#you are correct father I shall control myself

[vivisockless]

Crocodile's son is very well-behaved

[fruit-of-infidelity]

♱ DIABOLIK LOVERS: Haunted Dark Bridal ー Sakamaki Ryuuto | Manservant Ending ♱

[ ✥ "Normal" Ending, unlocked only through selecting the sadistic choices. ✥ ]  

⌜ Scene: Garden ⌟

ー Ryuuto and Cordelia walk side-by-side. ー

Yui:The garden? Nfu…

When you said you had “somewhere important” to take me, I never assumed you would have meant the garden, of all places.

Will you finally tell me why you’ve led me all the way out here?

Could you have some sort of surprise in store for me, I wonder?

Ryuuto: … …

ー Another set of footsteps approach. ー

Richter: Cordelia, Ryuuto. Might I join you on your stroll?

Ryuuto: … …I think you’d much more enjoy the warmth of the fireplace than a midnight stroll, Father.

Yui: I don’t think he wants an audience, you know, Richter.

I can’t imagine why. He’s being awfully suspicious〜

Richter: An audience? Three is hardly a crowd, in this case.

Yui: I agree. Whatever it is, Richter can stay. Just don’t keep me waiting, hm?

Ryuuto: …Very well. Then, if I might continue…

It’s been some time since Father and I have resurrected you, some time since you’ve taken over this body for yourself. What’s more…

Not very long ago, you said that Yui no longer exists within you. Is that correct?

Yui: She is barely hanging on by a thread, if that. She’s certainly stubborn, no matter what I do. But, there’s little reason to worry about that.

It’s far too late for her anymore. After all, I’ve completely adapted to this vessel, now.

Ryuuto: …I see.

In that case, I do indeed have something for you, Mother.

I brought you here as to ensure your vessel – this body and this soul – continues to remain with me, forever.

Please, come closer, Mother…

ー Cordelia embraces Ryuuto. ー

Richter: With a heart as strong as hers, I had few doubts that the awakening would fail from here on out, myself. Althoughーー

ーーDo you mean to say you have found a way to ensure it certainly goes to plan?

Yui: Ufufu… I wouldn’t mind being a Vampire, once again, if that is your idea.

ー Ryuuto pulls something from his pocket. ー

Ryuuto: I mean to sayーー

ー Ryuuto suddenly plunges a knife into Cordelia’s back. ー

ーーYou’re free! Yui!

Yui: G-Gaa…!!

( Wh-What happened?! This reaction…! )

Richter: C-Cordelia…!!

ー She collapses at his feet. ー

Yui: ( Ryuuto-san!! )

Y-You… pierced right th-through my heart!! F-From behind!!

You’re trying to murder me, turning against me!?

And to think it’s… a-all for that girl?! I…

Richter: Cordelia!!

Yui: R-Richter…! Hurry…!

( There’s so much blood!! )

( She’s losing consciousness, I’m almost there! )

Richter, again! S…ave me again…! Don’t let me…

Die…!!

( I’m almostーー )

ー Yui suddenly regains control as Cordelia becomes unconscious. ー

ーーFree!

Ryuuto: Fufu… As am I.

ー Ryuuto now stabs himself with the same blade, and collapses. ー

Yui: R-Ryuuto-sa…n…!

( Th-The pain! Suddenly, it’s overwhelming!! )

( My… body… feels so heavy… But, more importantlyーー )

Ryuu…to…san, you saved me…! So, wh-why then did you…

ー A dying Ryuuto embraces Yui one last time. ー

Ryuuto: Together… We d-die together, fufu.

Dying in the arms of your master. And m-me… in the arms of my Pet.

Richter: R-Ryuuto! What have you done!?

ー Richter rushes over. ー

Yui: R…yuuto…san…

( Am I really going to die… with Ryuuto-san? )

( So, after all… He really did… care? )

( For some reason… I don’t feel scared… )

Ryuuto: K…iss me, Yui.

ー They kiss. ー

Yui: Ryuuto…san...

( I… love you… )

ー Together, they die. ー

… …

ー Richter drops to his knees and pulls Yui’s body from Ryuuto. ー

Richter: C-Cordelia…! Cordelia!!

Open your eyes…!! T-Tell me wh-what to do!

Sh-Shall I carve your heart out again…? So w-we might start anew, on-once more?!

Kc… Co-Cordelia…

ー Richter lets out a few wails, hugging her tight. ー

P-Please… Don’t slip… away f-from me again…

Not like th-this…!!

ー He now grabs hold of Ryuuto’s body. ー

R-Ryuuto… Ryuuto…!!

How could you!? After all we did together, to th-then cowardly l-leave me!?

ー Shaking his body, something falls out of Ryuuto’s pocket. ー

Sniff…

Wh-What…

… …

Hah…Haa…Ahah!

Th-This… This drug!!

C-Cordelia, the one you told me about!! Ryuuto had it a-all along!

Th-There’s a way for you to come back to me…!

Beloved, here… D-Drink.

✥ THE END ✥

─────── ≪ °♛° ≫ ───────

←  [ ✥ Ecstasy Epilogue ✥ ]

[aidenlyons]

It takes some time for Chase to get Wyatt inside and cleaned up a bit, but as he's resting, Chase calls the number Wyatt told him to.

C: Hello? No, this is Chase, his husband. Yes. Well, I don't know. A spell went wrong and he told me to call you. Yes. Thank you.

Sulani is not where Alessandro expected to find himself this morning. But he's known Wyatt since he was a young boy and Wyatt's father since he was a young man.

If there's something wrong, he'll do all he can to help him.

(Alessandro created by the wonderful @simmireen )

The last thing Alessandro expected was for Wyatt to be living somewhere that still somewhat looks run down. Not with the kind of luxury he was raised in.

Then again, Wyatt was always different. He saw the world in unique ways.

C: Thank you for coming so quickly. I'm Chase, we spoke on the phone.

A: Ah, yes. Good to meet you. I am surprised that Wyatt was allowed to marry a werewolf.

C: We didn't ask for, nor did we need, permission.

A: Of course, forgive me. May I see Wyatt?

C: Yes. Yeah, of course. He's upstairs resting.

A: Good. Why don't you give me the details of what happened and then I shall examine Wyatt for myself.

Alessandro was not only a family friend, but a sort of Spellcaster doctor. Understanding how magic affects the body and health.

As they go upstairs, Chase summarizes what happened. The pregnancy spell, the increase of magic, the change in Wyatt's tattoo and the ultimate explosion of magic that rushed from him.

Alessandro listens quietly to the account, pulling on knowledge he's not used for years.

Wyatt is awake but tired when they get there.

W: Alex. You came.

Wyatt dubbed him 'Alex' when he was a kid and couldn't pronounce 'Alessandro'.

A: Of course. How are you feeling?

W: Tired. Drained. I overloaded, but I don't know why?

A: Let me have a look at you.

Chase paces a little, exhausted himself an on edge from worry, as Alessandro examines Wyatt. Much like a normal doctor would do, if you ignore how his hands glow sometimes.

If this hurt Wyatt in any way, he's not sure what he'll do.

When he's done, Alessandro lets out a huff of surprised laughter.

A: Well, I have good news, bad news, and strange news.

W: Good first.

A: You're physically fine. Your magic is low, so no casting for a while. Rest.

W: Ok. I kind of expected that. The others?

A: Well, the bad news is that I'm going to have to repair your tattoo.

Wyatt winces.

W: Oh. Right. Ok. The strange news?

A: Well, it's a bit of good news. Your spell was successful. You will be able to get pregnant.

Wyatt looks hopeful but he knows that's not all.

A: Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you feel about it... your spell was a little TOO successful.

W: What.. what does that mean? How can something be TOO successful?

A: You put too much power into it, or you wanted it too badly. The ability won't fade.

Wyatt is confused, but then it dawns on him.

W: Wait, so I.. you're saying it's permanent?

A: Yes. That's correct.

W: I'll always be able to...

A: You'll need to remember protection, they don't make birth control for men.

W: Oh, Watcher...

Chase, who had been quietly listening, is now trying to wrap his mind around this. This isn't just a one time thing. If they want further kids, there won't be a need for spells.

He needs to go to the store. They need.. They've never needed...

C: I think I need to sit down...

A: Only you, Wyatt, would do this. While you two process, pull out that ottoman and I'll repair Wyatt's tattoo.

Though still a little dazed, Chase does as he's bid and helps Wyatt over to the ottoman to sit.

C: I've been wondering.. how.. does this work? I mean, how does he-

A: I could explain it, but it's complicated. Lets just say Magic.

W: I'll try to explain it later, babe.

Wyatt is straining, this is not a comfortable procedure.

A: You did a number on this, Wyatt. Why did you ignore the warnings?

W: The heat? I didn't think about it. All of me was kind of warm. I thought it was the spell?

A: Idiot. I'll make it a bit more obvious, then.

Wyatt just groans, he doesn't want to know what that means.

It's necessary, but painful, and Chase is getting more and more stressed knowing Wyatt's in pain but not being able to help.

A: There. Done.

W: Oh, thank the Watcher.

Wyatt slumps over and he sighs, looking over his shoulder to Chase.

W: Chase? Can you help me to bed?

Chase gets Wyatt to bed, who practically falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

C: There you go. Get some rest, my moonbeam. I'll walk you out, Alessandro.

C: Thank you again, for coming. Wyatt's really going to be alright?

A: He'll be fine. He'll need food and rest, he's just exhausted. As for the pregnancy, well.. When he gets pregnant, let me know.

C: Yeah. of course.

A: I had my doubts, but I can see that you take good care of him. He seems to be happier here than I've ever seen him.

C: Good. I do my best.

A: Good luck, and congratulations, in advance.

Chase blushes but smiles, because ultimately he is excited.

C: Thank you.

[youshi56]

LITANY FOR HEALING

Jeremiah 17:14

Lord, the brokenness of the world is known to you.

No pain, suffering, grief, or regret is hidden from your eyes.

Heal us, O Lord, and we shall be healed;

Save us, and we shall be saved.

Our prayers are not merely for physical well-being,

But also for consolation, renewal, and hope.

Heal us, O Lord, and we shall be healed;

Save us, and we shall be saved.

We lift up our sisters and brothers, our enemies, strangers in our midst.

We pray for the nations of the earth and the whole of your creation.

Heal us, O Lord, and we shall be healed;

Save us, and we shall be saved.

We offer to you a sacrifice of open hearts and minds,

Prepared to be found by you in unexpected ways and places.

Heal us, O Lord, and we shall be healed;

Save us, and we shall be saved.

We do not dare to pray out of a sense of our own worth,

But our cries come from the depth of the body of Christ.

Heal us, O Lord, and we shall be healed;

Save us, and we shall be saved.

We have come in a spirit of prayer-

To wrestle, to plead, to summon, to advocate, to receive.

Heal us, O Lord, and we shall be healed;

Save us, and we shall be saved.

Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy. Lord, have mercy.

God our Father, who open your Kingdom to those who are humble and to little ones,

lead us to follow you trustingly so that we may see your eternal glory revealed

Through Christ our Lord. Amen.

Prayer of Aberlenkent Father,

I abandon myself into your hands; do with me what you will.

Whatever you may do, I thank you: I am ready for all, I accept all. Let only your will be done in me, and in all your creatures - I wish no more than this, O Lord.

Into your hands I commend my soul: I offer it to you with all the love of my heart, for I love you, Lord, and so need to give myself, to surrender myself into your hands without reserve, and with boundless confidence, for you are my Father. Amen.

-Blessed Charles de Foucauld

From the fear of failure that keeps me from trying new things...deliver me Jesus

From the fear of rejection that keeps me from being myself...deliver me Jesus

From the fear of inadequacy that leads to discouragement...deliver me Jesus

From the fear of making mistakes that paralyzes me...deliver me Jesus

From the fear that it will be too hard to change…deliver me Jesus

From the fear that You are asking too much…deliver me Jesus

From the fear that my emotional baggage, past sins, or family brokenness taints me..deliver me Jesus

From pretending to have it all together…deliver me Jesus

From the desire to impress others..deliver me Jesus

From self-reliance….deliver me Jesus

From the poison of comparison..deliver me Jesus

From preoccupation with what others think..deliver me Jesus

From the shame that leads to self-condemnation...deliver me Jesus

From rumination on the past..deliver me Jesus

From anxiety about the future..deliver me Jesus

From the need to control my situation_ From complaining, negativity, and cynicism..

From resentment of others achievements and gifts... From finding my worth in externals._deliver me Jesus

Jesus grant me…

_Simplicity of heart.

..Tranquility, confidence, and the peace that only You can give.

_A grateful heart.

_The conviction that success in this life depends more on You than it does on me.

..The conviction that my worth comes from being the Father's son/daughter and not from what I do.

_The conviction that Your grace is enough.

...The conviction that Your power is made perfect in my weakness.

- The conviction that I am known and I am loved.

- The conviction that You crave to heal my memories, passions, and desires.

_The conviction that You have a plan for me.

_The conviction that You delight in me.

_The humility to see myself as You see me.

_The generosity to see others as You see them.

The humility to receive correction.

-The thoughtfulness to offer correction.

The freedom to be myself.

Together we lift our prayers to you, O God of love and healing.

God the Father, you breathe life into your whole Creation.

Help us breathe deeply of your peace and presence.

God the Son, you give us yourself to make our joy complete.

Help us give our fear, pain, and grief to you.

God the Holy Spirit, you move through our lives in unexpected ways.

Help us move in concert with your life-giving motion.

Holy Trinity, One God, accept our thanks and praise for all the blessings of this life, especially for those blessings that our present circumstances make difficult to see.

O Lord, hear our prayer.

Shed the light of your healing love on all who are sick in body, mind, or spirit, that they may find new wholeness illumined by your grace.

O Lord, hear our prayer.

Knit together in your love all whose relationships have frayed, that they may find reconciliation and new beginnings.

O Lord, hear our prayer.

Bless all who work to improve the health of others, that they may bring hope, care, wisdom, and skill to all they serve.

O Lord, hear our prayer.

Hold in the palm of your hand all who are near death and all who care for them, that they may know the peace that passes all understanding.

O Lord, hear our prayer.

Grant all who turn to you the courage to participate with you in restoring this broken world to wholeness, that everyone and everything may share in the hope of your kingdom.

O Lord, hear our prayer.

At this time, I invite your prayers of thanksgiving or intercession either silently or aloud. (Silence is kept.)

Heavenly Father

Thank you for this day. Thank you for this moment in my life. I give you praise. Teach me how to live. Teach me how to love You more. Teach me how to pray. Yesterday is gone tomorrow's not yet come. Thank you for today. Thank you for this moment in my life. I give you thanks. Yesterday is gone, tomorrow has not yet come Thank you for today. Thank you for this time. Thank you for the presence in my life, I will give you praise. Yesterday is gone, tomorrow has not yet come and I want to thank you for today. Thank You Heavenly Father for today.

For these and for all other petitions that are too deep for words, we pray to you and ask the Holy Spirit to intercede according to Romans 8:26-28 : We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God's people in accordance with the will of God.

O Lord, hear our prayer.

You are the Lord whose promises never cease. You are the Lord whose presence never fails. Gracious God, you are close to us no matter how far we feel from you: draw us into the very heart of your grace and help us to live into the truth that nothing in all creation can separate us from your love in Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

[tele-caster]

Journal.

1:08 PM 12/13/2022

They think I'm weak, soft, and gullible. They love to share anecdotes and POV's, however, all words come down to the major question which is: " Where the results at? "

If no results can be noticed, no words should be announced or shared based on a character, knowledge or intelligence.-

You shall only listen, to the one with the positive, reliable and enduring results. I have learned this by reading my fathers last gift; the " Weston Signum Vitae " book. A book that can actually trace back my fathers blood line to the 1500. Where basically all kind of conducts, manners, knowledge and behaviour was settle to all of whom may have the Weston lastname, only of course, coming from my fathers family genes.

Not to much people are aware that they can trace their Family knowledge, or history. Old saying says " If you dont know the story, you're condenmed to repeat it ". The reason I share this, it is because I've noticed that in the particular country I live in; is actually not that apart from where I was raced and educated. However, my point is... Look how I stay shut, and these men keep bloody fucking talking. Money, nor a high-profile person talks to much; rather than the one who does, actually doesnt have shit neither knows shit.

They can only know about their family until, the decades of their grandparents. They can only know about the money, as a store of value. They can only see women, as objects, not souls or creatures. They can only express their rights, but their wrongs... Which its dishonest to themselves.-

Necessarily; for me to be a cold, distant, rigid, strong Oak Tree in the middle of the forest. Then, they might ask; " Why are you such a cunt, dick, or even a lousy arrogant asshole ? "

To me respond... I thought I was soft. Everytime, every moment, every stand-out, every night out... If I don't act a certain way, if I don't talk a certain way, if I don't walk a certain way, if I don't do things a certain way or better said *as they want* I am soft, weak, and perishable. I bloody choose *me* over everything and anything that might come, because a last-name such as mine, compared to yours... Ha, I'd guess you're battling with nothing.

Like mentioned before; I stay shut. Because I already know; were the conducts, behaviour, knowledge, tradition, culture and more from my blood, nation and family comes from. They keep talking, believing that what it has been said it is the correct and trustful source as for speaking up... When it is not. In other words; I am today announcing that my "other-self" has been released; fully this time.

Cold is the abscence of warmth. Distant is the abscence of proximity. Rigid is the abscence of softness. In the middle, there is no abscense at all, since, the middle seems to be the gradual point for anything and everything. (REFERENCE: The Kybalion). Such respect has not to be demanded but gained; which aparently none of these fellows have the education nor fucking north to understand that; because like we mentioned before, they only talk but not hear. Happiness, Love, Care to me are just illusions like sex.-

" A man who does not control their impulses of thought, mouth and touch is assured to be a failure ". I have ideed been in control of these 3 pillars; but somehow I'm back again where I started... Retraining myself. And, aparently this also, is molesting my most near fellows and acquaintances. Do they feel over-ruled? Attacked? Probably insulted because of whom I am? If it is the cause, withdrawal from the services will be required, friends or not... Salvation is indeed singular, shares the bible, book of The Lord, Almighty Powerful, God. Reviewing and also reading this book has taken me to the decision that the future woman whom I will love and marry; has to abide by these principles and also culture.

Neglection or indifference? No. There are women, that do have these qualities... Matter is; you do not have them around all the time like the flock of sheep we tend to see in bars, parties or even regular gatherings. Being honest, I will follow this family principles 'till death visits me; I am caring for myself, my soul, my future wife and kids and the legacy that will be left behind afterwards. I am definetly feeling as I am going out of my senses, the world, and much more but at the same time it feels that it is the right thing to do.

As I write... I feel clear, disassociated, disconnected or even non-related to the third-world minded people. Overall; I just feel tired of everything and decided to take each aspect to my own, proper, well handled hands.

[ragingbookdragon]

Faith Is Believing What You Cannot See

Hal Jordan x AI!Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1.4K Warnings: Angst

Author's Note: I had this idea late last night, but the conversation of religion between Hal and his father. If he followed in Martin's footsteps and became a pilot, did that mean that Hal followed in religion too, or did he just believe in a creator? In other words, reader helps Hal contemplate divine creation while mourning Martin Jordan. Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

He popped the beer tab and set the can down beside him before popping his own beer can, taking a sip from it. His eyes were directed upwards, gazing at the massive expanse of stars above him. He tried to remember some of the constellations that Ganthet had mentioned but nothing came to him. Here on Oa, it was so different from Earth. He could see planets and moons, stars he’d only dreamed about on his home planet.

And yet, all he could think about was Martin. Twenty-six years to the day that Hal Jordan had witnessed his father’s last day, his last flight. Twenty-six years ago, Hal Jordan watched the greatest man he ever knew die in a hail of flame and black smoke. Twenty-six years since Hal Jordan defined his life on a single moment. To be the most fearless man alive. The bravest.

Sighing heavily, he dropped his head between his cocked-up knees, resting his elbows atop his jeaned kneecaps. He missed his dad. He missed his family. He missed being a kid and skipping out on school to eat lunch with his dad after watching Martin fly all morning. He missed when life wasn’t so difficult. He missed—

“Lantern Hal?” He jerked up at the sound of the robotic tone. “Are you alright?”

Glancing behind him, he saw (Y/N) standing there, her hands clasped lowly behind her back, big glowing eyes observant; Hal could see the way the iris’ rotated with each flash-thought. “…Yeah, I’m fine, (Y/N).”

She walked over. “Your tone designates hesitation. Is there something bothering you?”

“No,” Hal murmured. “I’m just sitting out here and drinking.”

Her head cocked down. “There are two alcoholic drinks open. Are you consuming them both?”

He chuckled. “One’s for my dad.”

“Is he coming soon?” she craned her neck, and he watched the wires dance beneath her blueish flesh. “I can locate him if it is to your—”

“He’s not here, (Y/N).” Hal interrupted. “He’s dead.”

She blinked, gazing at him curiously. “If he is dead, why are you sharing a drink?”

“It’s a human tradition. When someone dies, you share a beer with them in remembrance.”

“Oh…so you are engaging in ritualistic practice?” she blinked again. “Should I leave?”

He didn’t exactly want to be surrounded by people, but at the same time, Hal didn’t want to be alone. “You can stay.”

(Y/N) took a seat beside him, sitting as properly as a humanoid robot could. “I am unfamiliar with the emotion of grief. May I ask you questions pertaining to the subject?”

“Uh, I guess.” Hal said, taking a sip of his beer.

“What does loss feel like?”

He paused, swirling the liquid between his cheeks before he swallowed and murmured, “It’s kinda like a wound that never really heals, it just scabs over and from time to time something comes along and rips it off and you feel the pain all over again. Just like it was the first time.”

“I cannot feel pain,” she acknowledged. “But your words have meaning. It would be similar to my processing units breaking down repeatedly without repair.”

Hal’s lips pulled in a satisfaction. “That sounds about right.”

(Y/N) looked at him. “When did your father die?”

He met her gaze. “When I was ten. He died in a plane crash…I witnessed it.”

“You were a child.” She noted. “Is this why you were driven to join the Armed Forces where you were able to fly aircraft?”

Hal nodded. “I lost dad when I was young and I…I never really remembered a lot about him.” he shrugged. “Flying was the way I could connect with him.”

“What was your father like?”

He chuckled. “A lady-killer who was damn good pilot and an even better husband and father.” Hal paused. “He was also Catholic.” A fond smile crossed his lips. “Never missed Mass.”

“Catholicism is a branch of Christianity.” (Y/N) said. “Do you share the same concept of religion?”

He tipped his head side to side. “I’m not really sure. Dad was Catholic. Mom was Jewish.”

“So, you are Jewish then?”

“N—no, not exactly, (Y/N).”

Her head cocked to the side. “Forgive me, I am confused. It makes sense to follow a religion of one parent. Which do you follow?”

Hal’s mouth opened, then it closed, and he finally reasoned, “It’s not so much following religion as it is believing in God to me.”

“…So, the denomination is not what is important to you, but merely the belief of a divine creator?”

“Yeah. That’s it.” He sighed. “I’ve attended religious ceremonies and prayers on both sides but every time I come back to religion, it’s more of where I stand with God then it does what denomination.”

(Y/N) nodded. “I see. That makes sense.”

He looked over. “It does?”

“Yes.”

“Do you believe?”

“No.”

That was a foolish question to ask a robot, he thought. “Sorry, I should’ve seen that coming.”

“How so?”

Hal shrugged. “I mean…you’re an AI. You’re not a human like me. No offense.”

“None has been taken.” (Y/N) smiled. “You are correct though. But my belief does not come from rejection of religion, but from education in the sciences.” She met his gaze. “I am an AI. I was created for a purpose and that purpose was to protect Oa. I discover and categorize life through science and observation, not through a personal doctrine of faith. Faith is not something I can comprehend.”

“Why’s that?”

“Faith is believing in what you cannot see. Though I have control over the evolution of my core programing, I cannot take action through faith. I cannot believe in what I cannot see nor process. Belief with no evidence is not factual. It is not quantifiable.”

Hal gazed at her for a few moments. “I guess that’s a fair way to look at it.”

“Do you have faith?” she questioned, and he nodded.

“I do. In myself. In my friends.” He nudged her in the hard side of her body. “In you.”

“I believe what you are describing is trust.”

“They’re synonymous,” he laughed, then looked to the sky. “I believe that my dad is around me a lot.”

“But he is dead.”

“He is. But his spirit is still here. I feel it.” Hal’s face was firm as was his voice. “I know my dad’s with me every time I fly.”

“And you take this on faith?” (Y/N) asked.

“I do.”

She observed him. “Was your father a faithful man? Did he believe in his faith?”

“I’d like to say he was and that he did.” He frowned slightly. “I miss him a lot.”

(Y/N) hummed, though it more so sounded like she was releasing warm air through the vents in her side. “Then I shall intrude on your memorial no longer.” She stood. “Thank you for allowing me to speak with you. I have processed much during this conversation that shall allow for further core reprogramming.”

Hal smiled. “Anytime, (Y/N).”

He didn’t look back as she walked off, though she suddenly stopped and turned. “Lantern Hal?”

“Yeah?” he said, glancing over his shoulder.

“First Thessalonians, chapter four, verses thirteen and fourteen. ‘And now, dear brothers and sisters, we want you to know what will happen to the believers who have died so you will not grieve like people who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and was raised to life again, we also believe that when Jesus returns, God will bring back with him the believers who have died.’”

(Y/N) tipped her head down. “If your father was faithful as you have said…you will see him again one day.”

