#I can never escape D.Gray-man. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kaiunkaiku · 4 years

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I return from the grave with a fic! I swear I wasn’t meaning to publish this on April 1st but what can you do, I’m beyond done with this particular piece and it’s finally ready. Fuck it.

Fandom: D.Gray-man

Warnings: Illness, delirious narrator at times, attempted and botched character analysis

@i-am-too-sick it’s finally here!

Kanda is shaking.

Lavi has been aware of this fact for a while, now.

Kanda has been shaking for a while, now.

Lavi would like to do something about it, since Kanda is obviously feeling like utter hell, but his last attempt to approach ended with Mugen’s hilt against his throat, so he isn’t about to try that again any time soon. His biggest accomplishment is his jacket acting as Kanda’s pillow.

But Kanda does look horribly pale, the dark of his hair only contrasting it further in the dim lights of the train cabin. Lavi wonders how high his fever currently is, but he has no way of checking. Kanda is, in general, very strict about his personal space, but right now it seems to be even worse. Lavi has tried asking, several times, but the responses have consisted of one-syllable answers, muttered grumbling and murderous glares, and he isn’t a big fan of being the target of Kanda-level bloodlust.

Lavi just hopes he’ll manage to keep his head until Marie and General Tiedoll join them at the next station in a few hours.

The few hours pass and Kanda’s condition shows no signs of improving – rather, it almost looks like he’s getting worse. The shaking is more obvious now, and he’s sweating. His hair is plastered to his face that has taken a quite worrying ashy hue. The worst is his ragged breathing that he seems to be trying to control with no success at all. Lavi is fairly sure Kanda’s body is just trying to get rid of whatever is wrong, but because this is Kanda, it’s doing it at a horribly accelerated pace. Kanda is probably trying to fight it, because Lavi can’t even imagine how awful it must be for something that’s supposed to last presumably over a week, because if he’s correct Kanda has some nasty variant of the flu, to cram itself in all its misery into a day or two.

XxX

Generally, Kanda doesn’t have anything in particular against trains. They’re certainly faster than walking, and he’s willing to stand irritating company, as long as the company is silent, if it means he can sit down and maybe nap (he prefers walking with Allen, because the fucking bean sprout cannot shut the fuck up, which means walking far enough ahead of him is the only way to get away from the incessant yapping).

Right now, though, the train cabin feels like a rattling death trap. He’s only vaguely aware of Lavi’s concerned stare, and somehow he feels like he’s both burning and freezing in his own skin. He’s fairly sure his hands are shaking too badly to even hold Mugen anymore, so if Lavi decides to try and come closer again, he’s not really sure what’s going to happen. He’ll probably hurl.

Kanda’s body feels like he’s been fighting for a week straight, and his head feels like it’s simultaneously being crushed and melding itself back together. Both are even on their own enough to make him scream on a bad day, and if he knew with any certainty that screaming would make the pain stop, he’d do it in a heartbeat. He has, however, come to the conclusion that even the slightest of sounds makes it exponentially worse, so he remains silent and grits his teeth. The rattling of the train is awful enough, even if Lavi’s uniform jacket does soften it ever so slightly.

Lavi is saying something, Kanda thinks, and it sets little explosions off in his head and he wants to scream again, but he can’t take a deep enough breath to make that much noise anyway. If he didn’t know better, he’d say he’s currently working with maybe half a lung instead of two. Kanda opens his eyes to send a menacing glare in Lavi’s direction, but his vision is so blurry he can barely make out where the damn rabbit is at the moment.

He can still see the lotus, though. Clear and sharp. Everywhere.

It takes him a moment to realize that the train isn’t moving. Stringing together a coherent train of thought is far more difficult than it should be, and it isn’t until he sees a flash of familiar dark fabric that he realizes they’re probably at a station.

And then the General shouts, “Yuu-kun!” or at least Kanda is fairly sure he does, and Kanda feels all of his muscles lock up in protest to the sudden noise. There’s a choked gasp that probably came from his own mouth, and then a hand on his face and it’s both awful and a blessing because the hand is cool against his burning skin but his skin also feels like it’s burning off and the contact makes it worse and suddenly Kanda has no idea which way he’s lying down, where’s up where’s down is he moving is he not moving why does someone keep screaming his name why is his heart trying to beat itself out of his chest why is his throat being shred to pieces

what the hell is happening.

XxX

Kanda is shaking.

He was shaking before, too, but that was more on the side of shivering. Right now, he’s nearly convulsing, and Lavi just prays he’s not going to have a seizure, because he’s not a doctor, Marie is not a doctor and General Tiedoll is not a doctor, and the cabin is on the smaller side. They have another cabin booked for them, presumably similar to this one, so they don’t have to spend the remaining trip all in the same small space, and Lavi has no idea why the hell he’s thinking about that right now, because there’s something very, very wrong with Kanda.

Marie is standing at the door, although he looks like he’d rather scoop Kanda up from where he’s lying, curled up to himself around Mugen, and carry him out and to the nearest inn. If Lavi is being honest, Kanda kind of looks like that would be good for him.

General Tiedoll has his hand on Kanda’s cheek and a concerned frown on his own face. Kanda himself is simultaneously trying to breathe and cough his lungs out, and Lavi is afraid Kanda is really going to pass out soon, if not from anything else then from lack of oxygen. The General is trying to talk to him, or at least to get his attention somehow, but Kanda doesn’t look like he’s even hearing, let alone responding.

And then, Kanda stops. Suddenly all the movement and noise ceases and his eyes widen for a fraction of a second. “Yuu-kun?” the General asks, voice just as concerned as his face. A horrible whimper, barely audible, escapes Kanda’s lips, and Lavi decidedly never, never wants to hear anything so awful ever again, and his eyes roll back. Kanda goes limp and both Marie and Lavi surge forward, even though General Tiedoll is already turning his pupil over on his back. He swiftly hands Mugen to Lavi, who nearly drops it.

Kanda looks disturbingly peaceful unconscious, Lavi thinks. His breathing is still messed up, but his face is slack and void of any irritation or discomfort, as if it hasn’t been ten seconds since he was in excruciating pain and shaking badly enough for it to be heard.

XxX

Waking up is… weird. Everything is a little fuzzy, everything is a lot painful and nothing feels quite right. There’s something cool on his face, covering his eyes, which is okay because he’s fairly sure he doesn’t want to see anything right now, and he’s freezing.

There’s a hand in his hair and something under his head.

The fingers on his scalp nearly make Kanda sit up and flinch back, but before his reflexes can kick in, he recognizes the familiar feeling.

Marie.

That’s good, Marie is good. Marie is constant, Marie is safe, and although Kanda isn’t quite sure how he ended up in this situation, he feels horrible enough to let Marie run his fingers through his hair. He remembers feeling sick earlier, too, vaguely before he and Lavi boarded the train, and then progressively worse after that. He remembers Lavi prodding him, remembers Lavi offering him his jacket at some point and not even bothering to refuse.

After that, most things are just pain and haze. He can kind of recall pointing Mugen, hilted, at the damn rabbit’s throat, but that’s a usual occurrence and he could be remembering a totally different time.

“You’re awake?”

Kanda can’t help but flinch at the sudden voice. It’s quiet and low, and doesn’t aggravate his head as badly as it probably could. Marie’s fingers stop moving for a moment before continuing their journey along his scalp. Kanda offers a low hum in a belated response. He thinks, at least. He can’t seem to distinguish between seconds and minutes.

“You gave us quite a scare,” Marie continues, and while both his presence and voice are familiar and safe and comforting, just concentrating on the words feels exhausting. “How do you feel?”

“Like my body is trying to stitch itself together while being shred to pieces,” Kanda mutters in response, through a raw throat. He isn’t sure how much sense that sentence made, but he can’t seem to be sure of anything right now. There’s a weird pressure in his head that’s distorting everything, or maybe it’s the constant, dizzying rush of blood in his ears. Marie’s voice sounds oddly distant, almost like an echo.

The train lurches in some direction, Kanda isn’t sure which because he’s not sure which way he himself is except that he’s on his back and he thinks his head is on Marie’s lap, and there’s a crash and some cursing coming from somewhere and the whatever was on his face slides off. There’s a hand on his waist and he doesn’t know how long it’s been there and suddenly everything is spinning even though he has his eyes closed, no he doesn’t when did he open his eyes, there are flowers at the edges of his vision, he thinks, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t feel like himself and he just wants things to stay still and he can’t breathe—

And then there’s red in his vision, a touch on his shoulder and all he can hear is white noise but Lavi’s lips are moving and the world tilts, there’s a hand on his back and he feels vaguely like he’s going to throw up. Swallows thickly. The hands on him are doing something, pushing him somewhere and he wants them off, off, he doesn’t know whether he’s burning or freezing again because maybe it’s both. It kind of feels like the time the Science Section freaks accidentally set him on fire and then dunked him in ice cold water because it was November, except that this is his entire body burning and not just his arm.

Huh. He still hasn’t murdered Reever for that.

XxX

Kanda is shaking.

It’s more on the shivering side again, which Lavi supposes is good, but he’s also borderline delirious. He’s barely reacting to anything, even though according to Marie he was still responsive just moments ago. Sudden movements, Lavi assumes, are doing him no favors.

The more pressing issue, however, is the fact that Kanda’s face is clammy with sweat and positively burning. His pupils are dilated so far Lavi can barely see the blue of Kanda’s eyes around them, and keeping calm is becoming increasingly difficult.

The fact is, though, that currently Lavi is the person with most medical knowledge present, so he just has to suck it up.

“Marie,” he starts, directing his words to the older Exorcist, hands still on Kanda’s shoulders. “We need to get his fever down. He’s burning up.” Marie nods and starts unbuttoning Kanda’s uniform jacket. It hurts Lavi’s heart, because Kanda obviously feels like he’s freezing, but getting his body temperature down is more important than comfort right now.

General Tiedoll is still negotiating with the train staff about a bigger cabin with an actual bed, which shouldn’t be so difficult because they’re the Black Order, but apparently some civilians can be more of a pain in the ass than an Akuma or three.

It doesn’t matter, Lavi tells himself as he moves to open the cabin’s window. Marie is in the process of taking off Kanda’s shirt, a process made difficult by the fact that Kanda has no idea what’s going on and probably just wants to stay warm. Marie is talking to him in a low voice, trying to make him relax enough to let him get the shirt off, because Kanda has his arms locked around himself.

Lavi needs water. He also needs ice, but he’s not sure he can find that on the train. They have two stations left until the final one, and from there they’re supposed to make their way to London. Though, Lavi suspects they might have to stay in France a bit longer than expected, because he’s not hauling Kanda across the English Channel in this condition. That means more expenses for the Order, of course, but Komui will probably understand.

No, Komui will definitely understand, Lavi decides, because despite the fact that the man is a total whackjob, he also cares deeply for all his subordinates. If it wasn’t for his workload and tendency to get seasick, Lavi wouldn’t be surprised to see Komui drag himself across the Channel just to check on Kanda. One or two nights in Calais for four Exorcists isn’t going to destroy the Order’s budget.

And now, he needs that water. He trusts Marie to take care of Kanda – he’s been an Exorcist long enough to know actual, proper first-aid (one would expect any person to know first-aid when they frequently fight against killer machines, but Kanda absolutely sucks at that), and more importantly, Kanda trusts him.

XxX

Marie is worried, there’s no other way to express it. He trusts Lavi to know what he’s doing, but with the way Kanda’s skin is burning or heart is beating or breathing is sounding, all of his concerns can’t be put to rest with trust alone. Kanda is shivering against him already, and having to take off his shirt is next level of horrible.

He’s not quite sure whether Kanda’s rapid pulse is because of the sickness or the fact that he’s just very agitated, or maybe both, but trying to calm him down is doing absolutely nothing. Marie doesn’t know if Kanda is even registering anything that’s happening around him, except for the fact that he’s cold and miserable.

What he does know is that Kanda would probably rather be wrapped in all the available jackets and blankets and lying down. That, however, isn’t going to happen, so Marie settles for trying to soothe away the worst of Kanda’s mental discomfort until Lavi arrives with the water.

He’s been running his hands through Kanda’s messy hair for a few moments when he hears something in Kanda’s chest hitch, and his fellow pupil jerks away from him violently. At first it almost sounds like he can’t draw breath at all, but the coughing fit that follows is almost worse.

If he couldn’t breathe at all, Marie could do something about it. Now, however, he can merely rub Kanda’s back behind his lungs and hope it helps, and make sure Kanda doesn’t fall over and to the floor. Kanda’s hands are grasping at whatever they can get a hold of until the other one finds Marie’s wrist and latches there.

Marie both feels and hears the rattling from Kanda’s lungs, and it’s one of those moments when he’s glad he doesn’t have to see but also wishing he didn’t have to hear.

Kanda’s fingers feel like ice against Marie’s wrist, which is disconcerting, as both his back and chest are far, far too warm. Marie doesn’t recall Kanda being sick ever before, just injured or exhausted, and he’s known his fellow pupil for nine years. Of course there have been months in between, missions with other people and assignments on the opposite sides of the world, but Kanda has always known of his injuries beforehand when they’ve met up again, without him telling him, so Marie finds it reasonable to assume that he would have been informed had Kanda ever been ill. He has long since stopped listening to stories of Kanda’s injuries, because Kanda tends to rely on his regenerative abilities and approximately every third story is got blasted through the chest or had his stomach blown up or something equally fatal for anyone who isn’t Kanda.

Now, as Kanda is trembling in his arms, Marie finds it impossible to believe that something as fragile as this kid could ever survive anything like being clawed through. He knows Kanda is strong, it’s an undeniable fact, but right now he also seems very, very human.

XxX

Kanda is shaking.

Lavi nudges the door of the cabin open with his foot, both hands holding buckets of water and General Tiedoll right behind him with an armful of rags and towels. It comes as a surprise that both Kanda and Marie are on the floor, but the shaking is something Lavi has almost come to expect. It’s worse again, not as bad as it was earlier when he passed out but definitely more than shivering. There’s probably a word for that particular state, Lavi thinks, at least in some language he knows, but now is not the time to think about vocabulary.

The sound that’s supposedly Kanda’s breathing is absolutely horrible. It’s wheezing and sounds like it’s going through a clogged filter. Kanda is on his knees, his weight supported by Marie and his back heaving, and his hair hangs around his face limply. Marie is also on his knees, both arms fully dedicated to preventing Kanda from toppling over and looking far more concerned than what Lavi would like to see. Kanda has a death grip on Marie’s arm – Lavi can see the muscles in his forearm straining from the strength of it, and it must hurt like hell for Marie.

Lavi sets the buckets down and hopes the movement of the train won’t knock them over. Kanda’s face is just as pale as it has been for the entirety of the journey, washed of all color, but the delirious, vacant look is gone – he looks more like the Kanda Yuu Lavi knows with a frown on his face, even if it is pained. Lavi isn’t sure whether that’s a good sign or not, but it gives him some hope. Hell, maybe he’ll get a response at some point.

Apparently General Tiedoll has similar ideas – he’s already at Kanda’s side when Lavi has just made sure that the buckets stay still. The General lifts a hand to Kanda’s cheek, touch tender and eyes soft, and Lavi feels more like an outsider than he usually does. Those three are a family (a family of four, they’re supposed to be, and Daisya’s absence is still a gaping wound in the space to Kanda’s right), and Lavi feels like he’s intruding on something private he shouldn’t even be seeing.

Lavi settles himself carefully to Kanda’s left with a damp towel he drapes on Kanda’s shoulders. A shudder works itself up Kanda’s spine, and Lavi watches it travel through his shoulders to his fingertips that loosen a little around Marie’s wrist. It’s going to bruise, Lavi can see that, and Kanda is going to feel bad and guilty about it later and have no idea what to do about those feelings, and Lavi is going to have to try and talk him through that. Sure, it’s nice that Kanda is having normal human emotions these days, instead of just anger, annoyance and frustration, but it’s a work in progress.

Kanda lets out a huff that could almost be a whimper, and tries to curl further up to himself and into Marie. It’s almost pitiful, almost, but mostly it’s as close to heartbreaking as Lavi is likely to ever find anything.

That’s a thought he files neatly in a box that he tries to throw away but ends up not being able to.

Together they gather Kanda from the floor and Marie settles them into the position they were in earlier, Kanda lying down with his head on Marie’s lap and still gripping Marie’s uniform – his hand has moved to clutch the fabric of Marie’s sleeve, but a deathgrip is a deathgrip. General Tiedoll carefully takes Kanda’s free hand and murmurs something Lavi deliberately doesn’t pay attention to.

He steps out to find someone he can chew out for still not having that larger cabin.

XxX

Once Kanda settles down and they manage to maneuver him into a position where his breathing doesn’t sound like he’s going to asphyxiate in the immediate future, General Tiedoll stands up from the floor he’s been crouching down to provide his young apprentice some comfort. He wets a rag, wrings it out and sets it on Kanda’s forehead, and Kanda’s breath pauses momentarily but doesn’t hitch. The rattle in his lungs is still there, but it sounds more contained and less likely to explode at any given moment; Marie resists the urge to sigh in relief.

The General takes Kanda’s hand again, and starts to quietly talk about their last assignment. He omits everything worse than the run-of-the-mill destruction level ones cause, and instead talks about the children, the food, the generosity of the villagers, the birds that sang in the trees at the lake’s shoreline. He doesn’t mention the six-year-old girl who lost her leg and entire family in an Akuma attack, or the fourteen-year-old boy who died saving her – instead, he mentions the blind child who was elated to meet Marie. The teenager who sang her voice raw at the front of a half-destroyed town hall where the people gathered to draw strength from each other. The group of elderly ladies who put their ingredients together and spent two days cooking and baking so everyone had food.

By the time Lavi comes back, Kanda’s breath has evened out as much as it’s likely to do right now, and he’s at least dozed off if not outright fallen asleep. There’s an aura of irritation around Lavi that tells Marie the train staff is still being difficult before he even opens his mouth.

“Now they’re saying that if we still want to switch cabins we can, but there’s also barely an hour until we reach Calais,” Lavi says, one hand thoughtfully rubbing at his neck. “What do you think, is it worth to move him?”

Marie considers this for a moment, brushing his fingers through Kanda’s tangled hair. “I don’t think so, no,” he replies after a brief pause.

“He finally calmed down, so moving him now would only make it worse,” General Tiedoll continues for him. Marie nods in agreement.

Lavi sighs heavily, but the near-palpable aura around him dissipates somewhat.

XxX

For the first time in hours, Kanda isn’t shaking. There’s an occasional frown that passes on his still-far-too-pale face, and Lavi doesn’t know if it’s just general discomfort or nightmares, but all in all he looks much better now.

Now don’t get him wrong, Kanda still looks absolutely miserable, but he’s no longer shaking uncontrollably, and he looks like he’s actually asleep rather than unconscious. Lavi considers this a victory.

He’s still feverish, but it’s not spiking anymore, so as they steadily approach the final stop they start dressing Kanda back up. Kanda is semi-awake for it and actually tries to help in the process, but he seems spent and exhausted. He keeps tugging at his loose hair like it’s distracting him, so after a while Lavi switches places with Marie so he can sit next to Kanda instead.

“Yuu, I’m going to tie your hair up, yeah? That okay with you?” Lavi asks even though he so often doesn’t, usually just going for it while Kanda sleeps. Kanda considers this for a moment, before slowly nodding and turning so his back is fully facing Lavi and he can lean his head on the wall to their right. His breath has picked up pace again now that he’s sitting up, so Lavi does quick work with the loose braid starting at the base of Kanda’s neck.

It’s not the most beautiful braid he’s ever done, but it effectively stops Kanda’s hair from tangling up further and getting in the way of everything. He ties it up just as the announcement that they’ll be arriving shortly sounds, and Kanda immediately perks up. Lavi lets go of his hair as Kanda reaches for his uniform jacket.

“When’s the next ferry leaving?” Kanda asks, tugging his jacket on. His voice is hoarse, barely there, and he sways as he stands up. Lavi could swear he goes another shade whiter.

“We’ll be staying the night,” Marie answers before Lavi can. Kanda frowns.

“Why?” he demands, trying for a menacing glare. In any other circumstances Lavi would be comparing him to a wet cat right now, because this could be incredibly funny, but Kanda’s hands are shaking as he tries to button up his jacket.

The train lurches and Kanda’s knees buckle.

Lavi reaches for him and yanks him back on the seat before he can go down, and then gets to hold him up as Kanda almost slides down anyway. His breathing is back to sounding like a nightmare. Lavi raises a hand to Kanda’s face to find it clammy with cold sweat, and softly swears to himself.

“Yuu,” he starts firmly. Kanda doesn’t react at all. “Yuu, do not pass out on me now. You hear me?” He taps at Kanda’s cheek lightly, and watches as he swallows convulsively through the ragged breathing. “Yuu, eyes on me. Nothing else matters. Look at me.”

From the corner of his eye he notices General Tiedoll approaching them, but he quickly settles back when Lavi quickly shakes his head at him. He can understand the General wanting to do something, but Kanda needs one thing to focus on right now and it’ll be easier if it’s Lavi. Kanda’s gaze looks hazy and Lavi is genuinely concerned he might pass out. It’s vaguely terrifying. He squashes that feeling down.

It takes a lot of prodding until Kanda’s eyes finally zero in on him. He still looks dizzy, but focus is good. Focus means Lavi can talk to him.

“Good, that’s good. Just keep looking at me, okay.” He decides to risk angering Kanda again, because really, he has to. “You really wanna cross the Channel like this, Yuu?” He expects a sudden reaction, anger, but all he gets is Kanda closing his eyes and clicking his tongue in a display of annoyance. Thought so.

Kanda tries to walk out once the train stops, he really does. It’s kind of sad to watch. He keeps glaring at Lavi and Marie and the General in that miserable wet cat kind of way until he finally gives in to either his own body or General Tiedoll who keeps insisting he let Marie carry him.

There’s a nice little inn almost right next to the station that they decide suits their needs. Lavi stays at the station to make a call to Komui while the others go ahead.

Komui is, unsurprisingly, not pleased to hear what he has to say, but as expected he’s more worried about Kanda than he is about the Order’s budget. He briefly questions Lavi about the mission he and Kanda were on for the past week, but he’s really more interested in Lavi’s observations about Kanda’s abilities than anything else about it.

Well, that and Kanda’s general wellbeing.

They keep the call short, because Lavi can hear Reever crying in the background and while Komui has no interest in paperwork, he does want Lavi to check on Kanda as soon as possible.

