#*shakes them in a jar full of marbles*

[starrcrossrose]

“This Is A Bad Idea”

“I Don’t Care”

Uhh HAPPY VALENTINES DAY *throws guys kissing at you and runs away*

If you wanna see more of them I have a LOT on my Patreon. Uhhhh yeah bYE —

[engie-ivy]

(I'm on holiday visiting ancient Roman sites, so about time to post a fic for @wolfstarmicrofic 's Greek & Roman Mythology theme! Unfortunately, that I would be able to keep it short is also a myth...)

4th: Conquest

2263 words

For a simple farm-boy like Remus to end up with the legendarily handsome Prince Sirius of the House of Black of the city of Grimmauld, nothing less than devine intervention would be needed. Luckily for Remus, the gods like nothing more than to meddle in the affairs of mortals...

The Myth of Remus and Sirius

‘Please goddess, answer my call, please goddess, hear my plea.’ Remus repeats the words in his head over and over again, while sitting on his knees on the cold marble of the temple.

Suddenly, he hears a rustling of fabric, and the soft sound of gentle footsteps on the floor. He opens his eyes and lift his head, and despite expecting it, he’s still taken aback by the imposing sight in front of him.

A tall woman, taller than any other woman, taller than any man, taller than any mortal. Flowing silk fabrics draped across her body, but still revealing enough of her ivory skin and soft curves. Hair falling to her waist like woven threads of gold, framing a face with eyes the colour of the ocean and full, pink lips. The most beautiful woman in the world.

Aphrodite, the goddess of love.

“You called upon me?” She asks in a sweet voice as she strides across the marble stones of her own temple to stop in front of Remus.

Remus bows his head again, his forehead almost pressed against the marble. “Yes, my goddess. You must- I mean, I humbly ask you to, no, beg you to please undo the gift you have given me.”

When he dares to look up, Aphrodite has pressed her lips into a thin line. “You were given a gift by an Olympian, and you reject it?”

Remus hands tremble. Insulting one of the gods has never ended well for any mortal, and this might very well mean his death. Or worse.

A week ago, an old woman showed up at the house where Remus and his parents live as simple farmers. She had eyes sunken into her wrinkled face, warts in her neck and on her hands, dirty fingernails and hair like cobwebs. Remus had made her a hot bath, cooked her a meal, and let her sleep in his own bed. The next morning, she revealed herself to be the goddess Aphrodite in disguise, wandering through the mortal world to test the people’s xenia, their hospitality. And for Remus’ great show of hospitality, she had promised to reward him with a gift.

“It’s not that I am ungrateful, my goddess. It was a great honour to receive an Olympian on my doorstep,” Remus carries on, knowing that he can’t back down now. “You were great and good to bestow such a gift upon me,-”

“I know it is what you desired!” Aphrodite interrupts. “I could hear it in your thoughts and see it own your face.” She lifts her chin and tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Do you think I do not know my own field of expertise?”

Remus vehemently shakes his head. “No, no, no. You were right. It is what I desired. Just... not like this.”

Remus comes from a family of simple farmers, but they are not without a claim to fame. With the bee hives and flower fields behind their simple farm house, the Lupins known across the land to produce the highest quality of honey. So much so, that generations ago, King Phineas Black made them the personal supplier of the royal family of the city of Grimmauld. Befriended kings and queens, rich noblemen, travelling heroes, all are hoping to be gifted a jar of Grimmauld’s famous honey when visiting the city.

Each week, Remus’ father would ride his carriage to Grimmauld to personally offer their finest selection to King Orion and Queen Walburga. And when Lyall got to old to make the weekly trip, Remus took over from his father.

His first time in the palace, Remus kneeled in front of the throne with his tray filled with jars of honey, when soft footsteps approached. Someone reached out and took a jar from the tray. “So, for honey to be the best it must have the exact same shade of gold as your eyes,” a rich voice spoke.

When Remus looked up, his breath caught. A young man wearing a perfectly fitted, silk toga was holding one of the honey jars and smiling down at Remus with a soft, warm smile. He was slender, with a narrow waist and a face that seemed to be carved out of marble, with delicate features from an uncanny perfection, but the bright liveliness in his silver-grey eyes showed that he was very much not a statue. His ivory skin and light eyes contrasted beautifully with his long, raven black hair, which was now held back by silver pins embroidered with small, delicate diamonds that perfectly matched the colour of his eyes.

Remus immediately knew he was gone for. He also knew he was far from the first man, nor would he be the last, to be captivated by Prince Sirius of the House of Black.

Prince Sirius is widely known to be the most beautiful man in the world. Stories are told about his beauty far and wide, and none of those stories have been exaggerated. Besides kings, queens, princes and princesses pursuing him, even the gods desire him. Apollo has come down from mount Olympus several times to watch the man or even strike up a brief conversation with him, and it is said that even the highest god Zeus has let his eye fall on Sirius, and everyone knows that when the gods want something, they do not patiently wait for it, or bother with permission for that matter. Therefore, it is assumed that Prince Sirius will very soon be the next conquest of one of the gods.

His parents are practically salivating at the thought. After all, when young Ganymede was abducted by Zeus, his parents received divine compensation, the prized horses gifted to King Tros by the highest god himself being admired and envied all over the world, and Sirius is surely as beautiful as Ganymede, maybe even more so. And even if the gods will eventually lose interest in their son, there are still incredibly rich kings who will gladly offer a large portion of their wealth to have Prince Sirius with his legendary beauty at their side. Besides, King Orion and Queen Walburga have a second son for their succession, so that they’re free to exploit Sirius for his beauty.

Every time Remus visited the city, Sirius made time to talk to him, and when Remus found out he was not only beautiful, but also clever and witty and good-hearted, he had completely fallen for the young prince. Completely fallen, while knowing it was completely hopeless.

Until just days after meeting the goddess Aphrodite, Remus heard a frantic knocking. He opened the door and did a double take. The young man’s hair was not neatly styled as usual, instead pulled up in a messy bun with strands falling over his eyes, and his fine clothes looked slightly dishevelled, but unmistakably, Prince Sirius was standing before him.

Before Remus could do more than gasp, Sirius spoke. “Remus, please forgive me my intrusion, but I cannot bear to deny my feelings any longer. I long to be with you! I do not want riches, or titles, or crowns, or even a life among the gods. I just want you! My heart has chosen you, and I refuse to listen to my fears instead of my heart any longer.”

Sirius let himself fall into Remus’ arms, and for a moment, Remus’ heart leapt with joy, but then it was like an ice-cold hand had closed its grip around it as Remus realised what had happened.

Aphrodite’s ‘gift’.

She had given Remus what he desired, but she had not realised Remus did not want to have what he desired if it had to be like this.

Remus told Sirius he was tired and needed to rest. He convinced him to get some sleep, and promised they’d have a conversation in the morning when his mind would be clear.

As soon as Sirius was asleep in Remus’ bed, Remus had rushed to the temple of Aphrodite.

Aphrodite purses her lips and crosses her arms beneath her breasts. “How do you mean ‘not like this’?”

“Not if he didn’t get to choose,” Remus explains pleadingly. “Not if he was used as a tool to do me a favour.”

Aphrodite elegantly arches an eyebrow. “I present you with the most handsome man in the world, a rich, young prince, yours for the taking, and you would refuse?”

Remus only nods.

“Why?”

“Because I love him,” Remus simply states. “I would never want to strip him of his free will, or place my happiness above his.”

Aphrodite stares at him for a moment, and Remus wonders if he has insulted her, if these are his last moments before she changes him into a tree or an insect, or simply burns him to ashes.

But then a small smile appears on the goddess’ face. “For so long, I’ve dealt with people confusing attraction, desire or advantages with love, and it’s a balm to my soul to see pure love, like their is between you and Sirius.”

“I... I don’t understand.”

“You have misunderstood the nature of my gift, my sweet Remus. Allow me to explain.” Aphrodite is smiling indulgently at him now. “You must know that King Orion and Queen Walburga were hoping their son’s beauty would bring them opportunity, and that him having eyes for a simple farm-boy was unacceptable to them. They had threatened that an ill fate would befall you if Sirius were to seek your affections. I have made it clear to them that an even more ill fate would befall them if you or your family would suffer any harm, and you know you must never underestimate just how... inventive us Olympians can be when we really want to punish mortals.”

Remus had not thought such a beautiful face could wear such a dark look, and he shudders, images of Prometheus chained while waiting for the eagles to come eat his liver, Tantalus desperately reaching for the fruits and the water just outside his reach, Sisyphus fruitlessly rolling his stone up to hill coming to mind.

“Also,” Aphrodite continues, her face back to its normal expression. “I made it clear to both Zeus and Apollo to let the boy be. They will listen, because they know better than to cross me.” A pleased little smile. “Those two won’t risk having to live the rest of their immortal lives without ever experiencing a mortal’s love.”

“That’s... wonderful,” Remus says, struggling to find words. “And I am much obliged to you for your kindness. But I still don’t understand. How come Sirius...”

“Regarding Prince Sirius,” Aphrodite says, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “My work there consisted of telling him he had nothing to fear from his family or scorned gods anymore. And that’s it.”

“But... But...”

Aphrodite now laughs out loud. “He loved you already, Remus. He was afraid that his parents with their greed or gods unable to handle rejection would harm you if he were to act on those feelings. The moment I made clear he needn’t worry about them anymore, he came to you.”

Remus lets out a breath. “I.. I can hardly believe it.” He laughs shakily, happiness starting to blossom in his chest. “Did you know from the start my feelings were reciprocated?”

“Is there anything concerning love that I do not know?” Then the goddess shrugs. “It may not have entirely been a coincidence I showed up in disguise on your doorstep. Perhaps I had seen the way you and Prince Sirius looked at each other, and I was looking for an excuse to meddle.”

“Thank you,” Remus manages to say. “Thank you, great goddess. I can never repay you for such a gift.”

Aphrodite looks at him with a twinkle in her eyes. “Just continue to prove to me pure love exists, so I can look upon you whenever I need that belief reinforced.”

When Remus returns home, Sirius is sitting on his doorstep with his knees tucked against his chest, worrying his lips between his teeth. The moment he sees Remus approach, he pushes up to his feet and brushes the dirt from his tunic. “I have completely misread the situation, haven’t I?”

“No, Sirius,” Remus says. “No, you haven’t.”

Sirius shakes his head. “I poured my heart out to you. You told me to go to sleep and disappeared.”

“By Zeus, Sirius, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Sirius gives him a sad smile. “It’s okay. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have assumed. I just thought... When you looked at me I thought I saw...”

“What you saw was there!” Remus exclaims. “Sirius, I will explain. Only some days ago, I somehow gained the favour of the goddess Aphrodite, and she promised me a reward of some sort. So when you showed up here, I thought she had looked into my heart and seen only you, and that the feelings of which you spoke weren’t your own, but a spell she had cast on you in order to please me. That you weren’t here of your own choosing.”

Sirius blinks at him, and then shakes his head, stepping forward and placing his hand gently on Remus’ cheek. Remus briefly wonders if he’s dreaming, but Sirius looks so beautiful, Remus wouldn’t have been able to dream up such a vision.

“Remus,” Sirius speaks. “Let me reassure you. I have loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you.”

[weavingstarlight]

With Everything You Have

Read on AO3

For the @legendoflinkficfight and @silverne-nonsense Prompt: “Keep your eyes on me. You’re gonna be okay, just don’t look away. Don’t. Look. Away.”

Hyrule has been captured. The Chain fights their hardest to save him.

Tags: Blood and Injury, Ambiguous/Open Ending (in more than one way)

Author's Note: "The Consequence Of Imagination Is Fear" -- Junie & TheHutFriends

***

The cavern’s vaulting ceiling shakes with the sounds of ferocious battle, heady and rough, rattling the very stones like marbles in a jar.

Warriors launches himself into the crowd of monsters with a twisting lunge, carving a bloody path through the bokoblins and stalfos and lizardfolk and other creatures he can’t even identify — but like flies swarming a corpse, more monsters flood into the cleared space, crawling over fallen bodies stained with black blood.

Beside him, Time is shouting orders to the younger ones — getting Wind to dash around the outside wall of the cavern, hoping to cut off at least one passageway through which enemy reinforcements are disgorged; sending Four (and Four and Four and Four) to guard Wild while the archer picks off flying enemies; calling Twilight to watch Sky’s back as the wielder of the Master Sword plunges into the fray, piercing through the crowd like a lance, his focus solely on his target and not at all on the monsters closing in behind him. Legend, wild-eyed and unbiddable, surges forward like a hurricane, magic flying from him like embers as he tries to dance his way past the horde and reach the other side.

Upon a high ledge overlooking the cavern, tucked against the far wall, on the opposite side of the prowling mob of monsters, their captured Traveler dangles on display.

Hyrule hangs by his wrists in the center of a large wooden frame, his bare feet scarcely touching the rough stone below. Just beyond his toes lies a deep depression in the rock, gouged out of the granite by talons and filled halfway with stinking, sooty ashes. Long chains stretch through iron rings at the corners of the frame, and the chains are pinned to a distant anchor point — Hyrule can’t reach them to free himself.

The whole frame apparatus reminds the Captain uneasily of the gallows upon which traitors and deserters had been executed during the War.

Hyrule isn’t waiting quietly for rescue. The moment the Chain bursts into the chamber, weapons out and war cries on their lips, the young hero turns his own defiance on his captors. He kicks and twists in his bonds, shouting at the moblins and geru that leer around him. Those leers turn quickly into guttural shrieks when lightning blazes across a full quarter of the chamber, a maelstrom centered on the Traveler.

When Wars finishes blinking the spots from his vision, Hyrule is alone on the ledge. The boy is panting hard, fists clenched and knuckles white. Around him only smoke remains of his captors.

Warriors can see there are two side passages, one on either side of the ledge, leading back into shadowed corridors that worm their way into the mountainside. Based on the twisting route the Chain had taken to get here in the first place, he anticipates those trails to be equally convoluted and full of monsters.

Down on the floor of the chamber, the Chain struggles to reach the far side. The chattering monsters swell around them, their forces billowing like seafoam, pushing them closer together — and farther from Hyrule. Warriors plants his feet and braces against the tide.

Time knocks shoulders with him as the mob compresses them. “Clear a path!” the older man demands, and Wars is oh so ready to comply.

The power of the Light cloaks him in its warmth, sublime as sunlight on his skin, filling his lungs with ambrosic aether.

“Men, on me!” Warriors calls, a clarion summons pulled from his breast without thought.

He doesn’t look back to see who follows. Wars trusts Wind, at least, to arrive at his side, and the others will fall in or not.

