#but lost splendor said nothing about it

[the-s1lly-corner]

Telling them you love them for the first time

Some tooth rotting fluff to make up for the angst last night!!

Shorter hcs cuz I'm EEPY, apologies for any OOC stuff <\3

Slenderman;

Hes good at reading you, so he already knew that you held at least some considerable amount of affection for him

And sometimes, inside your head, he'd tell you how much he adored you... but either of you ever said the L word

You'd think that an ancient forest cryptid would be prepared for such a word, and yet..

when you first said it, he visibly froze. For the first time since you've met him, he seemed to be.... lost

He didnt say anything, but that wasnt out of character. . He hardly spoke, even in your head

After a moment of processing, his body eased, and he simply. Pulled you close, with his tentacles. Still not saying a word

It was a rather bizarre experience, actually, especially considering he began to cacoon you in his tendrils

Definitely one that needs to get used to it, but doesnt seem to take it negatively

Please hes still learning human romance

Splendorman;

Unlike his brother, Splendor has a better grasp of what human romance is like, what with him mingling with people all the time

Hes much more vocal, too, so when you finally say the three words..

He squeals after processing what you said, before giggling, and beginning to bounce on his heels

He doesnt care if hes being... embarrassing? Hyper? Giddy?

Hes over the moon, scoops you up if he knows you'd be comfortable with it-

-boundaries are important!

Hes giddy for the rest of the day

No

Hes giddy for the rest of the week

Also admits he loves you as well, probably says it everyday at least once tbh

Laughing Jack;

Comically stops in the middle of whatever he was doing; even if he has to break the laws of physics (clown logic)

Eyes you for a minutes

Snorts

"Aww! I love ya too toots!" Stretches his arm over, likely across the room, to lightly pap your cheek before snapping his arm back into place

Easily one of the most chill about it

But you can see a new pep in his step afterwards and his giggling seems to ramp up

Sorry his is so short but I really think this is all Jack would react with 😭😭

Eyeless Jack;

Given how I usually write for him, you can bet that his reaction will be...

Well he just doesnt expect it, ever. He truly thinks that hes unlovable, given that whole "hey I'm turning into a man eating monster" thing

So when you say it, hes stunned for a few seconds like slender was. Dead quiet for another couple of seconds

Rather than holding you, though, he just asks why

I mean you could have gone out with anyone, you could have left and never came back; he was certain you would eventually

But this..

Complicates with his current doubts..

He'll ask you if you meant it, too

Despite the... initial response, with the denial, his behavior around you seems to become more relaxed

Let's loose, really

Well not totally; it's a process!

He'll ask you for reassurance a fair number of times

Masky;

Masky already shows wordless affections a lot

From cheesy gifts like flowers and (stolen) treats

To..

Sitting at the foot of your bed watching you sleep at night

Hey hes protecting you!

Realizing that I kinda write him like a stray cat

Gives you birds and rats every morning/j

No but back on track, you two are already fairly affectionate to one another in your own quirky ways

He'll never say the words verbally, as I personally hc he doesn't talk (if he does, its RARE), but he'll sure as hell express it in his own ways

He doesn't seem phased when you say it

You mean to tell him that anytime you reciprocated his kind gestures that wasnt you letting him know you love him?

You notice his gift giving seems to pick up

Otherwise, nothing seems to change

.....he does seem more open to physical affection.... more likely to hold and cuddle you..... that totally isnt related...... totally......

Hoodie;

Very similar to masky but his way of affection is more.... not watching you sleep

He was already open to physical affection, he cant seem to keep his hands off you

Now that just be my way of writing brian bleeding into how I write hoodie

Which

Considering they're kinda... the same person(?), it makes sense that some mannerisms would overlap

His back straightens up and he seems to.. brighten up when you say it though

He points to himself, and you repeat the phrase

He'll sign it back, and the two of you just

Carry on

Very anticlimactic, but I also feel its realistic in a way; you both already love each other and know it, saying it out loud doesnt really change a thing if its already a clear truth; at least for Hoodie

[edenalieth]

i want to believe in forever

Pairing: Seungmin x reader

Genre: angst, hint of fluff

Warnings: none

Summary: Seungmin wants to move on from his heartbreak, however the colorful memories of you are holding him back. 

Words: 1.3K 

A.N: hello guys, cami in the building! it’s my first time writing a seungmin fic (@seungseung-minmin forgive me for not making a cuter one ;v;) it was mostly inspired by the song « the exit » by conan gray which i found really beautiful and true. sorry for the possible mistakes. hope you enjoy, feedbacks are always welcome! ♡ — 231217

He took another sip of the black coffee he was holding on his hand and grimaced. It was already half cold and far too bitter for his liking. For how long did he stare at those high limestone walls ? Apparently long enough for his coffee to turn bad. Spotting the closest bin, he threw the drink away, watching it fall as the lid opened spreading the brown liquid. The winter breeze made him shiver and he buried his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat, trying to warm them up. 

« You can do this, Kim Seungmin », the brown haired boy thought to himself. 

He climbed the stairs silently until he reached the ticket office. A young girl was reading. She was probably just starting her university course and needed this job to gain some money seeing her bored expression. She barely looked at Seungmin before nonchalantly putting down her book with a barely hidden sigh. 

« What can I do for you ? » she asked, visibly annoyed to be interrupted. 

Seungmin cleared his throat « Hmm, one adult ticket please. » 

He was tapping on the small counter with his fingertips, nervous. He was about to tell her that he had changed his mind and turn around but he had promised himself he would do this. It was necessary. Even if it hurt. He knew, he needed to detach his mind and feelings from this place and many others. 

« What is this book about ? » he said, trying some small talk while she was preparing the ticket. She put one out of the drawer of her desk and handed it to him, announcing the price. « Just a regular thriller. » Nothing more, nothing less. He paid and left without further ado. He was sure that, if you had been there, you would have managed to pick that girl’s interest, even just a little. That’s how you were, solar, attracting people around you like a magnet. However, you hadn’t been by his side for months now, he had to move on. 

When he entered the familiar hall, he was greeted by the unique scent of museum and all its splendor. Soon, he was surrounded by history and felt so little and insignifiant, as well as mesmerized by the beauty of those masterpieces he had seen so many times with you. When you used to call yourselves « us », you had made a ritual to visit this place once a month. The museum was big enough for you to always discover small details you hadn’t seen before or to explore the temporary exhibition. Since your breakup, he avoided this place like the plague. Yet here he was, feeling his heart clenching as he looked at the paintings. One of your favorite hobby was to tell him stories when you analyzed a canvas. Your imagination was overflowing and never missed to make him laugh, which sometimes made you incur the wrath of the visitors and security. No one was here to make him laugh today and loneliness weighed heavily on his shoulders. He didn’t have this talent. He would just skim through the description next to it. Colors seemed dull compared to the vivid memories of you, scarring his heart mercilessly. He felt his throat getting tight. He had chosen the museum to start his healing journey because he knew he wouldn’t be able to cry without being heard. He had shed tears more than he would even admit. Was it truly helping though ? Or what is it just him blowing on the embers of your lost love. 

He sat down on the leathered bench, facing your favorite art. It was a pretty simple one, a cottage on the countryside, using impressionism technique. The first time you saw it, you went strangely quiet. You were like absorbed by it. He remembered how you leaned on his shoulder, intertwining your fingers with his. « I can picture us living there. » you had softly whispered. « It would be the embodiment of our love, our safe place. Growing old together, laughs of our kids and grand-kids filling the rooms. Am I allowed to dream about this ? » your voice had seemed insecure, seeing you vulnerable like that was rare. « Yes and it will be our dream from now on. » he had replied, brushing his nose against yours before tenderly kissing you. Warmth had filled his body, his heart melting like ice under a scorching sun, your touch permanently marking his skin. A dream. Was it all it had been ? Just something made up by his cruel mind ? No. He still could remember the sensation of your skin on his, the scent of your shampoo, the little habits you had, the sound of your giggle. 

Recalling these memories was like torture. The grip he had on the bench became stronger, his knuckles turning white. If only he had noticed how left out you felt sometimes. Maybe, you would be next to him, still daydreaming about your perfect house. Or, perhaps, you just weren’t meant to build one together. This thought turned his vision into blurry shapes. « Shit ». He didn’t want to cry in public. He stood up hastily and looked for the exit. Wandering between the corridors, his steps echoing on the cold ground, the artworks seemed like moving stains. It was as if the walls were tightening around him and he was tempted to rush out of here to get some air. However, his run was abruptly stopped when the object of his obvious desire showed up. You. 

You were there. Your arm around the waist of someone who wasn’t him. His mind went blank for a second. It couldn’t be, right ? He swallowed the sobs that were trying to escape his throat, his hands shaking. He thought you were both sharing the same wounds, that you were still mourning your old feelings. His were surely not buried yet. Still, there was no mistaken. You looked happier now and you had already found someone to miss. He wanted to let himself drown into the abyss of his sorrow. He almost called out your name, every single letter which used to roll on his tongue like honey, addictive like a drug, tasted sour. He had to leash his heart not to break down and try to get you back again. He had tried but you already had built up a wall to protect your opened wounds. His were still raw. 

Were you going to tell this man the same stories you had told him ? Did your « I » became a « we » when you met him ? In fact, he didn’t want to know. He wanted to forget you for a time, to get strong enough to be able to talk about you as a young love that bloomed too fast and wilted in the process. He couldn’t blame you for getting everything you wanted. 

He stared at you, as your eyes spoke for you, full of some love that used to be his. Each step you took leading you towards your ideal. Deep down your heart, feels for Seungmin were still waiting to be set on fire again. However, the ones you had for your new lover were stronger and you wanted to cherish them. It was a painful sight for Seungmin and he wished someone would rip his heart for it to get numb. He had to let you go. He was still standing at the exit before he opened the glass door. 

Immediately, the cold bit his flesh, tears rolling down his cheeks and burning his skin. 

« I want to believe in forever » he thought, you just weren’t meant to be his. 

[redr0sewrites]

HEY!

So, I really liked your two Aaravis fics, and I have an idea/request. You don't have to do it if you don't feel like it of course.

So there is that dark mark on Aaravos's chest. And we know that it became dark after his imprisonment. Now the idea is that the reader either knew Aaravos *before* it lost it's shine, and like, later got trapped in the mirror too and reunited with him, or maybe met him in the mirror and asked about the mark. And like, asks Aaravos why it lost it's shine, and after hearing about the things, instead of looking at him differently, or scared, they see that Aaravos is sad, so they preform a little trick. So they make a little light ball, making it look like they took it out of their heart and then place it on Aaravos's chest (where the dark star is), and saying that "It's okay, you can have my light" or something like that, idk....

Like, the concept is just reader accepting that darkness, and cherishing it and all that cheezy, fluffy stuff. Like I said, you aren't obliged to write this, this is just a random idea my maladaptive daydreamer self came up with. Have a lovely day, take care, and thanks for feeding us Aaravos fans with your lovely work!

AAAA TYSM THIS REQ IS SO GREAT!!! I love this idea, it made me so excited ajsjdj HOPE U ENJOY!

🥀CW: angst (with happy ending), fluffiness, aaravos being insecure, mentions of trauma and suffering/containment

when the news of aaravos' imprisonment reached you, you were shocked. how could he have been discovered, he had been so careful and meticulous in his planning, and all of his motives were for the good of humanity! you, and many other elves who supported him were not only surprised, but also outraged. to trap a startouch elf, to take your lover away from you... you knew you could never rest until you could see him again. years of pulling strings, gaining popularity, playing the puppeteer behind the scenes had led you to this moment. you had fought for centuries, sacrificed so much to see him again, and here you finally were. before you stood aaravos, your star touch lover, in all of his glory. it had been so long, and your heart seemed to sing at the sight of him. and yet, something was different.

when aaravos first saw you, he thought he was in a dream. you had appeared to him on so many nights, only to fade away once the morning came, slipping through his fingers like sand. the memory of you, your face, your voice, your touch, it all felt like a painful distant nightmare that played throughout his head every single time he closed his eyes. he had missed you so, so much, yet he knew he had changed. not only mentally, years of imprisonment had long since broken him, but physically as well. the glowing star on his chest had faded from a shimmering splendor to a cold ember, with nothing of its former glory remaining. he couldnt help but feel ashamed at its bleak emptiness, a disgusting mark of his failure and imprisonment. however, he would not focus on it now. you were here, in front of him, and he was free.

"my star.. is it truly you?" his voice was soft, broken and cracked from the emotions swelling inside him. you didnt dare open your mouth, knowing you would probably begin to sob and nodded, your eyes were already brimming with tears. the both of you rushed forward suddenly, throwing your arms around eachother and weeping with joy. you both stayed like that for a while, entangled in eachother and whispering softly. you werent sure how long you layed there on the floor, however it soon began to grow dark. ever so gently, aaravos layed the two of you onto the floor, his hands shaking as though afraid he would break you. as you stared at him, you couldn't help but ponder a certain change on your lovers skin.

"where did it go?" you ask softly, motioning towards his chest. he looked at you in confusion and you added for clarification, "what happened to the star on your chest? why doesnt it glow anymore?" you couldn't help but feel you made a mistake, as you watched the flicker of shame and disgust cross your lovers face.