The young lady clearing tables at the inn instructs him to the rooms General Tiedoll reserved for them. Two rooms; though all of them want to stay with Kanda, the rooms aren’t large enough for four people, so the general consensus ends up being that as the person with the most amount of medical knowledge despite being Kanda’s least favorite person of the group, Lavi will be rooming with him.

Kanda is already asleep, barely out of his jacket and boots and once again curled around Mugen. Lavi sets his travel bag on the bed and sits down next to it. Kanda looks almost peaceful, now. He hasn’t taken out the braid, Lavi notes with a light air of satisfaction.

It’s still only late afternoon and the window is letting in a nice amount of light, so he takes out his writing equipment and starts chronicling.

#my writing #fanfiction #sickfic #dgm

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years

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Fic Rec Bingo

Okie dokie, this is the Fan Rec Bingo - idea courtesy of lightvials on twitter, but I don’t have a twitter that I ever use, so I’m filling it out here instead. Let’s see if I can fill it all out!

I did, and then some. To save poor dashboards, it’s all under the cut! If I know author tumblrs they’ve been mentioned - I know pitifully few so if anyone knows the ones I don’t, let me know so I can mention them, too!

A fic you love without knowing the source material: The Dragon-King’s Temple by Kyral (Stargate SG-1/Avatar the Last Airbender)

Through the spite of the spirits or plain rotten chance, a door that would have been better left untouched has opened. On the other hand, with Fire and Earth as one's allies, sometimes escaping is the easy part. Rated: Gen. AO3 Archive Warning for Graphic Descriptions of Violence. Characters: Zuko, Toph Beifong, Janet Fraiser, Sam Carter, Jack O’Neill, and more Words: 196311. Status: Complete

I very rarely read fics without already knowing the canon, but one that I think counts would be a Stargate/ATLA crossover, because I know nothing about Stargate and I have yet to finish ATLA! This was recommended to me due to the creativity of the author regarding a language barrier (something I always enjoy, and my friend knows that).

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A fic series with a premise that shouldn’t work but it does: Crazy=Genius by blackkat (Bleach/Harry Potter)

Minerva McGonagall isn't about to let Harry go back to the Dursleys after his first year. She finds an alternative, and along the way, Bazzard Black finds that he might have more family left than he'd ever thought. Rated: Teen. AO3 No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Bazz-B, Harry Potter, and more Words: 21682. Status: Incomplete

Okay, I cheated and picked a series. Not my fault blackkat decided to make this universe a series of oneshots rather than a single entity and you’re certainly not getting me to only pick one of the five already published ones. Bazz-B being a Black and also kinda a wizard is a brilliant concept, and having him adopting Harry is pure gold. Not sure how crazy Quincy adopting poor, neglected Boy Who Lives works, but it does!

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A fic you’ve reread several times: The Guardian (Director’s Cut) by SGTBrowncoat (Naruto)

Itachi Uchiha receives his first mission in ANBU: protecting a certain trouble making Jinchuriki. He bonds quickly with the boy, but dark forces rise to threaten Itachi, Naruto, and those they care for most. Rated: T. Canon-typical violence Characters: Uchiha Itachi, Uzumaki Naruto, Uchiha Shisui and more (includes Uchiha Itachi/Inuzuka Hana background pairing) Words: 35945. Status: Complete

Back to my first ever fandom, here, and a really fun non-massacre AU fic, with lots of Itachi and Shisui goodness. There are a fair few ANBU-looking-after-kid-Naruto fics but this is by far my favourite of them! There is a sequel, but unfortunately it’s not finished and hasn’t been updated in a long time (I live in hope!)

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A fic you still remember many years later: While The Ring Went South by Thundera Tiger (Lord of the Rings)

What happened after the Fellowship left Rivendell but before they came down off Caradhras? Behold the missing scenes. Rated: K+. Canon-typical violence Characters: Legolas, Gimli, Aragon, Gandalf, the whole Fellowship Words: 149624. Status: Complete

I refound this fic completely by accident the other week, after first reading it (according to when I favourited it on FFN) in 2011! It was just as amazing as I remembered, and is really the standard I hold all other LotR fics to, especially ones that involve the entire, pre-Moria, Fellowship. It has a sequel but sadly that’s not been updated in some time (but again, I live in hope!)

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A comfort fic: There May Be Some Collateral Damage by metisket (Bleach/Harry Potter)

Ichigo’s been ordered to go undercover at a magic school to bodyguard a kid named Harry Potter, and this would be fine, except that he’s about as good at bodyguarding as he is at magic. And he considers it a good day, magic-wise, if he hasn’t set anything on fire. Rated: Gen. AO3 No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Kurosaki Ichigo, Harry Potter, Weasley Twins, and more. Words: 61209. Status: Complete

I have no idea what this means by ‘Comfort Fic’ but if I want a laugh and Umbridge getting a pile of comeuppance, this is definitely the fic I’ll turn to. As the A/N says: ‘sending Ichigo to Hogwarts is basically the same as swinging a wrecking ball directly into the side of the castle’. Beautiful chaos is what we get. Beautiful, beautiful chaos.

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A cathartic fic: See You Again by cookietosser (One Piece)

Rocinante has been through a lot in his life. Adding uncontrollable time travel into the mix? That's just the icing on the cake. Rated: Teen. AO3 Violence and (canon) Character Death Warnings Characters: Donquioxte Rocinante|Cora-san, Trafalgar Law, Heart Pirates Words: 15755. Status: Complete

You want to rip my heart out and trample it into lots of little pieces while still making it all better because Law and Rocinante? Well, this little time-traveller’s wife AU fic is just the one for all that. Sad moments, frustrating moments, happy moments, all wrapped up in this oneshot!

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A fic you’d print and put on your bookshelf: Thrower of the Dart by Vathara (Artemis Fowl/The Avengers)

What might have happened instead of Artemis Fowl book 6, if it'd happened in the Marvel Universe. Megalomaniacs ahoy! Rated: Teen. AO3 No Archive Warnings Characters: Artemis Fowl II, Tony Stark, and more Words: 101272. Status: Complete

It’s long, it’s epic, and it would nestle in perfectly at home alongside my Artemis Fowl books on the bookshelf! It’s not so much a rewrite of book 6 as a complete replacement of it, with a new plot and an all too familiar villain!

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A fic you associate with a song: Goodbye, Brother by Serena Estelle (Bleach)

Ilforte's final moments as I like to picture them-with his brother. Rated: T. Canonical character death Characters: Szayelaporro Granz, Yylfordt Granz Words: 3073. Status: Complete

Might be cheating, because the author actually names a song in their starting A/N, but this definitely brings to mind Exile Vilify by The National, and I fully recommend listening to that (on loop - there is a 10-hour loop version on youtube) as you watch this for maximum tear-jerking effect.

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A fic that inspires you: Magic of the Rose Cross by Awensweth (Harry Potter/D.Gray-Man)

In Harry's 4th year the Triwizard Tournament is brought back to live, but the appearance of a fourth mysterious school about which only Dumbledore seems to know brings new secrets with it for everyone. Who are the students of Rose Cross? Rated: Mature. AO3 Chose Not To Use Warnings Characters: Harry Potter, Allen Walker, and more Words: 66632. Status: Incomplete

I have been inspired by many, many fics, but I chose this one in particular because it was the main one that inspired me to join the HP/DGM Triwizard Tournament wave of the early 2010s - indeed, The Combat School is one of my most popular fics, but without this and other fics of the trope, I probably would never have written it! That’s not to say I’ve copied this fic - aside from the base trope I tried my best to make my own work unique against the others, and hope that I succeeded! Sadly, this fic is incomplete and hasn’t been updated for some time, but it’s still worth a read.

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A fic that brought you on board a new ship: Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell by MsChunks (Boku no Hero Academia)

Uraraka and Bakugo have a secret. It’s not what their classmates think it is. Rated: Teen. AO3 Chose Not To Use Warnings Characters: Bakugo Katsuki, Uraraka Ochako Words: 182478. Status: Complete

Putting Bakugo and Uraraka together was something I’d never considered, and I started this fic with some trepidation after a friend recommended it to me, but said friend has never steered me wrong with fics and didn’t start now! Fake dating, Uraraka actually being badass, the most terrifying couple in class 1-A? That’s this fic.

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A fic you wish could be a movie: Mission Impossible by Loopstagirl (Thunderbirds)

Being selected for his first solo mission should have been exciting for Captain Scott Tracy of the Air Force. But there was something else at play. Something dangerous and deadly. Something that could cost him more than his life. Rating: T. Warnings: Violence Characters: Scott Tracy, Gordon Tracy Words: 55048. Status: Complete

Air Force!Scott? W.A.S.P.!Gordon? On a joint mission together? Yes, gimme, gimme, gimme. Gimme Scott’s awkwardness alone on a boat of WASP personnel, gimme Gordon’s horror when he realises the suicide mission pilot is his older brother, and now give that all to me on screen! And we can’t forget the Hood, of course! Might be a bit higher rating than the current Thunderbirds stuff, but hey, I’m old enough. Gimme.

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A fic that led to you becoming friends with the author: The Gabriel Project by Aceidia (Bleach) - @thetwelvecaesars

When Szayelaporro knew Aizen's reign in Heuco Mundo was coming to a close, he took matters into his own brilliant hands. He reincarnates himself and the other nine Espadas into a new life full of surprising turns and irony. Yet, the harmony and ignorance is not forever as they begin to remember. Rating: M (violence) Characters: Szayelaporro Granz, the Espada Words: 116030. Status: Complete

Well, this fic sparked off a friendship that’s still very much there, even if neither of us write much for Bleach any more! What started off as a challenge to identify who the Espada were turned into essay-length PMs about anything and everything, and then RP groups and now random emails about whatever at random times of the day (different timezones don’t help)!

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A fic you’ve gushed about irl: Living Like Kings by CLynnB (Thunderbirds)

The world wants to know more about the Tracy brothers. So Lady Penelope takes it upon herself to show the world just who they are. Through YouTube. Rating: Gen. AO3 Author Chose Not To Use Warnings Characters: Lady Penelope-Creighton-Ward, Tracy Family (background Pen/Ink, Scayo, Virg/Brains) Words: 35348. Status: Complete

I love social media fics like this one, and my poor boyfriend got the brunt of it while we were on holiday... he knows basically nothing about Thunderbirds except for what he’s heard from me (which is a lot because he’s amazing and lets me gush). I mean, Tracy boys playing “The Floor Is Lava?” and tackling each other to the ground? Gimme.

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A fic you associate with a place: Thunderbirds Meet Thunderbirds - Alan trip in to the movie verse by ak47stylegirl (Thunderbirds) @ak47stylegirl

Crazy stuff always happens to Tracys, don't they? Add felling into a different world to the list. Rating: Gen. AO3 No Archive Warnings Characters: Alan Tracy, Tracy Family times two Words: 25599. Status: Incomplete

This might be a little random, but this fic was one that I found while I was ill on holiday to the Lake District last autumn. Sadly, it’s the only trip there I’ve ever done where I couldn’t climb a single fell (and my car’s clutch burnt out after having to reverse up a pass... thanks bus coming the other way), and this fic’s updates while I was there kept me sane! This has actually very loosely inspired a fic of my own which is in the making - which might get posted in the next year if I’m lucky... Still waiting eagerly for this fic’s next update :D

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A fic that made you gasp out loud: The Colours Of The World by MaiKusakabe (Fullmetal Alchemist/Harry Potter)

When Roy Mustang went to retrieve his eyesight from Truth, he wasn’t expecting to end up doing a job in exchange. It couldn’t even be an easy job, of course, because Edward’s assessment of Truth was a pretty accurate one. Rating: Mature. AO3 No Archive Warnings (but watch for canon-typical violence) Characters: Roy Mustang, Albus Dumbledore, Sirius Black, and more Words: 120578. Status: Incomplete

Badass Roy yesss. Twists and turns and Truth is a pretentious you-know-what but Voldemort’s even worse so where does that leave poor Roy except caught in the middle and very much a war veteran at this point... much to the horror of a few wizards!

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A fic you found at the right time: Seafaring Heartless: Exit North Blue by Avian Swallow (One Piece)

Pirates may be considered evil by the majority, but Law had met quite a few of the world's navy who were corrupt to the core and putting up a very thick facade. He reasoned that if he was going to manipulate and scheme his way into that goal, at least he was going to be honest enough to admit it. Rating: T. Canon-typical situations Characters: Trafalgar Law, Bepo, Penguin, Shachi, Heart Pirate OCs Words: 159644. Status: Complete

Is there ever a ‘wrong time’ to find a fic? (a 100k+ at 4am debatable, but shh). When I craved Heart Pirate content, this fic (and its sequel, still in progress but updating) appeared! Only loosely clings to canon at the moment, thanks to some SBS revelations, but with well developed OCs to fill the faces we have no names or personalities for at the moment!

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A fic that you would read fic of: Only a Boy by Riddle Lee (Harry Potter/Merlin)

Merlin has changed Camelot forever but while that part of his life is complete, destiny has a new task for him. Now he has to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, hide the fact that he's the Merlin, and defeat a Dark Lord that's messing with magic he knows nothing about. Rating: T. Canon-typical situations Characters: Merlin, Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, and more Words: 340998. Status: Incomplete

An amazing universe with Slytherin!Merlin, no Harry Potter/Boy Who Lived, and the good old ‘hiding real identity’ trope to underpin the whole series. Currently just into the start of Merlin’s third year at Hogwarts, aka “The Prisoner of Azkaban”. This universe has so much to give, although Riddle Lee is doing a fantastic job at it. It’s incomplete and slow to update but does update!

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A fic that made you laugh out loud: HOW’S THE COMA GOING by ossicle (One Piece)

Kidd and Penguin keep trying to murder each other and Law is done with their shit. He assigns them to take care of each other’s injuries so they’ll learn to get along. It doesn’t work. Rating: Teen. AO3 No Archive Warnings Characters: Eustass Kid, Penguin, Trafalgar Law (background KidLaw) Words: 2062. Status: Complete

Oh this one had me in stitches basically the whole time. Kid’s bedside manner should not be mimicked in the slightest, but a beautiful bonding fic in typical pirate fashion - beat ‘em up ‘til they have your approval. Poor, poor, Law.

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A fic with a line (or two) that you’ve memorised by heart: On Their Side by Gumnut (Thunderbirds) - @gumnut-logic

She trusted these boys with a great deal. Rating: Teen. AO3 No Warnings Apply Characters: Colonel Casey, Virgil Tracy, Gordon Tracy Words: 1116. Status: Complete

I think I have basically the entire thing memorised. This one also falls into several other categories, most notably ones that made me laugh and ones that I’ve reread several times, but it really belongs here on this list.

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A fic that gave you butterflies: it’s a long way forward so trust in me by aloneintherain (Miraculous Ladybug)

Six times Marinette carried Adrien (plus one time he carried her). Rating: Teen. AO3 No Archive Warnings Characters: Adrien Agreste|Chat Noir, Marinette Dupain-Cheng|Ladybug (all sides of the love square) Words: 5611. Status: Complete

Aaah I have a weak spot for strong!Marinette and this fic ticks that box time and time again, with a side of blushing!Adrien and general love-struck Adrien/Chat. I mean, what more could a girl need?

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A fic that embodies something you value in life: Team Itachi by Killer of thy Cookies (Naruto)

What if the Third Hokage stopped the council before they could order Itachi to commit the Uchiha Clan Massacre? Itachi is one of the village's strongest ninja, and has now been given the task of being a Jonin sensei, assigned to Team 7 with his little brother Sasuke, the 'dead last' Naruto Uzumaki, and fangirl Sakura Haruno. This is Team Itachi. Rating: T. Canon-typical situations Characters: Uchiha Itachi, Uchiha Sasuke, Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura, and more Words: 155092. Status: Complete

(Yup, another non-massacre AU.) Loyalty. Honestly, there are so many fics that have loyalty in them, especially in fandoms like Naruto, where loyalty is a pretty big thing anyway (alongside friendship, of course), but this one is Itachi staying openly loyal to the village because Sarutobi actually saved the clan, and of course lovely bonds between the team!

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A favourite AU: A Son By Any Other Name by carryonstarkid (Thunderbirds)

Cursed as a child, Scott Tracy lives a life in which everyone he encounters must follow all of his given commands. Rating: Teen. AO3 Chose Not To Use Warnings Characters: Scott Tracy, Tracy Brothers, Kayo Kyrano, and more Words: 83429. Status: Complete

I rarely read AU fics - my preferred sandbox is the canon one, or a nice slice of canon diversion, rather than completely taking characters out of their home and dumping them somewhere entirely new. This fairytale AU, however - reminding me very much of Sleeping Beauty except instead of sleeping it’s, well, what the summary says - is fantastically well done and addresses the strain such a thing would put on even the closest of family relationships.

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A fic you stayed up too late to finish reading: As N Approaches Infinity by Corisanna (Bleach/Puella Magi Madoka Magica)

Despairing as yet another timeline goes horribly wrong, Homura wanders into Karakura. There she discovers that while the spiritually-aware people of Karakura were distracted by Ichigo Kurosaki and Xcution, Kyubey had managed to contract the Kurosaki sisters as magical girls. Drawing the attention of the shinigami could be just the advantage Homura needs. Rating: Teen. AO3 No Archive Warnings but watch out for canon-typical situations for both fandoms (especially Madoka) Characters: Akemi Homura, Kurosaki Karin, Kurosaki Yuzu, Urahara Kisuke, and many more Words: 465297. Status: Incomplete

There are many fanfictions that have kept me up til dawn. Many. This one, however, has literally robbed me of all my sleep and I’ve still been unable to finish it in one sitting. It’s good, the pacing is fantastic, and with Homura as our leading lady, that means those time resets really hit hard when they happen (and they happen. They really, really, happen). Might be incomplete, but is still updating - and there’s plenty to keep you occupied in the meantime!

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A fic that made you feel seen: A Seed Once Grown by Darkestwolfx (Thunderbirds) - @darkestwolfx

Believe it or not, they did have a garden on Tracy Island. It looked a little like a… tip. And that was being kind. Rating: Teen. AO3 No Archive Warnings Characters: Ned Tedford, Tracy Family Words: 4785. Status: Complete

Okay, so I’m taking this literally because I spend a lot of time feeling invisible on the internet so having a fic written for me from someone I’d barely spoken to before was a whole pile of screaming. Not that it’s the first time someone’s written a fic for me, but the other ones have been done by friends I’d already known for some time, and not someone in a fandom I’m just starting to find my feet in.

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Free space: whoo boy, fun time! There are a few fics on the top of my head that didn’t fill any of the above prompts (or got beaten to the punch by another), so my wildcard space is going to be a few fic links without the extra detail because I’ve already spent about 12 hours on this to get to this point (did I get sidetracked and re-read a bunch? You bet) and I’d quite like to also get some fic written today, too!

Eight-Day Week (JoJo Spotting) by TrufflestheMushroom (JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure)

The Trouble With Eastern by teaandtumblr (One Piece)

Remembrance by ClioSelene (One Piece)

Legacy by MaiKusakabe (One Piece)

A Fleeting Smile by AnonymousTwit (Boku no Hero Academia)

Too Loud For Comfort by vaporeon_ninja (Boku no Hero Academia)

A Dragon’s Hoard by Chezka (Boku no Hero Academia)

Nine Lives by P_Artsypants (Miraculous Ladybug)

Chat’s Eye View (Love Letters To Paris) by Icka M Chif (Miraculous Ladybug)

Gabriel’s Lament by Chaotic Neutral (Miraculous Ladybug)

What The Cat Dragged In by Kyral (Avengers/Miraculous Ladybug)

Weekend Warrior by BlackDog_66 (Avengers)

Fitting In (Tiny Spaces) by aloneintherain (Avengers)

Autonomy by beetlebee (Naruto)

Great Minds by ScreamingViking (Final Fantasy VII)

Dear Kunsel by Sinnatious (Final Fantasy VII)

Cracks in the knight by authorettejasmin (Magic Kaito)

To Wrap An Elvish Princeling by Jael (Lord of the Rings)

There are more, many more, and I’ll probably post a few more recs around - you can also find some on my blog and I’ll try and get that updated with a few more at some point because there are many more than that!

16 notes · View notes

jeidafei · 6 years

Text

D.Gray-Man Vol.26: Komui’s Lounge (Extended) 2/5

>> Part 1 <<

Question 7: Is it coincidence that Bookman and Lavi, master and apprentice, are both compatible with Innocence?

Wisely: Now that’s one close shave of a question~. I know why, but I’m not telling ♫.

Lavi: I was curious about this too, but when I ask Gramps he just said “Someday you’ll know”, so I left it there. I’m wondering whether it’s got something to do with that “other side of the Holy War” General Cross was talking about.

Allen: Wait, you mean you came to the Order knowing you would become Innocence accommodators?

Link: Impossible.

Lavi: Looks like it for Gramps. Since he said it right out that “From now on, we will become Exorcists and record the Holy War”.

Marie: What a surprise. I’ve never heard of such a thing happening.

Bak: Neither have I. The Bookmen really is a clan cloaked in mystery, just like the Noahs.

Question 8: I'd like to know how Allen managed to write his mission reports for all this time, if he’s still practicing his reading and writing.

Allen: Well, it’s not that I can’t read or write at all, but I’ve been through a ton of do-it-overs.

Lavi: For a while back there, me and Lenalee just couldn’t stand it so we used to help him out. But the real problem is Allen’s handwriting itself is so bad nobody can read his reports.

Bak: Agreed.

Link: We really must do something about Walker’s handwriting, don’t we? It’s just too atrocious. Take that questionnaire and other papers I had him fill out when I first came to inspect him. Over half is utterly illegible.

Wisely: Really? Even Tikky could at least write letters people can read, you know.

(T/N: Wisely is calling Tyki by his nickname.)

Allen: SHUT UP! (blush madly)

Marie: There, there. You’re doing better now than before you started taking lessons from Krory, right Allen? Great job!

Allen: Marie...! (overwhelmed)

Link: Please don’t spoil him, Noise Marie. That we have to be strict with Walker now is for his own future as well. It’ll be embarrassing if he’s still writing like that when he grows up.

Allen: You're such a boring nag, Link! That’s why my handwriting’s so bad!

Link: No quibbling from you! WhaーOi! Don’t you hide behind Noise Marie!

Question 9: I’d like to know how the Science Division members came to learn about and join the Order?

Bak: Most are scouted out. We recruit outstanding individuals. The process is different for the other divisions, though.