He dives forward with hands and sword aglow, and the enemy ranks part before him like ants washed away in a flood.

With blade and blood Warriors clears a trail towards the center of the cavern, where Sky and Twilight are working in tandem to fell a colossal hinox. Legend and Time use the opening Wars creates to join their brothers in taking down the titan.

“Hyrule!” Wind bellows, his voice cutting through the clamor as readily as it would ring out over a storm-tossed ship. “We’re almost there!”

There is a resounding crash as the hinox’s bulk impacts against the stone floor. In the momentary calm that follows, Warriors again looks up at the ledge. 

Hyrule is trembling from head to toe. Fatigue is taking hold of his limbs as the strain of holding his own weight by his wrists sets in. But Wars is certain that not all of Hyrule’s shaking is from tiredness alone.

Others might see only Hyrule’s courage, but Warriors can sense his fear.

“Can anyone hookshot up there?” Time asks, his eye roving over the rough rocks piled up under the ledge.

“Even better!” Legend proclaims, drawing a blue hookshot out of his bag. “I can switch with him! Let me —”

Legend fires the item with a hissing sound like a kettle releasing steam.

A magic barrier slams into place with no sound, but a feeling that reverberates in their hearts like a cell door slamming shut.

Instead of striking its target, the metal clamp crashes into the unseen wall at the edge of the cliff with a bang . Foiled, the clamp drops to the ground dozens of feet below, clattering on the rough stone.

Keh heh heh heh

“Wizzrobe above!” Legend shouts as he recoils the hookshot. At the same time, Warriors registers the distinctively musical sound of the creature’s footsteps — like dripping water echoing inside a crystal bell.

The wizzrobe appears out of thin air in a shower of sparkles. Its hideous fanged grin is fixed on the Chain below, the color of moonlight shining through clouds.

“It’s the source of the barrier!” Time confirms, but Wars is already calling orders.

“Wild, take it down!”

“He can’t!” Blue yells back, followed by a harsh hiss from Wild. The Champion’s right arm hangs limp and bloody, a daira’s heavy, red-painted axe on the ground beside him. Regardless of what Wild wishes, he won’t be firing any more arrows without healing first.

The wizzrobe twirls merrily in the air and vanishes, more sparkles the only sign of its location. Those ringing footsteps echo in Wars’ ears — moving away.

“It’s getting away!” cries Twilight.

“After it!” Time shouts. “Twilight, Sky, bring it down!”

Twilight and Sky charge after the escaping wizzrobe, chainmail clinking in time with their retreating footsteps. They follow it into one of the left-hand side passages, ignoring the enemies that try to block their way. The others do their best to divert the foes that mass in that direction, serving as distractions at the very least.

Sky pulls out his whip as he runs, Twilight his clawshots. Both disappear into the darkness, the sounds of their pursuit lost amid the roars of another wave of monsters pouring into the cavern.

And on the ledge above, the side passages are suddenly alive with howls as monsters tumble out, eyes and fangs and claws all trained on Hyrule.

Warriors’ heart leaps into his throat as a moaning ReDead lunges for the trapped Traveler, who twists and fights his bonds but can’t escape. The ashes at his feet puff up from the monster’s passage.

A flare of red light, the color of metal heated in a forge, flashes and then ebbs to a low glow around Hyrule’s body. The ReDead’s claws impact the glow like it’s a solid thing and skitter along the surface an inch from Hyrule’s flesh.

Hyrule is panting, sweat beading on his forehead, but his eyes are fiery beneath his messy bangs.

His Shield spell holds.

Wars is distracted from his brother’s struggle by a pair of fat moblins charging him, and while he turns to engage them, he bumps into Wind, who is escaping from a dinolfos’ fire breath. Green has joined the melee in the center of the chamber, and Vio has taken over as an archer in place of Wild, but the Chain is still struggling to hold their ground…

“We’re coming, Hyrule!” Warriors calls, his voice nearly cracking as he strains to be heard over the din. “Twilight and Sky are coming for you! Just hold on!”

A sharp nod and Warriors knows he’d been heard. Hyrule continues struggling against the chains, baring his teeth in rebellion against the monsters that cavort around him.

Legend grabs Green’s shoulder and yanks him sideways. “Come on!” he snarls. “We’re finding another way up!”

Green gives a quick affirmation, and the two of them are off, heading towards the passages that twist off the right-hand side of the cavern.

Wind is sticking to Wars’ side like a burr, refusing to let the horde separate them. Together they fight their way to stand at the foot of the rock pile that leads, roughly and precariously, up to Hyrule’s restraints.

“Maybe I can climb it?” Wind asks dubiously, eyeing the canted surface as though he can dissect it with his stare.

Wars glances back — the others are busy keeping the enemies on the ground level from overwhelming the rest of the Chain. Time is using his greatsword to devastating effect, and Red has joined him with Fire Rod in hand. Blue has Wild and Vio tucked up against the far wall, using his huge hammer to defend the both of them while Vio administers first aid to Wild’s arm.

“Try,” Wars urges Wind, “I’ll cover you.”

Wind sheathes his sword and launches himself at the unsteady pile of stones without hesitation.

Wars plants himself at the bottom of the slope and finds himself fending off all manner of beasts — bokoblins, wolfos, chus — he starts losing track of the enemy types, only enough attention left to realize that he needs to prioritize the enemies with ranged attacks because Wind’s back is totally exposed and this was a bad idea — 

It’s maybe forty feet vertically to reach the ledge. Wind has gone less than fifteen when the flying monsters decide he makes a lovely target.

The Sailor’s cry of frustration rings out as he falls — not badly wounded, not yet, he half-jumps-half-slides back to solid ground, his face red and skin scratched. Wars steadies Wind with his shield arm as he tumbles down.

“I can make it!” Wind insists, ready to try again, but Wars is looking at the aeralfos and aches and knows he can’t.

“Twilight and Sky —”

They hurry back to a point where they can see Hyrule clearly.

The monsters are banging on Hyrule’s Shield, making him flinch as they come within inches of his face. His expression flickers each time he startles.

“Don’t let your Shield down!” Warriors yells.

“Wars, I can’t —” Another flinch. “ — I’m running out of magic!”

“Don’t drop the Shield,” Wars insists. “We’re coming, Hyrule! Twilight, Sky — they’ll make it, I promise they’ll be there soon. Just hold on.”

“We’ll hold the entrances! The rest, stay with Hyrule!” shouts Time, and he and Red split up, one to the left and one to the right.

Wars bites his lip. With only narrow passages to control, they’ll have a terrain advantage, but they’ll lack support — and if anything goes wrong, the rest of the Chain won’t know until it’s too late.

The horde has thinned, though, and Wars takes the opportunity to thin it further. The Light he called earlier is quick to reignite, scalding him with its purity. He sweeps his sword, and his foes fall by the handful, pierced by holy power.

“Wars!” Wind calls, a hint of desperation in his voice, and Wars’ eyes snap to him — but the Sailor isn’t in trouble.

Hyrule is.

The monsters have given up trying to break through the Shield by force and instead are lurking around the edges, testing the limits of Hyrule’s endurance. Little creatures climb around and on top of him, their weight pressing him down until he cries out from the pain in his wrists. Some of the smarter ones are coordinating their attacks, waiting until Hyrule is distracted to all launch themselves at him together.

Through it all, Hyrule is burning himself out to power the glowing Shield that protects him.

And Warriors can do nothing to reach his brother faster.

The invisible barrier around the ledge still hums in their minds. The wizzrobe still lives.

Gradually, the battle around Warriors grinds to a halt as Time and Red stem the tide of enemies. He still hears them fighting out of sight, somewhere in the echoing depths of the mountain — distance and direction nearly impossible to determine in the dark.

So Wars… stops fighting. He leaves the cleanup to Blue and Wind, and finds himself below Hyrule’s ledge again, staring up in dismay.

Hyrule is out of breath, his chest heaving. He hangs from his wrists like a limp marionette, every now and then summoning the energy to push and pull himself higher, his feet slipping on the stone floor. His knees tremble. His green eyes glitter beneath half-closed lids. Monsters crawl around and over him, prying at his Shield. 

There’s only one thing left Warriors can think to do for Hyrule.

“You’ve got this,” he hears himself saying — too quietly, far too quietly for Hyrule to hear. He clears his throat and tries again.

“You can do it!” he calls louder. “Just a little longer, Hyrule. We’re almost there.”

A grunt from above is his only answer. But that’s enough to know Hyrule is listening.

Wind snags Wars’ hand and squeezes it. The Captain doesn’t even look at him. He has no comfort, no consolation left to give to anyone but Hyrule.

“Keep your Shield up, Hyrule,” Wars begs. “Don’t let them through.”

“Wars —” Hyrule pants, gulping for air. “My blood — They can’t —”

“I know, I know,” Warriors soothes. He does know. “They won’t get it, not one drop. We’ll save you.”

“I — I can’t…” To Wars’ horror, there are tears glittering on Hyrule’s lashes.

The red light surrounding Hyrule gutters like a failing candle. It flares up for the barest moment, igniting a temporary hope — and then it falters, doused.

Hyrule screams — his voice filled with frustration and fear and still, still defiant to the last.

The little monsters climbing on his body joyfully screech as they dig their claws and teeth into Hyrule’s skin.

The larger ones lunge forward with triumphant roars and Wars can only watch as — 

The Shield flares to life again — a weak, paltry thing, sickly red, its light tainted with a pale gray tint.

The Traveler makes a choking sound and grits his teeth.

A lizalfos crawls up to Hyrule languidly, stroking the Shield with its claws as though curious. The Shield bends and flexes with the touch, and those claws nearly come to rest against Hyrule’s throat.

It goes down with Vio’s arrows in its skull, vanishing in a cloud of acrid smoke at Hyrule’s feet.

Warriors can hear Vio demanding more ammunition in the background, but he knows how low their stores are. Even with all of the remaining Chain shooting, they won’t be able to take down every monster that approaches Hyrule.

“Hyrule, look at me,” the Captain beseeches. Hyrule’s eyelids flicker up. Exhaustion and pain turn his expression sunken and sallow.

There is a great clatter and tumult in the side passages, and Wars feels his heart leap in his chest, soaring —

It’s not his brothers, it’s a flood of monstrous reinforcements. Hyrule twists in his bonds, trying to see what’s behind him — 

“Don’t!” Warriors shouts, and Hyrule’s wide eyes snap back to him.

“Don’t,” he repeats much quieter. “Just keep watching me. Don’t look back, don’t turn around.”

“Wars,” Wind breathes beside him. Warriors hushes him with a hand on his arm.

Whatever Wind needs to say, it can wait.

All that matters right now is Hyrule.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Wars says sternly to Hyrule, but with as much kindness as he can muster.

His brother deserves every shred of kindness he can amass.

Hyrule doesn’t speak, just takes a deep, shuddering breath and locks gazes with Warriors. The intensity of his stare burns into Warriors’ soul, withering him beneath its heat.

There is no doubt in Hyrule’s eyes, not an instant’s hesitation. He is putting his trust in Warriors’ words.

But who is Warriors to evoke such faith?

Warriors swallows, his throat suddenly very dry, and speaks up again. “You’re gonna be okay,” he promises, “just don’t look away.”

He ignores everything else in the chamber, every sound and movement. Nothing exists in this moment but Wars and Hyrule and the space between them, gaping like an open wound.

Nothing matters but his brother, and so Warriors gives Hyrule every ounce of his attention.

“Don’t.”

Wars’ palms are sweating under his gloves.

“Look.”

Hyrule is shaking hard, but his gaze is steady.

“Away.”

At the last second, Warriors feels a flash of doubt. Has he done the right thing?

Forgive me, Hyrule —

It is not an expression of fear or pain, but surprise that freezes on Hyrule’s face as a geru’s spear pierces his heart.

Notes:

@not-freyja said something recently that I found very moving: "There is dignity in fighting a losing battle well."

[murdermepeacefully]

Billy Lenz Headcanons

Working on my first Dead Dove fic ever, and figured I'd do some headcanons for the lovely canon character in it~ Most of them ended up on the spicy side, so....sorry about that!

As before, these are of course my own personal opinion, but feel free to reblog, add onto them, ask questions about them, or add them to the ones you accept yourself! I absolutely love hearing from others on their thoughts.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Things based on the movies: Note: While I know the movies do not all feature the same Billy, I do pull from the 1974 film as well for some of these.

Definitely has a thing for eyes in general. [Think imagery, eye contact, etc. Tends to notice someone's eyes before anything else]

Collects false eyes due to this. [Especially antique ones or ones with unique designs.]

Not a huge fan of Christmas time, but can still enjoy some parts. Definitely likes the lights, cookies, candy, and Santa Claus parts, but not the tree or gift giving parts.

Doesn't stay in childhood home, but instead moves to random houses. Can end up in non-sorority houses as a result.

Prefers the attic wherever he ends up, but absolutely finds a way to sneak around the entire house.

Tends to go for older houses so any creaking from him moving through the house can be excused as just 'the house settling'

Things based on Fandom content and interaction:

Keeps his collection of fake eyes in a jar and shakes it like marbles, but will sort them by color, style, or other categorization method if he wants to just focus on something for a while. [Thanks to @fingersinmyhair for this one! 💕]

Carries one in his pocket if he goes out as a comfort item.

Wears PJs/PJ-Adjacent clothing a lot. [Think sweat pants and oversized sweaters/sweatshirts]

Random Just Because Ones:

Very much likes drinking in the scent of those he's infatuated with/curious about.

Likes to steal little things from them to put in his hideaway.

Spicy ones 🌶️🔞

He absolutely loves biting/licking/drinking the blood of partners, during sex or not.

He will lick the bite if you show signs of it hurting, as if in apology.

He gets turned on by being the one in control/on top.

If you're fucking you best believe he's fucking you hard, pulling your hair to arch your head to the side so he has access to your neck and shoulders for biting and leaving marks.

Likes pulling his partner's hair in general tbh

ABSOLUTELY would give you a necklace of bite marks along your collarbone

Will mastrubate using your clothes if he can get away with it [Prefers shirts/dresses/etc to underwear, however, so he can imagine he's fucking you while you wear it.]

If there is an anti-breeding kink, he has it.

He does not like being on the bottom, but on the off chance that he is, it's a much softer, sweeter sort of fucking. Lots of gentle reassurances and kisses and the like, more nibbling than full on biting. Likely works out a signal for his partner, be it a word or a gesture, for when he wants to top and start speeding things up.

Hardcore into sexting/phone sex, but absolutely expect him to jerk off while on the phone with you or send video of him doing it.

