#and grave as in “serious and somber” is just... way too vague

[pangolinheart]

FFXIVWrite 2023 DAY 21 - GRAVE

Tesleen's death was difficult for everyone at the Inn at Journey's Head, and it was especially difficult for Alisaie. Despite feeling shaken herself, Rhiki takes it upon herself to do something for both of her friends.

(I can't take any credit for this one! It was a suggestion by several people in the FFXIV OC Swap Discord channel! I really appreciate all of the help!)

Rating: Teen Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort Characters: Alisaie Leveilleur, Warrior of Light (Z'rhiki Irhi) Word Count: 2,124 Content Warnings: Mentions of character death, mentions of body horror

Z’rhiki’s face was damp. It was damp with sweat, from the perpetual heat of the day as Mord Souq’s unforgiving, ever-present sun loomed overhead; with condensation, rising out of the cauldron as steam and clinging to her face as she hovered over it; and with tears, still slipping down her cheeks. Frustrated, she groped blindly beside her for the dishrag. Finally catching it in her fingers after a few probing attempts, she used it for what felt like the twentieth time to violently scrub the moisture from her face until her skin burned from the friction. Sniffling, she discarded the scrap of cloth once more and leaned back over the pot to check its contents. Good color, good aroma, good consistency. After another similarly disorganized scrabble for her ladle, she dipped it into the stew and brought it back up to taste. She hoped the saltiness came from the added ingredients and wasn't just the residual taste of her own tears, but if it did, it was perfect. She carefully removed it from the cookfire and began the process of cleaning up her culinarian accoutrements. She focused on breathing deeply and allowed the methodical motions of wiping and re-packing her items, then of portioning out the stew, to calm her so that she could keep her composure upon returning to the Inn.

With her supplies stored, the waste discarded, and the stew in thermoses lining her satchel, there was nothing to do but begin the short trek back.

It took her a few minutes to locate Alisaie after reaching the camp and setting aside her gear. She found her off to the side, in the shade of one of the massive stone crags that sheltered the camp. She was sitting with her knees hugged loosely to her chest, staring plaintively at the sandy ground in front of her but somehow giving the impression that she was looking at something much further away. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and Rhiki could see the salty trails of drying tears. She was sure her own face looked not much better, skin stinging and irritated from both the blazing sun and her incessant rubbing. Alisaie was no longer crying (and might deny that she ever had been, despite the obvious evidence), but the distant stare wasn’t much of an improvement.

Rhiki crouched down beside her. She reached out and gently touched the girl’s shoulder, causing Alisaie to at last tear her eyes away from the sand and look up at her.

“How are you holding up?” Rhiki asked softly.

Alisaie must have suddenly remembered the tearstains on her face because she reached up to wipe them away with one of her sleeves. “I’m… I’m alright." She inhaled shakily. "I checked on the patients, I helped gather and wash linens, I changed sheets and bandages, I sorted the larder, I carried supplies, I chased off some scissorjaws – I’ve done everything there is to do!” Cracks were forming in her voice as she spoke, “And it’s still not enough! Not even close! How can it ever be, when…”

Rhiki nodded, understanding. The grief was always easier when there was something to do. It was always there, lurking in the periphery, but at least if you were busy you could keep it at a distance. When there was nothing left to do, though, it would catch right back up to you. Alisaie had been in a frenzy, doing chores and running errands, ever since they had arrived back at the Inn at Journey’s Head to deliver the news of what had ultimately become of Tesleen – that her soul had been set free, and that the eater that consumed her would no longer tarnish her memory. It was partly to keep busy, Rhiki knew; focusing on the ways she could help so that she didn’t have to think about all the ways she couldn’t. But she suspected it was also Alisaie’s way of making up for Tesleen’s absence. Tesleen had always been hard at work around the Inn, performing whatever tasks were asked of her with a smile. Neither of them could replicate the glow her presence brought to the camp, but perhaps they could lighten the workload, at least for a time.

They couldn’t stay forever, though, and Rhiki had known that, at her frenetic pace, Alisaie would sooner or later run out of duties to perform. In anticipation of that, she had assigned herself a duty. It was small, but she hoped that it might ease Alisaie’s heart a bit. Her friend cared so much, and hurt all the more for it. But she never let the hurt stop her from caring. She deserved to have someone care for her every once in a while.

“C’mon,” She said, giving Alisaie’s shoulder a pat. “I’ve got something to show you.”

“Can it wait? I’m not really in the mood.” Rhiki could understand that. She was exhausted; they both were. She was weary and heartsick and fraying at the edges. Which was why it couldn’t wait.

That, and the stew would get cold.

Rhiki shook her head. “No, it can’t. But it won’t take long, I promise.”

Alisaie regarded her warily, but seemed to recognize the earnestness in Rhiki’s voice and in her eyes, and sighed. “Alright, then. What is it you have to show me?”

Rhiki stood and extended a hand to Alisaie, helping her to her feet. She led her by that hand out of the encampment and around the Inn’s outer edge. The sun still raged overhead, the heat making the air around them shimmer and warp. Even with the loosely-packed sand slowing their progress, though, it was not a long walk.

Soon, they reached a peaceful stretch of sand from which one could clearly see the standing stones that formed the walls of the Inn. Rhiki slowed, then stopped, and Alisaie stopped with her. She released Alisaie’s hand, and looked at the girl as the girl looked at her meager creation.

“Rhiki, what have you…” Alisaie trailed off. Rhiki was immediately self-conscious about the jagged, flat-faced stone she had salvaged from one of the nearby Nabaath ruins. Oh gods. This had been a foolish idea, she thought. She had totally overstepped, and hadn't even done a very good job. Why had she ever thought she should show this to anyone, let alone Alisaie?

It was just a piece of crumbling wall, but it was the nicest piece she could find, with one of its surfaces still smooth enough to carve on. She had spent hours trying to chisel a message into it, which had left her pouring sweat, with cracked palms and a sharp ache in her back. She had made her very best effort but, not having the proper tools for engraving stone on hand, her inscription had ended up rather crude, with its letters inconsistently sized and spaced. Though it was hardly a masterpiece, she was happy it was at least legible. Alisaie confirmed this when she said:

“This is for Tesleen, isn’t it?”

Her eyes followed the path of the chisel across the stone’s face.

TESLEEN

WE ALL DESERVE HAPPINESS, WHEREVER WE CAN FIND IT

Rhiki nodded reluctantly. It was for Tesleen, the kind and caring soul who had made them stew on Rhiki’s first night in Ahm Arang. Who had brought comfort to so many in the last days, even the last moments of their lives. Who opened her heart to the patients of the Inn with the full knowledge that at the end of their stay she would have to help them embark on the next leg of their journey. Who would see them off with a smile and the taste of their favorite food.

It was for Tesleen, but it was also for Alisaie. Her dear friend. The girl who strove with all of her might to make a difference, even a small one. The girl who tried, and tried, and tried, and kept trying when others lost hope – because even if it was hopeless, it was still better to try. The girl who cared so much it hurt. The girl who had grabbed her hands in front of the Aftcastle in Limsa Lominsa and begged Rhiki not to leave her alone.

They both deserved so much better than a chipped hunk of stone with a sloppily carved message in the middle of the godsforsaken desert. They deserved better than anything she would ever be able to give them. But at least she could give them this, what little it was.

“I-I know it’s not very good! I tried really hard, but you know my handwriting is terrible, even on parchment! I know that she should have something nicer – and maybe one day, when we fix all of this, we can make something better!” She could feel her words start to catch in her throat. “I know it’s not a proper grave, but one of the other carers - Willfort, I think – said that she cared about this sort of thing – about giving people the chance to say their goodbyes. So I just thought….”

She could feel the hot tears starting to form under her eyes. Alisaie had her face turned away, towards the stone, but suddenly Rhiki saw her shoulders begin to shake. She grabbed Rhiki’s hand again and squeezed. Her long braid jerked back and forth as she shook her head fervently. “No, no it’s not- I just- I…” Alisaie took a deep breath and tried again, this time looking into Rhiki’s eyes, tears already sliding from the corners of her own, “I think she would like it.”

Rhiki grabbed Alisaie and pulled her into a firm hug, feeling her shudder as she tried and failed to contain a sob. She held her there, and after a moment Alisaie returned the hug. She buried her face against Rhiki to hide tears that now fell freely, and Rhiki reached up with one hand to stroke her hair soothingly, though she had to sniff to force back her own weeping. She wasn’t sure how long they stood there, only that she didn’t let go until Alisaie finally stilled, and eventually pulled away on her own. She looked like she was about to say something, but Rhiki spoke first.

“Here, I- It’s not just the stone. There’s something else.” She dropped her hands from where they had come to rest on Alisaie’s shoulders to open the flap of her satchel and pull out one of the metal thermoses she had stored there. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she carefully unscrewed the lid and placed the open container at the base of Tesleen’s memorial.

Alisaie was sniffling so much Rhiki doubted she could really smell anything, but she had obviously gotten a glimpse of the contents, because she almost laughed.

“Is that… stew?!”

Rhiki nodded again. “Yeah.”

“Rhiki do you have any idea how hot it is out here in the sun?” Alisaie’s voice teetered between laughter and more crying.

“I know!” Rhiki said, “But… I don’t know what Tesleen’s favorite food was. And this was what the three of us ate together when I first arrived… though it is a lot cooler in the shade…” She shook her head. “It’s a bit late now but… that’s what they do here, right? Send people on their way with the taste of happier days?”

This time it was Alisaie’s turn to nod, and her eyes welled up again as though she was about to lapse back into sobs.

