could he have fallen for a creature like this?

Kuroo flinches, and steps backwards, eyes downcast.

“Just think about it, Bokuto.” He murmurs, and twists on his heel. Koutarou imagines that he would disappear from sight, but he just walks away, and doesn’t turn back.

Koutarou feels weirdly bad about it.

<hr>

Reapers take the body, we keep the soul. We carry it to a new life, all the while chased by the reapers, jealous of that which they will never have: life.

(Buddhist proverb)

<hr>

She is older still when a hurricane blows through.

It rips the roof from her house, throws her things down the street and into the sea. It hurls her neighbours into the sky, never to be seen again. It forces seawater into the fields, crops ruined. There is a moment of peace, mere minutes, before it starts to take again. It just takes, and takes and takes. It takes so many; her neighbours, her sisters, her brothers. Her parents, her children. Her wife. Her brethren, decimated by a force from above.

Then comes the disease, a plague of bad water. There is no help, and yet more get torn from her, friends wrought from the chaos leave her behind, and still, no help.

She's relieved to finally find a blade in front of her and pitying eyes, just to end the pain.

<hr>

In the midst of playing a monotonous game on his phone, he’s right there when it rings. He notes the caller, and breathes in. And answers, because he’s never been quite that good at resisting his impulses.

Hello, Bokuto,, a quiet voice from the other side. He could be the other side of the world, the other side of death. Koutarou wonders if he’s in front of a corpse as he phones, and shudders. He hums, unable to summon any words.

He’s thought about it a lot. Kuroo has been in the forefront of his mind, invading, pervading. He’s gone to text him several times and had to stop himself. He’s no good at this, staying away; Kuroo just pulls him in, again and again and again. They’ve known each other for over a year now, they’ve upgraded one year and gained kouhai. Kuroo’s childhood friend has joined Nekoma, Akaashi has joined Fukurodani, and they both have dreams of Nationals.

These past two weeks, though, Koutarou has been wondering: how can a reaper have a childhood friend, or dreams. Was it all lies?

“If people can’t see reapers, how can I see you? How can other people see you?” He’s not totally sure he wants an answer. Kuroo audibly sighs heavily, and takes a while to answer.

I only want to answer that when I can see your face.

“Would you answer if I came to see you right now?”

He doesn’t think he really wants to know. But he misses Kuroo.

I would.

And so he treks the darkening streets of Tokyo, to an internet café equidistant from both of their houses. It feels like a neutral ground. Koutarou wonders if the other patrons can feel the tension dripping from his very pores, the fear, the conflict he’s wearing on his skin. Kuroo doesn’t look too uneasy, but uncomfortable enough to make Koutarou not feel too out of place.

There is a long silence, between them. Koutarou is doing his best not to look Kuroo in the eyes.

He’s succeeding.

“There was once a creature,” Kuroo starts eventually, hesitant. “A creature that commanded over death. They only ever saw the last moments of life, before leaving to eliminate the next spark. So on, ad infinitum. They wandered time, they wandered space.

“They gradually grew weary of their travels, weary of watching lights go out, weary of a never ending list. Weary of only watching life be lived by others. So weary, that they went to every mythic they knew about, and begged for a life better than the one they owned. They wanted to be closer to life, wanted to experience finite days, growing old, living and loving.

“Most knew no way. But they kept trying, until they found one yokai, older than time, older than space, who told them that it could be done. Provided the creature could find a suitable vessel. So the creature searched high and low. Eventually, they found it; a sickly child, less than a year of this world, and not long for it. They stole the child, and showed it to the yokai.

“The yokai performed a spell. When the time came, that the child would require a reaper’s service, that creature had to be the one to perform the deed. They must say an incantation as they performed it, and they would be transferred into the skin of that child, doomed to live out its days in its place.”

"Whadd’ya mean, doomed?" Koutarou echoes, forgetting in the midst of the spinning tale not to look Kuroo in the eyes. Kuroo stares back, infinite depths there. Koutarou feels that familiar vertigo.