Lavi: Though there are many who joined the Order out of hatred for the Akuma, in the Science Division there aren’t many of those, dontcha think? They’re not high-strung, too.

Marie: Ah. Many a time we’ve been saved by the Science Division’s liveliness.

Allen: We can drop in to play around with ease, too.

Link: The Science Division’s not your playground, Walker.

Allen: Roger roger roger.

Link: Only once is enough!

Wisely: Inspector lad reminds me of Desires somehow. Not a type I’m comfortable with.

Question 10: After the Sixth Laboratory was destroyed, was it just abandoned as an empty lot or rebuilt into a part of the Asian Branch?

Marie: Fō is the one who destroyed it, isn’t she?

Bak: Yeah. It was my mother’s...the previous Branch Head’s last request. Fō also sunk the corpses of all the researchers and Crow members that died back then deep underground along with it, too. This is just my imagination, but I reckon everyone involved in that experiment probably went in resolving to make that laboratory their own graves. As of now, the place is sealed from entry. No-one can enter except for me, Fō and Renny. Grandfather Zu is buried there as well, as per his wishes.

Wisely: Probably because that’s a place the Order and Central had wanted to keep hidden, I'd say.

Link: ..................

Allen: How did you escape back then, Marie?

Marie: I was injured and unconscious, and Kanda rescued me, from the looks of itーbefore the laboratory sunk down whole, that is. When I woke up, I was lying atop a pile of rubble with Kanda beside me. After that, we were found by Fō, Branch Supervisor Bakーhe was Section Chief back thenーRenny Epstein and Master Zu, and they hid us in top secret.

Bak: Renny was rescued by my mother and Grandfather Zu, because she’s the Epsteins’ only heir.

Lavi: So Kanda’s case file at the Order really is fake, after all. I’ve always thought it seems dodgy.

Marie: But back then, Kanda and I couldn’t trust the Order, the Branch Supervisor and everyone else at all. Kanda was dealing with his past self’s memories and his guilt for destroying Alma, and he was unstable. I took him along and we fled from the Asian Branch together. Now that I’m thinking back, it was quite too easy an escape. Especially when Fō was supposed to be guarding the gateway between the Asian Branch and the outside world.

Bak: That’s because Fō was helping you out.

Marie: So it really was her. I knew it.

Bak: We were worried sick! Them lot from Central was in a panic when you guys went missing. After a while we received contact from General Tiedoll and finally learned where you guys are, but the general’s fury was terrible to behold back then. Well, it was to be expected, though.

Allen: But you didn’t know anything about the Second Exorcist Project, did you, Bak-san?

Bak: But regardless, I as heir must shoulder the burden of the sin my clan committed.

Lavi: To think you’d somehow return to the Order after all that, Marie. Well, since you’re accommodated to Innocence there’s no choice but to return anyway, I guess.

Marie: It’s because I just can’t leave Kanda alone. He’s my savior, after all. Besides, with him being the way he is, I just can’t stop worrying.

Question 11: Supervisor Komui and Branch Supervisor Bak both had long hair once but now cut it short. Is there a meaning behind this?

Link: We’ve been receiving quite a lot of hair-related questions. There’s the usual ones about Yu Kanda and Bookman Jr’s hair type, and also ones like Who is styling the exorcists’ hair? and How many wigs does the Noah Jasdero have in stock? Though I hardly think anything interesting will come out of answering anyway, since the questions are here, I guess it is our duty to answer them.

Allen: I reckon the ladies probably have their hair styled by the Order’s resident barber. The service is on a reservation basis, so it feels kinda bothersome to me, and I’ve never used it. By the way, Lavi’s hair type is coarse as briar.

Lavi: Just coarse! Never said it’s briar coarse! I’ve also never visited the Order’s barber; Gramps cut my hair for me. And Johnny does it sometimes, too.

Allen: Same for me. You swing by the Science Division, then Johnny would say something like “Your hair’s getting long! Ain’t it getting in the way?” then he’d go snippity-snip on the spot, right?

Marie: Well, the Science Division folks are always too busy with overtime and Johnny’s been cutting their hair for them since the old days, the handy fellow. Now that you mention it, I just remembered: Supervisor Komui used to cut Lenalee’s hair for her until she was about 13. Now Lenalee’s the one cutting his hair, though.

Bak: Lenalee-san cuts his hair...!? Thーthe lucky bastard...! Come to think of it, Komui changed to short hair right around the time Lenalee-san starts smiling. So that was it...? So that’s how it is...?

Wisely: Your brain is filled with nothing but jealousy right now, Branch Supervisor. By the way, Dero has ten of those gorgeous golden wigs.

(T/N: Wisely is calling Jasdero by his nickname.)

Allen: Why is he wearing a wig?

Wisely: Anything more than that will be a violation of privacy. My lips are zipped.

Allen: Is it by any means your place to talk privacy?

Link: Branch Supervisor, you still haven’t answered your question. Please get it over with already.

Lavi: Inspector guy’s totally calling the shots here, huh? (gossip)

Allen: Yeah, hard to fool around this time...Link’s so serious. (gossip)

Wisely: This time I can finally feel the author’s determination to keep to the word count limit. (gossip)

Link: Over there! No pointless chatter!

Bak: (s-scary...) I cut my hair short when I became Branch Supervisor. There’s no deeper meaning behind it. If I have to say so, then perhaps a show of spirit? Or a mark of my determination or something...

Question 12: Is there a cosplay you want ALL characters to wear, regardless of alignment (Order/Noah)?

Link: Is this a question for the author?

Allen: I have a bad feeling about this.

Lavi: Yeah, Hoshino’s answer won’t be anything even half-decent.

Wisely: Let me take a glimpse with my demon eye (peek). Huh!? I see, I see.

Marie: What was it?

Wisely: The author is an Idol fan. Need I say more?

Allen, Lavi: I knew it!

Link: Lucky for us this isn’t a comic-style lounge session, right?

Lavi: We were on the verge of being forced into Idol clothes back there!

>> Part 3 <<

#dgm #d gray man #dgm vol 26

292 notes · View notes

izaswritings · 5 years

Text

Title: Dreaming of Flowers

Fandom: D.Gray-man

Summary: In which Alma Karma is recovered not by Central, but by a young Bak Chang determined to save the boy whose life his parents destroyed.

Notes: Warnings for instances of self-harm (Alma slams his hand against the ground with the intention of hurting himself), suicidal thoughts/intent, detailed description of past injury, traumatic flashbacks/panic attacks, and Alma’s usual brand of murderous intent. If there's anything you think I missed, please let me know!

AO3 version is here.

Previous chapters can be found here.

Chapter Six: Echoes of Memory

That night, still warm from the aftermath of seeing Alma actually laugh, Bak gets a phone call.

It comes in during the early morning, long before the Branch has begun to wake, when the halls are left empty and every sound echoes like a drum. The lamplight is dim and shadows long, the air icy and burning with every inhale. Sometimes, in those moments, Bak likes to close his eyes and revel in the peace of it. It is the time of morning where everything is silent and still, the world and its troubles far away.

On this day, Bak himself has only just woken up, leisurely sipping at a cup of coffee as he ambles his way to his office with sleepy steps. He hasn’t gone to the wrong room in almost a week now, but the blank glow of the monitors still startles him.

He’s only just set down his coffee cup when the phone begins to trill, the ring sharp and incessant, breaking apart the morning daze like a hammer to glass. Bak looks down at the phone, irritation furrowing his brow, and then abruptly pulls up short. His face goes slack, but his jaw tightens, his body held motionless and careful.

The phone rings, but this is not what captures Bak’s attention. No—it is the light, small and red and blinking bright, that shines ominously from the top corner of the phone’s dial.

This is the first time he’s seen it, though he knows what it is. This is a secure light. It is a light that means this call is secret on every channel, and should stay that way. Bak looks at it like it might grow arms and attack him, and slowly reaches out to turn off his golem, to power down the monitors. He is left in a darkened office, all spies shut silent, alone in the only way that matters.

The phone is still ringing. That damn light still shining. Bak cannot escape this call even if he wanted to, because they would only try to call again.

Bak picks up the receiver with dread pooling in his stomach. There is only one person—rather, one select group of people—who have his number, and who have the authority to request such privacy. This cannot be anything good.

“Branch Chief Bak Chang,” he says, and keeps his voice clear and steady. He will not give them the honor of thinking they’ve surprised him. “Who am I speaking to?”

“… Hello, Bak.”

He stiffens, his mind going blank. That is not Lvellier’s voice.

For a moment, Bak is frozen, waylaid by memories—and then he breathes in, quick and fierce, and pushes the knot of tangled emotion away. “Renee,” he breathes, stunned, and almost chokes on the name. “I mean— my apologies. Branch Chief Epstein. How… good to hear from you.”

Renee Epstein: sole survivor of the Laboratory Six massacre, newly instated Branch Chief of the North America Branch. The woman who walked out of that lab alone, pale in the face and dark behind the eyes. She wouldn’t say who attacked her. She wouldn’t say what happened, only cried when asked. She fled the Asia Branch as soon as she physically could, barely a day later, like the hounds of hell were at her heels, and the only thing she ever shared of that night were Chief Twi’s last words.

He doesn’t know what to say to her.

Bak hesitates, fumbling, unsure of how to proceed. Congratulations would be callous at best and offensive at worst. “I heard about the promotion. I am—I am certain you will do wonderfully.”

“Thank you,” Renee replies, after a weighty pause. They had not been close, the two of them, but Bak remembers her well enough. She’d been soft-spoken, uncertain, gentle. Prone to the occasional stutter. Now her voice is stony and flat, dead in the water. It makes something in Bak go cold, even as some part of him relates. Are you tired, too? Bak cannot help but wonder.

“I am certain you will fulfill your duties to the best of your abilities as well,” Renee adds, and Bak closes his eyes with a sigh. It doesn’t matter if she is tired. What matters is what she wants.

“Mm.” He moves away, facing the wall, keeping his eyes on the unlit monitor screens. The cord of the phone pulls taut and he takes a moment to untangle it, giving himself a chance to think. The wire hums beneath his fingertips. “I apologize, Chief Epstein. I don’t mean to sound rude, but— Why are you calling me?”

Renee considers this. He can hear the faint tap of her fingernails against her desk. “Lvellier came by to visit me, yesterday.”

Bak goes stone still. He doesn’t speak. There is a sudden pit in his throat.

“I was certainly surprised. Reports say he’d just come from the Asia Branch, to Central, to here—what a trip to make, across the world. But you see, he came for a reason. He wanted my familiarity with… the project. He asked me to return to Central when able.” Her voice is stony, detached, distant. Each casual word is like a blade sunk deep into his skin. “He wants me to look at what was recovered from the— accident. He wants me to find… a specific body.”

His blood burns sick in his veins, his throat dry and sticky. It hurts to swallow. It takes all his effort to speak, to keep his voice level. “I see,” Bak says, and he has never felt so hollow. He’s missed this. He’s made a mistake. Only two months in—

“Yes,” Renee—no, Chief Epstein—says. “I’m sure you do.”

There is a long pause. Bak breathes, and fights to speak. He has to—he has to say something. He has to. The longer he stays quiet, the more she will suspect—but if she called him at all then surely she already suspects? Which means—

Which means… what, exactly?

…Just why is Renee Epstein calling him?

Bak grits his teeth past his panic and forces himself to think. Why is she talking to him at all? Why is she warning him? Whatever she wished to confirm, however important it may be, she’s also let him know she’s a threat, and that—that isn’t smart. That isn’t a mistake Renee Epstein would make, not if she’s learned the same lessons as Bak.

There is more to this than a casual, routine threat. There must be. Bak considers that, considers what he knows, what he is willing to risk—closes his eyes, and throws caution to the wind.

“Chief Epstein,” he says, and this time he does not trip on her name. “Why are you telling me this?”

The rhythmic tapping of nails stops mid-motion. He can almost picture it—her hand going still, her casual posture betrayed by the stiff set of her shoulders and the cold cut of her eyes. “I suppose I wanted to know,” Chief Epstein says, “what you would do when I told you. But I have my answer.”

Bak’s hand tightens on the receiver. He glares at the monitor screens like he can peer through them to glare at her, instead. “You are threatening me.”

“Chief Chang,” Chief Epstein says, “you are the one taking it as a threat.”

His breath catches. Bak bows over his desk and fights for a response. He can feel the itch of hives under his coat, but his hand, flat on the desk, curls into a shaking fist. He is caught. He’s trapped, and he can’t think of what words will get him out of this, if anything can help him when it’s clear she already knows too much.

He doesn’t answer.

Chief Epstein, too, is silent for a time. Her breathing sends soft bursts of static down the line. She seems to be struggling with something, and at last she breaks the stand-off with a loud sigh that fizzes harsh in his ear.“Enough of this,” she says, abrupt. “I told Lvellier—I said that I would try. But of course, the bodies are mangled. Decomposed, torn apart. It will… take me some time. To find him. As it were.”

Bak stares at his desk, his mind whirling with the implications. He’s not sure about what he’s hearing. He’s not sure if he can dare to hope. But Chief Epstein has already likely confirmed what she wanted to know—Alma’s survival, betrayed by Bak’s own reaction—and yet, she is still here, still speaking.

He wets suddenly dry lips and thinks—his mother’s last words. Don’t repeat our mistakes. Words that Renee had known, too. The words she had given to him.

Bak draws himself up straight, bracing for a blow, and dares to try. He says: “How much time?”

There is a long pause.

Then: “How much do you need?” Renee Epstein asks, and oh, oh, Bak could cry. The relief he feels at those words is crippling. She is testing him, yes—of that he has no doubt. But this is not the answer of an enemy.

“As—” Damn, Bak thinks, damn, why his voice breaking now, of all times…? “As much as you can give me.”

“I’ll do my best,” Renee says, and—her voice is cold, yes. Cold and deadened and unyielding. But there’s something else too, a tremor beneath the ice. “I can promise—another two months, at least. Maybe more, if I deliberate, if my job creates… complications. The travel time alone might buy you weeks. But—there is a limit, Bak. There is a limit. A false trail only leads so far.”

He calms himself, quieted by the caution in her words. “I—I know.”

“Good,” Renee says, and stops all at once. Her voice cuts out as if she’s snapped the words back, and suddenly her breathing is much louder than before. She starts to speak, cuts herself off—and hisses, under her breath.

Bak… hesitates. “Chief Epstein?”

“I apologize,” she says, clipped. “I… I simply…If I may ask— you do not have to answer if you do not wish, and I mean no disrespect to your parents’ memory, I—I just—I need to—” She makes a sharp, unwilling sound, short and frustrated. “I— Bak. Is he… please, tell me, is he happy?”

Bak blinks, caught off-guard by the strange, desperate hope in her words. His fingers curl tight around the phone. “That’s…” Bak trails off. “I—I can’t say.”

It hurts to admit that. To bare the truth. Alma smiles sometimes, yes, and that is a good thing—but they are weak, pretend things, more a mask than anything genuine. The few real smiles Bak has spied are faint and drawn, and always, always surprised out of him.

And yet—he finds himself wavering, unwilling to just leave it at that. Chief Epstein is callous, an unwanted player, a complication to an already convoluted situation. But before she had been a Chief, before she had been dangerous, she had been a member of the Second Exorcist Project.

Had she known Alma and Yuu? Had she cared? When the massacre occurred, when little Yuu cut Alma into shreds and left the Lab in shambles behind him—did she cry for them, too?

It doesn’t change what she’s done, what his parents and every researcher in that Laboratory are guilty of. But what is the difference between them, really? Does Bak have any right to judge? If his parents had gone to him, had told him of the Project and asked him to help—could Bak, too, have been convinced it was necessary?

“I can’t say,” Bak repeats. His heart feels frozen in his chest, and yet—despite everything, perhaps Renee Epstein can know this much. “I don’t know. But just a bit ago— he laughed. I don’t— I don’t think he meant to. He seemed so surprised. And it was only for a moment.” His voice hushes, softened by the memory. “But he did laugh.”

Renee Epstein is silent. He can hear her breathing on the other end of the line, soft and hitching.“I see,” she says, and for a moment she sounds—unsteady, breathless, near tears. “I see. That’s. I’m.” She stops.

“Thank you,” Renee says at last. “Thank you. I know you probably don’t—think kindly of me. And that’s fine. You… are probably right not to. In any different circumstances—” She stops again, and her sigh crackles over the line. “Well. It doesn’t matter, does it? Just… thank you. I’m glad to hear it.”

Bak stares at his blank wooden desk and thinks of differences, of similarities, of who he could have been without ignorance. Without the death in his nightmares, without grief, without Alma there as a living reminder, to convince him of what is right and what is wrong and what is necessary.

“Of course,” Bak says.

Renee exhales, the sound is small and shaky over the line. Her voice is made soft by the static. “Goodbye, Branch Chief Bak Chang.” It is the first time Bak has ever heard someone say that title with any degree of respect. “This will be the last time we speak unless necessary. I— I wish you luck.”

She hangs up before Bak can even say goodbye. The dial tone blares in his ear. His mind is blank, stuck in what-ifs and could-have-beens and the aftermath of panic. And yet, somewhere in the haze of relief and fear and still-lingering grief—something Renee Epstein said sticks with him.

I mean no disrespect to your parents’ memory.

He cannot place it. He doesn’t know what she meant by that, why Alma’s health and happiness could have ever hurt, could ever disrespect anything. He doesn’t know, he doesn’t want to know—but all at once, for no reason that he can find, Bak feels a chill strike all the way down to his bones.

He puts down the phone.

“I’m going to kill him,” Bak says.

“Master Bak, you cannot kill him.”

“It is five! Five in the morning! Komui is a dead man.”

“I’m sure Mister Komui had a reason for his… abrupt summons.”

Alma yawns absently into one hand, agreeing with the sentiment but unwilling to contribute to the conversation. Exhaustion weighs heavy on his shoulders, and he rubs at his single eye with a heavy hand, stifling the urge to fall over and just… go back to sleep.

It probably wouldn’t even work, he thinks to himself blearily. Alma barely gets any sleep these days—some nights he can only stay asleep for an hour before nightmares or restlessness prompts him awake. No matter how tired he is, Alma doubts he’ll get any sleep—just the same old frustrated waiting.

Besides, whatever this is about promises to be entertaining. Komui had woken them up only a half hour before, claiming things like “Science has prevailed!” and “It’s genius! Genius!” in an increasingly manic pitch until Bak finally closed down the connection with a snarl. Fo hadn’t even stayed—just grumbled insults under her breath and marched back off to… sleep in the walls, or whatever it is she does. Alma doesn’t actually care; he’s just glad she’s absent.

The summons had only come about ten minutes ago, and Komui is due to arrive in any second. Alma cannot help but feel a little excited. It’s only been a few weeks since Alma first met the eccentric scientist, but it feels like no time at all. He’s still not sure what to think about Komui, but he knows enough to expect something… exciting. And possibly flammable?

Alma doesn’t have to wait very long to find out. Only a scant few minutes after that alarming summons, Komui bursts through the door of Alma’s secluded hospital room, one arm flung wide in greeting. There’s a bulky and misshapen package wrapped with draping cloth tucked securely under his other arm, and his smile is wide and dazzling. He’s got a smear of ash across his face, and his fingers are black with oil, his once-white lab coat ashy with dust. He looks disheveled and a bit like he hasn’t slept in a week.

“Hello, hello,” Komui announces grandly, back arching and hand in the air like he’s trying to poke the sky. Alma leans back against the wall, watching him discreetly, staying silent as Komui postures. “I come bearing news and great gifts!”

Wong, by the door, rubs at his head and sighs. It is a very resigned sigh.

“At five in the morning?” Bak grumbles, and then pauses, straightening up in his seat. “Wait, gifts? Do you mean—”

“This!” Komui says, holding out the package with both arms. His smile is downright manic. He bounces on his heels and turns to Alma, and the light in his dark eyes is blindingly bright. “The first prototype of your prosthetics!”

Alma blinks rapidly, processing that, and his eye goes wide. He leans in close, staring intently at the package, trying to picture an arm and leg in place of the vague outlines under the blanket. “I— really?”

“Yes!” Komui sweeps over to his side with little prompting, and when Alma unthinkingly and excitedly gestures for him to sit, straining to see past the cloth, Komui laughs and settles down on the bed. He is so slow and aching careful in unwrapping the prosthetics that it leaves Alma practically vibrating in place, pent up energy thrumming in his veins. He feels at once wide awake, wired and alive.

After what feels like ages, Komui finally finishes unwrapping the limbs, picking up the leg and raising it up dramatically for Alma to see. “Ta-da!”

Sheer surprise draws Alma even closer, and he looks at the new leg—his new leg—with a wide eye. “It’s metal?” he wonders, looking the prosthetic up and down. He isn’t sure why, but he’d thought the prosthetic would look like a real human leg, with skin and bone and everything, but now that it’s here before him he suddenly realizes how silly that is. The reality, however, does not disappoint.

After weeks of trying on liners, casts, diagnostic sockets, and other bits and pieces of the prosthesis, to see the full thing is awe-inspiring. The leg is long and sleek—polished amber-gold wood carved to mimic the contorts of human muscle and bone. The top half, the socket, is hollowed and padded with soft fabric; the bottom a flat and firm sole that bears a passing resemblance to an actual foot. The knee is a solid bit of shiny metal and screws, melting into a rigid silver pole that serves to replace his missing shin. The leg in its entirety is a gorgeous thing, a mix of warm woods and crystalline metals, a clear creation of labor and love.

“Pretty,” Wong observes, leaning a bit over Alma’s shoulder for a look himself. He rubs at his beard. “This does not look like any modern prosthetics I’ve seen…”

“We perhaps went a bit overboard with the design,” Komui admits, as Alma stares. “Especially for a diagnostic socket, rather than the final product… ah! But such is science. It can look however you like, Aly, do let me know if you don’t like it.” He places a hand over his heart. “My aesthetic is often underappreciated… and, in this case, utterly unimportant. However you want it to look—rainbow, grapevine cage, spikes— rainbow grapevine spikes…?”

Alma shakes his head. “No,” he says. “No, this is—this is fine. It’s fine. It’s—” He reaches out, then draws his hand back, unable to find the words. The leg, the arm, their careful woodwork and design and decor… he can hardly fathom it.

“It’s beautiful,” Alma breathes, awed beyond words, and Komui smiles so wide it looks like it hurts.