"it faded, along with most of my powers, when i, well.. when i fell and was imprisoned" aaravos answered softly. his voice was so fragile, barely a whisper as he spoke. "it is simply a blight upon my skin, a mark of my failure and punishment. a cruel scar. it paints me as nothing but a lightless monster, a burden, and a villain." disdain and self disgust seemed to leak from his voice, and he shuddered as he spoke. pain filled your heart at his words and you reached out to rest a hand on his chest. you wished there was a way to undo all the centuries of pain and trauma the both of you had endured while separated, and you wished you could help him understand his beauty.

"you are none of those things aaravos, that is just what the other dragons and elves want you to believe. however, i know that you are special, beautiful, and so, so strong because of your differences and you have fought and suffered for what you believe in. this star is a mark of your perseverence, and it is nothing to ever be ashamed of." you gently pulled your hand away, and placed it on your own chest. using some simple magic, you made your own hand glow with a soft orb of white light resting on your palm.

"you don't have to bear the weight and darkness of your burdens alone. let me share my light with you, and share your darkness with me." you reached out, pressing the glowing ball against his chest and watched a small, pained smile break through the sadness and doubt that had resided on aaravos' face, and he covered your hand with his.

"thank you my love, thank you for finding me, and for always reminding me of the light and the love that we share." he leaned in, resting his unoccupied hand on your cheek and pressed his forehead against yours lovingly.

"i love you until the end of time, and i believe that our love will last as eternal as the light that we share." his words seemed to touch your very soul, and released a flutter from your heart. for years you had drowned in your own misery, but you felt like you could finally breathe again. he was back, and you two were reunited. nothing would stand in your way every again, and neither of you would ever be separated by anyone or anything.

I HOPE THIS WAS TOO YOUR LIKING, THIS WAS SUCH A COOL REQ THANKS FOR REQUESTING!!! REQS ARE STILL OPEN, FEEL FREE TO REQUEST ANYTIME! this was such an emotional thing to write, and i genuinely really like this lmao tysm for the idea and inspiration!

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman-Part 69

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe : Military School

Words: 5K

Masterlist

———————————————————————

Monday, March 14; 9:30 AM - Manchester

A small routine had developed over two weeks. School continued, where I was pushing myself hard with revisions. It had become difficult to fit my friends into my schedule, but I had to make a choice. I wanted to pass my exam at any cost. I received some reproaches from them, though. Only Alexia and Alessia stood up for me. Maybe even Leah and Lotte now, too. Thanks to Alessia, I was able to talk to Leah and resolve our issues. She understood my intentions for studying, and I think she wasn’t as upset anymore about my relationship with Lucy.

"I just found it strange at first and was worried for you. I get that you're being careful. Now, give me some time to get used to it," she had told me.

I thought that was sweet of her. It wasn’t for nothing that I liked her so much. As for Lotte, we also had a conversation. I apologized for not remembering her. She was surprised and told me she had wanted me to figure it out on my own. Still, she accepted my apology, saying we could maybe reconnect now. I agreed, though I still struggled with the idea. I don’t think knowing each other from before changes much about our relationship today.

Outside of my friends, I’m happy with my life right now. Things with Lucy are going great. We spent a quiet weekend with her friends, which I needed after the last one in Barcelona. I’m still waiting to hear back from the galleries. It’s nerve-wracking, but I haven’t lost hope. I continue sending letters with Beth’s help and Lucy’s encouragement. On the other hand, I still haven’t called my mom. We left without seeing her, as she was called to the hospital urgently. In a way, I was relieved. I avoided confrontation at least. Knowing her, she probably thinks I’m angry at her. I can’t blame her; she’s borne the brunt of my outbursts. Lucy advised me to contact her soon, but I haven’t had the courage yet. I still feel guilty about what happened. One positive thing is that I’ve long been prepared for the idea of marriage. My father drilled it into me, and I’ll go through with it, if only to honor his memory.

"Are you okay?" Lucy asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I jump slightly. We were in the car, on the way to my meeting at the gallery with Mr. Fields. I was glad Lucy was coming with me. At least we’d get to spend some time together outside of school.

"Yeah," I exhaled.

"Are you nervous?"

"A little… Not too much, honestly."

I had no idea what would come from this meeting. I had already resigned myself to not having high expectations. I didn’t want to be disappointed by the outcome.

"Actually, I wonder why I even accepted this meeting. I should have declined, and it would all be over."

"Don’t say that. We don’t know what’s in store. Maybe it’ll go well, and he’ll offer better solutions."

"Hmm..."

I love her optimism. I’m not as hopeful. Maybe she’s just trying to reassure me. We arrive at our destination. This time, it’s the real gallery in the center, not the workshop. Mr. Fields said he’d be here today. He insisted that Lucy accompany me, and I couldn’t be happier. We walk into the building, and I’m struck by its splendor. Everything is beautiful, modern, white, and sleek. There are so many paintings on display. Some are for sale, others aren’t, or at least that’s what I gather since some don’t have prices. I feel a bit lost. I see Mr. Fields nearby, but he doesn’t seem to have noticed us. He’s talking to no one in particular as he approaches a woman at the reception. She notices us and looks uncomfortable as he gives her cold instructions before walking back down the hall he came from.

"Great start," Lucy whispers.

I nod slightly, focusing on the paintings to keep myself busy. The receptionist has seen us, so I assume she’ll come over. My mind wanders a little. I wasn’t expecting a gallery like this. Could I work in a place like this? It’s so large. Honestly, it’s massive. I don’t even dare explore the whole place. I understand its reputation now. This isn’t my thing. I’m not sure I belong in an environment like this.

"Hello, can I help you with something?" the young woman approaches us.

She seems uncomfortable, and I get it. Her boss spoke to her like dirt right in front of us without even realizing it. She knows we saw everything. Seeing me frozen, Lucy steps in first.

"Hello. We have an appointment with Mr. Fields."

"Oh yes, he mentioned your arrival. I’m sorry, I can’t remember the name he gave me, though."

No surprise there… Lucy nudges me to snap me out of my daze. The woman looks at me, waiting for an answer.

"Batlle. Ona Batlle, that’s my name."

"Yes, that’s right. Thanks for reminding me. He’s on the phone, but I’ll let him know you’re here. Feel free to look around while you wait."

"Thank you."

"Excuse me," Lucy stops her. "Are you an apprentice here?"

The young woman turns bright red in front of my girlfriend. Okay, I’ll admit Lucy can be quite intimidating when she wants to be, especially with that serious look. Why is she asking about this? The woman stammers a sort of "yes" before hurrying away. I sigh and start fiddling with my fingers. I’m starting to feel stressed, and I don’t like it. I wait until she’s far enough before turning to Lucy.

"I’m not feeling good about this," I mumble. "And why did you ask that question?"

"Relax, I’m here. I just wanted to know. Do you still want this job?"

Lucy is completely calm. I can tell she’s up to something. I shrug.

"I... I don’t know. This environment isn’t really me," I admit hesitantly.

She smiles and runs her hand through my hair.

"I know, but we’re not leaving now that we’re here."

"Fields seems really busy."

"Hmm, you’re right. I hope he’ll give us the attention we deserve, or I’ll get mad quickly," she tells me. "He’s already late," she points out.

I laugh softly. If he’s late, he’s definitely not winning any points with Lucy. I hope she’ll be able to keep her cool. I’m glad she’s with me. Unlike me, she has enough character to speak up if necessary.

"Hey," she says, catching my attention. "Don’t feel so uncomfortable, okay? If Fields wanted to meet with you, it’s because he believes in your talent."

I blush, feeling easily seen through.

"Do you want to know what I think?" she continues.

I nod. I think I need to hear what she has to say to lift my spirits.

"I think your talent is even bigger than this empire, so don’t lose confidence because of this," she says, gesturing to the room around us.

"Are you sure...? Then why do I feel so uncomfortable?"

"Because it doesn’t reflect your personality, but that has nothing to do with your talent. What I’m trying to say is that not every gallery will be the right fit for you, but that doesn’t mean you should doubt yourself. Okay?"

I take a deep breath and nod. I knew I could always count on her to lift me up. I felt like a burden in the middle of all this.

"It’ll be fine," she reassures me with a gentle pat on my back. Maybe things don’t happen by chance after all...

"Ladies!" a deep voice calls out, startling me. "What a pleasure to finally have you here."

Mr. Fields walks out of the hallway he had disappeared into and comes toward us. It seems he really hadn’t noticed us before... I force a smile.

"How are you? Come on, let’s go to my office."

His initial question, just for formality, is quickly forgotten. He leads us to his office. It’s more spacious and better furnished than the one in the workshop. Everything is so different from my first meeting with him. There’s no doubt he must host more people here. It’s more contemporary and softer. The one in the workshop was clearly more personal and better decorated in my opinion.

"Please, have a seat," he said, motioning to the chairs in front of his desk before walking around to sit down.

Lucy let me take a seat first before joining me. Her presence gave me confidence. She made me feel safe.

"I'm happy to finally meet you, Miss Bronze. May I also speak to you informally?" 

A lump formed in my throat. During our first meeting, he had addressed me informally without asking. I hate people who seem to have more respect for some than for others. It feels like he's categorizing people to decide how to speak to them. He doesn't help me feel any better. It’s like he’s a completely different person, someone I’ve never met before.

"If you like. It’ll make the conversation easier."

He smiled, nodding.

"Oh, excuse me. I have a call," he said, touching his ear.

Until then, I hadn’t noticed, but he was wearing an earpiece. Now I understood why he seemed to be talking to himself earlier.

"Would you like a coffee before we start?"

"No, thank you."

"I'd love one," Lucy said at the same moment.

"Alright," he chuckled. "I'll go get that for you. Would you like anything else, Ona?"

"No, thank you, I'm fine."

"I’ll be right back."

I rubbed my hands together as he left. He took the call. I could hear his voice echoing in the hallway. What a jerk... He dared to take a call in the middle of our meeting. It’s so disrespectful. I jumped slightly when Lucy placed her hand on my thigh.

"Hey, are you okay? Is he making you uncomfortable?" she asked, frowning.

"No, I'm fine..."

"Ona. I can still tell when you're not alright, so don’t lie to me. I don’t like that."

"He seems different. But really, it’s okay. It’s the place that’s making me nervous."

This time I wasn’t lying. I know my reactions affect Lucy, and that’s the last thing I want right now. She nodded understandingly, taking my hand and kissing the back of it.

"Relax, okay? I’ll handle the talking."

"No, ple-"

"Shh. I hate seeing you like this. I’m just going to ask him a few questions. Let’s see if he gives me the answers I want."

"W-what do you mean by that?"

"I want to know if this place is right for you. We’ll see based on his responses," she said, shrugging.

"And if it’s not?"

"If it’s not, I’m not letting you work somewhere you won’t feel comfortable. You’ll just end up hating your job, and that’s not the point when you’re just starting a career."

I bit my lip, lowering my head. She quickly lifted it back up with her fingers, brushing them gently along my chin.

"I fully intend to put this guy in his place when he gets back."

"Y-you’re really going to do that?"

"I’d do anything for those beautiful eyes of yours."

"And what if we manage to negotiate a chance for me to work here?"

"Then it could stay an option, if you have nothing better," she sighed.

I smiled, realizing that the idea didn’t seem to thrill her. It was adorable how she was acting.

"Baby, if this interview doesn’t lead anywhere, don’t see it as a failure, okay? I’m sure there’ll be other galleries that will appreciate you a lot more."

"You think he’s going to conduct the whole interview over the phone?"

"He better not if he doesn’t want to face my wrath. That’s exactly why I’m planning to set him straight."

I smiled despite myself. That was exactly what she was aiming for, given the grin she flashed back at me. Footsteps echoed in the hallway, giving us time to adjust ourselves before he ended his call and opened the door. As he re-entered, he smiled and made his way around the desk. I already missed Lucy’s touch, but I knew that here, she had to play the role of my manager, not my girlfriend, unfortunately.

"Here you go," he said, placing a cup in front of Lucy. "Careful, it’s hot."

"Thank you."

"Do you take sugar?"

"No, no, it's fine like this," she replied as he placed a glass in front of me.

"I thought I'd bring you a glass of water, just in case," he said with a small smile.

He’s so fake. I hate it. But I thanked him anyway. He finally sat down in front of us. Our meeting should have started half an hour ago, and I had to admit it was getting tiring that he kept doing his own thing without acknowledging us.

"Alright then. Let’s not waste any more time. I apologize, but I’m very busy today, with many appointments and important calls."

"We noticed," Lucy remarked pointedly. "I hope we won’t be interrupted again."

He didn’t respond to the comment, but his expression showed he didn’t like it. He seemed uncomfortable. He tugged at the sleeves of his suit and clasped his hands on the desk, sitting up as straight as possible.

"Certainly, we’ll make sure that doesn’t happen again," he muttered. "Well, then. The reason we’re here is that I’ve offered Ona a position as an apprentice at my gallery next year."

"A position in Cardiff," Lucy corrected.

I stifled a smile. For some reason, it seemed like she was irritated. She wasn’t holding back at all. I recognized her now, acting like she did in the beginning, with that heartless demeanor. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Fields was a bit thrown off.

"Yes, that’s right," he responded as calmly as possible.

"And why is that?" she pressed on.

Her tone had shifted completely. She was clearly challenging him.

"I must admit that I was a bit surprised by your decision. You have an enormous gallery at your disposal, and yet you can’t find a spot for her here? Ona has already made a long journey to Manchester, she’s settled in, stable, and now you want to send her elsewhere."