“I brought some for us, too,” Rhiki continued hastily, fishing the additional thermoses out of the bag. “So, you know, we could share it. But you’re right, it’s scorching out here, so maybe we should just take it back to-“

Alisaie seized the soup and wrested it from her grip before she could finish. “No! I- I mean, you made it for us to share, didn’t you? So, l-let’s have a little of it here, shall we?”

“Okay.” Rhiki relented and took up her own container. “I, uh, forgot to bring forks or spoons, so you’ll just kinda have to….” She mimed tipping the thermos up as if to drink from it, and Alisaie laughed, though still had to pause to sniff the mucus from her sinuses. She did as Rhiki had indicated and tipped some of the stew into her mouth.

“Is it good?” Rhiki asked before she had even had enough time to chew, and had to wait for a reply.

After swallowing, Alisaie glanced back at her. “It’s great,” she said, taking a deep, quivering breath. “It’s perfect. All of it. Thank you Rhiki. Really, Thank you.”

Rhiki smiled fondly at her “It’s the least I could do. For either of you.”

[chantillyxlacey]

Mystery March #1: Heal

My entry for prompt/day one of Mystery March. A few little tidbits from the Peppers’ first months with Lewis.

If you’ve been following me for awhile or my old Arthur blog, you’ll probably recognize the second vignette-- I’ve written that event before, but from Arthur’s POV instead of Mrs. Pepper’s!

Please enjoy :>

Belle was screaming in the living room. Not screams of terror or of pain-- the screams of someone who had recently decided that there was a kind of simple, primal joy to be found in just screaming sometimes, that ought to be tapped into as often as possible. Lucinda Pepper was used to it, if still looking forward to the day Belle grew tired of this particular diversion, but she was concerned that their new little guest would find it alarming.

 Sure enough, she found Lewis looking like a deer in the headlights where he sat on the couch, fighting a losing battle to keep perfectly still and avoid flinching as Belle hollered an aria almost directly into his ear and attempted to use him as a jungle gym. Lucinda swept in to rescue him-- or at least she moved as quickly as she could with the ponderous weight of her next little troublemaker slowing her down.

She plucked Belle from his shoulders and settled her in the crook of her arm with practiced ease. “You’ve got to be gentle with Lewis, my love,” she chided, as gently as she advised. “We want him to get better, and he can’t do that if you play so rough.” Belle patted both hands against Lucinda’s collarbone and said something in the private language of toddlers. “I think we can consider that an apology. You mustn't let her bully you like that,” Lucinda smiled down at Lewis. He blinked dolefully back up at her.

Lucinda sighed and carefully lowered herself to sit beside him, shifting Belle over the mountain of her belly to rest in her other arm. She pressed the back of her newly freed hand softly against the side of Lewis’ face, careful to avoid the plum colored bruise over his cheekbone. “You’re alright, hon? She didn’t hurt you?”

“Estoy bien,” Lewis murmured, almost too quiet to hear over the incomprehensible anecdote Belle was attempting to relay. Lucinda shifted to stroke his hair.

“¿Seguro?” she pressed, and sighed again, fondly, when he nodded with grave earnestness. “Please tell me if you’re hurting, okay Lewis?” she continued, still in Spanish. “Tell me if you need anything for pain or if there’s anything else I can do to help.” Lewis nodded again, as seriously as before, and thought for a moment.

 “Can you put on a video, please? Sailor Moon?” His voice was soft and halting.

 “I think I can do that for you,” Lucinda smiled, ruffling his hair. “In fact, I was just making lunch-- why don’t I finish that real quick and bring our food and Belle’s high chair in here, and we can all sit and watch together. How does that sound, my sweet?”

Lewis nodded again, silent and stoic as ever but, as Lucinda was pleased to note, far less somber.

Xxx

“Have you seen Lewis anywhere, mi amor?” Lucinda popped her head into the living room, where her husband was deliberately losing a wrestling match with a very loudly delighted Belle in the middle of the rug. 

“Not since--” Eun started, then yelped. “Ow! Belle, please, Appa is trying to talk-- Not since I got her up from her nap. He was in his room last I looked, but he might be out back. I told him it was such a nice day that he should go out and play if he wanted to.”

 “I checked the yard already,” Lucinda said, and felt a crease of worry fold into being between her brows.

“Have you tried out front? He might be hoping to spot that cat from yesterday again.”

“I’ll look,” she said. “And I’ll take him to the back. Even as careful as he always is I’d still rather he play away from the street.”

Sure enough, in front of the restaurant is where she found Lewis, but he wasn’t playing or searching for kittens-- he was sweeping. Or at least trying to. His hands were already healing up nicely, but they were still wrapped up fairly extensively in bandages, and holding the broom was clearly a struggle for him. He looked up at the sound of the bell over the door as she came through, his expression as guilty as if he’d been caught sneaking sweets rather than chores. Lucinda shook her head and folded her arms over her belly, torn between being touched, exasperated, and concerned.

“Lewis, your hands are never going to heal this way,” she said.

“Papa said-- he meant to sweep out front all morning, but he was so busy with Belle. I wanted to help.” He said it so earnestly that Lucinda couldn’t help her heart just about melting. Carefully, laboriously, she lowered herself to kneel beside him and match his height, patting his head in the way she’d come to realize he enjoyed.

“You are such a sweet boy, Lewis,” she said. “But right now all we need you to do is get well, alright mijo?” He nodded, his expression serious, but when she ruffled his hair he finally smiled-- tiny and timid, but less and less rare and always so charming.

The bell tingled again, and the next few moments Lucinda processed in snapshots: Belle’s tiny, beaming face as she slipped out of the door, Eun’s look of panic as he tripped over the threshold to land in a sprawl on the sidewalk, Lewis’ expression of quiet determination as he took off after Belle as fast as he could on his still injured leg while she and Eun struggled to help each other back to their feet. It wasn’t near fast enough, however, and she handily outsped him.

She didn’t make it far, however. She ran right into the arms of two children that Lucinda recognized vaguely from around town, who reached out and caught her in sync as though they’d practiced it.  They handed her back to Lewis, and when Lucinda had caught up to him the little girl in blue was already making gregarious introductions. To her surprise and delight, she spotted a small, shy smile on Lewis’ face.

Xxx

Lucinda was just tucking her hospital gown closed after giving Cayenne her very first meal when she caught the soft knock on the door. As soon as she gave the okay Eun slipped quietly inside, ushering a faintly teary eyed Lewis ahead of him.

Lewis had apparently been inconsolable for the babysitter who was still back at home watching over Belle while she slept. He’d been remarkably calm after her water broke and she’d told him to fetch Eun and tell him his baby sister was on the way, but the moment he’d heard them talk about taking her to the hospital he’d begun crying, terrified out of his mind with worry over Lucinda’s wellbeing and the baby’s. According to the sitter, he’d wept on and off from the moment they’d left until the moment Eun had returned to tell him that Lucinda and Cayenne were both perfectly fine and eager to see him.

Eun led Lewis to Lucinda’s bedside, and she was happy to note that the only unsteadiness in his steps seemed to come from nerves-- his limp was entirely gone. He twisted his small, newly unbandaged hands around and around each other as Eun pressed a kiss to her forehead, eyes locked on the wrinkled pink face and tiny fists poking out of the bundle of blankets in Lucinda’s arms.

“Can I hold her?” Lewis murmured, and looked shocked that he’d done it.

“Of course you can, mijo,” Lucinda smiled at him. “Come here and sit next to me.” Lewis shuffled his feet.

“Are you sure…?” he murmured. “I don’t want-- I don’t want to drop her…”

“I know, my love-- but your hands are all better now. You won’t drop her.” She shifted her grip to free one hand and pat a spot on the bed beside her. “But I’ll help you hold her up, if you’re worried.” Lewis took another moment to think, then nodded. Lucinda scooted herself over to give him more room while Eun helped him climb up and arranged his arms to receive Cayenne as Lucinda eased her into his hold.

Lewis and the baby goggled at one another-- him looking awestruck, her almost seeming to size him up with a remarkable amount of shrewdness for an infant.

“Hi,” Lewis whispered. Cayenne blinked at him. “I’m your big brother. I’m-- I’m going to be the best brother in the world, for you,” he said, still quietly but with absolute, devoted conviction. He glanced over at Lucinda. “Can I have this arm?” he asked, wiggling the elbow that held up Cayenne’s lower half. She slid her arm under her daughter’s legs to allow Lewis to free his hand.

Slowly, almost cautiously, he offered his pointer finger for Cayenne to expect. Equally slowly, but with more of an air of gravitas than of caution, Cayenne wrapped her minuscule hand around it, gripping tight. Lewis did something they’d never seen from him before:

He beamed.

Lewis was much more cheerful now in general, a far cry from the perpetually frightened and solemn boy they’d found on their doorstep all those months ago, especially now that he had his new friends Arthur and Vivi. But even though his smiles were more ready they were still always quite shy and reserved. Not now, however-- now his grin stretched nearly from ear to ear unrestrained, his eyes almost dizzyingly alight.

“The best in the world,” he murmured again. Lucinda didn’t doubt it for a moment.

[tazmuir]

Hello! I loved Gideon the Ninth so much!! and would like to draw fan art, would you mind sharing any helpful summaries of what each character looks like? or must us fans hunt through the book for every offhand line of description? (not that I'm not planning on rereading it anyway)

I have let myself drift back onto Tumblr after two weeks, am deeply affrighted and excited at the idea that anyone has drawn my kids (I had an AMA on Reddit and as said there, my editor every so often hollered into my inbox about amazing shit people were doing, but I was too busy complaining back to him that my face had gone numb and that I no longer slept, but instead the darkness of the grave claimed me for four to five hours each night). Thank you so much to anyone who has already done this. Many people on my team have yelled and yelled.

