#WOE STAINED GLASS WINDOWS BE UPON YE

[w1f1n1ghtm4r3]

in the hall of winners

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Members Only 1

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, cheating, other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

“Tommy knows the owner,” Grace trills as she leads you upstairs, “he’s around here somewhere, I’m sure.” 

“Right,” you follow her up into the violet-tinted lighting of the private room, “Mr. Shelby must know a lot of people.” 

“Mm, yes, that is the upside of our marriage. There isn’t a single restaurant or shop in this city where they don’t know his name,” she boasts as you stop at the door and she struts across to the slender bar. She hums, a hint of disapproval in her tone, and she pops the cork of the bottle. “That and the drinks.” 

She catches the foam from the neck in her mouth, her lipstick staining the torn edge of the golden seal. She gulps and puts the bottle down, blotting her lips with her knuckles. She turns and strolls around the curved sofa and looks through the windows that peer into the flashing club. 

“Pour me a glass,” she demands, “it isn’t my brand but good enough.” 

You obey. Mrs. Shelby is very precise in what she wants. She never leaves you in need of further directive. Your previous employer often expected you to know what they wanted without saying so. That stint did not last very long. 

The private room is decorated in silver and gold banners, vases filled with matching confetti, and an ivory cake with a big ‘40’ mounted on top. The decor clashes with the rest of the club. This isn’t a refined venue, it’s a place where coeds come to wile away their weekends. 

You fill a stemmed glass with champagne and bring it to Grace as she toys with a pale blonde wave. She is a pretty woman. She has all the elegance her name would suggest. Still, there is a staunchness to her that keeps you diligent. 

“Hmm, I do wonder why my husband is so fond of this place,” she tuts, “though I might guess it.” 

You peer down at the writhing bodies dancing below. Skimp skirts, crop tops, flirty moves; it isn’t your sort of place and you didn’t think it was hers either. She turns and struts away, sitting on the sofa to nurse her champagne flute. You turn to face her, staying by the windowed wall. 

“I won’t complain. Charlotte will appreciate the effort. It might even bring back a few memories for her,” Grace continues on, twirling the glass between her fingers. “The rest of the ladies should be content enough with the champagne and—oh my, please, go to the kitchen and inquire after the appetizers. I was promised brie and crustinis.” 

She sighs as you move for the door and she slurps loudly. As you reach the door, you hear her mutter, “...ever trust him...” 

You leave her there, wallowing with her golden nectar. It is no secret that the Shelby’s are facing marital woes. Even beyond the scope of Mrs. Shelby’s personal assistant, it’s obvious. Their last dinner party erupted in an argument which had their social circle whispering even months later. She blamed the alcohol and he blamed her. 

You find your way to the kitchen, past the burly man serving drinks behind the upper tier bar. You’re permitted past upon the mention of your employer’s name. Within, a man lines trays with tidy hor d’ouevres. Despite his greasy apron, his work looks no different than the private chefs that often serve the Shelbys. 

You hate to ask but you have to. Your ‘when’ is met with a ‘soon’ which sounds more like ‘can’t you see?’ You thank the cook and quickly retreat.  

As you get back to the stairs, you see Mona, Lilian, and Charlotte. The latter looks confused at her surroundings. She has no idea why she’s there. The surprise has worked. You linger then follow up a few steps behind. 

You can hear the furor as you approach the door. Charlotte’s squealing and as you enter, unseen, she hugs Grace who looks more irked then endeared by the embrace. Your employer’s eyes lock onto you and he gestures to you. You serve the other ladies; Charlotte first as guest of honour. 

“This is quaint,” Mona preens. 

“It’s exactly Charlotte’s taste,” Grace snipes, “if only you’d known her twenty years ago--” 

“Grace, I am a married woman now. No need to bring up the past,” Charlotte girds. 

“Oh, tell me the first note of Britney won’t have you undone,” Grace challenges as she lets you refill her glass. 

The woman chirp and giggle. Your employer faces you, “well?” 

“The cook is finishing up. They’ll be here shortly,” you keep your voice low, an expert at not disturbing the others. 

“Mm, it better be worth it.” 

You don’t mention that it hasn’t cost her anything. It’s isn’t your place to say so, or to speak unless spoken to. Some may think your job oppressive but you don’t mind so much. It’s easy to be told what to do. You’ve never been very good at decisions. 

She sips and scrunches up her nose, “ugh, this isn’t dry enough. Go, find my brand. Ugh, he knows what I prefer and he just doesn’t care.” 

“Yes, miss,” you take her glass as she hands it over and you leave it on the bar. It’s miss, not ma’am. Ma’am makes her feel old. When her birthday comes around, it will be her fifth fourtieth soiree. 

You leave the room again and venture back down. You go to the bar and wave your hand at the tall, blond bartender. He nods to show he’s seen you as he continues to serve his current customer. You wait, bobbing impatiently. He forgets you as a flurry of babbling young girls approach from the other side. He takes their orders and you sigh. You put your hand up again. 

“Oi,” a voice sounds from behind you and a whistle cuts through the thrumming din. The bartender turns and his blue eyes flicker in the club lights. He nears, looking behind you, almost through you. 

“Mr. Shelby,” he greets. You tense and glance behind you. It’s him. Thomas Shelby. Your boss’ husband. In essence, he is your boss, he pays your bills. 

“She’s been waiting,” he points down at you. 

“Of course, sir, apologies,” the bartender looks down at you, “what can I do for you?” 

“Er, I'm looking for champagne. A specific brand--” 

“Taittinger,” Mr. Shelby calls over your head. 

You nod in agreement. That’s the one. He knows but he didn’t have it in the room. Is his wife correct in his disregard or was it merely an oversight? 

“Quickly,” Shelby demands and shoos the bartender with his fingers. “My wife is here?” 

You face him and confirm his assumption. 

“Mm, I forgot it was tonight,” he says, though you hardly hear him over the music. 

You don’t know what to say. There isn’t anything to say. You rarely, if ever, speak to Mr. Shelby. You’re usually just treated as part of the decor. 

“Keep an eye on her for me,” he reaches past you as the bartender returns and he takes the bottle of champagne, “better get this to her at once. Guard it with your life,” he intones as he stares you down, “she does prize her little indulgences.” 

“Yes, sir, thank you,” you make sure he can hear you above the pulsing noise. 

He tilts his head and steps aside, “on you go.” 

[swearingcactus]

borrowing showers past bedtimes

remember the little thing i wrote the other day about v borrowing kerry's shower? yeah i finished it, somewhat, decided it was still relatively short (2k) and too plotless for an ao3 post. so woe, fic be upon ye. (under the cut)

It seemed like it took forever until V’s incessant knocking on Villa Eurodyne’s front door got it to swing open.

Speaking of the door, when the fuck did Kerry even get his front door fixed anyway? They had tried to fix it on a random weekend when V came over, but it kept opening stubbornly no matter what they did. And then Kerry had gotten so mad and tried to rip the door of its hinges, so they dropped the effort altogether. And–

“Oh, shit.” Kerry’s voice brought him back to the present and V blinks to realize Kerry’s looking at him with wide eyes. He pulls down his headphones he had on to his neck. His previous annoyance at being bothered in his house at this hour slipping rapidly into shocked worry at the sight of a merc covered in blood and mud and who knows what else, standing with his arms and feet a shoulder apart.

“Hey Ker, wha‘sup, sorry for bargin’ in so late at night,” V says, words stumbling over the other like a trainwreck, then he gets to the point, “Can I please borrow your shower?”

“Jesus, of course,” Kerry says, and then jerkily opens the door wider like he just remembered he could do that.

“‘m not Jesus, I’m V.” V mumbled out absent-mindedly. He whacks his arm before he gets in, some blood and bits of flesh fell off the sleeves of his jacket, squelching to the floor.

“Do you need a ripper?” Kerry asked. V drags his feet onto the concrete in hopes it’ll lessen the blood stains when he walks in the house.

“Oh, nah, I’m fine. This isn’t mine.” V says, just realizing how this must’ve looked. “I’ve been out the whole day in the rain, went from the badlands then back, got a gig near here.” V walked further into the house, avoiding the items still strewn about the floor. “Got messy. Normal shootout stuff, grenades, the like, then just–” he makes a psh-SHOOO noise with his mouth as he creates an over-exaggerated motion of an explosion with his hands.

“Gonk had a grenade on him and pulled the wrong pin.”

Kerry lets out an amused, morbid chuckle. V thinks that’s nice; he’d probably laugh about it too. If he hadn’t spent the entire day being scorched and sweating under the Badlands sun, hit by dust and dirt. Then got whacked with a storm that came out of nowhere. Then trekked his way up here just to get blasted in the face with someone’s guts. He smelled like garbage and felt so grossed out, but he was still ready to spend the entire ride back to Watson feeling like complete shit… only to find that the earlier shootout had blown off his Yaiba’s fuel tank.

But yeah, he’s fine! He’s totally not gonna lose it if he can’t claw his way out of his clothes within the next 5 minutes. But just in case, he excuses himself to the shower and practically ran in.

–

V's buck-ass naked in Kerry's shower. It's a huge shower, taking up 30% of the entire bathroom and the bathroom itself is bigger than his apartment. And now the large space and the great ventilation is getting him cold. He rubs a foot on top of the other, trying to warm the palms of his feet. He goes to pick up another soap from the rows and rows of product that Kerry had, all lined up.

It took less time to decide on a shampoo to use earlier because there were only two options, and even though he should probably peruse the purple shampoo dedicated to keep hair dye to shine and all that... he had decided to use the one Kerry probably forgot at the back. It had dust on its lid but smelled powdery.

Johnny crackles, all blue pixels and blurs of light, leaning on the glass window next to him. "Occupied, asshole." V says, gesturing to himself. "Also, ever heard of privacy?"

"You lost your privacy rights the second you took longer than 10 minutes to decide on a soap to use. At least start the water. This isn't your megabuilding, Kerry can pay the hot water bills."

Johnny made a good point, but V opted to ignore Johnny for now, as he often does. Instead, he opens another soap bottle and sniffs it experimentally. He could tell this was Kerry's go-to soap. Smelled like mint and perfumed musk. He reads the name of the scent. Gold Desire.

"Oh fucking... his pretentious ass needs a beating." Johnny grumbles. V snorts and closes the bottle. It's a scent reminiscent of Kerry, which V doesn't hate, of course. But the idea of smelling like Kerry didn't sit right with him.

A little too domestic. A little like he's playing pretend as someone's cute little input who's enjoying the high life for years by now. A little too much like wearing a costume. He's already had enough of the idea of turning into someone he's not without a stupid soap doing it for him.

He goes to sniff the next soap and dry-heaves. It smelled overwhelmingly like burning plastic that's vaguely presented with artificial strawberry and vanilla. He coughs and puts it away.

“At this point your clothes are gonna finish being washed before you do.” Johnny complains, glitching away and popping up, squatting on top of the washing machine dramatically.

V picks up another soap, “Oh Johnny, gross, you cummed in this one.”

“I what.”

“Look, ‘Rockerboy’s Wet Dream.’” V says, grinning and showing off a green bottle. Johnny rolls his eyes and pretend-flicked his cigarette’s ash onto the floor.

V continues to read the bottle, “’Citrus and Red Chili.’ Wonder how that smells combined.” V sniffs it, “Spicy!” he announced to Johnny who has now resorted to softly banging his head on the wall behind him. V decided he could just use this one and goes to turn the water on.

He enjoys how it immediately produced the perfect temperature without him even needing to fiddle with the settings or wait. Some fancy tech that detects his temperature and automatically sets the most suitable one for him once his feet hit the shower tiles.

He pours a hefty amount, wincing at how the bottle wheezed and dropped a slimy gel-like substance with beads of scrubs– which hurt when he started to slather it up. Before the contact with skin promptly starts to burn. Granted he has never used a high-end soap with an exfoliator and whatnot, but V doubts it’s supposed to hurt this much.

V picks the bottle up again to inspect it, hoping to see if maybe he’s just using it wrong or something… when he noticed a manufacture date at the top of the cap. He froze in fear. “Holy shit. This was produced before I was even born. Why the hell do Kerry even keep this around.”

He chucks the bottle to the trash bin to the far end of the room. It missed and hit the wall, bouncing onto the floor. V scrubs the rest of the offending soap on him, almost panickedly.

“You can shower with my actual cum, ‘ll hurt less.” Johnny offers mockingly, getting in the stall with him. V elbows him hard, even if he glitches away before it made any believable contact.

“Give it a couple second and you’ll feel the burn too, see if you can joke then.” V grumbles. He takes a long deep breath and spends the next few breaths just watching as the bubbles get washed along with the grime and mud that starts to melt onto the floor along with the hot water. Shoulders slowly slumping as the events of the day start to catch up and some new bruises and cuts make their presence known. He cards his fingers onto his hair and plop goes the pieces of brain matter and what could’ve been an eighth of an eye. He kicks it down the drain, and blindly takes a random bottle.

This one’s still filled to the brim. He opened it to find it still sealed, even. He struggles to open it with his nails and managed to do so... sacrificing some nail paint in the process. He sniffed it almost dejectedly. Before perking up, pleasantly surprised with its unfamiliar but sweet scent.

"Huh.." he says, taking it away to properly read what it was. "Coconut and basil."

"Do you even know what a coconut looks like?" Johnny accused, out of nowhere.

"Sure I do. It's brown, kinda round looking. Floats. Not sure what a basil actually is though." V answers easily, and finally sets the soap next to the shampoo he had picked, and gets to showering in peace.

--

V stepped out of the bathroom feeling like an actual human again for once, shaking his hair onto the towel roughly to dry it.

"Ker?" he calls out. He hears a faint tune being repeatedly played and walks to the far end of the first floor. Kerry sat with his back to V, with his headphones in, frowning at a computer. He had a guitar in one hand while his other hand was covering his mouth, a finger tapping onto his lips.

Kerry glanced over when he noticed V in his peripheral vision and says, "Hey," but his focus quickly turns back to the computer.

V steps next to him to plant a kiss on the top of his head. "Thanks for the shower." (He could feel Johnny rolling his eyes, making pretend-barfing motions. V made a huge point to tell him to fuck off.)

"No problem," Kerry says, obviously still distracted.

"Busy?" V asks, knowing the answer but thinking he should probably still ask it.

Kerry doesn't really answer, just hums vaguely, somewhat affirmatively.

V spreads his toes out on the floor, feels that it’s dusty, still haven’t been properly vacuumed since god knows when. He shifts his weight. "... Anything I can help with?" He offers. It's a long shot but sometimes Kerry asks his opinion on song lyrics, even though V kinda guessed it's less of asking an opinion and more of showing off an unfinished piece he’s still proud of.

As he expected, the shot fell short of its mark when Kerry replies with a clear, resounding, "No." and by then V knows he's maxed out trying to get a conversation out of Kerry.

He goes to leave Kerry alone.

–

V checks his clothes to see it had finished its spin cycle and is now being dried. Still a couple hours to go. He goes back out and climbs to the second floor, trying to find something to wear in the meantime. Kerry’s a little shorter than him, (“Not by much.” Johnny annoyingly pointed out.) Fine, Kerry’s only a little shorter than him, but his clothes mostly consisted of leather or something so cropped, might as well just go nude.

There were some hoodies, though, large unassuming jackets Kerry bought in bulk to hide from media vultures. Big enough it makes his boxers look shorter than it actually is. V decides to borrow one, goes to bite and suck one of the hood’s strings immediately once he slipped it on.

He leans over the second floor to check up on Kerry from above. Kerry tapped the space bar so hard V swears it’ll crack. He starts grumbling unhappily, then goes to fiddle another tune on the guitar. Yikes. Better leave him alone for now.

“Derivative!” Johnny yells about the tune, over the railing.

If Kerry could actually hear him there would be a bloodbath.

V passed Kerry’s bed and goes back down to the first floor, sitting on the sofa. Kerry stops playing the guitar with an uncomfortable screech and whines loudly.

“Tell him try changing it to a minor tune.” Johnny says. V frowns at him, not sure if he’s actually offering genuine musical help or if he’s just fucking around to try and rile Kerry up. Either way, V knows Kerry wouldn’t appreciate any unwarranted advice at this stage. Johnny clicks his tongue, because he knows it too, he just doesn’t like not letting everyone know what he thinks.

V goes to lean back, only to sit up straight again, looking back and noticing there’s a bong stuck behind him. He pulled it out, then sighs at the mess. Before standing up and picking up empty and half-filled glasses to the kitchen to stick them in the dish washer. He continued to throw out two thongs wedged in the sofa. Wipe the counter from the sticky, spilled alcoholic drinks and their mixers.

It took a while until the sofa and the coffee table in front of it looked nice enough, and V sits and slumps himself onto it in satisfaction, letting the sofa’s crevice swallow him as much as it could.

–

"Hey, what're you doing here?" Kerry asks, gently shaking him to wake him up.

V blinks blearily awake, takes a second to realize where he's at. Then at the question. Wanted to wait up for you sounds too cheesy suddenly and V decides to just shrug.

"You cleaned my place up." Kerry says appreciatively.

"Nnno, just the sofa area." V points out, then yawns, putting his hand into a fist and using his knuckles to cover it. Kerry lets out an 'Awww' kind of sound and V stopped yawning immediately, frowning up at him. Kerry stopped cooing, and grinned, "Come on, let's get you to an actual bed, huh?"