Fields was momentarily at a loss for words, as was I. She had asked me to trust her, and now I was starting to understand why. She was protecting me while trying to find common ground. I shouldn’t be surprised. She would always fight for what’s best for me. Fields, who had been eager to meet her earlier, must have been regretting it by now.

"Well… I must admit that Ona’s application came in rather late," he replied without faltering. "I’ve already promised two apprenticeships to other students for this gallery. It’s difficult to take on a third, knowing that I already have two students moving into their second year. That’s why I suggested Cardiff. It’s the closest gallery I own in the area. I’ve already coordinated with the school, should you be interested."

He pushed some documents toward us. He had prepared everything. There was an enrollment form for Cardiff’s school right in front of us, pre-filled with the company’s details. Lucy had been right. He had no intention of leaving room for negotiation. The student’s section was still blank, and something told me that if it weren’t me, he’d have no qualms about finding someone else.

"I understand this is a tough decision, but you have to understand that I receive a lot of applications. Ona is incredibly talented, which is why I made this offer, but she isn’t the only one. I hadn’t even planned on taking an apprentice at Cardiff since it’s just opened. This is a significant opportunity I’m offering."

I looked at Lucy after hearing this. He knew how to respond too. She remained focused on Fields. It was a real battle between them. One thing was certain: he wasn’t willing to accept any other alternatives.

"And from what you’ve said, Ona seems to be doing quite well. I didn’t think a change of city would be an issue."

"It is an issue. She’s found stability here with new friends and even a relationship. You don’t realize it, but you’re asking her to leave everything behind."

Fields absorbed Lucy’s words with understanding. Maybe he wasn’t exactly the person I had described earlier...

"I see. You are in a unique situation, but I’m not sure I can offer anything better. I’ll have to take a look before giving you my final answer."

"Alright..." Lucy murmured, sounding as surprised as I was by his retreat. "May I ask what her tasks will be?"

"Of course. I’ve already discussed this with Mr. Davis, the head of my new agency. There will be no shortage of work. He wasn’t convinced about taking someone on, but I managed to persuade him."

"I’ve noticed the young woman at the reception is an apprentice. Will Ona be doing similar tasks?"

"Yes, of course. She’ll have the opportunity to vary her responsibilities. Reception work will be part of it. »

- She won't just be doing that, right?

- No, he replies with a small laugh.

He had realized by now that she was defending me. I saw him bring his hand to his ear. He had another call, I was sure of it. I wasn’t the only one who noticed.

- I hope you're not going to take that call, my girlfriend warned him.

- Excuse me, we have an exhibition opening this weekend, so there’s a bit of stress, she laughs. I'll call back later, he adds, taking off his earpiece.

- Hmm... Can you elaborate now?

- Well, yes, the tasks then. Ona will have the opportunity to work in the studio, of course. She’ll be able to practice and learn with the other apprentices, and then, who knows, maybe even exhibit her work. It’s rare that we sell them since they’re not professional, but exhibiting is still an opportunity to be noticed by potential clients.

- OK... But I sense there’s a “but.”

- Indeed. There will be alternation between the apprentices. Sometimes they’ll be here in the gallery, interacting with buyers and handling tasks we assign them. It might not be the best part of the job, but I believe it’s a good experience for them.

- We saw you shouting at one of them earlier. At least, you didn’t seem very approachable and didn’t even notice us.

He takes a deep breath. Lucy is perfect. She doesn’t attack him, but she knows how to unsettle him in other ways.

- True. We sometimes get stressed and lose our composure. Of course, that won’t fall on you, but it might happen from time to time, he tells me.

- All right. Will she be invited to exhibition openings?

- Yes, yes, of course. She might even organize one. Well, not at the beginning, but that will be part of the learning process—learning the organization and maybe even assisting if she stands out among the other apprentices. It’s a kind of reward for us.

I nod. The job description is more than interesting... I’d be crazy to say no...

- So, you guarantee she’ll have the opportunity to improve her art through all this?

- Normally, yes. We do allow them some time, but let’s not have illusions. It will be a small part of your work here. You’ll be able to practice the most at school.

School. I had almost forgotten that detail. It’s true that that’s where I’ll get the most help to improve. Still, I hope to have some opportunities for professional advice here. I have my doubts about that. This guy gives me the impression he's selling us a dream, but in the end, we’ll just be there to keep his business running. That’s definitely not what I’m looking for. If I want to do this job, it’s out of passion, not for anything else.

- How big is this gallery? Lucy asks.

- It’s the largest one here. The studio was recently relocated to expand the gallery. As for the one in Cardiff, it's just slightly smaller than this one. However, we managed to keep the studio in the same place, which is obviously better.

- Are you planning to expand your circle even more?

- Definitely, yes. If the Cardiff location does well, there’s a good chance new branches will open in the south, he replies proudly.

- You manage everything by yourself?

- Yes. I don’t like delegating.

- So, the training won’t be from you.

- No, indeed. My agency managers usually handle that part, especially for the studio. However, that doesn’t stop me from overseeing my apprentices, I assure you. I keep an eye on everything.

They all say that... The one reassuring thing is that I won’t have to deal with him often in that case.

- OK, Lucy murmurs. I think I have my answers.

- Do you need more time to make your decision?

- Actually, yes. We’ll accept the offer if you can work something out regarding the location.

He raises an eyebrow at her request.

- I’ve been following Ona since her first day at school, and I can guarantee you that a change of environment won’t do her any good. She’s built a life here, so for her well-being, if we can negotiate that point, I think it would be perfect.

He sighs softly, running his hand through his hair. This doesn’t seem to suit him. He expected us to accept after he sold us on the position.

- Very well, I’ll get back to you in that case, but I can’t promise anything.

- No problem. The important thing is that you’ll have done your best to solve the issue.

- Do you have any other questions?

- No, I think that’s all.

- Good, then we can conclude here.

- Yes. We won’t take up any more of your time. Have a good day, she says, offering him her hand.

- I’ll walk you out anyway, he says, standing up.

I didn’t open my mouth once during this interview. In a way, that suits me just fine. He walks us to the entrance, where we shake hands.

- Thank you for your hospitality, Lucy says.

- It was a pleasure. We’ll be in touch in a few days.

One last goodbye, and we’re outside. I’m happy to take a deep breath of fresh air. I was starting to feel suffocated.

- Well, that’s that... Lucy murmurs. Do you want a hot chocolate? My treat. We can talk about the interview while we’re at it.

- If you’re being so kind, I can’t say no, I say, making her laugh.

I wasn’t going to tell her, but if I could skip a few hours of school, I was happy. It was clear I’d rather spend time with my friend.

Monday, March 14, 12:00 p.m. - Cafeteria.

Our little outing ended at a small café downtown, where Lucy had a coffee and I had a hot chocolate. I realized that Lucy hadn’t even touched the hot drink she’d ordered during the interview. We had a long discussion about it. Mr. Fields' answers were satisfactory, though Lucy still thinks he’s taking advantage of me. She believes he wants to make me work like low-paid employees. Yet, he’d sold the position to me pretty well. Maybe a little too well... She might be right. She explained that she’d already fallen victim to one of those companies before and doesn’t want the same thing to happen to me. I agreed. It was, after all, my only response. It would be foolish not to wait for the other offers now. So, we agreed to wait before giving an answer. Lucy plans to ask Beth for her opinion and to put some pressure on her to use her connections. I don’t like doing that, but at this point, I had no choice. Mr. Fields was right when he said I applied late... I might not get many positive responses, and that thought is starting to scare me. We went back to school afterward. We arrived at 11:30. Lucy didn’t push me to return to class. She wanted me to have lunch with her, but I declined the invitation. Meals are the only time I’m sure to be with my friends, so if I took that away from them, it wouldn’t go over well. She understood and let me spend my half-hour working in her office. I managed to finish my homework and I think I’ll skip my revisions tonight. It’s good to take breaks sometimes.

- Oh, you’re already back?

- Hey, I greet Alexia, whom I was waiting for at the cafeteria. Yeah. We got back half an hour ago.

- Cool! So, how did it go?

- Meh... I’ll explain later, I say as I see our friends approaching.

- OK... she says with a small pout.

- I’ll be around tonight, so we can talk then, I reassure her.

- Really? she says, surprised.

- Yeah. My homework’s done. Plus, Bronze thinks I’m working too much. She says I look tired. She wants me to take it easy.

She’s not wrong... We’ve barely seen you these past two weeks.

I shrug. Losing myself in my revisions allows me to forget everything else, in a way. It’s an escape like any other. Knowing Lucy, she must have realized it’s becoming an obsession.

- You’re not going to start, right? I replied with amusement.

- Oh no, she said, raising her hands in surrender. I said it, but I’m not saying anything.

- Of course, I chuckled. Anyway, I just wanted to say I’ll be there tonight.

- Really? Alessia, who I noticed was on my other side, asked. And what about your interview? It was super long, wasn’t it? You’ve got a morning to catch up on now. But be happy, you missed a surprise test from Johnson. He was upset because no one informed him about your absence after you left during second period. I think he wanted you to take the test.

I groaned in frustration. Johnson was the least of my worries right now. I hadn’t thought about the catch-up work. Skipping three hours of class had been nice until then.

- Damn, I cursed. Do I have a lot to catch up on?

- No, don’t worry. We got a lot of handouts, so I took them for you. I even got ahead a bit for you while I was at it. That way, you won’t try to dodge us tonight.

She nudged me with her shoulder, laughing. I smiled, picking up my tray to follow Ale to our table.

- That thought hadn’t even crossed my mind, you know, I joked. Thanks anyway, that’s really kind of you, I said. Do you think I’ll have to make up the test? What was it on, by the way?

- I don’t think so. It was on the last lesson. He felt like a lot of people were distracted recently, so he wanted to put everyone back in line. It was on those charts. You know what I mean, right? I think you understood it.

- Yes, yes.

- Well, look at you, becoming a pro, Ale teased.

- I wish, I sighed. I’m still far from it, unfortunately.

- Don’t say that. You’re doing really well.

- It’s only thanks to my revisions and Bronze’s help, otherwise, I’d be drowning.

It feels strange to say my girlfriend’s name. It’s like I have to think twice before speaking. Even though a lot of people already know, I wouldn’t want everyone at the table to find out. That would be quite dramatic, almost scandalous.

- Oh right, Alessia continues. We also got the date for the field trip after you left. Bronze didn’t tell you?

- Uh, no, I frowned. When is it?

- Next Thursday. The questionnaire he gave us is due by Monday at the latest.

I let out a heavy sigh. What a great time to hand out a questionnaire like that. We’re already so overwhelmed. We’ve got six weeks left, which means three before the next break. We received our exam schedule and convocations last week. Our exams will take place at the end of May. That’s why I’m putting so much pressure on myself. The serious stuff is finally happening. We’re in the final stretch, and it’s terrifying. If I fail, all my efforts will have been for nothing.

- Great, I muttered.

- Oh, come on, it’s not that bad. I took a look at it, and it’s mostly general questions about the company. There are also two or three management questions. Anderson said those would be the points discussed during the trip, so it’s important to fill it out properly.

I nodded, my mind elsewhere. Come on, just a few more weeks to get through... There’s so much pressure. Not to mention the anxiety about my future. What a mess! I really hope I can hold on until then because I’m slowly starting to feel overwhelmed. If there’s one thing I’ve gotten used to this year, it’s the stability Lucy has brought into my life, and I’m determined to do whatever it takes to keep it.

[grievedeeply]

the less time, the better. pt 3.

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pairing: heimdall x gn!reader

summary: the days pass slowly in asgard as you find yourself becoming closer to heimdall, and he draws nearer to figuring out what his feelings for you are.

notes: all of the support on this has been absolutely crazy and i'm beyond grateful!! thank you all very much :") not proof read so mistakes are probably there lol. reader's getting feelings and heimdall's finally realizing what the feelings are!! y/n is VERY flirty in this chapter also!! this is shorter than the last part, but focuses solely on heimdall's relationship with y/n :) enjoy and let me know what you think!

it was to niflheim in search of the last mask piece. in due time. odin had told you to take your time, to enjoy all of the splendors and pleasantries asgard had to offer. you resisted the urge to groan at his words. you knew he was lying. he wanted you to find it as quickly as possible— to unlock whatever secrets he thought were hidden in the crack sitting in his library. what was up with that thing, anyway?

you wouldn't let him see it. even if it held nothing.

if heimdall didn't get in your way, first.

mimir had mentioned before that he was essentially odin's lapdog, that he protected him and asgard with his own life. he was correct. you swore he didn't have a brain to think on his own. even with his foresight, he couldn't see that he was being used, just like everyone else was. just like mimir, freya, týr.. you hated thinking about it. odin didn't care for him. he was just a good manipulator.

you pushed the thought out of your mind as you opened the door to your room, making your way up the stairs and to the mess hall to pick up some breakfast before you would train. you wanted to be prepared for your journey, but you would take your time. see how long it takes for odin to ask you to go himself.

you pulled out a chair at an empty table in the far corner, taking off the sheath your sword was held in and sitting it on the table. you found that the einherjar would look at you less strangely if you took off your weapons and laid them down. you would do that if it drew less attention to you.

your breakfast was cold when you got it. you weren't too sure why, but it was the only meal available, so you started picking at it with your fork. you rested your cheek on the palm of your hand, biting at the inside of your lip as you thought about.. well, everything.

your mind lingered back to your father and brother, then to freya.. then to baldur. you sighed at the image of him in your mind. looking back, he was a sad, lost man. he was desperate for answers. blinded by odin. you pitied him, and you would be lying if you said you hated watching him die. it was something you could never erase from your mind no matter how much you wanted to.

freya.. you remembered the look on her face on that day. you thought of her often. you knew she mourned baldur. you were friends, at one point. you missed that. she was motherly, a kind mentor and advisor to you and atreus back then. now, she was a shell of the woman she once was without her son. your father had stripped her of her choice. it made you sad to think about.