Back early on in the piece I made a document for him about what characters looked like in terms of basic ideas/outlines for copyediting, covers and sense purposes, and I’ve dug out that document and slapped it up here for general delectation. As a note: I imagine specific things when it comes to my characters (I am a Kiwi: I write Kiwis In Space as a default) but as I have nothing but joy in my heart for how anyone would want to draw these characters, feel free to glance over this, then toss it out the window. It would bring tears of beauty to my eyes if anyone was like “Yes, but when I was reading I imagined Naberius Tern as a huge monitor lizard,” because absolutely yes, Naberius Tern was just a huge monitor lizard, godspeed.

I had only described below the specific cavalier-necromancer pairs, so that’s what you’ll find below, sorry if anyone wanted Teacher.

SECOND HOUSE

The only ones who seemed even vaguely compos mentis were the Second House: as it turned out, they had been the ones to call Teacher to the access hatch, and now they sat ramrod-straight and resplendent in their Second-styled Cohort uniforms, all scarlet and white. They both affected the same tightly-braided hairstyle and the same amount of extremely gilt braid, and also the same serious-business expression, and they could be told apart by one having a rapier and one quite a lot of pips at her collar.

Captain Judith Deuteros and Lieutenant Marta Dyas are alike in posture, bearing and extremely crisp military uniform (think a cross between US Navy whites and the Regency navy). Unlike every single other necromancer on the cast, Judith never wears necromancer robes, but is dressed in the exact same way as Marta. Judith is somewhat less completely scrawny than other necromancers on the cast, though she should be less built than Marta is; Judith is imposing, solemn-faced and reflective, Marta is more keen-eyed and restless. I imagined both as Tongan.

THIRD HOUSE

[Coronabeth] was tall and regal, with some radiant, butterfly quality – her shirt was haphazardly tucked into her trousers, which were haphazardly tucked into her boots, but she was all topaz and shine and lustre. All necromancers affected robes in the same way cavaliers affected swords, but she hadn’t tucked her arms into hers, and it was a gauzy, gold-shot, transparent thing floating out around her like wings. There were about five rings on each hand and her earrings would’ve put chandeliers to shame, but she had an air of wild and innocent overdecoration, of having put on the prettiest things in her jewellery box and then forgetting to take them off. Her buttery hair was stuck to her forehead with sweat, and she kept tangling a curl of it in one finger and artlessly letting it go.

The second twin was like someone had taken the first to pieces and put her back again without any genius. She wore a robe of the same cloth and colour, but wore it like a very beautiful shroud on a mummy. The cavalier had lots of hair, an aquiline face, and a self-satisfied little jacket.

Coronabeth is massive, taller even than Palamedes, larger-than-life – statuesque, very bright gold hair, golden/bright skin, violet eyes. Ianthe is the same height but gangly and washed out. Skin colour defined heavily in Corona’s case as golden/olive-hued brown/tanned; Ianthe similar, but less radiant/more pallid whatever the case. Both have long hair: Corona’s should be big and bouncy, Ianthe’s flat/sleek.Naberius is shorter than both, brown-haired (brown can be light, medium or dark, it’s not defined) and blue-brown hazel eyes. Also has lots of hair, cut short, but sense of pompadour/waves. I imagined all three as Pakeha/white.FOURTH HOUSEBoth Isaac and Jeannemary are around fourteen and have pretty much the same body shape still: Jeannemary is semi-muscular and has lots of corners, Isaac is skinnier. Both are natural brunettes, though Isaac has bleached hair (orange, fauxhawk) and Jeannemary is described as having curly hair. Both have multiple ear piercings and eyeliner and the visual is somewhat Glassons storecard punk. Both have dark brown eyes. Jeannemary has a somewhat dusty, fierce, monochromatic appearance (brown hair, brown skin), and I imagine her as Māori. Isaac I imagined as NZ Chinese.FIFTH HOUSEMagnus Quinn is a man in his middling to late thirties, with short, curly hair: he is a frank-faced, nice-looking guy of medium build with a face inclined to wholesome smiles. His outfits should be absolutely exceptionally well-tailored and not very flashy. Imagined him as Samoan. His wife Abigail is perpetually neat, wears round spectacles and has long, glossy dark brown hair – she is the least described of a cast not very specifically described. Much like Magnus, she should always be beautifully and tastefully dressed, though in her case she would affect trousers as well as a robe. Imagined her as Pakeha/white.

SIXTH HOUSECrouching in front of the hatch was a rangy, underfed young man: he was wrapped in a grey cloak and the light glinted on the spectacles slipping down his nose. Standing next to him holding a big wedge of broken sculpture and the flashlight was a tall, equally grey-wrappered figure with a scabbard outlined at her hip. She had hair of an indeterminate darkness, cut blunt at her chin.Up close, he was gaunt and ordinary-looking, except for the eyes. His spectacles were set with lenses so thick they could make spaceflight grade, and through these his eyes were a perfectly lambent grey: unflecked, unmurked, even and clear. He had the eyes of a very beautiful person, and the head of someone with resting bitch face.

Palamedes is seriously underfed with a bony, thin face and glasses: medium brown hair cut short and with no particular thought for aesthetics, dresses just in greys, eyes particularly lovely clear grey. Camilla has very dark cold-brown hair – chin-length, straight and with a fringe – dark eyes. She’s compact and has lots of lean muscle, and I imagine her of being Middle Eastern extraction, though due to Sixth House parameters both will be fairly mixed. They’re actually second cousins, so there ought to be a faint resemblance.

SEVENTH HOUSE[Dulcinea] was a slender young thing whose mouth was a brilliant red with blood: her dress was a frivolous concoction of seafoam green frills, and the blood on it seemed more somber against such a backdrop. Her skin seemed transparent – horribly transparent, with the veins at her hands and the sides of her temples a visible cluster of mauve branches and stems. Her eyes fluttered open: they were huge and blue, with velvety brown lashes.

Dulcinea is a girlish woman who looks extremely fragile and sickly, like a neurasthenic Victorian maiden. Eyes should be extremely blue. Hair is light brown in long curls; skin is pale. Pretty in a frivolous, invalid way. Gives the impression of being slight. Outfits should be gauzy and nightgownish. Imagined her as Pakeha/white.

The man who’d put the sword to her neck was uncomfortably buff. He had upsetting biceps. He looked like a collection of lemons in a sack. He didn’t look healthy; he was a dour, bulky young person, whose skin had something of the strange, translucent tinge that the girl’s had. He was waxen-looking in the sunlight […] He was dressed richly, but with clothes that looked as though they’d seen practical wear: a long cape of greyish-green, and a belted kilt and boots. There was a long, shining length of etched chain rolled up and over his arm, and a big one-handed sword hung at his hip.

Protesilaus is massive, buff, and also sort of sickly and indistinct-looking in his colouring – he is described as being made up mainly of muddy, ashen browns. Think Greek warrior, but with no vibrant colouring. Biggest on cast, even bigger than Colum Ash. Imagined him as mixed Pasifika.

EIGHTH HOUSEIt was a pair who were both boys – well – a boy and a man; one was a wan, knife-faced kid dressed in antiseptic whites and useless chainmail you could cut with a fork, it was so delicate. [Silas] was draped in it even down to a kilt, which was strange: necromancers didn’t normally wear that kind of armour, and he was definitely the necromancer. He had necromancer build. […] He gave the impression of being absolutely no fun at all. He was prim and ascetic-looking, and his companion – who was older, a fair bit older than Gideon herself – had the air of the perpetually disgruntled. He was rather more robust, nuggety, and dressed in chippy bleached leathers that looked as though they’d seen genuine use. One finger on his left hand was just a gross-looking stump, which she admired.

Silas is in his teens, has shoulder-length white hair in a braid and dark eyes. He has extremely pale skin, and coupled with the white robes and silver chainmail (all of which somewhat swamp him – he’s sort of slender and purse-mouthed) gives the impression of being arrestingly white all over. Pointy chin, oval face, disapproving expression, a little insubstantial. Colum, his older, larger nephew is much taller, broader and in his early thirties. He has medium brown hair in a short back’n’sides crop, dark eyes, and appears jaundiced in skin tone – he’s very weatherbeaten and tan-skinned, scarred, and though he’s dressed in the same colours he tends to contrast heavily with them and his leather armour is also beaten-up. He looks tatty and ill-used, expression is apathetic or forbidding; Silas always looks perfectly clean, crisp and white. Facially there should be a similarity. They’re both Pakeha, with Silas being significantly the palest person on-cast.

NINTH HOUSEThe light fell on [Harrow’s] painted grey face and black-daubed chin, and her short-cropped, dead-crow-coloured hair. […] She had such a peculiarly pointed little face, high-browed and tippy everywhere, and a slanted and vicious mouth.

Harrow is a scrawny teenage girl with black hair cut short (as befits someone in a monastery) and truly black eyes: she never appears except in black and white skull facepaint. She has a pointed, rather triangular face, not very long, a triangular heart rather than a triangular diamond or oval. She wears black robes and long-sleeved, long-trousered clothes – all black – with no skin showing: the main decoration on this is bones. She wears a corset of rib bones and could have any other bone decoration, which has been written of in the book as bone bangles and multiple bone stud piercings in the ears. She’s more femme-androgynous than outright butch; in Book 1 she’s a bit birdlike and free of specific masc or femme gender markers in terms of outfit or build. I imagined her as being mixed Māori.Gideon is true butch: tall of height – at least, taller than Harrow – extremely, shreddedly fit with the muscular arms of a swordswoman or boxer. She should have a strong-jawed, boyishly pretty face with a big douchebag grin. Cropped hair same as Harrow, except that hers as an oblate is more of an in-your-face mop (could be partly-shaved except that implies more care than Gideon possesses) and is intensely, vividly red.  I envision her as mixed Māori, darker-skinned than Harrow.  She also wears skull facepaint, though hers tends to be much less careful and baroque than Harrow’s. She often affects a pair of black aviator sunglasses. She wears the same black cloak as Harrow, without any decoration, and a plain black shirt and trousers underneath. Her eyes are an extremely vivid amber with more of a yellow/golden tint than a russet one.  