He pulls V up and leads him to the second floor onto the bed. V falls into it immediately, rolling so he can plant his face down onto the biggest pillow Kerry had, while Kerry went off to turn off most of the lights on the switch on the wall.

V doesn't need to see to know when Kerry shuffled into bed when the bed dips next to him. He puts a hand out to feel for Kerry and when his fingers found contact on skin, he scoots closer.

"D'aww," Kerry says again cut off harshly when V pokes his ribs, hard. "Hey you don't want me to think you're cute? Stop being cute."

"Thought you said I was a brat?" V coyly asked.

Kerry lets out a huff, "Alright, down, boy. Way past your bedtime for that."

"Sounds like I need some punishi--" V couldn't help a yawn before he could finish that sentence, "Yeah, point taken." He shuffles again, a leg lands on top of Kerry's before settling. “Sorry I bothered you while you were doing your song.” He says to Kerry’s arm.

Kerry lets out a soft laugh again, rubs the point of contact between his fingers and V's upper arm, “Yeah if you were anyone else, I would’ve told you to fuck off. Consider it a privilege that you got me away from my set and I’m still letting you on my bed.”

“Yay, privilege!” V whoops softly. “Always wanted to know what that feels like.”

Kerry snorted again. They went quiet and V thought that was the end of it. Until Kerry adds, “You know you don’t have to…” he stops like he thought better than to say it. V opens his eyes to look up at Kerry, telling him to go on.

Put on the spot, Kerry begrudgingly continues, “I dunno, just… you know I’m here for you, right? So.. I dunno, V, maybe next time, you could just think of coming over in the first place instead of it being an alternative plan? And, ugh, I know how this might sound to– Look, I’m not saying this ‘cus I’m jealous or, or clingy, okay, I know you got your own thing. Look, you don’t have to act all awkward and proper ‘round me, ‘s all. I mean, come on, V, it’s just me.”

“Uh-huh.” V says, though he doesn’t really get what that’s all about. He shuffles and drops his head back to its original position, closing his eyes. He’s falling asleep again, and he fights to hear what Kerry’s saying next, it gets jumbled into one hazy tune. Something about time, and them being friends, sometimes a little more, something about worrying about not hearing something…

He snuggled to Kerry’s arm again, concludes Kerry’s probably just stressed about the piece. So, he sleepily asks, “Didja finish it though? The song.”

“Huh?” Took a few seconds for Kerry to realize what he’s asking, “Oh… Nope. Gave up on it for tonight.”

“Should try changing it to minor key.” V hears himself say without him actually thinking it, then he groans quietly. He kicks the engram mentally, mumbles out, “Oh, shut up, Johnny…”

“Yeah, shut up, Johnny.” Kerry echoes immediately. But there’s a slight moment where V thinks Kerry’s arm had tensed a tiny bit, before relaxing, as he leaned into V’s hair. Then, "You smell nice."

Thanks, it's coconut and basil. V thinks he says, but he's not sure because he conked out within milliseconds. He thinks that for tomorrow, in-between getting home, and doing gigs, and finding leads about the relic, he’ll try to figure out what a basil actually is.

Author's Note: yeah so coconut and basil huh. The coconut that goes around getting bobbed by the sea but floats with the flow. The basil that could mean anything from a token to ward off the devil to a symbol of love. Also smells great together as a body wash. Fun! Maybe Kerry'll think there's poetry in it if V shared it the next day.

[starheirxero]

WOE, HORRORS BE UPON YE !!! Sun has the worst time ever but he's fineee he's doing great (lie)

Summary:

Sun had never doubted his lord.

When a god is as perfect as Lord Eclipse is, there is no reason to question his motives or words. To be his servant—his saint, his one true follower—is an honor like no other. Sun thought there wasn't a single thing he wouldn't do to make his lord happy.

Yet, today is Lord Eclipse's day of worship. He asks something of Sun as He places a knife in his hands, and for once, Sun hesitates.

Warnings: Religious conflict, crisis of faith, power imbalance, fear, threats of violence, coerced into murder(murder doesn't happen on-screen), angst, and hurt no comfort

Word count: 1,428

Sun had never doubted his lord. Not truly, at least.

While he doesn’t remember his childhood—or his teenage life, or his early adult life, or really anything before he met Him—Sun knows that he has adored and worshiped his lord from the very start. Their first meeting was so long ago now, several decades at least, but Sun remembers how he was graced with His presence when he needed it most.

Sun doesn't remember many details before He arrived, but he remembers crying and people and the earth shaking below him. He remembers holding onto something—or someone?—as echoed sounds of yelling and murmurs sounded around him. Someone with a blue and white color scheme was beside him one moment, then, there was nothing. A pitch black expanse that Sun could feel was unending. Finally, there was a bright light.

And then there was Him.

In all His beauty, in all His glory, in all His perfection. Glowing, good, holy. A god. He looked down at Sun like he was something more than a mortal who's body trembled at the very sight of him.

“Rest now, my Sun,” Lord Eclipse said. “The soul is willing but the body is weak. Push much further and there won't be much left of you to serve me."

So, Sun did. At least, he assumes he did, because his vision blacked out as soon as He finished speaking. When he woke, the world was peaceful under the lord's command and Sun eagerly served Him however he needed. Thus, Sun has faithfully worshiped and served his lord for many, many years. Inklings of doubt are inevitable, but he knew better than to think Lord Eclipse was anything less than perfect, so they were squandered quickly.

Sun had never once hesitated to obey.

Yet, now, he falters.

Lord Eclipse holds Sun’s hands—his unworthy, mortal hands—in one pair of His own, another pair gently placing a blade in Sun’s palms.

“I know that you know what day it is, Sun” Lord Eclipse’s centipede-like body curls around him in a way that is normally comforting and familiar, but now it feels constricting and claustrophobic. "So, please, indulge me on my day of worship, won't you?"

"Are... you sure this is what you want to ask of me, sir?" Sun meets his lord's one brilliant white pupil and lets out a nervous laugh. "I, uhm, think this may be out of my skillset! There's other people in the kingdom that can do this better than I," He excuses, trying to pull his hands away from the dagger.

Lord Eclipse squints down at Sun, His body curling a little tighter around the bot and effectively stopping his efforts to drop the knife. Sunlight pours in from stained glass windows behind Him and crown His silhouette with a golden light, leaving Sun entirely in His shadow. "There isn't," He says simply. "Who else would be better to entrust with this than my own servant? Truly, who do you think?"

Sun pauses. He looks to the side.

He doesn't know. He really, honestly does not know who else Lord Eclipse could burden this task with. Bloodmoon is long gone, Monty is inactive, but Sun is still here. He doesn't even really know if his Lord talks to anyone else anymore, so really, he is the only reasonable choice here.

But he doesn't want to be.

"You could always ask one of your other followers, the town is-"

"Sun." More of Lord Eclipse's hands start to grab onto the servant, forcing his head to tilt up and maintain eye contact. "What has gotten into you? Where is this behavior coming from? I expected enthusiastic agreement from my one, true saint. Why do you stall?"

Sun doesn't know.

"I just know I'm inexperienced with handling blades, my lord, and I only wish for someone to fulfill your task in the best way possible," is the lie that slips between his teeth.

"Yet, I've seen you handle blades quite well in many other situations." Lord Eclipse inches His face closer to Sun's. His eye squints, upturned in a way that suggests a smile if He had a mouth. "Nervous to take a life, are you?"

Sun hates the way his voice gets stuck in his throat. "Of course not. I'm never nervous to obey your command."

"Then take the blade and go."

"I shouldn't, my lord, I—"

"You should, Sun, just listen to me—"

"There's others out there—"

"There is no one else who can—"

"I don't want to!!"

The throne room falls silent. Sun realizes his mistake too late. Lord Eclipse leans back, but Sun knows it is not a mercy. He opens his mouth to apologize—to pray, to beg—but a hand wraps around Sun's mouth before anything more than a staticky breath can escape. He can hear the metal skittering of his lord's body behind him and he wants nothing more than to squeeze his eyes shut until it's all over, but he knows better than that.

"You don't want to?" Lord Eclipse repeats with an incredulous laugh. "Oh, poor Sunny, he doesn't want to! I'm sorry, have you forgotten who you've devoted yourself to, servant?"

Sun's hands are maneuvered by the god's many other, forcing him to grip the handle of the dagger with an aching force.

"Me," He hisses. "You are devoted to me; the god you worship is me."

"I know, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Be quiet!" Lord Eclipse shouts and Sun's mouth shuts with an audible click.

His hands are tightening all around Sun's body, clogging his vents and cutting off his power and digging into his casing and Sun feels sick he feels horrible horrible horrible—

"I am going to make a very simple choice for you, Sun," Lord Eclipse drawls. "You are going to take this," He squeezes His hands around Sun's and he barely restrains a pained yelp. "and you are going to spill the blood of the lady down at the lake."

"Her?!" Sun blurts, shaking his head with such force that it his earrings nearly hit his face. "She's done nothing wrong! She's been a devout follower for decades, she spent years making that stained glass window for you! She—"

"She's been testing my patience is what she's been doing, Sun!" Lord Eclipse shouts over Sun. "And you're doing much of the same, now, aren't you?"

Sun falls silent. Keeping eye contact is a physically painful task at this point, but he knows he isn't allowed to look away. He can only hope that the fear thrumming through his circuits isn't as obvious in his face. Lord Eclipse merely huffs.

Untangling His multitude of limbs from Sun, He turns Sun around so that he's facing the door. He holds onto the servant's shoulders as He mutters into his ear, "Go, Sun. If you fail me, I will know. If her blood is not on this knife when you return, I will make your punishment long and agonizing. That is a promise."

And just like that, Lord Eclipse releases Sun from his hold to skitter away someplace out of view. The servant stands still, rooted in place as he waits for the sound of his lord's body to finally be quite enough to deem safe.

Sun's joints let out a long hiss as he untenses his body. He looks down at his hands, both still tightly clasped around the handle of the dagger, and lets out a pathetic whimper.

He does not want to do this. He does not want to be this kind of servant.

But those are the thoughts of the dissenters, aren't they? Unwillingness to wholly devote oneself to even the most extreme tasks is a sign of false loyalty and Sun is very truthful with his loyalty. The symbols of the eclipse that he burned into the back of his hands is enough proof.

So, he will do as he's told. He will kill the lady by the lake—that kind, wonderful lady who had never once spoken lowly of Sun and used to make him meals when the castle doors were still open—and he will bring his lord the proof.

He is doing this because he chooses to.

(He is doing this because he has no real choice.)

He is doing this because he loves his god.

(He is doing this because he can't hide from Him.)

He is doing this because he is a loyal servant.

(He is doing this because he has never been more afraid.)

Notes:

sun: wow i sure do love having a completely normal and healthy amount of devotion to my lord (he says, actively wearing himself down to be more compliant so he won't risk being hurt by the one person in his life that (unfortunately) never leaves)

[fortune-fool02]

A Chat

Karl Heisenberg x female reader

This is a tester to see if I can write for him well and to see how everyone thinks of it. Feedback is greatly appreciated. Thank you. 

Please enjoy. 

Snow fell softly upon the land, the whispering, biting cold breeze dancing with grace in the air, pulling up dead leaves for once last dance before laying them to rest; rattling dry twigs and branches, the music for the breeze’s soft singing. Even the crows cawing added to the music, a song of nature. 

A song that was often used to soothe a frightened heart, the sounds melting away the gnawing fear and heavy woes that could break backs and make tears flow freely, like a river almost. A song that was no longer the same for the village. Now tainted by the spill of blood, the snarls of monstrous, feral creatures of which the spilled blood was sourced from. Carrion laying in the streets, staining the paper-white snow red with crimson blood. 

The distant screams of those who she once knew, those she once cared for as her own family, haunted her. All [Name] could do was pray for a quick, swift death for them as she listened from the balcony window of Castle Dimitrescu. A position that she had not had a choice in having, becoming a maid to Lady Dimitrescu and her three daughters, but [Name] had no other choice if she wished to continue having her blood in her veins and air in her lungs, where it all belonged. 

She stood still, holding the silver tray steadily as Lady Dimitrescu took the crimson wine from the tray. 

“You are a good maid, [Name] [Surname]. I dare say one of the longest living for sure, as well as the most behaved.” Lady Dimitrescu spoke, more of an after-thought aloud than a direct compliment. Still, the [Hair colour] woman bowed her head in thanks before being dismissed and sent off elsewhere. She still had to bring the Duke his meal as well as clean Mistress Cassandra’s bed chambers of blood from her last meal. 

As she entered the kitchen, she noticed that a bit of food was already prepared. A sandwich with a large bite taken out of it. None of them would eat like this, and [Name] had not had dinner herself yet. 

“About time. Had to make my own food here.” [Name] turned her head towards the source of the voice and quickly lowered into a bow, trying to mask the growing dread of disappointing someone. 

“I-I am so sorry, sir. I was s-” Her words were cut off by him, 

“Hey, don’t screw around like that. I was pulling your leg.” Heisenberg spoke, a light playful tone in his voice as he walked back over, a glass of alcohol in hand, and continued to eat his meal. [Name] was no stranger to Heisenberg, nor the other two Lords and Mother Miranda herself, though she did not know them like Lady Dimitrescu or Heisenberg. Mainly because she was not allowed to attend any meetings or gatherings of theirs. 

Heisenberg smiled lightly as he watched her straighten herself, dust herself off, and try to reclaim her calmness she lost a moment ago, taking note of the light shake in her form and the flecks of fear that radiated from her. Such a jumpy thing, always afraid of disappointing others, even before she was brought here. 

“Is....Is there anything else you wish to have, Lord Heisenberg?” [Name] asked, [Eye colour] orbs looking at him as she waited for a response, an order. Thinking for a moment, he gave her a nod. 

“Yes, actually. Come here.” She approached as told to, trying to maintain the respectful distance one should when in the presence of a Lord, though he motioned her closer still, until they were but centimetres away. She took the moment to examine him. His hat shadowing part of his face, the dark round glasses concealing his eyes. What colour were they? She did wonder such. He set his drink aside for a moment and brought his hand up, his skin lightly rough against her cheek but what else did someone expect with his work within his factory and love for mechanical creations? Light lingering scent of smoke and soot, followed by the odd smell of rusted metal, the same one would smell when entering a factory. Though, it was not really unpleasant, compared to the stench in the cellar and the....wine preparation area, this was a nice smell. 

“Do me a favour, and keep living. I’d hate for you to go so soon.” A softness to his voice was something unheard of, even when he was relaxed. But also a trace of warning, not for what he would do but for if she were to disobey, the fate she would face at the hands of Lady Dimitrescu. Giving a small nod, she didn’t look away from him. His lips lifted lightly, 

“Good girl.” He hummed, his thumb lightly brushing against her cheek before pulling away fully, taking another mouthful of his drink before carrying both the plate and glass out the kitchen. “See you later, kitten.” 

[Name] watched him leave, her voice quiet but just audible, “U-Um, bye.” Slowly, her hand rose to where his was but a moment ago, fingers gently brushing against it. Of everything she had expected, that was not one of them. 

[lastluvbug]

told you I was gonna come with a new request! =D mind doing another Scarabia, along with a Diasmonia one? The reader has the same kind of past as the one in the last request, but I just wanna see how you would write it in their perspectives. You can make them into one or separate stories, it doesn't matter to me so go ahead and go all out! Oh and if you can make a added part where it was near the time when they found a way to get home, that would be great, thanks so much! =D

Thanks for the requests @sanata101!! I’ll do my best!

Warnings: mentioned abuse and self harm (please love yourself), language, toxic behavior. If sensitive, please do not read!

A Sweet Melody (Diasomnia)

Normally, Yuu would’ve found herself anywhere but here.

The night hadn’t sat well in her gut, long since given the opportunity of relief from its seemingly endless feast upon itself, and as such, Yuu couldn’t manage even a wink of sleep. She was somewhat jealous of Grim, who snored soundly, lost in his sea of slumber. She couldn’t help but envy that he had nothing to prod at his consciousness in the late hours, nothing to worry himself over, or remember.

So, quietly as she could, Yuu snuck away from Ramshackle, and into the brisk wind that whipped at her hair and chilled her skin, still clad in her sleepwear. She wasn’t sure exactly where she planned to go, all she knew was that she sought a way to remove the worm that had been planted too firmly in her ear.

Her skin crawled with nolstalgia, eye tingling with the reminder of the glass that had so cruelly sliced away half her world. She’d merely been a child when her father lashed out one night, stealing a part of Yuu that she could never replace, and as time ticked forward, she did as well.

It came as a shock to her when she found herself standing in the illusive Mirror Chamber of Night Raven College. Of all places to go, she chose here? Yuu had only been brought into the area a scarce few times before, and not of her own accord, having been forced by a too excited Grim to check it out. She wanted to excuse herself, to speed away from the decision that lay in front of her, but the way it bent and warped before her very eyes kept her grounded, the magic visible even beneath a blanket of water.

Yuu shakily reached towards the Dark Mirror, only stopped by the tear that dripped down her cheek. “How could I...? After everything that happened... how could I go back..?!” She thought, clenching her fists as she withdrew her hand. “I shouldn’t be here.” She turned on her heel, tramping back to her rundown dorm, all the while pressing her palms to her head in order to squeeze out the memories that brought a pounding headache along with them.