"The yokai thought it to be doomed. But the creature thought it to be blooming. It still had to perform its work, but it had a home to return to. A family. Friends. It had meaning other than that which was determined by its ability to bring death. It lived. And it loved."

Kuroo is staring at him, open and, dare he think it, vulnerable. Koutarou's mouth is dry.

"Your reality has always been a myth for my kind. It has finally become real for me." Kuroo whispers, with eyes so wide they engulf Koutarou whole. The world melts around him, until it consists of only him and Kuroo, and it feels full.

Slowly, he outstretches his hand and unfurls it, palm up. It's more than a gesture: it's a decision. A point where Koutarou could turn back to the wholly known, and ignore all this. A pivotal moment on his yet short life. There is that familiar snake coiling in his guts with fear, apprehension. But there is that familiar tug of curiosity, wild abandon he is known for. He hovers his hand above the table for a moment, glances at Kuroo's hand, then back to his eyes, and makes no contact.

"I shouldn't trust you," he murmurs.

"Unwise." Kuroo returns, the corner of his lips quirking up slightly.

"You kill things."

"I bring peace to those who have suffered enough."

"You've walked straight outta fairy tale book or something."

"You have appeared from a fantasy." Kuroo breathes, too many shades of fascination and sincerity in his eyes for Koutarou to resist. He trails his fingertips over Kuroo's, and watches him gasp, before taking his hand.

"I am no fantasy, Kuroo." He says.

Kuroo nods like he finally believes.

<hr>

Reaper reaper are you there

Is that you upon my stair

Reaper reaper stop right there

Come no closer dare I dare

(French playground chant, origins and time period unknown)

<hr>

He is not that young when he gets caught up in a war. It's not an obvious war, but a covert one, fought in shadows, territory marked by headlines the following days.

He is taken at knifepoint and hissed at for being wrong.

He's never been wrong, not by the colour of his skin or the gender of the person he loves. But to them, he is wrong, and they will only ever see him as wrong. To them, wrongness must be eradicated, rather than differences celebrated.

They stab him twice.

The third blade does not belong to them. Those eyes, so familiar now, blur into the sirens and the darkness as his heart gives up.

<hr>

Time goes so fast, he thinks; it's been another year, more, and they've clicked up to the hallowed post of third years. Their teams fight a thousand times over; they only fight in name, teasing with blunted claws. Koutarou and Fukurodani hold up the trophy that year, and he knows that Kuroo smiles on. Later, in the darkest part of the stadium, they kiss to make the world melt away.

Then they move on, up, and up.

Koutarou, never much one for education but needing an in for a team, enters a scholarship for a token degree, and thrives with volleyball and friends. Kuroo takes up a pharmaceutical degree in a neighbouring university, and they live together. It partly amuses, and partly scares Koutarou that Kuroo is working with chemicals that, in the correct doses, can both cure and kill.

Koutarou watches Akaashi lead the team well; Kuroo watches Fukunaga do the same in his own quiet manner, and watches Kenma adjust to his absence. The world moves on around them.

Koutarou starts to realise that all his life he's been seeing vague shapes, the ones he's seen dogs bark at and cats stare at - the ones he assumed everyone else saw. He doesn't realise for a long time after they start living together what Kuroo means when he asks if Koutarou wants to watch him working. He usually says no, until he does realise, then he defiantly refuses. Until he's too curious not to.

So he watches a car crash happen from a long way off, and watches Kuroo fuzzily pick his way through the carnage. It feels a lot like a bad memory when he wakes up the next morning, and he declines from then on. Kuroo will always ask, though, and it feels almost like an affront, but partly like Kuroo is trying to let him into this world he's never known about.

He's always been good at ignoring fear and apprehension though, and focuses on positives. Even if Kuroo leaves, he will come back, and curl his material body around Koutarou's, and make him feel more at home than he has any real right to. It works, for both of them. Koutarou doesn't ask where he's been, who he's put at peace, and Kuroo doesn't say, and gets on with his mortal life. Koutarou can forget Kuroo's not human.