"well, well." a voice rung out from behind you, and you sighed. you recognized it, of course. heimdall. hardly anyone else talked to you, anyway. you glanced over your shoulder to look at him, you greeted him with a thin lipped smile. "hey, pretty boy." you said. he blinked a few times, mouth falling open at your words.

"c'mon. close your mouth, you'll catch flies." you chuckled, turning your attention back to your freezing food in front of you. it was nowhere near gone, solely due to the quality of it. it was.. okay, other days.

he cleared his throat. how have you managed to leave him speechless this many times? it was out of character for him to not have a snarky response to someone. what was so different about you?

"the allfather wanted me to remind you," he began, coming up from behind you. you felt his hands on your shoulders, squeezing them tightly. it felt surprisingly good. "of your mission. that is why you are here, is it not?" you let out a breath. you should've known he would have someone else come to talk to you about it instead of himself.

"yeah. i know. i'm a little busy right now." you gestured at your food, a soft sigh escaping from your lips. you wished it was hotter. "you don't look it. you haven't even touched it." heimdall retorted, his hands still on your shoulders. what was that feeling in your chest? it felt.. tight. you shrugged it off.

"yeah, because it's—"

"cold. i'm aware." he cut you off before you could even finish your sentence. "i could tell." he told you, glancing down at it with a look of disgust. he turned his head and snapped his fingers. a young looking mortal came up to him, a scared look in their eyes as they stared up at him. "fetch a new plate, will you? hot, this time. i'll know if it isn't." he grinned, clearly intimidating who he spoke to. "bye bye, now." he waved them off, pulling out the chair next to you.

he took gjallarhorn off of his belt, sitting it down on the table in front of him. you saw his eyes as he looked at it. proud? nervous? you couldn't tell. it was probably both. bearing it would be something to be proud of.. but it was also a reason to be scared. heimdall being scared was something that put you off. you pushed the idea away.

"what was that for?" you asked, an eyebrow raised as you watched the mortal scurry away. they looked terrified, and you could hardly blame them. you would be too, if you were in their shoes. "to get you moving. we have much to do." he replied without a moment's hesitation, and you chuckled.

"so, you didn't do that because you care about me?" you decided to tease, and his face flushed a light pink. had he done it because he.. cared about you? he shook his head, not sure if he was answering you or himself. "in your dreams." he spoke after a pause, and you rolled your eyes.

"you? please. i could do better."

"how so?"

you furrowed your brow. where was this conversation going? why were you talking about this? what were you doing?

"well.. i'm sure there are plenty of people out there who aren't condescending, overconfident, obnoxious, annoying.. petty. should i continue?" you asked, tilting your head with a mischievous look in your eye.

was he really all of those things? he rolled his eyes, "i would love to see you try to do better than me."

"sounds like you're in love with me." you replied without missing a beat, and his stomach dropped. in love? that was.. too much. he didn't even like you. not like that. right?

he took a moment to collect himself, and you laughed. "you are, aren't you?" he clenched his jaw. "do you ever shut up?" his voice was filled with frustration, and he sounded almost embarrassed. you chuckled, "you started it."

you both fell silent, and it suddenly felt awkward. you were only teasing. did he take it that seriously?

you cleared your throat, cutting through the tension. "i was just kidding. you know that, right?" you glanced over at him, and his eyes met yours.

why were they so.. beautiful?

if he replied, you didn't hear him. your gaze was focused on the galaxies he held in his eyes. they were captivating. why were you thinking like this? what was wrong with you?

he snapped his fingers in front of your face, and you released a breath you didn't even realize you had been holding. you blinked, focusing back in on the conversation. "did you hear me?" he asked, and you shook your head. "sorry. i was just thinking."

he let out an annoyed sounding sigh. "i said.. i know." he told you, tearing his eyes off of you.

the more he looked at you, the more he found himself thinking about you. you would come into his mind at the strangest of times, and he caught himself picturing your smile as he patrolled the top of the wall days ago.

you let out a breathless, soft chuckle, "good. good." you licked your lips, suddenly finding more interest in the table in front of you rather than the god sitting next to you.

what was he doing anyway? he didn't have to keep sitting here. why was he spending his time with you instead of doing something more valuable? more important?

"why are you here?" you asked, cracking your knuckles as you pulled your fixated gaze off of the table and onto him. "the allfather is eager for you to go to niflheim. as i said before. i'm ensuring that you remain true to your word, and go." he nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders, a smirk on his lips as he stared at you.

you nodded, "right. you're definitely not here because you secretly enjoy my company." you nudged his arm with your elbow, and his hand came to grip where you had touched. it felt.. weird. it was tingling.

why was his heart beating so fast?

"you would know if i enjoyed your company." he decided to say in response, forcing himself to look into your eyes. "how would i know?"

"i would be here of my own volition."

"looks like you are now." you shrugged.

"i already told you. i'm here because the allfather wants me to be. that's all there is to it." heimdall said, his gaze not leaving yours as he spoke.

the more time you spent around him, the less intimidating he became. he was like everyone else. minus the fact that he was a god.

you heard someone clear their throat from behind you, "your.. your food." their voice was quiet. another mortal from the kitchen.

"speak up." heimdall's voice rang out from beside you. they glanced between the two of you, and took in a shaky breath. "your food." they repeated, more confident in themselves this time. they extended the tray to you, and you thanked them before they left.

you looked over at him. did he do that because he wanted them to be more confident, or because he wanted to be mean? you couldn't tell. it's not like his tone was rude or condescending, but the way he naturally spoke could sound like that anyway.

he rested his chin on the palm of his hand, "eat. we have places to be."

"we?" you inquired, and he nodded. "we. the allfather wishes for us to go together. again."

"because that went so great last time?" you said to yourself. "it would've been better if you deciphered it correctly the first time." he replied. "oh, yeah? and you can do better?" you leaned closer to him, your eyes meeting his through your eyelashes.

his face flushed. you were.. stunning. he hadn't seen you this close. to anyone else, it looked as though you were attempting to kiss him. you could hear a few soft cheers from across the mess hall, and he stared at your lips.

you watched his eyes flicker between your eyes and your lips, and you chuckled.

"you falling for me, pretty boy?" your voice lowered into a whisper, and with his heightened hearing it sounded as though you were talking right into his ear. he let out a shaky exhale, and watched as you licked your lips.

he sat his hands on your waist, and pulled you closer.

"in your dreams."

your lips were only a few centimeters away, and you found yourself almost wanting to kiss him. what was that? you laughed at his words, "i think i should be the one saying that to you." you muttered.

"a giant and the aesir's posterboy.. aw." you whispered to him, your tone taking on a sultry, teasing tone as you did so. you could feel his grip on you tighten.

what was he doing— letting you toy with him like this in public? was he liking this?

did he like you?

the thought sent a pang through his chest, and he swallowed. he couldn't. you were a giant, an enemy of himself and his people— and your father was the man who had killed baldur. he.. couldn't. he wouldn't feel that way about you.

but..

he felt a tug on his heartstrings as he looked at you. your gaze was so soft as you stared into his eyes. they were beautiful. he looked at your lips again, then back at your eyes.

"i don't like you." he said, not sure if he was talking to you or to himself.

"keep telling yourself that." you teased.

you pulled yourself away from him, and he almost missed the feeling of your hips in his hands.

why had you shared such an intimate moment like that? why were you teasing him so much?

did he actually like you in that way?

he fell silent after you left his touch, deciding that saying nothing was better than embarrassing himself further. why were you so good at flirting with him? was that was that was? were you flirting? he shut his eyes. what was wrong with him?

you watched as he seemed to have an internal debate, and you almost felt bad for causing it. you could only wonder what he was thinking.

it was probably for the best, anyway.

you lifted your fork, finally beginning to eat your meal.

it was hot, after all.

tags: @graciegizmo3184 @anzanishira @chocokaylarobin @uncoveredsun @caelestis-lyrae @prio-motu @bluehorizon987 @freyrees @ieatmarbles @rohansregret @konigd1cks0ck @smilesdarling @multifand0m-gal0re @huan-chan @rustypotatospork | join my taglist!

[m00nlight-ramblings]

Sun Up

I love me a domestic-ish Gale one-shot. Just a quickie about waking up with Gale on a morning where there's nothing to do.

Warnings: the beginnings of some NSFW, but not explicit

REMINDER: my inbox and requests are open! Shoot me a line and I'll write a little ditty up for ya!

You wouldn't have woken up so early if it weren't for the sudden breeze that entered through the open window next to the bed. The sound of windchimes from somewhere close in the city filled your ears as you groaned, you eyes refusing to open.

Suddenly you felt a pair of strong arms wrap you around your waist from behind. Hot breath tickled your ear as Gale spoke, his morning voice octaves lower than his normal.

"Windchimes should be outlawed on a Sunday in Waterdeep." He grumbled, pressing a kiss on whatever bodily surface was closest to him (aka your ear).

You smiled, finding it hard to speak so close to waking up. Instead, you sighed happily and lazily flipped yourself around so you were facing your boyfriend, drawing him closer to you. He kissed the top of your forehead and remained silent, both of you staying in the space between "sleep" and "awake".

Finally, after a few minutes (between 5 and 30, you couldn't really be sure), you spoke: "I don't want to do anything today."

Gale grumbled in agreement, "Neither do I, my love. At some point we do need to head to the market for the onions for dinner tonight-" I instantly began to protest and Gale chuckled, "I said at some point. As in, maybe four hours from now, darling."

"Fine." I finally grumbled, my eyes still closed and voice still foggy. I lazily drew circles on Gale's chest, running my fingers through his chest hair. The sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting early morning shadows through the room. The room, which was messy from scattered books and various academic papers strewn about, was supposed to have been cleaned within the past few days, a promise you and Gale had made to each other.

Eh...you'd get around to it.

The waves from the water in the distances lulled a sense of peace for the morning. You sighed happily again, running your hands up and down Gale's back. He mimicked your actions, peppering your head with kisses.

"Something on your mind, my dear?" He asked trailing his finger over your jawline. This action sent shivers down your spine as you looked up to him, immediately getting lost in his soulful, brown eyes.

"Just...content," You said, stretching you legs by pushing downward with them. "I could rest like this forever."

And it was true. The previous "adventure" of ridding the tadpoles and saving Faerun (and everything that came along with it), though brought you and Gale together, wasn't necessarily a fun one. You remembered the nights when you'd lay awake in your tent, anxiety spilling out of you with thoughts of what was to come and what you were to experience soon. You longed for the days where you could lazily lounge in bed...and once something started stirring between you and Gale, you longed for the days where you could lazily lounge in bed.

With him. Naked.

It often never seemed like those days would come, but now that this was your life, and you had gotten everything you ever wanted, you couldn't help but relish in the splendors. Some mornings you'd wake with a start, your body being tricked that the domesticated bliss you shared with Gale wasn't real - that you were still somewhere deep on the trail, anticipating your next battle. But when you'd turn and see Gale sleeping peacefully, snoring lightly, sometimes Tara at your feet...your heart would calm. The adrenaline pulsing through your body would soften, and you'd slip back under the sheets, immediately wrapping and arm around Gale not only for comfort, but also for grounding.

You both were safe, and far away from the past of battle and trials. The most vicious thing you had to deal with was whether or not you wanted chicken or lamb for dinner that evening.

"Ah," Gale said in agreement, wrapping himself closer to you, "As could I. How lucky are we, my love?" He smiled and started to kiss down your jawline, mimicking the pattern he had created with his finger just moments before.

You breathed his name as he continued, trailing down your neck to your collarbone. You felt a heat rising within you that doubled in sensation when Gale's hand found itself on the outside of your thigh, and with one swift motion, gripped your skin possessively. You gasped, one of your hands finding itself in Gale's hair, giving it a hard tug. He growled lightly in response and with the same hand that was on your thigh a moment earlier, he gently pushed your leg open, moving himself closer so you could feel his hardening anticipation.

"I thought you said you didn't want to do anything today..." You spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. You felt your heart start to beat faster as Gale's hand explored the lower half of your body and his lips started to suck on the spots his was kissing. How easily you lost yourself with him.

He chuckled and pulled back slightly, looking at you. "Well...you drive such a hard bargain. Who am I to say no to...doing something today, when that something happens to be the most beautiful creature I've ever laid eyes on, lying in bed next to me?" His eyes were twinkling and it caused you to giggle.

"Well, who am I to object?" You spoke, your voice growing husky again. Immediately, your lips found his and you both started to moan, bodies moving together. You giggled and pulled the blankets up to your chins.

So...it wasn't a day of doing completely nothing.

[galesdevoteewife]

💕10 and 26 for the wedding asks!💕

10. Flowers - The wedding was decorated with many flowers and plants. Morena chose numerous seasonal flowers with meaningful messages as a blessing and a secret gesture for her beloved son's wedding.