“Well,” Komui says. “Well.” He’s beaming, ear to ear. “Thank you, Aly. I’ll be sure to tell the team you said that—alas, I cannot take the praise alone. Now—” He holds out the leg like an offering and his smile gentles. “Would you like to try it on?”

“Okay,” Alma says, and when Komui gestures him over, he only hesitates for a second before he scoots to the edge of his bed, offering his stump of a leg to be fitted.

After a month of care, the skin has finally begun to regrow over the stump, though it is still pink and at times tender to the touch. There is not a single bandage on Alma’s person, now. He is not entirely certain if this is a good thing, but at any rate, it means he can try the leg on.

Alma watches with a wide eye as Komui explains how to do it—the cover, the socket, the bend and stiffness of the knee, how it works. Alma slips on the liner and the seal over his stump, running his hand up and down his leg in an attempt to push out any air trapped between the liner and his skin. “Don’t want any blisters,” Komui says, when he asks. When the liner is sealed and wet with a little alcohol (“Did some research,” Bak explains, from the side, “apparently it helps with slipping into the socket,”), Alma is finally ready to try on the leg proper. With Komui’s careful guidance, Alma slips the socket gently over the stump, the wooden leg fitting tight and snug.

He is just reaching for the arm when Bak laughs.

“One limb at a time, maybe?” he offers. He is standing by the wall, his earlier irritation gone as if it had never been, his smile small and soft. “It is your first time using these.”

Alma pauses, torn between not wanting to do as Bak says on sheer principle, and understanding the logic of it. He wavers.

“Best to not put too much stress on your body at once,” Wong adds gently, and draws Alma’s attention to him. His look is stern. “You are still healing, after all. To push too far too fast will only set you back.”

Alma thinks on this, and finally ducks his head in a nod. “Okay,” he says finally, only a little disappointed. He’d wanted to try on the arm too, but he can wait. In hindsight, the prospect of trying to move two new limbs at once is… daunting.

As-is, though, the chance to stand again is more than enough. Alma slowly places both feet on the ground, testing one leg and then the next. It is so strange, to feel the rough stone beneath one foot and not the other, stranger still to feel the weight enclosed over his stump. He looks at his mismatched toes, one real and one polished wood, and gives a soft smile at the sight.

“Well?” Komui prompts. He looks excited. “Go on, go on!”

Alma takes a deep breath. He has to stand to get the leg on completely, right? So there’s no helping it. He pushes himself off the bed, feels his stump sink deeper into the leg socket, a snug fit that instantly feels more secure—and at once knows that he has made a mistake. His one arm flails without its partner to keep the balance, and Alma nearly tips over onto the floor if not for Bak lunging to catch him.

Alma freezes, but Bak doesn’t pull away, just gives an amused huff and steadies Alma back onto his feet. “Need any help?”

No, is Alma’s first reaction, but he feels unsteady and rocking and he knows he’ll fall without it. He stares daggers at the ground and grits his teeth, remembering Fo—Don’t let him know, she’d said, Don’t let him suspect, this is the price—and steels himself. He forces a shrug, and Bak silently adjusts himself onto Alma’s bad side, one hand on his shoulder to keep him steady. Alma hates that some part of him finds it comforting.

(When Alma first woke up, before Yuu, before everything—he’d been so curious and so confused he’d almost tipped right into the wall. Doctor Edgar had caught him then. He had grabbed Alma’s arm and steadied him on his feet, and he’d laughed soft and fond. Let me help, he’d said. Like this, he’d said. Alma had stood on his own and taken his first real steps with Doctor Edgar’s hand warm on his shoulder.)

Alma gets his feet under him and shakes Bak’s hand off his shoulder as soon as he can help it. His skin crawls. Bak lets go and steps away, but the memory of warmth, of a warm hand on his back, of laughter in his ears, lingers still.

Alma shakes his head and takes another breath, trying to focus back on the present. Standing is… different. Uneven, almost. He can feel the pressure of the prosthetic against his stump, the weight of his body and gravity and the unyielding firm floor against the flat sole of his wooden foot. It doesn’t—hurt, really, but it’s not a feeling Alma has ever before experienced.

“Careful,” Wong cautions, and Alma spares him a smile.

He can think on it later, Alma decides. He’s just stalling, at this point. He’s—standing, for now, and that’s good. That’s good enough. It feels secure, or at least steady, and well… now or never, right?

Komui gives him a thumbs up. Alma nods firmly back. Right!

Alma takes a deep breath, steps forward… and promptly trips.

It’s only Bak’s quick intervention—again—that saves him from face planting the floor, and the jolt back makes Alma’s head spin. He grips at Bak’s arm with his one hand, for once uncaring, and tries to catch his breath. That had been—fast. Oh god. Freefall is not fun.

Bak settles him back on the bed, and Alma sits gratefully. “U-um—”

Komui is already gripping his hair, looking aghast. “FLEXIBILITY,” he wails, head arching back to the sky. “Ah! All that attention to the ankle joint, and I forgot foots are flexible too! Blast!”

Alma gives a weak smile, unwittingly amused by Komui’s overreaction. “It’s okay,” he says, almost on instinct. “Just—um, surprising.” Abruptly he realizes he is still clinging to Bak’s arm like a child. His smile goes stiff and he wrenches his hand away.

If Bak is offended, he makes no mention of it— just moves back out of range, returning to the wall. Alma eyes him warily.

“What else?”

Komui’s question, weirdly serious for the childish man, snaps Alma from his thoughts. He blinks fast. “Huh?”

“What else was wrong?” Komui repeats, his tone prompting. His eyes are alight, his chin cradled in his palm. He’s bouncing on his heels like he wants to lean closer but is holding himself back out of sheer will. “Any stiffness? Pain? Comfortability? Was the mobility alright? What about the grip? Or—” He visibly stops himself, clearing his throat. “Well, obviously it was a short test. But did anything stand out?”

Alma… hesitates. “That’s…”

“Don’t be shy,” Komui encourages, when Alma cuts himself off. His tone has gentled again, though it’s no less eager. It happens a lot, with Komui, but unlike with most Alma finds he doesn’t mind it as much. It doesn’t feel—patronizing, from Komui. Just soft. “It’s so I can make it better! I am a man who thrives on feedback.”

Alma chews on his lip. “Well… it’s a bit hard? The foot, I think, it, ah… it’s hard on the ground, it didn’t feel—very secure? And—it ah, screeched, and the floor felt a bit slippery—”

Komui’s eyes light up and he abruptly snaps his fingers. “Ah! Because it’s stone, and there’s no traction! Yes, yes, yes, I can’t believe I missed it!”

Alma relaxes, soothed by the easy acceptance. Wong is nodding, slow and proud, looking fond. He even thinks he can see Bak smile in the corner of his eye, and for once it doesn’t curdle in his chest like it usually would. The room is too warm, too gentle, too bright. There is too much possibility.

(But in the back of his mind, a voice whispers, relentless. Look at you, falling for the lie all over again, this whisper says. It sounds a little like Yuu. Haven't you learned anything, Alma? Don’t you know better by now?)

“Yes, of course, I see, I see!” Komui enthuses, and the dark thoughts vanish from Alma’s mind as if they’d never been, chased away by the warmth and laughter. Wong is shaking his head. Bak is fuming. Komui’s glasses glint ominously as he scribbles Alma’s suggestions down on a notepad.

“Yes,” Komui’s saying, unaware of Alma’s daze. “Yes, yes, I can definitely fix this. Right then, Aly! One more try, and then, onto the next—your arm!” He looks up with a smile and his expression falters at what he sees. “…Aly? Are you quite all right?”

This time, Alma has to force himself to smile back. “Fine,” he says, quietly. It’s okay, he cautions himself. It’s fine. He doesn’t actually care about them. He doesn’t actually believe the nice things they say, so it’s fine. He’s still fine.

It’s only ever been an act. And maybe it’s hard, but— This is the price.

This is the price.

“I’m fine,” Alma repeats, with a little more gusto. He forces himself to sound energetic. “Can we keep going?”

“Of course!”

And Alma smiles.

Komui and the other scientists finish the first workable prototype for Alma’s prosthetics mid-winter, almost five weeks later. It’s a delightful realization. Less delightful is the other news: Alma, for some reason, can’t wear them yet.

It’s not that he minds the wheelchair, exactly—it’s comfortable, and after his usual rehabilitation exercises it’s actually quite nice to curl up and sleep in—but Alma is still recovering, still learning how to navigate the world with one less eye, arm, and leg than he is used to, and that means, among many things, that if Alma is in the wheelchair then he is inevitably having someone else push him around.

It’s necessary, but Alma doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like having all these people behind him, pushing him forward, deciding where he should go, no matter that the wheelchairs the Order has only work for people with two arms. Even if it’s just Wong, or maybe Komui, and only Bak once or twice—never Fo, thankfully—Alma still doesn’t like it. It’s supervision, and it grates on him. The watchful eyes, the sense that they know. Alma has not given up, no matter Fo’s thoughts or threats, but how on earth is he supposed to do what’s necessary if someone else is always there?

Despite this, Alma can understand why they’ve yet to hand the prosthetics over. The final product is complete, but Alma himself is still on the road to recovery. Rehabilitation—healing, the human way—is not only painfully slow, but also painful. Pain in a way Alma isn’t used to, either, which seems like a real wash. Or, as Yuu would probably say: Fucking figures.

“It means you’re building muscle!” had been Komui’s helpful contribution. Which seems so silly—why does Alma need muscle, he can throw pillars one-handed—but apparently, according to Fo, Second Exorcist super strength doesn’t count. For some reason.

Alma is being sulky, and he knows it. But he thinks he’s allowed to sulk over this.

“It is a shame,” Komui is saying, his long-winded explanation on mobility and rehab and necessary muscle strength and adjustment periods and “piles, Aly, piles of paper from the nurses informing me they’d murder me and bury me in the woods if I set you back in your recovery because of my beautiful creations, can you believe?”

His words are all very flowery and nice, but the end result is the same. Alma sits back. “I can’t wear them yet?”

“Another month or two,” Komui promises. “I swear! And during that time I will make even better ones, ones those nurses will have to agree is superior to the current models—!” He cuts his rant off with a gusty sigh, then shakes his head and refocuses on Alma. “But, until then… yes, I’m afraid so. It wouldn’t do to stress your limbs before they’re ready—or you, for that matter! It takes a lot of muscle work to move these things, and, well—hurting you is absolutely not what we’re going for here. So… soon. I promise. But not yet.”

His voice is calm, his eyes understanding and mirroring Alma’s own frustration. Alma looks away.

Komui perks up. “Ah! However! If it would help, since the main product is now complete, I could, perhaps, try to design a cybernetic eye—or a built-in rocket crutch—or a rocket-powered wheelchair—”

“No!” Bak says, back in his usual corner. His voice is very high-pitched. “No rockets. Or gunpowder. Or—anything like that, no!”

“But Bak~”

“Absolutely not,” Bak says firmly. Komui scowls. Bak sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “…But, if you have the time, try a one-handed wheelchair.” His eyes drift to Alma. “Is that alright with you, Aly? Even without the prosthetics, we aren’t trying to keep you grounded here. Of course, if your shoulder wounds are acting up at all, I’m sure we could—”

“That’s fine,” Alma says, shifting uncomfortably. His many wounds from Yuu’s sword have healed up ages ago, and it’s only occasionally that they ache. His shoulder is the worst, though; even on good days he can barely lift his arm above his head, and by the end of the day it’s almost always tense and aching. Alma hasn’t actually told anyone this, though, so it bothers him a little that Bak noticed. “That… um. Sounds really nice.” He flushes under Komui’s gaze. “Um. I don’t want to make too much work for you, though, it’s not—”

“Nonsense,” Komui says, and he says it so gently that Alma halts mid-word from sheer surprise. Komui’s look is very warm. “It would be no trouble at all, I assure you.” He brightens. “In fact—I think I’ll get to work on it right now.” He snaps his fingers at Bak. “I’ll need paper, pencil, a ruler—ah, now where did I put those measurements…”

“You—! How many times do I have to tell you I’m not your assistant!?”

“Bah,” Komui says, flapping a hand.

“Bah!? Bah? I’m your boss, damn you!”

Komui just laughs, and flounces out of the room with a cheerful back-hand wave. “Of course, of course. Well, then, I suppose I’ll just have to find them myself, you spoilsport. Bye bye, Aly! Bak~”

Bak twitches. “And stop calling me—” Komui is already gone, the door swinging shut. Bak sighs. “Of course.”

The room goes quiet. Alma shifts uncomfortably, smile fading—which is funny, because he can’t remember when he started smiling the first place. Weird.

Another minute goes by, stiff with silence, before Bak sucks in a deep breath, as if bracing himself. He turns to Alma with a smile that looks a little wooden, awkward and ill-fitting. “Well. Hopefully he was kidding about the rockets. In the mean-time…” He surveys Alma, eyes sharp. “How is rehab going? Wong informs me that you’ve put much effort into regaining mobility.”

Alma shrugs, looking away. He doesn’t say that rehab is the most interesting thing to do with his time lately; though Bak and the others bring him books, the once-thrill of learning about the outside sits bitterly with him. He doesn’t want to read those books. He doesn’t want to be anything like he used to. “It’s going,” he says simply, and leaves it at that.

“…Your hair is growing out again,” Bak says, after another long silence. “It’s not bothering you, is it?”

Alma blinks, startled by the comment, and lifts his remaining hand to his head, his fingers bunching in coarse strands. It’s short and spiky, not as long as it used to be and most definitely not as long as Yuu’s, but slowly and surely growing back. “Oh,” he realizes. “Um, no.”

Bak smiles at him. “It is getting long,” he says, absently. “If you want to cut it at any point, Wong or I would be happy to try.”

“...Cut it?”

“Ah.” Bak considers this. “Have you never had one? Well, no matter. A haircut. Often done with scissors—you only need to cut it if you want it shorter, by the way. Or to even it out…”

Alma clenches his hand into his hair, his shoulders tense. Cut his hair? Those long silver scissors, in the hands of a stranger, or worse, Edgar’s son, near him?

He tries to bite back the panic but something must slip through, because Bak’s head snaps up and he immediately backpedals. “Or not,” he says, so quickly he almost runs over the words. “Haircuts are—actually, on second thought, I don’t know how to cut hair and I’d be terrible at it. Perhaps braiding, then? However you would like to manage it.”

Alma pauses, closing his eye and breathing in deep, trying to banish the image of silver blades from his head. He clenches his jaw and slowly unwinds his hand from his hair—ow, he’d really been yanking on it—and exhales soft and shaky. There’s a strange fluttery feel in his chest, a rising nausea like tears, and he swallows it back best he can. “Don’t know,” he says, but even as he says it he already knows he won’t be able to just leave it hanging. Having hair like Yuu’s would be—no. No, he can’t do that. Maybe a ponytail?

It’s not quite a memory that hits him—more a sense, a vague familiarity—but even that is enough to make Alma shudder. Nope. Ponytails are out, absolutely out.

“Maybe,” he says finally, curling his fingers rhythmically in the sheets. It’s calming. “Braiding. Maybe. I’ll—think about it?”

Bak hesitates, then nods, his shoulders slumping. He blows out a breath and smooths down his coat. “Of course,” he says. “There’s no rush. It was… only a suggestion.” He looks away and clears his throat, then straightens in his seat and smiles. “If I may ask—how are the prosthetics working? Is the team alright? Are they kind?”

“They’re fine,” Alma says dully.

“Ah, I see. And… and Komui, is he—”

“He’s fine,” Alma says, and his voice is a little sharper now, a little more barbed. “It’s fine, everything’s fine, it’s all just fine.” He feels wired and raw, rubbed wrong; ever since Bak mentioned haircuts he can’t stop thinking of silver blades. He watches Bak’s hands with his one good eye, suspicion tight in his chest. He knows, logically, that Bak isn’t like that—not yet, anyway, when he’s so convinced Alma is the victim. But at the same time… he can’t quiet that little whisper, that hiss in his ears, that whispers over and over: But what if.

If Bak takes any offense at Alma’s anger, it doesn’t show. He just stops, stepping back, nodding with such serene composure it’s almost bizarre. “Okay,” he says simply. “Okay. I… that’s okay.”

Bak pauses, and his hand lifts, rubbing absently at the back of his neck. Alma follows the movement, sharp and suspicious—but Bak just smiles at him, something sad in the set of his face. “That’s good to hear, honestly. You seem to be getting along well. You seem happier.” He hesitates. “You are, right? Happier?”

Alma stares at him, feeling cold. “What?”

“Ah, it’s just… you smile more, now. So I thought—”

But Alma is no longer listening. His heart has dropped, his breath caught, his thoughts tangling into knots. He feels as if he’s been struck, and for a moment he is shockingly, blindingly angry, his vision blurred—and then it’s like a pit has opened up in his stomach. Like free fall, a ruthless drop, his heart in his throat.

He has to bite back the urge to laugh, because—smiling? Happy? It’s wrong, it must be, and yet—and yet—he has, hasn’t he? He’s laughed, he’s smiled, he’s greeted Komui in the halls. He’s looked forward to the visits from others and felt disappointed when they left. He’s—he’s—

Horror rises in his throat. He thinks he might be sick.

“—Alma? Alma, what—”

“Happy?” Alma rasps, and Bak falls immediately silent. “Happy?” He curls his hand into the fabric of his covers and bites back a scream. “You think I’m happy to be here?”

Bak is right, is the thing. He’s right. And that is the worst part of it, because Alma has learned these lessons, he’s carved it into his skin and has the scars and nightmares to prove it—but he’d still smiled, bright and real, when Komui and Wong and even Bak walked in through those doors.

He’s going to scream. He really is.

“Alma, I didn’t mean to—”

“Get out,” Alma says. “Get out of my room!”

“Alma—”

“Get out!” Alma shouts. He intends to stay calm but hysteria is clawing at his throat. He has to fight to keep from screaming. “Get out, get out, I—I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to see anyone! I don’t want to be here! I’m not happy to be here!” He’s not going to cry. He’s not. “Get out!”

Bak steps back. “I’m going,” he says. His voice is even, mild, reasonable—but when he grips the door handle, his hands are shaking. “I’m going. I—I’m sorry.”

Alma grits his teeth, ignoring the pang in his chest. He curls his hand viciously in the covers, struggling to catch his breath from his sudden outburst, swallowing down the rising swell of emotion. His blinks fast until his eye is dry, and the urge to cry has faded.

“Get out,” Alma says, and this time his voice is even, too. Unfriendly and flat, the way Yuu used to talk, whenever he’d been pushed too far. Alma can hear the disconnect, the ice in his own voice, and he thinks vaguely that Yuu would be proud.

“All right,” Bak says. He is speaking carefully, lowly. He steps out the door, hesitates, then turns away without another word, closing the door shut behind him, leaving Alma alone.

“Get out,” Alma whispers, but he isn’t talking to Bak this time. Not really. He bows over the covers and hisses through his teeth. He’s not going to break down now. He’s not. He—he can do this. He can. “Get out. I won’t. I won’t.”

(He doesn’t look beside him, but he is so, so aware of the empty space. Of the place where Yuu should be, of the memory of him. Of the echo of Yuu’s words in his ears.

Alma, you idiot.)

Alma is shaking, and he has to grit his teeth and twist his face to keep from crying again. “I know,” he says to the air. “I know, Yuu. I know.”

Maybe Yuu was right about him all along—maybe Alma is an idiot. He thinks he certainly used to be, back when he was hounding the heels of the scientists and begging for their attention. But Alma has learned his lesson. He really has. He can’t—won’t—fall for the lie ever again.

That’s what he’d thought, anyway.

Alma bows over the covers, one hand twisted in his shirt. His breathing is shaky and hot. His one eye burns, his vision blurring. He feels feverish, struck, stunned—but in his chest, his heart is cold, and he swallows the tears back. His cheeks stay dry.

Bak Chang isn’t wrong, really. Alma is happy. Alma is smiling. Alma wakes up some mornings and does not hate it. And it sounds so nice, it sounds so pretty—but Alma is not who he used to be, and he refuses to fall for the lie again. He cannot be happy here. He just can't.

His breathing calms, his heart decided. Alma will stay as long as he must, and not a second longer. He won’t give these people his future or his heart ever again. And when he goes, Alma decides, when he finally rests—Alma will be sure to kill Bak Chang first, for forcing Alma to make this choice all over again.

They all smile so brightly. They all speak so kindly. It is so easy to be happy here, but their kindness is fleeting and thin, and it will break as soon as Alma stops smiling back.

He’ll still be sad, when they go. He’ll probably even cry over it. He’ll probably hate it. But there’s an easy fix for that, too-- because Alma has already kept himself from crying, and so now, just maybe, he can keep himself from caring as well.

Alma remembers, now. He won't forget again.

He keeps his hand flat and steady on the blankets, and the next time Komui walks through that door— this time, Alma does not smile.

The weeks pass by in a blur, but this time progress is stale. In the span of a single conversation, everything shifts, and Bak oversees the slow downhill trend with a heavy pit in his gut. Where before Alma’s recovery was punctuated by the occasional smile and a lightness to his eye that grew brighter with each morning, now it has gone cold. Alma does not smile. He barely speaks. Where before Komui’s every word made him stifle a smile, now he barely looks up. When he talks at all, his voice is flat.

Bak watches and watches and feels guilt rise up in his throat. This is his fault, undoubtedly, but he doesn’t know how to fix it; he’s not even entirely sure where he went wrong. He has suspicions, guesses, thoughts and hints—but none of these will help Bak fix this.

Even Komui, the first to make Alma smile, is unsuccessful at lifting Alma’s now constant dark mood. The carefree man’s smile never drops, but nowadays when he exits from his daily meetings with Alma, it’s with slumped shoulders and a pale frown.

Something has to be done. Something has gone wrong, and Alma does not seem keen on either fixing it himself or talking about it. In truth, Alma has shut down entirely, and that—that scares Bak more than he could ever explain. Even when Alma was sullen or quiet, there had been a spark to him. Now it’s like he’s trying to kill his own spirit, and Bak has the horrible sense that it was his words drive Alma to that point.

Bak has made this mess, no matter that he hasn’t a clue what he did wrong. He made this mess—and that means he has to try and fix it, however he can.

He reminds himself of this, as he walks down the hall. He assures himself of this when he opens the door to Alma’s room. When Alma looks up, his one eye icy and his face blank, Bak remembers a stuttering laugh from almost a month ago, and forces himself to smile past the churning of his gut.

“Would you like a tour of the Branch?”