Hal blinked in shock, a rush of emotion spinning like a whirlwind in his chest. “You’ve read scripture?”

“I have. Access to the human web has allowed for knowledge of many religious texts. I am favorable of the main human religious texts. They allow for educating conversations of moral integrity and action.”

“But you don’t believe in any of them?”

“I do not.” (Y/N) smiled kindly at him. “You grieve your father in addition to believing in a divine creator, and this verse seemed applicable to the circumstance in which you find yourself.” She nodded. “I hope it has eased your grief, Lantern Hal.”

He gave her a wobbly smile. “Thank you, (Y/N).”

“Of course,” she murmured. “Have a good evening.”

She disappeared down the other side of the hill and Hal turned back to the stars, reaching up a hand to wipe at his eyes. They twinkled above him, and for the first time in a long while, Hal prayed for his father. He prayed for his family. He prayed for himself. And if there was a divine creator out there, from whatever religion, he hoped it heard him.

[eveningstar1516]

Rise of the Demon King ~ Chapter 7

Rise of the Demon King

Fic: Multi Chapter Paring: MC x Everyone (Mostly Lucifer) Type: Angst with a Happy Ending Total Word Count: 26,758 TW: Major Character Death, Reader gets stabbed with a sword through their chest so..., Abusive Parents, Past Child Abuse, Demon Hunters, Loss of Control Summary: You’ve done it. You’ve finally done it. You’ve managed to anger the demon king. Now you hold your head high as he hands down your sentence. AO3 Portal: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27065362

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Previously:

As he walked through the halls towards his next class, he made a vow to himself to try and feel that unfamiliar emotion until he could name it, then keep feeling it, because, for Satan, it felt like Y/N was right next to them, with their signature smile on their face, proud of him for focusing on a feeling opposite of his wrath. Should he start to feel his wrath taking over, he would picture Y/N, holding his hand, encouraging him to feel that unfamiliar emotion. One he soon learned was called ‘Philia Love’.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 7 - Virtue of Loyalty (4265 words)

Our trip to the palace was a quiet one. Michael didn’t seem to want anything to do with me since he flew quite fast and left me behind multiple times as I'd never flown before and flying was extremely difficult. No one offered any assistance so I tucked my wings away, which I managed to figure out how to do after I accidentally did so mid flight, and ran under him. Looking straight ahead after confirming that I was keeping pace with Michael, I spotted the Celestial Palace. My jaw dropped in awe as I ran. The thing was massive! At least 2.5 times the size of Diavolo’s castle and even more decorative. The white walls were adorned with varying shades of golden accents making the palace seem larger than it really was. As I got closer, I learned that it was sitting in the middle of a massive garden that was overflowing with different kinds of celestial plants and trees. Although both the palace and garden seemed to be overflowing with decorations, everything still fit perfectly and was quite pleasing to the eyes.

Approaching the marble steps of the palace as Michael landed in front of me, greeting some gardeners as they stopped and bowed their heads to him. Signalling for them to resume their work, he continued up the steps motioning for me to follow. Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I followed him looking as unfazed as possible. Upon entering I found that the outside of the palace does no justice to the massive interior. Abandoning plan to remain as neutral and unfazed as possible, I gazed in absolute awe at the decor, my mouth opening slightly. There were no lighting fixtures as massive windows lined the wall letting in more than enough sunlight through. A massive chandelier was located in the center of the room with golden and silver chains decorating it. The marbled floor also had silver and gold accents as a beautiful floral pattern was outlined. Hearing a chuckle behind me, I turned to see Michael looking at me with a smug smile on his face.

“Well how can you not expect me to be amazed by all this?!” I countered while spinning and gesturing around the room.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your smug smile said it all Mike” I flashed him a wicked smirk of my own as I called him by the nickname. His face darkened significantly as his tone dropped to what would have been a dangerous level had I not have spent my life with demons. It just didn’t have the same undertones as Devilish.

“Watch yourself child”

Giving him an exaggerated mock bow I responded.

“My humble apologies Sir Michael. I will be sure not to repeat the same error in the future.”

“Very funny.” He scoffed and walked off. I got up and followed him through the palace until we stopped between two massive golden doors to what I assumed to be the throne room. Michael addressed himself and stated that he brought me with him. 2 angels donning Celestial armour opened the doors. Michael walked in with his head slightly bowed and his gaze lowered. I walked looking straight ahead as I subtly took the room in. It wasn’t as big as I expected it to be. A golden carpet leading from the door to the throne was the most extravagant thing in the room. In contrast to the rest of the palace, the throne room was quite modest. Even the throne wasn’t extravagant, built for comfort instead of elegance. God himself looked to be a 6’8 man in his late fifties with chestnut coloured hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He wore a simple white robe with gold accents. His eyes, a light blue colour, were emitting a slight white glow as we approached. Michael stopped a short distance from the throne and kneeled.

“Father, I have brought Y/N on your orders.”

“Thank you my son.” He turned to look at me.

“Y/N, you have caused quite the commotion in the 3 realms.”

I kept my tone playful as a polite smile made itself home on my face as I spoke with God.

“What can I say Father, trouble likes to follow me, wherever I may be.”

“That may be my child, although I am quite confused as to how you ended up here especially as a seraph. In case you didn’t know, that position must be earned here in heaven, so please explain to me, why I shouldn’t forsake you and have you fall to the Devildom?” He raised his right eyebrow and relaxed into his throne as he asked his question.

“Oh make no mistake, I didn’t want to come here in the first place, had I actually had a choice, I would have gone to the Devildom where I belong. Unfortunately, circumstances never seem to be on my side.”

“That still doesn’t explain how you came to be here, in that attire nonetheless.”

“Does it upset you that I come donning Lucifer's clothing and wings? I assure you, I didn’t have a say in my appearance. I am only staying here as long as necessary after all. I still wish to fall and return to my family.”

“Tell me child, how is it that a human finds comfort in the likes of demons rather than angels?”

“Whoever said I didn’t find comfort in angels? I find Simeon and Luke to be quite comforting whenever I get stressed with this whole 3 realms stuff. I just find the darkness of the Devildom more appealing as you and I both know what lurks underneath this “bright” soul of mine.”

“And yet you came here to me, why?”

“I presume you know the details regarding my untimely end?”

“Yes I am, although you weren’t due to perish yet, I do not dictate the souls within the Devildom realm. What of it?”

“I sacrificed myself for the brothers whom I have grown to call family so that they may continue to live despite being ruled by a tyrant whom you rivel for the title of “Devil””

“Watch what you say child! You are still addressing Father and not some random person off the street!” Ignoring Michael, I continued.

“I do not wish to return to the Devildom while it is ruled by King Abandon.”

“Child, I am aware of your relationship to the brothers as well as your loyalty to those you call family. I am also aware of the feelings you have for my eldest son. I ask you, has anyone told you about his duties while he was serving me?”

“Yes, Simeon and his brothers would speak about his time here as the leader of the council. Lucifer himself preferred not to talk about it but he answered my questions whenever I asked. I have also learned his work habits and often aided him whenever an overflow of work had come in due on a short notice.” God seemed to contemplate something. With a thoughtful look on his face, he addressed me.

“I have a proposition for you. You wish to fall and reunite with your family in the Devildom. I do not wish to have you up here, although you do not want to serve King Abandon.”

“That is correct.”

“I will grant your wish on one condition. I will allow you to return to the Devildom after Abandon’s reign is over, on the condition that you take Samael’s position on the council. You are to take over his responsibilities without attempting to sabotage the realm or abuse your power. Should you not be able to meet my expectations, or should you abuse your position, I will cast you out regardless of who is currently ruling the Devildom.”

Michael, who had stayed silent while his Father was speaking, was shocked by God's proposition.

“Father, are you sure this is the right way to go? Y/N doesn’t even belong here. Are you sure trusting them with Samael’s old position is a good idea?”

“Do you disagree with my judgment Michael? Do you believe me incapable of determining Y/N’s fate in my realm?”

Michaels face visibly paled as he realized the implications of his words. Bowing his head in mortification he answered his Father.

“‘O-of course not Father! I just don’t think that Y/N is qualified or ready to lead the council. They are unaware of how the Celestial realm operates and doesn’t have the experience that Samael possessed.”

Scratching his chin, God thought about Michael's words.

“You’re right Michael, you and the rest of the council as well as Simeon and Luke shall serve as their guide during their time here. You are to teach them how we operate and train them as to how to properly fulfill Samael’s role. You are to step down as the leader of the council once they have learned how to fill in the role themselves.”

Not being able to object to his Father's words, Michael agreed, although he tried to hide it, you could see how he clenched his teeth, obviously disapproving the entire idea and his new role as your babysitter.

“How about it Y/N, will you accept my proposal?”

“I have a few conditions of my own I’d like to add. I will accept on the condition that I return as soon as Diavolo is crowned king, no later and that other than the obvious changes that come with falling, no other changes will be made to me. I will follow your rules while I am up here and will serve you as long as it doesn’t result in any harm coming to the Devildom or Earth and their inhabitants. I will fulfill my role as Lucifer’s replacement during my time here, no more, no less.”

“Of course, that goes without saying. I will also add that you are to have no contact with any being outside my realm during your time here. We wouldn’t want anyone coming up here to retrieve you before our deal has ended now would we?”

“No, we wouldn’t. I accept your proposal to be Lucifer’s replacement until the time comes for Diavolo's crowning. Until then, I shall serve you and the council to the best of my abilities.” I stepped closer and kneeled before him as he sealed the deal.

“Alright then, as you are no doubt aware, each angel on my council represents a virtue. You shall as well. While Humility does not suit you quite right, I shall grant you a new virtue. One that could be considered a sin should it be applied incorrectly. I think you’d like that. Rise Y/N, Virtue of Loyalty.”

I rose to my feet as an invisible force caused my wings and halo to appear. They glowed a light blue as whatever magic God was using to tie me to the Celestial realm ran its course. Once the glowing dimmed down, I tucked my wings back in and bowed my head once more towards the being I now served for the time being and exited the throne room, making my way back to the House of Honors with Michael close behind. As we reached the front door, Michael turned me around. A hard and unforgiving expression on his face. A look of outright hatred in his eyes.

“Listen Y/N, just because Father has accepted you into the Celestial realm, doesn’t mean the rest of us have. You are still an outsider and I frankly do not trust anyone who has spent so much time around demons. I will follow Father’s orders in training you, but know this, Y/N, if I so much as suspect you of doing anything to upset the balance in the Celestial realm, if you hurt any of the angels here, I will take matters into my own hands. I will not allow a being as tainted as you to wreak havoc among the angels. Am I understood?”

Meeting his gaze, a smile made its way to my face as I responded.

“I will hold you to that.”

He took one last hard look at me and walked through the door. Left alone on the steps, I thought to myself, ‘Soon my demons, I’ll be back, soon’. I walked to the gardens and spent the next few hours tending to it until dinner.

In the Devildom. After they lost Y/N

As soon as they got home, Mammon went straight to Y/N’s room. How could he let this happen? He was their first damn it! He should have protected them, he should have stopped Lucifer, he should have done something! He entered Y/N’s room and immediately sat on their bed, made messily in their excitement to meet the king. He held their pillow, hugging to his chest as he started crying. Too lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t hear Asmo following him. Upon entering the room and seeing the state his older brother was in, Asmo put aside his own grievances and sat next to Mammon and embraced him, letting him cry on his shoulder. This reminded Asmo of a time in the Celestial realm. They were playing with Levi in the gardens when Levi tried to show off his tree climbing skills. As he was nearing the top, Mammon noticed the branch Levi was climbing looked ready to snap. He tried to warn Levi but was too late as the branch snapped and Levi fell. Mammon wasn’t fast enough to catch him. Levi ended up dislocating a wing and spraining his right shoulder. Asmo remembered walking by Mammon's room that night and heard quiet sobs, he knocked and opened the door revealing Mammon sitting on his bed, hugging his pillow crying. He sat next to his older brother and hugged him, assuring him that it wasn’t his fault and that Levi would be just fine. Coming out of the memory, Asmo did the same now, hugging Mammon and reassuring him that it wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t have stopped Y/N from giving that order and that everything will be ok.

“Will it be though? It just won’t be the same without them.”

“I know. It will be hard, Y/N was our family, but we’ll be there for each other.”

They slept together, holding each other in Y/N’s bed comforting each other until they fell asleep.

Present

It was an ordinary day for Mammon. He had just gotten back from a modelling gig at Majolish and was thinking up ways to spend the money he just earned. He was thinking of treating himself to a night out as he’d also gotten a math test back that day and passed with a 90%! Just as he was thinking about where to go, he felt the pull of a summoning. Mammon opened his eyes to find himself in an old cold basement. He scanned the room noting that the only lighting provided was a small bulb with a pull down string in the middle of the room and 3 small candles near the summoning circle. He found that the room was practically empty save for a thin mattress in a corner and some stairs leading to a door. He then spotted the one who summoned him, a little girl. She looked to be no older than 5. She was wearing stained and ripped overalls, one of the straps was missing. A light pink t-shirt underneath. Her brown hair was relatively short, only reaching her shoulders and was a tangled mess. Upon looking closer, Mammon noticed that she was covered head to toe in bruises and there were deep scratch marks on her arms and legs. He looked at the hastily drawn circle under him and found out that she drew it with some chalked rocks. She held an old summoning book close to her chest. Her big brown eyes looked so scared, yet if he looked closer, he could see what looked to be hope sparkling in the background. He could tell by looking at her that she held vast magical potential. Whoever put her here obviously knew the same.

“A-are you Mammon?” By Diavolo, she sounded so broken, like if he spoke too loud, she would shatter. Kneeling down to her level, Mammon put a soft smile on his face.

“Yes I am. What’s your name?”

“Cynthia”

“Ok Cynthia, what can I help you with.” Mammon doesn’t know what it was about the little girl, but he found himself genuinely wanting to help her. Maybe it was the way they looked at him with hope. Maybe it was because they were just a kid, or maybe, it was because her eyes reminded him of Y/N’s.

“I want to leave. My parents locked me in here. They don’t care about me. They only use me for their spells. Please Mammon, help me. I’ll give you my soul if you want, just please!” Tears came to her eyes as she pleaded with him to help her. Mammon upon hearing what these sorcerers were doing with their daughter, became enraged. He held his hand out to Cynthia with a smile on his face. He took the book from her hands and put it on the ground next to him.

“No, no, no. I won’t take your soul. It’s alright Cynthia, I’ll help ya. Why did you think I’d need your soul to help you?” “That’s what my parents said. They’ve been using me to try and summon you. I heard them arguing about who’s soul they would give to form a pact. Then they decided that they would give you mine.” Mammon didn’t think he could get madder, but by now, he was seeing red. Not only did her parents lock her up, they used her to try and summon him thinking he’d just accept a child’s soul to form a pact with them! Mammon was beyond angry.

“Don’t worry Cynthia, the Great Mammon will take care of your parents! You’ll be out of here in no time.” Sensing his rage Cynthia grabbed onto his legs before he made it to the stairs.

“No, don’t hurt them!” Mammon looked down at the girl in shock.

“Please don’t hurt them. They may have done all these awful things to me but they’re still my mom and dad! I don’t want you to hurt them, just get me out of here!” Mammon looked at the girl like she’d gone crazy. Her parents, who have locked her up in a basement, used her for spells, hell even tried summoning him in exchange for her own soul, she wanted them alive?! He saw how genuine she was being and he couldn’t find the heart to say no to her. Instead, Mammon knelt down to her level and took her hand. Cynthia looked at him with tears threatening to overflow. Mammon brought his other hand to cup her face, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb.

“Ok Cynthia, I won’t hurt them. I am mad at your parents for doing this to you, but if you don’t want me to hurt them, I won’t.” Mammon then brought Cynthia’s right hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it gently. A yellow seal formed on the back of her right hand and a matching pink one on the palm of Mammon's right.

“Now we have a pact Cynthia. I didn’t take your soul, I took your sadness. Did you know that demons could also take emotions to form a pact?”

“N-no. Does this mean you’ll take me far away from here?”

“Yes, and it also means that you won’t ever feel sad again. I know a nice witch who can take care of you. She will teach you how to use and call me with the pact. This way, whenever you’re in trouble, you will be able to summon me without drawing the circle again and I can come protect ya.”

“O-ok.” Mammon then picked Cynthia up and walked up the stairs, kicking the basement door down he walked through the house towards the front door. Before he reached it though, he heard a scream behind him. He noticed that Cynthia tensed considerably in his arms as he set her down, hiding her behind his legs. He turned around coming face to face with a middle aged couple who he preserved to be Cynthia’s parents. Her mom then yelled at Cynthia.

“Cynthia Maxwell Daemon! You come here right this instant!”

“Shut your mouth lady. She doesn't belong to you anymore.”

“Nonsense! She’s my daughter. She is mine to do with what I want!” Mammon's patience was running out. A scowl appeared on his face as he growled out.

“Listen here lady, I’ve got some choice words for you two that I wouldn’t care to say in front of the girl, but the fact that you thought you could summon me and exchange her soul for a pact with you? You're crazy to think I’d ever accept that kind of pact. Now Cynthia and I are leaving and you ain’t ever using her again!”

Cynthia’s parents then realized who they were talking to and their attitudes immediately changed.

“Please forgive us, Lord Mammon. We hadn’t planned for the girl to summon you. We apologize for the inconvenience the child caused you. If you would stay, we could reimburse you for your troubles.” Cynthia’s father bowed his head as he addressed Mammon. Mammon on the other hand outright laughed at that statement. Turning into his demon form he barked out

“You think her summoning me was an inconvenience?! You two are crazier than I thought! Now listen here and listen closely, neither of you are to come near or look for her. None of you are going to use her again. We are leaving and don’t ever bother trying to summon me again. Ya know, you should thank Cynthia. If she didn’t plead with me not to hurt either of you, you’d both be dead. Make no mistake, if either of you try to summon me or if I find you anywhere near her again, I will rip your hearts out and feed you to Cerberus. Kapeesh?” The dark undertones of Mammon’s voice got through to Cynthia’s parents as their faces paled in fear and they quickly agreed. They begged for his forgiveness and promised not to harm Cynthia again if he could just stay awhile. Not bothering with them anymore, Mammon picked Cynthia up and walked out, flying towards the one witch he’d ever trusted. When he landed, he realized that Cynthia was crying.

“Sorry Cyn, I didn’t scare ya, did I?”

“A-a little, but these aren’t scared tears. I’m happy. Thank you for getting me away from them and for letting them live.”

“Of course. The Great Mammon keeps his promises.” Mammon walked up to the door of the small cottage. He knocked and a young witch with long blond hair, green eyes, and freckles answered the door.

“Mammon what a surprise! What brings you here?” She opened the door gesturing for him to come in.

“Sorry, not today Kelly. I’m actually here for her.” Mammon stepped aside, revealing a scared Cynthia behind him.

“Oh my Diavolo! What happened to you, you poor girl?!” Kelly rushed forward cupping Cynthia’s chin as she inspected her body, taking in all the bruises and cuts.

“Kelly, this is Cynthia. She summoned me to save her from her parents. I was wondering if ya could take care of her. I know ya've always wanted a kid, so…”

“Of course! I could never turn someone in need away, especially a girl as cute as her.” She said while pinching Cynthia’s cheeks. Cynthia giggled in response.

“Ok then, Cynthia, Kelly here’s gonna take care of you. I promise that she won’t act like your mom and she will help you learn how to use both your magic and your pact.” Reaching into his pocket, Mammon pulled out the Grimm he’d earned that day. He then put them into Cynthia’s palm.

“Here ya go kid. Now if you ever visit me, you’ll have some money to spend.” Mammon turned to leave when he felt a tug on his sleeve. He looked down to see Cynthia pulling him down to the ground. He crouched down. Cynthia then kissed his cheek, giving him one of the Grimm he’d given her.

“Thank you Mammon.” She then ran behind Kelly’s legs and waved goodbye with a massive smile on her face.

It’s been a couple years since Mammon saved Cynthia. She’d grown to be a strong and skilful sorcerer. He’d visit her often over the years with something in tow for her. Mammon never spent the Grimm that Cynthia gave back to him on that day. Whenever Mammon had a tough time with the numerous witches he’d find himself in debt with, he’d always find his way to her, and she comforted him, never asking for more than his company, something he was more than happy to give. His brothers would always know whenever he went to see her as he’d always come back with a content smile on his face. Deep down, he wished that Y/N could’ve met Cynthia. They would have made great friends as they were the only 2 people who could make him smile like this. Mammon may not have been able to save Y/N, but he swore that he would protect Cynthia, no matter the cost.

[simpingovernonexistentmen]

Family Meeting Pt 2

Part 2 of Family Meeting!!!

Genre: Omegaverse, A/B/O, BNHA, Alpha Bakugo X Omega Reader

Plot: Omega Reader meets the Bakugo’s family 

Fluff, SFW, A Lot Of Cussing, Tiny Suggestive part at the end

You were in cloud nine, everything went great with your family! After your brother told your family about Katsuki protecting you, they welcomed him with open arms. Your old brother pulled you aside before you left back home that night. Telling you how proud he was of you for picking a great guy.

You had your family’s approval and, you couldn’t be happier. 

Right now, you looked over at yourself in the mirror checking on your outfit. Today you were meeting Katsuki’s family. You had on a lace short sleeve wine colored dress on, with some black heels to pull it together. You had your hair up in a classy twisted updo style with some of your hair loose to frame your face.

You suddenly felt arms wrap around your waist behind you. You smiled knowing exactly who it was. Katsuki rested his chin on your shoulder, holding you close as he stared at you through the mirror’s refection.

“You taking too long” He grumbled

You laughed lightly at his clingy nature. It was hard to imagine Bakugo being soft or, tame with anyone. Katsuki always had a aggressive attitude at the office or, in public. But you were the lucky girl to know this side of this dangerous alpha.

“I know, i’m just nervous about meeting your family. I thought it was just going to be a dinner with your parents. I didn’t expect your mom would hold a cookout with some of your family members.”

Katsuki groaned rubbing his face into your sweat gland, taking in your scent. “Trust me had i known my mother was going to pull this shit, i wouldn’t have promised to go.”

Your turned in his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck smiling up at him. “Well no backing out now. After all promise made by a Bakugo is always kept no matter what.”

Your alpha chucked at your response, pulling back to look at you with his ruby eyes. “Damn straight” Katsuki face turned serious while looking at you. “If you feel uncomfortable at any time during the party, i’ll take you home.” 

You graced him with a loving smile while leaning up to kiss his lips, “Sounds like a plan”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ok so you knew there was going to be a few people but, you didn’t expect a crowd of people to be here. You looked around to see all of Katsuki’s close friends and, a good 20 people chatting away with each other. Everyone was gathered in the back yard of the Bakugo’s home. You smiled trying to trick your mind that everything was ok and, your skin wasn’t crawling at you to run.

“Are you fucking serious” Your heard your alpha growl out. At least you weren't the only one blind sighted.

“You’re here!” A woman with ash blonde hair and red eyes approached you with a smile on her face. She looked exactly like your alpha but, in female form! Without a doubt she was his mother.

Katsuki glared down at his mother, “Old hag what the fuck is all this?!” He growled out with bite.

Without missing a beat she, swatted your alpha on his head, “Don’t talk to your mother like that!” She growled out with a equal amount of bite. You wondered in the back of your mind if, their personality is hereditary. She then turned to you with a excited smile.

“OI! Don’t fucking hit me!” He growled out with hollowed rage. She ignored her son’s protest, focusing on you. 

“Welcome to my home, I am Bakugo,Mitsuki the mother of this loud mouth”

You smiled at her, “L/N, Y/N, it’s a pleasure to meet you” 

“I hope you don’t mind all the people. No one believed me when i told them, Katsuki had landed a girlfriend and, was actually in a serious relationship.” She laugh. 

You felt her eyes looking at you from head to toe. Her smile widened, “I have to say you certainly are a beauty that’s for sure. Anyways come on in and, enjoy the party everyone has been waiting for you two to show up.”

You took a deep breath and looked up at your alpha, who was currently sulking from his mother’s disciplinary action. “Shitty woman” He mumbled out.

You covered your mouth suppressing a laugh that wanted to come out of you. You simply hooked your arm around his, obtaining his attention. Ruby eyes meeting your E/C ones. 

“Shall we enter the battle field?” You joked after seeing most of the guests had their eyes set on you both. Katsuki’s mother wasn’t joking about you both being the main topic of this party.

Your alpha scoffed pulling you forward towards the crowd, “This is nothing close to a battle field, at least then i can blow things up.” You laughed at your alpha’s words. You already knew he would rather be fighting than dealing with ‘extras’ as he called them. 

Your eyes soften looking at him. Still the fact he was making the effort to talk to everyone and, keep his composer for you, made your heart flutter. He was the one who wanted to meet families and, here he was proving you were nothing short but, important in his life. 

After a hour or, two of meeting everyone, you were socially exhausted. You could only take so much of people doubting your beloved alpha and, his relationship with you. One of his cousin’s even joked about you being paid to be here since, there was no way anyone could handle Katsuki’s personality as he stated to everyone. You nearly lost your cool and, bit his head off. Instead you corrected him and assured him, you were indeed Katsuki’s girlfriend by choice.

You were currently resting in a lone table with empty seats while, your alpha went off to go talk to his friends. You didn’t mind in the slightest especially, when he asked you if you were ok with him leaving. Despite what people assumed about your alpha, he was actually very attentive. You watched him from afar with a soft smile setting on your lips.