"That's a lot of pink, mother." Gale, being a bit of a brat, questioned, and got smacked on the arm.

She also bought two crystal roses and made them into brooches to pin on the bride and groom, one each. They were very expensive, costing her most of her savings, but she was very happy because she wanted them to have all the best that she could give.

26. The First Look - For Gale, it was a dream come true. During the time Zilvera was running around, he had spent more than a month at home, alone, staring at the matching outfits that hung on the mannequins. He couldn't help but worry about all the what-ifs. He lost his words and short-circuited for a moment before joy rushed through his mind.

"We've been through so much, yet I can only feel grateful," he murmured, gently taking her hand and caressing the back of it with his thumb. The familiar silkiness and slightly cool temperature of her skin assured him that this wasn't any of his daydreams. She is back to him. "You bring the heavens wherever you go. Among all the realms and universes, nothing and no one can rival the splendor of your beauty," he said, affectionately, softly. Pressing his lips to the spot where his thumb had been. "I am the luckiest of all, to be chosen by you."

♡ Wedding Prompts ♡01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

[velidewrites]

Summary: When 19-year old Feyre Archeron voluntarily takes her sister's place in the Hunger Games, she expects nothing but her imminent demise. But Feyre is a survivor, and as she is thrown into a battle between life and death, she discovers there are things worth fighting for.

Pairing: Feysand

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, graphic depictions of blood and gore, Feyre being sexy and unhinged, wait a second is that Rhysand? Is he also sexy and unhinged? AKA Feysand (literally) slaying the game

Read: Chapter I || Chapter III || Fic Masterlist || AO3

Chapter II: Isn't It Beautiful?

Feyre hadn’t always been a hunter.

Years ago, she used to paint.

The first thing she’d ever bought on the black market was a used-up brush. At nine years old, she’d stolen a few of Father’s coins off the kitchen counter, too young and carried by excitement to care about the consequences.

Mother had warned her about that place, full of dangerous items and even more dangerous people, making a point of never walking past it during their weekly errands. But Feyre had found it on her own, marvelling at the large hall that looked on the verge of collapse, and when she’d entered through the broken glass door, her breath nearly caught.

The black market was magnificent.

She’d seen wonders her mind had never even dared to dream of, like the lamp from District Three that floated over the table with nothing to support it. The light it emitted was small yet bright, and she could have sworn she felt a gentle sort of warmth caressing her face from above. It reminded her of the sun, except this one…this one she could take home, never to suffer another winter again. Elain would have loved such a gift. But Feyre had stolen only a few measly coins, and so the merchant had shown her the brush.

His yellow eye had narrowed on her. “Where did you get this money, huh?”

Feyre’s expression mirrored his own. “Do you really care?” she’d retorted.

The man’s head tipped back in laughter, and handed her the brush with a small shake of his hair, warning her not to hold it too tight—lest she get any splinters.

In that moment, Feyre realised—the things they sold in there…they weren’t dangerous, but exciting. And the people? Extraordinary.

Before she left, Andras had handed her a small, wooden box with a wink of his one eye. “Make sure to hide it well,” he’d told her.

Feyre didn’t dare open it until she got home, locked the bedroom door and hid under the bed’s cold, steel frame.

Red, yellow and blue paint had laid inside, and suddenly, the world had become a better place.

She’d used the yellow one first—to paint Andras’s eye. She could almost see it now, in her memory, a terrible piece of paper that had brought her more joy in her short nine years of life than anything ever had before.

Looking back, she shouldn’t have used it all so quickly. The paint had ran out within months, and then…and then her mother died, then her father, and finally, the world had lost all colour again.

Still, Feyre wished she had it with her now. She would have used it to paint the rolling green hills outside the window as she rode toward her imminent death.

The train was…ridiculous.

She couldn’t find a better word for it no matter how hard she had tried. She’d expected nothing less from the Capitol—to try and create a perfect picture of luxury out of something as simple as transportation. After all, it was but a mere means of getting from one place to another. There was no need for all this…splendor.

As soon as she’d said her final goodbyes, she was thrown into a car—the first car she’d ever been in, truthfully. She wasn’t scared, not of the car, at least, though after about twenty minutes, a strange sensation settled heavily in her stomach, and it hadn’t stopped until she was able to step out into the fresh air. Thankfully, she hadn’t gotten sick on the ground. There were cameras…well, everywhere.

They’d put them on the train afterwards, and if Feyre thought the car had been too ostentatious, she was most definitely in the wrong—deeply. In Twelve, she was used to simplicity—wooden homes, gravelly streets, dust permanently settled in the air. Stumbling over lumps of coal every two steps. Feyre wasn’t a fool—she knew the Capitol relished in luxury. And yet, this exceeded all her expectations.

Firstly, it was all so…clean. Pristine, even. Plush, coloured carpets of vibrant blues covered the polished, wooden floor. Chandeliers of pure crystal hung from the ceiling, casting gentle light despite it being the middle of the day. Glass windows occupied almost the entire wall space, offering breathtaking views as they began to pass the fields of District Eleven.

Feyre sat by one of them, on what was probably the most comfortable chair she’d ever sat on in her life, navy blue like the carpet beneath. She fought the urge to take her shoes off just to feel it, though she doubted anyone would kill her for the lack of manners. Not yet, anyway.

Inches away from her sat Tamlin, the florist’s boy, though he hadn’t said a word since…had he even said anything? Absently, Feyre brushed her thumb over her hand. She could still feel the coarseness of his fingers on her skin. How does a florist get such rough hands? 

She supposed she had an idea.

The automatic door in front of them opened with a quiet whoosh, and the crimson woman appeared. Feyre resisted to sigh.

Her dark eyes landed on the two of them, and those red-stained lips widened in a smile, revealing a set of perfect, white teeth.

“Well?” she asked, her face a portrait of self-satisfaction. “How do you like it?”

Feyre said nothing. “I don’t” seemed like an answer this woman didn’t really want to hear.

Beside her, Tamlin opened his mouth at last. “It’s…nice.”

Feyre snorted.

The woman’s brows furrowed in disapproval, as if the President could’ve heard her from the Capitol itself. Such noises, it seemed, had no place in a distinguished place like this.

“Anyway,” she sighed, taking her seat opposite Tamlin. “Now that things are in order, I believe it is time for introductions.” That infuriating smile twisted her mouth again. “My name is Amarantha, and I am here to help you on this exciting journey.”

If death of dozens of teenagers is exciting to you, then be my guest, Feyre thought with a grimace.

“I’m sure you will find the Capitol to your liking, although it might get a tad bit overwhelming for the two of you at first.” Her voice, though syrupy and sweet, practically dripped with pity. “Everything will be provided for you upon your arrival, of course, and you will have staff waiting on you at all times at the penthouse.”

Feyre’s brows furrowed. The penthouse?

The question must have been written all over her face, because Amarantha’s face lit up again.

“Yes, that’s right,” she nodded, and Feyre could have sworn a certain smugness crept into her tone. “For the next two weeks, you’ll be living in accommodations provided for you by the Capitol, with an ever-present staff to grant any wish you may have. I bet that sounds a little better now, hmm?”

When neither of them graced her with an answer, Amarantha rose from her chair with another dramatic sigh. “Well,” she said, “I think it’s time that the two of you meet your mentor. I’ll be right back, and in the meantime, please enjoy your newfound luxury.” While it lasts hung in the air as she left the cart, the light click of her heels dimming with every step.

Now what?

There was no doubt in Feyre’s mind that Tamlin found this entire spectacle as utterly useless as she did. Would this be how they gain a common ground? Should she say anything?

Feyre opened her mouth, but Tamlin had already turned to the other window, leaving Feyre all to her thoughts.

I guess not.

She wondered if he was already debating the ways he could kill her the quickest. Would it be a stone to the head? A knife to her throat? Poison in her mouth as she slept?

The familiar nausea from the car returned, and Feyre forced herself to take a deep breath.

Strong or not, Tamlin had about as much experience in the Hunger Games as she did, Feyre assured herself. Whoever this mentor was, they would be teaching both of them. She just had to make sure she learned faster than Tamlin did.

Having nothing better to do, Feyre reached into her memory. Mentors were previous victors from the Tributes’ District, and Twelve was famously lacking in victories. Districts One, Two—they were Capitol favourites, bred as fighters. The Victors had most commonly come from the two, with few exceptions over the course of history—Isaac being one of them.

Feyre would give anything to have him here now. Perhaps death wouldn’t seem so lonely.

She hadn’t seen the games before Isaac’s edition—the seventy-second Hunger Games, though she knew that apart from him, there were two other winners from District Twelve. After sneaking past their father, Elain and Nesta would whisper about the horrors they’d seen, the children that had been killed. One night, ten years ago, her sisters slid under the covers beside her, talking over each other excitedly. He won, Feyre, Elain had told her, her doe eyes glistening under the pale moonlight. The boy from our District won.

She never learned his name, had never even seen him afterwards. He lived in the Capitol now, the people used to whisper, practically drowning in riches. His victory, apparently, had been particularly bloody—and lucky for him, the Capitol had a fondness for blood.

The door opened again, and Amarantha came in again, a saccharine smile playing on her lips.

“May I introduce you to your mentor,” she offered, taking a step further. “This, as I’m sure you know, is Alis.”

Feyre was as good as dead.

Alis Urisk, sixty-four. Not too old by Capitol standards, but in District Twelve, most people were lucky to see fifty. Her victory, Feyre supposed, served her right.

Alis won the twenty-fourth Hunger Games. The person that was meant to teach her how to fight, how to kill, won fifty years ago. 

“Are you our mentor?” Tamlin asked, his thoughts clearly mirroring Feyre’s as his eyes settled on Alis’s long, wooden crane.

The woman’s eyes narrowed, a deep crease forming between her brows. “Try not to look so disappointed, boy,” she told him, her voice clear and strong. “I could kill you right where you stand.”

Feyre couldn’t help but smile at that. Perhaps Alis wasn’t so bad after all.

In a few, albeit slow, steps, Alis took her seat opposite Feyre, Amarantha following closely behind her as she offered Tamlin a smile. “Comfortable?” she asked him sweetly.

“Does it matter?” Alis asked impatiently, and Amarantha huffed in response. Alis rolled her eyes, and Feyre bit back another snort. “Now, here’s how this is gonna go,” she began, her stern gaze surveying them both in assessment. “I’m here to teach you everything I know. If you don’t listen, you die. If you do listen but don’t give a shit about what I say, you die. You may die either way, but if you pay attention, you might at least not die first.”

Some consolation, Feyre thought.

“There are three rules when it comes to winning the Games,” Alis continued. “One: starting today, everyone you see is your enemy. You trust no one,” she ordered, her fist tightening on the head of her crane. “Two: you learn a skill, and you use it. Without it, you might as well shove a knife through your throat right now.”

Beside her, Amarantha let out a small gasp. Alis rolled her eyes again. “Rule number three: in the Hunger Games, killing and surviving means the same thing. There will be twenty-three people with you in the arena, some of them very likely to be kids. You might hesitate, I’ve seen it happen. Don’t. You see another Tribute, you either kill them or you run. Understood?”

Feyre was going to vomit.

“Understood,” Tamlin told her.

“Good,” Alis said, rising from her chair somewhat awkwardly. “Now, if you excuse me, I’m going to retire to my room. Lesson two begins at dinner.”

And with that, she left.

“Isn’t she charming?” Amarantha smiled. “I’m sure the three of you are going to have a lovely time together.”

Tamlin nodded, and Amarantha’s smile widened. “Charming. Now, I’m afraid I must alert the Capitol of our journey’s progress.” She stood up. “I’ll leave you to it, so you can get reacquainted.”

The door closed behind her, and Feyre looked out the window again, ready to embrace the silence.

“Alis Urisk,” Tamlin spoke quietly, and Feyre looked at him in surprise. “I remember now.”

Feyre’s brows knotted. “What do you remember?”

“My father talks about her sometimes,” he explained, his gaze focused on where his finger traced circles on the velvety armrest. “She won the Games at fourteen.”

“Fourteen?”

He nodded. “One night, shortly after the games started, she poisoned the river, the only water source at the arena. Fifteen Tributes were dead by morning.”

All the blood drained from Feyre’s face. “And the rest?”

Tamlin shrugged. “Killed each other within days. Alis stayed hidden the whole time.” He angled his head, scanning for her reaction. “She may not be a killer, but she knows her way around plants.”

Feyre said nothing, her mind drifting to those fifteen Tributes from fifty years ago. She wondered if death by poison was a mercy—if having their bodies shut down of their own accord was better than bleeding out a painful death.

You may die either way, but if you pay attention, you might at least not die first, Alis told them. Feyre wasn’t sure if she wanted to pay attention after all.

Find a skill, and use it. Easy for Alis to say. How long would it take her to learn which plants were poisonous and which weren’t? Elain would probably know.

Did Tamlin?

"You're the florist's son,” the words left her mouth before she managed to stop them.

Tamlin nodded. "And you are the miner's daughter."

That took Feyre by surprise. She was sure they'd never met before—fairly certain, at the very least. How did he know?

In the end, it didn't really matter. They'd both soon be dead anyway. And so, suspicions already forgotten, Feyre only shook her head. "I was."