Alma stares up at him, his eye going wide. Wong, in the corner of the room with a clipboard, marking down the results of the day’s rehabilitation exercises, gives Bak a disapproving stare. There is a moment—a split second—where Alma’s face is open and vulnerable, wide-eyed surprise. Then, just like that: gone. His one eye blank and cool, the lights off, expression wiped clean. A shut down of frankly worrying proportions.

“What?” Alma says. His voice is flat. He’s staring. With the dark shadows under his eye and the sickly cast to his skin, he looks as much of a ghost as he did when Bak first pulled him free from the wreckage of Laboratory Six.

It’s enough to make Bak want to scream, but he swallows that back, too. It’s been weeks, months, days upon days—and any and all progress has been reset, or worse, erased. At least in the early days Alma bothered to shout and cry, instead of—this. Whatever this is. This building, careful silence that makes his skin itch, the choked tension like a stifled scream.

It’s terrible, it’s honestly terrible, and that is why is here.

“Would you like a tour of the Branch,” Bak repeats, and keeps his voice steady.

Alma considers him. His fingers are curling and uncurling in the fabric of his covers, a nervous habit Bak has seen many times now. “I can’t wear the prosthetics yet,” he says, and there’s a note of testing in his voice.

“No,” Bak agrees, and takes a breath. “But the prototype one-arm wheelchair is, if you would rather not be pushed around. I am told it is perfectly safe.”

Alma seems to know that, too; his eye narrow, and his hand clenches into a tight fist in the covers. “Why?”

“…Why?”

“Why would do you want me to have a tour?”

Bak—blinks at him, for once entirely caught off-guard. Why is not the response he was bracing for. “I—thought you might be curious,” he says, finally. His heart drops. “Was I wrong? It’s just—ah, it’s been a few months, and… It occurred to me that you haven’t seen much of the Asia Branch beyond the medical wing.”

“I thought I couldn’t go out,” Alma says. He is watching Bak very closely, coiled tight with tension. His voice is high, wavering. In this, Bak has surprised him. His eye keeps glancing to the side, as if trying to find comfort from someone beside him, but there is no one there. “I thought…”

“Well, yes,” Bak admits, feeling his throat close up at that. “But… preparations are almost complete. If you wish it, in a few weeks times we can safely introduce you into the Branch fully without anyone none the wiser. Still, there’s no reason to not show you around.” He offers a weak smile. “The official story is that you are being secluded because of trauma, not because anyone might be looking for you. I promise, this will not jeopardize your safety.”

There is, of course, a reason Bak is offering this—a reason why it is this. Alma is going to join the Branch soon, and that means he has to know it. But more than that, Bak wants to show him the Branch. The people who live and breathe here, the life and cleverness and quirks that make the Asia Branch. So far Alma has seen so few people, so little of the Branch beyond his room—and Bak wants to try, if he can, to give Alma more than just a tiny room.

It helps, too, that this is the one offer he thinks Alma will not refuse. Of the few things Alma has ever asked Bak, leaving has always been the focus.

Which is why he is heartened, but not surprised, when Alma does not immediately refuse.

Still, Alma seems to hesitate. His teeth worry at his lip, and his eye drops down to the floor, distant and thinking. He looks young and small, as he almost always does, but this time Bak does not miss the darkness behind Alma’s single remaining eye. More than the scars that carve down the left side of Alma’s face, more than his missing eye and downturned mouth, it is this shadow in Alma’s eye that gives Bak pause.

(And deep in the back of mind, he thinks—I knew it, and then buries it with all the rest.)

Alma lifts his head and meets Bak’s eyes. His jaw works, his hand coiled tight with tension. For a moment Bak thinks the boy will snap—but then Alma looks beside him, and his face falls. The empty space makes his shoulders curl.

“All right,” Alma says. He is still staring off to the side. His voice is tight, trying and failing to stay steady. “A-all right. A tour. Okay.”

Bak steels his spine and smiles firmly back. He does not know if he can fix this—but the least he can do is try.

“Wonderful,” Bak replies, and means it.

Of all the Branches of the Black Order, the Asia Branch is one of the oldest. It was the second Branch to be established after Headquarters and the Europe Branch, but its history outweighs even the Vatican. The Asia Branch is a ruin converted into a home, and the echoes and traces of its archaic past still hang thick in the air. The sprawling ruins and towering ceilings, the winding pillars and echoing halls—there is age and power in every stone, with every curving hall, behind every corner.

There is nowhere else quite like it, and perhaps Bak is biased, but in terms of looks, he thinks this home inside the mountain is the most beautiful place in the Black Order. The Asia Branch has a beauty unmatched: an ancient kind of majesty.

Despite that, however, Bak cannot help feel nervous as he leads Alma from his room. He laces his hands behind his back and keeps his head high, taking care to walk just before Alma, not leaving him behind nor crowding him. Alma, for his part, seems content to ignore Bak entirely—his eye fixed on the wheelchair’s arms, only lifting once in a while to flicker at their surroundings.

Bak clears his throat slightly and straightens under the weight of Alma’s attention. “Where would you like to go first?”

Alma eyes him, then looks down, frowning at the cobblestone floors. “I… don’t know.”

Bak considers him, and when Alma says nothing extra, nods. “Okay. There’s the research labs, the communications room, mess hall, training area…”

He lists a few more places, watching Alma’s face carefully as he does so. Alma flinches at the mention of research labs and his jaw tightens at the mention of the science wing, but overall his face stays blank. A brief flutter of his eyelashes at the mention of a garden, thin lips at the mention of the medical wing…

This isn’t working, Bak thinks, and changes tactics. “Perhaps the kitchens?” he offers, light. “It is around midday; what would you like to eat?”

Alma looks up with a momentary flare of interest… catches Bak’s eyes, and snaps his gaze back to the floor. Damn it.

Bak waits, feeling a little desperate and a little foolish. “…No?”

Alma stays quiet. Bak inwardly despairs, and squeezes his eyes shut to hold back a grimace. Perhaps this wasn’t the best plan after all. Wanting to fix his mess is all well and good, but in hindsight, Alma hadn’t seemed very fond of Bak even before this, and now… now, it’s looking like Bak is less than useless.

“Okay,” Bak says, because he is nothing if not a hopeless optimist. “How about—”

“Stupid Bak,” Fo says. “What is this?”

Alma goes ramrod-straight in the seat, his one eye wide and wild. Bak whirls around, nearly tripping in his haste. “Fo!?”

Fo, standing tall in the center of the hall, gives him a narrow look. Her hands are on her hips, her green skin flushed dark with emotion. She lifts one arm and jabs her block-like hand in Bak’s direction, smacking him right in the arm.

“Ow!”

“Stupid Bak! What fool thing are you doing now?”

“It’s just a tour!” Bak snaps back, rubbing hard at his arm. He’s just getting ready to yell at her for it, too—seriously, he is not a punching bag, his training routine is fine as is, why must she keep hitting him—but the words shrivel up the moment he gets a good look at Fo’s face. The anger, the twisted scowl, her challenging stance—all this is familiar. But there is something else, something false about it, that makes Bak stand up straight.

“Fo,” he says. “Fo, what’s wrong?”

Fo jolts, as if surprised. She tears her sharp gaze away from Alma and sneers at Bak instead. “What? Nothing.”

He doesn’t believe her, and that unsettles him more than he is willing to show—but he can’t confront her about it here, not with witnesses. Fo will never speak serious matters in front of an audience. “Okay,” he says slowly. “I—everything’s fine, Fo. I’m just taking—Aly here for a tour of the Branch.”

“A tour,” she repeats, toneless, but her eyes have fixed back on Alma. “Where to?”

“Anywhere,” Bak says, unsettled by the look in her eye. His foot taps restlessly on the pavement.

“Not outside,” Fo says immediately.

Bak blinks at her. “No,” he says slowly. “Uh, no, okay, of course not.”

Fo nods. Then she says, “Not the kitchen, either.” Her eyes fix back onto Alma. Her expression is wintry, her usual drawling humor cut flat. “Or anywhere with knives.”

Bak sneaks a glance at Alma. The boy’s hand is white-knuckled on the wheelchair. “…Right,” Bak says, carefully. “Um—”

“Safety first, stupid Bak,” Fo says, and her tone is teasing but her eyes are sharp and begging him for compliance. “Kids shouldn’t be around sharp objects, don’t you know anything?”

“I know things!” Bak snaps, and fumes when Fo scoffs at him. “I do! Don’t give me that look! I—hey, where are you going? Get back here!”

Fo is melting into the wall, looking bored and almost back to normal. “Whatever,” she says. “I gave my advice, stupid Bak, just make sure you take it. Tours, goddamn. You humans are exhausting.” A sharp crackle of electricity and then she vanishes, gone before he can blink.

Bak stares intently at the wall and then pinches the bridge of his nose. “…Sorry,” he says to Alma. “Well, where were we? Not outside, someplace secure… perhaps the—”

“Bak~!”

He snaps his mouth shut and nearly snarls from the interruption. Can’t he give a single tour in peace?

Then Bak recognizes that bright sing-song tone, and the snarl rises unbidden to his face. He resists the urge to slam his face into the wall. Fo would laugh at him.

“Komui,” Bak says, darkly, and maybe it’s a little petty but god is it deserved.

“So mean!” Komui calls back, rushing down the hall with a manic gleam in his eyes, like a predator sensing weakness. “Aren’t you happy to see me, Chief?” His smile is sparkling and too-wide to be kind, and then the expression freezes on Komui’s face. “Oh! Aly, is that you?”

Alma stiffens, ducking his head at Komui’s approach. Bak stops mid-insult and frowns down at the boy, feeling his heart sink in his chest.

He is used to Alma avoiding him; resigned to it, even, and refuses to feel hurt. He knows what his parents have done and he knows how he must resemble them. But Komui, for all his annoying habits and tendencies, had thus far been the only one to constantly provoke a positive reaction from Alma without fail. That Alma is outright ignoring the man…

The worst part is, Alma seems miserable about his own actions. Even now, his lips twist behind the short fringe of his hair, his shoulders hunching. His breathing is uneven, his knuckles white against the handle of his wheelchair. He looks guilty and upset—but he still doesn’t look up.

Bak worries at his lip in thought, casting a side-glance to Komui, who skids to a sharp stop in front of them, his wave of hello stalling mid-air. There’s a momentary flash of insight on his face, and then the hand falls, linking behind his back as Komui rocks on his heels.

“Aly,” Komui repeats, with that usual odd softness. Alma hunches his shoulders and looks away. Komui tilts his head. He doesn’t seem hurt by Aly’s silence—just resigned, and perhaps understanding.

Whatever Komui’s thoughts on the situation, he reacts the same as if Alma had greeted him in return: with theatrics. Within a single blink, Komui goes from contemplative to delighted, his hands on his hips and lips stretched into a grin so wide Bak almost swears sparkles pop into existence from the sheer force of Komui’s blinding white teeth. Threatening sparkles.

“Ooh! Taking a tour, are we?”

Bak straightens up and pretends to not be intimidated. (Though, seriously: how??) “Obviously,” he snaps back, and glances at Alma. When the boy stays stubbornly silent—head bowed and one hand gripping at the wheelchair arm—he sighs and turns back to Komui. “Aly will be discharged from medical care in a few weeks, and I thought it prudent to introduce him to the Branch before then.”

Komui claps his hands. “Hmm, that so? That’s wonderful news. Congratulations, Aly.”

Alma nods, still not looking up. Komui shrugs and turns his gaze to the ceiling, pressing his thumb thoughtfully against his chin and humming obnoxiously. “I suppose this means you’ll be staying with us here, then!” he adds, and he says it so brightly Bak almost misses the sudden sharpness to Komui’s gaze. “Ah, dear me, that’s a bit of a surprise. I’m glad you’ve decided to join the Branch, Aly.”

It’s not much—just the slightest pause before decided—but it makes Bak feel cold. He looks away, down at Alma—Alma, who stares at the floor with his one eye blank and dark.

He’s not sure what that look means, but it makes his chest hurt regardless. Bak turns away and stares hard at the wall, rubbing at the edge of his sleeve in thought. He feels heavy and slow, sunk deep in a pit, his throat tight. He tears his gaze away from the wall and looks at Komui with a weak glare that the other scientist just meets with an infuriating smile.

“Ah,” Komui says, and then nothing more, as if this has just confirmed something to him. “Well! If this is a tour, I might as well suggest—” He kneels before Alma, right in his line of sight, and smiles brightly when Alma blinks fast, as if startled to see him there. “My favorite place,” Komui says, in a false whisper that fails utterly at being inconspicuous, “is the door!”

Bak goes absolutely still. His heart drops. Oh, he thinks, and understanding sinks like a stone in his chest. Oh. Oh, no.

Not outside, Fo had said, and Bak hadn’t even questioned it. Hadn’t even asked for the reason, for the why, if Alma was okay with that. It had seemed logical—Alma has nowhere else to go, and beyond the barrier the akuma roam, and—it’s logical, it’s sense, it’s safety—

So why does Bak suddenly feel guilty?

Alma, unaware of Bak’s struggle, just stares at Komui, seemingly thrown so off-guard that for a moment his newfound decision to avoid Komui slips—he is wide-eyed, bemused, for a split second absolutely taken in. Bak stares at Komui too, still reeling. He works his jaw, torn between sudden thankfulness and sudden fear and the ever-present irritation of Komui’s company. He looks away.

“Door?” Alma repeats, incredulous, and then snaps his mouth shut, breath catching, as though he hadn’t meant to ask at all. Komui laughs brightly, and straightens up, his smile warmer and somehow pleased. Alma looks away, his jaw tight, the darkness back—but all that does is make the second he slipped even more apparent.

Komui’s expression is oddly gentle—and, when he turns to Bak, oddly sharp. He nods once, brushes the dust from his coat, and gives Bak a pointed smile—Bak scowls darkly back, because for all that Komui may be right he could still show some basic respect, damn him—and then pivots grandly on his heel and walks off with nothing more than a casual backhand wave.

“You’ll see!” Komui calls back, light and bright, and Bak closes his eyes, looking down and away, gritting his teeth against an insult. He wants to deny this. He wants to say Komui is full of hot air and an idiot besides. And yet.

It’s only logic, Bak tells himself. It’s only logical. Alma is a fugitive from the Order, and if he’s discovered alive then Lvellier will drag Alma right back into hell. The small villages and towns by the Asia Branch are safe from Order detection but not from the threat of akuma. Behind Fo’s border and within the Asia Branch’s ruins, Alma can truly disappear from detection, truly find peace and safety.

It’s only logical, Bak thinks, and then he sees the sharp suspicion on Alma’s face and all of his conviction falls away into dust. It’s logic. It’s smart. But perhaps Bak should have asked anyway. Hadn’t he decided as much, all those weeks ago? Bak must do this right, or it will mean nothing at all.

Komui is infuriating and annoying and loud and insubordinate—but in this, Komui is not wrong. Perhaps he is cleverer than Bak ever gave him credit for.

“Come on, Alma,” Bak says, already mapping out the route in his mind. He ignores the ill sense in his gut, the memory of Fo’s dark eyes, the warning in her voice. “There’s a place I want you to see.”

Alma considers running.

From the moment Bak offered his tour, Alma has suspected an ulterior motive. Yet, somewhere between leaving his room and traveling the Branch, he’s no longer certain on what that motive actually is. Fo, with her veiled warnings and threats, and Komui, with his cryptic cheer—ever since then, Bak has looked hunted, almost shifty.

Bak is leading him somewhere. Probably the “door” Komui mentioned, but then, Alma doesn’t really understand that either. He knows it is important—Alma can pay attention to things! —but he’s still trying to puzzle out how.

So: despite his fear, despite his suspicions, despite everything—Alma considers running, but follows Bak anyway.

He’s not sure where they’re heading, but the further they go the more the Branch withers. The halls are narrower here, emptier; less and less people pass them by. The walls go from cobbled stone to rock pitted and ashy from age, soft to the touch. The air is—cleaner, sharper, brighter than Alma is used to. He’d never thought of the Branch as dirty, but here the air feels clean.

Despite this, Alma hunches further in his seat, his stomach twisting into knots. The halls, narrow and empty, make him think of Laboratory Six. The ceiling, so high he cannot even see it—the pitted walls and ashy touch—even Bak, walking ahead, with his white coat and blonde hair, feels like a memory come to life, an echo of Doctor Edgar made flesh.

Alma has resolved himself. He’s decided not to care. But he can’t, he can’t do this in silence, in his thoughts, with all these memories rising up.

He can hear his own breathing pick up, and his heart is pounding in his ears. He squeezes his eye shut and bites his lip hard, trying to calm down. It’s not working, though. All Alma can think of is how familiar the echo of these footsteps is, how the air is just as cold as the labs used to be, how Yuu is still not here—

“I meant to ask, Aly—have you given any thought to my offer?”

Alma startles, feeling as though he’s just been jolted awake. He stares. “What?”

“My offer.” Bak doesn’t look back, but he’s stopped walking, and his hands are linked casually behind his back. “It was—a bit ago, so it’s alright if you forgot. About teaching you to braid? Once your hair is long enough, of course.”

Alma lowers his hand to his lap. “I—” Yes, he remembers now. That talk of haircuts, and ponytails and braiding, right before Bak had said—had said—

“I remember,” Alma says, and he sounds distant and creepy even to himself. Empty.

(Yuu would hate it, hate it, hate it. He always hated when Alma went quiet, for all that he liked to tell Alma to shut up. Yuu would hate it so much. Yuu would hate him.)

“I see,” Bak says, and maybe he can hear the danger in Alma’s voice too, because he doesn’t push for an answer. “Well. We’re almost there. Just past that corner—you can’t miss it.”

Alma looks at Bak for a long moment, but Bak doesn’t move and doesn’t say anything more. Alma turns away. This time, when he takes the wheelchair’s lever again, his hand is steady.

He enters the room.

It is like nothing Alma’s ever seen, not even in the labs. A high ceiling that seems endless, but the walls are sectioned off, each level supported by square and blocky pillars. There are balconies, detailed stonework columns, gaslamp lights and trailing hallways. It looks—grand, almost, great in every sense of the word.

Yet, despite its splendor, the room is utterly deserted. There is no-one and nothing here. The floors are clean and clear, not a chair or table or discarded book in sight. If not for the faint flickering lamps on the walls, the entire place would be barren.

Alma notices these things, but only briefly. In truth, his attention has already been captured. Because there, standing tall at the end of the great hall—there is the door.

He thinks it’s the door, anyway—he cannot think of what else it could be. A towering expanse of the wall enclosed under a rounded arch, so tall Alma has to crane his neck to see the top of it. It’s painted from head to toe in bright, bold colors—interlocking circles of purple and green, spikes of gold carouselling the curving lines. It’s beautiful and strange and enchanting, and Alma feels his breath catch.

“Lovely, isn’t it,” Bak says, and his tone is light but all of his inflections have fallen flat and tense. “Would… would you like to go closer? I can take you up the stairs, if you don’t mind me pulling your wheelchair.”

Alma lowers his head, Bak’s voice snapping him out of that brief awe. “That’s fine,” he says, and makes a conscious effort to keep his voice unfriendly. “I—I want to see it.”

There’s something important, here. Something Bak is not telling him and something Komui wanted him to know… and Alma refuses to be left in the dark.

Besides. The door is—beautiful. It’s new and gorgeous and—and Alma wants to know.

He lets Komui help him up the small set of stairs and rolls out of reach as soon as he’s on solid ground. He looks at the door to avoid looking at Bak. “What… what is this place?”

Bak clears his throat. “It’s a door,” he offers, in that same stiff voice. For some reason, he won’t meet Alma’s eye. “The entrance to the Branch. Fo guards the breach—she keeps us safe from detection and attack by the Earl and his followers.”

Alma stares at him and then looks up to stare back at the wall again. “Komui’s door?” he asks.

Bak shuffles on his feet. “I suppose he meant this one, yes. Though I assure you there are many more doors in the Branch, so really—”

But Alma is not in the mood for jokes. Something Bak has said finally let’s all the pieces click into place. He understands, now, and it makes something within him go tight and hot with hate.

“Does it lead to the outside?” Alma asks, and Bak finally shuts up.

The silence stretches and Alma clenches his one remaining hand into a fist. “Is it?” he snaps, voice wavering, and his mind is full and far away, full of echoes and full of memory. Of a different place, a different room that looked so close to this one, just with glowing pits set deep into the stone. Of halls that led to dead-ends and a ceiling so high he couldn’t see the end of it. Of Edgar Chang, leaning down with one finger pressed against the glossy pages of picture book, saying, This is the sky. This is outside.

And Alma, not so much younger then but smaller, simpler, kinder—who had smiled back and asked: Will I see it too, someday?

“Yes,” Bak says, and his voice is quiet, sunk deep in his chest. Raspy and too-loud in the utter silence of this empty place. “Yes.”

Alma turns away. He looks at the door with new eyes. Knowing what it locks away—knowing what it’s hiding from him—dulls the majesty of it. Now it looks like a cage.

He wheels himself right up to the door, ignoring Bak’s aborted attempt to stop him. Up close the colors look ashy and faded, the gray of the stone peeking through. When he brings up his hand and presses it against the rock, it is chalky with age and cold against his fingers, the ice of the mountains embedded into that unbreakable guard.

Alma curls his fingers into stone, and leaves streaks in the settled dust. His nails scrape harsh against the rock. The door is freezing against his bare palm.

This place, this whole place, it’s—he isn’t sure what it is. Majesty and silence and echoes. Hallowed ground. The sense of power, of possibility, of being alone. It’s wide open and empty and echoing, and Alma hates it with everything in him.

He stands up from the wheelchair on impulse; nearly wavers on his one leg and gestures Bak away violently when he sees the man start. His wheelchair spins and rolls out of reach, but Alma doesn’t really care. He’s tired of sitting still.

It’s hard, to stand on one leg and balance with one arm; it’s easier when he leans against the door to steady himself, his forehead pressed against icy rock, his one hand open-palmed against the stone, as if trying to sink through to the outside. He closes his eye and imagines all the things that must lie beyond the wall. All the things this door and the labs and the Asia Branch have kept from him. He dreams of it. He breathes it in. A blue sky and green grasses—the world they wanted him to save, but never to see.

“I’m never going to leave this place,” Alma says, and he keeps his eye closed, his forehead pressed against the stone. “Am I?”

Bak sucks in a sharp breath. “No,” he says. “No, I—that’s not—I wouldn’t—”

“I don’t want to be here,” Alma says, not really listening. He means to sound indifferent, but his voice twists and breaks half-way through, and he has to swallow a sob. The stone is cold against his forehead, hard and uncomfortable against the still-tender scars on his face. “I don’t want to be here.”