When she creaked the door to her room open, Yuu suppressed her sigh, finding that Grim was still sound asleep. She tucked herself back into the dense warmth of her bed, grimacing at how the little monster barely even stirred as she lifted him up to make herself comfortable. Her eyes fluttered shut, a finger tracing over her damaged lid with a feather light touch. Ever since that day, Yuu hadn’t had a single peaceful night, any small bump or whistle in the wind causing her to jump to alertness.

A long while later, her consciousness gave way, allowing itself to sink into oblivion.

<————>

Sirens, water, blood.

To Yuu, that was the only thing she could remember clearly, like a movie playing too vividly in her overactive head.

Sirens; the blues, yellow, and reds that flooded the house as the ear piercing screams signalled the arrival of the emergency vehicles. The sound kept her awake night after night, plaguing her dreams that soon flitted away altogether. It sounded like—like the shrieks of her sister, of her mother, the last that their voices would ever create.

Water; streaming down her windows as she sat broken at the sills, stuck in a home that had long since been referred to as such. It wasn’t a home, it was her prison. It carved paths down her young cheeks, one horribly marred by the hand of someone she once held dear to her heart, the only constant that could be relied upon.

And blood; there was always so much of it. Pooling on the white tile flooring, staining the sheets, dripping over mounds of muscle. It was hers that was spilled first, and soon, it was of her sister and mother’s. Long after that blood had been washed away, Yuu often found herself holed up in the bathroom, dragging new trails across her skin with anything she could, whether that be a blade, or a dirty shard of glass.

She couldn’t seem to climb the boulder of self doubt and blame, never gaining an inch before it grew, scheming new reasons as to why she’d never amount to anything more than a guilty murderer.

Yes, that was what her father used to call her. A murderer.

“It wasn’t my fault...right? It wasn’t me!” Yuu screamed to no one in particular, staring at her hands.

“Oh, but it was these hands that led to their demise, wasn’t it?” A deep voice grumbled, grotesque like nails on a chalkboard. “It was you who made that—that noise you were so insistent on creating. Always with that damn harp, strumming away like everything was fine. Look around Yuu! Does everything seem fine?!” Her father growled, and suddenly, Yuu was no longer in the black of her subconscious, rather in that kitchen that reeked of death.

“I j-just... I wanted to make you happy... I was never enough! I just wanted to be enough for you!”

“For him? What about us? Did you forget about me, Yuu?” Her sister cooed, standing in front of her, battered and bruised.

“Did you forget what you did to us? If it weren’t for you, we’d still be alive!” Her mother joined, the family finally complete in all its broken glory.

“I-I’m sorry—I’m so, so sorry! I never meant for this, you know I never—“ Yuu dropped to her knees, clutching her head.

“You can’t hide from your past! You can’t hide from what you caused!” The bleeding mother wailed, each syllable sharp as a prick from a needle.

“You’ll always be a filthy murderer!” They said in unison, Yuu shooting her head up with panic striken tears clouding her half view.

“Take the punishment you deserve!” Her father boomed, raising his hand above his head, a bottle clenched tightly in the meaty fingers.

Yuu could do nothing but throw her arms over her face as the weapon was swung with deadly precision, racing faster and faster on its fatal track until—!

<————>

Yuu screamed as she jerked awake, sweat beads trickling down the sides of her face as she twisted her fingers in the sheets that stifled her with too much heat.

“Yuu? What’s all the noise ‘bout...?” Grim whined, rolling over and peeking an eye open.

She sucked in a shaky breath, raking a hand through her hair. “I-I... I think I–I need a w-walk. Yeah, a walk. Go b-back to sleep, I’ll be back in a little bit.” Yuu said, voice quivering worse than a dead leaf in the wind.

“Are ya sure? You don’t sound like you’re—“

“I’m fine! I just need to get some fresh air, that’s all. See you soon, Grim.” She intervened, giving him no time to respond as she lifted herself from the bed, practically racing out the door without so much as a coat.

The silent night was of little calm to the distressed girl, her bare feet slapping against the cold stone paving the path she walked over. Even as she wove further and further from the dorm house, and away from the dim light provided from the lit lanterns positioned haphazardly around the place, her wire thin thoughts didn’t allow her to notice the guest she entertained as she relived her nightmare.

That was the first vision she’d seen after clocking out in a long, long time. So long, in fact, Yuu had begun to believe that she was incapable of dreaming. The marks over her wrists and thighs tingled, none so uncomfortably as the scar blemishing her face. Out of habit, she hid it beneath a sweaty hand, wishing for the umpteenth time that some magic power would wash away the record of her father’s woes. Of her own failures.

A harsh wind whipped at her hair, rustling through her already thin clothing and sinking ice into her bones as a shiver crawled over her skin. Yuu pulled her arms across her body, hands rubbing her arms as she attempted to create even an inkling of warmth over the deprived flesh. Only now did she notice how far she’d wandered from...the only place she could call home in her twisted wonderland.

“Did you come with a plan for the chill, or are you just a fool?”

Yuu nearly tripped over her feet as she spun, ignited by the hyperactive moon. “Ts-Tsunataro!” She called, startled the appearance of the towering faerie. “H-How long have you been out here? Were you following me?”

“Ah, mortals and all of their insistent questioning,” he chuckled, horns glinting in the moonlight, “no matter. Please, cover yourself with this. You’ll catch your death if you remain dressed that way in this weather.” He shrugged off his blazer, largely oversized for Yuu’s frame.

“A-Ah... of course.” She extended her hand to grab the covering. Just as she was about to pull her second arm through the sleeve, a gloved hand gently took her arm, keeping her from completing the simple act. She kept silent as Tsunataro rotated it to expose the underside, pale and littered in thin ladders of scars.

His eyes widened a fraction of an inch, and he reached out for the other arm, only to have it pulled away by Yuu, who hid herself behind a curtain of hair. “...Why? Why would you do this to yourself?” He asked, and if Yuu didn’t know any better, she would’ve believed that the confusion held in his voice was genuine.

“You wouldn’t understand...” she replied weakly. “...the things I’ve done, the people I’ve hurt. I’m as ugly on the inside as am out, I don’t deserve anything more than the dirt on the soles of my shoes.”

The dark haired man froze, still as a statue as he processed the words, her arm still gently gripped in his large hand. Yuu stared at the smooth cement, at her pale feet in the too bright light, refusing to meet his eye.

And, each action executed with an elegance Yuu could never hope to possess, Tsunataro took her other arm, his hands sliding down to envelope hers as he kneeled, only somewhat shorter than she was standing. “I’ve seen many a peculiar incident in my lifetime, some so bizarre they seem impossible, but this my dear, is unbelievably false. You need not hide your face, for such a work of art cannot be praised unless the light frames its beauty.” He released a hand to cup her cheek, tilting her head to sweep away the bangs and reveal her teary eyes.

“Y-You... you shouldn’t lie, not for me. There’s no truth in anything you say...!” She sobbed, making no movements to wipe away her liquid sorrow.

“Once again, undeniably false. It astounds me to see that you fail to notice the perfection you carry within your mere existence. I’ve seen maidens from near and far, all come to win my hand, but never someone as fair as you. You may bear a past laced and threaded with horrors only few are opportune to see, and you may bear the scars and bruises from the times when you fell. But, the very fact that you stand here before me today, bathed in the light of the moon and glittering like a star, is the proof that you not only fell, but you rose to become something greater. I see no truer beauty than that, Yuu.”

The girl was silent, a cascading waterfall dripping to the pavement as she stared at the kneeled man, for once unashamed to show her face in its entirety. She could voice no words as she weeped, falling to her knees as well as pressing herself into the bigger body, hands clasping the fabric of his chest as she buried herself under his chin.

Malleus Draconia was for once at a loss for a plan. So, hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around the trembling girl, tracing lines up and down her back to soothe her cries. “I-I—I just...I d-don’t want to be a-alone anymore!” She screamed, voice cracking like the glass of his heart.

“Shh, you don’t have to be. I know what it’s like to take the hard road with no one to guide you, believe me, I know. But you don’t have to be. Tomorrow, look for the people wearing these colors. They will be the ones to keep you company while I cannot.” Malleus instructed, gesturing to his green-and-black armband.

“T-They...will?”

“Yes, I promise it.”

“T-That sounds...nice. Thank y-you, Tsunataro.” Yuu whispered, her cries reduced to pitiful hiccups.

“Whatever you require, my dear. Now, hush, and close your eyes. You must be incredibly worn out.” She listened, noticing how she was, indeed, exhausted. She barely recognized as she was lifted bridal style, a fuzzy feeling raising goosebumps along her flesh as she snuggled closer to the warmth radiating from her savior.

The world faded away, one sense at a time, until the thankfully dreamless slumber rewelcomed Yuu, sweeping her away to a world where naught mattered but the darkness and its tantalizing hand.

<————>

The cafeteria chatter greeted Yuu’s ears as the smell of all sorts of foods mingled in the air.

She stepped into the bustling room, dodging students as she held Grim in her arms, looking down to the band that was tied around her wrist. After she had awoken, she wanted to believe that the encounter the night before had been some crazy dream her mind had conjured up, but was proven wrong by a lime-and-black colored ribbon tied loosely around her wrist, reminding Yuu of the promise that had been sworn.

“Do you see them, Yuu? I just want to get food already...” Grim pouted, crossing his arms.

“N-No, I don’t... I thought Tsunataro said they’d be here...” she faltered, standing on her toes to try and glimpse around the taller students around her.

She jumped slightly, trying to locate the colors that should’ve normally stuck out like a sore thumb. She was so focused, that Yuu nearly tripped over herself when her vision was blocked by two red eyes dancing with amusement. “Woah—! W-who are you?” She stammered, leaping back a step.

She stared a little too intensely, intrigued by how the boy was quite literally hanging upside down in midair, his black and magenta streaked hair falling around his face as he chuckled, uprighting himself and sinking to the floor. On instinct, her gaze was quickly diverted downwards as she tilted her face away from his, hiding her scarring. “Kufufu, relax, young one. I’m Lilia Vanrouge, the proud vice of Diasomnia dorm. You don’t need to hide your face, I know who you are.”

Yuu looked up, seeing nothing but his gentle smile as her tense shoulders slumped, continuing to shadow her eye as Grim stirred in her embrace. “Fgna?! Aren’t you the guy we saw before Leona’s crazy beast mode during the Magift championships?” The monster exclaimed, so restless he nearly fell from Yuu’s hold.

“Hm? Oh, I guess that is true. Commendable job on handling that, by the way.” Lilia congratulated, clapping his hands as he smiled. “Now, I heard from a certain someone that you were in need of companionship, correct?”

“U-Uh, you mean this?” She held up her ribbon. “I s-suppose that’s right...”

“Fufu, no need to be so timid. Come, I’ll lead the way.” Lilia waved his hand, gesturing for her to follow as he disappeared within the crowd.

“I guess it can’t get any worse...” She thought, quickly trailing after the shorter senior.

It didn’t take long for the two to arrive at a rowdy table, Lilia bowing teasingly as she stood, a sweat drop almost visible on her forehead. “Silver! You cannot sleep in the cafeteria! You’ve already woken for the day, what if the young master requires our assistance?!” A boy with pale green hair yelled, gripping someone with chin length grey hair and shaking the life from him.

“Sebek, quite down... you’ll disturb the peace.” He yawned, pushing himself away from the green haired boy.

The latter gasped dramatically, fists clenching as he lifted them into the air. “You dare order me around?! Why I ought to—!”

“Ahem. Sebek, Silver, would you like to explain or shall I turn yet another blind eye to this?” Lilia coughed, staring blankly.

“Lilia-san!” The two instantly straightened out, Sebek’s temper cooling as Silver rose to alertness. “Apologies, Lilia-san. We weren’t aware of the...guests.” Silver bowed his head, completely oblivious to the hot glare Grim sent his way.

“By all mighty... in all my years of teaching you two, have you not learned a thing about manners? Introduce yourselves!” Lilia scolded, wagging a gloved finger in the air as Yuu took her spot at the table.

“R-Right! I’m Sebek Zigvolt, first year Diasomnia student. Very nice to meet you.” Yuu nodded respectfully, fidgeting with Grim’s tattered tie.

“...Silver, second year from Diasomnia, as well. Sorry for the mess you had to see before.”

“I-It’s alright... I’m Yuu, though I’m s-sure you already knew that...” she mumbled, Grim seated on her lap as she ran a hand over her eye absentmindedly. She was only torn from her meddling as silence wrapped around the table, something that from her short time of sitting with the group, Yuu could tell was uncommon. When she looked up, she felt her ears redden to find that both Silver and Sebek were staring at her, sharing unreadable expressions.

“I-Is something the matter?” She asked, a knot tying in her throat.

“N-No! Nothing at all!” Sebek refuted, shaking his head from side to side.

“No offense or anything, but why are you here?” Silver asked matter-of-factly, Yuu flinching at the tone.

“A-Ah, w-well...I—“

“Ms. Yuu here has been awfully lonely, as most of the students avoid her like the plague, the terrible oafs. So, as said by our dear lord, we shall be the ones to provide her company!” Lilia revealed, once again clapping in his oversized sleeves as he took a seat next to the girl.

“What?! Lilia, you do realize she has no magical powers whatsoever, correct? How could we bring her under our wing when—“ Sebek’s outraged voice trailed off as Yuu felt tears sting her eyes.

It was the same thing everyone always said. She wasn’t enough, she was never enough.

“I-I’m so sorry, I should just leave...! I-I’m sorry to have taken your time like this.” She stood to go, breathless as she held back sobs. She was about to storm away, off to her first class, when someone snagged her wrist, keeping her from running.

“Wait! Please, wait Yuu.” Lilia called, taking both her hands similarly to the way Malleus did the night before.

“Why...? I-I don’t want to bother a-anyone, I’m sure just associating yourself with someone like me tarnishes your reputation!” Yuu argued, Grim holding onto her leg protectively.

“No, no no. Don’t speak like that. Reputation be damned, I say. Why does it matter what anyone else thinks? Come back, I know those two are a little hectic, but I promise you, once you get through their walls, they’ll be there for you through thick and thin. Just... give it a chance, alright? Do you think you can try that for me?” He asked softly, the busy cafeteria blind to the exchange.

“I...” Yuu took a deep breath, steadying her shaking voice. “I don’t know what I can promise you, but I can try.” She said, earning a cheeky grin in response.

“Come on, let’s go back.” Lilia smiled, letting go of one of her hands to pull her back towards the table.

As soon as the dramatic first year noticed the pair heading back over, he stood, easier to read than a book with the emotions spilt across his face.

“Lady Yuu! I deeply apologize for my previous words, it was wrong of me to speak that way.” Sebek near shouted as Yuu sat back down.

“I-It’s alright... really. Right, Grim?” Yuu noddd, her tears having soaked back to the dam behind her eyes.

“Grr... You knucklehead better watch that tongue of yours from now on! Got it?” He growled, shooting daggers at the much bigger student.

“Oh, don’t worry about him. He may be emotional and dramatic, but unfortunately, he’s not an idiot. It won’t happen again...” Silver added before Sebek could reply, yawning as he stretched his arms over his head.

“Silver!” Sebek yelled, slamming his palms on the table.

As the antics continued, and the clock ticked by, Yuu found herself enjoying the jumbled company more than she thought. Her mind was steered away from the reminder of her horrid past, and for the first time since the accident, she forgot about the cicatrice that had disfigured her complexion. And, perhaps best of all, she found herself creating small giggles she had no idea she was still capable of making.

<————>

When the bell tolled the end of breakfast and the beginning of the first class, she was pleasantly surprised when Sebek walked her to the room, finding that they shared the period, as well as many others. Throughout the day, she reunited with Silver and Lilia, whether it be at lunch, or in the never halting progression of her magic filled classes.

Each of them comforted Yuu in their own way; for Lilia, it was through kind words and subtle encouragement. Everytime he notice her falling into the abyss of her thousand pound thoughts, he whispered her sweet nothings, taking her hand and giving it a light squeeze to let her know that she had someone to rely on.

For Silver, it was through soft touches and physical reminders. Whenever they shared a period together, he’d often doze off, slumping onto her shoulder and using it as a pillow. The few times he managed to stay awake, he would smile and use his pen to scribble little pictures and doodles in the corners of her assignments, to which Yuu would grin and return the favor.

For Sebek, it was through firm support and voiced praise. Applauding her when she answered questions correctly, cheering when she rode her broom properly in P.E, he was there to congratulate her on the smallest of things. He even offered to personally escort her to each classroom, guaranteeing that she wouldn’t be messed with by any of the students who dared poke fun at her outward appearance.

By the time the last bell of the school day reverberated off the intricately designed walls, Yuu had to press her cool hands to her eyes to slow the rise of water pooling in the sparkling orbs. It was too much—they were too much. It was all—all too similar to the way her... her family used to be! She didn’t want to lose anyone again, didn’t want to place her trust in those who didn’t deserve it! She’d failed to protect what she loved most once before, and she’d be struck dead before it happened again. Every beating she took, every meal she sacrificed, and for what? So that she would just lose it all in the blink of an eye?

What if... what if they left her too?

What if she was being used, again—

“...uu. Yuu. Hello? Anyone in there?”