Tamlin's emerald eyes were shadowed as he finally met her gaze, the first scrape of emotion she’d seen him show since his name was called out at the Reaping. "I'm sorry."

Feyre shrugged. "It happens." Often.

Silence fell again, accompanied only by the train's gentle hum, and she looked out to the passing fields, their green paling in comparison to Twelve's vibrant forests. Her heart clenched at the thought. She would never see those forests again.

Unfortunately, this wasn't the time to wallow in self-pity. The enemy was sitting right beside her, and the less miserable he saw her, the better.

"Do people really buy flowers in District Twelve?" Feyre asked, partly to stifle her curiosity, and partly to somehow fill this dreadful quiet.

Tamlin surveyed her with a long, unreadable stare before he said, "You’d be surprised how many people search for beauty in places where you’d least expect it."

Her mind travelled back home again, to the time when her family had enough food to spare money for simple things. Years ago, when she went out on errands and accidentally stumbled upon his father's shop. She'd bought a rose for Elain, then, its petals in full bloom and a light shade of pink.

As much as she hated to do so, Feyre had to agree with Tamlin. Elain's smile upon receiving the rose was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

She wondered what her sister would think if she saw the luxury they’d thrown her into, about to be served dinner that most likely didn’t constitute of bloodied poultry.

A rush of cold ran through Feyre’s veins at that. Was the turkey she’d caught this morning already gone?

Impossible. Nesta would know to ration the food responsibly. Without Feyre, the bird would probably last them another day. Good.

And after that…Isaac would help them, she was certain of that. He would sneak food for them, like’d tried to do for Feyre so many times. She’d always refused, though—unless the moment was absolutely crucial. It was because of Isaac that they managed to survive last winter. Would they survive the next one?

Something burned in her eyes as she realised she’d never know. She would never be able to ensure her sisters’ survival again. Would never see Elain tending to her small vegetable garden in the late spring, would never see Nesta smile as the autumn leaves fell, splashes of colour in their grey lives. She’d never see Andras’s yellow eye and would never barter with him again. And Isaac…

Now, in her solitude, she could admit she had always wanted to kiss him. Wanted to pull him into a tight embrace and savour his warmth in the coldest of winters. Wanted to cry to him about how hard her life was sometimes, and let him cry about his in return.

Feyre didn’t love Isaac and Isaac didn’t love her, but they understood each other like no one else. A kiss goodbye—she wished she had given him at least that.

***

Dinner was served on golden plates—another ridiculous waste.

“Go on,” Amarantha encouraged. “Eat, my dear.”

The problem wasn’t to eat—it was to grasp everything that had been laid in front of her. Feyre had never seen that much food in one place in her life—she didn’t even know food could have this much colour.

Salads of what seemed like every shade of red, yellow and green, aromatic fish topped with what looked like a very dried out piece of potato, the concept of which Feyre did not understand, chicken, lamb, bread…

Mountains upon mountains of hot, glorious food the four of them couldn’t eat no matter how hard they tried. All of it, Feyre knew, would go to waste. Anger boiled inside her at the thought. She’d make a point to eat as much of it as she could.

The lamb melted in her mouth, and Feyre couldn’t help but groan in delight, to Amarantha’s very obvious content. Even beside her, with a large piece of the meat on his own plate, Tamlin look stunned. Her stomach growled in impatience, and she reached out for another serving when Alis’s cane landed right between their plates with a loud clank.

Beside them, Amarantha exclaimed in exasperation. “Alis!”

“Lesson number two,” the mentor said, “never trust food given to you by a stranger.”

Amarantha’s eyes widened. “I can assure you, this food is perfectly safe, and frankly, I’m offended at the insinuation, the Capitol…”

“Oh, please,” Alis rolled her eyes, withdrawing the cane before retreating back into her seat.

She might have been crazy, but Feyre decided she liked her.

“I suggest you save the good advice for the training,” Amarantha huffed, placing a pathetic piece of lettuce on her plate.

Feyre frowned. “Training?”

Alis nodded. “For the next two weeks, you and the other Tributes are going to attend mandatory training. Hand-to-hand combat, axe-throwing, knives, swords. Anything, really. It’s great fun, and a great way to get the attention of the sponsors.”

“How so?” Feyre asked.

“The sponsors, or the Capitol’s elite, will be watching your every move before betting on a champion the dawn before the Games begin,” Alis explained. “If you manage to catch their attention, they will use their resources to stay alive.”

Tamlin blew out a breath.

“Which brings us to rule number two,” Alis continued. “What skills do you have?”

Feyre and Tamlin exchanged a look,  neither of them wanting to share their greatest abilities in each other’s presence.

Again, Alis rolled her eyes. “Well?” she urged.

Feyre shrugged. “I don’t have any.”

Alis sighed. “That’s what any mentor loves to hear.”

“She can hunt,” Tamlin said suddenly, and Feyre whipped her head to him in disbelief. He cleared his throat. “Feyre’s a hunter. I see her out in the woods sometimes when I’m out getting flowers.”

Feyre opened her mouth in protest, but Alis beat her to it. “Good. We can work with that,” she said, offering Feyre a nod of approval. 

She shrank further in her seat.

Alis asked, “What about you, buy?”

Tamlin considered for a moment, then shook his head.

Two can play this game, Feyre thought.

“Tamlin’s strong,” she said, then looked him straight in the eyes. “He does more in the woods than search for flowers.” It was true. She’d seen him, too—working out where no one would see, no one would question. She’d seen him lift the bark of a small tree, once, broken by the blizzard one winter.

She just never knew he’d seen her, too.

Alis snickered, clearly pleased with this display of rivalry.

“I had a feeling,” Tamlin said quietly, his gaze not leaving Feyre’s for a second. “I knew that, one way or another, one year it would be me. I had to prepare.”

Alis nodded again. “Good. We can work with that, too.”

Once again, she looked at them both and sighed before propping up her cane. “Eat,” she ordered, rising from the chair. “I will see you both in the Capitol.”

Not daring another look at Tamlin, Feyre returned to her food.

***

The night had already fallen behind the large glass windows, the soft glow of the live holo-programme lighting up Feyre’s room.

Curled up on the couch, blue velvet like every other piece of furniture on this train, she fought back sleep, determined to learn as much as she could before arriving at the Capitol.

Tamlin knew all about Alis’s victory, and he most likely knew of other Tributes’ as well. The only method of killing Feyre was familiar with was her bow and arrows. Needless to say, her chances were less than slim.

“There it is, the final battle for life or death, how exciting…” one of the presenters’ voices pulled her from her thoughts.

“You know, the sixty-ninth Hunger Games was probably my favourite edition,” the other said, the image switching to the newsroom where two men, draped in bright, vivid colours, sat at the table.

“Was it now?” the first man raised his eyebrows in surprise. “See, now, I’d have to say the year before would have to be my winner.”

“Oh, that sure was something,” the other mused, the screen behind him lighting up with a clip of a blizzard, a white-haired man making his way through it.

“Six Tributes trapped in a frozen cave,” the first man shook his head, his cheekbones shimmering with what seemed like golden glitter. “All done by one man, and a well-deserved victor, might I add.”

“A truly ingenious idea,” his companion agreed, the image on a screen behind him switching back to the battle. “You’ll have to agree, though, Helion, that this was one of the best victories we’ve ever seen.”

“Such skill,” Helion agreed, as two Tributes, dressed in strange clothing, fought in the scorching sun on the screen behind him.

She knew this man, Feyre suddenly realised, from the interviews she watched during Isaac’s games. Helion Spellcleaver, the Capitol’s favourite media personality, hosted the Games for as long as she’d remembered.

“Look at them,” the other man pointed to the Tributes. “It’s rare to see a sword fight in the final moments these days. Very exciting.”

“Our victor sure knows his way around a sword,” Helion agreed, and his co-host laughed.

“It most certainly didn’t take him long to earn his title,” he said. “And he fought against a sixteen-year old! They’re always the most bloodthirsty, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Helion grinned. “And they always provide good opponents. But—look—this victor from District Two is unmatched in his raw skill.”

With a hoarse scream, the boy from Two launched at his opponent, and shoved a sword straight through the other’s neck.

“Spectacular victory,” Helion said. “One of my favourite years, to be sure, and one of my favourite arenas—the ruined colosseum, the winged creatures—horses, were they?— hunting them as prey. Magnificent.”

The lone Tribute now stood as a victor, his hair sticky with blood, sweat rolling down his neck as he dropped his sword to the ground.

Feyre shut off the holo, her room once again covered in darkness.

How could this man—this child—live with himself after what he’d done? What they had made him do? Where was he now, if not mad with the memories of blood on his hands?

They said the Games were a punishment, but for the Tributes, Feyre realised, they were so much more. They were a curse—never-ending and never to be broken. No matter what happened—even if, by some miracle, she won this wretched pageant—Feyre’s life was already over.

***

Feyre woke up to the sound of people chanting her name.

She rushed to the dining cabin, where Tamlin, Alis and Amarantha were already waiting—Tamlin waving to the crowds, cheering behind the glass windows.

“Ah, lovely Feyre!,” Amarantha exclaimed. “We’ve arrived at the Capitol. Look,” she gestured toward the window, her face a picture of pure bliss. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

It was. It was also the ugliest thing she’d ever seen.

Those people…they were just as ridiculous as this city was. Veiled in luxury, vibrance, money—she could have sword some of them had glued whiskers to their faces, their bodies painted to resemble fur of animals she’d only ever heard of, but had never seen.

How the hell was she going to get these people to like her?

Tamlin waved to them again, a small smile blooming on his usually stone-like face, and Feyre stepped closer.

Someone must have spotted her, because cheers erupted around the crowd once again.

“We love you, Feyre!” some woman, clearly drowning in pink tulle, screamed.

“Feyre, wave here, please!”

“Feyre, over here!”

“Feyre!”

“Feyre, did you and Elain get to say goodbye?”

Feyre’s heart stopped.

She stumbled back a step, a wave of dizziness rushing over her in an instant. “How much longer,” she managed hoarsely.

“We’re here.”

***

Feyre hated getting her legs waxed.

The Capitol people, as she liked to call them now, told her it was unfortunately necessary, as they had never seen so much hair on one person. She wasn’t sure what to make of it.

The rest of “the makeover,” as the Capitol people called it, consisted on more painful processes she’d never had to endure before—getting her eyebrows trimmed, for example, made her question whether the Hunger Games had already started. She would have taken poison over going through that again any time.

Now, she sat on a cold, metal table in a small room, waiting. Amarantha and Alis explained the day’s agenda in detail, and Feyre’s head was so full of information she was starting to get a headache. After three torturous hours of waxing, trimming, and plucking, she was now scheduled to meet her stylist—the designer that would dress her for the next two weeks, from formal, public events, to the day she was due to step into the arena.

The doors—automatic, just as on the train—slid open, and a figure stepped into the light.

She was beautiful, much more than Amarantha, in a less flashy, elegant way. Her long, black hair and dark eyes, accentuated by the sleek, grey-black dress that hugged her body, all made her look like a shadow as she moved towards her gracefully.

“Feyre,” the woman said, even her voice like a calm, soothing harmony. “It is an honour to finally meet you.”

Feyre nodded. “You, too.”

“My name is Nuala, and I’m going to be your stylist this edition.” She leaned in, her voice just barely above a whisper as she added, “I am so sorry this happened to you.”

Feyre looked at her in surprise. “Most people just congratulate me.”

Nuala shook her head. “I don’t see a point in that.” She reached out to place a slender hand on Feyre’s shoulder. “If I may. What you did for your sister…I have a sister myself. You have a good heart, Feyre.”

Tears began to form in the corner of Feyre’s eyes. She didn’t know what it was about this woman, but somehow, she knew she could be trusted. “What’s your sister’s name?” she whispered.

Nuala smiled. “Cerridwen. She is styling the other Tribute from your District as we speak.”

“Tamlin,” Feyre told her.

Nuala nodded. “Yes. Do you understand what’s happening today, Feyre?”

Feyre swallowed hard. “They said something about a parade.”

Another nod. “The Tribute’s Parade is not only a chance to present you to the Capitol. It is an opportunity to create a good first impression.” She angled her head. “How much do you know about sponsors?”

Feyre hesitated. “They…help us in the arena.”

“Food, medicine. Even weapons, sometimes. Anything goes, as long as they like you. This,” she said, taking a step back, “is my job. To make you memorable in their minds, their hearts, for the Capitol to see a champion in you.”

“I’m not sure I have any champion-like qualities.”

Nuala’s smile broadened at that. “You do. I’ve seen it, and so will the rest of the world. Now,” she took Feyre’s hands, helping her off the table. “Let’s get to work.”

***

Feyre blew out a shaky breath. “So, when do I press?”

Cerridwen, Nuala’s identical twin, as it turned out, pointed to the red button on the small remote they’d handed them minutes earlier. “As soon as you hit the light.”

“I don’t understand,” Tamlin spoke up beside her. “I thought we were supposed to dress like our District’s main export.”

Cerridwen huffed, while Nuala explained. “Look around,” she gestured to the chariot a few meters in front of them, where the two Tributes stood practically naked, covered in hand-painted scales. Feyre couldn’t help but admire the work someone must have put into this. “District Four, fishing. There,” she gestured again, to a chariot closer this time, its Tributes dressed in green tulle. “The ruffled fabric is supposed to resemble leaves. District Seven, lumber.”

“Our District’s export is coal,” Tamlin’s brows knotted.