Would absolutely get one of those O ring gags that force the wearer to have their mouth open, especially if their partner is a drooling, whimpering mess while wearing it.

[nicknackpattyjack]

I often find myself imagining a future unpromised.

I live in a house and I don’t have to worry about money. The walls are decorated in floral papers and colorful paints, the floors are wood, the sinks are tile, there is art around every corner. The only light shines in from windows that are stained, the rooms glow with color from the soft curtains, and lamps that are gentle and warm. Herbs grow in the kitchen from mason jars and reused bottles. A long, fleecy couch and soft chairs are in the living room. Wooden shelves are full of nicknacks, photos, and worn books. There is an old piano, slightly out of tune, with crinkled sheet music ready to be played and listened to. Theres a sunroom with sunlight pouring in and potted plants laid on terracotta plates. There is a birdcage next to a chair, a book is doggy eared on the table next to it, newspaper is under the birdcage and a candle is lit. Everything is loved, the stairwells gloss is fading with the hands that have touched it. House plants are in every corner, and the front yard and backyard are big. They greet you as you leave the house, flowers waving at our star.

The front yard has an old tree with a rope swing and a brick mailbox. The backyard has a large garden full of vegetables and fruits: the wooden trellises provide shade, and grapes and tomatoes grow from them. Birdbaths are dirty from the flights and birdseed falls from the feeders—who cares if the squirrels shake it out. The fences are painted and carved, marbles are poked in the holes display colors the sky only produces at dusk and dawn, but even more vibrant. A path of smooth stones meant to be hopped across lead you to a picnic table and umbrella. A water pump had a hose attached and the sprinkler is going. The kitchen is stocked with old serving dishes—great grandparents teasets and plates. An assortment of mugs and boxes of tea are stashed in a cupboard. The smell of broth boiling fills the vents, the oven is warm, the fridge is full, the pantry is large, the dish wrack is drying. A dog bed is next to the dining table and the cat perch is by the stairs. There’s friendly pitterpatters skittering across the floor, in and out of rooms, and they love me as much as I love them, forgivingly. The bathrooms have prismatic tile floors and blurry, stained glass windows. The walls are a deep blue, maybe, or a color that compliments the door frame or shower. The mirror is large with a decorated frame and covered in sticky notes with loving remarks. All of the soap bottles are full. The magnesium salt is stocked and various candles are next to the tub. There’s plenty of toilet paper and toothpaste, and whatever hygiene products are needed. There’s plenty of lotion and cologne and perfume. The first aid kit is in the cabinet under the sink. Plenty of rubbing alcohol for any scrap and enough bandaids to stop any wound. Our skin is clear and we don’t worry about smile wrinkles, we laugh and cry freely. There’s medicine for any occasion just in case we catch the flu or cold or can’t sleep.

I wonder who I am. I wonder if I’ve grown more loving, more gentle, I wonder if Im funnier, or smarter, or more lovable. I I wonder what I’ve accomplished. I wonder if I’ve written any children’s books; I wonder if I started a community garden; I wonder if I became a landscape designer; I wonder if I became a children’s cartoon animator; I wonder if Im a soil and nutrient manager; I wonder if I became a copy editor; I wonder if I became a technical writer; I wonder if Im still in school. I wonder if Im sick. I wonder if Ive gotten better. I wonder if Ive grown into more mature features. I wonder if I am stronger. Friends come over every weekend and they lounge about. I bake them their favorite desserts. I fix them their favorite drinks. I hear their heartbreaks and I celebrate their achievements. They teach me things Ive never considered, I record the funniest moments. We play boardgames, we bond over movies, we take turns with the controllers. I offer a warm bed, they oblige, and I see them out in the evening after, wishing them safe travels and promises to see them again soon.

The linen closet is full of homemade quilts, pillows, and dryer sheets. It smells like a home: comforting and welcoming. The person I love the most is in our room, and they know I love them the most, and maybe they love me the most. The dressers and closet are full of clothes and accessories of what’s desired most. Care expressed through the mended fabrics. And we look great, but we don’t care if we don’t anyway. The bed sheets are messy from well slept nights. The record player sings tunes. I wonder if we are dancing—footwork on carpeted floor. The curtains swaying and following. The plants turn to the setting sun. Everything is loved, everything is warm, everything is growing and breathing, and nothing is scary, and if it is, then we are the bravest out there.

And that’s not even a fraction of what I’ve imagine. But how can I be so hopeful? How can I think of this now? So detailed, this empty promise in my head, a life I may never have, and I’m scared no one will be there with me. And what if that’s not enough? What if I’m not happy? What if I’m not loved?

[solar-sunnyside-up]

hiiii i figured you were the best blog to ask about this: is there anythjng i can do with a bunch of chopped up lime peels ??? i dont have a composting bin (yet) and it feels really wrong to just throw then away

Yeah I gotcha! Here's a few things you could do:

Homemade cleaner- Make your own simple surface cleaner with only vinegar, water, and lime. As you accumulate leftover rinds, store them in a jar in the refrigerator filled with vinegar. Let the mixture sit for at least two weeks once it’s full of rinds, shaking it daily. Remove the rinds and strain the infused vinegar to take out any stray particles. Pour the solution directly into a spray bottle, or create a 1:1 ratio mixture with water for a less potent cleaner. Use the spray to clean greasy kitchen counters, bathroom surfaces, etc., but take care to avoid using on marble or stone, as the acidity in the lemons can cause damage.

While this surface cleaner can be used to clean out the inside of a microwave, for a more immediate solution, fill a bowl with water and peels and microwave for about 5 minutes, or until the water is boiling. Allow the steam to fill the microwave for a few minutes before opening the door and wiping down the surfaces with a cloths

Make an essential oil - allow the peels to dry for a few hours, cut into small pieces (or grind them into a dry paste in a food processor, if you have one), and place in a jar with vodka. Shake the jar a few times a day for at least three days before straining the liquid, then leave the jaw uncovered to allow the alcohol to evaporate, which should take roughly 12 hours.

Making zest sugar- For every 1 Tbsp. of zest, use 1 cup of sugar. Simply mix the two ingredients in a bowl and massage with your hands until completely combined and the oil is released from the zest, creating that wet-sand-like texture you’re looking for. I use this in shortbread recipes and in tea as a sweetener!

There's a few ideas! But if you wanna do more of your own research, lime peels can be used for almost anything lemon or orange can!

[dhap53]

Ouroboros: Chapter 34

“So, little birdie, you’re telling me you got involved with someone that had ties with the yakuza.”

I ran my fingers through my hair, unable to comprehend all of this myself.

“And now he’s dead.” Maksim punctuated with a type of air I expected from the lost package. Not a dead man. He was disappointed in me, frustrated that there was extra trouble he had to deal with, more problems being in a brand new country, more things that he hadn’t surmised. Maksim could only shake his head; I stared at his face, searching for an answer, a clear remedy to what I did was clean my mark, but there was no hope; the police would definitely isolate something. The entire apartment was covered in previous victims, a finger here, a hand there. The scent of rot was entrenched in the place, no different from a graveyard, an evil butcher shop. I vomited my empty stomach, erupting the contents onto my hand. I couldn’t leave anymore there. The place was a hotspot for tortured and pained.

I discovered an elaborate plan. A plan to take down Asahi as if he were a bird, feather by feather, plucking away his life. All of it was mapped out on his desk, etched in what I believed to be a kitchen knife, as if he didn’t want to forget it, grooves deep into the wood and jagged. I was befuddled by the intention. There were initials with lines connected to each other and those initials were marked out, scratched through.

I couldn’t identify who the rabbit man was. Other than the family he had. The people he lost. His children were taken from him. Children had committed suicide once it had been leaked online the son had routinely wandered down dark alleyways and found vagrants to torture while putting on a public persona of mister perfect while the daughter had shot and killed a man from her car, her ex in fact, in a fit of rage one night and couldn’t let the man go. All of that baggage was leaked out to the public. They both had been found, lips pale and blue, skin pallid, and holes both in the sides of their heads because the brother shot the sister and then himself.

There was a trash bag full of severed body parts I assumed he was going to take out, bit by bit as if he were some mastermind with a plan to rid of all his misdoings. But the thing was: I was inside a butcher house. Someone trying to lure people in and hack them away, piece by piece. My stomach was in my throat with the way things were; my family wouldn’t handle things this sloppily, this messy.

How could he even sleep in such a sordid place? The walls were covered in flecks of maroon and red, tarnished in rounded shapes. The wallpaper itself was peeling off, rolling upward, browning at the edges. I had to double check if the rabbit mask man was certainly dead, unmoving several times, my apprehension overtaking me, because if there was a sliver of life left in him, I would dash it out in a second. But he was left flat on his back, a hole through his face, teeth gritted, and a hole through his head from the gunshot wound I gave him. I still had the gun in my hand; I planned to take it with me.

On a lonely table, there were several glass marbles inside jars, all the same color, and the scribbles of sharpie on them that read, “bad bad bad bad bad” on them as if the jar itself had spoiled, as if marbles could go bad. My stomach was knotting with how things were inside, the lines of the wallpaper creeping upward, and the question lingering in the back of my head if I could escape the lion’s den safely. 

I exited, and no one saw me in person, but that meant nothing. Nothing was certain. That apartment was bound to be a hotspot for the police soon enough and anyone was in there wasn’t safe. No one was.

I was checking my phone, looking at what was happening. And there they were. The names of the people were on the desk. Mayumi. Ren. Kan. My blood was going cold with how their names were publicized and disgraced to the public as if they were inside some mausoleum, categorized and sorted inside some file cabinet on social media, put into labels and ripped to shreds about their lives.

The man himself who performed all the heinous acts was still unknown.

Meanwhile, there were other names being released. Notably, from the Western hemisphere. One Dennis Walker. Someone who had entrenched ties with Japanese officials were involved in the Unification church, reappropriating public funds for their nefarious activities and bleeding their already impoverished followers dry as if pulling water out of a desert. 

My heart was inside my ears with the possibility that my father would see the news, that his people would be crawling all over the place searching for me. I missed Fuzhou, the people there and the wonderful sights, but the dirty work I had to do with all the drug smuggling and human trafficking, the businesses we protected against the other rivaling gangs who came around, looking for a bigger piece of the pie, looking for a bigger piece of Fuzhou. Many people needlessly perished, died, all for the sake of the game, all for the sake of making a bigger mark on the world. That was what I wanted out of, the life of torment. Seeing someone die changed a person especially when the agony splinters out into every single nerve, and the hot blood splashed against a floor or a body landed with a wooden thud.

Many people worked for the organization for the sake of money. It was a wonderful motivator. The other motivator was the sense of community, of family. Many had their lives completed when they joined the organization, uplifting themselves, and finding purpose when they were given work. Many of them came from broken homes, backgrounds of which were impoverished and jaded. Missing family members and whatnot. My father took them in and showed them the ways and grew the organization into its influential self over Fuzhou to what it was today. Maksim in particular had come to my father as a fledgling, looking for a means to get a better purchase for his family in Fuzhou. But Maksim would find his wife dead in her bed. An unfortunate event. The day when the people of Fujian came, searching for the money Maksim owed them, the next morning his loved one was found dead in her bed, a twisted, faded image of herself.

I recall that day. When the sun didn’t quite show. The wind whistled through the branches of the dead elm trees outside our house rattled and scratched against the glass. The pitter patter of water beading up and dripping downward. Anya was a wonderful lady; she’d read to me in the garden often, telling me about how life was like in the old country, how life was simpler. The kind of bucolic days where people would retreat to their cottages, would need to draw up their own water and hand wash everything. Where people would need to go into their backyards, till their yards, and grow their own crops. The type of life where people only knew people that were immediate to each other, towns were built on the backbone of people. 

But now there was the time of now. If father were to be on my trail, following me, reaching, I’m not certain what I would do if I were hauled back. I dug myself into the game to distract myself from it all. The virtual space was all I had. The virtual space was something I could develop myself into a separate space, separate from what I’d done in real life. The body of the man I killed was still in that apartment, alongside any remnant of myself, even though I took the man’s weapon with me, still had it in my care, knowing I would need it if I came in any more harm. Japan was more dangerous than I thought it was. I didn’t think it was going to be more than a harmless place because the country was difficult to import any weapons in. The only way to get weapons in the country was through the means of smuggling, through means of buying off the black market, which meant the man I killed wasn’t simply a man of a distorted mind, lured people into his place like some sick, demented freak. He was a part of a network of organized crime, one of the gangs here in Japan that operated.

[meadowmines]

WIP: RGG Tactics Main Story Ch. 1 - Bros Breakin' Shit & Talkin' Shit

In which we see Nishida's Happy Place for the first time. Tumblr is absolute dogshit for screenplay format. I'm sorry.

INT. NISHIDA’S HAPPY PLACE - NIGHT

We pan across a strange scene: a warehouse full of junk cars, broken major appliances, old tube TVs, and, oddly, a few piñata effigies of Majima. There are also rows and rows of shelves bearing glass bottles and jars and mismatched thrift store china and glassware and other things that would break in satisfying ways when thrown against a wall or hit real hard with a blunt weapon. Speaking of which, there are racks and racks of those too--golf clubs and baseball bats and lengths of steel pipe and cheap nunchucks and so on. 

We see a cluster of empty Ramune bottles arranged like bowling pins near a wall. At the other end of a makeshift bowling lane drawn on the floor with chalk, we see Nishida, battered old bowling ball in hand, take a shot. The ball cruises dead center down the lane and smashes into the bottles. Nishida looks pleased. Behind him, there’s clapping.

AOYAGI Well, that’s one way to get the marbles out! NISHIDA Hey, did you see? The boss left some fresh piñatas!

Aoyagi browses the weapon racks. He selects a golf club, hefts it in his hands, makes a face, puts it back, and continues to browse.

AOYAGI Yeah? What’d he stuff ‘em with this time? NISHIDA I don’t know! I was waiting for you to help crack them open.

Aoyagi grins and takes a crowbar off the rack. Perfect.

AOYAGI Well, then! Let’s get this party started, huh?

LATER

Slow pan across the shattered remains of bottles and jars and eviscerated and dismembered Majima piñatas. Then we see Nishida, with a baseball bat cocked and ready as if he’s waiting for a pitch. We see Aoyagi holding a glass jar full of glitter like a baseball. He shakes his head a couple of times, as if in response to signs from an imaginary catcher. Then he nods, winds up... 

AOYAGI Hup!

...and gives the jar a gentle underhand lob towards Nishida. Nishida swings...

NISHIDA Hup!

...and whiffs it. The jar sails right under his swing, and crashes onto the floor in a burst of glitter.