Mostly.

“I think I’ve known you a lot.” Kuroo murmurs, curled around him in the early morning light, before they argue about who gets the first shower, and who eats what. Before they set out on their morning run, and Koutarou gets distracted by the first rays of the sun glinting off Kuroo’s hair, making him look more like an angel that he has any right to.

“Tha’s weird, Kuu,’ Koutarou mumbles, tugging Kuroo’s hand closer around him, and jolting when a cold nose gets pressed right into the hollow above his collarbone.

“It’s not. I feel like I’ve known you from a lot of places. A lot of times.” He elaborates, and breathes out, making Koutarou squirm as it tickles his skin. “Your number’s always been zero though, or nearly. Not this time…” he trails off, and for now, Koutarou is too sleepy and content to question it.

Later, though, he thinks about it. It haunts his day, on and on, and he can’t help but ask, later on, once they’ve both returned home. It doesn't help that he saw Kuroo minimise his scythe at the front door before entering. It just reminds him over again.

"You said earlier my number's always been zero..." Koutarou starts, tentatively. Kuroo has never been one to hide his identity from him, mostly, but it always feels a little intrusive to ask too many questions. He loves Kuroo, whether he considers him human, reaper, or an odd mix of the two; but asking about the differences always seems a little fraught.

Kuroo hums, non-committal.

"I think I dreamt that it's always been zero." He pauses in the midst of cutting up pepper to think about it. "I only feel like I've met you before. I've... 'met' a lot of people, though. I'm not sure I believe in reincarnation, but..." He glances over his shoulder at Koutarou for a brief moment. "Dunno. I just feel that way."

"So, if it's not zero..." He starts, and Kuroo freezes. The flat feels eerily silent for some reason. "What is it now?" He asks, merely curious. He doesn't really expect Kuroo to answer, but then he doesn't really expect Kuroo not to answer.

Kuroo drops the knife, twists on the spot and walks towards him. Bokuto starts to think that maybe his number is up now, but Kuroo does nothing to manifest his scythe, instead placing one knee to the right of Bokuto and leaning over him, propped up by a hand pressing against the back of the chair. He is close, and oh so faint around the edges.

"I'll tell you never to ask me that again, Kou." Kuroo whispers. It sends a shiver up his spine, but not an entirely nice one. Kuroo's bony finger pushes his chin up as he leans even closer, his eyes like darkening storm clouds, swirling and ominous. "Never," he hisses, directly into Bokuto's mouth.

His lips are cold, but they warm up quickly. Bokuto forgives easily, but he doesn't forget.

Sometimes, he remembers that he could be considered technically to be kissing a reanimated corpse. It’s got life in it, but it’s certainly not human, not anymore.

He’s not sure if that scares him, anymore.

<hr>

Once met the reaper, there goes the mum,

Once met the reaper, this won't be fun

Twice met the reaper, there goes the son,

Twice met the reaper, the damage is done,

Thrice met the reaper, right in your face,

Thrice met the reaper, stare into space.

(English schoolyard chant, usually forming part of a skiprope game, origins unknown)

<hr>

He's younger still when he doesn't understand the commands given to him by a man with a gun.

His mother had hustled him into a van with her and his two sisters a year or so ago, and they've been drifting in this new language ever since. It feels weird on his tongue, clunky and slow. He doesn't like it, since they all laugh, and he doesn't know why.

His mother says they cannot return home. He doesn't understand, but a harsh look ceases his questions. It tells him they’ve escaped danger, somehow.

So when he sits in his school, he doesn't expect any danger. He's never seen a gun. The words come out of a furious mouth too fast for him to understand, too angry for him to translate. He doesn't respond fast enough.

Later in a hospital, unnoticed to anyone else, that creature leans over, smooths the hair back from his sweaty scalp, and smiles an awful, sad smile.