[philosophicalparadox]

I couldn't choose one ^_^; but for mephirin how about one of these?

3. “Am I dead?”

18. “Would you quit moving around?” “It’s not my fault we’re tied up together!”

57. “Wait a second.. are you jealous?”

86. “You’re getting crumbs all over my bed.”

111. “Is that a challenge?”

151. “Times up!”

191. “Don’t give me that look! You started it!”

204. “It’s midnight, what do you want?”

(I promise I used one of these, it's just at the end!) TW for talk of suicide, death, self harm(minor) and angst (with a little fluff at the end. But first you must suffer the cringe that is Mephisto + feelings)

....................

Rin sat down in front of Mephisto's mansion, letting the weight in his stomach anchor him to the concrete, even though his mind felt a million miles away.

"You do realize it's the middle of the night." A smooth voice chimed behind him. Rin had expected his company - in fact that was the very reason he was there, or so he thought.

Getting no reply to his passive statement, Mephisto came up on his flank, dressed in a dark purple velvet robe that was left largely open at the top, exposing his pale chest to the humid night air, his bare, clawed feet making not a single sound. It wasn't hot, but it wasn't cool either, not that Rin would have noticed anyway.

"I'm surprised you didn't ask why I'm here." Rin said softly after a long, wet pause.

"Did you want me to?" Rin felt his teeth clench. He didnt have the energy to play stupid games. But he also knew Mephisto was right. He really needed to stop expecting human responses from a cosmic demon entity. It wasn't good for his sanity.

"I want you to sit by me." He stated. If Mephisto wanted him to be forthcoming with his desires, so be it. Rin half expected a retort, but couldn't say he was all that disappointed when the older man obliged. He sat at arms length, predictably uncomfortable with intimacy in these situations. And Rin knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he knew why he was here anyhow.

"Nothing can live forever, Rin. I know that better than anyone."

"Except for you, maybe." Rin replied sarcastically. "And only because you choose to live through it all." Rin responded bitterly. His grimace turned to a body-wide tremble. "How? How do you watch people die again and again and just keep doing it?"

"Doing what, precisely?"

"Living."

"Hmm." Mephisto hummed as he thought, bringing a thin, sharp clawed finger to his jawline. "That is actually not a bad question." Rin turned a curious gaze to his elder, surprised how compliant he was being tonight. Usually the man was as rigid as iron and as slippery as smoke whenever it came to feely-stuff like this, not that such a vague statement was out of the ordinary for him.

"And why isn't it a bad question?" Rin parroted his typical sing songy voice at him as a jab, but they both knew there was no heart in it.

"That is a good question." Mephisto smiled leerily at Rin, who was so used to these kinds of interactions by now he was hardly fazed. "And is it one worth answering? Or are you too intimidated by me? By this?" The look that morphed onto Mephisto's face like a sculptor playing with clay was priceless.

"Excuse me?" He said incredulously.

"You're intimidated by touchy feely stuff, though I don't know why. Me being all fucked up and hurt right now creeps you out, I know it does." Mephisto pursed his lips into a hard line, and Rin knew he was spot on. He decided it felt good to torment the man a little and dug in deeper. "So if you're going to sit there and mock me because you're a coward who is allergic to feelings, then you can fuck right off."

"Coward?" Rin felt a tiny ripple of panic tear through his already heightened body, the tone Mephisto used indicating that that might not have been the best word to use. But it was too late to back out now.

"Yes, a coward." Rin swallowed, refusing to be fazed. "And if you want to prove me wrong you'll answer the damn question instead of beating around the bush. But you're too scared of feelings to do that," Rin sighed, suddenly overtaken with a sense of fatigue. "So I don't know why I try. Or what I came here for, anyway. Company? Comfort? Hah. Don't know where I got that idea from."

A long, pregnant pause ensued. Rin glanced up at Mephisto once or twice, expecting a sharp retort, and seen him ruminating on an apt reply. What he said next was not what Rin was expecting though.

"Is that a challenge?"

Rin met cautiously determined eyes and was a bit unsure of what to say. "Only if you plan on taking it, Mr. Tough Guy." Rin tried, and failed, to stop the little smile that graced his lips. "Or do you think you cant be that open with me?" Rin could tell from the apprehension that drifted across Mephisto's glowy irises like a tiny cloud dims the moon that he was right. This man was in the business of trusting no one with his secrets. Not even his best piece. Especially not his best piece.

"I'm not going to think less of you for feeling things. Quite the opposite if anything. Besides..." Rin cringed when the thought of his brother's freshly dug grave. "I could use the distraction from my own thoughts."

"So you've elected to pick through mine. How charming of you." Mephisto pinned his ears with a sarcastic grimace before returning to his thoughts, though his expresion was a touch softer.

"I am not unfamiliar with death, of that you can be sure - and I don't mean the entity either." Mephisto began. "I have died before. But as you know by now, death for demons is not quite the same. Indeed, neither is the death of Nephilim." Rin felt his heart throb achingly in his chest and fought the sudden, unbidden urge to cry. He was the last one left. All he had was Mephisto now.

"And suicide?" Rin asked boldly, unsure of where, even, the question rose from. "Are you familiar with that?"

"Yes, actually, I am. In a way." Mephisto's voice took on a somber tone (for him) and Rin had to resist the urge to ask if he was being serious or not. Mephisto looked to Rin's face and could read everything. "I am not immune to my own mind, unfortunately. Boredom, depression - these things are not beyond me. I have experienced them, in my own way. I admit I have trouble understanding why some humans end their lives, but not all of them."

"So..." Rin's mind was reeling trying to catch up. He wasn't precisely surprised, exactly - Mephisto could be very macabre when the situation allowed, but Rin didn't trust the integrity of his words just yet. "Have you ever tried to kill yourself?"

"Not intentionally, no. By which I mean that I have most certainly damaged myself and my body needlessly, but it was never with the exact intention of dying."

"So you've hurt yourself? On purpose?"

"Yes. Sometimes out of boredom. Sometimes for other reasons." The sudden, though subtle tension in Mephisto's voice told Rin that was as close to disclosing those reasons as he was going to get.

"I can understand that, I guess." Rin thought about it. He'd injured himself on purpose before, although it was out of curiosity more than self loathing. He couldn't say he hadn't considered it before while he felt really low, though.

"What happened to Yukio was not your fault."

The statement came out of left field and hit Rin like a train. He couldn't stop the tears from flowing now. "He did what he felt he had to do." Rin justified weakly. "He was getting old. His body was eating itself. I don't blame him or me for not letting him suffer." Rin's voice cracked. "I just wish I could have been there. Said goodbye. I know it didn't hurt, but..." Rin couldn't keep his composure. "There were better ways to do it. No one would have told him no. No one." Rin garbled through sobs.

"I tried to talk to him about that actually. He didn't want anyone else doing it for him. He wanted to be in control of his life to the very last second."

"I know. I know." Rin heaved a heavy sigh to try and calm down, but everything, every part of him was shaking and he just wanted to run away from the pain. To curl up and die because the last part of his world had gone to a better place and he desperately wanted to follow. He didn't want to be alone. Anything but alone.

A cold, spindly hand on the small of his back shocked him back into reality, and he realised he was clenching his jaw so hard it hurt.

"Don't drift away. It wont take you anywhere you want to go." Mephisto advised wisely. The, Rin wanted to call it sovereign, look in his eyes proved what he knew from experience. Don't drift away. Rin focused his mind on the surprisingly cold hand, not because of it's temperature but because of how lightly it touched him. Gentle might have been a part of gentleman, but he had never really known Samael to be either the former or the latter with any amount of honesty.

Rin got an idea then, and pounced on Mephisto before he was able to object, bowling him over lightly and straddling his chest. Confused and slightly concerned eyes met his own stern and jaded ones. He wasn't going to feel any better by sitting here feeling the hard concrete dig into his ass, that much was true.

"Then help me stay right here." Rin offered, his tail wiggling somewhat enticingly, Mephisto's face lighting up in realization.

"Is that a challenge?"

[kalbastion]

Of Witches And Demons {Chapter 1}

(Just trying something new. Might as well try my hand at writing to see how people like it here. This is more of a Devil May Cry fanfic with an OC instead of a reader. It’ll be a Vergil X OC, but Vergil will appear at a much later date.)

Everything had been quiet in the Resident District of Red Grave City. 

Well, as quiet as the city could ever be. Especially near a rather small shop in a not-so small building. Outside with glowing red neon lights labeled the shop as “Devil May Cry.” Sitting inside Of the building was a man named Dante, owner of said shop, reclining on the back legs of his chair, his feet on the desk, while in his hands was a magazine. 

The man was clearly bored, not having had a job in a fairly long time. So the only way that he could occupy his time was with his magazines. Not even the pool table interested him, or any of the books on the shelf in the back. After all, most of those books weren’t his, but instead one of his partners. So to him they were even more boring. The weapons mantled on the wall behind him weren’t interesting either. The only thing really worthwhile was the music playing from his jukebox, but he was beginning to think he needed to buy some new songs, too, as even they were becoming a bore. 