NISHIDA Ahh! No! AOYAGI And the crowd goes HOME! NISHIDA (doubled over laughing) Oh, come on! One more! AOYAGI Phew. How ‘bout a seventh-inning stretch? I’m parched. NISHIDA Heh... sure.

Nishida puts his bat down and opens a fridge with “DON’T HIT ME :(“ spraypainted across the door. He takes out two Ramune bottles and hands one to Aoyagi. Meanwhile, Aoyagi rummages in the chest cavity of a Majima piñata and pulls out two full size candy bars, one of which he tosses to Nishida. 

NISHIDA So... Yamaoka-san just left?  AOYAGI Yep. Didn’t even take his girls with him. NISHIDA Girls? He had more than one!? AOYAGI Yeah. He does that. Comes in with two or three hot girls hangin’ all over him, calls me over to his table, talks a buncha shit, pays his tab n’ tips heavy so I can’t even bitch about that. It’s like he’s... 

Aoyagi scowls and shakes his head.

AOYAGI Like he’s tryin’ to rub my face in how much better he is at bein’ a man than me. NISHIDA Hiro... AOYAGI How come he gets to look like that, anyway? NISHIDA Is it... you said he’s on the hormones and stuff, so... AOYAGI Yeah, but he’s got shit goin’ on ya can’t get from hormones, y’know? Like...

Aoyagi picks up another glitter jar out of a beer crate and idly turns it in his hands as he talks, watching it sparkle.

AOYAGI I could get my chest fixed and get on T and I’ll still be buyin’ my shoes outta the kids’ department till I die. Not Yamaoka, though! No sir! Big ol’ hands, big ol’ feet, legs up to there--how come I gotta look like this when he gets to roll outta bed lookin’ like the male lead in a shoujo romance manga!?

Aoyagi throws the glitter jar against the wall to punctuate that. It explodes into glass and a cloud of sparkles.

NISHIDA Hiro, don’t compare yourself to him. You look fine. AOYAGI He looks fine. I look like a potato. NISHIDA You do not look like a potato! And--and so what if Yamaoka-san’s taller or whatever? You’re a good man, and he’s an ass! AOYAGI ...I wish you’d dig yer heels in like this with the boss. NISHIDA And I wish you wouldn’t do--that with him! AOYAGI Someone has to.

Aoyagi smiles as he bends down to pick up a severed Majima piñata head.

AOYAGI Yeah, he’s beat the snot outta me a few times for mouthin’ off, but... at the end of the day he knows what those flowers on my back mean. 

His smile turns a little nasty.

AOYAGI And he knows there ain’t a judge or a jury in the world that’d convict either one of us if we...

Aoyagi punts the head like a football into the dark recesses of the warehouse. Nishida bursts into helpless laughter.

NISHIDA Oh my God. ...hey, speaking of your back, didn’t you get some work done tonight? AOYAGI Yep! Wanna see? NISHIDA No, that’s okay, I know you’ve got, like... layers to deal with. But...

Nishida looks like he’s not sure he should say what he’s thinking. A pointed look from Aoyagi seems to encourage him.

NISHIDA We all thought you were going to get Daikokuten. Why’d you get the cobra instead? AOYAGI Daikokuten didn’t feel right, is all. NISHIDA Why not? You’re good at business and food and stuff, he would have been perfect for you. AOYAGI I just... I was born n’ raised in the States, so... NISHIDA So? You’re still Japanese, right? AOYAGI I’m a quarter Japanese and in my book, that ain’t near enough to earn “Japanese god on my back” privileges. Besides, the cobra’s perfect for me. See... the king cobra ain’t aggressive, normally. He’d rather just go about his business and let you do yours. But if ya don’t... he’s got venom that’ll kill ya two or three times before ya hit the ground. NISHIDA Huh. So he won’t start a fight... AOYAGI (grin) ...but he’ll sure as shit finish one. NISHIDA Huh! Yeah, I guess that does sound like you! I mean...  (Mischievous little grin back) ...you don’t start the fights with your fists, buuuut...

Aoyagi looks indignant (but tickled!) and puts his Ramune bottle down a little too hard.

AOYAGI You finish that sentence and I’ma see what kinda candy comes outta you! NISHIDA (bursts out laughing) Oh crap!

We watch Aoyagi chase Nishida around the warehouse, then jump onto his back and get him in a friendly headlock. Both of them are laughing and clearly just playing rough and having fun. This goes on for a minute, then someone’s cell phone rings.

AOYAGI That you, bro? NISHIDA (muffled, in headlock) Think it’s you.

Aoyagi lets his bro go and takes out his phone. Sure is. He answers it.

AOYAGI (into phone) Y’ello. ...seriously? Again? Yeah, no, I can handle it. Be right there.

He hangs up.

AOYAGI Troublemaker at the shogi parlor. Don’t worry about cleanin’ up, bro. I’ll come get it tomorrow. NISHIDA You sure? I don’t mind! AOYAGI Sure I’m sure. Cleanin’ up the mess is almost as fun as makin’ it. NISHIDA Heh... If you say so.

[ghostdrinkssoup]

just rewatched buffet froid (s1 ep10) and I’ve never felt so insane my brain exploded ten times and I am rocking back and forth in my chair but in a positive, hot girl summer way

[miasmaghoul]

Mushy May - Day 2

Prompt: "I made this for you."

Rating: Teen Pairing: Mountain/Copia Contains: nervous Copia, Mountain's love of gift giving and a sprinkling of ~feelings~ Word Count: ~1.3k

Summary: A week before his first tour, Copia receives a thoughtful surprise.

Copia stares unseeing out his office window, chin resting on tented fingers. He’s been here for a while now, lost in thought, lulled into something of a trance by the rhythmic pitter-patter of raindrops against leaded glass.

Only a week left before the tour begins. His first tour, as a matter of fact. The prospect has his teeth on edge as much as it has him buzzing with excitement, frantic butterflies having made a seemingly permanent home in his stomach. He’s as prepared as he can be, he thinks - he must be, after hours upon hours of rehearsals, of meetings, of planning and arrangements - but he supposes one can only be so prepared for something of this scale. The unknown comes with the territory, and no amount of readiness can assuage the nagging claws of anxiety prodding at the back of his mind.

A knock at the door, though, is at least enough to distract. Copia shakes himself from his thoughts, smoothing a gloved hand through his hair. He isn’t expecting anyone, but that was no reason to look disheveled. 

“Come in,” he calls, standing to straighten his wrinkled cassock. He’s been sitting for so long his knees crackle. It makes him feel so old. The door creaks open and Copia offers his guest a tired smile. “Ah, Mountain, hello.”

“Evening, Cardinal,” the ghoul greets, closing the door behind him. His masked gaze catches on the state of the desk and Mountain pauses, hand still on the doorknob. “Is this a bad time?”

“Hmm?” Copia glances down, takes in the mess of folders and crumpled papers before him and lets out a small chuckle. “No, no,” he assures, attempting to shuffle the mess into something approaching presentable. It doesn’t help much, so Copia elects to round the desk instead, leaning against the front of it and clapping his hands together. “What brings you here this evening?”

Mountain strides into the room, adjusting his tie. Copia notices with more than a little amusement that the ghoul is shoeless - apparently that’s a habit that doesn’t just live in the practice room. 

“I made you something,” he rumbles, that low voice reverberating off the marble walls. Mountain holds out a small black bag, its contents rattling a little. “A few things, actually.” Copia’s brows creep towards his hairline.

“You...what?” 

The Cardinal has become exceedingly fond of his ghouls these past months - more than he probably should be, at least according to Sister. But to have one of them in his personal office, offering him...gifts? This is very uncharted territory, to be certain.

“I made you something,” Mountain repeats, and it’s somehow no less surprising the second time. He shakes the bag and Copia can’t help but accept it. Mountain offers him a small smile in return, tucking his hands behind his back, and Copia feels a vaguely familiar tightness in his chest.

He peers into the bag and takes in its contents: a palm-sized glass jar, a square silver tin, a pair of small canvas bags and a folded swath of off-white fabric. Nothing is labeled, and that only serves to pique his curiosity further. 

“What is all this?” Copia sets the bag on the desk and pulls out the jar, examining it. 

“Just a few things for the tour,” the ghoul replies, casual as anything. “That particular one is a poultice.” Copia looks up at him with a questioning eyebrow. Mountain’s smile widens behind that shiny silver mask. “A combination of herbs and roots, mixed with a special oil.” Copia gives a small nod.

“Is it…food?” He shakes the small container, watching its goopy, oddly-colored contents shift. Mountain shakes his head with a soft chuff.

“Medicine,” he clarifies, and that brings Copia’s full attention back to the ghoul. Medicine? He isn’t ill. “That blend is for inflammation. Ginger, turmeric, eucalyptus, a few other things. You take some of that, apply it to a sore spot and cover it with one of those strips of linen." He gestures towards the bag. "Leave it for an hour and it will help with the stiffness after a show.”

Copia stares up at him for a long moment, feeling more than a little dumbstruck. All that, in this little jar?

“There’s more,” the ghoul reminds him, rocking up onto the balls of his socked feet, “keep looking.” 

Copia doesn’t miss the tilt of excitement in his voice. It’s entirely too endearing, considering the fact that it’s coming from a seven foot tall hellbeast. The tightness in his chest shows no signs of fading.

He sets the jar on his desk and procures the pair of canvas baggies, giving them a shake. The contents crunch a little, the sound of crinkling paper, one tied with twine and the other with a green ribbon.

“The green one has some throat lozenges,” Mountain informs him. “I made them with peppermint and honey, they should help protect your voice between shows. The other one is for headaches. You put one of the packets in water and -”

Copia loses himself in the depth of Mountain’s voice, in the heat coloring his own cheeks. In the astounding level of care and compassion so clearly on display here. 

Mountain…made these things? For him? 

He’s never felt at such a loss for words, and that’s saying something.

“Cardinal?” 

Copia startles, finding the ghoul staring at him with amusement in those fascinating eyes. Earthen green flecked with gold, decidedly inhuman, and for the first time Copia realizes his pupils are rectangular.

“You have the eyes of a goat,” he murmurs a bit distantly, and Mountain grins. It exposes his fangs, but Copia has never felt less threatened. 

“Maybe you don’t need this last thing,” the ghoul remarks, reaching past him, and Copia comes back to himself a bit. Mountain pulls back with the silver case in hand, a hint of mischief in those fascinating eyes.

Copia sets the two canvas bags behind him and reaches out, Mountain handing him the case with a pleased hum. He turns it in his palm, catching the dull reflection of his desk lamp in its burnished surface. Copia pops the latch, flips the lip, and when he realizes what’s inside he can’t help but laugh.

“In case you’re feeling anxious,” Mountain says with a smirk, watching Copia pull out one of the half-dozen pre-rolls in the tin. “Don’t worry, there’s plenty more where those come from.” Copia brings the joint to his nose and inhales deeply, sighing at the familiarity of that herbal scent. 

There’s so much he wants to say. The tightness in his chest has begun to morph into a suspicious sort of heat - one he certainly isn’t prepared to consider the ramifications of right now. The overwhelming kindness of the ghoul before him certainly isn’t lost on him, but somehow a simple thank you doesn’t seem enough.

“Your time and effort do not go unnoticed or unappreciated, my ghoul,” Copia says, the words careful and measured. There’s movement in the corner of his eye and the Cardinal catches the tufted end of Mountain’s tail flicking back and forth, pleased. “I…truly do not know what to say.” The ghoul offers him a noncommittal shrug.

“So don’t say anything,” Mountain rumbles, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “I sometimes find actions speak louder than words.” Copia chuckles - that much is obvious. He twirls the joint absently between gloved fingers, and it gives him an idea. 

“Very well,” he breathes, gesturing at the pair of stately armchairs opposite his fireplace. “Then, please, allow me to invite you to share this generous gift while I contemplate how to thank you properly.” 

Mountain tilts his head, Copia offers him the joint, and the ghoul makes a fascinating sound - something between a groan and a purr.

“It would be my pleasure, Cardinal.”

“Please,” he replies with a kind smile, resting a hand on Mountain's arm, “call me Copia.”

[grassclippers]

❤︎

~TW-mentions of suicide, crude language ,and terrible grammer~

~AhkmenrahxFem!reader~

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AN-Dude is so fine.His eyeliner do be on fleek!The relationship is already established. ❤︎

         Y/N Pov:

I wake to a boring dull casket that people will look at and think of me if only they new me as the strong independent women I am instead of the whimpering   idiot I was in history books, playbills ,and biographies. Damn, I really love the depression color white on the tomb I was buried in it really shows how much my people care about me. As I slowly awake from my tomb and leave the marble slab that covered my body on the floor. i slowly think of ways to kill myself and wonder if i die would I come back to life the next morning or would it be the ultimate death.                                                                                               Then I realize i have the ~4th King of the 4th king of the Egyptians~ as a husband. Life is good. As i slowly walk out of my cinnamon colored room that is filled with incense ,depression ,and jars that were full of humanly organs. When i leave through the door~I get abruptly yelled at by Lancelot~ My dear lady be careful for the rabid beast called a monkey is beneath your feet.I slowly looked down and a saw the monkey who’s name was dexter spin and twist around my feet. ohh shit~ i slowly feel myself start to fall but feel a two warm hands catch me. I look up and see Ahkmenrah are you okay he asked with a pleasant smile. emotionally or physically because both are deteriorating i say with a weak smile.                                                                                                                                 He slowly lifts me up and brings me up to standing height. He stares in my eyes and slowly moves the hair that fell in my face behind my ear. I slowly blink back to reality when i hear Lancelot scream in the distance as he chases Dexter saying that is not a way you treat a lady and he should have been more gentle with a frail women like Y/N. I just stand there looking at Lancelot with a ~ Bitch how dare you stare~. My love Ahkmenrah said with positivity shall we go on a walk. I mumble yes as his arm takes my hand. My Love tho I truly enjoy your personality why have you been even more depressing than usual Ahkmenrah said.                                                                                                                               I slowly take my hand from his and stare both my hand with such disappointment. I guess i realized that there will be no callback or second chance that all my mistakes are ground with me .That i will forever have to  feel the anguish of all my mistakes and unruly choices. That even though i try my hardest there will be those who don’t have to to try at all and still accomplish more that when the tablet is gone i will fade from existence and all meaning. I said as the light faded from my eyes. I hear a mumble of word coming from Ahkmenrah as he slowly says you speak the truth as he slowly pulls you into a hug. As You both are drowning in each others embrace He whispers in your ear  But at least we are OTP.                                                                                                             You both pull out of the embrace giggling. Ahkmenrah slowly leads you two towards Teddy, Larry, and Lancelot since you see that they are talking probably about dexter. You slowly enter the perimeter of the three to here whispering and mumbling. You enter the conversation with a ~Are you guys talking about Pocahontas~? They all slowly shake there heads no .Immediately you loose intrest in this none Pochantas conversation as Ahkmenrah joins in with the whispering and mumbling. Larry noticing you haven’t talked our stare at any of them them asks Why do you care so much about Pocahntas? And how do you know who Pocahonast is? I make detract eye contacted with Larry and say I saw the picture show with your son and why don’t you care about the slaughter of the native Americans?                                                                                              Knowing you made everyone feel uncomfortable and the air feel awkward you smile. you feel a weight on your back and a whisper from Ahkmenrah saying ~know do you feel better? accompanied with a light kiss on the cheek. As you slowly answer yes.  -🌱✂️

[roommatesfanfictionstory]

A Flavourless Dried Fruit

Hawks x reader

A crystal clear mason jar sat on the grey marble circular low lying table, which sat in front of the large flat screen TV in the living room area. The large jar was filled about 75% full with glossy maroon coloured dates- a dried fruit you weren't all that fond of, but your feathered friend seemed to adore. At least enough to fill an entire jar with them. 