The girl in question looked up, startled by the voice. “...Huh...? Silver?” She gasped, noticing how Grim was missing as the grey haired boy laughed inaudibly.

“Sleeping in class is my thing, you doofus. C’mon, I have something I want to show you.” He extended a hand, Yuu taking it after a minute of consideration.

“Where are we go—woah!” She yelped as she was dragged by the agile Diasomnia student, zipping through the halls in a blur of color as the speed brought a grin to her lips.

It wasn’t much, but the wind in her hair and the temporary high of running was enough to spike her adrenaline, in the kind of way that was addicting as opposed to way driven entirely off of fear.

All too soon, Yuu was brought to a complete stop, only caught from tripping by Silver’s sturdy grip. “Huff... w-was the running... necessary?” She panted, regaining her composure.

“Shh... look.” Silver simply instructed pointing.

Yuu followed the direction, and felt her heart burst with adoration at the scene unraveling before her.

Standing at the edge of the courtyard, Yuu stared with nary a trace of malice in her gaze as there, laid against the apple tree, Malleus slept silently, the only sign that he was even alive being the calming breaths that heaved through his chest. Yuu covered her mouth, turning away the laughter that threatened to spill from her pink lips.

Little animals were all over the great fae.

Birds decorated his horns, in a variety of blues and reds and yellows, while critters splayed themselves out over his lap, sandy brown chipmunks and greyed squirrels quarreling over tree nuts nearby.

“Is this an everyday occurrence for Tsunataro?” Yuu thought, stepping into the courtyard.

Silver followed after her, and once she took a seat by the slumbering boy, Silver gave her a little nod before stretching out over the wooden bench, basking in the late afternoon sun that made his hair shine like a newly polished sword.

Reaching out, she gingerly brushed away a few locks of ebony hair, scaring a few of the animals away. Malleus stirred, eyes fluttering open sleepily as he shook off the rest of the little creatures. “Hello...” Yuu cooed, withdrawing her hand and placing it on her lap as she sat on her knees.

“What a shame, really. Lordy here never gets a full night’s rest anymore, always staring at the moon like a love struck puppy dog.” Yuu shifted, falling back onto her hands as the enigmatic vice yet again dropped upside down in front of her.

“L-Lilia? How long have you been here?” She asked, crossing her arms.

“A while. I was the one who told Silver to get you, right, my boy?” Lilia smirked, cackling as Silver grunted and sent a thumbs-up as his approval.

“I’m sorry to wake you, if that is the case the—“

“Young master!” Came the familiar cry of Sebek, who practically raced over to the bench where Silver sat. “I’ve been looking everywhere! You can’t just disappear like that, you’ll put yourself in danger!”

“Oh hush now, Sebek. You’ll scare the doves.” Malleus yawned, exposing his sharp canines for a brief second.

“The doves aren’t anything to be concerned with right now... ah! Hello, Yuu! Apologies for failing to notice your presence sooner!” The green haired guard said with just a touch too much emotion to seem genuine.

“H-Hi...?” She waved timidly, a small but identifiable smile on her lips.

“My dear, I’m deeply sorry for only now making an appearance. Just as the day and night chase each other in a never ending cycle of time, my identity comes and goes. During school hours, I’m needed elsewhere.” Malleus said, Lilia having wandered off to pester Sebek and Silver.

“It’s alright, I figured there’s more than just me to entertain in your life,” Yuu shrugged, smoothing out her clothes.

“Fufu, indeed. Tell me—at the very least, did they behave?”

Yuu watched as the three goofed off, carefree chatter and laughs floating about the courtyard. “Well... Sebek is loud, and sometimes a little overwhelming. Silver is always sleeping, and doesn’t have a very strong attention span. And Lilia... he’s unpredictable, hopping left and right without so much as a plan to fall back to.” Yuu admitted, a pleasant breeze sweeping through her hair.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, but... it’s not all bad. They all—they all remind me so much of my family...!” Yuu felt her voice crack as her tears returned yet again. “Silver—ha, Silver reminds me of my sister! She was so young, and...and she loved to draw. She would always doodle little pictures on my papers, and I’d always get so mad at her for it...” she wiped away the fat beads, sniffling.

“What about Lilia?” Malleus prodded, urging her to continue.

“Lilia-san reminds me of my mother. His smile, the way he quietly encouraged me when I felt like I wasn’t enough... I haven’t felt her embrace in so long, I often find myself wondering if she was real at all!”

“And... Sebek?”

“Sebek? He... well, he reminds me of—of my... my father. Before he is who he is now. I can barely remember it, but I know for a fact that he used to cheer for me whenever I got full marks on a test. I know he used to patch up my bumps and scrapes, he wasn’t always the man who... who sat around drowning himself in liquor!” The tears were so thick, Yuu couldn’t see more than a blurred mess as she hiccuped, rubbing over her scar.

“Yuu. Come here.” Malleus opened his arms. An invitation, to which Yuu wordlessly accepted by flinging herself into him, sobbing her heart onto his uniform, tears dampening the fabric.

“I don’t...! I don’t want to go back! I don’t care that Crowley found a way to get me home! I can’t go back!” She lamented, feeling Malleus tense below her.

“He...what?” It was clear that no one had been aware of this turn events, no one besides the headmaster of Night Raven and Yuu herself.

“Please... I don’t want to go back to a place where I’m not loved. To a place where I’ll forever be subjected to... to ridicule, and mockery. Please, please don’t let me leave.” Yuu begged, unaware of the crowd she had gathered.

Silver and Sebek stood dumbfounded, both gaping as Lilia watched speechless, a dark look shadowing his normally mischievous face.

In that moment, all four boys made a choice. They made the choice of compassion.

Malleus crushed Yuu in a hug, a hand over the back of her head as he pulled her flush against himself. “Shh. You don’t have to leave. You’ll stay with us. You’ll stay here, where you’re safe, and you don’t have to hide anymore.” Malleus promised, dropping the embrace to look Yuu in the eyes, absorbing all of her fractured beauty.

“I... can stay?”

“Dearest, remain here, with us. You never have to be scared again. Not ever.”

Yuu pried herself away from the broad fae, sitting on her knees and for the first time, seeing a picture so clearly, it was as if her vision returned to her after all this time.

She saw the faces of her family in them. She saw the innocent bliss of her sister, the serenity of her mother’s forgiveness, and the pride of her father. She saw the acceptance, the realization that this was now her family.

No more blood. No more tears.

She had a place she could call home, and it wasn’t even a place. It was in the arms of these four people.

Yuu had finally found her lost melody.

Holy wow, I am so, so sorry that this took so long to finish! I’m still working on the Scarabia duo, so keep an eye out for that!

I hope you enjoyed, and once again, thanks for reading!!

Stay lovely!

[raendown]

Day 14 Pairing: Madara/Tobirama Word count: 1607 Word: Ignipotent - presiding over fire

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Ignipotent - Madara/Tobirama

The temple was not empty when he arrived but Tobirama wasn't bothered much by that. He was in no hurry today; he could afford to wait for the other patrons to finish their worship before someone could see him. Finding a quiet place to set down the pack containing all of his worldly possessions, he settled down cross-legged on the floor and closed his eyes.

Several hours later he was awakened by the sound of approaching footsteps, loud and sharp in the otherwise empty room. He wondered if no one had noticed him sitting there in the dark corner. The sky beyond the stained glass windows was dark with evening; the priests were probably headed home for the evening when they finally spotted him. Irritating but at least he'd not had to sit there and wait the entire time for each of the other patrons to finish their duties. Patient he might be but it was always better not to have to wait for things.

He eyed the man approaching him with a critical eye. Dark hair combed and oiled then left free to billow around him like solid smoke, eyes like coal that burned where they laid their gaze on him, a short but sturdy build. If not for the fact that Tobirama was fairly sure priests of all religions were forbidden from having a relationship with anyone but their respective gods he might have allowed his gaze to drop further and admire any other interesting features he found there. As it was he forced himself to stop at the man’s chest and inspect the stylized flame stitched out in golden thread.

Once upon a time he too had been able to afford such luxuries as well. As a child he had draped himself in the finest fabrics and gorged himself on the rarest of fruits whenever the mood took him to do so. Now he could hardly remembered what it tasted like to eat a meal not thick with preservative salts or drink water not pulled from whatever river he happened to be passing by. Life had changed a great deal over the years and only some of that had been by his own choices.

"How fare you traveler?" When the man spoke his voice was a low growl and Tobirama pursed his lips at the barely contained temper obvious in even that polite greeting. "The temple is closed, I am afraid. If you wish to worship then I suggest you come back tomorrow. We are not an inn."

"I have no wish to make offerings unless necessary. What I seek are words."

"Oh I've got words for you," he could hear the man grumbling lowly.

Reminding himself that if he lost his own temper he would get no answers in return, Tobirama took a deep breath before speaking again. "Information, I need information and I have very few other places left to look but straight in to the fire."

"Hn. Ask your questions."

"First I would know how your worship works. You speak for the fire, yes? Or does it listen to you? I'm not very religious; never thought it was all that important to know this shit." A terrible oversight, that. He'd had lessons as a child, of course, just as all the other children of privilege, but he remembered thinking them boring and sneaking in texts from his other lessons to read instead.

Perhaps if he had learned to listen to the fire back then he wouldn't have to ask someone else to do so for him now. The priest eyed him as though wondering whether or not to reveal such things and Tobirama frowned. He hadn't even asked the difficult questions yet and already the man was being tight-lipped. Maybe he should come back tomorrow and seek out someone else to speak with. Just as he thought to do so, however, the man finally spoke.

"The fire listens to our pleas and we interpret the response it gives, although such responses are not always what our supplicants are looking for. As always, I warn you that the fire does not care for earthly woes but follows its own path."

"A destructive path," Tobirama said.

"Can you blame a bird for flying?" The priest demanded. "None should ever blame a fire for burning for that is its nature. Blame the one who gave the fire a place to feed."

Seeing his opening, Tobirama rose to his feet. "That is precisely what I am trying to do. If you would allow it, I wish to ask the flames one question."

"Only one?"

"Yes. Wait...two. Possibly two questions, depending on the answer to the first."

Eyeing him dubiously once more, the priest blew out an exasperated sigh but turned and beckoned him forward. Out of sheer habit Tobirama found his eyes dropping down to admire the sight before him. Dedicated to his god or no, that was the finest ass he'd seen in a long time.

When they approached the altar where the ever-burning fires danced and cast their shadows he sort of expected something dramatic or at least respectful. Instead all he got was an unfairly attractive priest coming to an abrupt halt and waving one arm unceremoniously at the threadbare pillows below the altar.

"There you go. Present yourself and ask your questions. Honestly if I wasn't so damn curious I'd have kicked you out already."

"My utmost thanks," Tobirama drawled, doing his best to be obvious about his insincerity. He got the impression that the other man only barely resisted sticking out his tongue. Kneeling on the pillow, he set aside the cranky priest and let the memories he hated most well up inside him. “Spirits of fire, I ask this of you because I have no other options. Long ago you were set free amongst my people, within my home, and you claimed the lives of my two younger brothers. I seek the name of the one who sent you there to feed.”

For years he had sought the man who set fire to his home and for years he had followed trail after trail only for each and every one of them to grow cold, always just when it seemed he might finally have the answers he so desperately craved. His only surviving brother now lived in the house that had been built over the ashes of the one that burned down but it had taken only a month for Tobirama to realize that he could not rest there, could never feel at home there until he had found the ones responsible for Itama and Kawarama’s deaths.

Only justice would bring him rest.

Since that day he had wandered as a vagabond searching every corner of every country, chasing even the smallest scrap of information regarding enemies of the Senju family. In his self-importance he had assumed he could find the perpetrators without asking the fire spirits’ help and yet…

“They have an answer, if you wish to hear it.” The priest’s voice was much less angry now, Tobirama noted.

“I will hear it.”

“Weary traveler, burning heart, the one you seek feeds us still. By the name of Ginkaku may he be called.”

Tobirama drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “Spirits of fire, I ask that you tell me where to find this man.”

“By the bones of the brother he sacrificed does he reside in the place where he first bade us to feed. My priest will lead you there – wait what!? No! I don’t want–!” The voice behind his left shoulder cutoff suddenly when the flames on their altar rose up in response to his protests. With eyebrows raised, admittedly at least a little afraid of angering the spirits, Tobirama turned to see the man behind him subsiding in to a pout. “Alright fine! But I don’t like it!���

When Tobirama looked forward again the flames were dancing with a funny little hiccup and he realized with no small amount of wonder that they were laughing.

“Alright get up, you, they’re not saying anything more than that. Stupid fucking…I like it here! I don’t know what’s gotten in to their heads to make me traipse halfway across the continent just to play guide for you!” The priest huffed several times out of his nose while Tobirama very carefully did not suggest just pointing out the location on a map. On the one hand he was curious to see how long it would take the man to think of that on his own. And on the other hand, well, it had been quite some time since he’d had any company on his travels. Having such an attractive companion certainly wouldn’t hurt.

“Do I get to know the name of my guide or shall I continue to just call you ‘priest’?”

“My name is Madara,” was his growling reply. Tobirama rolled the name off his tongue a few times.

Then he stood from the pillow, bowed to the flames, and turned to offer Madara his hand. “My name is Tobirama and I suppose I should be honored to have you along.”

“You should be, yes.” Madara sniffed and turned to storm off, presumably towards his private rooms within the temple so he could pack for their journey. He probably hoped to have some privacy but Tobirama had a feeling this was the sort of man you never wanted to let out of your sight for any extended periods of time.

A grin touched his face as he followed. Whatever awaited them on their journey, at least now he would have a bit of entertainment along the way.

[lady-o-ren]

The Hunger of My Heart

To those odd fellows who are not shackled by all-consuming desires, their hearts never ripped apart to fester hopelessly from that gaping rotting wound, days passed by unremarkably in their small quiet lives. 

 Never were they beckoned to a strange old apothecary's cottage disguised from their untroubled eyes as nothing more than an abandoned building - fraught with weeds and rampant with decay. Only the weary-hearted in need of the impossible to heal their sorrows could see and beg a wish of the mistress who lived there. A healer with a supernatural gift only as great as her spirit's eternal light. 

 However, a wish for her skills always comes at a price. An exchange of something precious from the desperate soul. 

 Nothing more, nothing less.

 And today she had a visitor who paced and paced outside her gates of slate, his bleary eyes disturbed as a mourning sea.

 ———

 Past the facade that shrouded the apothecary from prying eyes, was a surrounding, endless garden thriving wild as a forest, where all that grew reached up, up to soak in the golden rays of the cloudless spring sun. Even the young apprentice, Elias Pound, kneeled with a spade digging through the verdant earth, found himself high in spirits despite his nose twitching as a hare's from the inquisitive dragonflies dancing on the wind.

 He kindly swatted away at their shimmery beating wings, back to his task of rooting for the treasures buried deep with the earthworms, when his hand came dangerously close to a patch of prickly violet plants that stirred in anticipation for his blunder to be their gain. Before he could move another inch closer the lad felt a touch, warning and familiar at his shoulder. 

 The mistress of light. 

 Simply clad in a thin white button-down rolled up her slender forearms and tucked into her well-loved trousers, stitched here and there from age. Further down she wore a pair of shoes that had never known a day without a stroll through the grass, while her hair was an entity unto itself, curling warm as a halo about her face.

 "Careful with those," Claire cautioned, with a gentle squeeze of his shoulder, and crouched down beside her apprentice to the dirt that was like her second skin but her heart was owned by the wild around them.

 "The juice from a split stalk will slowly eat away at your skin, baring the white of your bones."

 Withdrawing his hand to his dirtied lap, wide-eyed Elias curiously studied the dangerous plant that smelled of citrus, tangy and crisp. "Why grow such a wretched plant at all then?" 

 "Because too many folk in the early days of ale and mead knew its leaves held a cure for a bruising hangover and squandered it, leaving the earth barren of its name and very nearly its seed except for here in this patch of earth." 

 She fondly thumbed the fuzzy underside of one sharp-edged leaf that had saved her from many a dark and pleasurable bender.

 "They also keep the vermin and insects away but sadly not the untrained eye." Claire gave the lad a pointed, yet not unkind look of reprimand. "Keep to your studies, Elias, if you value your fingers."

 "I shall, mistress," the lad assured her with a nod, as his round freckled cheeks pinked under a mop of russet hair. The color deepened as he sputtered a chuckle when Claire thumped him, shoulder to shoulder, at the title he addressed her by. 

 As he forever would do no matter the years, decades. A century or two. 

 When his mistress kept herself perched beside him, taking inventory of his withy basket filled with heaps of medicinal herbs and pungent wild garlic (along with a bitty red ladybug roving lost atop them), Elias wondered aloud, 

 "Wasn't Mr. Fraser supposed to call on you today, mistress?" 

 Mr. Fraser was a friend of hers that had kindled months before and was never one to keep the lady of the house waiting.

 Before she could answer where Elias would hear the disquiet in her voice, note the concern in her eyes, a bell clear as birdsong echoed through the air, signaling the company in question had arrived. 

 Claire rose from the ground as if she'd been plucked by the breeze and quirked a brow at her apprentice, a faint smile at her mouth. "Do keep yourself in one piece, Elias. It'd be a shame to lose a fine hand such as yours." 