So for now, the magazine with the pretty ladies inside will have to do. As he was flipping the page he heard a knock on his door, only for it to swing open before he even said a word. Peeking up from behind his magazine was a familiar face. The man strolled in, greeting Dante as he was already suited for business, accompanied with a cigar in hand. Dante couldn’t help but smile, quickly placing his magazine down as he was practically begging for something better to do. As much as the man enjoyed being lazy and having free time, he’s been dying for something to do.

“Greetings, Dante,” exclaimed the man as he walked in rather quickly. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Morrison, my man!” Dante exclaimed back, his legs folding off of the desk as he sat on all legs of his chair, resting an arm forward on the desk. “You know, I was just about to call you to see if you had any jobs for me.”

“Yeah, right,” Morrison gave Dante a look, knowing just how the man worked. He gave his cigar a puff before pulling it away from his lips, smoking coming out along with his speech. “But, I do have a job for you. And I think you should really pay attention to this one.”

“Really, now?” Dante raised a brow, his grin not faltering as he stared up at the man before him.

“I stumbled upon this client on the streets,” Morrison explained rather quickly. “Was in the middle of a match with demons before coming up to me and asking about the place. They explained to me the job, and well, I really do think you should have a listen yourself…”

Dante couldn’t help but furrow his brow together. As straightforward as Morrison was, he also had a talent for being vague all the same. Dante put his hands out in a sign of a shrug. After all, it’s been a while since he’s had a decent job, and from how Morrison was talking, it might just be worth his while.

“Alright,” Dante said before leaning forwards again, “Who’s this client, then?”

Morrison stepped to the side, silently gesturing his hand out towards the door. 

Needless to say, Dante’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Standing in the doorway was a very unfamiliar woman. She was leaning her back against the door, arms crossed, as she had her own brow quirked at Dante. A sly smile was on her dark red lips, her head tilted down as she was looking back at Dante through her own eyelashes. She practically radiated a sort of promiscuous aura, seeming ready to play in any and all ways. Immediately noticing her attire, the white haired man couldn’t help but wonder what her occupation was. She wore a rather tight fitting black suit, the top of it seeming to have drapes from her shoulders that had a golden trim at the ends. 

Dante couldn’t help but notice the shine of a red jewel on her chest, right above the slit open window of her chest. It was a large contrast to the dark clothing that she wore, which seemed to grab his attention. Dante genuinely couldn’t help but wonder if this woman was from the strip joint near his place, but he’s never seen this woman before, and a jewel like that on her chest seemed to suggest otherwise.

“Meet your client,” Morrison spoke up, snapping Dante’s attention away from the woman’s figure.

“You may call me Cecelia,” spoke the woman, finally pushing herself away from the door as she walked forwards, accompanied by the clicking of the heels she wore. “I’ve heard much about you, legendary demon hunter, Dante.”

“Oh really now?” Dante couldn’t help but lean towards her over his desk, his own smirk gracing his lips. “Are you sure you’re here for a job, or for a night of pleasure?”

The woman, Cecelia, huffed out a laugh as she glanced to the side. She gazed around the place as she spoke. “My apologies, but I’m not exactly here for pleasantries. I have more pressing matters, and I believe you’re the man to help me with it.”

“And what’s that?” Dante asked with a quirk of his brow, resting his chin against his left hand.

“You see, my circumstances are rather… strange,” Cecelia said as she brushed back her long raven hair, which Dante couldn’t help but let his eyes follow as it flowed through her hands and off of her shoulders. “But it shouldn't be a problem for you. To make a looong story short, there are demons being sent after me by a rather secret, but not exactly unknown, organization called “The Charmer Sanction.” Ever heard of it before?”

Dante’s smile finally faltered, the man leaning back in his seat as he kept a hand on his desk. He’s heard of this organization before. Hell, they’ve interfered in small jobs he’s had in the past. Needless to say, not every encounter he’s had with them was pleasant. So hearing about this woman before him being chased by this organization with demons definitely peaked his confusion.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of it,” Dante finally answered her question. “They've interrupted plenty of my jobs in the past. I still got my pay, but I can’t say we’re on “friendly” terms, to be exact.”

“Perfect!” Sang the woman as she firmly placed her hands on her hips. “Neither am I. Now, here’s where things get tricky.” The smile she had on before fell as her tone turned serious. “You see, I don’t exactly know why they’re after me. But the demons they keep sending after me keep getting harder, and harder to battle. I can hardly walk around in the cities anymore with those vermin on my tail! Not to mention that they don’t really care for the casualties in their wake.”

“Hold it right there,” Dante raised a hand up to her to signal for her to pause her story. “So, you’re being chased by demons sent by an organization full of magical beings, and you’ve got no idea why that is?” He couldn’t hold in a rather dry bark of laughter. “Haha! I feel like I’ve read this in a comic somewhere.”

“She’s being serious, Dante,” Morrison spoke up, flicking the ashes off of his cigar into an ashtray on Dante’s desk. “I was walking down the street and saw her fighting those things. She saved my life before I could be cut down by one of those bastards. Those demons don’t care about who’s around, and I was almost one of those casualties…”

“I don’t wish to be the fault of lives ending just because I decided to walk the streets,” Cecelia said, her voice rather somber unlike the aura she had been carrying before. “I need help, whether I like it or not. It was mere coincidence that I saved your employer, but I’m rather glad I did.”

“And I thank you kindly for saving my life again, Miss Cecelia,” Morrison with a genuine tone of gratitude in his voice.

“So that’s why you brought her here,” Dante sighed as he gazed at Morrison from the corner of his eye. “Look, you seem like a sweet woman and all, but I’ve got no influence on this “Charmer Sanction.” I can’t exactly stop them from sending demons after you.”

“No, perhaps not,” softly spoke Cecelia as a smirk curled upon her lips again. “But your aid would be very much appreciated. Think of it as more of an escort mission. I just need your help in killing demons, nothing more. After all the rumors that I’ve heard, you’re quite the man when fighting against demons…”

Dante had a smirk curled on his lips, but he couldn’t help but have a brow raised at her. He could see that she definitely was trying to rub up his ego, if not trying to borderline flirt with the man. It was rather hard for him to hold his tongue, remembering that Morrison was standing right next to him. But something just felt off about the woman before him. Something’s telling him that she’s not somebody to really be messed with.

“It’s good to know that my reputation precedes me,” Dante exclaimed as he pulled his legs back up into his chair, folding each ankle over the other. “But I got to wonder, what in the hell did you do to make such a powerful branch of power come after you.”

Cecelia sighed, her arms crossing again as she tilted her head to the floor. It was clear that she expected the question, but seemed to also be dreading it.

“That’s a bit of where the catch is,” Morrison spoke up for the lady as the cigar smoke left his nose. “You see, Miss Cecelia here has lost her memories, apparently. Says that she’s got no idea what she did, but all she really knows in her name.”

“You lost your memories?” Dante questioned, officially not sure how he feels about this job now. “How the hell did that happen?”

“What a funny question!” Cecelia said in jest, her voice dripping with a cheerful sound of sarcasm. “I would love to know myself, but you wouldn’t happen to know where my memories have gone, have you?”

“Alright, alright. I’ll admit, not my best question,” Dante said with his hands raised towards her as if to show surrender. “But how the hell am I supposed to help you when you don’t even have your own memories together?”

“That’s the thing,” Cecelia said as she moved her left hand as she spoke. “I wish I could say this was a recent incident, but I’ve lost my memories for almost five years now. During that time I was able to regain bits of it, but I’ve never been able to fully recover from my memory loss. All that I truly know is that I once was a part of The Charmer Sanction, but now they wish for my blood on their hands. As for why, I can’t say. The only thing I can make of it from my encounters with that is that I somehow broke their rules…”

Dante exhaled heavily, pulling his legs back off of his desk as he leaned away from the woman. “Yeah, uh, now that’s a bit of a problem. You see, I’ve seen what these guys do to “rule breakers,” and it ain’t pretty. No offense, sweetheart, but I don’t exactly want to be a part of that. I’m already on bad terms with them, and I don’t feel like having demons going after my head. I already have to deal with that.”

“Please! I promise that I’ll pay you a large sum of money!” Cecelia exclaimed, her hands hitting his desk as she leaned towards him. Her flirty demeanor was completely gone and replaced with desperation. “All that I ask is that you help me fend off these creatures so they don’t kill innocent civilians. I can only do so much with my powers, and even now I feel my powers waning from how much I’ve been fighting. I’ll pay in any way that you want me to. I just need your skill and your blade, that’s all I ask!”

Dante sighed again, now feeling rather annoyed by her insistence. The story he was being told felt a little far fetched, and it wouldn’t be the first time that somebody tried to use sob stories to get him into a job. There was also a bit of risk for him as well if he did accept this job. His eyes darted all over her expression to see just how genuine that whole story was.

Her blue eyes bored into his, her brows furrowed as she stared intensely at him. Not only was her desperation clear in her voice, but even her eyes conveyed the emotion. Now that he was looking at her, she did seem a bit wary. She was rather good at holding her composure, but even he could notice the slightest bouncing of her shoulders as her nose flared slightly from her heavy exhales. Dante couldn’t help but sigh, wondering how much he was going to regret this job.

“Tell me,” he said and he decided to humor her a bit, “what exactly is your plan here, and what are you trying to do?”

The woman became quiet for a moment. She recomposed herself and pushed off of his desk, standing up straighter as she gazed back at him. She took in a deep breath before speaking.

“I just wish to have my memories back,” Cecelia spoke quietly, but was loud enough for Dante to hear. “...To be truthful, I don’t wish to drag anybody into my burden. I want to figure out what I did to have The Charmer Sanction to be after me. I want to fix those wrongs, and… I don’t want to die before I recover what I lost… All that I ask is for an extra blade to help me along the way. I promise to pay you in any way you want afterwards. I just need help...”