You heard the chair in next to you scrap back pulling your attention to the sound. You frowned slightly seeing your alpha’s cousin occupying the seat next to you. He leaned his arm on the table propping his head up, giving you a mischievous smile. Your inner omega growled internally demanding you to tell this person to fuck off. He already insulted your alpha once today and, he was instantly on your shit list.

“Hey beautiful” He smirked at you.

It took everything inside you to not growl at him and, keep a pleasant expression. “Hello”

“Now that we are alone, let’s be honest. How much is he paying you or, are you dating him for some novelty status?”

“Excuse me” You growled out, you did not hide your venom in your tone.

“Oh did i hit a nerve” He stated with condescending tone. “Come on baby, how much is it going to cost me to get a all access pass. There is no way that second rate hero is getting all this for free.” He licked his lips, letting his scent out slightly. The smell alone was sicking to your stomach.

You had enough of this! You stood up to leave the piece of garbage but, he swiftly grabbed onto your wrist trying to pull you back. You quickly pivoted your body, slapping his face with a hard blow of your hand, making the sounds of his flesh echo loudly.

You tugged your wrist out of his hand forcefully, “Don’t ever fucking touch me! Or insult my alpha you bottom feeder!!” Rage filled you clouding your mind as your eyes narrowed in to the asshole in front of you. You didn’t even notice the attention you were gathering.

The enraged alpha looked at you with hate in his eyes, “You have some balls to hit a alpha Omega! A little bitch like you should be grateful an alpha wants to breed your sorry ass in the first place! In fact you should be begging me to breed you like the slutty omega you are!” He growled out menacingly, reaching out to grab you again. You lifted your arms to your side in battle stance ready to defend yourself.

But contact was never made because, before you knew it; the hateful alpha was crashing into the table breaking it in half from his weight and the momentum.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY TO HER!?!” Your alpha yelled out with rage. You watched as Katsuki didn’t even give him the chance to speak pounding his face mercilessly with his fists. Everyone watched as your alpha lost control.

The moment you saw blood fling in the air you threw yourself onto your alpha’s back pumping out your smoothing scent to quell the rage of your alpha. 

“Katsuki, baby, I need you to calm down please. It’s ok, i’m ok. I’m not hurt” You cooed at your alpha watching him breath raggedly. When you felt you alpha relax from your voice and touch, you proceeded to get in front of his body taking his face into your hands, watching him look at you intensively. When you noticed the alpha behind you was unconscious, you deemed it safe to embrace your alpha, rubbing your scent gland against his.

You felt his chest rumble against you. After a few moment of him breathing in your scent his breathing started to even out. He pulled back from you, looking into your eyes showing you he was now in the right state of mind. 

He stood up bringing you up with him looking over you to check for any injuries. He grabbed your wrist that was previously held by the piece of trash bringing your wrist to his nose to smell the offending scent of the other alpha. He growled from the fact that someone else’s scent was on you especially the fucker who touched you. He then rubbed his scent onto your wrist as if he was cleansing you of his touch.

He glared at you for a moment, “You should have just called for me you idiot” He stated with no ill intent in his tone. 

You smiled up at your alpha, “I may not be a hero but, that doesn’t mean i can’t defend myself from a creep.”

You noticed a hand fall on Katsuki’s shoulder. The hand belonged to a middle aged man with short brown hair with a pair of black glasses. “Son go clean yourself up inside, your mother and, i will take care of things from here.”

Katsuki glanced down you which, the man noticed giving a small chuckle. “Don’t worry she will be with me until you get back” Katsuki nodded at his father, letting go of your hand heading inside not without giving you a small kiss on your forehead causing you to blush like a man mad. Now normally you wouldn’t be embarrassed by the intimacy but, he just had to do this in front of his father!

His father gave you a knowing smile, his father extended his hand towards you. You blushed placing his hand in his. 

“I know this is a late introduction but, as you probably already guess i am Katsuki’s father. Bakugo, Masaru” He stated giving you a genuine smile.

While in the background you could faintly hear Katsuki’s mother kicking the unconscious alpha on the ground while taking to someone on the phone.

“L/N, Y/N, i’m your son’s girlfriend” 

He gave a small chuckle, “I’ve know, my wife has been excited about meeting you ever since my son started talking about you." He smiled down at you, "What do you say we have of scenery and have a little dance.”

You smiled at Katuski’s father, “I would love to” How is his father so calm and collected? Maybe he was just used to his families aggresive nature. Which did no surprise you. He lead you to the patio placing his hand on your waist and, in your hand. 

“I would have greeted you earlier but, i had to keep my wife from telling our family members your were getting married to our son already. She told me as soon as she met you, she instantly knew you were a perfect for our son. I trust my wife’s instincts they’ve never been wrong.”

You laughed as you both moved effortlessly around the patio. “I don’t think i can live up to her high expectations she has of me.” 

Katsuki’s father looked down at you with a smile, “ I think you just proved how right her expectations were with that little out burst you just showed everyone.”

You blushed furiously in embarrassment, “Ahh that’s right i did do that in front of everyone didn’t i?”

He simply chuckled while, twirling you. “If it’s any consolation, i think you were astonishing and, a perfect partner for my son.” His eyes softened with the last statement. You felt your heart warm with the approval of Katsuki’s parents.

“Oi! Old man, i would like my girlfriend back now” Your alpha’s voice echoed out by you. You both stopped moving looking over at your alpha with a smile.

“That’s alright, i have my own wife to listen to my ranting” Katsuki’s father stated. “Thank you for the dance” He smiled at you one the last time before walking back to his wife’s side.

Katsuki replaced his father’s hands with his, moving you both again into a slow dance. He pulled you closer, whispering in your ear. “Don’t be falling for my dad now” 

You gave your alpha a playful glare, “I would never steal your mom’s husband, no matter how charming he is.”

Katsuki laughed moving you both as if you had practiced the dance a million times for this party. Of course you didn’t, you didn’t even know Katsuki could dance in the first place!

“It runs in the blood” He gave you a playful smirk. “And it’s also in our nature to attract beautiful spit fire women” 

You laughed lightly at his response. “I wasn’t about to let anyone talk bad about you.”

“You know, your absolutely gorgeous when your pissed off.” You laughed swatting his chest lightly.

“Really now?” You said in a sultry tone while, letting out your scent lightly.

You felt his grip tighten around your waist. His ruby eyes darkened looking down at you. “I think it’s time we leave and, have a little party of our own at home.” 

You laughed loudly as he pulled you away with him towards the exit while, Katsuki’s mother called out to him in the background. 

HERE IS THE FINAL PART FOR FAMILY MEETINGS! THANK GOD! HOPE YOU LIKED IT! LET ME KNOW! COMMENT! LIKE! SHARE!

[vivian24l]

Dream

“I remember that day clearly, my last birthday with them. Father knows I hate large gatherings, yet he threw me a big party anyways. Everyone showed up. The Leaguers, the original Leaguers, the Titans, my friends and family.

I didn’t appreciate it back then. Now I can only look back and wish I could experience it once more. Wish I could see them once more, happy, together, not having to worry about an ongoing war.

I remember racing my cousins. I wish I hadn’t cheated in that race. Uncle Jon said Mother had used the same trick when they were kids. I practiced magic with Tiago and the Constantines. I remember Aunt Kori pulling me into an unbreakable hug. She had told me I’m growing to be just like my mother.

I used to look like her. Both with purple eyes and purple hair. My skin had more color. Now I look nothing like her. I no longer have her purple eyes, but green like Father’s, my hair has become a brighter shade of purple.

I miss them. Father gave me a silver dagger that day. He never lets me play with sharp objects, we only used wooden sticks when training. Mother gifted me with a spell book, it contained a vast collection of spells ranging from beginners to highly advanced. I lost both of them. The only things I have left of my parents, lost, gone forever. I long for them to return. My parents and their gifts.

I wish for all of them to return. Not just my parents but everyone. I wished this never happened, I wish the war never started. I wish I had been more grateful for all that they have done for me.”

“Do you remember the day they left you at that place? That place that was supposed to be remote, guarded, and free of any upcoming parademon attack?” he asked the young girl.

“How could I not? That was the day I lost them. That was the day they left.

Grandmother Talia greeted us at the harbor of Infinity Island. I didn’t know, back then, that it was the last time I'd see them. They told me I’ll be staying with Grandmother for a while, I didn’t think of asking how long. Then they hugged me. I missed that. I missed the way they’d cover me in their warm embrace. The way Father wraps his arm around both me and mother. I caught a shimmer of a tear from the corner of Mother's eyes. I felt their sadness. It was when I saw that tear slip, that I knew something was wrong. When I felt Father fighting to keep his posture, his stoic manner, that was when I knew I would be there for longer than ‘a while’. I wish I could’ve told them how much I loved them, I wished I could’ve given them one last hug,” she closed her eyes. “But I didn’t. I didn’t because I was a dumb eight year old who didn’t know what to do.”

“Do you remember the day you died? The day those hybrids took you down? The day you visited me in my realm and left to rejoin the living? The day you left something very valuable behind?” he asked.

“Why are you asking me these questions?” she asked miserably.

He smiled. “Because Granddaughter, it is good to learn from the past, to take the pain and turn it into strength. Now, tell me of that day.”

“I-I remember running to the courtyard. There were screams coming from outside. An assassin crashed through the window, his legs were gone. I was...horrified, yet I kept going. I was stupid, thinking I could help. When I reached the courtyard, I saw corpses everywhere. Ripped up and severed. Grandmother and her elite archers were shooting down the creatures. My uncle calls them Paradooms. Parademons mixed with Kryptonian DNA. Grandmother’s supply of kryptonite-infused weapons was running low. I thought I was strong enough. I summoned beams of energy. I kept using magic until I had no energy left. I kept going. I should’ve stopped. I continued to fight. Picking up a stray sword with a kryptonite blade. It cut through plenty of monsters. Then Grandmother called my name. It was as if time slowed down. Her face contorted to horror, an emotion I have never seen her express. I felt a wave of emotions coming from her. Yet, nothing from myself. The pain was so bad, it felt like nothing. My vision had begun to blur when I noticed the sharp point of a claw emerging from my chest. I remember the paradoom falling as I laid on the ground. Grandmother rushed to my side. She told me not to worry. Then I came here. To this place you call home.”

“I never see this hellish realm as home. I am a conqueror of worlds, I focus on establishing and controlling new frontiers.”

“TT. We can agree that we have very different interests, Grandfather.”

“Indeed.”

“Now, I must ask. Why are you here? Why am I here? Why have you called upon me?”

“I am here to remind you. It takes a lot of energy to escape that prison in your mother’s head to visit you in your dream. This location is where your subconscious wants you to be, because deep down you know where to go. You know how to end this. You blame the Lazarus Pit for your loss of powers, but have you really lost your powers?” He gave her an amused smile, knowing the young girl was conflicted.

“Yes. No! I don’t know! I can still feel emotions, I can feel energy within me, but I can’t access it. I can’t perform a single spell, not even the simplest,” she confessed.

“The Pit is supposed to revive and strengthen the one of dips in it, that is if they are able to control the evil temptations of the Pit. You, Granddaughter, were already powerful. You still are. The Pit boosted your abilities, but you haven’t brought them back with you.”

“You’re saying...that I left my powers in Hell?” Rashida asked skeptically.

“What else could I be saying, dear?”

“What’s it in for you? Why are you helping me?”

“Because I would like to conquer Earth. I shall not let that weak, ‘New God’ destroy this planet before I do. Besides, I need a body to inhabit once I break free. Your mother won’t last, she is already weak.”

This got Rashida’s attention. “Then how do I get my powers back? How can I get to Hell without dying?”

“Hm. I’m sure that spellbook of yours would be useful. Once the proper ritual is performed, you should be able to enter and exit that realm.”

“But, I’ve lost it. The book was burned during the first paradoom attack.”

“You are the granddaughter of Trigon. The granddaughter of the first Batman, Bruce Wayne. The great granddaughter of Ra’s Al Ghul. The granddaughter of Talia Al Ghul. The daughter of Raven, the Queen of Hell. The daughter of Damian Al Ghul Wayne, the current Batman. You have a powerful heritage. I expect you to live up to your blood.” He gave her an expectant look. “And let’s not forget that family that took in your mother when you first came to Earth, the Kryptionians,” he added.

“Bart explained this to me the other day, something about a multiverse. The book is lost in this world. It no longer exists in this universe. However, there are many alternate universes, different worlds out there. If I’m able to locate the right one, I should be able to get that book”

Trigon smiled. “Correct, my dear. Now, time is running short. I suggest you make haste.”

Rashida looked up from her internal thoughts. “Wait, what do you mean by that?”

But it was too late. Her surroundings have begun to shift. Trigon had swirled into a translucent black shadow and disappeared through the cracks of the room. She no longer sat in the obsidian chair in the Underworld’s throne room. Instead Rashida sat up with a jolt in her uncle’s base. Her head was beaded with sweat. She left the little room, which she had claimed to be her sleeping quarter. Jason was still asleep in front of his computer. Judging by the position of the sun in the cloudy red sky, it was late in the morning.

Artemis looked up from her daily ritual of sword sharpening. “Good morning, kid.”

“Why did you let me sleep in?” asked Rashida.

“Last night was rough. I thought you needed the rest,” she glanced at Jason and Roy, who was still asleep on the worn down couch. Artemis held up a tin can. “Pineapples?”

Rashida accepted the fruit. “How did you get your hands on pineapples?”

Artemis shrugged. “Oh, you know. Quinn and her buddies were in the area.”

Rashida took a bite of the diced pineapples. “I have to say, I envy them. They get to do the cool stuff like infiltrating LexCorp. While, we’re stuck fighting off the parademons and thugs.”

“This’ll be over soon. And then, you can do the cool “infiltrating” stuff as well,” assured the Amazon.

[pamgkrthwrites]

Flame of Healing | EraserMic x Reader | Chapter 10 - Kurogiri

Masterlist | AO3

Warnings:  Kyudai Garaki, Mnaga Spoilers, Grooming of a Child(not Child Grooming), Abuse of Power, Abuse of a Corpse, Mentions of Murder, Brainwashing, Memory lose, Abusive thoughts towards Reader.

Word Count: 2032

Taglist: @stargazingaloneatnight @rinzyx05 @uselesssapphickitten 

AN: Hey before we start, I know Kyudai Garaki has been very triggering for Chinese MHA manga readers. His name only gets stated once and the rest of the time he is simply referred to as "doctor". I don't know If I have Chinese readers, but I am aware of how his name alone has affected those fans and I want them to know I understand and therefore will not be using that name when referring to him. 

Now, on with the fic!

I hope y’all can see that this chapter will be coming from Kurogiri’s point of view. If any of the warnings are an issue for you I do want you to know this chapter is not a must needed chapter to read. I just wanted to explore some issues relationships regarding Shigaraki. 

Upon first waking up, Kurogiri felt strange. He didn’t know where he was or who he was, He felt keep guilt in his heart yet he had no idea as to why. All he could feel within his heart was a loss of an attachment. 

“It’s awake?” Said a man’s voice.

Kurogiri looked at where the voice came from and saw a man with white hair and red eyes who stood at 234cm tall. The man next to him was noticeably shorter, had no hair on his head but had a big moustache and wore big goofy-looking glasses.

The shorter man responded. “It seems so. He also seems to be doing better than when he first woke up.”

“Agreed.”

First woke up? Wasn’t this the first time we woke up?

The taller man walked towards him, looking down at Kurogiri. “Do you remember anything?” He asked.

“No.” Kurogiri answered.

“Good.” The man looked deep into Kurogiri’s eyes with a creepy smile on his face. His eyes seem to glow either from quirk use or maybe he just looked evil. A feeling in Kurogiri’s gut made him want to fly away and run somewhere. He didn’t understand these feelings. “You will do everything I command you to do. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.” Kurogiri answered.

Kurogiri felt as if he was split in two. One who controlled the stage and was the main everything while in the back of his mind locked away in a box was something telling him to stop.

Even if he could fear it, it was not the main player and therefore it didn’t matter.

“Your one and only mission is to look after and protect my son, Tomura Shigaraki.”

“Yes, I understand.”

The doctor cleared his throat. “We should give it a name, sir.”

“Yes.” The white haired red eye man agree. “You’ll name will be Kurogiri, while you shall call me Master.”

Kurogiri nodded his head. “Yes sir.”

This is the only life Kurogiri will know, and should knows.

Yes. This is correct.

---

“This is my son, Tomura Shigaraki.” The man introduced. “Tomura, this is Korugiri, and he will be your caretaker when I am away.”

Kurogiri looked down at the 7 year old boy with light blue hair and red eyes, looking so much like his father besides his skin conduction on his face, more noticeably around his eyes. The boy also had hands wrapped around different parts of his body.

“It is a pleasure to meet you Tomura Shigaraki.” Kurogiri said as he walked closer up to the small boy.

The boy made a face before speaking. “You look like some hero wannabe.”

Kurogiri looked at his clothing, not aware of it earlier. He didn’t understand it himself though it felt as if he knew every pocket of said outfit.

The purple flame man turned his full attention to the boy, kneeing down to be on the same eye level. “Is there something you would rather have me wear?”

The boy looked puzzled at first, but then was in deep thought. The boy soon grabbed Kurogiri’s hand and lead him somewhere. “Yes, but first we must make sure it fits on.”

All For One watched as Tomura lead Kurogiri away. Once the two left the room he turned to the doctor.

“Do you think we will be able to make them… Less human, doctor?” All For One asked.

The doctor turned to his master with an evil smile. “Oh yes, sir! We can do more than that!”

“Alright, you then have my full blessing to continue this project of yours, Doctor.” All For One stated. 

“If I may ask sir, why did you give away the Nomu to the child?” The Doctor asked. “We could’ve used the Nomu to defeat the current One For All Quirk Host!”

“It’s more of a back-up plan doctor.” Said All For One. “Just like how your Nomu’s will be part of my back up plan.”

The Doctor was confused by All For One’s answer. “What do you mean backup plan my lord?”

“You must always plan for if your first plan fails, doctor.” Said All For One. “I have many moving parts under my belt. You are aware of our planned attack on this All Might, but you are also part of the main back up fail if I get gravely injured. I am… Preparing Tomura to be my next host body either for myself or my quirk if that happens. Kurogiri will now be a part to make sure the body stays intact, ready for my use.”

Upon realising of his master’s plan, the doctor’s face glowed up in happiness. “Oh Master! You are so smart! I am sorry for doubting you!”

“It does not matter to me doctor.” All For One scuffed. 

Another reason I picked Tomura was because he looks so much like my beloved brother… All For One thought to himself. If only that idiot learnt how student his ideals where.

All For One shook his head, making the memories of his late brother leave his memory. His only focus was to defeat those enemies who wish to bring him down, which was All Might.

---

Over the 3 years Kurogiri looked after Tomura, Kurogiri became very attached to Tomura. He culdn’t help but see Tomura as his own son, even if Tomura did not see Kurogiri as the same.

The tiny voice at the back of his head also became more quite, barely ever speaking. Even then , Kurogiri learnt how to tune the voice out. As if he would care what that voice said.

Well, that was untilt eh day he finally caved into Tomura begging to go outside. Tomura wanted to see some gaming cafe. It was agonist the rules All For One had set for them, but Tomura had been begging since his 10th birthday earlier in the year, and Kurogiri caved to the constant begging. 

Tomura was guilding Kurogiri to where they where heading, approaching the corner rather fast.

A woman walked straight into him.

Kurogiri was unbothered on the woman bumping into him, though he was more worried this woman would harm Tomura or him. He could’ve listened to the Master, he shouldn’t have let Tomura leave the stronghold, they should’ve stayed still.

Then, he heard your voice.

“Oof!”

Everything stopped inside of him. He looked down at you, recongising you.

Y/N L/N? The once silent voice in the corner of his mind spoke up. 

He felt everything in his body been drawn to you. Even if he didn’t act on it. He felt a need to ask if you were alright, to ask if you were okay, to ask how you’ve been, to help you up. He wanted to protect you.

However, the dark shadow in his mind sat the small voice back down, shutting it him. 

You stepped back from him, rubbing you head before looking up at you.

Gosh I’ve missed her eyes. As beautiful as ever. Said the small voice.

Shut up! Said the dark shadow.

“Sorry about that sir.” You said with your sweet voice. He felt so drawn to you. 

He should apogoise to you. It was his fault. He shouldn’t had been walking as fast.

His thoughts were stopped when you looked at Tomura who was standing behind him. 

Tomura. Tomura was more important than you. Tomura, Tomura Shigaraki.

He fell back into the mindset he has been in for the past years. Yes, that’s right. He didn’t know who you were, but you needed to get away from him and Tomura. You were just some worthless nurse from the looks of it. You as previous as Tomura was, the adopted child of All For One. You probably sided with filthy heroes, the same heroes like All Might who reduced the powerful All For One to a death bed.

You were nothing to Tomura and therfore, you meant nothing to him.

“It’s alright.” He said bluntly.

He was not going to give up anything to you, you filthy hero supporter. How dare you set your eyes on Tomura.

You walked past him, giving him nor Tomura the time of day.

The silent voice was screaming out to you, that annoying thing.

How dare it look out for you. You were nothing.

“You seem like you know that person, Kurogiri.” Tomura said, breaking Kurogiri from his thoughts. 

He turned to watch you walk away.

Did, did he know you?

The silent voice seemed to know you, but did him, Kurogiri, know you?

No, he didn’t. 

And so, why should be care what happens to you.

“I don’t remember her, but I feel as if I know her from somewhere.” He answered honestly to Tomura.

Kurogiri wasn’t going to be honest with himself sure, but to Tomura or All For One? Never.

Tomura scoffed. “Maybe she is your soulmate or something.”

Everything in Kurogiri’s body stopped. Soulmate? No, no he didn’t have one of those. He knew that much. But the mere thought of Soulmate seemed to bring a deep pain to him. He had a feeling it had an relation to you, but he didn’t know why. 

“...I do not think I have a soulmate, Shigaraki.” Kurogiri answered the non question.

“Hmmm. I don’t have one either.” Tomura  replied.

Kurogiri self sad those words. The world could feel lonely when one walks around with no soulmate, he knew that. 

“Anyway, about that place I wanted to go to Kurogiri.” Tomura said, bring kurogiri out of his head.

Yes, he needed to focus on Tomura, not someone of the likes of you or his past. Tomura Shigaraki was the only thing that mattered. 

---

All For One turned to the doctor. “What do you mean by they left?”

“They have seemed to have left the strong hold my lord.” The doctor answered his master.

“And why did it take you so long to notice they were gone?” All For One yelled at the doctor.

How could Kurogiri fail to listen to his order? This hasn’t happened before. Did the filthy Nomu get too attached to Tomura?

“I got an alert the nomu’s brain patterns were going off like crazy sir.” The doctor answered. “I checked the camera to see what could possibly have caused this issue and could not find him nor the child in the stronghold. All I can guess is that he saw either a place or someone who use to mean a lot to him before he died.”

All For One gripped his hand down. “Is there a way to fix this?”

“Making sure he stays away from those people or places as long as we can and deeper brainwashing is my guess my lord.” The doctor answered.

“We will have to do that then.” All For One answered with a sigh. “For the rest of the nomu’s, make sure their loved ones are killed so this can’t happen in the future.”

“Should we do the same with the Kurogiri nomu?” The doctor asked.

“No. He went to UA, meaning his close ones are either heroes or have connection to heroes. It would be too big of a risk. We are trying to keep me alive while pretending I’m dead. We can’t give it away that I didn’t die yet.”

The doctor nodded his head. “Understood sir.”

The doctor turned and made his way to the door before All For One stopped him.

“Doctor, where are you going?” All For One stated loudly. The doctor turned and saw how angry All For One was. “We are not done yet.”

The doctor gulped and smiled. “I’m sorry sir.”

“Bring Kurogiri and Tomura here to me as soon as possible. They both will be deeply punished for not following my orders. And so will you doctor, for not picking up on it earlier.

The doctor had a cold sweat on his back upon hearing his master’s words.

“Y-Yes sir, I will do that. My deepest apogosies my lord.” The doctor bowed to his master. “Is that all?”

All For One frowned. “Yes, you may leave.”

The doctor bowed again, and left the room as fast as he could.

What did her get himself into?

[spookyceph]

Pull Test

Summary: Shigaraki and Kurogiri meet with the League of Villain's newest candidate.

Rating: Gen Fic, SFW

Relationships: Shigaraki & Magne

Characters: Shigaraki Tomura, Magne, Kurogiri, Giran, mentioned Dabi, mentioned Toga Himiko

Words: 2,732

Warnings: Implied/Referenced transphobia and deadnaming when Magne's background is mentioned, swearing

The manila folder dropped from the air like a dead bird, hitting the bar top with a slap. Tomura jerked back, stool wobbling beneath him, and grit his teeth as he heard the staccato sounds of his fighter taking damage in his game. Recovering balance, he hit the pause button before glaring at the warp gate that swirled into being across the way.

“Another one already?” he snapped the moment the tall figure of his caretaker stepped out of the darkness.

Kurogiri straightened both his tie and metal gorget. “I was quite impressed myself. Giran is proving to be as professional and efficient as advertised.” He motioned to the folder he’d air dropped in. “Shall we consider this new candidate together, Shigaraki Tomura?”