They tap his chest with the blunt side of that blade. He breathes no more.

<hr>

Above him is a sky of perfect inky blue. Below him a sea of grass. It's an insane time in the morning: Koutarou couldn't sleep.

Kuroo was working.

He's outside a care home for the elderly, not one he knows. It feels a little surreal, but he couldn't have gone in with Kuroo, else the staff would have noticed. He's got practice early tomorrow, but he's not the least bit sleepy.

And Kuroo is working.

Koutarou isn't sure he should have said yes, but he was sleepless and Kuroo had asked. Sometimes, Koutarou thinks that Kuroo wants him to say yes. Sometimes, Koutarou thinks that Kuroo wants him to embrace his reaper side more. He's trying. And maybe it shows: Kuroo will leave his scythe unminimised around the apartment occasionally, and he'll talk about a difficult case or so.

Kuroo seemed happy that he'd said yes.

So here he sits, under a whole sky of stars, in a quiet knoll, waiting for someone to die. Waiting for his boyfriend to come back from passing that person.

It's a strange life he leads, nowadays.

Soft footsteps flatten the grass towards him. Shifting his vision, he finds Kuroo, face just shrouded by the hooded cloak he wears (the aesthetic, he says, that and the fact that his reaper form is always wearing it) and his scythe in one hand. He smiles upon catching Koutarou's gaze, places his scythe down and lays down next to him on his side, head propped up lazily on one arm, and gazes at him as Koutarou does so back.

"Done?" Kuroo nods in response.

"She had heart failure. She wanted to breathe easily again." He murmurs, and then hesitates for a second. "Thanks," he murmurs, quiet and truer than normal.

"For what?" Koutarou doesn't think he's done anything too out of the ordinary, but then, he's living with a reaper. Normal rarely applies to their situation.

"For... staying. For coming with me tonight."

"Not the usual date, but then we never were that normal."

Kuroo grabs his hand with the one not holding his head up.

"No, for staying with this. I know death isn't easy to contemplate for humans, but you gave me a chance anyway."

"You're getting kinda dangerously close to sappy, Kuu..."

"Most people wouldn't, if they found out. When they found out."

Koutarou shifts, a little uncomfortable. He's not used to serious conversations like this; he's used to love portrayed between raucous laughter, between stupid faces and daft jokes.

"Death is just... part of life. T's not like there's anything I can do 'bout it. 'Sides, who else'd tolerate me?" He laughs to himself, and looks towards the sky.

"You're making it sound like a chore, Kou. It's actually a full-time job, looking after you. I don't even get paid." His voice carries the levity of teasing. He knows Kuroo doesn't really like his self-deprecation, but he can't always help it. Kuroo has far bigger things to do than live a life with him, but heaven knows why, that's what he's picked.

"Excuse you. Who leaves all their dishes out for me to wash? You would've thought in nearly thirty years of being human you'd've worked that out." Besides, Kuroo just doesn't do it properly, he does it too fast and doesn't get in all the corners. Koutarou prefers doing it to cooking.

"Oh, I've worked it out. I just like seeing you get mad. I do all the laundry, anyway. And the cooking"

"Hmph." Koutarou sticks his tongue out at Kuroo, who just does the same back. He can't help but laugh. It's daft, they are daft, and he wouldn't change a single thing.

"Come on, let's go home, you." Kuroo murmurs, soft smile on his lips.

“Don’t wanna.” Koutarou says, and uses their hands, still entwined together, to pull himself closer to Kuroo. He nestles his cheek on Kuroo’s shoulder, and wraps his arm around him. “It’s nice. We can stay here.”

Kuroo huffs a laugh, and pulls him closer.

“You’re the one with practice early tomorrow.” He remarks, as though this simple fact will change his mind. Unsurprisingly, it does not.

“I’d rather stay riiiiiight here. You make a good pillow.”

“Well then, I’ll not move. I’m honoured to have such a position of prestige.”