Dante couldn’t help but pick up on the sincerity in her voice, seeing just how her shoulders were sagging as her hand was clutched against the open window of her chest. The smile was completely gone from Dante’s face as he stared at hers. She truly did seem desperate, and almost ashamed for even announcing her need for help. The white haired man sighed yet again, a small smirk returning on his face as he looked back up at her.

“Alright,” Dante grunted as he stood from his chair. “I was getting bored anyway. Tell me, just where do you plan on going?”

Cecelia seemed to be taken aback, not expecting him to finally say yes. Nonetheless, she finally spoke up. “...I was going to go to The Charmer Sanction’s city, Néma. I can only assume that my old home was there, so perhaps I can gain something from it.”

“Sounds good,” Dante said as he turned behind him, gripping his favored sword and strapping it to his back. “Morrison, I’ll be taking the job.”

“I knew you’d agree,” Morrison said with a bit of a chuckle. “Now, miss Cecelia, care to explain to my associate of how and where you can get to Néma city?”

“Of course,” Cecelia said as she recovered from her surprise. “Once we leave Red Grave City we—”

Before the mysterious woman could say another word, the sound of glass shattering rang in the air along with the door slamming open. Bursting into the Devil May Cry shop was dark, lanky demons as they seemed dead set on attacking what was inside. Their skin was a dark red, reminding Dante of flesh, as he picked up on the strange strands of what almost seemed like a black and whte collar wrapped around their necks.

Cecelia seemed to be still, her back still towards the mess as there seemed to be a smile on her face. Morrison exclaimed in shock and began gripping onto Dante’s desk, one hand clutching his hat while the other dropped his cigar so he could grab the desk.

“Not this shit again…!” Morrison exclaimed, already breaking into a nervous sweat.

Dante was in the middle of pulling out his sword, moving around his desk quickly. “Hey, princess, get out of the—”

BANG! BANG! BANG!

A distinct sound of gunshots cut Dante off, causing him to halt in his steps. Cecelia had pulled her hand behind her, her body still facing Dante’s desk, as she fired a gun right over her shoulder. How and where the gun came from, Dante had no idea, but he did notice that each shot hit right into the three targets that busted into his shop. 

Each demon fell and disappeared into a familiar glow of dust, only to which did Cecelia finally turn, but only to face Dante. He could now see the smirk on her face with narrowed eyes accompanying them. At first Dante assumed it was smugness, but only when he locked eyes with her did he realize that it radiated malice.

“Frankly, I’m not a fan of being so rudely interrupted,” Cecelia stated calmly to him. “And furthermore, I do not appreciate the nickname, “Princess.” You may call me Cecelia, or something along those lines, because I won’t hesitate to shoot you myself if you get upon my nerves.”

Dante couldn’t help but chuckle at her, feeling almost a mix between being impressed or feeling almost insulted by her words. Then again, with his luck with women, she probably wasn’t kidding. He’s had his full share of being shot at by women, he’ll say that much. He knew when to lay off.

“Alright then,” Dante said as he gazed at the disappearing bodies on his floor. “I thank you for responding so quickly to an attack on my shop. Frankly I’m not very happy about the broken windows and doors, but I can’t say that it’s the first time it’s happened. Honestly, I’m feeling more pumped to kick some demon ass!”

“I’m glad that we’re in agreement,” Cecelia said as she put her gun down. With a flick of her wrist the gun was enveloped into a bluish flame, disappeared right out of her hands and out of sight. “As I was saying, as soon as we exit Red Grave City we head east. After a bit of travel, we should easily get there within two to three days. But that all depends on how we travel, and how often the demons find us.”

“Sounds good,” Dante said and looked at the shaken broker, who was still clutching his desk in shock. “I’ll catch you around, Morrison. Think you can get a repairman for the windows and doors?”

“U-uh, yeah, sure,” Stuttered the man as he slowly began to collect himself, his eyes still on the placement of where the demons had been. “Just don’t expect me to sleep the night…”

“The only people I expect sleeping here are Trish and Lady, and even then that’s asking for too much,” Dante said as he began making his way to his broken door, Cecelia trailing right behind him. “By the way, Morrison, mind putting out that cigar? I’d rather not find out that my shop burned down while I was gone.”

“Ah, shit…!” Hissed Morrison as he began stopping out the cigar he had dropped.

Dante chuckled slightly as he exited his shop, Cecelia following right after him. They both started making their way down the streets, knowing that the nearest bus stop wasn’t exactly close to his working space. At first it was quiet between them, but not for long as Dante wasn’t one to really keep his mouth quiet.

“That’s a nice trick you did with that gun back there,” Dante said and he gazed down at the woman now beside him. “Tell me, something tells me you aren’t exactly as human as you look to be.”

Cecelia smirked in his direction, as if mirroring his expression, as she gazed at him with the slight tilt of her head. “How observant you are. But I’m sorry to say that I am, indeed, fully human. Being a part of The Charmer Sanction has a bit of a benefit of powers. I don’t precisely know just the full extent of my powers, but I know enough to have survived this long. Magic is quite handy, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Seems a bit suspicious to me,” Dante said as he eyed the woman strutting beside him. “Something tells me that there’s more to it than what you’re telling me.”

“What, do you expect every magician to tell their secrets?” Cecelia countered as she simply shrugged at him. “Sorry, but you’ll have to try harder to get the answer out of me. After all, I’ve got memory problems.”

“Uh-huh,” Dante eyed her as he nodded. “Playing hard to get, I see. Gotta say, I love that in a woman.”

Cecelia spun around, facing Dante as she walked backwards, one hand on her hip as her attention was on him. “Oh, I’m sure you do, Mr. Demon Slayer. I enjoy a good chase every now and then…”

With a brief wink at the taller man, the woman spun around again, facing forwards as they were nearing a bus stop sign. Dante couldn’t help but keep his eyes on the new companion next to him, watching how she strut as she seemed to hold an air of confidence. Or was it pride? Either way, even from their interactions he could tell she wasn’t like his other companions, Lady and Trish. 

Although sometimes the women would tease Dante a bit, they never tried to flirt with him. But Cecelia was a completely different story. Flirting just seemed to be in her nature, and it was obvious that she knew she had a charm over men like Dante. It really made the man wonder if she had been a sort of escort in the past, or some sort of job like that. Perhaps he was getting his hopes up? Probably. Either way, he couldn’t help but wonder about her situation instead of the way her clothes seemed a little too tight on her body.

Soon enough the two reached the bus stop, only having to wait for a short bit of time before the bus came. They both hopped on, each paying for their seat, as they both sat across from each other towards the back. Thankfully since it was late, not many people were on the bus. But that doesn’t mean that Dante was willing to sit with this client. After all, if she could summon a gun out of thin air, he had no doubt she could summon other things.

The bus ride was quiet for a while, nobody really seemed willing to talk, and thankfully anybody else on the bus didn’t seem too excited to make much noise. After all it was a bit late, which meant a quicker drive and less stops, hopefully. As they traveled Dante would look to Cecelia every now and then, just to see if she was doing anything. She sat as close as she could to the window, her legs crossed and her chin in the palm of her left hand. She was gazing out the window, her face stoic as she watched the scenery pass by them. Dante couldn’t deny the mysterious beauty she had, but he still couldn’t help but feel like something was off.

Unable to really put his finger on it, he decided to let it slide. Taking up two seats, leaning against the window with his hands intertwined behind his head, not really caring that part of him was taking up half the lane. After all this ride was going to be long, and Dante preferred to get as much shut eye as he could on missions like these. He glanced at Cecelia one last time, wondering just exactly who she was before he closed his eyes shut. He began to think of peaceful things, as much as he could, as it was the only way to coax himself to sleep.

But that sleep was interrupted by the loud sound of shattering glass.

[kawaiikichi]

I’ll Always Return to You (Day 7: Hope)

@oumasaiweekblog

Here is Day 7 for Oumasai Week 2019!

The final prompt is hope. I’m going to be honest, this prompt was really hard to work with. It felt very vague to me, so it took me about a couple days and some hours before figuring what it was that I wanted to do for this one. The way I interpreted it is that even through extremely rough times (ex. Kokichi suddenly vanishing and being presumed dead because he didn’t turn up after a certain amount of time), Shuichi still has hope that he is alive and that he will come back to him no matter what.

This may seem a little similar to After The Storm Fades Away, but this one still has its differences and it’s compressed into  shorter one-shot rather than ATSFA, which is about 9k words in length XD

I hope you guys like it! :)

Title: I’ll Always Return to You

Prompt: Hope

Summary: After the simulation had ended and everyone was discharged from the hospital, Kokichi Ouma vanished. Four months passed before he was declared dead to the rest of the world. But, Shuichi knew better. He knew that somehow, Kokichi was still alive.

Continue reading under the cut!

“Yo, bro, did you hear the news?”

“Hear what news?”

Shuichi finished wiping down the table at the cafe he worked at as Kaito spoke.

“That little shit went missing.” he said.

“Little...huh?” Shuichi quirked a brow at Kaito’s statement. “Who in the world are you talking about?” he asked.

“Who else do you think I mean? I’m talking about Ouma.” Kaito replied.

Shuichi froze at Kaito’s words.

“Koki—I mean, Ouma-kun’s gone missing?” he asked.

“Yeah. Apparently, the last time anyone saw him, he said he was going for a walk. He never came back, so one of his friends ended up filing a missing person report. It’s been blowing up all morning on the news and social media.” Kaito explained.