 He gave her a cheek grin, rubbing his nose with a sooted knuckle that painted him more speckled than he already was. "Don't bother a worry with me, mistress. And send my regards to your man for me."

 Claire ignored the last comment, if it was even heard, as she was already off towards the fading bell chime.

   _____

   Claire hurried down the hallway of her inheritance from long ago, the power enchanted within the apothecary walls having given her years beyond the promise of a creator high above. Where rooms were neatly cluttered with every curiosity that had ever caught her eye, itched at her hands, had the power to heal the human soul. 

 There were shelves enclosed with folding glass doors, twice the height of a man extending from floor to mahogany beamed ceilings. They held bottles of bitter thick liquids that could coat a mouth a frothy bluish-green, others sweet as fruit just tumbled from a vine, fallen from a tree. 

 Cabinets held charms big as a man's fists, smaller than thimbles, to ward against dark spirits that lurked in the shadows, stalking the unknowing until their touch was upon them, claiming flesh and mind. Mirrors too were scattered among the bric-a-brac of another room that gleamed reflections of other realms, and time, but draped with sheets to shield any unfortunate from falling through, leaving nothing but a wisping breath of who they once were behind.

 And one room left undisturbed held tear-stained belongings that had been sacrificed to purge a spirit of its relentless suffering. 

 As would be done today.

 Claire slowed her stride to gather breath to lungs, combing from her cheeks a tickling of errant curls. She had cut her hair a bit too short, above her proud shoulders, during an impulsive battle of struggle and defeat where she broke several brushes to a shamble of splinters. 

 Her Mr. Fraser - Jamie, had to coax her from her room and at first sight fondly tugged her dark locks, promising they were lovely still. 

 "As a tangled bushel of curly dock weeds," he had said, provokingly with a snort. Claire had flicked his nose in glaring retaliation (even as she was mildly impressed he recalled any of her chatter on the botanical), then readied her elbow for a jabbing as his wide mouth pursed for another compliment that sputtered into rib-shaking laughter.

 However, that joyful tease in his lilting voice had been smothered to a haunted rasp when days after he called upon her at the solemn hour of dawn's first light.

 "I beg for yer hand to heal me, Claire. To bleed my misery, gift me peace."

 Unspoken was the why and reason when questioned from her tightened throat. The call falling dead when uttered that she would do all that was possible for him.

 Claire vowed to do just that as she turned a final corner to the front of her shop that doubled as her home, finding Jamie faced away from her, edged over the long oak countertop. He was rigid as stone from shoulder to toe, except for his fingers tapping a raving beat against the hardwood until he heard his name whispered, breaking his anxious trance to glance her way.

 His eyes, rimmed with bruising shadows, were a fleeting rush of mingled relief and fear, with a flicker of intensity undefinable. Then gone behind a mask of stillness cracking at the seams as he averted his gaze to the empty space between them. 

 Claire felt the whole of her seize to see Jamie sickened with such an affliction and a chest gnawing guilt that she, a healer, hadn't seen the signs of distress before now. And that he didn't trust her with his woe before it came to this. 

 At her approach, she raised a palm to touch him - whether it be his hand soothed between hers or to clutch her dearest friend with all she had until his ill seeped to herself - only to let it falter to her chest as the very motion caused Jamie to clench his jaw and flinch. 

 Another crack breaching his mask. 

 He bowed his head in apology, waves lusterless as rust and Claire's own features gentled in response, wanting to appear unfazed.

 "You're late." She tried to sound casual enough. "Not having second thoughts are you?"

 "No," was Jamie's curt and raspy reply. "If ye please, I would like to be rid of this -" He tapped a long forefinger to his temple. "Now and forever."

 Claire inclined her head, resisting the urge to thread her arm with his. A habit from their first stumbled upon meeting, a ritual now rebuked. 

 "Of course, come with me."

 She led Jamie to a room that was nearly wall to wall windows, obscured by plants hanging from the walls and wooden rafters that filled the room with the fragrance of herbs and jasmine flowers. Claire held the arched door open for Jamie to pass through but he paused at the doorway and questioned,

 "Is the lad wi' ye today?"

 Claire assured him they would have no interruptions as Elias was in the garden. "Probably singeing his poor fingers as we speak and rueing the day he ever crossed my path."

 She hoped to spark a chuckle, no matter how small, to lessen his gloom, but Jamie merely strode past her (mouth pressed into a numbing white line, ducking low to avoid a smack from the doorframe), sitting at the small round table in the middle of the room. In the past the two had tea there, possibly spiked with a heavy hand of brandy, whisky more often than not, telling each other's fortunes of fantastic demise and toothless hunchbacked lovers from grubby leaf bottoms and the crumbled bits of chocolate biscuits.

 All that dressed it now were brown bits of flower petals.

 Taking her seat across Jamie (his attention absorbed in the wood grain of the old table), and needing to dispel the disturbance clinging to him, Claire began her speech recited thousands of times before to those like himself.

 And once spoken to her by the old master of the apothecary, her own Maitre Raymond, when she sat in his very seat.

 "Your thoughts are yours alone. The memories, good and bad, are protected from my sight. But I can feel them, all that plagues you. You only need to free your mind to be healed." 

 The words sinking in, Jamie flicked his dour gaze uneasily to hers.

 "I have yer word I willna remember all that ails me, Sassenach?" The name he gave her that filled along forgotten hollowness beneath her breasts.

 "I promise. Even if I must rip its possession of you." 

 So with a heavy exhale, Jamie pulled from inside his coat's breast pocket a small cherrywood snake. He rubbed his thumbs against the ridges carved down its coiled spine with a reverence that one would give to a holy cross and deep from his throat said something haltingly in gaelic (Claire thought it must be a goodbye) then laid the snake carefully between them.

 "To honor the mistress of the house."

 Claire wished she could refuse him but she was bound to the rules of give and take carved in the wood of the house. All she could do was give it the same reverence as Jamie, her fingers gingerly stroking it from head to tail. Memories flooded her senses, ones spent frolicking in glades, hiding in barns beneath the hay, shivering to the bone in unforseen rain.

 But brightest of all was of a departed brother's love carved on the flat underbelly of the snake, a name her fingers softly traced. 

 Sawny

 Swallowing thickly, Claire gently placed it aside and held her palms up. Jamie noted with an aching affection streaks of green, scented strongly of mint, marked a few of her fingertips. 

 "I'll need to touch you now. It's the only way for me to do what must be done. " 

 Color finally flushing his pallid skin, Jamie breathed almost shyly, "Ye may. It wouldna be proper if I were to go wi'out smelling like yer wee herbs."

 They shared a smile, however small, as Jamie's gone in a flash.

 Without thought, needing to be near him, Claire pushed her chair closer to his (not missing the sharp inhale that left his mouth) and tentatively cradled his face where she couldn't help but stroke against the scarred lines of restlessness. Beneath his greyed eyes under long lashes, down to the stubbled thin cheeks stretched tightly over sharp curving bone, and then the corner of his wide mouth that twitched, parting softly in a haggard sigh. Or was it a sob?

 Jamie was quick to brace her wrists.

 "There's nothing to fear, Jamie," Claire soothed, her breath of honey, tang of whisky, kissing at his lips. "Trust in me to care for you." 

 He managed to muster a half smile, crooked and true, but his gaze of her was mournful. Regretful even. "I always do, Sassenach. Always." 

 But he kept his grip on her that whitened his knuckles and she refused to let him see the worry creeping up every notch of her vertebrae as she pressed her thumbs to his temples. "Now, focus on the source of the pain."

 Jamie's eyes fluttered closed and Claire delved into his mind with a touch that glowed just as the flowers of devotion, a radiant forget-me-not blue.

 She was enveloped with the pieces of him that blared like the mighty sun - That bull-headed stubbornness. The bone deep loyalty of a knight. His insufferable sense of humor, vexing her even as she bubbled over with laughter. And Jamie's pure hearted goodness, so forgiving and impossibly kind. 

 Oh, how she admired him so. 

 But underneath that beautiful aura, Claire felt an agonizing blood red pain slashing apart his flesh, crying out in despair that misted her eyes as her hand fell to his breast, clasping the source of it all.

 A burning heart so divine in love. 

 "Oh, Jamie."

 His eyes flew open in gut clenching panic. "You said ye couldna see."

 "I can't. I only feel what consumes you and I do as if it were my own heartbeat throbbing, shattering." Her pulse was indeed rising with his dizzying passion, hunger and such unspeakable love blazing like wildfire. 

 "How can this person not reciprocate?" Her voice cracked.

 Jamie lowered his chin and covered both his broad palms over hers making the fragile bones quiver from the mounting pressure as he pressed them against his hammering heart, slowly killing him.

 "She kens nothing of how I feel, nor could she ever bless me with what I yearn to have. She haunts my every dream to where I fear to sleep. I canna breathe when I see her, am near her - even if I only think of her my heart's blood leaves me as if to perish."

 Mouth twisting in pain he whimpered, "Now please free my soul of her. "

 Claire dug her nails through his shirt, swallowing the salty sting of tears.

 "You will feel a coldness towards this woman. No love or warmth will she ever be to you. You'll remember her but she will hold the same place as a stranger in your heart. Can you handle that?"

 "That's what I want. What I need." Tears freely trickled down his wasted face and Claire knew that no words would sway him. Pressing her forehead to his, she sought once more to grasp that wild perfect flame he wanted her to smother.

 "Speak her name aloud."

 Jamie pressed his trembling thumbs to the jumping pulse at her wrists, breathing once, then other and once more again, he sobbed.

 "Sorcha."

 "A pretty name who will be no more to you."

_____

I rewrote another thing. And I honestly could rewrite this forever and ever and ever.

I don’t know if I made it better or worse.

Thanks to @smashing-teacups for giving this a look-see.

[blackrose-ffxiv]

A Few Changes 09/04

Lebeaux Desrosiers tilted his head and swept a hand aside to gesture towards the hallway nearby. “Shall we? I’ve made a few changes since your last visit. And I see you have as well.” He noted, glancing at the miqo’te’s slicked back hair.

Kyt'ir Gahre glanced upwards, glancing at an errant bang that simply refused to follow the rest. "Finally, someone noticed." He mumbled, sounding rather disappointed at everyone else's lack of attention. "After you. Something tells me we both have tales to regale one another with... hopefully yours are more exciting, though." Modest as ever, the Keeper strolled over.

Lebeaux =smiiiiiled. “It makes that gouge across your face more noticeable.” He explained, turning on his heel to make his way back towards his offices. “Hm, tales of woe and haircuts, it sounds just the thing to be shared over tea.” He mused as he went in first, leaving the door open behind him for the miqo’te.

Kyt'ir's expression froze, quite unsure how to process that scathing remark. "...I knew I should've brought some Antidote, with a venomous tongue like that." He quipped in response. Once he was inside, he set his pack down by the door, an audible clink of glasses rattling against one another despite his best efforts to be delicate.

Lebeaux exhaled a flat little chuckle as he led the way into the rooms and immediately settled himself into a large chair. A hand waved towards tea service nearby, complete with savory and sweet snacks. “Help yourself, if you’ve been wandering around like a pack mule you’ve likely worked up a hunger.” His icy eyes darted towards the pack. “I assure you my venom isn’t deadly in small doses. Yet, if not antidotes, have you perchance brought me a gift rattling around there in your bag. A little office-warming present?”

Kyt'ir glanced down at the pack. "Been ferrying some of my wares about. Part of the tales to regale you with. Not sure if you have any fondness for rolanberry liqueur, but if so... I can leave a bottle behind." He mused as he settled himself down onto the couch, taking up a seat near the Elezen. "Or what warding potions I have left. Something tells me you would find some sort of use for them." That saintly, knowing little smile again, interrupted only for him to take a little sip of tea.

“Oh? Sounds quaint. I’ll accept the gift, though in the future do bear in mind I prefer brandy.” Lebeaux suggested, smiling serenely back at the other. “Mmm, well. Where to begin.” He reached over to the smoking box beside himself to prepare a pipe instead of a cup of tea, packing somnus lightly into it with his gloved pinkie. “I seem to have gotten myself into a spot of trouble with a disgruntled conjurer and he took it upon himself to rearrange my offices. With conjury. Shattered the floor with stones, water everywhere, furniture torn to shreds by wind.” He exhaled a long suffering sigh and placed a hand on his own cheek in a gesture of theatrical dismay. “It was a tragedy.”

Kyt'ir =quietly sipped his tea. "That would explain the extensive remodeling. It does seem to have turned out well... I hope he isn't bothering you anymore?" He murmured, making a mental note to bring brandy next time. He would not admit it out loud, but he felt a tad silly for forgetting such an important detail.

A shoulder rolled in a small shrug. “He’s been dealt with and will repay me for the damages.” Along with the one who dared to tell him where to find the Ishgardian. “Turns out he’s rather useful so he has been ‘tour guiding’ my research jaunts to the Shroud.” Lebeaux slipped the pipe between his lips and lit it, puffing gently at it before exhaling fragrant smoke. “How have you come to be a well-groomed potion peddler? Seems rather a step down. Have you been taking any custom orders as of yet? A problem presented to you solved in a bottle in a few days?” He took another slow drag on the pipe before he held it out, offering it to the other to enjoy a little somnus as well.

Kyt'ir's expression flickered, lighting up ever so slightly. It was either the pipe, or the proposition, the Keeper pausing to respond. "Of course. For a moderate fee, of course. Can't work for free. ...did you have something in mind?" He let that question hang while he brought the pipe to his lips, drawing in a slow, leisurely breath while his violet eyes honed in on Lebby. His business sense was already tingling.

Lebeaux leaned an elbow on the edge of his chair and settled his chin in his palm, smiling all the while as the miqo’te reached for the pipe and took a small drag. The alchemist already seemed intrigued. “Well, it’s troublesome finding a reliable alchemist. Even more so if you want one that’s discreet. Without having to resort to blackmail and confidentiality contracts.”

Kyt'ir canted his head as he took in a breath, finally letting it out in a low puff. "You know, sitting beside the stained glass windows in this light, you cut an almost sinister appearance. Was that intentional?" He quipped, flashing that saintly smile - when on earth did he get  so good at it? - before going back to idly puffing on the pipe. "Do continue, though."

Lebeaux placed a hand upon his own chest, lowering his gaze to glance aside as he smiled ever so sweetly. A perfect recreation of some Ishgardian saint or another from a classical painting. Yes, it was intentional. “Most Keepers who visit despise it. Too much light, they complain. I rather enjoy the constant reminder of divinity. After all, it’s Her spear and shield that guide me.” With that little act completed he held out his hand to take the pipe back so he could have a few more puffs on it. Perhaps he would have to look into getting another if this was to become a regular thing. “It’s a straightforward deal. Should I have a problem I require fixed, I will send for you. If you can fix it, you will be compensated accordingly. If not, we’ll never speak of it again.”

Kyt'ir's ears twitched, the Keeper giving a mock little pout as he gave the pipe up, passing it back over to the Elezen. "Mh. Seems straight forward enough, and gives me reason to research and push the boundaries so to speak." He murmured, going back to nursing at his tea as he mulled over the idea. "It sounds good to me. Just so long as you don't ask for a potion to turn lead into gold."

Lebeaux scoffed at the idea. He accepted the pipe and rose to his feet, moving over to join the Keeper on the couch. “Then I’ll give you a little challenge to get you started.” He explained, taking a slow drag on the pipe before he handed it over to the other again. It was easier to share from here. “Something to keep a mage from casting. A silencing potion, the effects need only last a bell or so. Yet I want it to be untraceable. Say if…” he glanced over at the table. “I were to mix it in their tea.”

Kyt'ir raised an eyebrow, glancing down into the tea - before simply nonchalantly taking another sip, finishing off his cup. If it were laced, he was doomed half a bell ago. "That would be straight forward enough. A little venom from a dart frog, ochu vine... could disguise it as a herbal tea, though it'd need to be sweetened to cover the bitterness. Not to mention the metallic taste from the quicksilver..." He mused aloud, before taking the pipe in hand. Brow furrowed, he took a more determined puff from his pipe. "The trick would be making it like your usual tea, assuming your target would notice you deviating from your routine."

@kytir

[ko-yeop]

Lovecraft: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Coming Soon

Characters: Saeran Choi X Reader

Word Count: 4,093

Genre: Witchcraft!AU, Fluff, Angst

Warnings: Mentions of child abuse

Summary: After an unfortunate drunken night, you, a fortune teller who was cursed from a young age by an unknown witch, breaks your own creed and read your own fate. Seeing nothing but ruin and isolation in the future, you seek out an apothecary named Saeran, who gives you untested potion called Aphrodite’s Blessing, not for free though. In return, he wishes to study and document it’s effects on you. Can his creation not only save you from fate, but also break your longstanding curse?

No matter how many times Saeran rolled over, tugged the sheets above his head, and squeezed his eyes shut, the banging on the door didn’t cease. And it would’ve been a lovely morning too, with the way the sun was shining outside, and how the birds were singing their merry tune. That stupid lady just had to go and ruin his mood with her hollering at this ungodly time in the morning.