Bak goes quiet, but his breath is rattling and thin. He doesn’t say sorry but Alma can hear it anyway, and he hates it.

Alma pushes himself away from the stone, flipping himself around; his back hits the door and he slides down to sit properly. His back to the door, the icy cold bleeding through his thin shirt, his legs stretched out before him, one cut short and the other whole but scarred. He brings up his knee and rests his head in the crook of his arm, eye closed and breath rattling in his chest. His throat feels so tight. There is strange pressure building in his head, his heart, his throat; every breath and every sound feels strangled.

Alma grits his teeth and hides his face and thinks of the outside. He thinks of Doctor Edgar. He thinks of Komui, who continues to greet him bright and cheerful; of Wong, a silent presence at his shoulder, forever helpful, forever gentle; of Bak and his continuous and faltering offers of help, of braiding, of things to give. He thinks of blue skies he’s never seen and will probably never know, and he thinks of Yuu.

He’s always been thinking of Yuu, these past few months. Thinking things like why, and how could you and do you hate me? Do you hate me, Yuu? Where are you? Do you think of me, too?

Thinking of Yuu, and missing him, and still—still, even now, looking for him, trying to find Yuu in the shadows and corners, unable to accept that he’s really gone.

Alma thinks of Yuu. He imagines, he remembers, with every fiber of his being, as if missing is enough to turn back time. He thinks of blue early mornings and the way Yuu would wake up tossing and turning, pleading in Japanese for someone to stay, the way his Mandarin would be broken and stuttered for hours after. He thinks of Yuu running down the halls too fast for Alma to follow, and the way he would always look back as if to check Alma was still there, still trying to catch up. He thinks of the way Yuu used to roll his eyes, or sneer, or curl up in corners the same way Alma is now, his knees drawn up and his head buried in his arms, as if trying to hide from the world.

Yuu never shook. He never wailed, never screamed, never made any sign that he might be crying. But when Alma found him in the nooks and the crannies, when he knelt by Yuu’s side and flashed a quiet peace-sign hello, trying to coax Yuu out from the caverns of his elbows, Yuu used to look up with red eyes and wet cheeks. He never spoke about it. He never said anything, or if he did, it would be an insult or a curse. But Yuu would always look up. He would always answer, always, but only if it was Alma that found him.

Were you waiting for me? Alma asked him once, and Yuu had said: Shut up, Alma, but that wasn’t a no, not with Yuu.

Alma curls up in the shadow of the wall and buries his face in his arm, thinking of Yuu and the way he used to hide. And he pretends. For one brief, useless second—Alma pretends. He pretends to be hiding, that the stone at his back is the wall in Laboratory Six, that the quiet is because he is hiding and not because everyone is dead.

Alma hides his face and waits for Yuu to find him. He waits for Yuu to come. He waits for the patter of Yuu’s footsteps and his high, raspy voice, always sharp, always snapping—What are you doing now, Alma? —prissy and rude, forever irritated, but always there regardless. Always, always there. It took Alma some time but he knows Yuu, now, understands the way Yuu works—Yuu’s kindness never showed itself in words but instead in actions, in the way he didn’t shove Alma off the bed and didn’t laugh when Alma cried, in the way he followed Alma to the testing chamber and in the simple fact that he waited, always, for Alma to find him, because Alma was the only one Yuu ever let see him cry.

Yuu, Alma thinks, days and months and maybe a lifetime away from those days, those moments, those small kindnesses. Yuu, are you coming?

He presses his back against the stone and curls up tight, reaching internally for the missing piece. Yuu, are you there?

But this room is too empty, the air too clean, the stone too cold to belong to the laboratory, and the truth is that no-one’s coming. There is no-one there. Yuu is not here, and he never will be. He’s left Alma behind for the world outside.

Alma doesn’t know how long it has been since the massacre, and he doesn’t really care. Months are meaningless. It feels like yesterday, and yet, despite all the time he’s had to think and wonder and plot and plan—for the first time, it truly hits him. For the first time, Alma really understands.

Alma is never going to see Yuu again.

He will never say goodbye, or sorry, or ask him why. Alma has survived against all odds, and when he finally does die, this time it will be without Yuu by his side. This time Yuu won’t be there. Alma won’t go without blood, without making sure the lesson’s learned—but he will also go alone, alone in the only way that matters.

Alma is going to die, and he’s going to die without ever seeing Yuu again.

He hides his face in his arm and shakes, feeling the familiar burn in the back of his remaining eye. His breath rattles in his chest. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. He doesn’t want to be here. All these months and weeks of healing—Alma didn’t want them. He didn’t want to survive. He didn’t want to have to go through this all over again. He’d just wanted to save Yuu, and he’d just wanted to rest, and now both are out of his reach.

Come back, Yuu, he thinks, uselessly. Please come back.

There’s the sharp patter of footsteps on stone, and Alma’s head snaps up, and he almost believes—but no. No. It’s only Bak. Only Bak, who has the nerve to be here, to look worried, to look like he cares.

Suddenly the shaking is too much for him. The pressure builds, blinding; it grips him tight, seals his throat and makes his fingers tremble. His vision is shiny and blurred. Alma bites his lip so hard it bleeds, feeling small and tight and caged into himself, and he’s trying to bite it back, he really is, but when he sees Bak there, hand outstretched and expression devasted—

Alma snaps.

“Go away!” Alma shouts. He presses himself back against the door and scrapes his hand against the floor, a make-shift fist, his fingers curled. In this moment Bak looks too much Edgar had, in the lab, in the end, and Alma hates it, hates it, hates it. “Go away, go away, go away—”

“Alma,” Bak says, careful, so careful, and this time he sounds just like Edgar did too.

Alma, please, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

What little self-control Alma held onto breaks like a twig. Alma screams at Bak, a short and wordless cry that echoes and echoes and echoes. He sounds awful, young, breaking. He sounds weak. He sounds like a child, but Alma has never actually been a child and he is so tired of everyone treating him like one, of lying to him, of pretending—

Alma curls his last remaining hand into a shaking fist and slams it against the stone floor. It hurts. It hurts. But the floor cracks too, all edges, shattered beneath his fist, and Alma feels a dizzying relief at the sight of it. He lifts his hand to try again.

“Alma!” Bak shouts, voice rising and eyes wild, and he’s reaching out, he is too close, he looks so afraid and he sounds so worried and Alma has never hated him more.

“I said go AWAY!”

It’s not so much a shout as it is a shriek, and it tears out of Alma’s throat like wire, barbed and bleeding.

It is this cry that hits home. Bak flinches and stumbles away, finally moving back. His hands are shaking too. But his eyes are dark and his face is set, and even though he steps back, he doesn’t leave. He stands with his fists at his sides—shaking. Watching Alma, watching Alma’s hand. Looking as if he’s about to cry too.

“Go away,” Alma says, or maybe snarls, and Bak lowers his head.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“I don’t want you here!” His eyes feel hot, his face flushed. His hand throbs, painful pin-pricks, jabbing and sharp. Alma makes a fist anyway and smashes it against the broken floor, just to spite them, just to make Bak flinch. “I hate you! I hate you! Leave me alone. I don’t like you, I hate you, I’m not waiting here for you!”

“I know.”

“Go away,” Alma says. He’s really crying now, trembling like a leaf, his throat aching. He forgets the deal, the plan, Fo’s warning. He forgets. “Go away, I hate you, I hate you and everyone like you—I wish you’d all just die!”

Bak breathes. The sound rattles. He says: “I know.”

Alma screams at him again, short and wordless, just to keep himself from sobbing. He can hardly breathe, he’s crying so hard; he twists his hair in his hand and grits his teeth against another wail. He’s gasping for air, feeling stuffed and wrung dry, stretched thin. His heart aches in his chest, as tender as a bruise.

“I don’t want you here,” he says. “I don’t want you here. I, I want—I want Yuu.”

He doesn’t mean to say that, to admit it. But the moment he says it, he knows it’s true. Alma digs his palm into the hollow his eye and curls into himself, crying so hard he can barely speak. He’s not talking to Bak anymore. He’s not sure if he’s talking to anyone.

“I want Yuu,” Alma says. “I miss him. I want—Yuu. Yuu, come back. I want him. I want him back. I, I want—I—”

Bak doesn’t say anything. He turns away, and sits down on the steps, linking his hands on his lap. His fingers are white-knuckled and spotted with hives, trembling. But Bak doesn’t speak, and he doesn’t move. He just stays there, sitting frozen and still. His hands clasped and head tilted up to the ceiling, as if trying to see beyond the stone to the sky.

Bak doesn’t say anything. But neither does he leave.

“I miss him,” Alma says, and then he starts to cry.

It’s a different sort of crying then before—softer, quieter, more consuming. It feels like mourning, maybe, only Alma can’t tell if it’s for himself or for Yuu. Or maybe it’s just this, that Alma’s grieving: Yuu, who showed he cared by staying; Yuu, who will never again be by Alma’s side.

Alma cries until he’s out of tears, until the pressure eases and he feels as if he can breathe again. By the end of it his anger is dead and cold, dried up with his tears, and all his strength along with it. He feels wrung-out and worn thin, exhausted to his bones.

The room is silent, empty, still. The door still sealed shut against Alma’s back. Bak still seated on the stairs, a silent sentry. His back bowed and bent underneath a stained white coat.

Alma drags in a breath through his teeth, and rubs his hand hard across his face, trying to scrub the tears away. His skin feels flushed and sticky, fever-hot. His eye is sore and itchy from all the crying. He pries tear-soaked bangs away from his face, and finally finds his voice.

“…You’re still here,” Alma whispers, and he’s not really sure what he’s asking.

Bak looks up, but doesn’t look at him. Just wipes his palms dry on his pant leg and says, quietly, “I’m sorry. I don’t want to intrude. And I don’t want to make you feel crowded. So I— I won’t say anything, if that’s what you want. But it wouldn’t feel right, to leave you alone.”

Alma breathes. “Go away,” he says. His lips are so dry they’ve cracked. His hand is aching, needle-like pricks of pain radiating up his arm. He wonders if he’s fractured it. “Go away. P-please just… go away.”

“I know I’m not who you wanted to be here.” Bak is hushed. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll be here anyway.”

“Please.”

Bak bows his head over his knees, and Alma watches him, too tired to read into it. And maybe Bak is tired, too—because he sounds it, in this moment, tired and old, when he says, “It just wouldn’t be right to leave.”

Alma closes his eye and leans his head back against the door, cradling his injured hand to his chest. He doesn’t say anything to this. They’re quiet. Just quiet.

“If…” Alma starts, and his voice rasps rough in his ruined throat. “If I… if I asked to leave this place… if I asked to go outside. If I wanted to go away. If I didn’t want to be here.”

He stops, unsure of how to continue, his words hanging heavy in the air. Alma stares at the distant ceiling, and then drags his gaze away, finally meeting Bak’s eyes. “If I wanted to go out this door right now,” Alma says. “And—and never, ever, ever—” His voice cracks and he swallows it back. “E-ever come back. Ever.” He waits. Bak doesn’t move. His face is white.

Alma doesn’t look away. He doesn’t move. This time, his voice doesn’t break. “Would you let me leave?”

Bak stares back. His eyes flicker up and away, to the door at Alma’s back. The interlocking circles and golden spikes. He stares at the door for a long time.

“Yes,” Bak says, and nothing else.

Alma ducks his head, his jaw working; he rubs the last of his tears away. He takes a deep breath through his teeth, then takes a few more for good measure. His heart is settling. He isn’t shaking anymore. He rests his aching hand in his lap and tilts back his head against the wall, facing the sky.

“Okay,” Alma says. He stares up into the comforting blackness, and feels something within him finally rest. “Okay.”

When his breath is steady and he feels stronger for it, Alma wavers back to his feet and limps to his wheelchair, rolled over off to a corner. He gets himself down the stairs without help. The walk back to his room is slow but steady, and Alma lets Bak push the wheelchair because his hand is still aching. They are silent, not speaking, and Alma is grateful for it. He’s tired of talking. He’s tired of crying. The quiet is a relief, a breath of fresh air—and when he finally makes it back into his room, Alma closes his eye and exhales, shaky and relieved.

His fingers, so tight against the armrest of his wheelchair, finally relax.

Alma gets himself settled in a chair and brings his knee up to his chin, just breathing. He watches dully as Bak puts away the wheelchair, and then stands awkwardly in the center of the room, looking foolish and out of place and clumsy. Bak opens his mouth a few times as if he has something he wants to say and can’t figure out how to say it, but he never actually asks. His hands flutter uselessly and then drop.

There is nothing else to do, Alma knows, and rests his chin atop his knee, his gaze distant. It is so quiet here, in the Asia Branch. These halls are so big, and so empty. It’d be easy to get lost in this place. It feels as though Alma already has, and for the first time he wonders if Bak feels that way too.

Bak looks it, at any rate. He’s staring at the wall, and his eyes are shadowed and exhausted. He has to take three deep breathes before he finally speaks. “Does it hurt? Your hand.”

Alma looks down at it, curling his fingers. “Yes.” He watches Bak closely when he answers, searching his face.

Bak doesn’t look back, just exhales, shuddering and soft. His face is hidden by the shadow of his fringe. His voice is quiet and his body bowed, curved forward like there’s a weight pushing him down. “I see,” Bak says. He turns to open the door, and then stops, his hand resting limp on the door handle. “I’ll send Wong by to wrap your hand.”

There is a long pause. Bak closes his eyes. “Goodbye, Alma.”

Bak opens the door, and Alma watches him leave. His fingers curl in the blanket on his lap, and it aches. He thinks of doors, and where they lead. He thinks of hiding, of waiting, of Bak sitting on those steps, looking up as if searching for the sky.

“W-wait.”

Bak stills. He looks back.

Alma had not meant to speak—he stares, caught off-guard, and looks away first, down at his hand. He uncurls his fist inch by inch, turning up his palm. His fingers are pale and thin and crisscrossed with tiny scars, his knuckles red and bleeding from where he’d slammed them against the floor. His skin is still sticky from tears.

“Later,” Alma says haltingly, stuttering and tripping on it. “Later, if you—have time, or, um—” He bites his lip hard and forces himself to breathe. “L-later. Would you… teach me how to braid?”

There is a moment of stunned silence. Alma doesn’t look up. He doesn't want to look up. He can’t see Bak’s face. He can’t see Bak’s expression. He couldn’t bear to.

But Alma can listen.

“Of course,” Bak says. There is relief, and kindness, all there in his voice. The sound of a smile on his face. He sounds—warm. That's the word. Warm. He sounds so warm.

Nothing like Edgar at all.

“Of course.”

#dgm #d.gray man #d gray man #alma karma #kanda yuu #d.gray-man #komui lee #bak chang #fic: dreaming of flowers #iza fanfic #dgm fanfiction #dgm fic

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shellsan · 5 years

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@radiowrites tagged me in a Top 5 Fandoms game so here we go. In general I love too many fandoms to really whittle it down but based on my most recent obsessions they are, mostly based on what fic I’ve consumed in the past couple of months:

1. Mo Dao Zu Shi and Related Works

I adore this show. It’s the first new thing I’ve truly fell hard and fast for and I don’t know how to really explain how good it is. If you aren’t one for irl dramas, go watch the donghua, you won’t regret it. I was hooked from the first episode in a way that I thought I couldn’t be anymore and the fic only makes my love of it burn brighter.

2. Bleach

This is more of a recent love. Over the past half a year I’ve steadily become more and more obsessed with the fanfiction side of bleach and since my love of world building has reach an alltime high, I can’t help but appreciate the concepts the show presents. Plus, so many shipping opportunities and female characters that I actually like. It’s also one of the fandoms where I’m super comfortable promoting my fave character as ace or just enjoying something more gen based.

3. Fullmetal Alchemist

FMA fanfiction is in essence, so far from the original and yet follows all the same concepts so often. There’s so much really good long fic to be found in the fandom, despite my ship of choice being considered “problematic” and whenever I’m not sure what to read, this is often where I end up going.

4. One Piece

I adore one piece more than most shows and I will never not enjoy the absolute insanity that is this show. It’s taken me years to get to where I am in the anime and I’ve never read the manga but I appreciate it and the numerous shipping options it gives me more than anything. It’s also one of the few shows where I can easily explore some of the concepts I rarely can such as the Ace-Spectrum, what with it being available in many characters without stretching things, platonic love on a level rarely found in shows, and of course, a general appreciation for gen that I rarely find in fandoms. It’s fun and a nice escape for me sometimes from the abundance of romance in most fic.

5. D.Gray-Man

DGM is an old love of mine. It’s one of the earlier animes and mangas that I got into and it’s one of the first fandoms I wrote fic for (no, you cannot read that anymore, it was trash and while i have a copy it will never again see the light of day) and just under a year ago I managed to re-find my love for it. Honestly, in terms of favourite “fandoms” instead of favourite “shows”, dgm takes the cake. I’ve made an obnoxious amount of friends (by my standards) by being part of this fandom and I truly am thankful for how lovely and interactive they all are. It’s the fandom I’ve produced the second-most fic for as well, despite the short time span, so that should indicate just how much I love it. It’s also currently the only fic that I write M and E rated things for because it’s special like that okay?

And because the rules don’t control me, I’m going to do this like any true fanfiction writer and make this my 5 top fandoms and my forever fandom

Obviously, my forever fandom is ghost hunt.

Despite how small our fandom is and how long it has been since the end of our og works, we still exist and honestly, the demand for fic is still there? We lack writers and event organisers, but I definitely receive plenty of attention for what I do produce so maybe we’re bigger than we think? Either way, I started with ghost hunt; I’ve been writing for it since I started writing in fic in 8th grade and I can’t imagine ever letting it go properly. Even now, a good 50%ish of the fic ideas I come up with are ghost hunt and I’m determined to one day write them all to completion. It holds a very special place in my heart and it is and always will be my forever fandom, no matter how everything else changes. I can only hope that everyone else agrees and continues to help keep it alive.

#shellsanspeaks #aboutshellsan #this got super long but oh well #this was fun #like writing an essay bc i wanted too #long post

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kitty-bandit · 6 years

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In You

Fandom: D.Gray-man Rating: E Pairings: Poker Pair (Tyki x Allen) Total Words: 1.8K Tags: Modern AU; Sex; Oral Sex; Vaginal Sex; Trans!Allen

Read on AO3.

This is a ko-fi commission for @dannyikigay ! Hope you enjoy it!

Allen let out a breath, the sound whistling past his teeth as he stared up at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes. Fingers clenched in the fabric of the too-large t-shirt he wore, knuckles white against the dark fabric. Pleasure buzzed along his skin like electricity, building slowly like the rising tide, and although it felt wonderful—amazing, even—that pinched feeling in his chest refused to disappear.

Tyki lay between his legs, hands supporting Allen’s thighs as they spread wide for him. His thumbs ran soothing circles into his skin, face buried in Allen’s heat and lazily licking over his wet folds. He’d been at it for minutes now, with no signs of stopping any time soon.

But Allen knew he couldn’t hold back much longer, especially with how agitated he already was.

Sighing, Allen closed his eyes and willed the anxious, pinched feeling deep in his chest to disappear. He’d ignored it for months now, with varying degrees of success, but it never seemed to go away completely. He knew the feeling well, the doubt that crept up on him, the lingering unease as he waited for the other shoe to drop. Things had been going too well with Tyki for too long. Something had to go wrong—that was just his lot in life.

Of course, now he felt like shit thinking such awful things while his boyfriend ate him out so lovingly.

As if reading his thoughts, Tyki ran his tongue heavy along Allen’s clit, forcing a gasp out of his throat. Allen moaned low, toes curling and hips jumping up into the contact. Tyki licked again and again, and Allen pulled the shirt tighter to his chest, sucking in his lower lip to bite down on another moan. His stomach twisted into a delicious knot, burning and hungry as his boyfriend teased over his sensitive flesh with a talented tongue. The distraction worked and his focus returned to their carnal acts.

Allen reached down, fingers threading through Tyki’s thick, curled locks. “Tyki,” he mumbled, tightening his grip in his hair and tugging gently. “I’m close…”

With renewed energy, Tyki continued to lick and suck on Allen’s tender flesh, his grip tightening on Allen’s thighs as he worked his mouth. Allen’s breath hitched at the attention, and he bit at the heel of his palm to keep the noises escaping his throat from echoing off the bedroom walls. He felt it then—the heat, the tingling in his limbs, the impossibly tight way his stomach clenched. It only took a few more rough swipes of Tyki’s tongue before Allen came undone, hips rocking up into Tyki’s face as he rode out his orgasm.

When he’d finished, his stiff limbs went limp, body relaxed back against the disheveled bedding. He panted as Tyki sat up, wiping the mess from his face.

“You held back again,” he said crawling over Allen’s limp form. He kissed him, and Allen could taste himself on his lips. Tyki was still hard, his cock brushing against Allen’s thigh before he flopped onto his back next to Allen. “Don’t hold it in. I want to hear you.”

Allen sat up, body still heavy and tired from his orgasm. “Yes, but the neighbors don’t. Be at least a little courteous.” He ran a finger up the underside of Tyki’s prick, smiling a little as a shiver ran through his body.

A soft moan purred past Tyki’s lips, and he closed his eyes. “They play their guitar at 2AM. We can be as loud as we want.”

Shaking his head, Allen sighed. “It’s unwise to start a war with your neighbor.”

“I think you mean it’ll be amazing.”

The pain in his chest was back, the tight feeling that wedged itself deep in his breastbone like the tip of blade broken off and left to fester. He looked down at Tyki, body prone and naked. He made no move to Allen, no amorous touches, no hungry grabbing at his body. No, he waited until Allen was ready to do what he wanted, if anything. Allen knew if he didn’t want to, Tyki would leave him be and take care of himself in the shower. He’d always been selfless like that.

It made Allen feel weak, useless, like he wasn’t enough. It ate at him, as it had been for months now. He didn’t want to only give Tyki half of himself. He was already in over his head as it was—what was a little more?

Allen crawled closer on the bed, Tyki’s shirt hanging loose on his lithe form and bunching up around his hips. He hesitated, gently resting a hand on Tyki’s stomach. “…Do you have any condoms?”

Tyki’s eyes shot open at the question, brows nearly jumping up to his hairline. He sat up, meeting Allen’s bashful gaze. “You want to?” he asked, words soft and vague, but Allen knew his meaning. They’d never gone that far before, mostly due to Allen’s own hesitance.