“Oh...that’s probably why I didn’t hear about it. My TV’s been busted since Sunday and I don’t really have social media.” Shuichi said.

“Ah, I almost forgot you don’t have any social media accounts.” Kaito picked up some empty glasses and placed them on a tray. “Well, that’s what’s going on in the world right now.” he said as he picked up the tray and he headed over to another table.

Shuichi sighed as he followed suit, wiping down another table.

As he did, he kept thinking back to Kokichi’s sudden disappearance.

It’s weird that he just disappeared like that, he thought to himself.

He looked out the window.

Let’s just hope that they’re able to find him quickly and that nothing bad happened to him, he silently prayed.

💜💜💜💜

“Mister Shuichi Saihara, your uncle has come to get you.” the nurse called out.

Shuichi stood and he turned, locking eyes with Kokichi.

“Well...it looks like I’m going to have to go now.” he said.

“Ah...” Kokichi fiddled with his scarf. “Indeed, you do.” he replied.

Shuichi bit his lip.

“Are you sure you’ll you be okay by yourself? You’re sure that someone will come and get you, right?”

“Yes, yes, I am sure! Don’t worry about me, Saihara-chan!”

“If you say so...”

Shuichi sighed.

“Well...when things get settled, do you want to hang out sometime?” he asked.

“Oh? Could it be that you’re inviting me on a date, Saihara-chan?” Kokichi spoke teasingly.

Shuichi’s cheeks turned a rosy red.

“...Yes, I am.” he replied.

The teasing smile left Kokichi’s lips as a blank expression washed over his face. He stared at Shuichi as he continued.

“Will you promise me this, Ouma-kun?” he asked, extending his pinky finger out to him.

Kokichi looked at Shuichi’s pinky finger and then up at him before sighing.

“Alright, fine.” he hooked his pinky finger around Shuichi’s. “I promise.”

💜💜💜💜

The sound of plates shattering was heard as Shuichi stared at the television in the cafe in horror, tears welling up in his eyes.

Former Danganronpa V3 Contestant Found Dead After Four Month Search

“No...no way...” he choked out.

There’s no way this is possible.

Kokichi’s not dead.

He can’t possibly be dead.

He’s not dead, he’s not dead, he’s not—

“Shuichi? Is everything okay?”

Kaito’s voice seemed distant as it blurred with the sound of the news reporter talking on television. A distinct ringing sound struck his ears as nausea swept over him.

“No...this isn’t right...he’s not dead...” he staggered backwards. “He’s not dead...” he choked out.

He began to feel overwhelmed as he tipped backward.

The last thing he heard was Kaito shouting his name before he blacked out.

💜💜💜💜

“...I like you, Ouma-kun.”

Kokichi blinked at him, expression warping into one of confusion.

“You what now, Saihara-chan?” he asked.

“I said that I like you.” Shuichi replied.

It was silent between them in the hospital room for what seemed like hours before Kokichi burst into loud laughter.

“My, Saihara-chan, I didn’t think you had it in you to make such an amusing joke! That actually made me laugh, so kudos to you!” Kokichi wiped away at a stray tear. “There’s no way you like me—“ he stopped upon seeing how serious Shuichi looked.

His laughter ceased as a blank expression washed over him.

“Okay, so you’re not joking. You actually mean it.” Kokichi dropped his hands to his lap. “Tell me, Saihara-chan, what kind of like are you talking about when you say that you like me?” he asked.

“I like you romantically, Ouma-kun. I want to date you.” Shuichi replied.

“Do you really, though?”

“I do. I really do like you, Ouma-kun.”

“But why me? You could’ve chosen to fall in love with anyone, but you chose me. Why is that?”

Shuichi swallowed, fidgeting in his seat as he lowered his gaze.

“Well...you’re really smart. You’re cute, funny, and even with your lies, you’re a pleasure to be around. I like everything about you, whether you want me to or not.” he explained.

Kokichi furrowed his brows at him.

“Is that so...” he trailed off.

He propped his elbows up on his lap, resting his face in his hands as he began to think.

“Well, I like you too.” he said.

“You do?” Shuichi asked.

“Yes...but.”

“But?”

“But, I don’t think I’m worthy of someone like you. Someone like me pales in comparison to you. So, I feel that in order to become worthy of you, I need to improve myself, don’t you think?”

“But I—“

“Don’t lie, I’m sure you think that same way, as well.” Kokichi smiled. “So, once I’ve become worthy of you, we can begin to date. But until then, wait for me.”

He extended his pinky finger out to him.

“Will you wait for me, Saihara-chan?” he asked.

Shuichi nodded.

“Yes...yes, I’ll wait as long as you want me to.” he replied as he reached out and hooked his pinky finger around Kokichi’s.

Kokichi smiled and this time, it was a genuine smile.

“Alright, then. I’ll make sure I don’t have you wait too long for me, my beloved Saihara-chan.”

💜💜💜💜

“Shuichi, you need to stop this. It’s been a year and some days since he’s passed.” Maki rubbed her temples. “No matter what you think, Ouma is not alive, he is dead.” she stated.

“You don’t know that.” Shuichi replied.

“Yes, we do, actually. We saw his body at the funeral, Shuichi! There was no mistaking it, that was him! He is no more!” she reached up to brush her hair over her shoulder only to realize that she no longer had long hair. “Get over yourself and move on already! You can’t be stuck in denial forever, you know!” she shouted.

“Like I said, you don’t know that!” Shuichi stood, knocking a glass off of the table. “For all you know, that body in the casket could have been a fake! He could still be out there, trying to survive on his own and make a new life for himself!”

He walked up to Maki.

“We’ve been around him long enough to know that he could easily fake his own dear if he wanted to. That’s just how he is: he’ll find every opportunity to pull some sort of prank on us. I’m confident that this is just one of them.” he said.

Maki stared at him, eyes wide.

“You...you’ve lost your marbles...” she trailed off.

Shuichi let out a halfhearted chuckle as he took a few steps back.

“I guess that’s what happens when you’re in love.” he said, reaching up to run his hand through his hair.

Maki shook her head.

“You know, I really thought I would be able to get through to you, Shuichi. But, it seems that you’re long gone.” she turned. “I’m done trying to talk some sense into you. I’ll have Kaito take over.” she said before walking out of his apartment, slamming the door shut behind her.

Shuichi continued to laugh before dissolving into sobs, collapsing onto the floor as tears streamed down his cheeks.

Maybe he really lost it.

But, that didn’t change anything.

It didn’t change the fact that he still strongly believed and hoped that Kokichi was still alive.

💜💜💜💜

-Two Years Later-

The leaves crunched under Shuichi’s feet as he walked through the cemetery with a bouquet of white lilies in his hand.

After chatting with Angie in the chapel, he went to buy some lilies from the floral shop that Tenko and Himiko owned and he headed to the cemetery.

He stopped before a specific tombstone, a somber smile touching his lips.

“Kokichi...” he murmured.

He squatted down and he ran his hand along the smooth marble of his tombstone.

At this point, he had calmed down from his state of deliriousness. He still hadn’t given up on hoping that Kokichi was still alive, but the acceptance stage of the grieving process was starting to kick in.

He set the bouquet down by the tombstone as he spoke.

“I miss you, Kokichi. I miss you a whole lot.” he whispered.

He pressed his fingers to his lips and then pressed his fingers against the tombstone.

He stood as he heard a voice from behind him.

“Heh...I can’t believe I have such a shabby-looking grave.”

Shuichi tensed, his heart racing at the familiar voice.

“Like, for real, they could’ve chosen something a little better than that. Marble looks cool and all, but still. I didn’t fake my death for them to pull this kind of shit.”

Tears welled up in his eyes as he slowly turned to face the person that stood behind him.

Their appearance was slightly different, their hair a darker shade of purple without the tips dyed purple. One eye was purple and the other was hazel. They had on a long black parka with clips and pins on it over a black long sleeve shirt along with a pair of black plaid pants and black loafers.

Yes, the differences were subtle.

But, the person before Shuichi was indeed him.

He choked out a sob.

“K...Kokichi...” he breathed out.

Kokichi smiled, extending his arms out.

“Come, Shuichi.” he said.

Tears streamed down Shuichi’s cheeks as he ran up to Kokichi and pulled him into a tight hug, spinning him around a little. He sobbed as he ran his fingers through Kokichi’s hair.

“It really is you...you really are alive...” he trailed off.

“Yes, it is indeed me, my beloved.” Kokichi said.

They dropped to their knees on the ground as Shuichi pulled away, cupping Kokichi’s cheeks.

“But...how...?” he choked out.

“Soooooo, you remember how I said I wanted to become someone that was worthy of you?” Kokichi asked.

Shuichi slowly nodded.

“Yes...what about it?” he answered.

“This was all a part of that.” Kokichi cupped Shuichi’s cheeks, wiping his tears away with his thumbs. “In order to become someone who was worthy of standing by your side, I had to kill off the old me. So, I made arrangements with my organization and we staged it to make it look like I had fallen into a deep ditch while I was on my walk and died as a result. As soon as the whole world knew that Kokichi Ouma was dead, I hid out at my secret base in Europe and began to try and start over. I got a new look, new clothes, and I even changed my name.” he explained.

“You changed your name?” Shuichi asked.

“I did! My new name is Kichirou Seiichi.” Kokichi chirped.

“I see...but, I can still call you Kokichi, right?”

“Of course you can. Just not in public, alright?”

Shuichi nodded in response, causing Kokichi to smile.

“Good.” he said, leaning in to kiss Shuichi on the lips.

Shuichi kissed back, pulling Kokichi close to him.

How long had he been waiting for this moment?