Tomura wasn’t in the mood to consider shit. He hadn’t been hanging around the bar for going on two hours hoping for work to come along. One of his hands strayed to his pocket. He touched the lump that was the jar of salve he’d taken to carrying at all times. The serpentine ridge of a friendship bracelet (I used red, white, and black string so it would match you, Tomura-kun!) had joined it a week ago. Of course, he’d die before admitting to lurking just to catch a glimpse of Dabi. Or that he’d agreed to let Toga show him her favorite otome games as soon as she came back from her shopping trip. He definitelycouldn’t tell the smug old ink splatter to fuck off and let him get back to his goal of a high score—not without having how wrong he’d been about those same two people rubbed in his face.

That left being a responsible leader as the only option.

Tomura growled and set his game aside. He flicked the folder open. “Fine. What’s this new asshole’s name?” Giving in didn’t require him to be gracious about it.

“Ah. About that. I believe there’s a conflicting issue in her files about that point. Her family name is Hikiishi, however, her given one, or both, may require an update.”

A look at the top of the file filled in the blanks. The picture Giran had included showed the candidate flashing a bold smile at the camera. Shoulder-length auburn hair framed prominent cheekbones. Slightly darker fuzz lined her jaw and chin. Tomura couldn’t tell what color her eyes were behind her sunglasses, but they locked with his through lenses and stock paper alike. Hikiishi Kenji, read the first line of information on the page beneath the photo. A police report, by the looks of it.

“I see. Well, for now let’s just call Hikiishi by her alias until she confirms with us.” Tomura skimmed through the info again. “Magne, right? Related to her quirk, I assume.”

The currents of Kurogiri’s mist slowed and relaxed into looser coils. “Correct.”

Tomura frowned. “What? Did you think I’d have some sort of problem with the name thing?”

“After the misunderstanding with Dabi—”

“Dabi and I talked.”

The yellow eyes glowing within the darkness widened. “Did you now?”

Fuck, he wasn’t turning red, was he? Was he? “We’re adults. We worked shit out, okay? Not everybody has a stick up their ass about being polite all the time.” He scooped up his game, more than ready to retreat into something he could control. “When are we expecting Magne?”

“Giran can bring her by tomorrow evening.”

“Fine. Let’s get the stupid meet and greet crap over with.” When only silence followed, Tomura raised his gaze from the screen to glare at Kurogiri. “What?”

The wisps curling from the smoggy bastard’s head looked suspiciously like smiles. “Nothing, Shigaraki Tomura. Nothing at all.”

-

Taptaptap.

Tomura’s finger rose and fell on the bartop fast enough to give a sewing machine needle a run for its money. The ball of his right foot bounced on the stool’s crossbar in time with it.

Taptaptap.

Giran had promised he’d be there between 9:00 and 10:00. The clock by the door pointed to 9:51.

Taptaptap.

Lots of people would be riding the trains on a Friday night. Or roaming the streets, looking for food and alcohol, karaoke, strangers to stave off loneliness. Heroes would be out in force as a result, watching for any predators stalking the herds of humanity. Tomura didn’t know how to calculate exact probability rates for shit hitting the fan, but he got the sense they were on the higher end under such conditions.

Taptaptap.

Why couldn’t he just run into party members along the way as needed, like in games? Each one would specialize in a skill, forming a well-rounded team. Everyone would follow him to the bitter end because they believed in him and not some ass goblin named Stain. Why they believed in Tomura wouldn’t matter, though money would be a reasonable guess. Idealism didn’t pay much from what he could tell.

Taptap—

“Be calm, Shigaraki Tomura. This meeting will go well.”

He bared teeth at Kurogiri. “There has to be a meeting for it to go a certain way. And I am calm, damn it.”

“So I see.” He finished wiping down the glass he held before setting it on the bar and grabbing another. “My apologies.”

Tomura twisted on the stool to give the smart ass shadow a piece of his overthinking mind.

Knock, knock, knock.

Without missing a beat, Kurogiri stuck his free hand through a small warp gate and turned the handle of the door across the room. He went back to polishing as two figures entered the bar.

For someone who charged such high fees, Giran went out of his way to look cheap and kitschy. Little round tinted lenses pinched to the bridge of his nose. A scrunched scarf like someone’s guts slung around his neck. One front tooth missing in his low-key sleazy smile. The woman following right behind him and surveying her new surroundings made for a more welcome sight. Sunglasses (her and Giran both, for fucks’ sake) hid her eyes just like in her picture, but her lips held a hint of a smile.

The essence of good manners, Kurogiri bowed to their guests. “Good evening. Welcome to our humble home.”

Tomura, to balance the scales, snorted and folded his arms across his chest. “Took you long enough.”

Giran shrugged and twirled his hand, leaving behind a smoke spiral from the tip of the cigarette between his fingers. “Our train was delayed by some prankster threatening to blow up the tracks.”

“Doesn’t sound like a prank.”

“It wouldn’t have been if the lazy bastard hadn’t been trying to pass off children’s clay as plastic explosive. One of the cops noticed the stuff was bright yellow and they rushed him. They didn’t even call in a hero.” The broker shook his head. “What’s this world coming to? People can’t be bothered to find and pay for real weapons anymore. It offends my pride as a businessman.”

Behind Father, Tomura grimaced. His short-lived venture with Stain had indeed moved people to lash out at society. The problem was most of them were fucking morons. He doubted any decent candidates the League managed to net would make up for all the secondhand embarrassment he’d suffered in the past couple of weeks from watching the news.

“Oh, I don’t know,” the woman said, tapping her chin. “I felt kinda bad for the poor guy. He looked like your average office wage-slave. I thought he was going to break down in tears when they hauled him off.”

“Serves him right for cutting corners. No conviction, no integrity these days I tell you.”

She hid a grin behind her hand. “You’re heartless, Giran.”

The broker snorted smoke from his nostrils like an exasperated dragon. “I’m practical.”

“And yet you still haven’t introduced me.”

Posture straightening, Giran tugged at his weirdly anatomical scarf. “Sorry, got sidetracked. Magne, Shigaraki Tomura and Kurogiri of the League of Villains.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Slipping off his stool, Tomura gave her a short bow. The way Kurogiri swayed slightly, as if he’d swoon from shock, made the display worth it.

“I take it I’ve earned my fee?” chimed in Giran.

Kurogiri’s misty form shuddered as he roused himself. “Of course. We’ll hear from you again soon?”

“I’ve got a few candidates lined up.” The broker sketched them a mock salute before turning and closing the door behind him.

“Please, have a seat.” Tomura motioned to the row of barstools beside him.

“Thank you. Don’t mind if I do.”

While Magne approached, he studied her movements. She strode across the hardwood floor, work boots making minimal noise with each step. Grace as well as power. She knew how to use the muscle under her shirt’s rolled up sleeves rather than relying on pure size. Although, that didn’t hurt either—Tomura put her at over ten centimeters his own height at least, and she definitely outclassed him by weight. He wondered whether she had speed to go along with strength. She slid into the next seat over and rested her chin in her hands.

“Would you care for something to drink, Miss Magne?” Kurogiri asked, jumping at the chance to play host.

“Oh, my. So formal. Sure, I’ll have whatever you recommend.”

Tomura waited until a small glass of something amber-colored had been set in front of them both (ginger ale for him) and she’d taken an approving sip before getting things rolling.

“You have quite a record, Magne.” Though he’d already memorized the relevant bits, he flipped open the folder container her information.

She glanced over, shades slipping down her nose as she scanned the first page of the police report. “Twenty-nine attempted murders, huh? Is that what they’re calling those? I’m surprised you guys bothered having me come in after reading that garbage.”

“Why?”

Like a small bird, Tomura’s stomach dipped and fluttered when Magne looked at him over the edge of her glasses. Not quite in the same way it did when he caught Dabi watching him from across the room, but close enough to classify the sensation as pleasant. Her irises shone like polished agates, made up of rich layers of browns from a starburst of mahogany around her pupils to flecks of burnished copper. Tomura suddenly understood her hiding them behind lenses. Such a beautiful detail would stick in anyone’s memory.

“Somebody who tried and failed to kill that many people would look pretty incompetent, right?” she replied. “Or like they chickened out at the last second. I don’t enjoy killing. I’ll tell you that up front. But…I didn’t hesitate with the three I did put down, let’s just say that.”

Tomura, a multiple murderer himself, examined the square set of her shoulders, the twist of scorn to her mouth towards her accusers, and found no reason to doubt her. He nodded.

“The so-called attempts were from the robberies you pulled off then?”

“Mostly, though I’m sure a few of the bullies I smacked around exaggerated just to prove what big, strong men they are.” She harumphed and took another sip from her drink.

“And the actual murders?”

Her lips puckered, as if she tasted something more bitter than whatever alcohol Kurogiri had given her. “Personal matters.”

“I see.” Tomura turned the page and ran his finger further down the information. “Your quirk has some unique parameters.”

The lines of Magne’s face eased into a smile. “Oh, the gender thing? A theory really. I haven’t had much opportunity to test it seriously. It might be nothing but my own perception…but I guess that doesn’t make it any less real, does it?” She lifted a hand from her glass and reached halfway toward him. “Care for a demonstration?”

Tomura caught himself drawing away from her, his nails latching onto the sides of his neck. Cowering—great way to display his leadership skills. “What’re you going to do?”

“Oh, just tug on your arm a little. Go ahead and put it down by your side for me.”

Resisting the urge to look to Kurogiri for reassurance, he did as asked. For safety’s sake he curled his fingers into a fist.

Magne smiled. “Ready?”

According to the knot in his stomach, no, but he nodded anyway. His arm jerked and leapt up as if it were tied by a string. Tomura gasped, almost slipping off his seat. Magne caught and steadied him.

“Sorry, honey! Got so excited to show off I put a bit too much oomph into it.” She patted his shoulder as if there weren’t dead, gray hands clutching it.

“’S’alright,” he mumbled. And it was—his skin showed no marks, his muscles and joints registered no pain. He readjusted the delicate hand decorating his wrist. Cold, waxy, and pliant. Nothing like Magne.

“So, can you manipulate people’s movements? Turn them into your puppets?”

She hummed and pushed her sunglasses back into their proper place. “Not really. I can move someone with the proper amount of push versus pull, but it’s such delicate work that they could break free pretty easily. Hold out your arm and I’ll show you what I mean.”

Still making a fist, Tomura followed her suggestion. Magne positioned her hands on either side of his forearm, spread about half a meter apart. Concentration dug a V between her brows. A thrum jolted through Tomura’s bones. He startled at the rush of tingles in his elbow and shoulder but kept his balance. Something like a low electrical current pulsed along his arm, raising its pale little hairs. Eyes wide, he watched as the limb drifted from one side to the other, then up, down—anywhere the poles of Magne’s palms guided it. He could even see, feel his skin being tugged and pressed by her quirk. Taking a deep breath, Tomura drew his fist back. He met some resistance, but didn’t have to put up any real struggle.

“Weird.” He shook his buzzing fingers out. “But kinda nice. Tingly. Like an electrical field.”

Magne tilted her head and smirked. “Oh? That’s a new one. Then again, maybe I’d have heard it before if I used my quirk for something besides bashing jerks.”

What would he have done without Father hiding the fact he blushed at the slightest fucking thing? He’d never get used to talking to people at this rate.

“Your skills would be a great asset to the League, Miss Magne,” Kurogiri said, saving Tomura from having to pretend he could be witty. “I presume Giran discussed the expenses we cover? Upon joining, you would also be welcome to claim a room upstairs, should you wish.”

Magne went still. Even her breathing stopped for a moment. “You’d let me stay here?”

Tomura knew right then he’d never live down being wrong about not letting League members move into the hideout. Kurogiri would never be crass enough to say it out loud, of course. He didn’t have to. Tomura sighed, accepting his fate.

“Two members live here already, including another woman. We can introduce you to them both before you decide.”

Gaze aimed at the ceiling, Magne touched fingers to her pursed lips. “I’ve already made up my mind.” She met Tomura’s eyes, a smile lighting up her face. “Sign me up.”

Well. He had no clue whatso-fucking-ever how they’d convinced her, but results were results. Besides, she hadn’t mentioned Stain once. She deserved free room and board for that alone.

“Ah, wonderful. We’re so delighted to have you, Miss Magne.” Kurogiri steepled his fingers. “Please let me know if you require any assistance in moving your belongings. I can warp them to whichever room you choose.”

A soft laugh huffed out of her. “No need, honey. I travel light these days. Would tomorrow evening be too soon?”

Tomura shrugged. “That’s fine. I’ll make sure Toga and Dabi are around so you can meet them.” Even if he had to staple the latter to a chair to make him comply.

“Sounds like a plan.” Magne raised her glass. “To new friends then?”

There was that word again. Offered with the same ease Toga had shown. And Dabi…he’d never said it maybe but his gift had implied…well, something. Tomura touched his pocket. The weight and shapes of the items inside it. With the same hand, he picked up his own glass and clinked it against Magne’s.

“Sure. I’ll drink to that.”

[strfd]

seintels

send URL for opinion. always open.

@seintels ! lol your turn ~ i’ll probably do something similar to what i did for mary , but i may simply not have as much to say in terms of characters . idk . i suppose we shall see :3 actually i stand corrected . there’s quite a few characters so i will .... probably try to make these short and sweet . ( & perhaps fail ultimately )

MY OPINION ON ;

character in general : you honestly have so many muses but i will do it for those that i like or that you have mentioned about possible interaction with . ( & it will not count peter since he has his own blog , sorry ! i honestly could go off about him in his own separate post though ! )

also a read more now cause yea , this got long just on the character opinions .

CLOUD - breathes ... i mean .... i really really SHOULD NOT go off about cloud . because like . i could ... given that i put cloud on his own blog speaks wonders . you know ? because yea . i have a mumu . i could have easily put him on there . but like . there is SO MUCH about cloud that i just love . yes , he’s a bit aloof & standoffish , but given the fact that it’s due to trauma & then some ... i don’t blame him . i think he’s an emotional softie on the inside , he just can’t express himself well due to what’s happened to him even as a kid . there’s also something about cloud that i can just ... really relate to . i wouldn’t really want to be like ‘ oh yea , he’s a social outcast ’ but LOL he kinda is though isn’t he ? he has his friends but he doesn't want to burden them - he’s in way over his head by always saying that he can handle it alone . but given the fact that it’s because he’s had to deal with being ‘ alone ’ & seen as some sort of failure to others & even to himself , i think i don’t blame him for doing so . i also admire the fact that he , regardless of what happens , DOESN’T give up . idk . i think i just have a lot to say about cloud okay ? cloud is a muse i can highly relate to . because i can see a lot of myself in him . there’s just a lot of things that he does that i do all the time . in terms of like ... having big dreams & getting put down a lot & failing a lot but always getting up to just that weird aloof ( & partial self - isolating ) personality of him . i really think a lot of people can though . he’s just a really relatable character . you know ?

KIBA - listen i love kiba . a lot . when i first got into RPing , & started getting BETTER at it ( i had come from writing whole ass books & worlds where i was the one in control ) , i had considered him as a muse . at the very least , he was a BIG inspiration for my naruto OC ( as was naruto himself though , but for different reasons because i really don’t like naruto but i liked kurama a lot ) . overall , i think i still just have a bit fondness for kiba , & obviously for akamaru . i haven’t really been into naruto since high school though - a little less than a decade ago tbh . but i think kiba is definitely somebody that i would say is a comfort character for me over all . like if somebody were to ask me what are some of my fav characters from the series , kiba would but in the top 3 .

BARRET - haha he’s so annoying . but ... like , initially , i wanted to give barret the benefit of the doubt because i had another friend who likes him . as i was playing the game , i went . who tf would like him . he’s annoying . he’s loud . & he’s not somebody that i think i would really bother with . but looking deeper into his character , i can also value him because he’s a good person . he’s just ... LOUD . idk . it’s hard to explain my thoughts on him . i like him , but i also like ... tolerate him . he’s a good dad though .i always value a good father . he’s a good man . just . really in your face . which isn’t a bad thing , i would honestly just get really exhausted working with him though .

RED / NANAKI - i l - love him T^T i know he has a whole story behind him but im just ... whatever he is . dog - cat - lion thing ... i am actually really interested to learn more about him , ngl . i think he’s just really neat okay ? i wish i could go off more about him but i dont know what else i could say . oh maybe aside from that like he looks like he just needs some love 😔 

WEDGE - ngl i had a bit of a neutral stance on wedge . though i think he’s very sweet & good natured , i just didn’t really have much of an interest in him ? aside from the fact that i DID like that he could see that cloud has a good heart . i think he’s just a very sweet & lovable teddy bear okay ? that classic loveable teddy bear . not to mention that cloud’s interaction with wedge in the game - at least from what i have seen in the remake - is that he is very standoffish MOST of the time but then you have times when he’s really just trying to be nice & OH ! my heart just goes really soft .

KAKASHI - fuck this is already getting long but man i love kakashi okay . everything about him just .... UGH . honestly , thinking about him makes me wanna go watch naruto HRNGH . he’s just radiates that .... ‘ im exhausted ’ vibes but still has his cheeky moments .  

SNOW - honestly . couldn’t really tell you much about him . but he looks pretty cool ! ( not me considering in looking into FFXIII now to learn more about him HRNGH ) anyway . yea , i couldn’t tell you much about my thoughts on him aside from the fact that he looks cool . & i am .... intrigued .

how they play them : i’ll go with the characters i have seen or interacted with .

KIBA - from the quick glances i have seen . he’s ... adorable ... 🥺 it’s really refreshing to see . i’d honestly would like to see more from him . but i also have seen a healthy does of him as well . idk . i just love & adore how you write him . it definitely hits nostalgia for me & i love reading your thoughts about kiba !

BARRET - honestly i LOVE seeing your barret . while i may have been really annoyed with him in the game , it’s AMUSING to see you write him because you capture him so well . like i can read in in barret’s voice . which it honestly , really amazing .

RED / NANAKI - h - hims .. 🥺🥺🥺 i will admit that i haven’t read much of your interactions but ... i just like to see your icons for him . it makes me go 😊

WEDGE - fuck i love your wedge . & i will have to admit that .... you’re the reason i have taken more interest in paying attention to wedge GHGSDKLHBF my bad . i just .... think you have a good grasp on him . he’s adorable . & every time i see a reply from you , i scream . he’s just ... amazing & sweet & cute . like really . it makes me so soft seeing him get so excited like some little puppy .

KAKASHI - bro .... give me more kakashi . please i am begging you , i want to see him more from you . given that i genuinely love all of your muses & how you write them , i just .. want to SEE more of kakashi . stop depriving me T^T ( jk , it’s okay . i love whatever muse you write . )

The Mun : i don’t think we talk all that much . which makes me really :< because i would like to talk more . i’m just absolutely HORRIBLE for small talk though sometimes . i’d like to get to know you more , i just am having a disconnect & struggling to engage . but that’s not you . it’s a weird me thing HRNGH . i do hope you know that I appreciate you nonetheless & seeing you on my dash is really pleasant ! like really though ! i think i can have admiration from afar . 

i also do love our interactions though ! i think they’re really lovely ~  

DO I ;

RP with them : yes . i do ! honestly i’m always enjoying our threads & whenever you respond . it makes me go ... WOW . ( << that is a clickable link btw )

Want to RP with them : of course ! i’d honestly would like to write with some of your other mueses LOL . but maybe thats just cause i like some of the muses you have . i’m also pretty content with who i interact with .

WHAT IS MY ;

Overall Opinion : hehe .. cinnamon & sugar ... you know EXACTLY what i am talking about . anyway . 10/10 would recommend tbh . you have a wonderful grasp on your muses . wish we could talk more but im pretty chill & content as is tho .

**Note: Mun’s answer are all to be completely honest. Don’t send url if you don’t want brutal honesty

[mavda]

Beast Tamers

Ch.1 |  Ch.2 | Ch.3 | Ch.4(1) | Ch.4(2) | Ch.5(1) | Ch.5(2) | Ch.5(3) | Ch.5(4) | Ch.6(1) | Ch.6(2) | Ch.6(3) | Ch.7(1) | Ch.7(2) | Ch.7(3) | Ch.7(4) | Ch.7(5) | Ch.8(1) | Ch.8(2) | Ch.8(3) | Ch.9(1) | Ch.9(2) | Ch.9(3) | Ch.9(4) |

Ch.10: The Two-Tails (1)

It is early morning and Naruto stares at Hinata's face. Her chest goes up and down and her hair is sprawled over their bed -where his hand plays with it slowly so as not to wake her-. He brushes the hair out of her eyes, and he can’t help but notice the contrast between his tanned skin against the pearl white of hers, even whiter under the moonlight.

He had not been able to go back to the meeting. After a while -when he had composed himself somewhat- he went back and asked to be excused. Nobody said anything and he holed himself in his room. 

It was also not the first time this had happened. But now when he sat in his room, looking at the wall as the hours went by, Hinata sat next to him, dragged her hand over his back, brought him food and let him rest his head on her shoulder and lap as she soothed him. 

He felt better and worse all at the same time.

She rustles in her sleep and Naruto startles, turns into a statue as she settles again. She didn't move as much in her sleep before, but now with the baby it takes her a while to fall asleep, and then she moves and turns, her legs curling up and then straightening all night long. 

Naruto adjusts the bedclothes around herself and lets his hand rest on her belly. Her perfect round belly. 

She had once touched herself after he came inside and brought his seed over her stomach by chance. And now Naruto has found a new favorite place in which to finish. 

Outside is dark and he can't bring himself to wake Hinata only because he's horny, so he takes care of his erection himself. 

Muffled moans as he stares at her body and images of himself touching and licking and sucking. His breathing grows labored and he comes into his hand. A sticky mess he cleans quickly. 

He sits there, spent and with his robe half opened. With his pregnant wife next to him, and the words from yesterday come back with a vengeance.

He washes himself, puts on clothes and kisses Hinata's temple with reverence. 

He doesn't know how he can ask for forgiveness.

⁂⁂⁂

Jiraiya is going over some documents when Naruto knocks. 

"I was waiting for you."

He motions for Naruto to come inside and then sprawls a bunch of pages in front of him. 

"Would you believe me if I told you I found Toad Sages deep into the forest this one time?" 

Naruto glances over the documents while a chuckle leaves his mouth, "Please, I've seen weirder."

"It took me almost a whole year to master the whole sage mode, you know, but I was able to-"

"Sage mode? Tacky."

"Because the Toad Sages called it that way, thank you, I'll be sure to let them know you find their naming sense lame."

Naruto goes over the documents and crosses his arms as he reads. Jiraiya is glad to see him back to normal. 

"Anyway, I made sure to write down the main points, you see?" He motions towards the paper Naruto is holding, "You should be able to start seeing results after 5 months or so-"

"Two," Naruto interrupts and Jiraiya only snorts as an answer. 

"Two it is, then. Go over the whole process and then we can get started at once." 

The sound of papers being moved fills the room and Jiraiya goes back to his own documents. An assortment of reports he got from Shikamaru regarding the movements of the Beast Tamers, other prominent clans and whatever information they could gather about the Uchiha. 

The Uchiha are nonexistent though, and it makes him anxious. 

Jiraiya turns after he stops hearing sound. Naruto is staring at a paper on the floor, but he's not reading any of it. Jiraiya can guess what's going on inside his mind, but he has never felt qualified to help his godson navigate through these obstacles. 

"Do you think I should go through with it?" 

Jiraiya takes his time turning around. He leaves his pen on his table, accommodates the papers spread across in front of him. And lets his shoulders fall when he is looking at Naruto's blonde head, as he keeps staring at the papers. He knows why Naruto asks him. 

Minato would say yes.

Mito would say yes.

Because they care more about Naruto than the clan. 

Out of love. Out of guilt. It doesn't matter. Naruto thinks they are blinded, so he asks the man who has been able to keep him on track and grounded on reality throughout his life. 

"I think you were- are in a tough spot, kid."

Naruto scoffs, because that is an understatement. 

"I also think I would have taken the same choice if I were you.”

Naruto lets out a shaky breath. It doesn’t mean much, but knowing that someone would have taken his same decision is enough to make him feel slightly better. Slightly. 

Because the pain of knowing what this means for everyone around him is-

“But you know what you can focus on, instead of going around in your mind wondering if what you did was the correct thing to do?”

Naruto knows. Remembers. Time after time, fall after fall. The same words. 

“On the things I can do for myself,” he utters. 

Jiraiya slaps his shoulder as he tries to cheer him up. He does. Or at least Naruto lets him think he did. “Let’s go train your body now, shall we?”

Naruto follows behind him, reciting the words inside his head. This is a real thing he can do to stay longer. This is something he can do without putting everyone else at risk. 

This is something that will help him stay longer.

They reach one of the training grounds that Naruto likes to use. Far and secluded from the compound, where he can unleash part of his power without worrying excessively over its consequences. But now there are no flashy movements, no chakra powered moves that make holes in the ground or can tear trees in half.

Naruto sits in a patch of grass, places his hands on his thighs, and breathes in and out while being conscientious of his body. His blood flow, his breathing, the way his muscles tense and relax. The cold makes him shiver at first, but after a while his mind is so focused on the task at hand that he can barely hear what Jiraiya is saying.

“Thin out your chakra,” Jiraiya instructs, “you are supposed to become as non invasive as a rock to the chakra flow around you.”

All the years Naruto has been meditating make it easier for him to enter this trance. He usually uses this technique to correct his own flow -disrupted by the Beast's chakra- before he starts his day and before going to sleep in hopes of minimizing the damage. 

Spreading his chakra comes easy, too, something he did as a child out of curiosity, then something he was trained to do in case of an attack, then as a means to further control his output, and now as a means to quench his anxiousness regarding Hinata's well-being. 