The man in question was lounging around on one of the white sofas that was opposite the TV screen and snacking on the dates like they were a bowl of sea salted crisps.  

Having come back down from changing into your pyjamas, the soft cotton being much more comfortable than the itchy tights, you quickly went into the kitchen for a glass of water and made your way over to Keigo. 

Upon noticing your approach, he turned down the volume of the late night quiz show he was watching (in which a couple lesser known pro heroes were competing) and greeted you with a backhanded wave. Even though he couldn't see behind him, you returned the gesture as you walked over to him and once you had gotten a better look at what was in the jar you smiled to yourself.  

"Okay, tell me why you're not actually three birds perched on top of each other hiding in a trenchcoat," you giggled, leaning over the back of the sofa next to Keigo, who was casually sat down watching TV.

Keigo rolled his eyes and sighed, pretending to cringe at your joke. He looked up at you and replied, "Not your best one Petals."

Crossing your arms, you rested your head attop them and complained, "How can you say that when you've taken all the good bird puns?"

"Excuses," he chuckled, shaking his head and popping a date in his mouth, "Besides when have you ever seen me in a trenchcoat?"

"You should wear them, jokes aside I think it'd really suit you. And hey- speaking of clothes," you said, reaching out to tug lightly at 'his' t-shirt, "Why are you wearing my white shirt?"

"Well I had a shower earlier today and had some clean clothes drying in the laundry room," he said, "But when I went in I saw your shirt left out in the open, and since I was needed for a meeting I put it on and hurried to my laptop."

"Seriously...?"

"It was right there in front of me and I was running late," he said and threw up his hands for effect, "And this thing's way too big for you anyway; at least it actually fits me."

"But that's the point," you said and you climbed over the back of the sofa to sit next to him (carefully as to not risk stepping on his wing), legs extended to the floor and crossed at the ankles, "It's called fashion, gotta commit to the look."

"So you say," he shrugged, "Why was that the only piece of clothing left out?"

"Oh, I washed it because it had pasta sauce on one of the sleeves," you explained, "I had put it in the washing machine with a couple other items, but they dried quicker."

"Hm ok," he said, shifting his position so that he was better facing you and pushing the jar towards you with a feather, "I shouldn't really offer you any given that weird 'bird pun' or whatever that was just now, but here. Help yourself."

"Thanks," you said, after all you hadn't had one in a while. And once you'd reached into the jar, picked out one of the discount prunes and tasted it, you remembered why. The texture, at least to you, was something left to be desired, although the chew reminded you of a desert you thought was much better.

"You don't like them?" Keigo asked, curiously watching your reaction.

"They're ok I guess, I don't hate them..." you said, "Mochi is better."

"Both are good," Hawks said as he leaned against the back of the sofa.

Then his eyes gleamed mischievously, he picked up one of the fruits and lazily tossed it at your direction. You lurched forward to grab at it, managing to just about catch the shriveled pebble in the palm of your dominant hand. The momentary sense of pride it brought made you hum to yourself.

"Date me," he said.

That triumphant breath hitched in your throat and your grip loosened, almost making you drop what you had just so expertly caught just seconds ago. Soundless mutterings left your agape mouth and face flaring up as your brain jumped to analyse the first interpretation that demand meant...

That was until...you glanced down at the now sticky fruit that sat patiently in your warm palm and then back at Keigo. With a growing earnest smile, he sat cross-legged opposite you, leaning forward ever so slightly. Expectant.