“Yeah. Do you have one?” Allen still didn’t meet Tyki’s gaze, staring at the headboard instead.

Tyki reached for the nightstand and opened the top drawer, fumbling around for a moment until he plucked a small foil packet from the mess. He turned back to Allen, condom in hand. “You sure you want to? We don’t have to do it, you know.”

“I know,” Allen replied—too quickly, he realized as Tyki’s brows pinched together, unconvinced. Tyki leaned in and pressed his face in the crook of Allen’s neck, cupping the other side with his hand.

“Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.”

Allen took the condom from Tyki’s fingers, heart in his throat as he ripped the foil open. “Lay back,” he whispered, pushing on Tyki’s chest. He moved with Allen, flat on his back as Allen rolled the condom onto his still stiff prick. Tyki sighed at the touch, brushing hair from his sweaty face before looking back to Allen. He didn’t move, even as his cock twitched excitedly against his stomach.

Straddling his hips, Allen crawled forward and sat down on Tyki, arms and legs trembling as his wet folds rubbed up against that stiff flesh. He didn’t move, breathing deeply as he tried to slow the furious beating of his heart in his chest. What if this wasn’t good enough? What if he wasn’t good enough? What if—

“Allen.”

Allen’s silver eyes met Tyki’s, the cacophony of doubt and worry silenced with a single look.

“Just breathe,” Tyki said, a hand brushing along Allen’s cheek.

“Mm,” Allen mumbled back, the tightness in his chest lessening. He did as told, taking a moment to breathe and calm his nerves, and when he’d reined in his thoughts and worries, quieting them down to a dull roar, he shifted his hips.

Tyki’s cock rubbed between his slick folds, hard and warm and more pleasant that Allen had expected. He rocked his hips, hitting his sensitive places with the shallow thrust and sending a wave of pleasure up his spine. That one hip thrust turned into another and another, until Allen bit his lip to keep the moans from spilling past them as he rubbed himself against Tyki’s dick.

The movement became easier, and he titled his hips again on the downstroke, feeling the blunt tip of Tyki’s cock press up against his entrance. His breath caught in his throat at the pressure, and before he let himself drag this teasing out any longer, he rocked down and slowly sank onto Tyki’s length.

Tightness and pressure was all he could feel as his pulse pounded in his ears. He sat there, Tyki’s cock fully sheathed inside him, and waited until he acclimated to the foreign feeling. He looked down at Tyki, hands on his chest as he balanced on top of him. Tyki’s golden eyes were on him, sharp and cautious. He rested his hands on Allen’s hips, thumbs pressed lovingly against his the jut of his hipbones.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low and raspy.

Allen nodded, closing his eyes to center himself. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… give me a moment.” He took another breath for himself before he rocked his hips once more.

They groaned in tandem at the delicious friction, Allen’s elbows weak as he fought to keep himself upright. It felt good, that little movement. He tried again, rocking deeper, harder, and the pleased sounds spilling past Tyki’s lips delighted him to no end.

After that, Allen worked himself onto Tyki, hips pumping in slow, rhythmic movements. Tyki tightened his grip on Allen’s hips, lower lip sucked between his teeth as he moaned low in his throat. His reactions spurred Allen on, pushing him to thrust his hips faster, deeper.

They moved like that—Allen’s hips rocking down while Tyki’s thrust up to meet him, the slick, wet sound of sex echoing in the room. Allen panted as he moved, breath pushed out of his lungs on each downstroke. He closed his eyes, lips parted while he worked himself onto Tyki. He was so lost in the lust of it all that he gasped when Tyki’s thumb found his hardened nub, rubbing it as gently as he could while they fucked. The extra stimulation sent shivers down Allen’s spine, urging his hips to rock faster and faster. He felt another orgasm brewing low in his guts, tight with need.

“Tyki,” Allen mumbled, rolling his hips into the pleasant pressure. If Tyki had replied, he couldn’t hear it over the squeak of the mattress springs and his own heartbeat thudding in his ears.

His second orgasm came on quickly, less subtle than the first. It coursed through his body like electricity, fast and hot. His hips fucked down onto Tyki harder, rhythm lost to lust. Allen’s loss of control pushed Tyki over the edge, an hungry moan echoing in the room as he thrust up to meet Allen’s movements. They writhed against each other for a few more seconds, riding out the wave of passion before coming down from it together slowly, panting heavily.

Allen collapsed on Tyki’s chest, head tucked under his chin as he struggled to catch his breath. Tyki’s arms encircled him sweat soaking into the t-shirt still hanging loosely off his torso. Maybe it was the endorphins from coming twice, or perhaps the long day he’d had, made even longer by fooling around too late at night, but Allen felt his chest lighter than before—warm, even.

Either way, his lips were loose as his breathing evened out and exhaustion settled into his bones. “…Can I stay tonight?” he whispered, mouth moving against Tyki’s chest.

Tyki chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest as he tightened his hold on Allen. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

#dgm #dgrayman #poker pair #tyki mikk #allen walker #kitty bandit writes fanfiction #kofi commissions

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mint1412 · 6 years

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Klance and Yulma Parallels, and Why If Yulma Happened, Klance Will Too!

Klance = Keith X Lance from the not-yet-canon couple Voltron: Legendary Defender

Yulma = Yuu Kanda X Alma Karma , the canon couple from D.Gray-man

Full analysis and comparison under read more; TLDR is in bold somewhere near the bottom, also under read more.

Let’s jump straight (or not so straight, given the content lol) into it! Parallels between Keith and Kanda are first, then Lance and Alma, and finally the relationship in general! Because if Yulma can happen, so can Klance!!!!

Keith and Kanda Parallels

Both

Are the hot headed swordsmen of the group (Look below to see Keith holding his blade to the Olkari leader’s neck and Kanda doing the same for Timothy)

Are loners

Go off alone to protect those they love (Kanda chasing the group off, Keith just leaving)

Overall just try to do things alone

Are arguably the strongest in the group besides the “mentor” or “adult” figures

Have shown no real interest in any females, and no obvious interest in anyone despite the other main characters doing so

On Voltron’s side

Hunk likes Shay

Allura had Lotor

Matt and Lance both found Allura attractive

Shiro had Adam

Pidge likes technology

On DGM’s side..

it ‘s been mentioned that many, many people are attracted to Lenalee, and implied both Lavi and Allen are

It’s implied that Lenalee has a crush on Allen

Despite all this, Kanda was always suspiciously absent from the talks about romance in the manga’s “discussion” rooms, in which the characters answered the fans questions about themselves. With the exception of one where I think it was mentioned he would probably like a “dignified” person???? Regardless, when asked about Lenalee Lavi and Allen were both there and implied that at the very least they thought she was attractive (because of course guys like girls in miniskirts), while Kanda...was not.

Funnily enough, Keith’s endgame is almost never mentioned.....and questions about who he likes/if he likes anyone are avoided. Same as Kanda’s were

Couldn’t recognize their crushes at first (Kanda not realizing it’s Alma, Keith asking who Lance is) but probably still knew somewhere deep down anyway.

Are honestly a little bad with other people’s emotions

Parallels between Alma and Lance

The happy face to Kanda/Keith’s frowny faces

Love to tease Keith and Kanda

The ones who bring the most smiles to Keith/Kanda’s faces

Are usually super friendly

Very caring about other people

The only ones to have made Kanda/Keith respectively laugh when alcohol was not involved

Along the same lines, they both have a bubbly and easily excitable personality

Despite being the more friendly and generally people persons, both can be scarily serious

Are often seen as slightly air headed due to their excitable nature, but can be pretty observant when need be

See Lance noticing that wasn’t Rover and saving Coran

And Alma figuring out he can use the canal to escape with Kanda

Parallels between the relationships

Use ‘we” a lot in terms of fixing each other’s problems

Lance’s “We’ll fix this” when Keith admits he made a mistake in pushing the team too far is one example for Voltron

Kanda

Have a bit of a rivalry at first

Both have gotten into a few fights (verbal for Voltron, not so verbal for D.Gray-man)

Gotta love how Alma and Lance are on the same side of the screen and Keith and Kanda are. Just goes to show how similar they are I guess :) lol

But become friends pretty quickly in their respective story lines

Alma and Kanda only a few chapters into the flashback arc

Keith and Lance were working together pretty quickly and almost definitely considered each other friends (though I doubt Lance would have admitted it that early) around halfway through the first season

So if they went from rivals to friends quickly....and Kanda and Alma got together because that was the natural development of their relationship, surely the natural development of Keith and Lance is romance as well! I mean heck, it was even stated by the producers that the natural progression of Keith and Lance’s relationship is romance!!! And if you look at Kanda and Alma’s, you can see it! :)

Okay yeah I know a lot of this is a stretch...really it all came about because I noticed the similarities in personality between Keith and Kanda(actually this was part of the reason one of my friends decided Keith was her favorite immediately, despite not generally having those character types as favorites), and realized their relationships had a few similarities as well. And honestly, if Kanda and Alma getting together can happen in a Shonen manga like D.Gray-man, then Keith and Lance can get together! Also I really, really want a scene with him like the one I describe and show below.

TLDR: The two ships are pretty similar which means if Yulma happened, Klance defiantly has a chance.

Also, after Keith admits to liking Lance/after they get together, I want a scene like this super adorable one below from D.Gray-man where he blushes around another guy because even being reminded of Lance makes him swoon lol. I mean look at that blush!!! So cute from the hothead. I mean obviously I want him to blush around Lance too, but blushing around anyone who reminds him of Lance because he likes Lance THAT much is a cute thought to me. I guess it just shows how much he cares.

PS: Honestly, with how many people beg for representation in media, I’m kinda surprised D.Gray-man isn’t talked about more often. Because honestly the inclusion of Yulma is pretty much all of the rep you guys beg for wrapped up in a neat and beautiful relationship. Alma is basically trans (was a girl, had their brain implanted into a male body), and Kanda and Alma were in a relationship before the body swaps, and it changed nothing about their love. Kanda wasn’t even phased when he realized, and just accepted Alma for who (s)he was. There was no “no way” or “it can’t be”. He just fully accepted them as they were and it’s absolutely beautiful. Also, it’s in a Shonen manga. C’mon, when does that ever happen in a Shonen series? Though if you’re gonna hate, don’t bother reading it please.

#klance #vld #voltron #voltron legendary defender #dgm #d. gray-man #laith #thunderpike #yulma #yuulma #d.gray-man #kanda yuu #yu kanda #keith kogane #lance mcclain #alma karma #yuu kanda

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alteriius · 7 years

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Into The Fire (Updated 3/24/18)

FANDOM: D.Gray-Man PAIRING: Allen Walker/Lavi/Tyki Mikk (Allen Walker/Lavi & Lavi/Tyki Mikk) WORD COUNT: 4,345 LINKS: AO3 | FFN

SUMMARY: Prophecies say that when the first thirteen dragons die, the fourteenth terrorizes the countryside, seeking to revive its dead brethren. It creates disciples, goads them into hunting it with the promise that what was stolen from them will be returned. "You lost your heart to me last time, what did you plan on losing this time?"

This is being updated with the second chapter in celebration of @wipweek (March 24th; Favorite WIP) and also to celebrate my anniversary and engagement to @transgenderlavi.

"Kanda, we have to do something!"

"No, we don— Gah!"

The unholy scream that follows would've woken the dead and risen them from the grave if they were close enough to any—but unfortunately, the only one near enough was Lavi and if the noise wasn't enough to wake him, the painful ringing in his ears would've been.

Scrunched up eyes peek open at the two voices, the sight of one blocked out by the eyepatch that remained over his eye. The first face he sees is a young woman no older than himself with long, black tresses that spills over her shoulder when their eyes meet and she leans down to greet him.

"Hey there," she says so soft that he barely hears her over the pained groans of her companion that isn't visible from where he lay. Amethyst-colored eyes glimmered in the afternoon sunlight as a pained smile spread across her face, though he didn't understand what was causing her so much grief.

Lavi's memory is caught in a foggy haze and the knowledge of how he'd gotten here—or where "here" was—was far out of his reach. His vision was blurry from his long nap, though he didn't remember laying down for one. Hadn't he been doing something...?

He opens his mouth to speak and a cough escapes him instead, lungs straining like he'd been swallowing fist fulls of smoke mere moments before this— oh.

Memories of the canyon and what—who—he found in it come rushing back to him at a dizzying pace. Were he standing, he’s sure the biting pain from his worsening headache would've had him on the ground.

Concerned eyes stare down at him as her companion finally returns to join her, but Lavi's attention has fallen away from the two and even the man's features go unrecorded and the distance he keeps despite being in sight goes unnoticed.

Starting to sit up, she jumps to steady his shaky movements, but he is so fixated on the feeling in his chest that he misses the words that bid him to remain still.

He knows his heart is beating out of rhythm like a song that's lost its tempo, but he can't feel it pounding against his chest like it's about to burst from it. Lavi reaches up, touches the torn cloth of his shirt and the second layer of fabric that should've been beneath it.

"You need to rest after what you went through," she says, though her words verge on inaudible as quiet as they are and as far away Lavi's mind is.

"No, I- I can't, I—"

His hand lays over the hole in his shirt, both covering the unbound cleavage and feeling the fresh scar tissue where smooth skin had previously been. Her hands weigh heavy on his shoulders; his body feels like lead as he struggles to move.

It's her companion that finally shatters the nightmare he's been having and makes it a reality.

"Your heart was stolen."

All he hears are the harsh words; he doesn't process what the young lady in front of him says afterwards. He was a draconologist. He'd been told for as long as he could remember that he had no need for a heart, but that was figurative. Being without the blood-pumping organ meant one thing: He was no draconologist now.

He was a slayer, doomed to fight dragons until he died or until his heart was returned to him—or that's what the legends said, anyways.

Lavi could stilll feel his heart beating, but it was far behind him, taunting him as if it wanted him to follow the—as if it wanted to be found.

"What— What happened to me?" he asks, trying to make sense sense of memories wrapped in black smoke. He remembered the scaled claws that had descended on him and pierced his chest, pulled his heart from its cage... In his mind, it looked as much like a fever dream as it felt like one.

Growing up, he'd heard tales of the fourteenth dragon's heart stealing ways, but an unfathomable nightmare had just become his reality.

"The same thing that happens to all of us."

Her smile falters and weakens as she speaks and Lavi's visible eye widens as he finally recognizes the clothes they wore. Garbed in coats of the purest white and hemmed with a vibrant gold, it dawns on him that these are the same people that he would now be expected to fight alongside.

"We all wake up with foggy memories, a scar on our chest and a heart that beats in the stomach of a dragon," she says, though she has no further need to explain. Lavi understands now that he's regaining his bearing, remembering the risk he took when he set foot into the dragon's home.

More than being turned into a disciple, however, he almost expected to be eaten in his entirety as a mid-morning snack for a monster.

Stories had told him that only those worthy and brave enough to face the dragon would have their hearts ripped from their chests by it. Many draconologists had been killed in their pursuit of the dragon before him, so why had it chosen him as worthy?

He didn't want this.

"What's your name?"

The question takes him by surprise. So lost in his thoughts he had been, he doesn't realize for another second that this is the second time she's asked him that.

"L-Lavi," he says, struggling with unfamiliar stutters. This wasn't a problem that had ever happened before, but panic was threatening to suffocate him. "My name is Lavi."

"Well, Lavi, my name is Lenalee Lee."

As she speaks, she draws back and makes a motion with her hand. He hears a sound like a horse neighing overhead before a gust of wind musses his hair, eyes scrunching up briefly as he raises a hand to block out the fierce wind. With eyes shut tight, he can only hear the beating of wings as someone significantly smaller than a dragon lands behind Lenalee.

A wave of terror washes over him, his eyes snapping open to see not a monster, but a—

"A pegasus?" Lavi asks, not able to believe what he's saying. Lenalee greets the black-winged creature as she procurs something from a storage pack strapped to its side, out of the way of its large wingspan.

When she turns back around, he sees a knitted, tan shawl in her hands and he wonders if that was a product she herself had created before she returned and wrapped it around his shoulders, hiding what Lavi didn't want the rest of the world to see. He barely has time to mutter his gratitude before she's helping him to his feet.

"You should come with me. There are some people that you need to meet."

Though he knows he'll never be able to fight a dragon in the same way she or her unnamed companion might, Lavi follows her lead, too exhausted to refuse.

Exhaustion had set into his bones long before she loaded him onto her steed—Koku, he learned his name was—like he was little more than cargo, though that was probably an accurate description of how all Disciples of the Holy Order were treated by the organization that housed them.

Knowing what he did, it was probably foolish to agree to accompany her to the castle that was their headquarters. His master had always planned for them to visit together so that he could navigate the Holy Order's parasitic politics that were designed to award the draconologists with as little as possible while their own organization raked in intellectual profit.

None of this was supposed to happen.

He was supposed to come here in one piece, with a beating heart in his chest and an old man screaming in his ear to play his assigned role as a "proper" draconologist—though he was more like the few others he'd met than the old man was.

And he was definitely not supposed to arrive on the back of pegasus, arms wrapped around a cute sky knight to keep himself from being blown off the creature's back.

Their descent into the courtyard is slowed by Koku's powerful wings and he finds himself unnerved by the way all heads turn to look at them, gazes focused not on the returning Disciple, but him.

He can see those near enough to him arching their brows at the sight of him, even as Lenalee slides off the pegasus and helps him do the same. Such would warrant loud complaints, if not for how tired he was and how unnerving having so many eyes on him was.

Once his feet found the ground, the murmuring begins and he wraps the shawl tighter around his shoulders, hiding his form and the scar on his chest. This was not a situation he was used to.

For him, normal was receiving the ire of dozens of strangers in the town square when he can't keep his mouth shut. The attention awarded to him now was different.

His time here could be counted in minutes on a single hand, but Lavi had already formed an opinion.

He didn't like any of this.

Lavi desired more than anything to leave this place and go back to the drawing board to find a better way to approach the dragon and probe it for information. It left a painful ache in his chest that wasn't born from the loss of what should have been there.

Through the dragon's magic alone, he still drew breath and there was no byproduct of the spell that sated his curiosity. With every step further into the Holy Order's headquarters and every sight within it, his desire to understand the dragon and its motives only grew.

After proceeding through a number of rooms that anyone with a lesser memory might call a maze, Lenalee opens a pair of large doors decorated by a stained glass painting of a dragon—the eighth, he noted—being slain.

Absently, he wondered if the Disciple pictured there still lived.

Through those double doors that depicted the first slaying of this generation of dragons was a man that sat behind a desk littered with papers that pegged him as something akin to the draconologist's chief of operations.

"Brother," Lenalee greets as she shuts the door tight behind them, leaving Lavi to wonder if that's for the sake of privacy or more to slow any potential attempt at escape. She strode up to stand next to where he sat before she gestured to him.

"This is Lavi. Kanda and I found—" She pauses briefly, glancing at him in time to see him cringe. "—him at the canyon's border."

A sigh of relief slips through Lavi's lips and he offers her a smile, which she returns with the same vibrancy.

Though she gives no more details, her chief—her brother—nods, understanding. His lips form a smile, though the depths of its sadness are something that Lavi can't hope to figure out.

"So you've been made a disciple," he says, linking his fingers together to rest his chin on his hands. Lavi knows that his words are true. For all anyone cares, Lavi is nothing more and nothing less than a disciple now and the missing organ in his chest proves as much to everyone but himself.

"I'm... I'm a draconologist," Lavi says with unfamiliar uncertainty. Never has he been forced to question who he was before. From a young age, he has been trained for one purpose and the idea of losing his very reason for living...

Two sets of eyes widen, the two other people turning to look at each other before their gazes move back to him.

"You're a draconologist?"

He repeats it as if it's blasphemous and perhaps it is. Never before had a draconologist been recorded as a victim of the fourteenth dragon. Lavi was the first.

"Yes, I am," Lavi says, though the words aren't the entire truth. After all, he's a mere apprentice. He can't claim the title like the others could; he still has to earn that. "I was so close to learning something out there. The dragon might've stolen my heart, but I can still feel it and I can feel I was about to find out somethin' important!"

He had too many questions to quietly give up, to try and kill the creature he'd been ready to die to learn more about.

"Do you really have a choice? The only way to get your heart back is to fight and kill the dragon."

"I'm still breathin'!" Lavi says, his curiosity only growing thanks to the empty space in his chest. It was a void that seemed to be filled with questions that increased in number every minute that passed. His nerves were still clawing at him, but fear was overpowered by enthusiasm and a thirst for knowledge that couldn't be sated by slaying a dragon.

This time, Lenalee opens her mouth to protest and he knows by the look in her eyes the jist of what she's going to say before the words leave her lips. And he interrupts her before they can with a smile that didn't suit a man likely to walk out of this castle and meet his doom at the claws of a Great Dragon.

"I'll figure something out."

Lavi turns to leave, smile falling the minute he turns his back on them. Worry settles over him like a beast more terrifying than the one that had taken his heart. More than ever before, he was certain that his passion would end in his death sooner than he or his master had been prepared for.

"Wait," Lenalee starts and Lavi holds his hands up before she can start. He won't be convinced; he's already convinced himself that this is the right path. That simply letting go isn't his style.

"Sorry, Lena, but unless yer gonna offer ta help me..."

"I can't help you," she says and Lavi hand drops back down to his side. He'd expected as much. She seemed kind, but she was a disciple. Her ability to work outside the confines of what the Holy Order decided was appropriate for her had a very limited scope and pushing her past that could put her in grave danger. "But I think I know someone who can."

"Ya know somebody crazy enough to hunt down a dragon besides the other disciples, while not killing it?"

He turns back to the duo in question, sees the smiles on their faces. Looks like "crazy" might be a perfect word for whoever they have in mind.

"Have you ever heard of the Noah family?"

#dgm #allen walker #lavi #tyki mikk #wip week #laven #lucky pair #fanfiction #allen writes.#tagging just in case #since it didn't appear in the tags a few days ago

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quantumseahorse · 7 years

Text

Fanfics I reread

A Race to Protect- https://www.fanfiction.net/s/3286655/1/A-Race-to-Protect An American Dragon Jake Long fanfic. In which Jake gets stuck in Dragon form while injured and pretty much ends up in a vet’s office. It makes me happy to read.

Yuiitsu-Shin- https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11074340/1/Yuiitsu-shin A 12 Kingdoms and Fate/Stay crossover. It’s so rare to find 12 Kingdoms fanfics that I actually enjoy. Sadly this hasn’t updated in a long while.