"Remember to have enough to control the Beast's chakra, though." Adds Jiraiya, and Naruto wants to laugh.

As if that wasn't drilled into his very bones. 

His chakra flows and he covers the inner compound without trouble, he keeps on reaching and goes halfway through the outer compound before Jiraiya stops him. 

"You have to feed on the energy around you, you're just reaching out for reaching out. Focus."

There are no changes on Naruto. From the outside he remains still, impassive. But Jiraiya can feel his energy going around,  he has attuned himself to catching the chakra flow around him as a fighting skill, but now thanks to the Toad Sages he can catch changes around him with more precision. Naruto is doing better than any other chakra wielding person. Better than Jiraiya did himself when he was being trained, too. 

It’s a curious thing. Jiraiya can’t know for sure if the Beast’s vessels are stronger because they have to deal with their Beasts, or if it’s only because they are strong that they can deal with such an enormous chakra.

Naruto is a monster in his own right. Kushina was a prodigy, too. Sometimes he likes to let his mind wander and think about what it would have been if the Nine-Tails, no- if the Beasts were left alone like before the Beast Tamers came into the picture. 

They were fighting their wars just fine. 

But he guesses that someone wanted more, as always. 

He wonders if Naruto likes to daydream about what-it-could-have-been like him, too. But that’s not a fair question to place upon him, so he has never shared it with him. Nor with Minato. Nor with Mito. 

He has seen first hand what failure after failure does to a person.

He himself wanders the world in search of help he never finds. Takes off into places unknown in hopes of finding something, anything. This time for sure. This time for sure.

Naruto had been as full of hope as his father once. Blue eyes open wide when he came back, hands reaching for his scrolls while laughing. Jiraiya tried to lift the mood with a joke here and there, but then… time after time, the barest of progress and Naruto began to mimic him. 

Minato would shake his head at their antics, and Jiraiya would indulge Naruto without missing a beat, but it was obvious, so obvious that he was as disappointed as his father.

Jiraiya rests his hand on Naruto’s shoulder. “Focus.” 

Naruto is doing everything he’s supposed to do, but it is difficult enough to thin out your chakra and try to lose yourself with your surroundings without the need to stay very much conscious of your own body. Lest you bring destruction to everything around you. 

“You gave yourself two months, kid, don’t rush it.”

Naruto tries to stay in control, but his chest is beginning to feel like it's shrinking, so he lets go. It’s just the first day. 

The first day of many. 

“It took me five months to start seeing any type of results, you know? Don’t push yourself too hard.”

Naruto stares at his hands, at their slight tremble. 

“I wasn’t rushing,” he whispers. He feels Jiraiya’s stare on the back of his head, so he plasters a smile on his face and raises his head. “Let’s try again, then.”

⁂⁂⁂

Naruto is on his way to meet Shikamaru when Neji comes to him.

“Hinata?”

Neji shakes his head no before he’s close enough to be heard without raising his voice. “No, my lord, Lady Hinata is fine, she’s with Sai. It’s Lord Shikamaru.”

“I’m on my way to see him…”

“Yes, but he’s not there, he is in a meeting with the Inuzuka’s leader.”

“Tsume?” Naruto’s legs start moving and Neji follows. 

“Yes, we have received a message and Lord Shikamaru has gone to check on security-”

“Again?” 

Naruto hurries now. “What was it about?”

“I- Maybe we should wait-”

“No. Tell me now, what was it about?”

“The Two-Tails is asking for a meeting.”

Naruto is frowning the moment he enters the meeting room.

“My lord!” Tsume starts, her hair wild and her eyes filled with worry. 

Shikamaru locks eyes with Naruto for a second before coming back to the plans on the desk. 

“Grandma Mito?”

“Kiba went to get her,” Tsume informs. She shakes her head before anyone else can add on the conversation. “I don’t like this, my lord.”

And judging by Shikamaru’s deep frown, Naruto surmises neither does he. “Do we have a date?”

“January.”

Naruto stops for a second, “Oh, that’s… not that urgent.”

“A month and a half is a good amount of time to prepare, yes,” concedes Shikamaru, “but-”

“I do not approve,” says Tsume. “Putting all of the Beast Tamers that are left in one place after… after what happened?”

“Where’s Shino?”

“Hana went to look for him,” Tsume shares. Her eyes don’t leave Naruto’s face and he feels the pressure.

“What’s the purpose of this?”

“Prepare countermeasures,” Shikamaru air-quotes. As for excuses, it is one, but it is so vague, it can only be seen as-

“That we have already put in place,” Tsume snarls. “This is just a plot from the Two-Tails to fuck around with our lord. Now our clan has the upper hand, we are literally keeping things together by being decent human beings and keeping low while the whole world is running around like wild beasts. I can smell this from kilometers away! They want to take a chance and do something underhanded, I assure you, do not waste your time, my lord.”

“The Four-Tails is going,” Shikamaru says. 

“A ploy,” Tsume crosses her arms, disgust on her face, “now they’re using a dead man to keep the ball rolling?”

“Allegedly,” Shikamaru sighs. Tsume glares at him, but Shikamaru only shrugs, “allegedly dead, he may well be alive and kicking, we have no way of knowing.”

“Our lord doesn’t go and what can they do,” Tsume presses, “we have our lord and Lord Gaara, whatever they can do-”

“But they can do damage,” Naruto is close to the table now, he puts down the message Shikamaru received and he knows Tsume is right. This looks nothing short of a trap. 

This looks like nothing but a trap.

“We can’t just deny a call from a Beast Tamer without good reason,” Shikamaru taps his fingers on the table, “now even less, with the Beast Tamer truce we have going on and all.”

“You don’t need a reason to say no.” Tsume sighs to the ceiling, hating the direction this is going. 

“You could…” Shikamaru looks at Naruto. They could use Lady Hinata’s pregnancy as an excuse, but then everyone would know about her condition and-

“No,” Naruto shuts him down, his head shakes side to side. “Hinata’s pregnancy stays a secret.” 

Tsume frowns. She can see where the lord is going with this. Can taste it. Ever the one to put himself in danger to take the brunt of it all. 

“This could be an opportunity,” Naruto starts. Shikamaru looks at him and the cogs move inside their brains. 

A fight away from here. A fight where Naruto could potentially unleash his power without worrying about the repercussions. 

A trap, sure.

But a trap they know is one.

Shino arrives a while later and without the knowledge of anyone else, they hatch a plan.

[silvokrent]

RWBY Character Analysis: Pietro and Penny Polendina

Up until now I’ve been keeping quiet about my opinions on the newest volume, in no small part because my personal life has been one absurd setback after another, and I haven’t had the energy to engage in fandom meta. If you do want to know what my current opinion of RWBY is, go over to @itsclydebitches blog, search through her #rwby-recaps tag, and read every single one. At this point, her metas are basically an itemized list of all my grievances with the show. I highly recommend you check ’em out.

Or, if you don’t feel like reading several hours’ worth of recaps, then go find a sheet of paper, give yourself a papercut, and then squeeze a lemon into it. That should give you an accurate impression of my feelings.

In truth, I have a lot to say about the show, particularly how I think CRWBY has mishandled the plot, characters, tone, and intended message of their series. And while I enjoy dissecting RWBY with what amounts to mad scientist levels of glee, I think plenty of other folks have already discussed V7′s and V8′s various issues in greater depth and with far more eloquence. Any contribution I could theoretically make at this point would be somewhat redundant.

That being said, I’d like to talk about something that’s been bothering me for a while, which (to my knowledge) no one else in the fandom has brought up. (And feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.)

Today’s topic of concern is Pietro Polendina, and his relationship with Penny.

And because I’m absolutely certain this post is going to be controversial and summon anonymous armchair critics to fill my inbox with sweary claptrap, I may as well just come out and say it:

Pietro Polendina, as he’s currently portrayed in the show, is an inherently abusive parental figure.

Let me take a second to clarify that I don’t think it was RWBY’s intention to portray Pietro that way. Much like other aspects of the show, a lot of nuance is often lost when discussing the difference between intention versus implementation, or telling versus showing. It’s what happens when a writer tries to characterize a person one way, but in execution portrays them in an entirely different light. Compounding this problem is what feels like a series of rather myopic writing decisions that started as early as Volume 2, concerning Penny’s sense of agency, and how the canon would bear out the implications of an autonomous being grappling with her identity. It’s infuriating that the show has spent seven seasons staunchly refusing to ask any sort of ethical questions surrounding her existence, only to then—with minimal setup—give us Pietro’s “heartfelt” emotional breakdown when he has to choose between “saving” Penny or “sacrificing” her for the greater good.

Yeah, no thanks.

If we want to talk about why this moment read as hollow and insincere, we need to first make sure everyone’s on the same page.

Spoilers for V8.E5 - “Amity.” Let’s not waste any time.

In light of the newest episode and its—shall we say—questionable implications, I figured now was the best time to bring it up while the thoughts were still fresh in my mind. (Because nothing generates momentum quite like frothing-at-the-mouth rage.)

The first time we’re told anything about Pietro, it comes from an exchange between Penny and Ruby. From V2.E2 - “A Minor Hiccup.”

Penny: I've never been to another kingdom before. My father asked me not to venture out too far, but... You have to understand, my father loves me very much. He just worries a lot.

Ruby: Believe me, I know the feeling. But why not let us know you were okay?

Penny: I…was asked not to talk to you. Or Weiss. Or Blake. Or Yang. Anybody, really.

Ruby: Was your dad that upset?

Penny: No, it wasn’t my father.

The scene immediately diverts our attention to a public unveiling of the AK-200. A hologram of James Ironwood is presenting this newest model of Atlesian Knight to a crowd of enthusiastic spectators, along with the Atlesian Paladin, a piloted mech. During the demonstration, James informs his audience that Atlas’ military created them with the intent of removing people from the battlefield and mitigating casualties (presumably against Grimm).

Penny is quickly spotted by several soldiers, and flees. Ruby follows, and in the process the two are nearly hit by a truck. Penny’s display of strength draws a crowd and prompts her to retreat into an alley, where Ruby learns that Penny isn’t “a real girl.”

This scene continues in the next episode, “Painting the Town…”

Penny: Most girls are born, but I was made. I’m the world’s first synthetic person capable of generating an Aura. [Averts her gaze.] I’m not real…

After Ruby assures her that no, you don’t have to be organic in order to have personhood, Penny proceeds to hug her with slightly more force than necessary.

Ruby: [Muffled noise of pain.] I can see why your father would want to protect such a delicate flower!

Penny: [Releases Ruby.] Oh, he’s very sweet! My father’s the one that built me! I’m sure you would love him.

Ruby: Wow. He built you all by himself?

Penny: Well, almost! He had some help from Mr. Ironwood.

Ruby: The general? Wait, is that why those soldiers were after you?

Penny: They like to protect me, too!

Ruby: They don't think you can protect yourself?

Penny: They're not sure if I'm ready yet. One day, it will be my job to save the world, but I still have a lot left to learn. That's why my father let me come to the Vytal Festival. I want to see what it's like in the rest of the world, and test myself in the Tournament.

Their conversation is interrupted by the sound of the approaching soldiers from earlier. Despite Ruby’s protests, Penny proceeds to yeet her into the nearby dumpster, all while reassuring her that it’s to keep Ruby out of trouble, not her. When the soldiers arrive, they ask her if she’s okay, then proceed to lightly scold her for causing a scene. Penny’s told that her father “isn’t going to be happy about this,” and is then politely asked (not ordered; asked) to let them escort her back.

Let’s take a second to break down these events.

When these two episodes first aired, the wording and visuals (“No, it wasn’t my father,” followed by the cutaway to James unveiling the automatons) implied that James was the one forbidding her from interacting with other people. It’s supposed to make you think that James is being restrictive and harsh, while Pietro is meant as a foil—the sweet, but cautious father figure. But here’s the thing: both of these depictions are inaccurate, and frankly, Penny’s the one at fault here. Penny blew her cover within minutes of interacting with Ruby—a scenario that Penny was responsible for because she was sneaking off without permission. Penny is a classified, top-secret military project, as made clear by the fact that she begs Ruby to not say anything to anyone. Penny is in full acknowledgement that her existence, if made public, could cause massive issues for her (something that she’s clearly experienced before, if her line, “You’re taking this extraordinarily well,” is anything to go by).

But here’s the thing—keeping Penny on a short leash wasn’t a unilateral decision made by James. That was Pietro’s choice as well. “My father asked me not to venture out too far,” “Your father isn’t going to be happy about this”—as much as this scene is desperately trying to put the onus on James for Penny’s truant behavior, Pietro canonically shares that blame. And Penny (to some extent) is in recognition of the fact that she did something wrong.

Back in Volumes 1 – 3, before the series butchered James’ characterization, these moments were meant as pretty clever examples of foreshadowing and subverting the controlling-military-general trope. This scene is meant to illustrate that yes, Penny is craving social interaction outside of military personnel as a consequence of being hidden, but that hiding her is also a necessity. It’s a complicated situation with no easy answer, but it’s also something of a necessary evil (as Penny’s close call with the truck and her disclosing that intel to Ruby are anything to go by).

Let’s skip ahead to Volume 7, shortly after Watts tampered with the drone footage and framed her for several deaths. In V7.E7 - “Worst Case Scenario,” a newscaster informs us that people in Atlas and Mantle want Penny to be deactivated, despite James’ insistence that the footage was doctored and Penny didn’t go on a killing spree. The public’s unfavorable opinion of Penny—a sentiment that Jacques of all people embodies when he brings it up in V7.E8—reinforces V2’s assessment of why keeping her secret was necessary. Not only is her existence controversial because Aura research is still taboo, but people are afraid that a mechanical person with military-grade hardware could be hacked and weaponized against them. (Something which Volume 8 actually validates when James has Watts take control of her in the most recent episode.)

But I digress.

We’re taken to Pietro’s lab, where Penny is hooked up to some sort of recharge/docking station. Ruby, Weiss, and Maria look on in concern while the machine is uploading the visual data from her systems. There’s one part of their conversation I want to focus on in particular:

Pietro: When the general first challenged us to find the next breakthrough in defense technology, most of my colleagues pursued more obvious choices. I was one of the few who believed in looking inward for inspiration.

Ruby: You wanted a protector with a soul.

Pietro: I did. And when General Ironwood saw her, he did too. Much to my surprise, the Penny Project was chosen over all the other proposals.

Allow me to break down their conversation so we can fully appreciate what he’s actually saying.

The Penny Project was picked as the candidate for the next breakthrough in defense technology.

Pietro wanted a protector with a SOUL.

In RWBY, Aura and souls are one of the defining characteristics of personhood. Personhood is central to Penny’s identity and internal conflict (particularly when we consider that she’s based on Pinocchio). That’s why Penny accepts Ruby’s reassurances that she’s a real person. That’s why she wants to have emotional connections with others.

What makes that revelation disturbing is when you realize that Pietro knowingly created a child soldier.

Look, there’s no getting around this. Pietro fully admits that he wanted to create a person—a human being—a fucking child—as a "defense technology” to throw at the Grimm (and by extension, Salem). Everything, from the language he uses, to the mere fact that he entered Penny in the Vytal Tournament as a proving ground where she could “test [her]self,” tells us that he either didn’t consider or didn’t care about the implications behind his proposal.

When you break it all down, this is what we end up with:

“Hey, I have an idea: Why don’t we make a person, cram as many weapons as we can fit into that person, and then inform her every day for the rest of her life that she was built for the sole purpose of fighting monsters, just so we don’t have to risk the lives of others. Let’s then take away anything remotely resembling autonomy, minimize her interactions with people, and basically indoctrinate her into thinking that this is something she wants for herself. Oh, and in case she starts to raise objections, remind her that I donated part of my soul to her. If we make her feel guilty about this generous sacrifice I made so she could have the privilege of existing, she won’t question our motives. Next, let’s give her a taste of freedom by having her fight in a gladiatorial blood sport so that we can prove our child soldier is an effective killer. And then, after she’s brutally murdered on international television, we can rebuild her and assign her to protecting an entire city that’s inherently prejudiced against her, all while I brood in my lab about how sad I am.”

Holy fuck. Watts might be a morally bankrupt asshole, but at least his proposal didn’t hinge on manufacturing state-of-the-art living weapons. They should have just gone with his idea.

(Which, hilariously enough, they did. Watts is the inventor of the Paladins—Paladins which, I’ll remind you, were invented so the army could remove people from the battlefield. You know, people. Kind of like what Penny is.)

Do you see why this entire scene might have pissed me off? Even if the show didn’t intend for any of this to be the case, when you think critically about the circumstances there’s no denying the tacit implications.

To reiterate, V8.E5 is the episode where Pietro says, and I quote:

“I don’t care about the big picture! I care about my daughter! I lost you before. Are you asking me to go through that again? No. I want the chance to watch you live your life.”

Oh, yeah? And what life is that? The one where she’s supposed to kill Grimm and literally nothing else? You do realize that she died specifically because you made her for the purpose of fighting, right?

No one, literally no one, was holding a gun to Pietro’s head and telling him that he had to build a living weapon. That was his idea. He chose to do that.

Remember when Cinder said, “I don’t serve anyone! And you wouldn’t either, if you weren’t built that way.” She…basically has a point. Penny has never been given the option to explore the world in a capacity where she wasn’t charged with defending it by her father. We know she doesn’t have many friends, courtesy of Ironwood dissuading her against it in V7. But I’m left with the troubling realization that the show (and the fandom), in their crusade to vilify James, are ignoring the fact that Pietro is also complicit in this behavior by virtue of being her creator. If we condemn the man that prevents Penny from having relationships, then what will we do to the man who forced her into that existence in the first place?

Being her “father�� has given him a free pass to overlook the ethics of having a child who was created with a pre-planned purpose. How the hell did the show intend for Pietro to reconcile “I want you to live your life” with “I created you so you’d spend your life defending the world”? It viscerally reminds me of the sort of narcissistic parents who have kids because they want to pass on the family name, or continue their bloodline, or have live-in caregivers when they get older, only on a larger and much more horrific scale. And that’s fucked up.

Now, I’m not saying I’m against having a conflict like this in the show. In fact, I’d love to have a character who has to grapple with her own humanity while questioning the environment she grew up in. Penny is a character who is extremely fascinating because of all the potential she represents—a young woman who through a chance encounter befriends a group of strangers, and over time, is exposed to freedoms and friendships she was previously denied. Slowly, she begins to unlearn the mindset she was indoctrinated with, and starts to petition for agency and autonomy. Pietro is forced to confront the fact that what he did was traumatic and cruel, and that his love for her doesn’t erase the harm he unintentionally subjected her to, nor does it change the fact that he knowingly burdened a person with a responsibility she never consented to. There’s a wealth of character growth and narrative payoff buried here, but like most things in RWBY, it was either underdeveloped or not thought through all the way.

The wholesome father-daughter relationship the show wants Pietro and Penny to have is fundamentally contradicted by the nature of her existence, and the fact that no one (besides the villains) calls attention to it. I’d love for them to have that sort of dynamic, but the show had to do more to earn it. Instead, it’ll forever be another item on RWBY’s ever-growing list of disappointments—

Because Pietro’s remorse is more artificial than Penny could ever hope to be.

[yeoldontknow]

Ciperion: 1/2

Author: @yeoldontknow​ as part of the Anchors & Arrows collaboration with @imdifferentshadesofpurple​ Pairing: Jaebeom x Reader (oc; female) Genre: fantasy!au; shipwreck au; jaebeom is a fisherman; romance; angst; elements of horror; ghosts; eventual smut Summary: Everyone on the Isle Indolon knows the story of Ciperon, though none believe it is true. Over centuries, the tale of the long lost ghost ship on the high seas has become little more than urban legend. In his youth, Jaebeom always thought the story was heartbreaking, and he did his best to avoid it - the same way he avoids the missionaries that have taken occupation on the island. On the anniversary of Ciperion’s ill-fated port date, you wash up on sea, and only you have the answers he’s always been seeking. If only you could remember who you are. Rating (this part): PG-13 Warnings (this part): angst; shipwrecks; references to head trauma; jaebeom does CPR; jaebeom rescuing an unconcious woman; allusions to sexual assault but it didnt happen, he just is protective and misinterprets everything; anxiety; ptsd; vomiting; ghost stories; graphic depictions of violence; mentions of blood; non-major character death; themes of horror; lots of grief; memory loss; jb doesnt really know what to do with himself; mentions of becoming a widow; it sounds really sad but i promise its not that bad; tbh oc is a really great sport Word Count: 17.5K

Three hundred miles off the emerald coast of Isle Indolon, Second Mate Ansil Green looks up at the shimmering night of the dark sky and feels a chill of apprehension burrow deep within his bones. 

There are only three days left to their journey, and for five months he has charted each with meticulous accuracy. It is easy to rely on the stars, he thinks. Their steadfast illumination and the reassurance found in their seasonal rotation have brought him immeasurable comfort throughout his life, and not once, not even on nights when storms threaten to eat their way through the ship’s bowsprit, have they ever led him astray. 

In the berthing hull, the missionaries say their prayers with tightly clasped hands, while others read their scrolls in preparation for new lectures once they reach the shore. Back in Indolon, Ansil’s wife and two children anxiously await his triumphant return, and everyone, every crew member and stow away rat, is eager to breach land. Even now, he can see it clearly - his wife’s pretty eyes as she laughs, small crescent moons that remind him of the night sky; the youthful, almost violent laughter of his sons as they play in the fields; the creaking if their iron bed frame as he rocks between her thighs, not unlike the ship as she rocks against the sea. 

Tonight, he wonders if these simple treasures have fallen too far out of reach, if they have slipped, imperceptibly, out of his grasp. 

Because tonight, the stars are wrong. 

Gripping the mahogany banister, he leans against the side and cranes his neck, angling his view slightly to the right in the hopes of correcting the pattern. Something about this is terribly wrong, wrong enough that the deepening doubt bites at him, heating his skin like a fever. Chewing the inside of his cheek, he does his best to swallow this worry,  attempts, rather meekly, to focus on the light flapping of the mainsail above him, on its rhythmic and soothing white noise that often helps him drift, hazily, through sleepless nights. Now, it offers him little comfort, the wind that moves the ship rustling through his hair, stroking against the shell of his ear, carrying whispers of splintered wood and rocky shores blackened by sea water mixing with spilled blood.

Heavy footsteps make their approach from behind, the purposeful strides and confident gait of Captain Grier L’Allante causing the heels of his boots to shatter the false sense of peace. Ansil does not move to greet his Captain, and while this would be considered an insult on any other crew ship, he supposes Grier has become used to his flippant and yet focused attitude when the stars are out, decades of manning ships alongside one another having reduced the rules of propriety almost entirely non-existent. Keeping his gaze on the sky, he feels Grier come to stand beside him, the heat of his closeness full of pride and awe; admiring the vastness of the sea before him, he exudes an energy that puts a sour taste in the back of Ansil’s throat. 

How he hates to ruin the evening.

‘We’re going in the wrong direction,’ he announces, feeling Grier stiffen rather than deflate entirely.

His captain hums in consideration, never one to give over to fear or uncertainty. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Look at the stars.’ Ansil corrects his posture and regards his friend with pleading eyes. It is, perhaps, the first time he has ever shown signs of fear with his captain, but Grier maintains his composure and presses his lips into a thin line. ‘They’re at the wrong angle by about twenty-six degrees,’ he continues to explain. 

Pointing up at the constellation Cassiopeia, he gestures a long straight line back behind him, back towards the foresail, in the direction of Hydra. Turning once again to look at Grier, he waits for some kind of flicker of emotion to pass over his features, and when nothing comes, he simply sighs, pressing his friend for more. 

‘This distance shouldn’t be this wide,’ he offers grimly, straightening his posture to stand at his full height. ‘Did we turn?’

‘No.’ Grier barks his reply with forceful authority, though, behind his eyes there is a storm brewing, a brief flash of concern that placates Ansil. ‘I helm this ship myself, and you know in your heart we haven’t turned. You said straight on until dawn, and the wind is steady at four knots to the South-West. We’re still on course.’

In unison, they turn back to the sky, and Ansil tightens his grip on the railing. ‘There’s something bad about this. I can feel it.’

Grier chuckles amicably. ‘What you’re feeling is five months staring at the same bloody lights in the sky.’ His gaze falls on Ansil’s profile, and he can feel him regarding his features with probing scrutiny. ‘You didn’t even take a woman at the last port,’ he states, nudging his shoulder with a force that makes Ansil lean to the side. 

‘They’re not precisely the same,’ he admonishes with a laugh. Grier regards him expectantly, but all Ansil can manage is a sigh of longing. He’d love to laugh at this kind of crude joke, and normally he would, but three days is somehow longer than five insurmountable months, the ability to count them transmuting the number into something brutal. ‘And you know I’d never do that to Mala.’

Taking off his hat, Grier runs a hand through the greasy black strands of his hair, grimacing through his laugh. ‘Too loyal for your own good.’

This is something Ansil can tease him about, and he offers his friend an impish grin, taking his own opportunity to nudge Greir’s shoulder roughly, revealing his hidden strength. ‘And your prick is too slippery for your health.’

It’s childish, the way they punch their fists into one another’s arms, the jovial nature of this making him feel as though they are teenagers once again. At once, he is nineteen and Grier has just convinced him to come out to sea, to stow away on his father’s vessel, and they are laughing at the reckless foolishness of this idea. But they are smiling, already hungry for the adventure, already wanting the spray from the waves and the salt that shall never leave their skin. They are young and they are hopeful, and now, even after the bloodshed and the violence and the horror they have seen among the ocean, he thinks they have never been quite as dangerous as they were then.