Oh.

~~~

Thanks for reading!

[tonguetiedraven]

Bon and Rin getting sent on an overnight mission but the inn keeper assumes and treats them like they’re a couple (similar to Rin and yukio during the Aomori arc, except they actually do want to be a couple lol). The boys get progressively more flustered until they finally make use of the inn keepers hospitality

Fantastic @marble-wolf helped me with this one ^^

It's set in the fall/winter semester of their second year, though I don't think that really comes in. There's a sprained wrist, and I'm only posting part of it here. The link to the full story is at the bottom :D

-- -- -- -- --

"A mission with Suguro!" 

Rin had repeated the cheerful words like one of their mantras and Rin couldn't help the excited bounce that made his sword smack him and his boots kick up dirt. But he was excited. 

His first real solo mission with Ryuuji. Completely alone. Nobody lingering around and judging them. Nobody bossing them around. This was all on Rin and Ryuuji. 

The cloudy sky and cool breeze wasn't even a deterrent for his overexcited prance (he enjoyed the breeze) and he was reaching out to shake Ryuuji's arm. 

"A mission with Suguro!" He sang again.  

Ryuuji was trying not to laugh, and he wasn’t even sure why. Rin was always ridiculous, and had been since Ryuuji had stopped thinking he was just another rich asshole, but it wasn’t an annoying kind of ridiculousness. (At least not most of the time.) No, it was one Ryuuji found endlessly charming and amusing, and one that made him laugh far too much.

He gave Rin a light shove, just enough to send him slightly off the path, but not far enough that he couldn’t catch Rin if his clumsy self tripped. 

“It’s not like we’ve never done a mission together.” They’d done far more together than apart. “What’s got ya all excited about this one?” 

They weren’t even entirely sure what they were looking for, so it couldn’t be the demon. 

Rin twisted on his heel and beckoned to the path behind them. 

"Look! No Yukio! No Shura! No Light!" Rin listed off the names of their most helicopter mission overseers. 

He turned back to the correct direction and lifted his tail in a wide wag and hopped over a couple cracks and scattered leaves. 

"We're indestructible!" Rin cheered.  

“You maybe,” Ryuuji mumbled, trying to think of what Rin might have actually meant, because that didn’t make a lot of sense. 

Inde… hmm… indecisive—oh! 

“Independent.” Ryuuji said, rolling his eyes a little but smiling anyway. Rin’s energy was irresistible. (A lot of Rin was annoyingly irresistible.)

But Rin was right. They were independent. No one to tell them how to do anything or when to do anything. Just the two of them figuring it out. 

“We still gotta follow protocols, but yeah. Just us.” And the way that immediately made Ryuuji’s cheeks go a little warm was not welcome. Not when they were going to be spending so much time together. 

"Independent." Rin repeated, smiling at Ryuuji's gentle correction. "You always follow protocol. You keep Light from breaking protocol, so we're gonna be fine." Rin encouraged him. 

Ryuuji's cheeks had gone a bit pink and Rin could imagine several instances that could be running through Ryuuji's head where Lewin (and even Shima) did not follow protocol and the aftermath of those times. 

They were almost to the ryokan they would be staying in. It was a quaint, quiet ryokan, painted with rich reds with deep darker shades of wood. It wasn't bad despite the Order paying for it. 

But it was a little jarring. The silence was "peaceful" but Rin had found peace in the sheer amount of noise in Torako's ryokan. Rin gawked at the designs carved into the wood and his head was tilting back, causing his hair to slip further out of the hair clip that had been abused by his jumping around.  

It wasn’t as big as Torako’s Ryokan, but clearly well cared for and there was a bit of protective magic around it — Ryuuji hadn’t seen a ryokan without protective magic — but more important for their current circumstances, he didn’t see any obvious sign of demonic activity. Nothing scratched, no evidence of rot, no shadows that didn’t belong…

Ryuuji stepped forward and toed off his shoes, leaving them in the shelf just inside the door. The scent of tatami filled his lungs as he stepped properly inside, and that with the scent of wood and tea had a small bit of homesick welling in his chest. It was almost exactly what home smelled like. 

“Okami? Ma’am?” Ryuuji called, not seeing the manager at the desk. He motioned for Rin to follow him, carefully unwinding his prayer beads and wrapping them between his fingers instead. 

Rin followed after freeing his feet from his boots. He stayed close to Ryuuji, nearly pressed to his side as they stepped closer to the vacant desk. 

They hadn't experienced it yet, but Rin had heard stories of entire ryokan's becoming possessed and exorcists getting attacked so he couldn't blame Ryuuji for the preparation to have his beads. 

Rin could hear slow steps coming from behind one of the sliding doors and he swallowed the urge to growl. He couldn't sense anything malicious. 

The woman was old and walked slowly, and she appeared to be completely harmlessly human who seemed content and she gave them a polite smile.   

“Guests,” she greeted, bowing at the waist respectfully. “I’m sorry I was late to greet you. Please, come inside.” 

Ryuuji returned the bow and took two pairs of the slippers, passing one to Rin before going forward to the front desk. 

“I’m Ryuuji Suguro, ma’am, and this is my partner Rin Okumura.” He waited for Rin to join his side and gave the okami a smile. “We’re form the Order of the True Cross.” 

Her expression immediately morphed into surprise as she looked between them, and then crumpled a little in intense relief.

“True Cross?” She asked, voice wavering a little. “You’re the Exorcists?”

Ryuuji shared a glance with Rin. “Yes, ma’am.” 

Rin echoed Ryuuji, standing taller and right next to Ryuuji to appear professional. (As if he hadn't bounced his way down the path.) 

"We can fix any demon problem you got!" Rin said with a smile and a polite bow.  

The Okami bowed again. “Oh thank you.” 

Ryuuji felt a twist of worry in his gut. They didn’t know much about the demon, the file had been thin and just mentioned a few vague sort of haunts and the mention of ghostly apparitions, but that could be anything or even imagined. Nothing even mildly unique or definitive. 

“Here,” she hurried before Ryuuji could say anything else. “I’ve already got your rooms—” She paused and looked up at them again. 

“I’ve got your room.” She said with a nod. “Here,” she reached under the desk and pulled out a box of keys. She took one out of it and set it on the desk. Two matching yukata followed, deep red with gold and blue flowers. “These are yours, and you will have complete access to the ryokan and baths.”

“Thank you, okami.” Ryuuji pulled the items a little closer, a bit confused why they’d only been given one room, but this was True Cross and it was always cheap as hell. 

“Could you tell us where the demonic activity is occurring?”

“The ryokan and baths.” 

“The entire place?” Ryuuji asked, hoping for anything but a yes.

“Yes.” She answered, and Ryuuji felt a little twitch of pain in his head. That was hardly helpful at all.

She continued with a, “only at night though.” 

Rin barely held back the urge to groan at the vague words and knew that they were going to spend a lot of time wandering around. He couldn't sense anything malicious so surely the demon wasn't particularly dangerous. But Ryuuji would stress himself out with however long it takes to find the demon.  

"Okay. We will check it out for you. Thank you, Okami." Rin said with another bow.  

Ryuuji pulled the items off the counter, passing one of the yukata to Rin and frowning a little. 

“Thank you, ma’am. We’ll take care of —”

“We have the banner system, but I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed.”

Why would that matter—oh! They weren’t the only ones here. Ryuuji shared another look with Rin. They’d have to watch out for that.

“Thank you,” Ryuuji said again and stepped back, reaching for Rin’s arm and gently pulling him along. They’d need to set up their work station and lay a few basic wards around the place to see if they could track anything or at least figure out a kingdom.

“This way,” the Okami hummed, looking decidedly happier. She eyed the hand Ryuuji had on Rin’s arm, and he almost dropped it but he let it linger for a moment longer, because he tried and never let looks dictate what he did. They were rarely encouraging and almost always controlling, and he didn’t know enough about this okami to know one way or another.

They were led down the hall and towards a room nicely tucked away with an opening to the garden. It wasn’t particularly bed — none of the rooms looked to be particularly big (and Ryuuji couldn’t help but compare it to his mother’s, and he was going to suggest any innovative ideas he saw. He didn’t want to take it over, but he wanted to help.) 

The separate futons had been traded for a single large one, and there was a basket of amenities and toiletries by the futon.

It reminded him of their couple rooms. 

The Okami was backing up and sliding the door shut before Ryuuji could turn around and ask. 

Rin stopped at the entrance, slipping off the slippers before walking further in. He propped his hands on his hips and considered the one bed. 

(That was going to be a problem… wouldn't it?)

"Damn, this place didn't sound busy. Ya think this is all they had?" Rin asked before shrugging and moving to sit down on the futon. It was comfortable at least.  

Ryuuji did not think this was all they had. He was fairly certain it had been a deliberate choice, if not a strange one. His mother only gave this sort of room out for couples that requested it. 

He’d simply sleep on the floor. The tatami mat was enough for him. Rin could have the bed and he’d take one of the pillows and his coat. Or maybe request a second blanket. 

“Maybe she wanted to make sure we could work together or something. Or didn’t want to waste resources on us.”

But no, that didn’t make sense either since she’d said they had access to everything. 

Ryuuji set his bags down with a shrug. “We can set up our operations here either way. Maybe get something to eat after we set up the wards?” They’d need the energy for the night and he’d need the nutrients back after casting all those spells. 

"Sounds fine with me!" Rin would just… offer to share the bed. Neither of them  could afford a bad sleep while on a mission. Too much at stake. 

"I can't sense anything really bad and nobody has died, right?" Rin said before standing back up to help Ryuuji with the bags.  

“No. There weren’t any reported deaths.” Ryuuji pulled the ‘report’ out of the bag as he straightened. It was the smallest one he’d ever been given. It had mentioned moving objects, broken objects, strange sounds, and bad luck.

It could be any of a number of things. The information didn’t really narrow it down at all. Half of it could be explained away simply because the building was old. 

“Honestly, I don’t have any idea what it is. It could be anything. Or nothing. There hasn’t been a real sighting of anything.” He shook his head.

“We’ve got nothing. We’re going to have to gather the intel and just… wait.”

"Great. Waiting is my favorite!" Rin sarcastically said, peeking at the pitiful report. 

He could hear the sound of trees blowing in the breeze and the tap of slippers on wood. The cool air wasn't rotten so definitely not Astaroth Kin. 

"We can walk around after we eat." Rin suggested. He wouldn't just wait unless he seriously had to. (He was bad at waiting.)  

Ryuuji snorted and put the useless report away. Then he paused in consideration. “Do you think we should change to not stand out?” It could be some kind of cloaking or intelligent demon. They had no information on it. 

(But also the idea of wearing a matching yukata to Rin was making him blush a little. Not that he’d really stopped blushing.) 

Rin looked down at his uniform, compulsively brushing a hand down the front. "Probably."

The black coated uniform stood out with the shining Order emblem and it was recognizable for what it meant. That didn't matter for mindless demons but the intelligent ones (most demons were surprisingly intelligent) knew with just a glance.  

“We don’t want to stand out to the guests either.” 

Ryuuji shrugged his coat off, pulling his spare beads and sachet out. He wouldn’t need anything else. Rin would handle the offense and Ryuuji didn’t need more than this for their defense. Besides, the goal was just to get information. At least for now. They weren’t going to fight what they didn’t know. Ryuuji was not letting them get anything like a bad report for this exorcism.

He moved to take off his shirt and paused before deciding to hell with it and just shrugging that off as well, neatly folding them and setting them aside to join the rest of his clothing. 

The yukata was soft, if not warm, and had a pocket, so he hid the sachet and spare beads in there along with the key. (He trusted Rin, but not with a room key. His friend would lose that in a second.)

Rin followed Ryuuji's lead ( not staring at Ryuuji's warm and smooth looking skin and damn Rin just wanted to… nope, nevermind) stripping off the damning evidence that they were exorcists and picked up his own yukata with a happy, "oh!" He tossed his clothes aside in a clump. 

"I like this one." Rin said as he wrapped himself up in it. His tail poked out the bottom and he reluctantly wrapped it around himself. He liked how Ryuuji looked in the thin red material but he couldn't exactly say that and he really shouldn't stare and, shit, he was planning on sharing a bed with Ryuuji and this would be a problem. "These are nice."  

“My ma has all different colors and designs. I should let her know —” Ryuuji cut himself off before he could say this Ryokan matches couples. He was entirely sure that’s what she’d done (Nirvana did it ever look like she had) but he wasn’t going to say it one way or another when it was Rin he was partnered with.

“You need anything?” he motioned towards their supplies and hoped Rin didn’t ask for clarification.  He tried not to stare too much at just how much of Rin’s neck and collar were now visible. He’d managed to avoid looking when Rin was pulling it on, but he hadn’t expected the outfit itself to look like that. (Good and thin enough to show off Rin’s natural form.)

Rin laughed at the mention of Ryuuji's mother and flapped a hand. "I'm trying to not be biased about my favorite ryokan. And no, I don't need anything. I've got everything I need!" 

Rin spread his empty hands and beckoned to himself as if he was fully decked out with weapons. 

"I wonder what's for food!" Rin cheerfully said as he adjusted his tail around his middle.  

Ryuuji could feel himself getting ready to rattle off a list of possibilities that his mom served and managed to stop himself. He was not going to spend this entire trip rattling off facts and gushing about home. 

They’d find dinner and set everything up. He’d figure out the bed problem later.

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

The full story can be found here!

[seijorhi]

Choke.

another soulmate au nobody asked for :)

Akaashi Keiji x female reader x Bokuto Koutarou

TW dub-con, implied future non-con

It wasn’t a good day to begin with.

You’re late, rushing through the busy campus hallways to make it to an exam that quite frankly you’re at least 70% sure you’re going to fail, mostly because instead of cramming last night you’d been… otherwise occupied with your boyfriend.

And you really, really just want this whole thing to just be over with already.

With your nose stuck in your textbook, frantically pouring over your notes right up until the very last second, it’s hardly a surprise that you don’t see the two of them rushing down the hallway in the opposite direction until you’re quite literally colliding with the taller of the pair – the broad shouldered one.

Your notes go flying, the last of your coffee too and for one split second, you’re pretty positive that you’re gonna end up flat on your ass with a little more than some bruised pride. But just as you’re about to hit the ground, not one but two hands reach for you, catch you, and the very second they do, you feel it:

A flash of guilt and momentary alarm, embarrassment, you think, and chagrin, each emotion hitting you like a sledgehammer, overwhelming you, one after the other in a dizzying blur that’s distinctly other, and then–

Shock.

Dawning surprise. 

A rush of something warm, adoring, a happiness so bright and blinding that it makes you physically jerk backwards, almost slamming your head against the wall in the process. And two pairs of eyes – one a deep, luminous gold, the other a cool, gunmetal blue – stare at you in wide eyed wonder a split millisecond before you wrench yourself free, gasping. 

The moment their grip falters, the torrent stops. You can breathe.

Blessed silence, save for the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. Everything fades out around you – the students and lecturers alike bustling through the busy hallway, the humming drone of chatter that’s nearly deafening. Nothing exists but the three of you; caught in your little bubble.

And it’s dread, you think, that seeps through your blood as you stare at them. 

They’re both handsome, albeit in their own ways. The taller of the two – the one who’d almost barrelled you over – looks like he could probably bench press you without breaking a sweat. His shirt isn’t exactly clinging to him, but you can see the hints of well defined muscles beneath, and the size of his biceps alone are enough to make your heart skip a beat and your mouth dry up a little. With rippling muscles, spiky black and silver hair, a strong jawline and those round, golden eyes, he looks like a modern day adonis. 

His friend might’ve been shorter, his build leaner, but with his softer features, pretty eyes and dark hair, you think he’s perhaps the prettiest man you’ve ever laid eyes on. From the fineness of his nose to the gentle curve of his lips and his long, dark sweeping eyelashes, he reminds you of those white marble statues you’ve seen before in museums and art galleries– a beauty so divine, so perfect – so devastating – that it steals your breath a little.

And they’re both watching you, frozen entirely. Smiling in breathless delight, as if they can’t quite believe it either.

Soulmates. 

You’ve spent your whole life wondering what it would be like, experiencing somebody else’s emotions. Studies have been done and countless books and articles written about the bond between soulmates; the intimacy of sharing emotions through touch, but nobody really knows why or how it happens.  

And for some, it’s a subtle thing. A suggestion, a whisper against their own consciousness, easily brushed aside. Others feel it stronger. 

For you, it was like drowning. Choking under the sudden, intense barrage of feelings that weren’t yours. Maybe it’s because there’s two of them – and that much at least you’re sure of. You don’t have the words to explain it, but they’d felt separate somehow, distinctive from one another – kind of like fingerprints, you suppose.

There’s no denying the bond, no denying that they’re both your soulmates, and all you can think of is that you don’t want it. Not here, not now. Not them.

The dark haired one seems to realise quicker than his friend that you’re not reacting how you’re supposed to, you’re just standing there, rigid and tense, gaping at them. And the slight smile that graced his perfect lips starts to waver, his brows drawing together when finally his friend cottons on.

He reaches for you, the beginnings of a pout taking shape on his face, and you move without even thinking, jerking out of reach with a sharp breath. His hand hangs outstretched for a beat too long, a noise like a kicked puppy leaving his lips as he realises that you’re flinching away from him; away from your soulmate. He looks heartbroken, and he’s yet to utter a single word. 

You don’t give him a chance. You’re not some cold, unfeeling beast; there’s a twinge in your heart, a heaviness that’s far too close to guilt settling in your stomach, but you just can’t. And with shaking hands you bend over and hastily grab up your things, forcing yourself not to meet their confused, hurt stares when you right yourself. 

“I– I’m sorry,” you murmur, and before either one of them can try to stop you, you disappear into the crowd, racing for your exam. 

—

The lights are on when you make it back home, the familiar, comforting scent of home cooked food filling your apartment.