Running his fingers through the tufts of bedhead, he tried to smooth it out, make himself look presentable in some way before he greeted the irate woman screaming outside his door. He wasn’t in much of a rush, after all. Secretly he hoped that if he took long enough she’d up and leave, but considering the fact that her screeching had been going on for the better part of half an hour… Well, if she was going to leave she likely would’ve turned tail and left already. The walk downstairs seemed longer than usual, but perhaps it was just him dreading what awaited him on the other side of the door. Sighing, he reached for the door. This lady, and all the others like hers’ rapping at the door was likely why it was so rife with splinters.

“Do you realize how long I’ve been standing here?” The middle aged woman yelled as soon as the doorknob turned. Saeran wondered if the deep wrinkles on her face were caused by the excessive use of expression by her. The display she wore was far too over dramatic to be natural. Was that truly how she looked, or was she exaggerating on purpose? Her eyebrows pinched together, corners of her mouth downturned, eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets...You’d think she was auditioning for the part of evil witch in the upcoming play, not harassing a shop keep before most of the town had woken.

“Long enough to manage to wake me up,” With his long nights of mixing different compositions, reading endless page after page on herbs and their uses, and downing blue vulneraries trying to see which batch let him rest more peacefully, he tended to sleep in later, and deeper than most people. Somehow, sleeping until the afternoon did nothing to help the purple bags under his eyes that never seemed to fade.

“Whatever! Your useless potion did nothing for me!”

“Oh? And which one are you talking about?” Saeran folded his arms, leaning against the doorframe. It was freezing outdoors and he was in nothing but a thin pair of pajamas, but it was instinct to look cool and nonchalant to one up her. He knew exactly which item she had purchased too, he remembered quite well how her musky lingering perfume infested his shop a week ago, how she demanded he craft something custom for her needs rather than buying what was on the shelf, trying to bargain with him as if she couldn’t pay the price despite the gaudy jewel encrusted necklace covering the majority of her chest… This woman had already used up all his patience, and he was going to do everything he could to piss her off.

“Your anti-aging one!”

“Do you mean Hebe’s Nectar?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t read the label!” She tossed her hands in the air, continuing her dramatic display.

“Well, considering it’s the only anti-aging thing I sell, we’ll go with it. How are you using it?” Saeran had confidence in his works. Everything was tested on either him or another person, if there weren’t good results, it didn’t go on the shelf. Anything on the shelf was either his personal creation, or something passed down to him from Jihyun. He was not too fond of the implication that his potions were ineffective.

“What do you mean how am I using it? I take a spoon everyday like any other potion!” Silently, he prayed this woman would never reproduce, no child deserved to inherit a brain as small as hers. Their upbringing would be hell too, gods save any kids she may already have.

“Well ma’am, if you read the label, you’d know it’s supposed to be added to bathwater once a week, not ingested,” Saeran couldn’t believe this, just how stupid did she have to be to not read a label and then come screaming at the seller? He may not put price tags on products out of laziness, but he made sure the instructions and ingredients list was attached. Does everyone who owns a shop have to deal with people like this? Did his late teacher have to deal with this?

“W-Well you should have told me that when I bought it!”

“I tell every customer to read the label, whether you do or not, is not my problem,” The lady was flabbergasted, taken aback by his words. Her long, cracking nails dug into her balled up fists in an attempt to contain her anger.

“Well, am I going to get sick now? From drinking this stupid thing?”

“Likely not if you haven’t already, but maybe since you’ve been ingesting it, it’ll help with your ugly personality,”

“Excuse me? Are you implying something here boy?” She accentuated the final word, as if it were some insult to call him a child. He knew he was too young to be running a shop, and to be an apothecary. It wasn’t slander, it was a mere fact. He refused to let this woman use his age as a tool to demean him.

“Yes, now please leave, I’d like to get some sleep,” Saeran slammed the door in her face, far more pissed off than he should’ve been. It was people like her that made him question why he even ran a shop in the first place. He was kind enough to share his practice with the townsfolk and this is how they treated him? Abhorrent.

Judging from the position of the sun, it was too late to go back to bed. If he wanted to open up Lovecraft at a respectable time for once, he was better off just getting ready for the day. Sitting down at his desk, he opened the leather bound journal to an aged page. It was the last ingredient list he’d used for creating Aphrodite’s Blessing. Tea stains dotted the scribbled writing. All the markings were remnants of long past nights where Saeran was so sleep deprived his hands shook as he reached for yet another cup. Picking up the quill nearby, he began to jot down notes about his test subject. Your name, gender, age, basic physical traits… There was quite a bit of necessary information missing, however. Saeran made a mental note to ask you about your past experiences with potions, allergies and whatnot the next time you met. All factors in this test were equally important, from which kind of rose petals used, to your height. It was always unknown what results could turn up, so it was best to keep notes of absolutely everything to learn the properties of different ingredients, and their effects on certain people.

He moved to close the journal as he got up from his desk, but a brush of his hand sent it tumbling to the floor by accident. A detailed pencil drawing that had previously been tucked in between pages slid out. Carefully picking up the print, Saeran’s eyes took in every aspect. The tiny indents of the man’s pores, the cracks in his lips, and the shimmer in his eye.

It was of Jihyun, his former teacher. Saeran’s eyes began to well with tears as Jihyun’s charcoal mouth smiled onwards, as if trying to tell him not to cry, to smile instead. It was just like Jihyun, to want to be remembered as smiling. The portrait was the only picture he had to remember his face by. All the memories seemed to come rushing back to him whenever he looked upon the drawing, no matter how many times he told himself he was over his death. That was why it was tucked away, so he didn’t have to look at it. It was expected for him to still be upset though, Jihyun essentially raised him after all.

Saeran’s mother passed away when he was 8. It never really upset him though. He was more traumatized by the way she treated him than her death. She was a horrid lady, not unlike the one who had just visited to do nothing but complain and blame him for her woes. Bruises and cuts were no stranger to him. She had driven his twin brother to run from her when he was very young. He hardly remembered him anymore, his brother left early on in his life, leaving him behind to bear her abuse. It was by some god’s grace she was always too drunk to notice him sneaking out the window, running to the nearest potion shop, which just so happened to be Lovecraft. He remembered how he cried and begged for help, how much pain he was in. It felt like someone had placed needles under his wounds, the side of his face felt swollen, every movement put him in agony. Jihyun had nearly burst into tears himself at the sight of the small boy. What kind of monster could do that to a child? Jihyun began teaching him how to make his own salves and basic balms to treat his injuries when he couldn’t make it to the shop, whether it be because she had shackled him to the bed, or he was too weak and injured to move. After that, Saeran simply wanted to know more about what kinds of things apothecaries could create. He was enamoured by the fact that a mixture of common items could create something that could help people. He wanted to end his own pain, and perhaps, do something for his mother. Saeran wondered if she was in pain because of how often she cried into whisky glasses. Jihyun would only smile whenever Saeran would tell him about his plan to create “a really strong potion that will stop mother from hurting,” The child thought that maybe, just maybe, if she wasn’t in pain, she wouldn’t create pain for him either.

It was a serene night when his mother passed, everything was quiet for once. No screaming, no choked sobs, no broken glasses. Saeran recalled how he she didn’t move, how she didn’t snore or bolt out of her rocker to yell when he made the smallest of noises like she usually did. He poked his head out of his room, inhaling the overwhelming scent of alcohol. Half empty bottles were spilled everywhere, smashed glass littered the floor. Carefully, he had poked at her arm, just to see if she’d move. He shook her arm, nothing but a flop of her head. He reached his small hand up to her face, striking her as she had done to him countless times. No movement, no reaction. Saeran bolted out of the front door, running into the streets teary eyed. Rather than running to inform a town guard, he ran to Jihyun, frightened at his first hands on experience with death. The only guardian he had, even if she was a poor one, was gone. Jihyun cradled small boy in his arms, and cried with him. Saeran never understood why Jihyun was crying with him. He still didn’t know why, even though now he was older and wiser. From that point on, Saeran moved in with the apothecary, and learned to craft potions from him. Life seemed the brightest when he was with him. Jihyun was his sun, and since his departure from the world, Saeran had decided to carry on that feeling of warmth he was given, passing the same care to others.

Living with him meant sleeping in bed that creaked in the night as he rolled around, trying to escape the nightmares that haunted him, but that was fine. It was better than the sheetless mattress, or the cold splintered floors he was used to. In fact, having a bed with pillows was quite the luxury to him. At least he had somewhere comfortable to cry as he tried to sort out his feelings, tried to remember that he was no longer a small child who could only rely on the woman who’d strike him with broken bottles and forget to feed him for days on end. He was no longer trapped physically by her, but her presence, the damage she caused, lived on and encased him.

Jihyun had begun developing a relief for his nightmares before he passed. It typically took several years to perfect a potion, and sadly, he had passed before he was able to complete his work. Creating the elixir was his way of apologizing to Saeran, for not being able to remove him from his mother sooner. For letting this continue on rather than alerting the authorities. The very least he could do was to ease his nightmares. As Saeran ran his fingers over the edge of the drawing he still held, he wondered why Jihyun did what he did. He had faith in his choices, he was always a wise and calm man, but he just wish he got to know why he made his decisions. What did he foresee with his actions? What was he trying to avoid? Would the authorities have done nothing to save him from his mother? Why didn’t Jihyun act sooner? When Saeran took up his work on Bane of Phobetor, the elixir he had been working on until his death, along with running Lovecraft, he could only hope that by continuing Jihyun’s work, he could find the answers he was looking for.

Wiping stray tears from his eyes, Saeran tucked the picture back in the pages of his notebook. There wasn’t time to dwell any longer, he had a shop to open.

You found yourself staring at your own reflection at lot longer than usual of late. The eagerness to see any signs of change overwhelmed you, the thought occupied every hour of every day. You were paranoid about every minor thing, taking note of every twitch, your skin seeming to be a hue too pale or too dark, was your hair suddenly longer? Why were you more tired than usual? You had reason to be paranoid though, you were a test subject after all. You kept hoping that perhaps someone would bump into you on the streets, someone who’d genuinely be intrigued by you, someone who wanted to get to know you. However, nothing so exciting had happened yet.

You tugged the wide brimmed witch’s cap down, trying to shield yourself from frigid winds as you braved the walk to Lovecraft once again. A few days had passed, and like you promised, you’d meet up with him so he could take note of the effects. You weren’t sure there would be anything for him to write down though, but perhaps an apothecary would know better what to look for than you.

The bell chimed as you burst through the door, quickly shutting it to prevent any snow from getting in to warp his floorboards more than they already were.

“Ah, there you are,” Saeran poked his head out from behind a shelf filled with lilac coloured potions. They were haphazardly placed, far too many bottles crammed onto the weakening shelf. a few bottles threatening to dive off the edge, some knocked onto their sides.  “I was wondering when you’d stop by,” He stood up, brushing the dust and dirt off his pants. You noticed the book he held in hand, some sort of encyclopedia perhaps? You couldn’t read the title very well from this angle and distance, but it was thick with pages surely full of knowledge, gold foiled leaves decorating the burgundy cover.

“Were you in the middle of something? I could stop by later if that’s better for you,” You didn’t want to interrupt him, and you silently needed assurance that this was a good time to drop by. It was roughly early afternoon, judging by the position of the sun hanging high in the sky, but you’d heard rumours of Lovecraft opening quite late due to the shopkeeper's sleeping habits.

“Oh no, I was just doing a little research on herbs. Come, have a seat,” He motioned to the stool by the counter. You took up his offer, wanting to rest your feet after the small journey you made to get here. It wasn’t a long walk to get to the shop, but the cobblestone roads combined with thinning soles on your boots didn’t allow you to trek with much comfort.  “How have you been, noticed anything different?” His eyes eagerly looked you over, searching for any signs of physical change.

“I’ve been… the usual, I suppose,” You sighed.

“You sound a bit down,” You were caught off guard by his insight. Most people simply asked how you’d been as a pleasantry, they didn’t genuinely care how you were doing. That’s how life always was for you after all. The curse you were burdened with hung on your shoulders, as if it was scaring off anyone who perhaps wanted to ask how you really feeling that day. Someone who wanted to say more than “That’s awful,” when you explained the worst day of your life to them. Anyone who offered consolation, just… someone who listened.

“I… I’m just worried that it feels like nothing is happening,” You confessed.

“Don’t worry so much, sometimes it takes longer for certain potions to begin to take effect. And other times, the differences are so minute that you don’t even notice them,” He smiled warmly, trying reassuring you that things would be alright.

“But I’m betting everything on the hope that this concoction of yours works,” You were nervous, this was your future after all.

“I guess I’ve got high expectations to live up to,” He laughed. You appreciated how upbeat he was despite the situation you were in, he was much like a beacon in your darkest hour.

“But I suppose you’re right, I shouldn’t be worrying so much,”

“Here, let’s take a look and see if there’s any changes from my perspective,” Gently, he grabbed your chin, turning your head to the side. “Hm, Your cheeks look a bit pinker than last time…” You were taken back by his abruptness. Most strangers didn’t just grab someone’s face like that, and he was getting awfully close to you. Did he just lack decorum? Did he not understand social cues?

“I-I’m just cold, it’s freezing outside,”

“Is it? I haven’t really left the shop today,” Saeran tried to not remember how the winds whipped at his flesh while he stood in the doorway earlier in the day. Looking smug definitely had it’s cons. It’d be better for him to just forget the woman from this morning, she wasn’t worth his anger anyways. He turned your head to the other side, examining and jotting down the hue of your skin. Touching the back of his hand to your cheek, he noted how warm they were too.

“Didn’t you have to leave your house to get to the shop?” Did this guy honestly not leave his shop? If so, how did he manage to earn a reputation for opening late when he was always here?

“No, I sleep here. My room is upstairs,” He said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’ve lived here ever since my teacher took me in, and I don’t think I’d have it any other way,”

“Isn’t this place a little too worn down for you to live in?” You went from thinking this guy was a weirdo to being concerned for his well being. The winter months were rather cold here, and he was sleeping in a barely insulated shop?

“I think it being worn down is what gives it its charm, don’t you think?” He ran his hands through your hair, examining for any colour changes in the strands. The gesture was a little odd but… Intimate, almost. It felt so relaxing, soothing. Subconsciously, you leaned into Saeran’s touch. You saw the smirk catch on his lips for the briefest of moments. “Does that feel nice?” He asked as he repeated the motion, slower this time. You weren’t sure at this point if he was still examining you or if he was toying with you.

“Ah, sorry.” You jerked upright, only now realizing your actions. “It’s just… No one ever did that and I...Uh...Yeah… It does feel quite nice. Is that a side effect of the potion?”

“Most people enjoy this, so I’m gonna go with no,” You felt your heart sink that no changes had been noted yet. He continued to tug gently at your roots, eyeing your expression.

“Well, physically, there’s not much change aside from your face being redder than usual. Emotionally, you seem slightly less reserved, but to be fair you did just meet me,”

Saeran wondered why you were so alone, and why your cards gave you such a grim reading. It’s not like you weren’t pretty, nor did you have a bad personality from what he knew about you so far. Just what was keeping people from you? And why did you being alone cause such a ruinous future? Was your problem stemming from yourself as a person, or was there a third party interfering? He didn’t believe in divination being absolute, other forms of magic such as potion, spells, curses, and enchantments could always change the future. But why were things as they were for you? It felt like he was missing a piece of the puzzle that could help him resolve your problem. There were so many questions he was trying to resolve, and you’d thrown a new quiz at him. Of course, he wanted to refine Aphrodite’s Blessing first, but he did want to assist you as well. That’s why he continued to run Jihyun’s place after all, because he wanted to help people like him, like Jihyun had done for him.

“I think I would like to try something with you,” Your head perked up, nervous at what he was about to suggest. “I’d like to go to the market with you, I want to see how you react with other people, and how they react to you,”

“Right now?”

“No no, maybe tomorrow if you’re free?” He offered. “I think I might get some better insight to how to potion is affecting you if I’m able to observe interactions with people other than myself,” He did have a point, you hadn’t really done much socializing the past few days aside from the odd reading here and there. You joked about a prince charming popping up out of nowhere when he proposed the idea of taking Aphrodite’s Blessing, but you hadn’t been acting on your own and yet you were still expecting results.

“That sounds like a good idea, but don’t you have to watch your shop?”

“I own it, I can close whenever I like. I’m not going to miss much business anyways,” Customers were few these days, and he wasn’t located in a high end of the city. The district was filled with commoners, all trying to sell their own craft to each other when no one had any money to spare. Plenty of product, yet no demand. Capitalism at its finest.

“What time did you want to meet up?”

“Noon perhaps? That’s when the market is at its busiest. The more people the better,” Saeran was scribbling away unknown notes in the journal he had laid on the counter. You were inclined to ask just what he was writing, but refrained. What if he thought you were being too nosy? Perhaps there were things you didn’t want to know.

“Sounds good to me, I’ll see you then, I suppose?” You reached for the door.

“Yep, I’ll see you tomorrow,” With a wave of his hand, you were off, braving the chill yet again.

Saeran buried his face in his palms and breathed deeply. He picked up the qull once again and began to jot more notes down.

Noticeable difference in skin hue

Skin warmer than average body temperature

Cute expression when hair is played with

No change in hair colour

Not much of an emotional/behavioural change, noted changes could be due to her warming up to me

Avoids eye contact

Glancing at his notes one last time, he realized something.

He forgot to ask about her allergies again.

[yatorihell]

In The Darkness Chapter 41 - How To Get A Date

Words: 3,818

Summary: Will Yato ever find a date?