‘You need rest, mate,’ Grier advises once they’ve settled back against the railing. They look out over the ocean, the water as black as the night it reflects, light of the moon illuminating the peaks of waves and casting shadows behind them as long as the sea is wide. Releasing a deep sigh through the flare of his nostrils, he suddenly becomes alarmingly serious. ‘Otherwise, it’s scurvy.’

A beat of silence passes between them, a pregnant pause in which neither one of them breathes, the word hanging heavily between them both, unwilling to be touched. Until, they erupt into laughter, Ansil leaning against the railing to steady himself atop the wet baseboards. A wave hits the side of the ship and sprays gently against his cheeks, cooling his skin and for a moment, he is grounded in the happiness of this. For a moment, the sky is clear and he can see Grier’s warm, too kind smile; can see the way the ship is heading home, steadfast and unyielding in her journey.

For a moment, there is peace.

Calming his breath, he runs a hand over his face and nods. ‘What I would give for a peach.’ 

Ansil waits for the inevitable hum of commiseration, a sound of companionship in the memory of the juicy ripeness of Indolon peaches - the yellow of their fruit so moist it would leave their hands sticky for days. He can almost taste the burst of flavor in his mouth, tongue wet in desperation for something other than the salt and brine of oysters and trout, and finds the only consolation for this hunger is that they shall arrive in time for the peak season. 

Ansil waits for Grier, but the sound never comes, his captain watching the waves beyond the ship with lips parted in pale shock. Knotting his brow, Ansil takes his time turning to look where Grier’s focus rests, the tendrils of dread rising once more within his belly. The fear in him feels almost inhuman, taking full control of his joints as they stiffen, keeping him rigid and held firmly in place. Grier continues looking out to sea, blood rushing away from his cheeks, likely retreating within to service more important pieces in preparation of survival. 

When Ansil finally gathers his strength, he swallows thickly, and looks out to the water. He has lived through war - a great many battles on Naval ships both larger and smaller than this. He has seen dying men beg for both life and death, the fear in their eyes making it unclear which they crave more. He has seen waves rise taller than the ships he crews, seeking an immortal companion for her enduring loneliness. 

But he has never seen fog overtake the earth quite like this, or with such wrath.

It comes from nowhere and everywhere all at once, swallowing both sea and sky as it crawls across the horizon. From its center, an ethereal light seems to glow, a beacon to herald the nothingness that surrounds them, but even this light too is a half formed shadow, the core of its rays smeared across miles as it spreads within the clouds. The blood in his ears in unrelenting, the rush of his blood to his thunderous heart making his head begin to hurt as he watches it spread. Has anything ever been so fast? 

The fog works quickly to cover everything in sight, racing towards the ship at a speed he simply cannot comprehend. When he was young, and newly appointed to Third Mate Naval Officer, he sailed aboard the Cygnus, the fastest ship Indolon had ever produced - reaching a record breaking thirteen knots in the correct wind conditions. Somehow, this fog is so much faster, ravenous for absolutely everything it touches as the waves begin to still beneath its touch. 

The wind ceases.

The waves still, cannibalised by the fog.

And as he looks to Grier, their eyes mirroring the horror they find in each other, he realizes the ship has come to a full stop.

It is when the fog touches the boat that he hears it, the anguished screaming of men beneath their feet. Even at war, he has never heard such terror as this. The sound is born from men suddenly learning that they will die, this death an ambush to the unsuspecting and therefore all the more gruesome in its wake. He regards his feet with a disgust that taints his numbness, the abjection of this noise releasing a myriad of feelings within his veins - the urge to run, the urge to scream, a tightness in his throat so painful he fears he may suffocate on the size of it, and the overwhelming desire to cry. Yet, it seems his body cannot decide upon any of these, and so settles on none, rendering him absolutely and completely silent. 

They stand above the berthing hull, listening to the missionaries burst to life for one extraordinary moment before their echoes die one by one, their last breath a wail of anguish. As Ansil takes in a long, slow inhale to steady his growing panic, he can smell the acrid stench of blood and piss wafting up between the boards, bile rising to the back of his throat. The silence that befalls them in the aftermath is threatening, an eerie calm that raises gooseflesh along his skin. Bones brittle and mouth dry, he simply stares at Grier and takes in every detail he can, unfailingly certain this is the last time they will see one another. 

In the distant horizon a tall mast looms beyond the mist, the main mast taller than that of their vessel. The crow’s nest is empty, and if he focuses long enough he has the passing sensation he could look right through the wood into an empty, eternal void. 

‘It can’t be,’ he whispers, reminding himself it is just a legend and that legends are buried in the past.

They are buried.

His voice carries no echo, the atmosphere around them tight enough his voice lives and dies before him, reaching nowhere else but his own ears. Grier does not even react, does not make any movement at all, save for the shifting of his attention to the world behind Ansil, eyes trained on something that makes his adam’s apple bob in the effort of swallowing his trepidation. 

A bead of sweat glides down Ansil’s spine, and he can feel an angry shadow looming behind him. Burning like hellfire, he waits for the scent of his own flesh bubbling beneath his chemise to reach his nose, readying for immolation. Death comes slowly for people like him, he supposes. It likes to take its time weighing the worth of his soul and the value of his existence. He has made love and he has made life, but he has taken far more than he has created, and so he suspects this slow conquering of his person is deserved - retribution for the bloodstains etched into his palms.

‘Ciperion,’ Grier says, eyes widening in sudden, terrible realization.

It is the last thing Ansil sees and hears before cold hands wrap around his jaw, pressing fingers into his mouth and pulling until the pain in his bones, his skin, his muscles is so great the world turns black.

Standing on the old oak dock behind his home, Jaebeom stares out at the open sea and knows that, today, the water is ruthless. 

He can feel the rage beneath her waves, the violent and unforgiving aggression of the current guiding the water as it rolls up against the edge of the dock, shaking its legs as if testing the foundation’s strength. The first light of morning is unable to penetrate the intense cloud cover along the horizon, their peaks and valleys tinged with red shadows behind the murky green and black. Awake far too early to begin his descent to the jetty, he balls his fists in the pockets of his linen coat and eyes the gathering storm with suspicion. 

Once again, he’s been brought out.

Pulled from his feather bed by some unseen force, it has become a habit for him to spend his early hours on the dock, overtaken by a profound sense of longing. Rooting himself to the wood, he has grown used to the passage of time that drifts beyond him, and finds that he is unencumbered by these lost moments. It’s been happening more often as late, his sleep interrupted by the desire to see and to know, an endless stream of questions burning at the back of his mind that chase the sleep from his limbs. But, always, the words are garbled, the thoughts unclear. 

It is worse today - somehow, he knows this with all of his being. Even as he stands, completely alone and unseen, he feels naked all the way down to his nerves. Narrowing his eyes, he peers at the water, unblinking, taking hold of the ache within his chest. Something is missing, has been lost. Or, perhaps, it was taken from him, the intense longing in his chest delivering him a nostalgia too great to be expressed or understood. If he looks long enough, he can almost envision it emerging from the horizon, precariously balanced as though hanging on a thread. 

But the image never fully forms, never reveals its nature, and he is left bereft, hissing a sigh of frustration between his teeth. 

Gulls pass overhead, making way for the Southern shore. Their calls are the music of the morning, a siren song that only serves to mire him deep within his thoughts, and he blinks several times as he rolls his shoulders back, trying, and failing, to collect himself. The current sends a rough breeze through the thin fabric of his chemise, the uncharacteristically cool summer air nipping at his skin, and he bristles though he does not shiver.  Digging his nails into his palm, he struggles to gather the will to leave, every bone in his body telling him he must wait.

Each morning Jaebeom finds himself in this position, looking out to the open water and waiting - wanting to write love letters, wanting to write odes, often wanting to simply cry or curse the tide for what it has taken, but he remains mute, dumbfounded, lingering expectantly for an answer that will not come. And he is angry, muttering to himself that he must leave, that there is no purpose here, but the thought of missing it only serves to aggravate his insistence on keeping still, on looking and looking harder. 

‘Come on,’ he mumbles, as if willing a response from the sea.

When nothing comes, the muscles in his arms and thighs tense as he presses himself into the dock. ‘Show me,’ he hisses, emphatically.

Immediately he feels terribly silly, not even certain to whom he is speaking. It is not the first time he has made these demands, not the first time he has called out to the sea as if it would even deign to reply. The answering silence and empty air should neither surprise nor disappoint him, but as his posture curls and his chest deflates, he finds both of these things happen in quick succession. Something is out there, something beyond the place the light touches, and he thinks what frustrates him most is the endless unknowing. 

Voices along the shore break his concentration, a group of missionaries walking side by side, barefoot in the warm sand as they talk, sometimes laugh, amongst one another. The sound of their chatter breaks the magic of this hour, an unwelcome interruption to the morning solitude. At once he returns to himself, hands in his pockets relaxing out of the fists he’s been holding, and suddenly he feels rather neutral about his position on the dock, about the ocean, and the thick clouds overhead. 

The town has started to wake, the missionaries commencing their morning walk a sign that he is late - terribly late, and the time it will take him to prepare his sails and his nets will likely cause him to miss the golden fishing hour. Closing his eyes, he hangs his head and sighs, certain he will lose the best crabs of the day. 

Briskly walking along the shore to the jetty, he keeps a wide berth from the missionaries as he passes. Jaebeom keeps his eyes trained on the rocky jut of the shoreline, keeping his posture rigid in the effort of not being overtaken by the staggering sense of unease that gradually drops his feet to his stomach with each step he takes. He’s certain they must feel this, must feel the crushing weight of his discomfort, and he furrows his brow, swallows thickly, and grits his teeth as he prepares for conversation. 

‘Good day,’ they chime in unison, bowing their heads in greeting. The steely chill in their voices makes him shiver. ‘May Deus keep you.’

Jaebeom simply nods politely, but says nothing, finding no solace in their words. On instinct, his attention diverts to the slotted diamond shaped symbols on their rosaries, a sense of nausea rising in his stomach. Lifting his gaze to their faces, he focuses on their features - their eyes, their well practiced smiles, their royal blue square hats - but all the while, he battles against himself, soul willing him with all its might to look, once more, at the rosaries. 

Quickening his steps, he hurries past them, releasing a breath he did not know he had been holding. Running a hand through his hair, he chastises himself sheepishly for his disrespectful behavior. He’s old enough now, nearly thirty and well past the age of childish anxiety, to know they are harmless, it is harmless, but still he feels a rattle in his bones even after they have disappeared from view. He remembers the monthly service ceremony - his mother, her pleading eyes, and his frightened distress as she brought him along. Long into the night, he would be plagued with the memory of their long faces and their empty expressions, the fear and hatred in him making him feel sick with fever. 

Eventually, he grew out of this level of anguish but still his maturity and his logical reasoning do not serve as a comfort. In the numerous missionaries that occupy Indolon, he finds no refuge, no joy, somehow more sure now, in his old age, than ever of their wrongness.

His schrooning boat is docked at the base of the rocky cliff side, just below the lighthouse and pushed far away from the crowded wharf. As he makes his approach, he feels the eyes of other fishermen bore into his spine, their judgement of him, his lack of a First Mate, a crew, and his placement of his boat always deeply felt at this hour of the morning. But he does not mind. 

Since he was small, Jaebeom’s understanding of the sea, of her nature and her cruelty, has kept him at a great distance from his peers. As a child, he preferred to listen - to listen to the ocean and to watch it change, finding a deep affinity in her tumultuous loneliness. This kind of loving relationship, he thinks, has developed into a skill that keeps his family well paid, a roof over his head, and the bellies of many full. Maintaining a crew would simply distract him, his mind less on the water and more on the work of his members. 

And while he, too, might have agreed the placement of his boat against the rocks is reckless at best, it is placed where he would catch crabs as a child with his father - the best location to spot their lavender and purple shells as they eat the moss along the stones. And just below, the bright vermillion of the king crabs glittering as they sink to the ocean floor.

Stepping onto his boat, he sheds his linen jacket and cranes his head back to observe the large mast, its mainsail tied neatly at the base with a strong sailor’s knot. Rolling up his sleeves, he lets the sea breeze kiss his warm skin, heated and dewy with moisture from his walk, and watches light behind the clouds do its best to illuminate the land below. The rains will likely start soon, the hours left in the day for adequate fishing conditions dwindling, and so he hoists himself up on the shroud, untying the sail in quick, easy motions. 

Climbing up the iron ladder connected to the mast, he reaches for the rope at the center of the sail and latches his fingers, giving one large tug to set the sail free. It flaps loosely in the wind, releasing itself to its full length, and as he makes his way down in the cover of its shadow, he looks out to the lighthouse, admiring the way the tall grass is somehow more viridescent beneath the grey skies as it reaches upwards, asking for rain. Autumn is nestled in the branches of the trees, the peak summer season soon to give way to the burning gold of autumn, but as he regards the lighthouse field he finds it difficult to imagine the world any other way than this. It’s as though the earth has always been green, always been bright, too alive to ever fully be witnessed.

As he takes in the splendor of the earth, letting pleasure root itself against his ribs, he notices, rather curiously, a pile of cloth discarded amongst the rocks. Strewn carelessly across the sharp incline, the ivory cloth has been yellowed and torn, resting long forgotten in the shallows. Narrowing his eyes, he steps off the shroud and leans over the edge of his boat, glad that it is still tied to the fender and not drifting away with the sudden displacement of his weight. As he continues to look, the ivory gives way to the vitality of flesh and long limbs, and his mouth runs dry. 

‘By Deus,’ he whispers, the dread in his veins restricting the volume of his voice. ‘It’s a person.’

Limbs moving of their own accord, Jaebeom is carried back to the dock, hands working quickly to remove his boots. Gaze unwavering, he keeps his eyes on the body, transfixed and horrified, afraid of letting his eyes wander for fear of it disappearing altogether. His heart beats like thunder against his sternum, warring with too many emotions and unable to allow any one a victor. Behind the worry, the confusion, the terror, a curious sense of relief is building, a calm that would almost have him believe he is not in the process of coming undone. 

If he focuses on it, he gets the sense that this is what he has been waiting for - not just in the morning before the dawn breaks, not just in the crash of waves against his boat and their icy waters demanding his spirit, but for always. In this moment, the hollowed sensation in his heart, the sense of something long absent, is scabbing over with each breath he takes. 

Barefoot, he moves at a slow run, something like grief and hope mixing in his blood and putting a swell in the joints of his fingers. Jaebeom stifles these feelings, grounds himself in the reality that someone might be hurt, might be in need, and reminds himself, dutifully, that it is not the time to be carried away with his emotions. Still, there is a tingle at the base of his neck, an urgency that goes beyond humanitarianism, pushing him forward with exhilaration.

'Help.'

A female voice is carried on the wind, musical in its cadence and pleasurable in the way it sings its request. The ocean spray delivers it to him at the same moment the water bursts over the rocks, the sea mist rising up against his cheeks before retreating through the crevices in the earth, cooling the flush beneath his skin. Inside him, it burrows, reaching down and deep to nestle in the long empty caverns of his heart. As he moves over the rocks, carefully placing his feet to maintain his balance, he strains to hear it once more, certain it is a woman he is racing to help and she is begging to be saved. 

'Help heal.'

'I'm coming,' he calls out, voice as shaky as his legs and echoing over the ocean’s roar. 

He does his best not to cut his toes on the angular shards that have been eroded over years of rough sea water, but with each step he takes the water rises over the rocks with an aggression bordering on feral, demanding all of him within its foam. With each rush of water, he has the feeling it is reaching for his ankles, hands desperate to clutch at his person and drag him down, and down. 

Yet, the closer he gets, the more he feels as though he could weep - from joy, from desperation, from loss - and this alone is enough to make him want to rush, pushing through the erratic rhythm of his heart and beyond the lump in his chest that makes each inhale ache. Now, with a clear vision of the body, it is as though you have been spit from the ocean’s mouth, cast out for your transgressions and all the corrupted ways you have disappointed the ocean. There is tragedy in the way you are draped over the rocks, body poised at woeful angles for having displeased the gods. Now, you have been forced to greet the horror of your retribution. 

Only a few rocks away, Jaebeom allows himself a brief pause and takes you in, letting his eyes take their time in their discovery of your person. Hugging himself, he suddenly feels conflicted, as though he is learning your shapes while still becoming reacquainted with something long missed. This state of being is a paradox, and in the full emptiness of it, he has the passing sensation that he is learning the essence of love, and little else. 

Shaking himself free from his idle reverence, he takes a few steps closer and notices the silk of your dress is ruined, perhaps permanently. His jaw drops slightly at the still gleaming shine of the fabric, the most expensive silk he has ever seen. It clings to your skin, dampened and tarnished, fraying at the ripped edges but still doing its best to hold you delicately, clinging to you in the effort of keeping you safe. Something about the cut of the dress triggers a memory he cannot quite reach, a familiarity in its lines and shapes that make him recall there was a purpose behind this outfit, a reason that it is both extraordinary and unforgettable, but it vanishes from him as quickly as it came. The fog in his mind is heavy, muddling his thoughts and pulling at the edges of his concentration and he knits his brow together to keep himself grounded.

In the aftermath of this brief recollection, he bites a whine of longing burning at the back of his throat, a pathetic sound of loss, regret, mourning. Your hair spills over the rocks, eyes closed and skin bruised though not scraped to bleeding. Flickers of recognition press at him, mind racing around the image of your soft lips, the high angle of your cheekbones, and the delicate elegance found in your wrists. Struggling to recall your name, Jaebeom approaches gently, coming to a kneel at your side, unsure what to say at all.

Pressing two fingers to the pulse point in your neck, he feels a dull, yet ever present, throb of life beneath your skin and releases a breath he did not know he had been holding. Alive, though just barely and unconscious, lungs likely full of sea water. Everything about you is soft, the warmth of life fading quickly beneath his fingers and rendering you terribly fragile, and he retracts his hand for fear of his touch giving bloom to more marks along your flesh. 

Glancing around the cliff face, he looks for signs of wood, other bodies, ripped sails or bent iron, but finds nothing. No signs of shipwreck, no signs of a waiting party to receive you. You are alone in this torment, rejected by land and sea, and forced to exist within the limbo of life and death. 

Before he can stop himself, he lifts you to his chest, cradling you close as he rises to a stand. If you were awake, you would be shivering, would tremble in the chill that means to overtake your very bones, and he hurries as best he can back to his boat and the woolen blankets he keeps in case of cold summer rains. Moving quickly over the shore, he stumbles slightly, feet tripping over themselves in surprise as he feels you burrow into him, seeking warmth with a low moan, and brow furrowed in what he hopes is simply the effort of healing. 

Finally aboard once more, he takes you into the small cabin beneath the helm and tucks you into the straw bed he keeps for nights when the winds are threatening and violent, remaining on the boat in case the waves should do their best to reclaim the wood. Draping several blankets over you, he crawls close enough the heat from his chest could radiate into your skin, encouraging a rush of blood in your veins. His fingers twitch, wanting to brush stray strands of hair out of your eyes, but he presses the flat of his hand into the bed, resisting his urges. 

The medic will need to be informed. This realization hits him with a bitterness that speaks of separation, chest restricting and tightening against the air in his lungs until it hurts to breathe. Against his bones, his muscles battle the urge to hold you close and he shuts his eyes with a grimace as a headache blooms at the base of his skull. Yet, as he strains to focus in the quiet of the cabin, he is acutely aware there are no traces of your breath, no labored wheeze no even inhalation, and so he resolutely declares that he will ferry your oxygen, coming to sit up on his knees as he plugs your nose and presses his lips to yours, opening them slightly. 

Cradling your chin between his thumb and forefinger, Jaebeom exhales deeply, letting the strength of his breath travel into the limit of your lungs. Squeezing his eyes closed, he exhales for as long as he can manage, giving everything within himself to you before, all at once and all over again, he feels as though he has stepped out of himself. 

Once more, voices materialize at the back of his mind, these new sounds more like echoes that erupt from nowhere and no when, fingerprints of a bygone era carried to him on wings. Their words are a garbled mess of sounds, undeterminable cadences lacking diction or emphasis, but he hears the sound of a man, low and gentle and wondrously tender.

He hears a man, and the man is unmistakably, unfailingly, him. 

Opening his eyes, he drinks you in, and surrenders to the notion he is being conquered by the mere sight of you. One word from you, and it would be as violent as a new beginning, a great shattering of all the comforts he knows of the world. And he would welcome it, knows, as if by magic, that he has given over to it before, would give over to it again, the power in you so great only ritual could contain it.

Blinking several times to clear the shock from his mind, he quickly moves his hands to your chest and presses against your sternum in the rhythmic way his sister taught him when he announced he wanted to be a fisherman, just like their father. Her eyes had glazed over then with the memory of loss and strife, and so she laid him on the floor and promptly taught him how to save a life should the sea threaten to claim a man as her own. The muscles in his harms strains as he continues pressing, and he thinks maybe he will need to press his lips to yours once more, bracing, instinctively, for more voices to fill his head, but a rush of water bursts from between your lips and he quickly moves back, turning you to your side to let it drain completely.

Falling back on your side, you release a cough but you do not wake, the small puddle of water between you both at once threatening and sacred, a reminder that everything Jaebeom has seen and felt is real, tethered to this moment. Tethered to you. 

‘Who are you?’ he murmurs, but even as he says it, even as the words leave his mouth, he knows this is not the right question. 

In the oncoming silence, the correct words swell on his tongue, nearly tumble from his lips, but, instead, he chews the inside of his cheek, aware that the right question will insight a riot in him he is unprepared to endure. 

When Jaebeom carries you into his home, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, overtaken by the staggering weight of deja-vu. 

He’s been in this position before, holding you against him in the center of his small kitchen as the elasticity of his emotions stretches outward for an eternity. There is an awakening occurring at the very center of his soul, bursting like a new star as its white heat slithers down his spine. Glancing down at you, your soft lips, your closed eyes, and your limp frame, held so closely to him, he feels the earth move beneath his feet, the shifting tectonics of his life all leading to this single moment. 

Shaking his head, he releases himself from this, moving to his bedroom with focused steps as he places you in his bed. Igniting the oil lamps, he works quickly to bathe you in warm light, covering you with his down comforter before moving to the furnace tucked in the corner of the room. In summer, he keeps little coal and kindling but he uses the last of the brush wood he’s saved from the recent winter to ignite a small fire that burns red and gold behind the latched closing.

He regards your still form with a frown, running a hand through his hair in distress and grits his teeth. The last several days have been almost unbearably hot, but it seems August’s heatwave has been broken by the cool wind of the day, the overall gloom breaking the humidity and blocking the sun from her usual path. Of all days, it pains him that this would be the day the sea released you from her clutches, sent you from the cold depths of her darkness back to the shore where the sun refused to keep you. 

From his kitchen, he takes a small linen cloth, inspecting it for cleanliness, and folds it into a long rectangle. Warming it in front of the furnace, he rotates it in circles before he feels it is sufficiently heated, just enough to ease tension in your muscles and restore heat where you need it most. It warms his hands, palms already swollen and grown clammy, room becoming relatively stuffy as he slides the cloth beneath your neck while you sleep. Already, a pink flush has begun to settle within your cheeks, the relief in him not unlike a rapture.

What will you say when you wake, he wonders. How will you sound when you look him in the eye, unsure of where you are? More importantly, he worries if you will wake at all, if perhaps the rush of blood beneath your skin is the last tour it will take before it stills altogether, heart too sluggish to keep a steady flow. The thought sends a tremor of heartbreak into the base of his spine, and a pained gasp tumbles through his lips, scorning the very notion of the thought. 

He needs an occupation to distract, needs a purpose to feel as though there is progress being made, and so he turns on his heel and grabs his coat, supposing that when you do wake, he should at least be ready.

The walk to his sister’s cottage is not long, one that he usually relishes in the spring when the path is lined with blossom trees and the foxes play around their dens, their ruddy tails bouncing amongst the high grasses. Today, his strides are long but the journey feels endless, the path reaching well beyond the limits of the land, his mind thinking only of arrival rather than enjoying the view. 

Another group of missionaries passes him along the dirt road, and he crosses to the other side to give himself space, freedom, liberation from their watchful eyes. Offering them sidelong glances, he studies the way they regard him conspicuously, whispering to one another as though he cannot hear the faint sounds of their voices, the conviction of their stares a judgement he feels with all of his body. Do they somehow know that he has found and kept a woman? Have they heard the voices too, the echoes he is resurrecting just by being near you? 

He finds he cares little for the answers to these questions, deeming their existence as something infinitely less important or significant in the light of resolute purpose. 

Byeol answers the door after three hard knocks, her face a picture of confusion that still does nothing to mar her beauty. She stands just shy of his height, one hand on the door and the other on her hip, the laugh lines along her cheeks carrying a secret smile within them. 

‘Jaebie,’ she announces, more a question than a statement. Arching a single brow, her brown eyes bore into his with the chastising admonishment only an older sibling could manage. ‘Shouldn’t you be fishing?’

Jaebeom nods, a noncommittal gesture of affirmation, and presses his way through the doorway, past her slight frame. He wastes no time slipping off his boots as he fumbles for an explanation. 

‘Sorry for the unexpected arrival,’ he mumbles, only partially apologetic. ‘Something’s…’ his voice drifts away, eyes looking everywhere but her face as he searches for the right words. To tell the truth means he must tell the whole truth, unable to hide anything from her, and so he settles for one single, vague word. ‘Happened,’ he says, finally.