How long had he been waiting to hold Kokichi in his arms, kiss him, and let him know just how much he loved him?

Too damn long, he realized.

They pulled away from the kiss moments later, pressing their foreheads together.

“I love you, Kokichi.” Shuichi said.

Kokichi smiled.

“Love you too, my beloved.” he replied as they kissed again.

Their second kiss was quick and chaste. Kokichi pulled away, stroking Shuichi’s cheek lovingly.

“So...that date you mentioned almost four years ago...are we still on for it?” he asked.

Shuichi smiled.

“Yes, we are.” he replied.

They stood and Shuichi slipped his hand into Kokichi’s. He brought their interlocked hands up and he kissed Kokichi’s knuckles.

“Shall we go?” he asked.

Kokichi giggled.

“Of course! Lead the way, my beloved!” he chirped.

“Alright.” he replied as they left the cemetery hand in hand, ready to embark on a new journey with their newly formed relationship.

[sonnets-and-snowdrops]

For the fanfic prompts, could you do “ i got you. it’s gonna be okay, you’re going to be okay.” for a Ukitake/Byakuya ship piece? (maybe with Ukitake saying it to Byakuya?) Your stories are amazing, btw ^^

From here || Always accepting!

I’m SORRY that it took me so long to get to this. Thank you for your patience, kind Anon-san! And thank you EVEN MORE for your lovely words! I’m so happy you like my stories! ^_^

Also I uh kinda forgot that this was from a hurt meme and totally made it about emotional shenanigans instead of an actual physical injury so umHope that’s okay

It also might be worth mentioning that I went with a kinda-sorta-established-relationship-type-thing here. Just made more sense, I thought. Okieeee, I think that’s all - enjoy!

Heshould have known better than to come here, if he sought solitude.

Hekneels, head bowed and hands folded in his lap, and he keeps his diligentvigil. The sun rises slowly and casts long shadows across the grass, and hesquints when its willful rays breach the top of his parents’ grave, and pierce likeso many traitorous blades into his tired eyes.

Itis the first day since the fall of the Sōkyokuthat Byakuya has had the strength to come to this place.

Hetells himself that it is because his body had not yet recovered. He tellshimself that it is because he did not, until today, possess the fortitude toput one foot in front of the other, to maintain any true semblance ofwakefulness and mental clarity, to stomach any lingering pain from the deep andgrievous wound in his chest.

Hetakes some solace in the knowledge that this is not entirely a lie.

Itdoes not surprise him when he hears the footsteps approach. As like as not, hehas been shirking some duty by spending his valuable time here; perhaps thereare reparations he must attend to, or finances he must distribute, or legalmatters he must brush away or bring to a head. Perhaps, for all he knows, anotherlegion of menos has descended silently from the sky, leagues away, and SoulSociety requires his sword already.

Butas the footsteps grow closer, Byakuya finds himself struck by uncertainty. Thereis no urgency to the footsteps. There is no rush, and no hurry. Byakuyalistens, but he does not turn his head. His vigil has not ended, for one thing,and he would be horribly remiss to let his attention stray from his meagerattempt at atonement. For another thing, it annoys him, ever so slightly, thathe cannot place this interloper’s gait. The steps are too heavy to be Rukia’s,and too steady to be Renji’s, and this newcomer, whoever they are, has kepttheir reiatsu tightly furled and guarded, so that even Byakuya cannot identifythem by the telltale swirling of their soul. A person of some skill, then. But who…?

Asif in answer, a low voice, cool and calm and kind, breaks what has been, forByakuya, an hours-long silence.  “If youwould prefer to be alone,” it says softly, “you need only tell me so.”

Atthat, Byakuya longs, desperately, to melt.

Senpai, he thinks, and his heart swells.

But Byakuyaanswers simply. “No,” he says. He tightens his fists in his lap, as if doing sowill help him maintain his firm grip on his composure.

Byakuyasenses movement behind him, and then, he finds himself bathed in shadow.Ukitake Jūshirō stands at Byakuya’s shoulder,tall and proud, white hair and white haori billowing behind him in elegantwaves as they are caught by the warm breeze of the summer morning. His face isset and serious. In his hand, loosely held, are two bright snowdrops.

Ukitake turns his head, and hesmiles. “No?” he repeats. “I must beg your pardon, Byakuya-kun. An answer asvague as that is beyond an old man’s understanding.”

Byakuya is not amused. “You wantto hear me ask,” he says flatly. “That’s in poor taste, senpai, given thecircumstances.”

Ukitake’s green eyes glint, andhis smile twitches. “Perhaps.” A moment passes, and then his smile fades, justa little. “But - you’re right, of course. I see that I must begyour pardon once more.” The petals of the snowdrops tremble faintly in Ukitake’spale hand. “Please, forgive me for seeking something familiar in the midst ofthis strangeness.”

Byakuya shakes his head. “There’snothing to forgive,” he says. “Don’t speak in riddles, senpai. It’s in evenpoorer taste, and you know that.” He eyes the snowdrops more closely. One issmaller than the other, and both look as if they were picked freshly thismorning. “Shiba-fukutaichō?” Byakuya asks.

Ukitake nods, slow and somber. “Miyako,too.”

“You’re on your way to visitnow, I take it?”

Ukitake nods again. “I want totell Kaien about Ichigo-kun,” he says. “It will make him happy, I think.” Ukitake’sbreath hitches - a hesitation. The moment brief, but Byakuya notices. “I’lltell him about Rukia, too,” Ukitake says quietly. “He’ll want to know, and sheisn’t ready to tell him herself. Not just yet.”

Byakuya turns back to hisparents’ grave. “Good,” he says. “Go, then. I won’t keep you.”

But Ukitake makes no move todepart. “I don’t mind being kept, Byakuya-kun,” he says. “Not if youneed me.”

Byakuya’sfingernails dig into the soft flesh of his palms. “Thank you, senpai,” he says,“but I do not need you.” His words are tight and stiff. His chest aches, and Byakuyadecides that his wound, not his heart, is the source of the pain.

Hehears a whisper of shifting cloth, and a dry rustle of grass. A gentle handdrops onto Byakuya’s shoulder, and Byakuya suppresses the urge to cringe.

“Please,senpai,” Byakuya says, “don’t. I know what you’re going to say.“

Hecan almost hear the smile in Ukitake’s voice. “Oh?” Ukitake says. “What am I goingto say, Byakuya-kun?”

“Itdoesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’tit?”

“No.”

“Andwhy not?”

“Because,”Byakuya says firmly, “need and want are hardly equal in importance.”

Thehand departs from Byakuya’s shoulder, and the shadow cast across Byakuya’s facedisappears. For a moment, Byakuya actually fears that his senpai has allowedhim to have the last word, for once, and panic grips him -

“Wanting,”comes Ukitake’s voice in Byakuya’s ear, “is not weakness, Byakuya-kun.”

Andthen, strong arms wrap Byakuya in what is, perhaps, the warmest and mostwelcome embrace that Byakuya has ever experienced. “I’ve got you, Byakuya-kun,”Ukitake murmurs. He kneels behind Byakuya and, snowdrops still in hand, holdshim close, and presses a small kiss to Byakuya’s temple. “It’s going to be allright, Byakuya-kun,” Ukitake says, and he kisses Byakuya again. “It’s going tobe all right. It’s going to be all right…”

Fora long, long time, Byakuya is still. He rests his heavy head against Ukitake’sshoulder, and he swoons like a lovestruck fool beneath his senpai’s tender kisses- his forehead, his ears, the nape of his neck, and his fingers, one by one byone. When Byakuya’s weary eyelids drop closed, Ukitake laughs, and kisses them,too. Something familiar in the midst ofthis strangeness, Byakuya thinks, as Ukitake’s gentle hand finds its wayinto Byakuya’s hair.

“…Ithought I’d lost everything,” Byakuya hears himself say.

Ukitake’shand drops, and starts to rub small circles into Byakuya’s back. “Hm?” he asks.“How’s that, Byakuya-kun?”

“Everything,”Byakuya says again. He cracks his eyes open and turns his gaze sideways; hewants to see his senpai’s face when he says this. “Rukia,” he says, first. “Renji.The respect of my fellow Captains. The respect of Soul Society. The right tocall myself my parents’ son. The right to mourn my wife. My pride,” he says, his voice cracking. “And…”He swallows, hard. “You, senpai… Iwas certain I’d lost you, too…”

Goodhumor flashes in Ukitake’s clever eyes. “If you intend to lose me,” he says,ducking his head and placing a kiss on Byakuya’s shoulder, “you’ll have to trymuch harder than that.”

Byakuyabristles. “I’m serious, senpai.”

“Soam I.”

Theykneel together in silence until the sun has risen fully, and the day, brightand brazen and blue, has emerged. After a time, Byakuyacasts a glance to the snowdrops which still hang, all but neglected, betweenhis senpai’s fingers. “You’ve kept Shiba-fukitaichō waiting long enough,” Byakuya mumbles. “You should go,senpai. Before the hour grows too late.”

“I supposeyou’re right,” Ukitake says. His eyes are softly fixed on the grave before him.“I hope you know,” he says, “how proud they would be, Byakuya-kun.”

Byakuyaalmost laughs at that. “I betrayedthem,” he says.

“Onlyin your eyes,” Ukitake says.

Withwhat seems to Byakuya like a great effort, Ukitake rises. He lets his fingertipslinger on the top of Byakuya’s head before, at long last, pulling his hand awayand heaving a great, long sigh. His steady footsteps begin, and then growsofter and more distant, and then fade away altogether as he departs.

Byakuya,for his part, returns his gaze to his parents’ grave.

Hewill depart soon, he decides - but not quite yet.