“Yes, but we didn’t want to do that,” Nuala said with a secretive smile. “Besides, it isn’t only that.”

“Which is why you have the remote,” Cerridwen added. “It’ll all come together when you press the button. Remember: only once you reach daylight.”

Feyre nodded, looking to her costume again. A simple black bodysuit, similar to Tamlin’s, adorned in small, black gems, almost invisible to the naked eye. She wasn’t sure what to make of it—apart from the silver eye makeup, she quite frankly looked like lump of coal—but she trusted Nuala’s judgement.

Cerridwen passed her a small mirror, and Feyre assessed her look again. Her face, despite the hollow cheekbones and grim expression, had never looked better. The same glitter she’d seen on Helion Spellcleavers face now shone on hers, though silver in colour, bringing out the cool blue of her irises. Her lips were painted a shade of pink that matched her natural one exactly, bringing out their fullness. Nuala had twisted her hair into braids, tied up over her head into an intricate shape that reminded her of a star. Feyre looked as though she’d come from another world.

“It’s time,” Nuala announced with a last, gentle pat on Feyre’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” Feyre offered, and Nuala smiled.

“You’ll thank me later,” she winked. “I’m sure of it.”

With that, the two sisters left, and Feyre and Tamlin stood in the chariot in silence.

“You have the remote?” Tamlin asked.

Feyre sighed. “Yes.”

“Okay, so once…”

“Once we reach daylight, I know.” She looked to meet his gaze. “Do you not trust me?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Should I?”

Feyre didn’t answer.

The sound of Panem’s national anthem sounded over the hangar, and the chariots, led by a pair of tall horses—theirs had been dark, silver thread woven into their hair—began to line up in formation.

Squinting to get a glimpse of what awaited them outside, Feyre leaned forward, making out a long, wide road, surrounded by a rainbow of the Capitol’s citizens, their cheers louder with each chariot emerging into sight. Large holo-banners stood on each side of the road, capturing close-up images of the Tributes, now displaying a pair from District Two, dressed in golden, metallic armour, similar she had seen on last night’s victor from Helion Spellcleaver’s programme.

Their chariot began to move, and Feyre gripped her remote tightly. Only a few more moments, and they would step into the light.

Almost there.

One more second, and…

They emerged to the sound of cheers, and Feyre placed a finger on the button, daring one last look at the banners before pressing.

“Feyre!” Tamlin shouted, panic rising in his voice.

“Wait!” Feyre told him, silently praying her hunch was right. “Trust me!”

And then, the camera focused on them, a close-up image of District Twelve’s Tributes lighting up the banners.

Feyre pressed the button.

Darkness erupted around them, as if the night sky fell from above and into their presence, veiling everything from view but the two Tributes in its very centre.

The crowd roared, and Feyre looked to the banner again.

She was a star that had come alive.

The small gems—some strange variety of crystals, she now realised, glittered in the darkness brighter than the sun above, with a magical silver hue. Speckled all over her body, from neck to toe, Feyre shimmered, a star among the night.

Even Tamlin’s mouth hung open.

Consumed by her awe, Feyre looked down, placing a finger on one of the shining crystals, and a small laugh escaped her.

She finally touched a star.

“Feyre,” she felt Tamlin nudge her side. “They’re watching.”

Tearing her gaze from the starlight, Feyre looked to the Tributes in front of them—all waving to the crowds. A realisation lit up her mind suddenly—and she looked to Tamlin again.

“Take my hand!” she told him.

Stunned, Tamlin’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Trust me!” she said, taking his hand in hers. “They’ll love it!”

He stared at her, then at the crowd again, before finally nodding in agreement.

Feyre smiled broadly straight to the camera, waiting for their image to enter the banners again, and at the exact moment they did, she raised their joined hands in triumph.

The Capitol’s crowd had gone wild at that, some sectors going as far as to chanting their names, flowers of all kinds and colours falling to the floor of their chariot. Feyre kept on smiling, their hands joined until they reached the road’s very end, the banners now out of sight.

On a balcony high above them stood her executioner.

President Hybern stepped forward to a podium, a microphone already in place.

He was an old man—older than Alis, perhaps—his greying hair and wrinkled face betraying wisdom only years could bring. With a knowing smile, he began his opening speech.

“Welcome,” the President said, his voice carried over the crowds with an amplified volume. “Welcome, brave Tributes, to the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games!”

Cheers erupted once again, and even the stars seemed to dim around her.

“I think I speak for all of Panem when I say we commend your bravery and valour,” he looked to the crowds and smiled at their loud applause. “This pageant isn’t only a test of your skills, but an opportunity—an opportunity to make your District, and all of Panem, proud.”

Another round of applause.

“We thank you once again,” the President continued, “and we look forward to seeing you soon. Congratulations, Tributes of Panem!”

The anthem sounded over the speakers again, and the chariots began retreating to the sound of the entire country celebrating her death.

Back in the hangar at last, Feyre stepped out of the small cart feeling nauseous.

“Beautiful!” Amarantha crooned as she pulled them both into a bony embrace. “Just beautiful!”

“They’ll remember you after that,” Alis told them, seemingly in approval.

But Feyre wasn’t listening, an unsettling feeling that she was being watched making her every limb on alert.

Her eyes scanned the room until she finally saw them—the two Tributes from Two, glaring in her direction. Like she was prey.

“Who are they?” she asked quietly, chin pointing toward them.

Alis followed her gaze, then grimaced. “Dagdan and Brannagh, District Two. Twins. They volunteered.”

Feyre looked at her in shock. “Volunteered? Why?”

Alis shrugged. “They do it for sport. This is nothing more but a game to them.”

Indeed, the murderous intent was clear in their stare as Feyre turned to them again. The girl, Brannagh, winked, and Feyre stumbled back a step.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Alis murmured. “I’ve had enough of this.”

***

Her bedroom had a holo-wall.

With nothing but a remote, she could be in a million places at once—a bustling city, a sunset over the sea, a cozy cottage in the mountains. She sat on her overly large bed, playing with the settings, the only escape she’d had in the last two days.

And then, the wall changed into a forest.

Her heart clenched at the sight that reminded her of home.

Had Nesta gone into the woods yet? Had she found her bow?

Were her sisters mourning her yet?

Feyre looked at the forest one last time and closed her eyes, letting her head fall to the soft pillow. With the calming sounds of leaves rustling in the wind and birds chirping their nightly song, Feyre drifted into the last good sleep of her life.

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @fieldofdaisiies @vulpes-fennec @houseofhurricane @reverie-tales @kingofsummer93 @melting-houses-of-gold @labellefleur-sauvage @shadowriel @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @headcanonheadcase @cascadingmoon @rhysiedarling @msfeyredarling

[phthalology]

I will be touching grass this weekend and I would rather be playing Crota's End badly. That said, happy Raid day!! If you would like some ancient fic about what was up with Eris and her fireteam and Crota, here they are:

Induction: How Eris lost her eyes. Written in February 2015 after the Raid had dropped with The Dark Below (the expansion where Eris first appears) in December. I haven't fully reread this fic. I skimmed enough to see that I'm still happy with the prose ("Before it was lost, her Ghost told her the strange traditions, the egos and resignations, of her new people.") Sorry about calling both Brya and a Wizard "it" quite a lot, though. And this fic was written before the canon said Rasputin was the only Warmind. There's a conversation about Toland's fear of Warminds that probably doesn't make as much sense now. Eris holding an Ahamkara bone also hadn't been confirmed in the lore at this time.

A Name for Far Cold Orbits: My take on Eris' fireteam. Eris/Toland, 14k, 2015.

The Shattering: My Toland backstory. Toland sacrifices one of his devotees to Savathûn. This was 2016, well before Savathûn started showing up in in-game lore iirc.

Nature Abhors a Vacancy: Also known as the first entry in Deathsingers AU. Eris' fireteam fails, Eriana becomes a Hive queen (sort of), and Eris and Toland lounge about in gross splendor until Eris gets sick of being on the dark side. There is a lot I would change about this now: both structurally and philosophically it's so slow and wallowing. What do the rest of the Hive characters think about what happened? We just don't know! But I love this AU enough to keep writing it to this day. The date on this fic is April 2016, meaning The Taken King had come out and I could steal the word "vacancy" from it, but this story has about nothing to do with Oryx.

[itsuki-minamy]

"K - RETURN OF KINGS" (Novel)

CHAPTER 6: OPEN WAR

* List of Chapters

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

When was the first time he had that dream?

When facing the "Golden King"?

When did he find out about the "Silver King"?

Or when he was picked up by Iwafune?

Hisui Nagare could not remember that moment clearly.

Before he knew it, the dream was inside Nagare. Like a replacement for his lost heart, it throbbed in Nagare's chest, driving him into action. Or, in order to force Nagare to do so, the "Slate" may have stolen his heart.

Free the "Dresden Slate" and evolve all of humanity to the next stage.

Nagare believes that this is why he became the "Green King".

Hundreds of thousands of lives caught up in Genji Kagutsu's rampage were necessary sacrifices for that.

It is his dream, his reason for being. Nagare has used everything to achieve that. The "Colorless King", the "Red King", "Jungle", Iwafune, Kotosaka, Mishakuji, Sukuna and even himself were nothing more than tools to make his dreams come true.

And now...

He is in the place where he can touch that dream.

"The execution date is the 24th, Christmas Eve."

While looking at the many information screens floating in the twilight of the "secret base", Nagare spoke with a passionate tone.

"We will use all the power we have to seize the last sacrament, the "Dresden Slate". This is the purpose of us "Jungle"..."

But...

None of the Rankers, the highest ranking clan members of "Jungle" who are Nagare's tools and limbs, saw their "King".

Iwafune was happily drinking beer.

Kotosaka stayed on the couch and got ready.

Mishakuji looked at himself in the mirror and worked on his mask.

As for Sukuna, he was lying down and engrossed in the game, not in a position to listen to people.

He didn't want to say it, but he had to. This is a very important strategy meeting. Nagare looked around and said in a monotone.

"Are you listening?"

"I'm listening, Nagare-chan. No, I have wrinkles."

Mishakuji replied as he carefully examined the condition of his face.

Nagare felt a relief. It's okay if he's listening.

"Yes, Yukari. Let's continue. Currently, the "Slate" is stored in Mihashira Tower. Originally, in my plan, after the death of the "Golden King", the "Slate", which would no longer have humans to seal it, was supposed to evolve into the entire human race, demonstrating its original function. Leaving aside the old Daikaku Kokujoji, I thought that the young and immature "Blue King" would not be able to control it, so I decided to leave it in the building..."

But...

The highest ranked Clansman and Rankers of "Jungle", who share the same dream as Nagare, were not seeing their "King".

"Are you listening? Are you?"

"I'm listening, Nagare. Wow! My level's up!"

While he was lying on his back, Sukuna clenched his fists in cheers.

Nagare agreed. If you're listening, that's fine, and it's a good thing if your level goes up.

"I see, Sukuna. Congratulations. Anyway, the "Blue King" worked harder than expected. Excellent. On top of that, the most troublesome "Silver King" came back and joined the new "Red King" to solidify the defense of Mihashira Tower. With this, we have no choice but to take the method of directly controlling the "Slate"."

Having said that, Nagare sighed quietly and reluctantly said:

"Besides, you guys haven't heard me."

"Hey. Guys, listen carefully, ok? Even with this, he's our king, right? Some respect needs to be shown."

Iwafune deftly shook the 350 ml can as he made a complaint. Opening the lid of the next beer, Nagare looked at Iwafune with moist eyes.

"You are the one who shows the least respect, Iwa-san."

"Don't get me wrong, Iwa-san."

Mishakuji smiled brightly through the mirror.

"Right now, I am refining myself so that I can dance with the greatest splendor and grace on the battlefield. My heart is already high. I am always ready to draw my beloved sword, "Ayamachi"."

"Me too."

Sukuna also smiled as he focused his gaze on the game screen.

"I do it because I can't help but feel uneasy when I'm not playing. To be honest, I know enough about what Nagare says."

"I see."

This time, Nagare understood.

They are no longer the members of it. It is his flesh and blood. Nagare thinks and expects the same.

He wants to see a new world, a beautiful world. That's why they move. Therefore, no sacrifice or obstacle is cause for concern. Iwafune, Kotosaka, Mishakuji, and Sukuna understood.

"Are you both ready? I'm impressed. So, let's have a fancy Christmas party after we safely collect the "Slate"."

"Chicken! Chicken! Juicy, delicious!"

On the couch, Kotosaka spread her wings and was happy. Nagare smiled at that first friend.

"Kotosaka, I want you to do your best too."

"Oh, then, we'll decorate the "Slate" that you'll get instead of the tree."

Mishakuji said that jokingly. Nagare doesn't really understand jokes, but even so, he felt a slight slack in his shoulders.

With that, Sukuna closed the game console with a snap and looked at Iwafune.

"For one thing, we're all in high spirits."

"Yes?"

"What about Iwa-san? Will he function properly this time?"

No wonder Sukuna wasn't satisfied. The J-Rank of "Jungle" Iwafune Tenkei had almost never done anything that felt like work. In the first place, the existence of himself was unknown to most of the clansmen.

The one who kept Iwafune a secret was none other than Nagare himself, and so Sukuna was convinced.

The next mission will be total war. He is not a lukewarm opponent who can win while he retains power.