Immediately, he regrets it.

Byeol’s eyes widen, hands raising to gently cup his face in her palms. Satisfied he is whole, they run down his shoulders to his arms, searching. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘No, no.’ He pulls himself from her grasp, hands raised in surrender, offering her a sheepish smile of amiable regret. ‘Nothing like that. I, uh, need to borrow some of your clothes.’

She takes a single step back, brow knit together in bewilderment. A myriad of emotions pass over her face, and Jaebeom does his best to count them all, the youth of her features rising and falling between her fear, her amusement, her apprehension. Eventually, she settles on curiosity as her eyes rake him up and down, one hand resting on her chest, perplexed yet surprised.

Rolling his eyes, he turns away from her and moves through her home, heading towards the wooden staircase. ‘They’re not for me.’

Byeol follows close behind, hot on his heels. ‘You’re telling me you…’

There’s too much excitement in her voice, the sound and volume of it making him close his eyes as if bracing for a storm. In one fluid motion, she rounds in front of him to block his path, eyes wide in delight as she makes an inappropriate gesture with her hands. 

‘No!’ he scolds, though he finds he must swallow the early threads of a laugh. ‘Not that either.’

Resting his hands on her shoulders, he feels a slight flush creep into his cheeks as she giggles in childish glee. Gently easing her to the side, he continues up the stairs with heavy thuds of his feet. It always amazes him how easily, and how quickly, Byeol can manipulate the atmosphere in the room, her energy always barely contained and always terribly infectious. Questions are burning at the back of her throat, and she follows closely behind, the bounce in her step echoing around the house behind him. 

Just like their mother, she will not let this go until she is satisfied, will not let him leave until she has received at least one answer, and so he releases a silent sigh as he reaches the landing, turning down the hall towards her room. He should be commended, he thinks, for the bravery he must assume to endure her interrogation.

‘There’s a woman -’ he begins slowly, only to be cut off.

‘You bastard!’ she exclaims delightedly, slapping his shoulder blade with enough force to make him stumble. 

She takes his slight hesitation as an opportunity to run ahead of his once more, the glee in her eyes wild and bright, a look he once found vindictive in their youth. Spreading her arms wide, she presses her hands into the frames of her bedroom doorway, full of impish joy as she stares him down. The love he feels for her blurs together with his frustration, the affection in him rising like a tide.

‘Would you stop?’ he pleads, though now he does not bother to stop his laugh. ‘I just need some stays. A chemise and some trousers, too, if you have them.’ 

Standing to her full height, she raises her head elegantly, full of self-importance and authority, swallowing her smile for a serious expression of warning. ‘You can borrow them on the grounds that you give me her name.’

Exasperated, he looks away, letting his gaze move to the side and into the small rectangle that is Sun Hee’s room. It’s messy, the bed unmade and several books piled onto their mother’s antique rocking chair. Atop the books, her stuffed crochet kitten rests, presiding over the chaos like a queen. Along the walls, sepia portraits of his mother and father hang beside cross-stitch pieces his sister did while pregnant: one a rabbit, another a bundle of wild flowers, one a vestige of the sea. In the center of the wall, above her small wrought iron bed, a portrait of her father is framed and hung, the frame a silver gilded edge that catches all the light, even when the clouds threaten to block the sun.

When he looks once more at his sister, he sees how his silence and avoidance has riled her further, her wry grin returned once more with all its damning inquisitiveness.

‘Do I know her?’ she presses, narrowing her eyes.

He shakes his head, and offers a small shrug of his shoulders. ‘No,’ he explains, ‘I actually don’t know it.’

Jaw dropping, she reaches forward once more and slaps his arm. ‘Jaebie!’

Dropping his head, he presses his fingers into his eyes and wishes, with all of him, that her assumptions of his perpetual loneliness and solitude were not such a concern. Wishes, more than anything in this moment, that Sun Hee did not frequently ask for an auntie to play with, her lack of a father rendering her wishes for a sibling obsolete. For any other man on Indolon, a woman in his home, let alone his bed, would hardly be news, would hardly warrant any discussion at all, but Byeol has watched him try, and fail, over the years to find a woman who loves as ardently, as openly, as intensely as he does. 

She has watched him resort to his life by the sea, watched him spend days alone on his boat, returning at sunset and smelling of brine and salt. All her life she has watched and she has worried, alluding to the full weight of her concern only in jest.

‘Can I please just have them?’ he groans weakly.

Lowering her arms from the doorway, she steps to the side and welcomes him through. ‘Yes,’ she acquiesces. ‘Take what you need from the closet, but this isn’t over. And be quick, I’m on my way out.’

Jaebeom tosses her a silent expression of gratitude over his shoulder, moving through her room with quick steps. ‘Where are you going?’ he asks, sliding open her wardrobe and taking things he knows she keeps but does not often wear, certain she will not miss them. ‘Isn’t Sun-hee already at school.’

Byeol moves behind him, gathering her headscarf from atop her bed and tying it with a hum of confirmation. ‘I’m going to Mala Green’s. Her husband’s ship was meant to port two days ago. It never made it.’ 

Jaebeom stills, clothes draped haphazardly over his arm as he turns to greet her eyes. Together, they regard one another in silence, a cold chill seeming to overtake the room. He remembers the look he sees in her eyes now, remembers the bone deep anxiety and the way she did not sleep for weeks, not even months. In a single moment, it is four years ago and they are both bereft.

‘The Pyxis?’ he murmurs, remembering how he and his sister and his niece, and all the town had watched it sail away from port eight months ago, waving until it disappeared from the horizon. 

She nods minutely, a small motion almost imperceptible had he not been watching her intently, looking down at her hands where she nervously picks at her fingernails. ‘She is thinking the worst.’ 

Dropping the clothes to the bed, Jaebeom takes a few strides and comes to stand before his sister. Letting his hands rest on her shoulders, his thumbs press idle, reassuring circles into her muscles, hoping his expression looks hopeful, at least. ‘It could just be delayed.’

Taking in a shaking breath, Byeol nods but does not lift her eyes to his, gaze trained instead on the unsteady  motions of her hands.‘We always like to think that, but…’ Falling quiet, she glances towards her vanity, a distant expression of longing painting her features. He knows she is looking at her wedding photo, but he does not mention it. ‘A woman always knows, doesn’t she?’ she finishes, finally looking at him with an empty smile.

And just like that, in the length of the shallow stretch of her lips, they fall back in time to Port Vela. She clutched his hand as the Aquila departed, the strength in her grip enough to turn both their knuckles white. The intensity of this touching reminded him that to love is to open the heart to grieving, that to love means to welcome the notion of losing, and so he pressed his fingers against hers with the same force, joining her in solidarity. 

Even before the missionaries declared him dead, she knew he was lost. The tears she shed in childbirth were not those of bodily trauma but those of heartbreak, once more holding his hand and begging for him to tell her why Dong Hyun wasn’t there with her, why the missionaries were forcing her to believe he was still alive. She said it hurt to know they were teasing with the heart of a widow, that moment perhaps the last time he ever feigned trust in the gods and their mortal vessels. 

Dong Hyun had left to deliver a group of missionaries from a nearby port, and they were angry for weeks at their failed return, citing a growing population that needed more help. Jaebeom never knew why they didn’t come to the funeral, his sister and his newborn niece crying in unison against an empty coffin while he pressed his feet into the wet grass. He wanted them to see what their selfishness had done, the rage in him putting a sheen of sweat on his neck, the most angry he had ever been. 

‘He’ll be okay,’ he states, pulling them both out of the darkness of their thoughts. ‘They will all be okay.’

It’s a nice thing to say, he thinks, something that sounds reassuring and optimistic, but he wonders, quietly in the back of his mind, to whom he is offering this confidence.

Byeol startles slightly, eyes glassy and slightly glazed over with memory as she takes him in. ‘Yes, well,’ she begins, stepping out his hold to gather her things. ‘It will be good to be there for her.’

Jaebeom watches her move towards the door, hands balled into fists and pressing his nails into his palms. It’s more visceral now, somehow more tangible than ever, the unease he feels when he thinks about their blue cloaks - their endless, royal blue. 

‘Launder those when you’re done please,’ she says, coming to a halt and pointing her long index finger at the clothes piled on the bed. ‘I don’t want to be wearing any of your remains -’

Jaebeom’s eyes widen, the spell of his thoughts broken by Byeol’s teasing giggle. ‘Byeol!’

She simply steps into the hallway and moves down the stairs, her laughter carrying through the house as though the sadness had never been let in. 

It was only when you said you were leaving, announcing the date of your expected departure with wild eyes and ink stained hands, that he thought maybe, horribly, he had not told you he loved you enough. 

You showed him the boarding papers, the crew notes, the bonds list and you were laughing, disbelieving that good fortune could shine on the persistent. Years of work had culminated in this opportunity, and you could not tear your eyes away from the King’s signature, it’s black script so formal you pressed your fingers to your lips to hide the ferocity of your smile. He loved you most then, burning in silence and struggling to find the right way, the best way, to tell you that his love for you demanded he become monstrous, too many hearts in his chest to contain the totality of this wanting.

‘It will be the longest we’ve ever been apart,’ you said, chancing a look at him, and the briefest flickers of grief walked across your face. In an instant, you tucked them away, smoothed your smile over and put the light back in your eyes, hiding from him the very thing that could bring him to his knees.

‘I’ll send a hawk to woo you,’ he offered, the smile tugging at his lips only half genuine, only half true. 

He was certain you knew it, too, but you simply chuckled, arched one perfect brow and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

‘You’ve already done that.’

He only had a week to show you that he loved you beyond reason, beyond the human capacity for emotion. One week, and you would be gone, drifting away from him at sea, and he would be waiting, always waiting. 

‘Then I’ll do it again.’

Again and again he would do his best to win you over, holding you tightly against his chest and reminding you there was nowhere as safe, nowhere as sacred as against his skin, against his heart. You leaned up to kiss him, always eager and impatient for the things you wanted most, but he breathed against your lips, let your twin exhales unify your heartbeats and reminded himself that you were still here.

He could feel you. You were still there.

Jaebeom wakes with a start, hairline dampened with warmth, stress, and confusion. 

The dawn breaks through the sheer curtains of his bedroom window, the heat in the room oppressive and stifling as the embers within the furnace strain to match the gleam of the sun. Curled in a ball atop the lambskin carpet at the foot of his bed, the joints of his knees and elbows are aching, having been forced into one position too long. Tentatively, he stretches his limbs with a low groan, elongating his back against the floor and does his best to remain quiet in his relief. 

When he’d returned home, you were still sleeping. Unchanged and in the exact position he had left you, a brief anxiety overtook him at the sight of your too relaxed face and the weakness in your limbs. There was a fragility in you that frightened him, a treacherous sort of quiet that promised great annihilation consuming the room and reaching down, deep within his ribs, compressing his lungs. He would have shed tears for you, would have unleashed an expression of grief so holy and so silent it would have broken worlds - but you moaned, almost regal in your suffering, and, for a moment, he was weightless.

In the tense tranquility that followed he slumped into the reading chair beside his bookcase, head buried in his hands, and sighed. With his eyes closed, he could pretend things had not changed, that he was still himself, that he still belonged to himself. It was as though there were two of him, battling within his blood - the one that knew nothing, that craved the assurance and predictable simplicity inherent in the life he had built for himself. 

But the other is violent, a torrent against his bones reminding him this life is not his, that you are his life, and the passion in him is pushed into madness at the notion of not being able to follow where you have gone.

‘All this?’ he lamented into the rough skin of his palm. ‘All this over the desire to be loved?’

The moon was midway through its journey across the sky when he fell asleep, nestling into the rug at the foot of your bed - at your feet, though still giving you the distance, giving himself the distance. And all night he had seen you, felt you, let his whole world become enamored with you.

Pressing the base of his palms into his eyes, he groans, letting the dark become coloured with reds, whites, and purples under the pressure. Rustling from somewhere in the room makes his heart stutter in its rhythm, motions still and muscles tense with the effort of not moving, simply listening. His is not the only breath in the room, and when he takes his hands away from his eyes, his vision adjusts to see you - your face framed by your hair as you lean over the bed, regarding him curiously. 

Startled, Jaebeom sits up, head dizzy with the sudden movement, and he presses a hand to his temple though he does not close his eyes, fearing he might still be dreaming. A dark night lives in your irises, hungry for everything that comprises his very being, and even as he lets his vision focus, lets himself recline into the intensity of your stare, he feels as though you are burning inside him, tearing your way through his sinew, the most voracious thing he’s ever seen. You regard him, unblinking, studying every detail and nuance of his features with tension in your brow and parted lips. 

Briefly, he wonders how long it has been since someone looked at him like this, looked at him as though he is both the universe’s greatest secret and its most coveted answer.

‘You’re awake,’ he manages, throat dry and voice constricting beneath such coveted attention.

Instantly, he curses himself for such a simple and obvious statement. All night he had imagined hundreds of first conversations with you, knowing his first words with you would ultimately be the most important, and already he has betrayed himself. You’ve taken all the power from him, left him in such a state of shock, he supposes his words have withered, nothing in the world as sacred as your eyes on him. 

But the smile you offer him at the sound of his voice could combat the sun, the world brightening around the fullness of your cheeks and the pleasure you keep at the corner of your lips, like a secret. A blush burns at the tips of his ears, and he is glad it does not immediately live in his cheeks, pleased he has learned, somehow, to not give himself away all at once. 

‘I am,’ you nod in affirmation. A chill walks down Jaebeom’s spine, the sound of your voice an echo of his dreams, exactly as he heard it all night long. ‘You found me.’

Seconds stretch between your bodies, an infinite eternity between your last syllable and his first breath, his eyes on yours like a pledge of loyalty. 

‘Were you looking for me?’

Hope invades his words without his permission, helpless against their desire to be the thing you sought most, to be lucky enough to be your prize. His fingers press into the soft strands of the carpet beneath him, and he watches as you fall back against your legs, shoulders slumped as you look around the room. All at once, emptiness overtakes you, the light in your eyes dimming as you search within yourself for an answer.

‘I don’t know,’ is your whispered reply. Looking at him once more, he feels as though you are rooting within his soul, continuing the expedition within him. But still, you are lost, voice adrift and lost at sea. ‘I can’t remember.’

He smiles encouragingly, wanting you to know, more than anything, that it is okay. For himself, he reminds you both that everything is okay.

Inching along the carpet, he clears his throat as he rests his arms on the bed, gazing up at you as though he is making wishes on the moon. He wants to be close to you - more than he’s ever wanted anything, Jaebeom wants to be in your orbit, close enough he could taste the salt that still lingers on your skin. Biting his tongue, he swallows all his rushed, messy emotions and clears his throat, choosing instead the words of logic, the words of practicality. 

‘What is your name?’

Little by little, your smile slowly fades, burned by this simple question. Still, you remain calm, perplexed and unsure of how much of you has truly been misplaced. ‘I don’t know.’

‘That’s okay,’ he reassures you gently. ‘My name is Jaebeom.’ In saying his name, he waits for a flicker of recognition, a response that would confirm all he has spent the night feeling, but you simply regard him blankly, glad for the conversation. Shaking his head, he sighs. ‘How did you get here?’ he tries, keeping his voice calm so you find no reason to panic or run.

Now, your smile disappears completely and all that is left behind is you, your sadness, and the way it clings to your body like a shadow. The smallness of you in this moment puts an ache in his chest that feels like an inheritance - something he has been owed, that you owed one another having vanished in the completeness of your unknowing, and, together, you grieve. With a slow shake of your head, you confirm there is a void surrounding the nature of your being and the reason for your arrival, and the longer he looks the more he sees how this torments the deep desire that quakes inside you.

He knows nothing of you, knows only that you are here and you are tangible and you are emptied, but still he can sense you are a wild, impossible beast of a woman. The storm in you could tear the world asunder, and so he tries a different tactic, choosing to ask what is felt rather than what can be recalled, wanting to hold onto as much of you as he possibly can.

‘Are you hurt?’

For a long moment, you consider his question, as if thinking through the concept of hurt, the very notion of it, rather than the truth of it. Running his eyes over your frame, he notices that some bruises on your arms have already faded, as if the midnight sky was your healer. You are far healthier and far more whole than the person he found yesterday, but there is a strangeness to the way you look at him, to the way you think through his questions that gives him the passing sensation that you are not there at all.

He fears, all the way down to his marrow, that if he were to look away, you would disappear completely.

‘It does hurt, yes,’ you admit finally. Offering him a small nod of confirmation, your eyes grow wide as though you yourself are surprised by the experience, the ability to truly hurt a clandestine experience.

Jaebeom had feared this. Always, the most lethal of wounds are the ones not worn on the skin. ‘Where?’

Slowly, you lift a hand to your chest, right above your heart. Pain etches itself on your face, the turmoil of bewilderment and confusion, the misery of things long lost, making a home of your soft features. He watches your brow knit together as you regard him, a slight downturned frown tugging at your lips as you silently beg him for answers. 

Reaching a hand forward, his fingertips nearly graze the smooth skin of your knee, exposed between the ripped threads of your silk dress. When he’s close enough he can feel the warmth from your skin, he remembers himself, retreating back to curl his hand into a fist.

‘Did a man hurt you?’ 

He hates the way the words taste, sour and acrid on his tongue, but he supposes this dress is your wedding gown and he’s seen more than his fair share of broken hearts around town. This, of course, would be the worst he has ever seen, but he chooses not to worry you further, keeping his voice soothing and calm.

‘No,’ you shake your head, looking beyond him into a distance that is both contained within and expanding outward. ‘Not one,’ you continue with a dark whisper. ‘Many.’

Jaebeom does not think himself a man prone to violence or aggression but, in a single moment, he feels his heart is a weapon. His spine straightens as he rears back slowly, relying entirely on the support of the floor beneath him. His hands are no longer his own, knuckles taught with the desire to tear his way through flesh and sinew. There is no limit to the monstrous creatures he would face standing up for you; he’s burning, fully ablaze alongside you, and it surprises him how quickly kindness can burn away.

‘We can report it when you are well enough,’ he announces, clearing his throat in the effort of remembering himself. As much as he would go to battle for you, he similarly does not want to frighten you. ‘When you remember the details we can report it. They won’t get away with it.’

Shoulders relaxing, your hand falls away from your chest as you find comfort in his words, and a small sense of pride prickles at his ears and neck. With anyone else, he’d be sheepish that he is giving himself and his emotions away so quickly with you, but he can’t help it, he thinks. Not when you look at him like this, like he’s the part of summer you’ve been anticipating most and are pleased by the mere sight of him. People don’t look at him like this, especially the people he wishes would look at him and want to continue the mere act of seeing him. You make him feel like someone, and he is more with you than he ever has been on his own. 

Keeping your eyes on his, you shift so you rest on your hands and knees, crawling across the bed towards him. Jaebeom leans back, pushes himself away from the bed and it is only when the heat from the still burning furnace threatens to sear his chemise that he pauses, looking over his shoulder to pout at the proximity. Your hand presses against his foot, stopping his movements and he returns his focus to you once more, all breath and blood flow halted in his veins. 

You’ve climbed off the bed, settled on the floor with your hand on him and a glimmer behind your eyes that says you know he has longed to be touched. Has he been real before this moment? Has he truly existed until the moment you placed your hand on his skin, a paradoxically cold warmth that sends a chill up his legs and into his groin. Until this moment, he has been afflicted with the strangest sense of object permanence, but only of himself - himself and his relation to you, the only thing that has ever truly mattered.

‘You won’t come close to me,’ you explain, sounding terribly sad.

Deflating, he leans forward and places his hand on yours, finally, running his thumb along your knuckles. The salt from the sea has turned your skin into the softest thing he’s ever touched, and he applies just enough pressure to remind himself you are tangible, real, present. 

There’s something familiar and, simultaneously, ephemeral about the way his hand moves over yours. He finds it impossible to look away as he explains, ‘I wanted to give you space.’

‘I’ve had enough,’ you counter, and the sharpness in your words has him taking in your lips, your cheeks, your face in wonder. You are every bit the tempest he knew you would be, and he smiles, amused and gladdened by your confident vehemence.  

Pulling your hand out from under his, you raise it to the side of his face, tucking strands of hair behind his ear and letting your fingers glide along his cheekbone. The intimacy leads him, momentarily, to believe that he is completely naked, exposed to you in all the ways that could truly break him. Once more, he feels you searching within him for something you can almost grasp. Words live and die on his tongue, answers he too craves fading before he has the chance to truly process them.

You are unified in this complex looking, the act of remembering both a mysterious and a fact.

‘You’re familiar to me.’ Cocking your head to the side as you speak, the childlike curiosity you exude has him pressing his hands into the carpet, reminding himself it is still too early to take hold of you, too early to hold you against his heart as he had done in his dream.

‘Have we met before?’ he offers gently.

Excitement colours you, has you straightening as you pull your hand from his skin. ‘Do you know me?’

It’s his turn to shake his head, his turn to smother hope with little disappointments. ‘No.’

‘Then I suppose not.’ 

With a slight shrug, you return your hand once more to the side of his face, palm cupping his cheek to trace the contour of the bone. Little by little, your eyes soften and a silent yearning overtakes your features. Jaebeom wants to tell you everything when you look at him like that. Things he’d never breathe to another person, things he had long since forgotten rise up in his throat and he nearly chokes on them, wanting you to have absolutely everything.

Running your thumb over his bottom lip, a blissful sigh escapes from the center of your chest, eyes slightly glazed as you luxuriate in the texture of his skin beneath your finger. ‘I don’t mind, though. I like looking at you.’ 

How like a child he feels when he is with you - suddenly restless and impatient and young, the boundaries and the calculated logic he has spent years cultivating in his adulthood dissolving the moment he learns you are pleased with him. In his dream, he somehow knew your kisses were a hurricane, all raindrops and wild winds that made his skin feel electric. The way you seem to tear through him now is a confirmation he was correct, the summer in you so immaculate he thinks it is always the bloom of July in your soul.

Were he to look elsewhere in the room, he is certain it would be a betrayal - the treachery of looking away from the gods’ sky. Jaebeom is calmed by the sight of you, the anxious itch in the back of his mind dormant simply because you have decided he is worthy of being adored. He wonders where he has been looking all this time, if he has truly seen anything at all until this moment, the colours of the world infinitely more rich because of how you choose to wear them. 

Clearing his throat, he looks briefly at your hand where it holds his foot like a cross and trembles. ‘I like looking at you, too.’ It feels so silly and unimpressive, repeating your words back like a parrot, but he means it - there is more conviction in those small words than any other promise he has ever made and, when he looks at you again, he hopes you can feel it.

Your answering smile is so rich and full, he finds his thoughts are rendered unintelligible, and so he lowers his gaze to the ripped dress that does its best to maintain the echo of its former shape.  

Clearing his throat, he slowly pulls his foot out from your grip, skin tingling from the loss of contact. The warmth from your hand still lingers, and he frowns, regretting his decision even through his commitment to the choice. Pressing his hands to the floor, he rises to stand and brushes off his trousers, looking for ways to keep his hands busy.

‘Can you stand?’ You look up at him, expectant and congenial. ‘Are your legs strong enough?’

Copying his earlier movements, you press your hands into the floor and, unsteadily, lift yourself to a stand. For a moment your knees wobble, but you keep your eyes on his, shoulders rolling back as you take in a slow inhale. Finding your balance takes focus, brow knotted together with the effort of standing on weakened muscles, but you keep your feet planted, hands spread at your sides to aid in maintaining your center of gravity. And when you stand, stable and sure, at your full height, you nod proudly, delighted you have surprised yourself.

‘Good.’ The most natural thing in the world, he finds, is praising you; a long dormant habit awakening once more ‘I’m actually not sure what I’d done if you couldn’t,’ he admits sheepishly.

Amidst your infectious giggle, Jaebeom finally has an opportunity to truly take in the state of your clothes. He wonders what torment you have seen, what hell you’ve walked through that has torn the silk and chiffon down to the essence of their threads. The bodice hugs your waist, but the whalebone corset is torn at the ribs, threatening to expose your skin. There will be no saving the sleeves that hang limply off your shoulders, falling behind your back like a ragged cape. Sea water has stained the silk to a tarnished, bleak yellow, the sand of the seabed nestled deep within the folds of your skirts. 

Still, too much of your skin is visible to him. The skirts have pulled away from the bodice and a large portion of your thigh remains bare, the other leg free of clothing from the ankle to just above your knee. Standing before him, he sees you as a survivor of a slaughter that bore no claws, and he aches to pull you close, to keep you safe, to remind you that you are whole.

Perhaps, he thinks, the reminder is mostly for himself.

‘I brought you some clothes,’ he announces gently. Gesturing vaguely to the wardrobe in the opposite corner, his nerves get the better of him, words becoming bashful. ‘You look like the size of my sister, so they should fit.’ Running a hand through his hair and gripping the strands to alleviate the tension in his wrists, he pulls himself out of your orbit and heads toward the wardrobe.  ‘We need to go into town anyway to see the medic, so I can get you some if these don’t fit properly. I just…’ 

Opening the doors, he pulls out the clothes he borrowed from his sister- stays for night time, two pairs of trousers, a woolen skirt he remembers buying for his sister one solstice that she has never worn, and three chemises he hopes will fit you. He lays them out delicately on the bed, arranging them into outfits he hopes you find comfortable. Fixating on the trousers, he looks at them too long as his stomach drops. Indolon is one of the few islands where women wear trousers, their propensity for skirts just as enthusiastic and common. He hops the sight of them will not offend you.