And so, they stay. Koutarou is late to practice the next day (the same day, really). He regrets nothing, even through a harsh lecture from the coach.

<hr>

Reapers were there at the beginning. They will remain here after the end, too.

(Unknown origins)

<hr>

They are exactly fifty when their heart gives up. They ran for a bus that morning, late to work; it’s been twitching ever since, a growing pain in their chest. About midday, they’re left clutching it, gasping for breath, until they are held by arms they don't think they should see.

In this moment, they remember all the times they’ve seen them, all blurring together like the shape of it, indecipherable, the only truly solid things about it being the scythe and their eyes, piercing and sharper than the blade they carry.

But they forget as they do with rebirth.

As they always do with rebirth.

<hr>

They’re watching a movie. Correction: Kuroo is watching a movie, Koutarou walked in from practice, and the movie is still on when he flops on the sofa after his shower. He flings his legs over Kuroo, much to his disgust. It’s fake, Koutarou knows.

He’s not familiar with the movie, some kind of dramatic one with zombies. The main character asks something of their love interest, to do with killing them should they ever be infected. It sparks an admittedly odd, but entirely unfounded thought, considering his own situation.

"Am I supposed to ask you to be the one to kill me, when I get there? Is that supposed to be romantic?" he asks.

"I can't," Kuroo remarks, after a beat. Koutarou blinks, mostly because he expected an irritated response.

"Why?"

A long pause follows, and when Koutarou looks, Kuroo is furrowing his eyebrows at the screen, watching some horrific murders happening with not even a flinch. He’s probably seen worse – then, all of a sudden, he switches it off, and turns towards Koutarou.

"I'm going to tell you something. I've only just worked it out recently." Kuroo waits for him to nod before continuing. "I have no idea when or if you're going to pass."

Koutarou snorts, incredulous. When, he could understand someone else not knowing, but not Kuroo: the honest to goodness reaper who can literally see numbers over people’s heads. If just didn't make sense from anyone. Of course he was going to die at some point. He’s human, last he checked.

"You're messing with me now." He turns to glare at Kuroo, and is in turn surprised to find not that familiar smirk, but a serious face.

He waits for the smirk. Waits, until he slowly realises he isn't getting one. Maybe it's not...

"What?!"

"Kou," Kuroo starts softly. He almost looks pained. "You've been living on zero for ages now. For all intents and purposes, you may have surpassed death."

Koutarou can only stare at him.

"I was trying to work it out. At first I panicked. I can't remember what your number was when I first met you, but it was high enough. I'd been trying not to look, in any case. And then I looked a few years ago, and it was flickering around. The other day I noticed it had settled on zero. But you didn't appear on the list. No one claimed you. Day after day I thought you'd appear but you didn't. You defied the numbers.

"I didn't get it. I asked around, and eventually found out that someone who willingly contacts a reaper's blade is immune to death from at the very least that reaper." Kuroo is giving him a look. Half puzzled, half resigned. “But you couldn’t have…”

Koutarou's just trying to process.

"Willingly, like, wants to? I didn't..." Then he thinks, and winces. "Or maybe..." Kuroo raises an eyebrow. "I tested it at summer training once. I didn't know why you always had it, and I thought it was going to be rubber or something." He holds up the first two fingers of his left hand, the neat thin line of scar tissue forming a white causeway across them. It had taken a long time to heal. The other eyebrow meets the raised one, giving Kuroo a foreboding look of shock. He continues regardless. “But I thought I dreamt it, and you keep leaving it out, so I couldn’t help it, I just…” He holds up his thumb, the plaster over it, and the slowly healing wound he knows is underneath. It had been a particularly intrusive thought and he’d been tired and Kuroo had been in the shower and he didn’t know what he’d been thinking.

Probably that for reaping, Kuroo never seemed to use the blade. The blunt side, yes. The stick of the scythe, yes. He might have used the point once or twice, but with such care that it was clearly never being used in the sense of a weapon, and their school days seemed so far away, that summer day when he’d just wanted to know whether it was rubber or what it was made of and had come away with two split fingers.