“Hey, babe,” your boyfriend calls out as you wearily drop your purse by the door and kick out of your shoes. His back’s to you, attention fixed on the simmering saucepan on the stovetop, but he glances over his shoulder as he continues, “How’d your exam go?”

And you can’t help it, you burst into tears.

Painful, heaving sobs that might’ve had you collapsing onto the floor if he hadn’t swept across the room to snatch you up into his arms. “That bad, huh?” Kuguri jokes, but the words sound hollow.

“I found them,” you mutter into his chest, and the way he stiffens, his grip tightening for just a moment has your heart breaking all over again. 

Kuguri doesn’t say much as he leads you to the couch, he just lets you talk. It’s almost worse, you think, the way he doesn’t react. 

Because you both knew this was coming at some point. For months you’ve tried to convince yourself that you could feel him when you were together.

You felt his love when he held you, right?

Happy when he was happy?

But you’d known, both of you, that as much as you wished it otherwise, he wasn’t your soulmate, and you weren’t his. And whether it was today or six months down the line, this was always going to happen.

“You don’t have to…” you trail off, searching his eyes desperately for anything other than the gentle resignation lingering there. “I love you.”

He smiles at that, cups your cheek in his hand and brushes away the stray tear that spills. “I know you do, but–” it’s not enough. “They’re your soulmates. Don’t you think they deserve a chance to make you happy?”

He’s gone when you wake the next morning.

—

In a university of thousands, a sprawling city campus, you honestly believe that in spite of everything, you probably won’t see them again. They don’t know your name, or what you study, you don’t live in the dorms like some of the other students; the chances of just randomly bumping into them again are slim, soulmates or no.

Of course, there are facebook groups and pages set up to reconnect lost soulmates, but you’d have to actually want to find them to try something like that.

(Part of you wonders whether they’ve tried)

The universe has a sense of humour, it seems, because when your paths cross next, it’s not at uni, it’s at the little corner store a few blocks down from your apartment. 

At 2am in the morning. 

And you’re staring intently at the freezer, mentally weighing up exactly what kind of ice cream you need to sate your craving when you hear the sharp intake of breath behind you.

“Holy crap, you’re here.”

It’s stupid, you think, the way your stomach flutters when you turn to find him staring in wide eyed wonder; the taller one, with the spiky hair and those impossibly wide, honey eyes.

He’s smiling, his entire face lit up like a christmas tree at the sight of you. As if you hadn’t run off without so much as an acknowledgement the last time you’d met. As if seeing you here, looking like shit – makeup free and dressed in your old favourite sweats – is the absolute best thing that could have happened.

And when your cheeks grow hot, you’re not entirely sure if it’s embarrassment over the way you look, the fact that he’s caught you buying ice cream that you fully intend to let melt just a little bit before polishing off at two in the morning, or if it’s shame over how badly you’d reacted the last time you’d seen him.

But if he notices your inner turmoil, he doesn’t show it, grinning widely as he calls back over his shoulder, “Akaashi!”

You still haven’t uttered a peep, haven’t moved. Just like last time you’re caught feeling like a kid with their hand stuck in the cookie jar as your other soulmate rounds the corner, his attention fixed on the ingredients list of the rice cracker snacks in his hands, a basket full of groceries tucked into the crook of his elbow.

“Bokuto, I was just around the corner, there’s no need to shout.”

Pretty steel blue eyes flicker up for a split second, then quickly do a double take as he realises that it’s you – his errant soulmate, standing struck dumb, here of all places. “Oh.”

Oh. 

Akaashi eyes you for a moment, and you watch as his throat bobs unsteadily, but just as with Bokuto, he can’t seem to help the smile that creeps across his face. It’s softer than his friend’s, not so blinding but warm nonetheless. Genuine. There’s no animosity there, and it should put you at ease – they don’t seem to blame you, at least. 

It should, but it doesn’t. 

Even now, there’s a little voice in your head urging you to forget your late night cravings, turn tail and run. Nevermind that they’d likely just follow you, much less that you’d look like an absolute fucking idiot, fleeing from your soulmates who so far have done nothing wrong.

It’s not supposed to be this awkward, right? It’s not supposed to be difficult, but even when they’re smiling at you, there’s a tension that digs its claws into you and refuses to relent. Your heart thumps unevenly, like a scared little bunny caught in a trap and the wolves are circling.

If it’s normal, then your parents and every other soulmated pair you’ve ever met certainly kept it to themselves. Maybe it’s the guilt, you think. Maybe you’re just being overdramatic. They’re your soulmates, right? They probably just want to talk, to get to know you, and right now you’re the one being standoffish and rude. 

It occurs to you then that you still haven’t spoken, and they’re both staring at you somewhat expectantly. You really are fucking this up, aren’t you?

“H-hi,” you manage to muster, forcing yourself to smile back. Tiny and timidly, perhaps, but it’s a smile. 

It seems to work, because Bokuto positively beams at you and Akaashi sets down his basket to slide in closer, a pleased little hum escaping his throat. 

Aside from the faint sound of the radio playing in the background and the cashier casually flicking through a magazine up at the register, the store is quiet. It’s just the three of you, except this time there really is no running off and disappearing into the crowd. Which is fine, you need to face them sooner or later, right?

Give them a chance?

Otherwise everything else, all that heartbreak and the lonely nights since will have been all for nothing. So you swallow tightly, take a soft, steadying breath, and press on.

“I, um… I’m sorry about last time. You know with… everything,” you finish lamely, mentally cringing at the sheer awkwardness of it. “I had an exam.”

But again, your soulmates don’t seem to take it personally, the darker haired one (Akaashi, your brain helpfully supplies) nodding slightly. 

“It’s okay. You’re here now.” He has a nice voice, calming and smooth, and though the words seem to carry a different weight you find yourself nodding along with him. You can do this, you can make an effort.

This is fine.

You swallow again, tongue darting out to wet your lips, “I’m Y/N,” you introduce, clutching just a little bit tighter at the handles of your own shopping basket.

You don’t extend a hand, nor try to go in for a hug, but standing there rigidly feels wrong too. They’re strangers, yes, but they’re also not, and you don’t quite know how to act around somebody like that, somebody you’re supposedly fated for but know nothing about. All you know is that the last time they touched you, it was too much. It hurt. And even as you catch sight of the slightly disheartened expression on Bokuto’s face, you’re hesitant to put yourself through it again.

“It’s pretty,” Akaashi compliments, and there’s a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks as he says it. “Suits you.”

Your own probably aren’t much better, with the blood that rushes to your face. You drop your gaze a little, nibbling on your bottom lip, “O-oh, uh… thank you.”

When you glance back up to Bokuto, you find him staring at you again, not with the same hurt expression as before, but something akin to wonder. He seems speechless, in awe of your flustered state, and you wonder how he can bounce that quickly from emotion to emotion without giving himself whiplash. But it seems like your attention is just the thing he needs to pull himself out of it, because he closes his gaping mouth and grins again.

“Y/N,” he repeats, like he’s testing it out, rolling your name over his tongue. “You probably heard, but I’m Bokuto– you can call me Koutarou, though.” 

There’s a beat of silence, and he’s quick to add, “And that’s Akaashi.”

“Keiji,” Akaashi corrects, shooting you another gentle smile. 

First names. It makes sense, you suppose, but the familiarity of it all still doesn’t sit quite right with you. But now that introductions are out of the way, you don't have a clue what you’re supposed to say now - ‘so, soulmates; crazy, huh?’ doesn’t exactly feel appropriate, given the circumstances.

You’re distinctly aware that it’s the middle of the night and you’re at a convenience store and while this might not be the worst time to run into your soulmates again, it’s not far off. 

Maybe that’s not a bad thing, though, because at least it kind of gives you an out. Shifting your weight from one foot to another, you clear your throat, “I hope you guys don’t think I’m being rude or anything, but it is kinda late…” you trail off, hoping they’ll pick up what you’re putting down.

And while Bokuto’s brow furrows, Akaashi at least has the decency to look a little abashed. “Yeah, no, of course. We’re just so… we’re glad we ran into you again.”

 Your cheeks heat again, and to save yourself from having to meet their gazes head on, you quickly spin around, open the freezer door and grab the first pint ice cream that you see. “I just came for this,” you laugh, fighting back a wince at how hollow and fake it all sounds. 

“Here,” Bokuto says, and before you can react he’s snatching it from your grip (thankfully keeping his hand from brushing against yours) and places it atop the basket in Akaashi’s arms. “Our treat.”

He beams at you, and you’re honestly too stunned to reply. You don’t really want him paying for it, but if it gets you out of this awkward encounter any quicker, you’ll swallow down your protests and let it go. 

And so you trail meekly after the two of them as they head to the cashier, and when Akaashi passes you the bag you’re so careful to avoid his touch, a fact he notes with the slightest of frowns, but he doesn’t comment on it. 

“It’s late,” he says instead as the three of you exit into the brisk night air. And then those gunmetal eyes are on you, studying you for a moment. You realise what he’s about to say the moment he opens his mouth again, “Can we walk you home? Or to the bus stop at least?”

Your stomach lurches at the thought of it, of two veritable strangers knowing where you live, but–

He’s not wrong, exactly. It is late, and in hindsight it was probably stupid for you to have come out at this time of the night alone in the first place, whether it was a safe neighbourhood or not. And they’re not strangers, they’re your soulmates.

You have to try. 

So you nod. ‘It’s just down the road,” you murmur, but as the two of them fall into step either side of you, sharing a distinctly satisfied look between themselves, you think that it wouldn’t have mattered how far it was. They would have walked with you anywhere.

Yet their expressions of mild surprise (disappointment, maybe?) when you stop them less than five minutes later in front of your apartment block almost makes you laugh. “This is me.”

Bokuto eyes the building for just a moment before his attention returns to you. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

Lie, that little voice inside your head urges, but you force yourself to ignore it. You have to try. “Uh, not much, I guess…”

Even as you say the words, your hands tighten on your bag, twisting nervously – a sign they either don’t read or wilfully ignore as Bokuto brightens up once again.

“Awesome! Wanna swing by ours to chill for a little bit?”

Like a date, you think as your gaze flickers between the two. Yet Akaashi’s watching you just as intently, those dark eyes far more inscrutable than Bokuto’s, which doesn’t help ease the uncomfortable feeling sitting in the pit of your stomach. There’s really no reason for you to say no, no polite way for you to turn them down. They’re your soulmates, you’re supposed to want this. “Um…”

“Or we can come here, if you want? Or head into the city and do something there, maybe go see a movie or something? Whatever you’d prefer.”

“No!” the words slip from your tongue before you can stop them, the idea of the two of them in your apartment, your home just feels like… too much. “No,” you repeat again, quieter, forcing your features to soften into a hesitant smile. “Your place is good.”

That way you can leave if it all gets to be too much. It’s just a casual hang out. It’ll be fine. 

Both of them seem to relax at your agreement, and you quickly take out your phone to grab Akaashi’s number – sending him a message so he has your number too.

“Perfect,” he says, his voice a purr that sends a ripple of something running down your spine. “I’ll text you the address in the morning.”

You smile at both of them, thanking them again for the ice cream and for walking back with you, even if it was only a few hundred metres. And you think you’re in the clear as you start walking up the steps, trying to balance your keys, your phone and your bags when the sound of your name being called makes you turn around.

Bokuto’s there, a step behind you, and before you can even so much as blink he’s grabbing at your hand, tugging you forward and kissing you.

Just like last time, it’s instantaneous and overwhelming. You feel it all – his giddy excitement, the stirrings of something deeper, less innocent as he cradles your body to his.

And the love. 

Oh god. It’s not mere affection, not some fleeting, superficial thing. It pours over you in unrelenting waves, crushing you under the force of it – you can’t even feel his tongue moving against yours, or the way he sucks on your bottom lip, groaning quietly.

You can’t breathe, can’t think. It’s too much, too much, too strong, too sudden, you can’t BREATHE.

Your trembling hands finds his shoulders, and as your head spins, nausea churning in your gut you don’t waste a second, shoving him away from you with enough force that he actually stumbles back a little.

Though you’ll admit it’s probably more from shock than any strength you actually possess. 

And you don’t dare look to Akaashi as tears fill your eyes, a heaving gasp leaving your lips. Bokuto’s eyes are wide, his mouth agape; he looks confused more than horrified as you stumble back, almost tripping over the last step.

“D-don’t touch me,” you gasp, “please.”

There’s pain in his eyes as your tears well up and spill over and you choke back another sob, but you don’t give him a chance to say anything else. Limbs trembling, you force yourself upright, clutching at the keys in your fist as you skitter towards the door.

You hear one of them, Akaashi you think, calling out your name, but you don’t pause, don’t look back – throwing open the lobby door and slamming it shut behind you. 

And your heart pounds as you climb the steps two at a time, and it’s only once you're in the safety of your own apartment, with the door shut and firmly locked that you allow yourself to breathe. You realise distantly that at some point – probably on the steps outside – you dropped the ice cream they’d bought for you, but you can’t find it within yourself to care. The first time you realise was an accident, they had no way of knowing you were their soulmate, much less how you’d react when they’d touched you. But that–

That wasn’t right.

It wasn’t normal.

Those feelings, that love, you’ve never experienced anything like it, and yet it’s left you feeling filthy; tainted. Scared. It was too much; boundless and abundant, the kind of love that devours and chokes, selfishly strangling everything in its environment to thrive. Overpowering and solely directed at you. How was it supposed to do anything but terrify you. And how can he possibly believe that he loves you like that already?

Soulmates or not, you don’t know him!

This– this whole thing is wrong.

You can’t stop yourself from checking the locks on your apartment another three times before you slip under the covers of your bed, trying to will sleep to find you.

On the nightstand beside you, your phone vibrates, but you refuse to check it, knowing full well that it’s them.

It doesn’t stop.

And with every new notification your blood pressure climbs, and there’s a part of you that’s telling you you have no reason to be reacting like this – whatever happened on those steps, it’s not like they’re going to hurt you.

It was an accident, a misunderstanding.

But they’re still blowing your phone up with notifications and they know where you live and no matter what you tell yourself, you can’t seem to quell the disquiet that eats away at you.

And it’s a cruel thing to do, you know it is, but you don’t know what else to do as you finally give in, swiping your phone up and searching for his contact. The phone rings once, twice, three times and there’s a sinking feeling in your chest when you realise he’s not going to pick up–

“Hello?” Kuguri’s voice is groggy, heavy with sleep and you can almost picture him, sitting up in bed, wiping the sleep from his eyes, running a hand through his messy bed hair. “Fuck, do you know what time it is, Y/N? Why’re you calling me so late?”

There’s a pause, pregnant and heavy, and the only sound that leaves you is the soft hitch in your breath.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, quieter this time, an edge of worry in his tone.

You haven’t spoken to him in weeks, since he’d left without a word and broke your heart, but he’s the only one you want to talk to right now.  

“I-I’m sorry for calling,” you begin, sniffling back your tears. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

—

When you drag yourself out of bed only a few short hours later, your body’s still crying out for a little more sleep, but you can’t afford to indulge.

Like you’d planned, you send the message first thing, ignoring the flood of unread texts above – both from Akaashi and an unknown number you can only assume is Bokuto’s.

I’m sorry about last night, just need some space. 

You have nothing to be sorry for – even if it wasn’t for the frankly unsettling emotions you’d felt, Bokuto’d still kissed you without your permission. But Kuguri said it was better that way – they were less likely to freak out and panic or whatever. You hadn’t questioned it too much, it didn’t really matter what you said so long as they knew you didn’t want them anywhere near you… at least until you figured this whole thing out. And you trusted Kuguri on this.

God knows why he’d even answered your call in the first place, but you’re impossibly glad that he did. Gladder still that he hadn’t hung up on you the moment he’d realised why you were calling.

You scoff down a quick breakfast, before hopping into the shower. The scalding water’s a welcome relief, waking you up more than your coffee had and allowing you the space to think.

Kuguri’s got errands to run this morning, but he’d said you were welcome to stop by his place anytime. He’d insisted on it actually, telling you in no uncertain terms to pack an overnight bag.

‘Look, I’m probably being an overprotective asshole, alright, but I don’t want you there by yourself, so either you come here or I’m coming over there.’

And the thought that you’d need somebody there to protect you, that either one of your soulmates would do anything–

But it’s not so much about them, you think, but you. You’d been a mess when you’d called him, and despite how everything had gone down, Kuguri still cared about you – you can’t just turn those feelings off overnight – is it any wonder that you’d worried him?

Distantly, you register your phone going off a few more times as you busy yourself in washing your hair. You assume it’s Kuguri checking up on you, making sure that you’re alright – you pay it no mind, humming quietly as you reach for your conditioner.

And by the time you slip from your bathroom, wrapped in a big, fluffy towel it’s probably closer to mid-morning than you’d like. You don’t bother blow drying your hair or putting on makeup, instead heading to your room to get dressed and grab some clothes to take to Kuguri’s.

Except there’s a knocking at the door that stops you in your tracks.

You hadn’t heard the buzzer for the building’s main door go off, which meant that it was probably just your landlord stopping by, or one of your neighbours. You know the little girl who lives in the apartment next to yours likes to bake with her dad and sometimes drops off freshly made cookies and treats, so you hastily throw on enough clothes to pass as decent. 

“Coming,” you sing out, racing across the room to reach the door. 