‘Thank you.’ Approaching the bed with light, careful steps, the smallness of your voice does little to mask your immense gratitude, hands coming to graze the myriad of fabrics he has selected. 

Something about the feel of them between your fingers astounds you, a stunned silence turning adding a weight to the room that did not previously exist. 

‘These are beautiful.’ Your hand moves to the skirt, the difference in its texture putting a glee in your eyes that makes his heart swell. ‘Thank you for caring for me,’ you finish, finally looking up at him once more.

Time bleeds past him as he falls into you, falls beyond himself and into a love that consumes him. Around your body, light seems to vibrate, uncertain how to hold you and so it holds all of you, and none of you, at once, bending around your back until he wonders if the very nature of this conversation is merely an illusion. Should he look away, he worries you would vanish, that he might forget, and so he steps near enough that he might touch you. 

Keeping his hands forced at his sides, he drowns momentarily in his wanting before he speaks. ‘Anyone would do it.’

Lowering the skirt, you reach up to cup his face, forcing him to look at you. A shiver walks down his spine, followed swiftly by an unfamiliar heat in his blood as you speak. ‘I don’t remember much of the world, but I do remember that is not true. Not everyone would do as you have done.’ You lean into him, close enough your breaths touch between your bodies, his entire existence narrowing to this single moment. ‘I’m grateful for you.’ 

All of him craves giving in to the boundless lust that rages within his chest, memories of his dream resurfacing to haunt his bones. There were other memories within that dream, memories of your body wrapped beneath his, memories of your lips and the way you always pressed hard against his mouth, ensuring he would feel you long after you had departed. Jaebeom wants to live in those memories now, wants to force them into his reality so badly his hands and his sides start to shake.

But in those memories, lives the texture of your skin and the way his fingers have mapped every node of your spine. And it is only when he recalls the distant blur of this experience, so foreign to him it is as though it belongs to someone else, that he remembers there is nowhere in his home for you to undress.

When he had selected this house by the sea, he had assumed his life would contain the dawn, the dusk, the ocean, and little else in between. His home is merely one large square, the kitchen bleeding into his open bedroom and the sitting area tucked into corners he felt would be comfortable. There is, fundamentally, no element of privacy, and this is the only thing, he thinks, that gives him the strength to pull away - the desire to keep you comfortable and to be polite his only saving grace.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbles, taking one small step back. It is enough for his head to become clear, enough for the sadness in your eyes at the separation to not sting like a bullet. ‘I can leave you to change.’ 

He moves around you, not really certain what he would say should you inform him you will need assistance with your bodice and corset. They are torn enough and ruined enough he imagines they will not be a problem, but the mere idea of his fingers accidentally caressing the smooth expanse of your back puts a tightness in his chest the magnitude of which has him both frightened and bewildered. 

Jaebeom does not want people like this, certainly does not want them this badly and with this much conviction, and so he walks through the bedroom and into the kitchen, the cool metal of the doorknob a balm against his skin. And it is only when he is outside, eyes closed as he lets the breeze overtake his heart, his spirit, his soul, does he feel like himself once more.

It is only when he is in an entirely different location, far enough away from you he cannot feel you, that he remembers to breathe.

The walk to town, by your side, is among the most eventful experiences of his life. 

Having roamed the island roads all his life, he has grown used to the view, the unchanging scenery resulting in him finding it to be rather dull and grey. He cannot remember the last time he saw this world with fresh eyes, the last time he took in the trees, the slope of the land and felt joy - the last time this world brought him pleasure. You however, combat the very essence of his ennui with your inherent enthusiasm, taking in every sight and every sound as if it is, not the first time you have witnessed them but, the first time you have reunited with them after many years away. 

In you, a language of reconciliation is being cultivated - one that only you will be able to understand, and one that makes Jaebeom cast you curious side long glances as you press your hands together in consternation. Your scrutiny of each detail slows the walk considerably, your presence somewhat distant and hollow as you struggle to define the essence of familiarity within you. Each time, it fades miserably and quickly, leaving you momentarily disheartened only for new wonder to replace the frustration once more. 

Through you, he begins to see the town as something eternal, something so long lasting and sacred that, even if it is forgotten, it is still unchanged and important enough to be missed. Selfishly, he ponders what place he held in your old life, if he held any place at all, aware that, sometimes, you look at him with this same questioning fixation. In his own life experiences, you appear missing, but the way you look at him and touch him assures a small, needy piece of his heart that he is remembered, and therefore not ephemeral. 

Still, he is certain you have been here, on Indolon, that this is your home and nowhere else. Having decided to forgo the shoes he had taken from his sister in favor of your bare feet, claiming it felt more natural to feel the earth beneath your toes, your steps are confident as you walk. Your eyes take everything in with too much intensity, but your steps are sure, certain of the placement and used to the cracks and the gravel that line the journey. When you are not focused on a building, a face, a view, you do not follow behind him. Instead, you are perhaps just a hair’s breadth ahead of him, relaxed in your inherent certainty. 

‘Is any of this triggering your memory?’ he quietly tries, hoping he does not completely disrupt your train of thought.

‘Yes, but at the same time no.’ Your lips continue moving even as your voice dies, murmuring mysteriously to yourself as you look around. ‘It’s like I’ve seen this before in a dream, but then anything can look like anything if you want it to badly enough.’ Offering him a sly smirk, you peer up at him through your eyelashes. ‘I still like looking at you the most, though.'

Heat paints pink smears along his cheeks, and he glances down to his feet momentarily to smile at himself, flattered and, helplessly, twitter-patted. With you beside him, so close, his fingers dig into the pockets of his coat, gripping the cloth in the effort of stifling the desire to reach for your hand.

'Thank you,' he begins, his smile unwilling to fade. Still, he does his best to warp his features into a serious expression. 'I'm glad I'm more interesting than trees and brick.'

The music of your laugh is an eruption, the juicy fullness of it breaking over his tongue and filling his mouth with unprecedented gladness. You are unshy with your laughter, endearingly liberal and letting it echo through the air, demanding everyone hear your pleasure. Jaebeom swallows thickly, feeling almost as though he can taste you on the wind, in his mouth, and he holds his breath wanting to keep you inside him just a moment longer.

'I'm serious,' you tease, nudging into his side

Passing the field of pink and blue wildflowers, you become transfixed by a group of small children playing amongst the grass. Holding hands, they jump and dance in a circle, their laughter interrupting the song they are singing in broken unison. He recognizes the nursery rhyme of Ciperion immediately, remembering how his sister and some of the older children would make him play this game with them, dancing in a circle until the song ended and they had to remain completely still. Always, one of his sister's older friends, usually the boy she had a crush on, would play Ciperion, choosing a victim to steal away from the group. Only then would the circle continue dancing over and over until only one player remained and they had to outrun Ciperion to win.

He chuckles at the memory, how petulant he always felt at being the first one out - always, and without fail. Now, he realizes it was merely because of his strong reaction to being taken that made it more entertaining for his sister's friends, his cries and yells something they would tease him about for days.

‘What are they singing?’ you ask softly, interrupting his thoughts.

Jaebeom hears your voice and looks to his side, finding you are no longer with him. Turning, he finds you have come to a halt alongside the edge of the field, watching the children with a dark fascination that runs a chill down his spine.

He approaches you slowly, looking between the children and you, finding the tether of your fixation to be unbreakable. ‘The song of Ciperion,' he explains gently. 

When you look at him again, your inquisitive expression is marred by such a sincere sense of aloneness his throat runs dry. Your prying eyes demand more from him, demand explanations and answers, so greedy and so painfully hopeful he wonders what the word wounded in you. 

‘It’s an old urban legend on the island,’ he begins, looking back at the children who have now stilled, a little girl roaming behind the group with her hands raised like claws. ‘Everyone knows it, primarily because we grow up hearing it from friends or parents. It’s really just a ghost story. Parents tell it to make sure their children don’t go too far near the shore if they can’t see them, and kids tell it amongst friends just to see who is the most brave.’

Mystified, you keep your eyes on the group of children. ‘And it’s a song?’ 

He shakes his head, meeting your eyes on the raised arms and laughing faces of the children, hoping this contact of just your twin gazes is a comfort. ‘Not really, no. It’s a story, but it’s so old it’s become a nursery rhyme.’

‘Tell me.’

Jaebeom hums, trying to remember the way his mother told him this story when he was small. ‘Centuries ago, there was a ship called Ciperion that was meant to arrive at Port Vela.’

At the word Ciperion, you bristle, eyes widening slightly, though if in terror or recognition he cannot tell.

‘It was commissioned by the King, back when there were Kings,�� he continues, watching your reactions in the corner of his eye. ‘In those days, it was the fastest ship ever created, and had been assigned one of the largest crews - they called it the jewel of the sea. The crew was composed of experts in every field - cartography, cosmology, anthropology - and the ship’s sole mission was exploration.’

When you finally look at him, the heat from your gaze puts a fire in his veins, the sheer fervor and earnestness of your attention making him shudder. Swallowing thickly, he continues. 

‘Legend says that they reached an island and saw how corrupt the Indolon King had been, how far reaching his power and torment really was.’ In the field, a little boy is taken by a young Ciperion, his scream of surprise mingling with the relieved laughter of the other children. ‘They rushed home to stop him from destroying their land, but the ship never made it. No one knew where the ship had gone, especially because the waters had been calm the night of their intended arrival.’

‘So they all perished?’ Even as the words leave your mouth, your focus turning back to the children, he knows this question is not meant to be answered, a small voice in the back of his mind advising him you already know this answer. Its rhetorical nature is anguished, lost, full of a yearning he presumes no language could ever express.

Coughing to clear his throat, Jaebeom nods knowing you cannot see him, and continues. ‘The lighthouse stayed on for weeks, even on clear nights. But still, Ciperion never came back.’

The silence in you is a sea, and once more he presses his fingers in the fabric of his jacket, warring within himself to keep his hand still. Your own hands look lonely, hanging limply at your sides as though you have been defeated by something much larger, and much more complex, than just your lack of memory. As he studies your changing expression, he counts the emotions that swim over your features - anger, fury, loss, grief, and, strangely, happiness - before you settle on none of these, choosing instead to remain empty. 

But the magnitude of this choice renders you disheartened, tears pooling in your eyes, and he watches you swallow, fighting them back to the depths within your heart.

‘There’s never been any proof that Ciperion was real,’ he offers, hoping this will aid in bringing you comfort. It was never real, he supposes, and so there is no need to mourn the loss of made up things.

Yet, this consolation does not help, only serves to insight frustration, hands at your side curling into small fists as your eyes narrow. 

Looking back at the children, Jaebeom combats the ever creeping flush at his neck and ears with the rest of the story. ‘Some say that every twenty years, on the anniversary of its port date, you can see the ghost ship Ciperion sailing along the horizon, looking for ways to dock. Only if the night is clear, that is.’

‘And if it isn’t?’ you question, a bitterness biting at your words that takes him aback.

‘If it’s cloudy,’ he offers delicately, ‘the fog along the water is so thick it blocks the lighthouse altogether. It moves up from the water onto the shore, looking for ways into houses or into town as if it has a mind of its own. And if it touches land, you can hear screams in the clouds themselves.’

As if they never happened at all, as if, all along, you nothing of this story had touched a bleeding wound within you, the tears in your eyes seem to dissolve. Your hands unfurl from their fists, and a touch of pink warms your cheeks. There is contentedness all over you, and you turn to face, a pleasant smile tugging at your lips.

‘That’s a nice story,’ you say, simply, blinking up at him in genuine interest.

A laugh bursts from his chest, one that comes from nowhere at all and instead is a bark of surprise rather than a logical expression of amusement. Furrowing his brow, he laughs to himself through the fear and the confusion, waiting for your earlier expression of grief to overtake you once more. But when it does not come, when you giggle along with him merely because it is something to share rather than an honest or sincere experience of humor, he silences himself with a low grumble and kicks the stones at his feet.

‘Yes,’ he agrees quietly. ‘It’s just something we grow up hearing, but nothing ever comes of it.’

‘Is it the anniversary, then?’ You smile up at him, seeming happy to be included in a story, happy, too, to be sharing his company, and you press your bare feet into the stones, making little shapes with your toes. ‘They’re singing with so much fervor.’

‘Yeah,’ he hums in confirmation, watching you draw circles into the earth. ‘Actually, I think it’s tomorrow.’

‘And will you look for the ship?’ 

Cocking his head to the side questioningly, he studies your face as he speaks. ‘Would you like to?’

‘Are you asking me?’ you press, tilting your head to the same angle as his. The sight of you makes his breath catch, your beauty always somehow the most arresting, the most bewitching, but watching you mirror his position creates an uncanny sense of unease in his belly. ‘I’m not sure what I would be looking for,’ you finish, uncertainty lacing your tone.

‘I’m not either,’ he laments, furrowing his brow as he takes you in. There are so many things he’d like to say to you, only to you, so many things he’d like to ask, but starting feels painful, complicated, as though he’s attempting to speak a language he does not yet understand, so he swallows, drawing the same circles as you with his shoe. ‘I haven’t gone looking for it since I was a kid.’ Your circles are so clean, while his are oblong, and he is unsure why this matters, but he is excited, fundamentally, that there is so much he can learn from you. ‘The last time it was here, I was eight, and even then we didn’t see anything.’

Nodding in understanding you hum, knitting your brow together in consideration of his words. ‘It would be...fun?’

‘If you want to, we can,’ he chuckles, peering at you through his lashes, still waiting for another response of sadness, of melancholic heartbreak to rise up in you again. The legend of Ciperion stirred something in you, touched pieces of your spirit denying access to all else, and he thinks, perhaps, it is the tragedy of lost life and torn wood that triggers memories of spilled blood. Anyone would weep at the horror of this, and so he clears his throat, remembering true horrors are the ones humanity can touch.

‘But,’ he begins, loud enough the children in the field turn to look at them, worrying their play will be halted before continuing to sing once more, ‘you washed up on the rocks.’ Looking at you fully, he feels his chest tighten, remembering the shredded silk and the way your hair wound over the rocks, latching into deep crevices just to keep you safe. ‘People don’t just come from the sea. If there’s a shipwreck somewhere, we’d have to tell the medic and the council. That’s a more pressing ship to be looking for.’

Biting your lip, your eyes grow distant and glassy as you retreat inward, mind racing towards shadowed images that render your voice small and soft. ‘I don’t remember where I was before this.’

‘Sometimes that can happen with trauma,’ Jaebeom advises, and it strikes him that your admission does not bring despair, only annoyance at your failing memory.

Through all of this, not once have you expressed fear at the notion of death, unafraid for your own mortality even after the very essence of it has been threatened and challenged. It hits him now that the only time you have ever been afraid is when confronted with the notion of others experiencing a fate meant for you. One tale of a shipwreck, and so soon were you unmade into a dark beast, woven together by sorrow. 

Kicking the stones away from his feet, he tilts his head encouragingly, wordlessly advising that you continue alongside him. ‘The medic is one of my old school friends,’ he explains with a small grin, readying for Stefan’s loud laugh and teasing sarcasm. ‘He’ll be able to tell you more once he can run a few tests. You’ll like him. He’s quite funny.’

Walking beside him, there is a bounce to your step. ‘I remember that I like funny people,’ you announce, tossing him a playful smirk. ‘Maybe I will like looking at him as much as I like looking at you.’

Jealousy tightens itself around his ribs, the selfish desire for him to be the only thing that brings you pleasure rising in his throat like bile. It is an entirely new experience for him, the notion of love that one must remember its fragility, the sacredness of a lover's admiration more divine than the gods. Already, every breath he takes is heavy with you, body and soul hypnotized by your existence, and, in the effort of appearing aloof and affable, he grits his teeth through a humorless laugh.

‘Better not,’ he teases, though the jovial nature of it is almost nonexistent. As soon as he says it, he becomes upset with himself, the statement alone so preposterous and out of his character he shivers to shake the sound of it off his skin.

You, however, do not seem to notice, nudging into his shoulder once more as you continue on the journey.

Jaebeom has not seen the entirety of Isle Indolon, his ability to travel limited by his small income and the availability of everything he needs being centered to the town. However, he has never truly felt the need to explore, their small city of Sunridge Keep the capital of the island and therefore so full and bustling with activity he finds it impossible to muster the desire to leave. Orange red brick buildings decorated with limestone columns line the road, the gravel and dirt of the path turning into smooth cobblestone, warmed by the light of the blazing sun. 

Hissing slightly as your toes touch the warm stones, you pull your foot back in surprise, only to place it back down with careful movements, mind racing once more as you take tentative steps forward. Immediately, your eyes are everywhere, touching everything all at once. You are hungry for absolutely everything, reading names of shops, studying faces of strangers as they pass, watching the florist hand out daffodils from her wicker basket as though nothing has ever been so marvelous. The bread maker offers you a warm sticky bun, and you look instead to the man’s face, not to the pastry held in his large palm, studying him as though his name might arrive on your tongue.

Jaebeom guides you away, offering the vendor a dismissive wave of his hand, only to find your eyes latched onto something else. He grows light headed watching the trajectory of your focus, your wild discontent and ravenous hunger gnawing you into a frenzied state of almost savage inquisitiveness. There is not a single thing your gaze does not touch, and occasionally you stop in front of shop windows to look in, eyes searching ever deeper for something familiar. 

The center of town always smells the sweetest to Jaebeom, and so he leads you in this direction, hoping that the star shaped expanse and its wide angles will ease some of your tension. Childishly, he plans to acquire some roasted chestnuts, certain their candied deliciousness will provide you comfort even if it does not inspire remembrance. The throng of people eases as he approaches town center, the citadel bell chiming the late early hour, and you pause, looking up into the sky in awe. He’d always loved the bell tower - even if he did not trust the missionaries, even if he made himself believe it was deception that lurked behind their irises and not concern, he always appreciated their music. 

Leading you to the large fountain directly in the center of the star, he settles on the warm marble and gestures for you to sit beside him. The rushing water calms his erratic heartbeat, and, yet again, with his eyes closed he can pretend he is small, little more than a boy who belongs completely to himself and to his mother, the whim of his will the only thing that stirs his reason.

‘We have a bit of time to rest here,’ he says, leaning back and closing his eyes as the sun cascades over his skin. It warms him from within, the magic of his childhood returning on the breadth of a sunbeam. ‘I always like to sit here a while before I run my errands. One can never deny music, can they?’

Jaebeom awaits your response, what feels like his very spirit existing in anticipation of you. But when it does not come, his skin begins to tighten amidst another wave of unease, and he opens his eyes to find you have retreated so far within yourself the shock of it lives on your features.

Hands in your lap, your back is rigid and straight, gaze flicking between the citadel tower and the people mingling at its base - up and down and back again, rushing between each as though you will never have your fill, teeth chewing at the inside of your cheek. Your fingernails pick at your skin before pressing crescent shapes into your palms, adrenaline putting you in a state of anxiety so severe he finds he, too, is sitting up straight and watching the crowd for familiar faces.

‘Do you recognize something?’ It takes work to keep his voice calm and soothing, doing his best not to startle you.

‘There’s something wrong with this,’ is all you whisper, and Jaebeom scours the crowd for a sign of injury, panic, even an out of place cart, but he comes up empty, finding nothing untoward in the surroundings.

Once more, he studies every face that passes, every horse drawn carriage that moves past, wondering which of these is the culprit for your turmoil. It is only when your hand moves to his thigh, gripping tightly enough he comes to see your grip as a vice, that he notices what it is that has you so undone. 

At the base of the citadel, the crowd has started to dissipate, the smiling faces of mothers and their children departing after receiving their blessings. A group of four missionaries stands, handing out pamphlets and greeting passerby with neutral, unreadable expressions. Their royal blue cloaks catch the late morning sun, the velvet of the fabric gleaming in all their expensive glory, putting cerulean shadows on the limestone behind them. In this way, they are glowing, ephemeral visions that at once are otherworldly and oppressive, the sort of power in their light that would bring one to their knees.

As always, he shivers at the sight of them, but your grip on his leg tightens and when he looks at you again you are murmuring to yourself and he feels his jaw go slack.

‘Murderers,’ you hiss, softly enough that only he can hear but you say the word over and over, voice rising in pitch until your voice dies altogether.

You watch them, unblinking and repulsed, the fear and loathing in you so great he sees you now as a mere apparition of the woman you once were. A great tremor has started to creep through your limbs, body rocking back and forth as though you are at sea, your center of gravity warped as you continue to look and look. 

Running his hand up and down your back in an effort to calm you, Jaebeom feels his own voice start to waver. ‘What is it?’ 

You say nothing, merely shake your head, unwilling to speak for fear that they may hear you. All his question manages to do is inspire another round of mumbling, calling them murderers only to yourself and only to Jaebeom, simply because he is close enough for your voice to reach. His eyes scour the crowd for a discreet way to remove you from the fountain, looking in the direction of Stefan’s practice only to drop to a disappointed frown. In front of the pathway, at his end of the star,a group of people have gathered to inspect a vendor of Veruvian silk.

‘Murderers,’ you say again, and this time it is loud enough that a young boy passing by hears your voice, his eyes widening in surprise. 

Jaebeom grimaces apologetically, waving the boy along as he pulls you into his side, holding you close. Even in his state of panic, his heart breaks that this should be the first time he holds to him, the first time you would be able to remember, the comfort his arms reduced to merely a time and a place, and not a feeling. The trembling in your muscles is palpable, tangible enough his hands feel as though they are gripping something monstrous, something absolute in its knowledge and power. In a single moment, you have become something Other, shaking against his ribs with enough violence he fears you may tear the marble of the fountain asunder. Your hand leaves his thigh and comes to grip your seat, fingers pressing against the stone until your knuckles turn white. 

He’s certain the missionaries must see you, certain this will turn into something holy and something wholly unwelcome, but they seem to pay you both no mind, their attention devoted instead to the good and to the whole.

And just when he thinks he may be able to ease words out of you, the noise of you reduced to slow, deep inhales between your parted lips and the shaking in your muscles coming abruptly to a halt, you bed over, eyes wide in shock, as you vomit sea water, seaweed, and, most horribly of all, blood at your feet.

Author’s Note: lord god, im telling you i thought this was going to be a very short story but here i am...all this with so much more to go. im just really in love with this world and actually really proud of it? ive never done anything like this and ive been in love with fisherman!jb ever since the dye preview pics came out. ive had this in my mind since i messaged @imdifferentshadesofpurple​ in may about it and im just so glad it lives. did i make an entire story out of that one promo pic and the oyster dress by alexander mcqueen? sure bet but you cannot blame me.

tag list: @red-exo​ @heatofmyexoheart​ @majci​ @yehet-me-up​ @lamichellee​ @ahgishaman​ @softly-savage-mint-yoongi​

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Thursday 24 December 1835

7 ¾

11 55

No kiss ready in an hour F29 ½° at 8 ¾ and very fine hard frosty morning - the sun attempting to peep out - breakfast at 8 50 - sat reading the article on Osler’s life of Lord Exmouth in the last Quarterly till 10 ½ - then out - till 12 -with Robert Mann at little field well finding the by-wash drain - turned the water out at the day - this drain that made the leakage in the Lower fishpond below the hollies - then in the farmyard and about till noon - then a little while with Marian while she mended 2 little tears in my pelisse - she said she had just sent home William Green on a litter - he had fallen off the hay in the barn and put his hip out - poor William! perhaps this last accident may hasten his end ------ while with Marian Mr. and Mrs. William Priestley sent compliments and inquiries after my aunt - answered compliments from the family - much obliged - Mrs. Lister rather better - then a few minutes with my aunt - she could not bear to speak nor to hear me longer than 2 or 3 minutes - I see no great amendment nor does she - the fluttering still continues - then out again for 10 minutes in the farmyard - and came to my desk at 1 10 and wrote the above of today - sent George off to H-x to pay bills - then wrote the latter ¼ p.3, and the ends and under the seal, and finished my letter to M- my not telling her of E. Raine’s return to Clifton was thro’ inadvertence ‘it was high time to put her under stronger control - Mr. Duffin has so little memory left, he is hardly responsible - but Mrs. Duffin will do the best she can to remember the circumstances about the will - But if her memory, too, fails her, it matters not much - Eliza may see me out, and, if not, I shall not trouble myself about her temporalities more than may seem fair and expedient at the time....... I am sorry your own family could think me capable of such unkindness as you hint at - at any rate, your brother knew better But the tribunal of your own heart must acquit me, and I am satisfied - my aunt is much the same today as yesterday - yet my hopes and

SH:7/ML/E/18/0150

fears alternate; and my apprehensions that she cannot continue very long, return upon me - ever, my dearest Mary, very affectionately and especially yours AL - my aunt desired me not to forget to give her kind love’ - had just written the above - folded my letter and went out again at 2 10 no went to Mr. Jubb - my aunt not quite so well today - Mr Jubb thinks her weaker - then out again in the farmyard - Mr. Bates of Sowerby Bridge came about the water wheel - I had by mistake written three ft diameter - corrected this and said the water would have to be lifted 90ft. - he wished to have Holt to meet on the ground the engineer he (Bates) would send - I begged he would do whatever he thought would help him best - he will let me have his specification and estimate next Monday week - then again in the farmyard till 3 50 when set off to meet A- on her return from the 2 Sunday schools from giving away buns and clothing - met her above Lidgate at 4 20 - home at 5 10 - I staid out about and walking on the terrace till 6 - dressed - dinner at 6 20 - coffee - sometime with my father and Marian - read the paper 1 10 hour with my aunt till 10 25 - rather better tonight - fine hard frosty day F27° now at 10 40p.m.