Previous chapter | First chapter

Thank you Emily (@scarfblogs) for beta-ing me <3

Accompanying art by @paperypiper

Read on AO3

“Have you found out what the second task is yet?”

Suzuha had cornered Yato after dinner, his expression concerned as he grilled him about the next task. Yato’s eyes shifted to Yukine who stood behind him, equally concerned. Hiyori hadn't stopped bugging him either.

Defeated, Yato shook his head.

Suzuha sighed. “I can help you –”

“No,” Yato said quickly. “I can do this.”

Yato shouldered his bag, waving away Yukine’s protests of him to ‘stop being such a goblin and give Suzuha the bloody egg’ as he left the Great Hall.

He wanted to do it on his own.

Curfew came and Yato snuck up to one of the many bathrooms with the Golden Egg.

Secluded in the male Prefects bathroom – which had been abandoned for some time after a particularly nasty poltergeist turned the water into goo – Yato startled as the faucets turned themselves on.

Hot water gushed into the bath, which was more like a swimming pool. The grandeur of the bathroom stretched to the edges of the room, stained glass windows filtered a kaleidoscope of colours into the rippling water. The occasional bubble rose into the air before popping in a sparkle.

Yato threw his clothes to the side and cradled the Golden Egg in his arms as he waded into the pool. He hissed at the heat that crept up his chest as he sunk into the deep water, finding a ledge to perch on as he set the Golden Egg down behind him.

Yato averted his eyes from one window which depicted a mermaid perched on a rock, arranging her fair hair over her breasts as her head turned over her shoulder to look at him. He half-turned back to the Golden Egg, folding his arms on the ledge and resting his chin on his arms. He stared at it for a while, waiting for it to reveal the next task.

It didn’t.

Yato growled. He picked up the egg in one hand and turned back around, holding it just above the surface of the water. Bracing himself, Yato’s fingers twitched on the clasp.

Tell me, he pleaded.

Yato gritted his teeth, and in one quick movement he pulled the fixture and the eggs three curved sides fell open. The same ear-piercing screech accompanied the pearly globe inside the egg which bubbled with a faint golden light.

All too quickly Yato fumbled to close the egg, face scrunched and eardrums ringing, but the slipperiness of the water and the jolt that went through him sent the egg into the water with a loud splash.

Yato cursed under his breath, swiping away bubbles to see a watery glow shining up at him, the egg still screaming in his disappointed face.

No, Yato realised, this was… softer… sweeter.

Yato took a breath before plunging his head under the water. His hair drifted in front of his eyes as he reached down for the egg before he froze at the sweet swinging that met him the instant he was submerged.

Come seek us where our voices sound, We cannot sing above the ground, And while you're searching ponder this; We've taken what you'll sorely miss, An hour long you'll have to look, And to recover what we took, But past an hour, the prospect's black, Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.

His lungs burned for air, and the moment the sweet voice finished its final verse, Yato let his breath out with a rush of bubbles as he scooped up the egg and pushed himself back to the surface.

Yato gasped as he shook his hair from his eyes, holding the egg in his hands with a surprised reverence. He finally got the clue.

However, Yato didn’t consider what – or rather, who – would be taken.

~

Yato wandered into the Great Hall late the next morning, bleary-eyed from a night of dance practice by himself.

He squinted, seeing Kazuma sitting by himself and eating a fry up of sausages, tomatoes and eggs. Yato walked over, seating himself beside Kazuma.

“Morning,” Kazuma said. Yato moaned in reply, chin in his hand and staring at the cloudy ceiling which mimicked the one outside the window.

“So…” Kazuma said nonchalantly, continuing his breakfast as Yato stared up at the cloudy ceiling, “I heard that Manabu asked Hiyori to the ball.”

“What?!” Yato exclaimed, fist hitting the table in surprise as he spun around to face Kazuma.

I seriously missed his chance to ask her?!

Kazuma looked confused before realising Yato had no idea what had happened. “He asked her last night. She turned him down.”

Yato’s shoulders relaxed, tension leaving his body at the slightest hope that Hiyori was still available. “How do you know?”

“She told us this morning whilst you were probably still snoring your head off,” Kazuma tore into another sausage.

“You better hurry up and ask her before someone else tries.” Kazuma remarked after a pause.

Yato flashed him a glare, eyebrow arched. “And you better hurry up before someone asks Bishamon.”

Kazuma made a noise that was a mix of a hiccup and a choking sound as he dropped his fork and half-eaten sausage onto the table. A crimson stain seeped up from his collar, staining his cheeks in an undeniable blush.

“What’s that supposed to mean!” he spluttered, pushing his glasses further up his nose and regaining his composure. “You’re the one who needs a date!”

“You make me sound desperate, Kazuma.”

“You are.”

“Even Yukine got a date,” Kazuma said, rubbing salt into Yato’s wounds. At Yato’s questioning look, Kazuma prompted: “Suzuha.”

“Oh,” Yato said, but he didn’t know why he was surprised. They seemed to be as close as he and Hiyori were; it made sense that they would go together.

Yato rested his chin on his hand, destitute at his predicament. Picking up his cup, he took a long drink and thought carefully about his next move.

A surprise proposal? No, too cheesy. What would she like?

Apathetic of Yato’s woe, Kazuma stabbed at a second sausage on the plate in front of him.

“Also, Hiyori’s looking at you,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone, smirking slightly.

“WHAT?!” Yato said a bit too loudly, mouth dribbling slightly as he stopped drinking to spin around to look at the Gryffindor table behind him. Hiyori sat directly behind him on the opposite side of the table. She smiled at him and raised her hand in greeting.

Dumbfounded and blushing slightly, Yato raised his hand to wave back and attempted a casual smile, forgetting the pumpkin juice in his mouth which poured out of his mouth like an off-colour fountain.

Kazuma smirked as Yato quickly wiped his chin and turned away from Hiyori who covered her laughter with her hand.

“I told you,” he said, popping the last piece of sausage in his mouth, “she’s a catch.”

~

Yato barrelled into the library at first break. It was now or never, but he still had no idea what to do, let alone if it would be enough to persuade Hiyori to be his date. Still, he had one hope left.

Speed walking and avoiding the disapproving glare of the stone-faced librarian, Yato weaved through the book stacks to one of the quiet, tucked away spots where he found who he was looking for.

Yukine glanced up at the sound of quick paces heading his way, just in time to see Yato scraping a spare seat opposite him. Before he could ask what the heck he was doing, Yato dropped his fists on one of the open books that Yukine had just been reading, scattering balls of parchment across the desk.

“How do I get Hiyori to go to the ball with me?” he blurted out.

Yukine arched an eyebrow and leant back in his chair. He knew Yato was socially inept, but this was a whole new level.

“You say, ‘Hiyori, do you want to go to the ball with me?’”

At his blunt answer, Yato threw his hands up to the air as if seeking help from a higher power. Considering his dilemma, maybe it was the best chance he had.

“But how do I get her to like me?”

Yukine crossed his arms, looking thoughtful as Yato anticipated any advice he could give. After a moment a small smirk tugged at the corner of Yukine’s mouth and his eyes lit up as if he had a eureka moment.

“Have you tried not being yourself?”

Yato’s hopeful face fell and he let out a frustrated noise, throwing one of the crumpled pieces of parchment at Yukine’s head as he doubled up in snorts of laughter.

“I heard about you and Suzuha,” Yato sighed. A smile tugged at his lips when Yukine turned pink and bowed his head over his books before Yato continued, “I’m proud of you.”

Yukine glanced up, a smirk pulling at his lips. “If I can do it then so can you.”

“How did you do it then?” Yato asked, leaning on his elbows.

“I asked as we were going to sleep – our beds are next to each other,” Yukine flicked a page of his book, “and I remembered you asking who I was going with, so I decided to ask him that night.”

Yato smiled at the table. “I can hardly do the same with Hiyori.”

“You could, but I fear what would happen if you made it past the enchanted dorm staircase, or if you lived long enough once Hiyori or Bishamon see you in the dorms.” Yukine’s smile twitched as Yato let out a big sigh and leant back in his chair.

At this rate, he was never going to get a date.

~

Yato still had made no progress by Wednesday morning, and Yukine had decided to take it upon himself to get the pair together.

Yato buried his head into a copy of the Daily Prophet which had been abandoned on the table, hiding his flaming cheeks as Yukine started to talk about dates to the Yule Ball.

“Why didn’t you say yes to Manabu?” Yukine asked.

He glanced around Hiyori to shoot a look at the tuft of hair that belonged to Yato as his head raised slightly in interest. Yato adamantly kept the papers covering his expression from Hiyori who obviously hadn’t noticed that he was melting in to a puddle of embarrassment right beside her.

“He’s very sweet, but I don’t want to go with him.” Hiyori said carefully, stabbing her spoon back into her porridge.

Yukine raised his eyebrows in interest, eyes sliding over to Yato, whose head had snapped around to stare at the back of Hiyori’s head. Was this a hint for him to ask her out?

Determined not to let the chance go to waste, Yukine persisted in his questions.

“Hiyori, you could get any guy to go to the ball with you, they’re mad not to be queuing up for the opportunity to be your date,” Yukine wheedled, lavishing on the compliments as Yato stared daggers at him, warning him not to do anything stupid. “I mean, you are a girl, right?”

Hiyori gave him a bemused smile, cheeks glowing at the sincerity he showed in his compliments. “Well spotted.”

“Well, if no one else is going to ask, would you go to the b-mmMMM!”

Before Yukine could finish his question, Yato had sprung over in a split second to clamp his hand over his mouth. He wrapped his other arm around his struggling body and tucked him under his arm, loudly declaring that he needed Yukine’s help for an experiment.

Yukine secretly grinned at the reaction he provoked from the hopeless romantic, waving back at Hiyori as she called out a confused goodbye as she picked up the crumpled pages of newspaper Yato had scattered over his unfinished breakfast.

That afternoon there was another dance lesson as the Yule Ball was only one week away, and the end of term was that Friday.

Madame Kofuku directed the students who needed assistance, which was open to a number of fourth and fifth years who were coached thought the dance.

Hiyori watched as Kazuma and Bishamon danced together. Kazuma watched his feet as Bishamon followed his jerky lead before he swept her up into an easy lift that made her laugh aloud. Kazuma was so red that there was steam practically radiating from him, but when he looked up at her elated face during each lift, he melted.

Suzuha and Yukine on the other hand, were taking a gentler dance approach with no lifts. Even though Yukine knew what he was doing, all independent thought left him as he and his partner took their positions.

“Now put your hand on my shoulder,” Suzuha said. His hand was already on Yukine’s waist, light but strong.

Yukine turned a startling shade of red but did as he was told. Their hands found each other. He looked down at his feet, stiff as a board as he waited for instruction.

“Eyes on me.” Yukine dragged his eyes up slowly to meet Suzuha’s. He had a soft smile on his face, amused at Yukine’s tinting cheeks.

Their feet found a rhythm, one that let them be as close as possible with their breath intermingling, warm and sweet. Suzuha’s lips were parted in a smile, and Yukine couldn’t help but stare at them.

“See something you like?” Suzuha murmured.

Yukine’s blush didn’t go unnoticed, mainly because he didn’t bother looking away from Suzuha. Instead his eyes found Suzuha’s, and a wicked smile planted itself on his own lips.

“Maybe.”

~

Kazuma chewed over Yato’s idea, and after calculating the risk, decided that he wouldn’t embarrass himself by asking Bishamon to the ball and get rejected. She probably already had a date; she was the most beautiful girl in the school, after all.

What he didn’t take into consideration was for Bishamon asking him. Well, not in the way he would’ve expected.

“Hey, who are you going to the ball with?” Bishamon asked. They were sat in the library as usual, going over various books to study for their O.W.L. exams. Kazuma looked at her in surprise.

“I, uh, I’m -,” he started, trying to think of a coherent sentence to answer, or even a word.

“You are going, aren’t you?” she pressed. She had put her quill down, arm slung over the back of the wooden chair to face him head on.

Kazuma gave a single nod. “Yes.”

“Don’t have a date?”

“No…” Kazuma said. He expected her to say something about who she was going with, or that he didn’t need to take someone to the dance. Instead, she said:

“Well, why don’t we go together?”

Kazuma felt like a fish out of water, struggling to breathe and gaping at her proposal.

Together? Like a couple? If this was heaven, he was there.

“We’re both Seekers for our teams, we’re both going alone, so…” Bishamon continued, and Kazuma came crashing back to earth.

Kazuma swallowed his disappointment. Even if they wouldn’t be a proper couple, it was more than he could’ve hoped for.

“I’d like that.”

~

Yato could have cried when he found out that he was the only person without a date. Well, him and Hiyori, who was his to-be-date.

Yukine watched Yato bang his head on the breakfast table, earning a mixture of annoyed and concerned looks from the group of Slytherins near them.

“Get a grip,” Yukine hissed, grabbing his shoulder and pulling a rather dazed Yato back up, “Hiyori’s going to notice.”

“What do I do?!” Yato wailed.

“Just ask her! She said no to Manabu for a reason, maybe it’s you!” Yukine sucked in a breath, “But if you don’t ask her right here, right now, I swear I’m going to do it myself.”

“Fine!”

Yato grabbed a piece of red-backed parchment that had been left on the table and snatched a quill out of his bag.

Yato scrawled a note, hand covering what it said from Yukine as he tried to sneak a look at what he was writing. He hunched his body more over the note as if it were a great secret, but Yukine had an idea of what he was writing:

Hiyori, will you go to the ball with me?

Yato quickly picked it up, allowing it to transform into a small scarlet envelope with a wax seal. It began fluttering away to the Gryffindor table on the other side of the room.

Yukine smirked as he too watched it glide away, anticipating the reaction Yato was about to give when he told him what he had just done.

“You know that parchment is what we use for Howlers?”

Yato’s eager face froze, eyes fixated on the note as it flapped its way down the Slytherin table before veering off towards its destination. His head snapped to look at Yukine’s expectant face, waiting for him to do something with a half-grin plastered on his face.

Instantly Yato was on his feet and sprinting down the aisle between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables. The note was out of reach, nearing Hiyori with every beat of its folded corners as if it was determined to get to the Gryffindor before he did.

The only option Yato had was drastic, but it was nothing compared to Hiyori opening that Howler in front of the entire school.

Time seemed to slow down as Yato vaulted over the table, knocking plates of toast and jugs of orange juice flying over protesting Hufflepuffs. His arm stretched out, eyes zoning in on the note as if it were the golden snitch and he were in the Quidditch World Cup.

His fingers closed around the paper, crumpling it in his fist as he landed on the floor.

Panting, he tore it up with such vigour that hardly any scrap of writing was legible. Relief washed through him as he looked up but was soon replaced by embarrassment as the first face he saw staring straight back at him was Hiyori, her mouth slightly open in surprise.

Flushing, Yato pushed his bangs away from his forehead, running his hand through his hair with a sheepish smile.

“Morning, Hiyori!”

Yato hurried out of the Great Hall without letting Hiyori reply. He felt everyone’s eyes on his as he vanished from sight, not hearing the quick footsteps coming after him.

Yato’s arm was caught by someone and he spun around head in his hands and muffled a scream as Yukine tried to comfort him through his laughter.

“It’s ok, you stopped it, it’s fine!”

“It’s not fine!” Yato was about to break. The stress of asking Hiyori out was too much. It would be much easier if he didn’t have to attend this stupid ball, but he had to.

“Just ask her next time you see her,” Yukine chided, “what’s the worst that could happen?”

~

The absolute worst could happen.

Yato didn’t mean it to slip out. Not that it actually did slip out – it screamed out.

Yukine had knelt on the Hufflepuff’s bench when he saw Yato pullingHiyori to the side of the Great Hall during the Christmas feast that Friday, the day before students could go home. His hands planted on the table as he watched the two talking, silently rooting for Yato whilst Suzuha looked on in good willed amusement.

Yato had finally gotten the courage to ask Hiyori to the ball, talking lowly and trying to be as charming as he could, but now his chances were being thwarted by a bunch of butterfly-conjuring witches and their ridiculous peaked caps.

“I was just wondering -,” Yato started before a cacophony of Christmas crackers drowned out the rest of his question, followed by the delighted screams as the girls plucked out paper hats and bad jokes from the messy table.

Hiyori smiled, asking Yato to repeat himself.

Yato swallowed hard. “Will you go -,”

A shriek of laughter erupted in his ear as first year students pushed past them and ran to and fro despite the Prefects trying to calm them.

Yato gritted his teeth. The laughter went on longer than he could bear, and Hiyori was right in front of him waiting for him to spit out the stupid question he had been trying to ask for weeks.

“WILL YOU GO TO THE BALL WITH ME?”

It was at this moment that the laughter cut off, leaving Yato’s shout to echo in the Great Hall and every head to turn to him and Hiyori.

Yato brought his fist to his mouth, trying to stop the words that had already escaped. Hiyori opened her mouth and shut it again, eyes wide and cheeks growing red

Yato’s horror was evident as he waited for her answer. If he was rejected in front of everyone, he would never live it down.

The eyes of the entire hall were on her and Yato, waiting with breath as bated as Yato’s for Hiyori’s answer.

Hiyori abruptly grabbed his arm, towing him out of the hall with such speed that Yato nearly tripped over his own feet to keep up. The excited chatter and whoops of their spectators faded as Hiyori pulled him down the corridor and into an empty classroom and shut the door.