Except when you throw it open, it’s not one of your neighbours standing out in your hallway, nor is it your elderly landlord. 

Akaashi and Bokuto crowd the empty space; Bokuto grinning widely, Akaashi’s dark eyes fixed on yours. 

“You weren’t answering your phone,” he murmurs, a faint frown tugging at his features as studies your face. “We were worried about you.”

And there’s so many things wrong with the fact that they’re here; least of all being how the hell they got into the building to begin with, but you can’t afford to think of any of that. You simply need to get them out of here without causing a fuss. Now.

They’re still your soulmates, you remind yourself as your heart rate picks up. They won’t do anything to hurt you. 

“I-I told you I needed space, please go,” you mutter, clutching so tightly at the edge of the door that your knuckles turn white. “Please,” you beg again when neither of them make a move to leave.

“I told you, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto says, his smile slipping in favour of a wounded pout, “She’s afraid of us. Her soulmates.”

And you don’t know what compels you to shake your head instead of just slamming the door in their faces, “N-no, I just–”

“She’s just skittish,” Akaashi interrupts, cutting you off mid-sentence. “Overwhelmed – this is all new to her. It’s okay, princess,” he says, addressing you this time with a teasing little smirk, “We’ll be gentle, okay? We’re going to take good care of you.”

It’s the final blow to your tentative politeness. As panic sinks its teeth into you, you skitter backwards, scrambling to shut the front door before they can get in–

Bokuto’s faster. They both are.

Stronger, too. 

[clatoera]

it's been a long time coming but

GOD here's the full review i promised I HOPE YOUR STUDYING IS GOING WELL!!!! you are going to crush your exams

about ten asks ago i asked why glimmer (and the others) were encouraged to go into the games despite people close to them knowing what goes on when you become a victor. the answer is.... harrowing at best. all the sections with glim glam and the horrors beyond your imagination that comes with child prostitution!!!! KILLED ME. GUTTED ME. i've reached out into the fic and have put her in a little tupperware with holes at the top and leaves in it and she tells me that she's much happier there and doesn't want to be a part of your fic anymore!!! LEAVE HER ALONE SHES A BABY!!!

For a girl who spends her entire life with her body and her skin on display– there's something incredibly personal and intimate about being covered up.

WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT!?!?! marbles and glim glam are THE couple of all time... marvel seems a little goofy but the way he understands her intuitively CHEFS KISS MA'AM.

also thank you marvel for giving us the funniest moment in this chapter which was the hypothetical red alert everyone was going to get if cato was let loose in the streets if clove died.

the color scene in the train with everlark vs this one with clato. my god. both of their favorite colors being red like do these babies know ANYTHING that's not related to bloodshed. makes you wonder what they would actually do without the hunger games. especially cato now that he's a canon nepo grandbaby. im obsessed with the thin line between violence and tenderness that these two overstep all the damn time. will they stab each other only for it to feel like a kiss? only time will tell.

when it comes to the actual games, all of them being directly opposite each other is a CRIME and i need plot armor for all 24 tributes by next chapter STAT i better not lose anyone in there!!! they will hold hands and host the first annual talent games IDGAF i want to see marvel juggle flaming knives i want to see mags catch the weirdest goddamn fish with a hairpin we don't care about killing each other killing is overrated!!! we love friendship and peace in this house actually and everyone is friends with everyone and we all visit grandpa snow for cookies and milk he dgaf about the games either so everyone's families are safe!!

GOOD LUCK AGAIN ON YOUR EXAMS ily have a great day!

BESTIE YOU ALREADY KNOW I WAIT SO PATIENTLY FOR THESE!!

Starting with saying THANK YOU for your support and confidence in me on these exams that makes ONE of us!! I'm falling apart!! having nervous breakdowns and all that jazz!! So thank you, this means so much to hear.

Yeah so..when you sent that ask I already knew this answer. I knew it would be answered at some point, and I feel like the horrors of reading it in this chapter was far worse than the answer I gave to that ask? Like more graphic. This chapter actually LITERALLY increased my rating on the fic, because I just..felt it wasn't doing justice to tone down what Glimmer experienced. Because..it is horrific and it is awful and it's violent. I consider it one of the most heinous, horrific things that can be done to someone. And while I hated doing it to her, I felt it was realistic as to what we know from canon, the capitol, and the price she pays for being a beautiful young girl. It's horror. It's horrendous. And as you sawy you want her out of the fic and safe..theres only one sure fire way to get her out of the fic and I dont think you'd like if that happened!! (i wouldn't either). Put her in her little jar like a firefly and shake her up. You actually hit one of the big horrific points in this paragraph-- She is just a baby. Fifteen. She was a child, a little girl. And she has faced horrific horrific things .

Listen here bestie. Marbles and Glim Glam have weaseled their way into my heart and they are there to stay!! I love them with my whole heart!! I want them to be happy! Now I don't let them be happy..but..maybe one day! Marbles is a silly little man. We know that. Thats true. But he is intuitive to her and he loves her. For who she is. And thats all that really matters. Also noone gave me the right ❤️ I am a felon ❤️ breaking the law.

Also yes. Everyone knows they want to be no where near cato if clove died. He would be busy being a menace. The purge on panem streets. Hunting down Cory Snow himself.

These babies know nothing of life without the hunger games. LIke truly. What would they do, who would they be, etc, in a life without the games? Maybe his favorite color would have been evergreen or hers a pretty oceany blue. Maybe they would have had hobbies. Maybe Cato would have spent his free time getting berated as a baseball coach, and by berated I mean Enobaria by the fence absolutely verbally assaulting him for his foolishness. Cato is a legacy!! Clove would've been but her mother died. As you can tell his grandparents died before the victors vote because they may not have sent their grandson into the games. And yes! They walk SUCH a fine fine line between love and violence. It's inextricably tangled with them-- who would they be without it?

When it comes to the games!! Well!! The good news is I decide who gets plot armor and how!! I have control who lives who dies who tells this story! So uh!! Fear not!! or Fear a lot!!

THANK YOU again for your support and confidence in me! Truly Someone has to have it because it isn't me!! I'm having literal meltdowns!! Thank you thank you i love you and I cant wait to see you after next chapter!!

@lwveless

[ignisaeri]

~

At that time, all Alatus could hear was the howling of the wind, and the screams of the Yakshas as they waged war against their karmic debts.

A blaze of crimson flame splits the night sky as the Pyro Yaksha shrieks, clawing desperately at scarlet locks of hair with bloodied fingernails, trying to rid herself of demons only she can see. Her eyes flash with the light of a thousand stars as she throws her head back, pleading with the darkness in ragged gasps to leave her, to go somewhere where they could not haunt her. She’s still begging as she dies.

~

The Geo Yaksha rests his foot against the Hydro Yaksha’s abdomen, using her still body as leverage to draw his sharpened blade out from between her ribs. His eyes stare into the distance, unseeing, pupils clouded over with an inky black, fingers twitching as they hold the weapon that had killed one of his oldest friends. The Hydro Yaksha only lays quietly, death caressing her form with its bony fingers, the pool of water beneath them tinged pink from blood.

~

The Electro Yaksha falls to his knees, gaze finding Alatus’ one last time, seemingly apologizing for leaving the Anemo Yaksha alone for eternity. His slender hands float over the blade embedded in his chest, then collapses onto his side as his last breaths leave him, currents of violet electricity flickering out into nothing. He dies silhouetted against the blackness of The Chasm, as silent as the sun creeping over the horizon, even as the battle rages endlessly around them.

~

Rex Lapis gazes at Alatus with such pity, such sadness, before smiling hesitantly, gold eyes meeting the Yaksha’s.

‘Sit, Ever Vigilant Yaksha. The archon war is over. Let us share a cup of osmanthus wine.”

“Alatus, I free you from your duty as a Yaksha. In the fables of another world, the name Xiao is that of a spirit who encountered great suffering and hardship. He endured much suffering, as you have. Use this name from now on.”

“Yes, Morax.”

~

The God of Freedom seeks him out one evening, when he’s resting quietly near the edge of a cliff, feet dangling restlessly off the side, imagining the faces of the lost Yakshas floating through the clouds. Barabatos’ braids glow a gentle forest green, and he inclines his head slightly towards Xiao as he nears.

“Alatus, correct?”

“Xiao,” the adeptus corrects him.

“Xiao,” Barbatos says, “Rex Lapis told me of you.”

~

“It was you with the flute, was it not?” Xiao tells Barbatos as they watch the workers construct a massive statue in Liyue’s center, honoring the late Tianquan. Ningguang’s placid face smiles down at them as the workers dust the marble, freeing it from dust and grime.

Venti bobs his head, gaze never straying from where Rex Lapis (now Zhongli) stands with arms folded, gaze dark. With Ningguang gone, the last of the Liyue Qixing has perished.

“Yes,” Venti says. “I saved you that day.”

~

Tonight, they drink, in honor of the dead. Zhongli gingerly holds a glass of osmanthus wine, a glaze lily tucked into his hair. “To Guizhong,” he says. “Havria, Ningguang, and Tartaglia.”

Venti hiccups, face the color of an overripe tomato, the glass of dandelion wine tipping dangerously in his grip. “To the children of Mond,” he choruses. “To the Ragvindr brothers, to Jean, to Lisa, to Noelle. To Klee!”

Baal is here tonight too, and she leans forward restlessly. “To Kujou Sara,” she adds. “To Kitsune, Chiyo, and to Sasayuri.”

Tonight should be solemn, Xiao thinks, as they list the names of their dead companions. Yet, nearly five hundred years after the last of them passed, he feels nothing but contentment.

Xiao raises his own glass. “To the traveler and his sister,” he says. “And to the Yakshas”.

~

Xiao watches as Venti’s fingers dance, weaving an enticing melody through the hollow sounds of his flute. He’s sitting against a rock, the cool water of the stream lapping at his ankles, washing against the outcropping where Venti stands, a face full of bliss as he plays.

The song is one that Xiao wished to hear, one that he had first heard from the cart of a passing merchant shortly after the end of the Archon War.

The notes seem to float away into the air as he listens, chasing away the darkness in his soul, and he closes his eyes, reveling in this small moment of peace.

~

Sometimes, when Xiao sleeps, he dreams. He dreams of a woman wreathed in fire, eyes burning tears down her cheeks. He dreams of a not-truly-there man, standing with his blade buried in the chest of a woman floating limp in blood-tinged water. He dreams of purple lightning dying as a man takes his last breaths deep within The Chasm.

~

He knows, of course, that he cannot run forever. One day, he will become engulfed by his karmic debt, like the Pyro Yaksha, or go mad and disappear, like the Geo Yaksha.

That day comes sooner than he thinks.

~

Liyue is burning. The city is just as Xiao remembers, a perfect place of beauty. If he concentrates, he can still barely remember the night of the Lantern Rite, thousands of years ago. He closes his eyes and wishes to see the light of a hundred lanterns, instead of the light of fire the buildings shudder and succumb to the roaring flame.

Zhongli stands in front of him, something akin to pain in his gaze, one arm thrown to the side to keep Venti from rushing forwards. The Anemo Archon’s eyes are wide and wild, hat askew and bow grasped in shaking hands. Baal stands straight, weapon drawn, sorrow dotting her gaze.

Fontaine’s archon, the God of Justice, flits around the backdrop of burning flame, hurriedly trying to save as much of Liyue as she can. Her hands wave, spilling waves of water over the temples and buildings, undoing the damage that Xiao caused. The Dendro and Pyro Archons are busy, pulling screaming mortals from the wreckage and destruction.

Three torches and three exploding barrels, compiled with Xiao’s anemo attacks, had set all of Liyue aflame.

There is distant screaming in Xiao’s ears, sounds he knows only he can hear. Deliriously, he recalls the Pyro Yaksha howling at non-existent demons millennia ago and wonders absently if the same will afflict him.

The karmic debt has finally taken over, and it seems to favor the path the Geo Yaksha had taken. Xiao almost laughs as he realizes this, feeling trapped within his skin as he wields his polearm, pointed unwaveringly at the archons.

“I am sorry,” he rasps. There is darkness at the edge of his sight, and the screams only intensify. He can hear individual voices now, hissing and howling and wailing, crying for mercy and death and blood.

“Do not apologize,” Zhongli says. “It is not your fault.”

“What is this?” Venti gasps, the sound echoing in Xiao’s ears. “Xiao, what is happening?”

Baal answers for him. “It is the fate of a Yaksha.” Electricity begins to crackle around her shoulders, eyes darkening to violet as she calls the power of the storm.

Xiao wants to weep at how much she reminds him of the Electro Yaksha.

Maybe, he muses, he will see his fellow Yakshas again. Maybe he’ll meet Aether and Lumine too, in the place that lies after death. He may finally meet those who used to belong to Mond, the ones that Venti talks of so adoringly.

Zhongli finally draws his polearm, an earthen pillar appearing before him, casting protective gold around the archons. Xiao knows why.

He can feel the wind gusting around him, responding to calls he does not remember sending out. Leaves swirl in the gale, and trees rip their way out of the ground. The pain in his head intensifies as the number of screaming voices triple.

Xiao meets Zhongli’s gaze. Sometime, somehow, over the years, the archons had become his closest confidants. Yet, Zhongli was always his oldest companion, so now, Xiao asks Zhongli to do the impossible.

“Morax,” he croaks, using a name that hasn’t been spoken for ages. “You must.”

Zhongli’s gaze is pained, yet resolute, and that is how Xiao knows that Morax will kill him to save the world. Baal seems to sense this too, and lightning strikes the ground not too far away, anxiously awaiting her command.

It is only Venti who has not yet seemed to grasp the situation. He frowns at both archons. “What must you do, Zhongli?”

Zhongli only shakes his head, and Xiao knows it pains him to be the one who will have to kill the last Yaksha. So he answers Venti, limbs shaking as he desperately tries to contain the whirlwind threatening to tear from his chest.

“He must kill me. If he does not, I fear I will destroy Teyvat. I have lost control over my body, Venti.”

Barbatos’ eyes flash green, and Xiao is yet again reminded of the power of the archons. “No,” he says simply. “You cannot die. To live for thousands of years, to drink with us, all this time? You cannot die like this.”

Xiao loses concentration, just a tiny sliver, yet the gust of wind that tears from him shears the top off of a nearby mountain. He groans, harnessing the gale yet again, even as the action forces him to his knees.

“Morax,” he says again. “Please.”

Zhongli looks at him, and the archon’s eyes are glistening in the light of the dancing flames, as wind whips his hair into his face.

“Alatus,” he says, and his voice is full of hurt and resignation. “It has been an honor.”

Yes, Xiao wants to answer back, but he cannot force his mouth to move. He just nods, shaking his head as if he can jar the wailing into silence.

Venti starts towards Zhongli, power thrumming at the edges of his fingers, seemingly ready to resort to battle in order to prevent Xiao’s death, and that is when Baal moves. She slams into Venti, pushing him into the ground, even as wind starts to whirl around them - Venti’s magic, not Xiao’s. Her element locking curse comes a second later, binding itself around Venti, even as he hisses at her in protest.

“Xiao,” Venti cries, twisting as if he can escape the curse. His hat is lost, blown away in the wind, and his hair has come loose from its braids, flying around his face.

“Barbatos,” Xiao whispers. “I never thanked you, for saving me that day.”

Venti pauses, for a second, stunned into silence.

“Thank you,” Xiao says, over the voices in his head. “Thank you.”

Baal only looks at him solemnly, and Xiao stares back at her. They exchange no words, but Baal just nods, once, the simple gesture conveying everything he needs to know.

Xiao holds her gaze for a few more seconds, turning back to find the point of Zhongli’s spear resting above his heart.

Zhongli's face is twisted in grief, yet his blade still hits true, sliding into the hollow space between Xiao's third and fourth ribs.

Xiao chokes, the whirl of wind around him finally dying out. His legs buckle and he falls ungraciously, feeling gentle hands grasping at his clothes as he does.

Somewhere, Venti is screaming his name.

The wailing inside his skull is dissipating, and near the edges of his sight, Xiao can make out swirls of color. At first, he thinks they are the archons, and his failing body cannot see the details of their faces. Then, he recognizes a blue that does not belong to those in the present.

“Rest,” Zhongli whispers, as Xiao fades. “Rest, Alatus.”

And Xiao does, letting himself fall into the embrace of the Yaksha's, who are only becoming clearer, even as Xiao dies.

~

637 years later, a scholar strolls through the bookshelves of Sumeru's most famous academy, searching for a piece of information that could support her thesis.

She turns into a lane labelled Mondstadt: The City of Freedom, and begins to scan the titles, careful to replace everything exactly where she finds it.

There are two other travelers within the small space between the bookshelves, and they're talking to each other, quite loudly.

The scholar frowns. No matter how foreign these travelers are, the rule of silence in a library should be universal.

The first traveler, a tall man with golden eyes and umber hair that falls to his lower back flips another page in his book, completely ignoring his companion. A jade spear is strapped across his back, and the scholar thinks idly that the weapon looks more like a piece of art, with great wings of green jade shattering outwards from the main spike.

The tall man's companion is quite short, with yellow cat like eyes and evergreen tufts of hair, a pink pearl necklace slung loosely around his throat. His boyish grin seems quite misplaced.

It only takes the scholar a few moments to figure out why.

A few months ago, the scholar had studied ancient folklore of Liyue. Among them was a tale of several Yakshas, the last of whom had supposedly been buried beneath a statue of himself, on the highest peak in Liyue.

The man standing before her looks exactly the same as the grainy photo in the text. However, in the scroll of lore, the last Yaksha had worn a fierce scowl across his features, nothing like the one that stands before her now.

"Come, Zhongli," the should-be-dead Yaksha says, tugging on his friend's sleeve. "Baal is waiting for us."

"Baal can wait a while longer," the taller man says, turning the page of his book a while longer, which the scholar now sees is a copy of The Ruling System of Mondstadt: Grandmasters and Cavalry Captains.

"You said you wanted me to learn more about Mond, didn't you?" the taller man continues. "Besides, I am quite intrigued as to exactly who this 'Kaeya' is, the one you keep referencing."

The yaksha frowns. "Kaeya," he says. "Diluc's brother."

At his companion's blank stare, the yaksha says. "I'll remind you later," he chides. "We really must be going, Zhongli."

The scholar startles, embarrassed that she eavesdropped for so long. However, she still hears what the tall man says back.

"Fine. Let us go, Venti."