"You... could always see it." Kuroo intones, almost like a question but mostly like a creeping revelation.

“Does that change anything?”

“I assumed you’d watched someone pass first-hand, or nearly died yourself. It can induce an ability to see reapers and related objects.”

Koutarou slowly shakes his head, sure that even in his busy mind, he’d have remembered either of those events.

“Maybe it happened at birth, I would have no idea if I’ve ever nearly died. I’ve always seen these things.” He pauses for a second. Kuroo is clearly deep in thought. “Hey! No distracting me. I’m not gonna die?!”

“I never said you weren’t, I can’t be sure. The only people without numbers or perpetually on zero are spirits, reapers, and immortals…”

"I'm already dead?!" Kuroo levels him a nonplussed stare.

“You’re too annoying to be dead, Kou. There isn’t a huge depth of research on mortals who willingly touch reaping scythes. Most of you can’t see it, can’t even touch us, and the others are far more sensible than you and don’t go around testing blades.”

Koutarou pouts.

“In my defence, I thought it was rubber or silicon or something. So what happens now? I just keep going on with no numbers? It doesn’t change anything, right?”

“I don’t know.” Kuroo says, but he’s staring at the TV screen, looking as blank as it. He’s hiding some knowledge.

“I’m gonna punch you if you don’t tell me Kuroo.” Koutarou states, already rolling up his sleeve. He is used to wrestling information out of Kuroo, often literally. He gets a faintly alarmed glance his direction, still not meeting his eyes. Kuroo has, now he thinks about it, gone faint around his edges, blurring into the sofa. Like he’s trying to disappear.

“I should have been more careful.” It’s murmured under his breath, but Koutarou catches it anyway. He flops himself over Kuroo’s lap, and stares at him determinedly.

“Why?”

“Kou, it’s not-”

“Tell me, Kuroo.”

“No, it’s not important-”

“It’s important enough that it’s freakin’ you out, Kuroo Testurou. I’m not gonna leave you. It was my fault, whatever it is.”

Kuroo takes a deep breath.

"You have... made the first steps, we could say. You could actually become one. A reaper."

Koutarou blinks, and a faint colour comes over Kuroo’s face.

He thinks about it, links together Kuroo liking getting him involved, connects various points to one another, on and on and ends up here.

“You want me to do that, don’t you?” The way Kuroo’s face only becomes redder, his edges fainter and harder to define, means he’s hit a truth. He feels like he’s being engulfed.

“I was never meant to get so attached.” Kuroo whispers. “I should have made you go.”

Koutarou huffs in irritation, and smacks his hands either side of Kuroo’s face. It makes a very funny picture, but he’s got a reaper boyfriend to comfort. Laughing wouldn’t do very well.

“Maybe I’d’ve chased you. Maybe I’m here, how many years later, because there’s somethin’ here I like, Kuu. I’m not leaving you ‘cause of that.” Kuroo nods hesitantly. “Maybe I’m glad you’re attached. Ain’t no getting’ rid of me now, dimwit.” Kuroo cracks a small smile, and it’s a start. “I’m gonna get us both a beer. You’re gonna explain, I’m gonna listen. We’re gonna work through this together, ‘kay?”

Kuroo nods. Koutarou walks to the fridge with faintly shaking legs.

It’s like deciding to engage with Kuroo the first time they met. Like deciding to meet him up again, after finding out. Like getting together, like moving in, like falling so, so deep. It’s all been a choice, and once Koutarou decides on something, he jumps with both feet.

Now, he’s got some big decisions to make.

#fantasyhaikyuuexchange2k18 #fantasy #bokuroo #bokuto koutarou #Kuroo Tetsurou #haikyuu!!#hq #writing #My writing #i had a hard time with this #i liked writing it but it just #held me at writing hostage #wanting to write when i couldn't #then not being able to think of anything when i could write #urgh #i really hope someone enjoys this #please

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