Keeping her back to Yato, she rested her hands and forehead lightly against the door.

“Hiyori, I –,”

Whatever Yato was going to say quickly died on his lips. He had no excuse for putting her on the spot like that. Could he have waited for a more private moment to ask? Yes. Did he? No.

He fidgeted, the silence deafening as Hiyori raised her head and turned it slightly.

“Did you mean it?” she asked quietly.

Yato stared at her, taken aback by the question and the calmness in her voice. She turned around fully to face him, eyeing him levelly.

“Did you?”

“Y-yes,” Yato managed to reply. A thought quickly crossed his mind: This is my chance.

Pulling himself up taller he strode across the room, not breaking eye contact with Hiyori. He stopped in front of her, battling down the nervousness which was threatening to choke his words.

Yato’s hand crept out to catch hers, their fingertips interlacing gently. His eyes were focused; raw and honest as he looked at Hiyori whose own had widen at the bold gesture.

“Hiyori,” he said softly, prepared for whatever answer he would receive, “Will you go to the ball with me?”

His sincere gaze and the gentleness of the question would’ve melted even the coldest of hearts. Hiyori, who’s own was fluttering rapidly against her chest, looked down bashfully, a delighted grin creeping onto her face. Compressing the smile, she looked back up.

Yato’s eyes showed a hint of worry as the silence dragged out, but Hiyori’s sparkling eyes betrayed her answer as Yato’s tormented expression dissolved into an elated grin.

“I’d love to.”

[libidomechanica]

Untitled Composition # 6024

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[eurotraveltales-blog]

Day 2: Madrid

Today was much more eventful than yesterday, and it was also cooler out, which was perfect because we spent all day outside.

Apriet wants me to start by saying that the palace we walked by yesterday continually disappointed us when we tried to revisit it today. More on this later.

The morning started off a little rough. I couldn’t fall asleep at all between 3:30 and 6:00 because that time is equivalent to early evening on the west coast, which is when I am the most awake. FYI - every country we’re going to visit on this trip is 9 hours ahead of PST except for Greece, which is 10 hours ahead. Anyway, I finally fell asleep around 6:00 but my alarm went off at 9:00 because we had wanted to get up and see the changing of the guards at the palace, which happens at 11:00. Instead of actually getting up and getting ready though, I started researching to get as much information as I could about the Eurail pass, since that was a pretty pressing issue. We’re supposed to be leaving Madrid for Barcelona in 2 days, so we needed to pull something together real fast. I found out that buying the tickets online was still a better option than buying them in person at Chamartin station because Eurail was having a summer sale promotion and all passes were 37% off. In addition, buying the passes in person in Chamartin ran the risk of being 20% more expensive than the standard non-sale price, and I also read that there was only a limited selection of passes available at physical Eurail aid stations as opposed to the full selection online.

To ship the passes to Spain would take 4 business days, so at the latest, it would arrive on the 23rd, which is the day we’re supposed to leave Barcelona for Lyon, France. We were pushing it, but it was our best bet. We decided we just wouldn’t leave Barcelona until the passes arrived, since there was guaranteed delivery either on or by the 23rd. The other frustrating thing was that the earliest option for the activation date of our passes was the 24th, which means that not only are we not able to use the pass to get to Barcelona, but we also can’t use the pass to get to Lyon. We’ll have to bite the bullet and purchase point-to-point tickets for those two trips. But at least we’ll have the pass for the rest of the travel days between cities/countries! We just have to hope that the point-to-point tickets aren’t exorbitantly priced. Also in terms of transportation, we still have to figure out the ferry from Santorini to Athens, which will be the last leg of our trip, since we are flying back to the US out of Athens. Sigh... what even is a vacation. Work never ends, no?

After calling the hostel in Barcelona to confirm that we can have packages shipped there and to confirm the address, we scrambled to buy our passes to ensure they would arrive in Barcelona before we leave. Needless to say, we not only missed the free breakfast provided by the hostel (now we know it closes at 10:00!), but we also missed the changing of the guards at the palace. Perhaps tomorrow?

Enough about transportation woes! We still had a good day, and I was glad we didn’t have to find a way to Chamartin anymore, since that would’ve taken up a healthy portion of the afternoon. We set our sights on the Basilica de San Miguel, a large Catholic church built in 1745. On the way there, we stopped in a market called Dia, and it had a lot of Spanish-specific snacks, and it even had personal hygiene products, so we browsed for a little while. Apriet bought sunscreen and deodorant, and I kind of wanted some fruit or a Spanish-specific snack, but nothing was really striking my fancy. The cathedral was definitely the oldest building I had ever set foot in. It was open to visitors, and as you’ll see in the pictures to follow - very, very historic and full of Catholic symbols, figures, paintings, and statues. The architecture and stained glass windows were astounding to see in person. Pictures don’t even capture the spectacular beauty of the place.

After leaving the cathedral, we walked around for a good bit trying to find a quick bite to eat. We were both pretty hungry at this point, having missed breakfast. We stumbled upon a little café called Café y Te, and the waitress only spoke Spanish so it was a little intimidating, but we got through it with only the occasional awkward moment - in other words, a day in the life. I had a Spanish omelette, and Apriet had a chicken flatbread sandwich. The Spanish omelette was similar to what Americans would consider a quiche, only denser. There was potato mixed in with the egg. It was pretty tasty! Also included in the meal was toast with freshly pureed tomatoes, and bread with Iberian ham. Iberian ham is sharp and flavorful, but a little tough to rip apart and chew. The tomatoes, much like the eggs from Sobrino de Botin yesterday, tasted significantly more flavorful and fresh compared to American tomatoes. I don’t know what it is - do Europeans just grow food better? Or maybe they prepare it differently. Or all of the above. The meal also came with both freshly squeezed orange juice and a cup of espresso, both of which I downed like there was no tomorrow. The juice came straight out of an orange, and even THAT was better than freshly-squeezed orange juice from America, further solidifying my theory that Europeans are just plain better at growing food than are Americans. The espresso was fantastic, and very much needed, given my aforementioned lack of sleep.

Ah, yes. Now we begin the long-awaited palace story.

We both felt much better after the meal, and made our way down to The Royal Palace, or Palacio Real. The line to tour the palace was about a mile long, so we just walked around the courtyard taking pictures, deciding to return later. There was a lookout area carved out of a high fence that allowed you to see out into the Spanish countryside. Let me also mention now that there was a sign by the visitor entrance of the palace that gave information about visitation hours, days, months, etc. and admission prices. At first, we thought it said the palace would be open free of charge from 16:00 to 18:00 on Monday to Thursday, so we decided to explore the Sabatini gardens, which are the palace gardens, until it was time to return for the free tour.

The gardens were fantastic. The weather was perfect - warm and sunny with a crisp breeze. There was an accordionist playing Pachabel’s Canon and Khodorkovsky’s Por Ti VoLare, which turns out to be a very popular song among European street performers. There were fountains, neatly trimmed shrubs, and hibiscus plants all over the garden. The garden air was filled with the scent of the hibiscus flowers carried by the breeze, and it was a smell I wanted to capture forever. Maybe one day that’ll be a thing. We continued walking through the gardens, and when some British dude came up and asked if he could serenade us, we sorta ran away and found a bench to nap on. It was a great bench, because it was half in the shade (my preference) and half in the sun (Apriet’s preference). At 15:30, we made our way back to the palace for the free tour, only to find out that the sign actually said that it was only free from 16:00 to 18:00 from October to March, and that for April to September, it was free from 18:00 to 20:00. Since we were there anyway though, we decided to just try to pay a reduced student-under-25 fare (5 euros vs. the standard 10 euros) to get in. Neither of us had our college IDs, but we figured they wouldn’t ask. They did. We had even gone through palace security and everything, but we ended up just leaving when we found out we couldn’t get in.

Next up, El Retiro Parque - hands down my favorite part of the day. This park is huuuuge, and it was all the way on the other side of Madrid, so we definitely got our exercise today - we ended up walking a total of 12.5 miles in total today. We also passed by a bunch of little tiendas (shops) on the way to the park. One of the first things I saw in the park was a water spigot, which was a pretty big deal because my water bottle was running low, and drinking fountains are not really a thing in Spain, let alone hydration stations. If you want water, you have to buy a bottle, and that’s no fun. I try to avoid drinking tap water, especially since Apriet had tried the tap water at the hostel and said it tasted a little chlorine-y so I was thrilled to discover the spigot water tasted perfectly fine. It was funny though because you had to slam on the button with the palm of your hand to make the water come out, as opposed to just pushing down on it. A very sweet older gentleman showed me the trick after I had finished awkwardly pressing down on the button with unnecessary force. After that, it was kind of funny to watch other people struggle with the same issue. We found a nice shady spot in the park and sat for a bit, then I decided to explore the park a little while Apriet laid down and tried to take a nap. She didn’t get very far because some random dude came up and tried to talk to her, and plus there were ants all over the ground. Conversely, I had a wonderful time walking through the park - there were trees, flowers, and birds everywhere, and a million different intersecting paths to choose from. The paths were covered in a thin layer of fine white sand/dirt, and the softness that met my feet with each step made for an extremely relaxing walk. I also came upon a little creek with a small waterfall, a fenced off area with a soccer field and tennis courts, and a small black cat even graced me with her presence. After meeting back up with Apriet, we decided to head back to the other side of the city, but not before stopping at one of the tiendas and purchasing a couple of scarves.

It was about 19:00 by the time we got back to the other side of the city, and since we were already near, we decided to give the palace another try, since we were certain we had read the sign correctly this time. Wrong. There was a sentence saying that the doors would close an hour before closing time, which was at 20:00. Demonstrates the importance of reading ALL the text on a sign, I suppose. But at the same time, signs like that are made to throw people off. Why not just say that they’re open from 18:00 to 19:00 if they’re essentially closed to additional visitors after 19:00?

Discouraged, we sat down near an accordionist and listened to him play his very limited repertoire, by which I mean he played the same song five times in a row. We people-watched until we couldn’t handle hearing the song one more time, and made our way to dinner at a restaurant/bar called el minibar. We ordered a couple of tapas - croquetas and some kind of goat cheese thing that turned out to be VERY good with bread. The croquetas were also hella delicious.

Like yesterday, we called it after dinner and returned to the hostels like the homebodies we are. Now hopefully I can sleep a little better than last night. Tomorrow is our last full day in Madrid - we’ll see what it brings.

[fortune-fool02]

Child of Woe

Dio Brando x teenage son reader

Warnings: angst

This was mainly inspired by a Castlevania amv of Alucard. Please enjoy.

Their life had been peaceful in that manor of theirs. A father, a mother and their child living together as a family would be expected to. Though with the father being a creature of darkness and the woman a human, their love created what many would call an abomination of human and vampire.

But [Name] was nothing of a monster. He was as human appearing as his parents, the only features he inherited from his father were the fangs in his mouth, the cold touch of his skin and his father’s facial structure. With the addition of his own Stand that bared a resemblance to The World. Unlike his father, [Name] was capable of stepping into the sun’s light and be embrace by a loving warmth rather than a scorching agony that crumbled him to dust. 

This was the gift that his mother had bestowed upon him. The humanity of his mother’s blood allowed [Name] to be unharmed by the sun and for that, he was grateful for. And, as a family should have, they lived together without problems. Dio loved his wife and son. The wife loved her husband and son. And [Name] loved his father and mother. 

Sadly, this love was taken from them and used to severe the bonds that kept them together when members of the Church discovered them. Dio was out with his son when their manor had been broken into, the church members took his wife and dragged her to the centre of town. With the accusation of witchcraft and courting with the Devil, [Name]’s mother had been found guilt of such accusations and was burnt at the stake. 

[Name] was only the young age of eight when he lost his mother, and, in a way, he also lost his father that day. The news of his wife’s horrible fate broke something inside of Dio, the light that had once filled his body because of his love for his wife was snuffed out and a twisted anger took its place; plaguing his body with a parasitic rage that showed no mercy for anything. In one night of blind, heart-broken rage, Dio had slaughtered the entire town, not sparing a single soul -man, woman, child, animal, he didn’t care- he slaughtered them all. 

By dawn, the town streets were decorated with the corpses of people who lived here, the streets ran red with blood and [Name] knew at that moment, the man who had done this was not his father but a creature of rage and anger. 

[Name] had disappeared off the face of the world to is father, but he knew his son was not dead, he would have felt it if he had fallen such a fate. Yes, as the years had passed by, Dio’s anger towards all of the human race did not falter nor weaken. He and his family had done nothing wrong and he had everything taken from him. And so he saw it only fair that he took away everything they had. 

It was during the termination of one town that Dio had crossed a familiar face among the flames’ smoke. His son, [Name]. The years had taken their affect on the once small boy who was practically a mirror image of Dio in his teen years before he took the power of the Stone Mask; of course, the features of his mother were evident more than ever now. 

In [Name]’s hand was something he never believed he would hold; a blade. In the years he was gone, [Name] had grieve in his own way and learnt to not let his own anger consume him as it had his father. His mother would not wish for that nor would she wish for Dio to unleash such carnage upon those who were innocent. The members of the Church who had taken his mother’s life were long dead, all of the lives that have died by Dio’s hand were innocent.

Much to how it pained [Name], he knew what he had to do. He had to stop his father. 

The battle was far from humane, as neither of the vampires were willing to back down. In Dio’s eyes, his son had been tainted by the humans and so he had to be stopped; in the name of his deceased wife, Dio would wipe out every single human on this Earth for the pain they had endured. This pain and rage blinded his father and [Name] wanted nothing more than to rip the veil from his eyes and let him see that he did not need to commit genocide for his mother. But that was impossible as the veil was branded into his father’s eyes by how they glowed with rage. 

Dio grabbed his son by the back of his jacket and launched him towards the manor, breaking through one of the many windows and leaping in after him. Blood trickled down [Name]’s face, his efforts to stand back up were pointless as his father slammed his foot into [Name]’s knee, shattering the bone like glass and then sending him flying through a stone wall. 

Dio took one step into the room and froze, a deer in the headlights as his eyes scanned the room. A room he has not stepped foot in many years, as it caused far too much pain for him to but now here he stood, in the centre of the room and open to the attacks it inflicted upon him. 

“It’s... your room.” All the memories, all the images, everything came crashing into Dio as he looked around; each memory as vivid as the day it happened. When [Name] took his first steps in this very room, where he would read to his son at night to calm him and soothe his frightened mind when awoken from a nightmare. All of it. [Name]’s young voice echoing around him as he watched the phantoms of those memories wander by. 

What has he done? Dio looked away from the image of his young child to the young man who laid slumped against the wall, blood staining his clothing and skin. Even [Name] looked as if he had been struck by the memories. How could it have come to this? It all seemed.... unbelievable. The peaceful happy life he had of his childhood was nothing but a distant life now, stained with blood and tears. The echo of his mother’s soft voice whispered in his head. 

An almost pained gasp was heard from his father, his clawed hand curled towards his chest where his heart would be; the flaring rage in his eyes fading away, an empty void of grieve and guilt. The veil had been torn and his father could see clearly again. His head lowered, eyes shadows as his shoulders slumped. 

“I’m... I’m killing my boy.” The pain in his father’s voice was something [Name] has not heard in many years, ever since they learned the fate of his mother. And even then, it was mixed with raw anger. This pain... it was pure. No anger. No bitterness. Just soul-crushing pain that could crumble anyone to their knees. 

“[Mother’s Name], I’m killing our boy...” Dio turned his gaze to a painting that hung by the side. The three of them, happy together. [Name] rose to his feet, grabbing hold of his blade and limping over to his father, stopping in front of him. 

For the first time in a long time, Dio looked... defeated. Tired, pained and defeated. The three things [Name] never believed his father could be. Dio looked down at his hands, a lost expression on his face as if he had lost his way. 

“Your greatest gift to me... and I’m killing him.” He rose his head and locked eyes with his son, sorrow laced tears pricking them. “I must already be dead.” 

[Name] blinked, his own [Eye colour] eyes damp with tears. After all the pain and suffering they were forced to endure, this was how it ended. What once bonded them together had torn them apart and now the stitch was too far to be fixed. 

Dio lowered his head, aware of the blade in his son’s hand. He accepted this fate for the guilt of harming his son was too much for him. He had broken the promise he swore to both his wife and his son that he would protect [Name] with all the power he had, and that was something he could not live with. With a heavy heart, [Name] rose the blade, piercing it through his father’s chest. 

Blood spilled from Dio’s mouth, trickling down the metal and down [Name]’s arm. “...son.” the word left his lips with the same gentleness he used to soothe [Name] when he was a child. Biting back a sob, [Name] drove the blade further into Dio’s chest, wanting to give his father a painless end. 

“Father...” With one more push, the blade reached its target and Dio gasped in pain. His body cracking like pottery before crumbling into dust, leaving his clothing as the only evidence he was there. 

Silence screamed around the halls of the manor as [Name] stood there for a moment, looking at where his father once stood before the blade fell from his grip, clacking to the floor with a loud thud. Tears trickled down the [Hair colour] male’s face as he fell to his knees, his body worn and exhausted from the battle and the pain of the memories. 

He could only pray to whatever God there was that his father was reunited with his mother. Somewhere where they could be happy again. 

Just like they used to be...