The Death of Ascheriit- https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11002761/1/The-Death-of-Ascheriit An Ubel Blatt fanfic set during the years between the Betrayal and the beginning of the manga. It’s great, lots of good characters keeping our poor fey-hybrid company and helping him work through the hard times.

I See the Moon- https://www.fanfiction.net/s/8212843/1/I-See-The-Moon Avengers and Harry Potter cross. In an alternative world, removing the Horcrux broke Harry’s mind. So an insane Harry meets an emotionally fragile Bruce and end up traveling together.

Sparked by Magic- https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6009055/1/Sparked-by-Magic A Harry Potter and Transformers cross. In which Harry’s accidental magic pretty much becomes something similar to the All Spark.

He Loved by God- https://www.fanfiction.net/s/8862685/1/He-Loved-By-God Blue Exorcist and D.Gray-Man. It’s not the most well written but I love the story they were trying to go for. I hope they update eventually.

The Dragon King’s Temple- https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7679074/1/The-Dragon-King-s-Temple The most well done Avatar the Last Airbender and Stargate SG-1 fic I’ve ever read. It finds a way to work the two VERY different series together in a way that makes sense within the laws and mythology of their respective series.

Big Human on Campus- https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5382984/1/Big-Human-on-Campus Ranma 1/2 and Rosario Vampire. Pretty much a coherently written crack fic. It is amazing and funny and I just have a fun time with it.

The Man in the Long Black Coat- https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7282544/1/The-Man-In-The-Long-Black-Coat Good Omens and Supernatural. I distinctly remember one of my friends describing a fanfic she was reading and I blurted out this title of this and she was like ‘YES! That’s the one I was talking about!’ because the Good Omens fandom is small enough that we’ve both read pretty much all the pics there are by this point…

Make it or Break it- https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7517289/1/Make-It-or-Break-It Naruto and Harry Potter. Harry gets blasted into Naruto world during the final fight with Voldie. He decides to become a Healer and have a calm, quiet life….well at least he was trying to.

The Poltergeist Report Card- https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7994009/1/The-Poltergiest-Report-Card Yu Yu Hakusho and Rosario Vampire. It’s essentially a crack-fic. Also, I’m not sure if the author actually knows what Harry Potter is…considering they seem to think Hermione was a red-head?

Demonic Housing- https://www.fanfiction.net/s/3566193/1/Demonic-Housing Harry Potter and Yu Yu Hakusho. In which Hiei is adorable and Dumbledore is like a weird friend/uncle?

A Ralts in the Moonlight- https://www.fanfiction.net/s/3925316/1/A-Ralts-in-Moonlight Ranma 1/2 and Pokemon. Ranma turns into a Ralts. I couldn’t click FAVORITE fast enough. Enough said.

A Square Peg in a Round Hole- https://www.fanfiction.net/s/3571049/1/A-Square-Peg-in-a-Round-Hole Stargate SG-1 and Highlander. Someone finally decided to address the fact that Jack has a dragged clone of himself running around.

Kyuushutsu- https://www.fanfiction.net/s/2195575/1/Kyuushutsu Rurouni Kenshin fic. Set during the war. In which Kenshin runs around killing people and searching for his boss.

Caught in a Ladder- https://www.fanfiction.net/s/3525207/1/Caught-In-A-Ladder Hikaru no Go. Pretty twisted. Kidnapping, abuse, torture and all that good stuff.

When Summoning, Please watch the Wording- https://www.fanfiction.net/s/3547876/1/When-Summoning-Please-Watch-The-Wording Good Omens and Supernatural. Short but really well done. I just want more Good Omens fanfics.

Make a Wish- https://www.fanfiction.net/s/2318355/1/Make-A-Wish Harry Potter crack-fic of epic proportions.

Find the Moon- https://www.fanfiction.net/s/1789944/1/Find-the-Moon Full metal Alchemist and Gundam Wing. I’m always amazed when people can make the weirdest crossovers WORK in a believable way.

The Serpent of Lord Voldemort- https://www.fanfiction.net/s/150716/1/The-Serpent-of-Lord-Voldemort In which Harry’s animagus form is a snake, he gets accidentally adopted by Voldemort and just tries to escape before anyone realizes who he is.

Doeskin- https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11030096/1/Doeskin Harry Potter and Naruto. Harry dies and is reborn as a Doe. Crack-fic. I never realized I needed this fic in my life until I discovered it.

Ghost in the Machine- https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10898688/1/Ghost-in-the-Machine Final Fantasy VII. A Cloud goes back in time-fic but something went wrong.

The SHIELD Agent Rhapsosdos series written by Wayang Silver- https://www.fanfiction.net/u/3890589/Wayang-Silver Final Fantasy VII and Marvel Movie-verse. Just a cool and well written concept with reincarnation and stuff.

The Little Guy- https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7284929/1/The-Little-Guy Final Fantasy VII. Cloud goes back in time and becomes a janitor. Somehow still ends up screwing Sephiroph.

The Human Mask- https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7731108/1/The-Human-Mask Natsume Yuujin-Cho. You should read Worthy of a Name first, since this is the sequel to that. Basically Natsume becomes a God of Spirits.

#fanfiction

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bisexual-bookman · 5 years

Text

Ride It, My Pony

Fandom: D.Gray-man

Pairing: Tyki Mikk/Lavi Bookman

Word Count: 3163

Tags: Bottom!Tyki, Dirty Talk, Strangulation Kink, Daddy Kink

Summary: Lavi's certain he's gone to heaven. That's the only reason his gorgeous boyfriend would be asking such a question. "Do you want me to ride you?"

[Read on AO3]

“Do you want me to ride you?”

Lavi could feel his face heat up at the simple question. His single eye was wide with incredibility as he stared up at Tyki’s grinning face.

“What?” Lavi squeaked out. Tyki laughed softly, leaning forward on his elbows to place a quick kiss to the tip of Lavi’s nose.

“Do you want me to ride you?” Tyki reiterated. He punctuated his words with soft kisses to Lavi’s shoulders. Lavi hardly felt the barely there touch, his mind still struggling to process Tyki’s words.

“Uhm, yeah?” Lavi finally replied, though it was more of a question than an answer. Tyki laughed again, pressing his lips to Lavi’s.

“Why so hesitant, Cutie?” Tyki mumbled against Lavi’s lips.

“I’m just confused as to what brought this on, that’s all.” Lavi responded, pressing back into Tyki’s kiss. He slid his hands up Tyki’s bare back, resting them on his shoulders.

“I was just thinking the other day how I’ve never ridden you before, and wanted to try it.” Tyki shrugged at his simple explanation.

“Really? That’s it?” Lavi asked in disbelief. Tyki nodded. “Uh, well then…in that case, yes, I’d love for you to…uhm…ride me…” Lavi managed to stutter out, his face red with embarrassment. Tyki laughed into Lavi’s neck.

“I find it so cute how you can’t say something as simple as ‘ride me,’ yet you manage to say such dirty things while we’re having sex.”

Lavi could feel his face heat further at those words.

He felt Tyki’s mouth move along his freckled flesh, hot open-mouthed kisses being lazy placed as he went along. His lips skimmed Lavi’s collarbone, a low whine escaping Lavi.

“Hurry up, will you?” Lavi demanded breathlessly. Tyki chuckled.

“Always so impatient.”

One of Tyki’s hands was wandering, trailing over the red head’s side to cup his ass, strong fingers kneading the soft flesh. Lavi bent one of his legs, pressing his thigh into Tyki’s half-hard member. Tyki groaned lightly at the rough tough, hips jerking.

Heading the other man’s words, Tyki’s tongue slipped out, lapping at Lavi’s nipple. He could feel Lavi’s breath hitch, his chest brushing against Tyki’s face.

Tyki brought his hand up, his long fingers playing with Lavi’s other nipple. A moan rumbled in the back of Lavi’s throat, his nails scraping across Tyki’s tanned shoulders. They slipped into Tyki’s curly hair as he dipped lower, tongue lapping at Lavi’s skin, tracing the muscles on the red heads abdomen.

“Do you want to prep me, Cutie?” Tyki asked, breath ghosting across Lavi’s skin. Lavi shivered at the feel of the warm air on the cooling saliva.

“Do I ever.”

Tyki chuckled as he moved to lean over Lavi, his long hair brushing the others face as he watched Lavi with an intense gaze as the red head reached into the nightstand drawer. Lavi fumbled for a few moments, a noise of triumph leaving him when he found what he was looking for. Pulling out a container of lube and a condom wedged between his fingers, he deposited both on top of the nightstand.

Feeling Tyki’s lips moving lazily across the column of his neck, Lavi struggled to open the bottle of lube, the soft kisses and panting breaths in his ear distracting.

“Hmm, Handsome? You know it’s really hard to think when you’re doing that.” Lavi said. Tyki didn’t pay any mind to Lavi’s words, just laughing softly against his skin as he trailed his hands over Lavi’s chest.

Sighing, Lavi regretfully removed his hand from Tyki’s hair, giving up trying to open the bottle with one hand. Bringing it closer to him, he managed to fumble it open with a satisfying click. He nearly squirted it all over himself and Tyki as the older man ground their nude bodies together.

“You keep that up,” Lavi gasped, “and this is going to end up all over us.”

Tyki laughed, but relented, moving away from Lavi. He positioned his knees on either side of Lavi’s hips, his hands that were resting beside Lavi’s head keeping him from crushing Lavi. He watched as Lavi managed to successfully cover his fingers in lube.

“You know I can’t help touching you. Besides, the noises you make are just delightful.”

Tyki just grinned at the half-hearted glare Lavi threw his way, the flaming red of his cheeks ruining the effect. Tyki leaned in for a kiss, something that Lavi happily gave, but not without a nip to Tyki’s lips in retaliation for his earlier words.

Lavi moved his hand down their bodies, skirting around their erections to insert a finger into Tyki’s entrance. Tyki grunted lightly at the intrusion as Lavi slowly moved his finger, spreading the lube around.

“You know you can go a bit faster than that.” Tyki mumbled in between kisses. Lavi made a noise of acknowledgement, inserting another finger.

A louder grunt left Tyki, Lavi’s fingers moving to stretch Tyki rather than just spreading the lube. A third finger was quickly added, a low groan leaving Tyki as he felt Lavi’s fingers move inside him.

Once Lavi was satisfied that Tyki had been prepped enough, and with a quick confirmation from the man himself, he removed his fingers, wiping off the excess lube on a pair of discarded sweatpants. Reaching for the condom that was still on the nightstand, Lavi stilled when Tyki leaned forward and placed a kiss to his forearm.

“I was thinking we could go without that tonight.” Tyki said, looking at Lavi out of the corner of his eye.

“I wanted to see what it feels like for you to come in me, since you’re always so eager for me to do it to you. Thought I’d give it a shot.” Tyki said, a smug smirk on his face. Lavi could feel his cheeks heat at Tyki’s words, but still levelled an even stare at the other man.

“No pun intended?”

“Oh, pun much intended.”

Lavi let out a snort of amusement. He used his other hand to pull at Tyki’s hair, delighting in the sharp inhale from the dark-haired man. Pulling until Tyki’s face was even with his own, Lavi gave Tyki an open-mouthed kiss, greedily drinking in the groans that Tyki let out. Threading both hands into the thick strands, Lavi gave a sharp pull. Tyki growled into the kiss, leaving a sharp bite to Lavi’s lower lip as they parted breathlessly.

“Well, in that case. Tyki, I’ll fill you up to the brim. It’ll be a pretty sight; watching my cum drip down those heavenly thighs of yours.” Lavi said. The words flowed easily, so unlike his earlier embarrassed stuttering.

A dark chuckle left Tyki at Lavi’s heated words.

“There’s my dirty mouthed little rabbit. Such foul words coming from such sweet lips.”

Lavi quirked an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Really? I’m the one with sweet lips, Mr. Smooth-Talker?” Lavi said. He raised a hand to Tyki’s mouth, gently tracing the full lips with his finger.

Opening his mouth, Tyki quickly enveloped Lavi’s finger, relishing in the surprised look that crossed the red heads face. Tyki worked his tongue over the finger as if he had a different part of Lavi’s anatomy in his mouth. Judging from Lavi’s expression, he was thinking something similar. He worked over the finger a few more times before pulling back with a loud pop. He looked Lavi in the eye, delighted in the way Lavi’s gaze was transfixed on his tongue as Tyki dragged it up his finger.

Leaving a kiss on Lavi’s palm, Tyki looked up at Lavi, eyes dark with lust.

“Shall we continue on to the main event?” Tyki said. He caught Lavi’s erection in the cleft of his ass, slowly grinding down. Lavi nodded quickly. Tyki grinned as he wasted no time in positioning himself over Lavi. He took in the other man’s deep blush, the crimson spreading as far down his chest as it could go. He watched Lavi’s intense gaze as he slowly lowered himself.

A low groan left Lavi as Tyki enveloped him, the heat surrounding him making him pant. Tyki was going slow, excruciatingly so, something that Lavi knew was more for the cruel experience of making him loose his mind, rather than Tyki trying not to hurt himself.

The soft pants as Tyki sunk lower wasn’t helping Lavi’s case; his mind nearly shorting out as his dick was fully surrounded by Tyki’s heat as he bottomed out, a low moan coming from the dark-haired man.

Lavi shut his eye as he breathed deeply. He tried to think of something other than the delicious heat surrounding him, or the even more delicious man sitting on top of him.

A small snicker made him open his eye, nearly regretting it when he caught sight of Tyki, his stomach twisting with desire. His long hair was wild, hanging around his face as he looked down at Lavi, a smug look on his face, or as smug as he could look with Lavi’s dick buried deep in his backside. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark and stare burning.

Lavi’s throat tightened, his mouth suddenly dry. There was a wild air about Tyki, almost animalistic. Tyki didn’t get like this too often, but when he did, it usually meant Lavi was ending the night with sore muscles and noise complaints from the neighbours.

Lavi could feel his heartbeat quicken, his breaths coming in uneven pants. His hands shook, almost imperceptibly, as he laid them on Tyki’s hips.

Tyki leaned forward, looking at Lavi through lowered lashes, his lips parted as he captured Lavi’s own in a gentle, yet passionate kiss. Tyki slowly leaned back, his eyes half-lidded as he looked into Lavi’s own green eye.

“Don’t laugh if I end up cumming too quickly.” Lavi said in a rush. Tyki said nothing for a heartbeat before he threw his head back, a loud, breathless laugh leaving him.

“Oh, Lavi,” Tyki crooned, a soft look on his face. He laid his hands on top of Lavi’s own sitting on his waist, long fingers smoothing over the backs of Lavi’s hands.

“I was going to say the same to you.”

Lavi eyebrows shot up, a surprised, yet delighted look crossing his face.

“Oh really?” Lavi hummed. His lips curved into an innocent smile, a mischievous glint in his eye. Tyki’s smile twitched, but stayed in place, suddenly wary of what Lavi might say or do.

“Do you like the feel of me inside me that much? You like the way I fill you up Daddy?”

Tyki’s loving look fell slowly, a heavy breath leaving him. He pinned Lavi with a piercing look, one that usually made Lavi squirm as his stomach flipped presently. This time however, Lavi just looked on in amusement, watching as Tyki swallowed harshly, his adam’s apple bobbing.

“Just for that, I’m going to make you cum quicker than you ever have before.”

“Go for it Daddy. You know I’d love to see you wreck yourself on my dick.”

Tyki placed his hands on Lavi’s chest, using the support to pull himself off Lavi until only the head of his dick was still inside. A cruel smirk crossed Tyki’s face as he slammed back down, hardly giving Lavi time to get his baring’s before he was quickly bouncing on top of him.

Lavi whimpered as he watched Tyki on top of him. Each rough thrust dragging lewd noises from Lavi. his voice grew louder as Tyki’s hands explored his chest; deft fingers playing with his overly sensitive nipples, nails gently raking over his chest and stomach.

“Any louder Lavi and we’ll get complaints.” Tyki gasped out. Lavi’s mind was too preoccupied to reply; trying to think of things other than the gorgeous man on top of him to keep this from ending too soon.

Lavi’s hands clenched around Tyki’s waist, nails digging into Tyki’s tanned skin. He dragged Tyki down to meet his harsh upward thrusts, delighting in the low groans that left Tyki.

Looking down, Tyki was delighted to see Lavi red faced and breathless, his eye half lidded as the pleasure over took him. Tyki grinned, opening his mouth, teasing words on the tip of his tongue until Lavi shifted his hips. A surprised moan left Tyki as Lavi hit his prostate head on. His legs quickly turned to jelly as Lavi continued to hit that spot again and again.

Lavi took great delight in hearing the soft moans now leaving Tyki. The heat in his stomach only growing hotter as he watched Tyki come undone.

“You’re going to look so good when you cum all over yourself, Daddy.”

Tyki’s whole body shook at the breathy tone Lavi had taken on. Paired with the way he practically moaned daddy, and the rapid-fire thrusts on his prostate, Tyki could feel his climax quickly mounting.

He placed his hands on Lavi’s shoulders, thumbs pressing against the base of his throat. Lavi’s hips stuttered, his panting breaths hitching.

“C’mon my little bunny, you can do better than that.” Tyki whispered hotly. His hands shifted, the meat of his palms pressing into Lavi’s throat. Not enough to cut off his air; just enough for Lavi to feel the pressure.

“I don’t call you bunny for nothing, Lavi, I know you can go faster than that. Come on, faster, faster.” Tyki practically growled out. Lavi whimpered at the tone, his gut clenching pleasantly.

Planting his feet flat on the bed, Lavi used the new leverage to pound up into Tyki. The force made Tyki’s grip loosen, one hand shooting out to grab the headboard with a white-knuckled grip.

Lavi’s hands trailed down to Tyki’s ass, grabbing the soft flesh with a near painful grip. Tyki’s second hand joined the first at the rough treatment, the tendons in his forearms straining from his grip.

Lavi could feel his climax mounting, knew he wouldn’t be able to last much longer; and, if the beautiful mess of a man panting above him meant anything, Tyki was close too.

“You gonna come for me?” Lavi managed to pant out. He knew what his dirty talk did to Tyki; knew how easy it was to send him over the edge with it. He watched as Tyki leaned his head back, jaw spastically clenching and unclenching as harsh breaths left him, trying in vain to not let Lavi’s words affect him.

“Paint yourself all white for me, Daddy. You’ll look even more pretty than you usually do.”

Lavi watched as Tyki arms started to shake as he struggled to keep himself upright. His death grip on the headboard was the only thing keeping him from collapsing on top of Lavi.

“Cum for me, Daddy.” Lavi said, punctuating his words with a sharp slap to Tyki’s ass.

With a guttural groan, Tyki’s body tensed, spilling his seed all over himself and Lavi.

Lavi wasn’t too far behind. The sight of Tyki’s face in ecstasy, and the way his muscled thighs clenched around Lavi’s waist, it wasn’t much longer before he was emptying himself into Tyki, hips rocking up into the older man as he milked the last of his orgasm.

Tyki slowly unclenched his hands from the headboard, moving them to either side of Lavi as he lifted himself off of Lavi’s spend dick.

Gripping Tyki’s thighs gently, Lavi helped the other man. A hum of appreciation left Lavi as he saw his cum dribble down Tyki’s thighs. A lecherous grin spread over his face.

“Mmm mmm, I was right. I think that’s the prettiest sight I’ve ever seen.”

“I think you like my thighs a little too much.”

“Not my fault you’ve got the best damn back end I’ve ever seen.”

Tyki snickered in amusement, flopping down on top of Lavi. A soft ‘oof’ left Lavi at the sudden added weight of the other man, but he just laughed as Tyki buried his face in the crook of Lavi’s neck, lips leaving soft, lazy kisses along the freckled skin.

Lavi loosely wrapped one arm around Tyki’s waist, the other rubbing up and down his back. They lapsed into a comfortable silence, Lavi almost dozing off when Tyki spoke up.

“I don’t know how you can stand letting me cum inside you. It’s not pleasant at all.” Tyki paused. “Well, after the fact it isn’t.”

“I’ve got a dirty mind to go with my dirty mouth, Daddy.”

Lavi chuckled to himself as a heavy sigh left Tyki, Lavi being able to tell that it was more from exasperation then arousal.

“Why did I ever tell you that?” Tyki groaned, burying his face deeper into Lavi’s neck. Lavi laughed outright at Tyki’s obvious discomfort.

“To be fair, drunk you told me that little tidbit of information.”

“Ah, yes, the ever favourable drunk me.” Tyki drawled, tone heavy with sarcasm.

“Hey, I like drunk you. Especially beer drunk you. Very inelegant.”

A snort left Tyki. He moved to get off Lavi but was stopped as the red heads arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

“No, you can’t get up yet. I’m comfy. Five more minutes.”

“Five more minutes and you’ll be asleep.”

“Your point?”

“I still have cum up my ass that I would very much like to wash off.”

Lavi heaved a dramatic sigh, throwing his arms out to either side with a flourish.

“Fine. I guess you can get up.”

“Thank you, so very much.” Tyki said with a roll of his eyes. He moved off Lavi, getting off the bed with a stretch. He looked back at Lavi, chuckling to himself when he saw Lavi pouting.

“You know,” Tyki started, using an arm to prop himself up as he leaned over Lavi. Seeing that he had the other man’s attention, Lavi dialled it up, lone green eye staring at Tyki sadly. Tyki smiled lovingly at the younger man, hand reaching up to thread through the forever messy red strands.

“That’s not fair. You know how weak I am to your cute, pouting face.”

“I know,” Lavi said. He placed his hands on his cheeks, squishing them forward to turn his pout in to a silly expression. “That’s why I’m playing it right now. Since you decided to leave me all alone in this cold, empty bed.”

Tyki laughed at the muffled way Lavi’s words came out.

“How about this?” Tyki said, reaching to tug one of Lavi’s hands off his cheek, placing a quick kiss there instead.

“If you want, you can join me in the shower.”

Lavi perked up at that, shooting the other man an amused look.

“Is that your not-so-subtle way of asking for a second round?”

An innocent look crossed Tyki’s face as he straightened, turning to head to the bathroom.

“I don’t know, you’ll just have to see for yourself, now won’t you?”

Lavi laughed, kicking the blankets off him and quickly getting up, following Tyki to the bathroom.

“Hmm, I just might, Handsome.”

#dgm #tyki mikk #lavi #d.gray man #lavi bookman #lemon #the world needs more bottom!tyki #and i am more than glad to deliver #a bookmans writing #lucky #fanfic

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