You must put all the cards in your hand, including the "trump card", into play to reveal which one is stronger.

Faced with such a big event, Iwafune still smiled like he was crazy.

"Well, it's me. I'm slowly drinking beer like this."

"...Damn. I beg you, Iwa-san."

Sukuna said in amazement, but he didn't seem to have any intention of continuing. He also knows Iwafune's true identity, the extent of his strength. If he plays his role correctly, it will have a great effect.

Mishakuji chuckled and pointed at Nagare.

"More importantly, Nagare-chan. It's rare for you to have a proper meeting beforehand. Perhaps you think it's painful to deal with three "Kings"?"

"Haha. Well, isn't it? Hey, Nagare."

Iwafune laughed and Nagare nodded silently.

"That's right. It is true that the allied army of the "Silver, Red and Blue King" is a formidable enemy. But..."

Their union has serious flaws.

He wondered if Isana Yashiro and Reisi Munakata were aware of this.

Even if they were aware of it, they wouldn't be able to fix it. The flaw is too fundamental. If they can hit their trump card there, even if there is an overwhelming difference in strength, they would have a good chance of winning.

Nagare looked down into the gap, toward the floating hologram.

A swarm of inorganic data simply reflects reality. Nagare, whose limbs were sealed, had his first weapon, "Information". Nagare knew that deciphering it and accumulating it would lead to a dream.

And now...

His dream is within reach.

As he stared at him, Nagare silently took the last step.

"Ordered by the "Green King" authority. Mission 1224, activated."

++++++++++

As expected of "Tokijikuin", what they prepared in the basement of the Mihashira Tower was a very spacious conference room.

Being there reminds him of the "Chabudai Conference". He remembers being crammed into a room in a student dormitory until he was suffocating. Well, he was the one who suggested that, but it was still nice to have a wide space.

Coff-coff, clearing her throat, Shiro let out a cheerful voice.

"Hey. Ladies and gentlemen, thanks for joining us. How are you?"

Now, in front of Shiro, are the two clans.

One is the Red Clan, "Homura". They are sitting on the right side of the conference room, looking at him with dark eyes.

The other is the Blue Clan, "Scepter 4". They are sitting on the left side of the conference room, looking at him with cold eyes.

At them, who seemed to be slightly dissatisfied, Shiro smiled,

"It doesn't look very good. Considering my position as the "Silver King", I don't think you'll openly object, but I wonder, are you a little dissatisfied with the fact that I'm calling you over and over again?"

"Something like that."

Misaki Yata, the executive of "Homura", said so with bitterness.

"If you get it, why don't you help out a bit? We're the only ones fighting the green guys, right?!"

Yata's words are also valid, and the Silver Clan has not contributed at all to the current cleanup operation against the "Jungle" of the "Chabudai Alliance". Shiro was worried about deciphering the materials they received, and neither Kuro nor Neko would leave Shiro.

Shiro scratched his head and said, "No.".

"I don't have the words to answer when you say that, but thanks to that I got some information, so I wonder if you'll forgive me."

Then Kusanagi raised his hand.

"Uh, "Silver King". May I speak?"

"Of course, Kusanagi-san."

"First of all, the main premise is that the Green Clan will come to this Mihashira Tower to take the "Slate". There's no doubt about that, right?"

Shiro narrowed his eyes and nodded gravely.

"That's right. The "Green King", Nagaru Hisui, said so himself. That's not a hoax or a trick. It's a declaration of war against us, the "Chabudai Alliance"."

After that, he turned his gaze towards "Scepter 4".

"And if the Green Clan gets the "Slate", which the Lieutenant... no... The order in this world that the "Gold King" and the "Blue King" have worked so hard to maintain will likely collapse. At best, it would cease to be the world we know. Because..."

After taking a deep breath, Shiro announced.

"They, the Green Clan, want to give all of humanity the power of the "Slate"."

For a moment, the place was noisy.

Grant the power of the "Slate" to all of humanity. That is, all human beings will possess supernatural powers. Much destruction will be wrought by those who cannot control their supernatural powers. There are likely a myriad of people who abuse their supernatural powers. The tense expression of "Scepter 4" vividly expressed that threat. If that happens, your business will collapse in an instant.

Kusanagi looked at "Scepter 4" with compassionate eyes, then looked back at Shiro.

"Both us, the Red Clan and the Blue Clan members who are waiting, there shouldn't be a single person who doubts your status as "King". However, whether or not you have the ability and ability to wield this kind of strategy is a different matter. To be honest, I think people are worried about it."

Neko behind Shiro got irritated.

"Hmm! Shiro is amazing!"

Kuro, who was also waiting, stopped her.

"Enough, Neko. Kusanagi Izumo, it may sound like I'm being biased, but this man has the ability to do just that. He's smart, he has the ability to lead and make decisions."

"Kuro, thank you."

Shiro smiled at the trust he received from the two of them, and then turned to Kusanagi.

"And Kusanagi-san as well. I'm sure you dared to represent everyone's feelings, right? Well, the reason why I'm in command of this interception operation is simple. Because I know all about the specifications of the "Green King" Hisui Nagare."

Yata stood up as if he couldn't take it,

"Hey, you! What does that mean? I heard that the "Green King" is a guy who rarely appears? Maybe you don't even have a connection to them!"

Kuro's eyebrows rose at Yata's almost abusive words, but Shiro suppressed it with his hands.

"That's right. You're right, he keeps his own information very secret. As expected of a "King" who rules the network. His origins, appearance, abilities, age, and even gender are unknown. But there is only one person who met Hisui Nagare in person."

"What's that?"

Nodding to Awashima's soft murmur, Shiro operated a PDA.

Behind him, projected on the widescreen, was a gigantic, muscular old man with bare copper-colored skin, and a young man in a straitjacket stood before him.

Awashima let out a surprised voice.

"His Excellency?! No way, who is that person?"

"Yes. Simply put, the "Green King" Hisui Nagaru once challenged the "Golden King" Daikaku Kokujoji. And all by himself."

Once again the place was in an uproar.

Shiro operated the PDA without caring and played the video. As the "Golden King" and the never-before-seen "Green King" began to move on the screen, the shock turned into awe-inspiring silence. They all stared at the image.

Shiro continued to speak nonchalantly.

"I have all the recorded images from that time. I received the data from the Lieutenant and heard the story from the Lieutenant himself."

Awashima raised her hand as she focused her gaze on the video.

"May I speak, "Silver King"?"

"Of course, Awashima-san. And for me, Shiro, please."

"Ok, Shiro-san. Frankly, I can't believe it. Why did the "Green King" fight such a reckless battle?"

Shiro looked at the screen again.

Nagare kicked at the gravel and jumped. Shaking his claws of glowing green energy, he leaped at Kokujoji.

"Maybe he wasn't reckless. Because even though he was defeated in the end, for a while he turned the strongest "King" against him and had a close fight."

Kokujoji's fist smashed into Nagare's chest.

Nagare's body went flying like a bullet. He bounced as he drew a green trajectory, was sucked into the distant darkness and disappeared.

The video stopped there.

In the middle of the silence, someone muttered.

"Is this... the "Green King"?"

It was the first appearance of the "enemy" they saw. He is not some random clansman who gets cut if he gets caught. The culprit of all the incidents that are happening now, the figure of the enemy "King" that they must eventually face and defeat.

"Hisui Nagare's reason for launching that abnormal attack is also very strong. It's a throwaway line after losing, but he said, "I tried to challenge the big boss".'"

"He is a child!"

"What a dumb guy."

Hearing Yata and Fushimi mutter, Shiro smiled.

"That's right. Hisui Nagare is different. He plans things so carefully and meticulously that no one notices, but he also puts his childish ideas into practice. But that's why his actions are unpredictable."

Shiro went back to fiddling with the PDA. What was projected on the screen was the result of his efforts to trace Nagare's traces, a follow-up investigation of "Tokijikuin".

"Tokijikuin" is a system that is in the center of this country, and its tracking ability is as good as "Scepter 4". However, even with them, they were unable to capture Hisui Nagare's existence.

"Barely escaping from the "Golden King", the "Green King" disappeared from the main stage. The reason they haven't moved until now is because the Lieutenant was there. But the Lieutenant is gone now."

Shiro shook his head and chased away the thoughts that were about to spring from his mind.

"That's why I want to be in command of the operation this time. I also know how to defeat Hisui Nagare. The "Green King" is very strong, but he is not an opponent you can never defeat. But that requires the cooperation of all of you."

He looked around with a sincere look.

The two clans looked at each other in confusion. They can understand the importance of the information that Shiro brought, but they don't know if he is okay to hand over the command.

"But, even if you say so..."

"I will."

Anna cut him off.

"Eh?"

"Anna...?"

Kusanagi and Yata looked at Anna questioningly.

But their "Queen" did not look back at her subjects. Indifferent, and therefore with sheer determination, she spoke clearly.

"I will. I can't leave them alone."

With that alone, "Homura"'s mind seemed to have made up its mind.

Kusanagi, Yata, Kamamoto and the rest of the members, there was no one who disagreed with that determination. No one has forgotten what the Green Clan did to them.

"I see. Then you don't have to say anything else. "Silver King"... no, Shiro-san, the Red Clan will cooperate with you."

"Thank you."

At Kusanagi's words, Shiro returned a smile and turned his gaze to "Scepter 4".

"What about the Blue Clan?"

Munakata crossed his arms and was deep in thought.

Since he entered that room, he hadn't said a word. Since he has been the one who has led the fight against "Jungle" up to now, his silent attitude was even creepy.

When Munakata suddenly opened his eyes, he said in a low voice.

"It depends on the content of the strategy."

Shiro smiled. It doesn't seem to be a case of rejection. If so, there is still a chance to get cooperation.

"Makes sense. Then I'll explain it to you now, Kuro."

"I understand."

Kuro nodded, and when he operated the PDA, the image on the screen behind him changed again. What appeared there were the figures of two people.

Mishakuji Yukari and Gojou Sukuna.

The rankers who are considered to be the most powerful force in "Jungle".

"In fact, it is not Hisui Nagare himself who becomes the heart of the Green Clan's battle. These two are Mishakuji Yukari and Gojou Sukuna. I want you to remember their faces well. Our first goal is to prevent these two from working. Ok? For that..."

++++++++++

"Well, lately, I haven't been able to."

"Kerun" murmured as he moved the straw in his mouth.

"Jema", who was playing with his PDA, just looked up and said nothing. He continued to operate enthusiastically as if to say that there is something more important than that, and then made a small gesture with his fist.

"Ok, sure."

"Uh, what? What mission?"

Throwing away his apathetic attitude, "Kerun" leaned forward.

"No, I don't know. The mission is to send a lot of emails."

"What is that? How much are the points?"

"Five."

"Trash!"

Looking up at the sky, he exclaimed loudly and "Kerun" leaned back on the couch.

"Jema" is gloomy, but nothing to complain about. He agreed that this mission was rubbish. He tossed the PDA onto the table and leaned back against the couch.

Both are "Jungle" users.

They're both G-Rank, and they're probably around the age of college students. The reason why he went "gloomy" is that neither of them has revealed his actual age. He doesn’t even know his real name. They get along well and have the same ability, so they always hang out, but their connection is only in "Jungle", and their actual status has no meaning.

Using that restaurant as a place to hang out, they have lived a satisfying "Jungle" life, chatting about irrelevant things and going on delicious quests.

"...The other day, it failed."

"Jema" is who was talking about. "Kerun" nodded as he chewed on the straw.

"That's right. There are many users who say they lost a lot of money because of "Five"."

"The other day"... that's the full-scale mission, "Mission 2086".

"Jungle" got excited about the quest issued by the Highest Ranker, "Five". Not only was it a large-scale quest straight from a Ranker, but the points distributed were huge. They were inundated like bugs in sweet juice with quests that rewarded 100 or 200 points for just a few tasks.

Both "Jema" and "Kerun" fell into the category of those missions that made them feel good. They did something a bit illegal, but the rewards you get from this game are full of charm, regardless of the existing rules.

And yet, the reason "Mission 2086" is a bitter memory for them is because, in the end, that mission failed in the final stages.

"That's right. There was an idiot who tried to hunt the ''Red King'' and the ''Blue King'' together."

"Oh, yes, I thought it was the name of a jewel, but... because you messed it up so much, both the Reds and Blues got really angry."

"Seriously, don't be silly. And in the end, aren't we the ones who pay for it?"

The straw that he spat out rolled across the table and touched

"Jema's" PDA. "Jema" made a disgusted face and took his PDA and wiped it with a wet towel.

"Since then, most of the larger missions have failed. "Kazimun" and "Four" were also arrested."

"Really? Those guys are U-Rank dealers, right? The Blues have no mercy."

"It's better than getting caught by the red guys. Rumor has it they'll be half dead."

"Hah, not good anymore. What's that ending? Isn't it game over for "Jungle"?"

"Kerun" shrugged and said that cynically.

"Jungle" is a clan with thin ties. In a world where it is natural to use others and kick others, the sense of belonging to the clan itself is low. In the current situation where there are no delicious quests and you can get caught if you do something wrong, the worst part of the dissatisfaction goes to the official higher levels of "Jungle".

"Well, let's wait and see. Let's find another interesting game."

"Ok. Can I make a report too?"

"I've never seen you do that."

"No way, I'm doing it at home! This is probably a secret base for "Jungle". I keep my work and play separate."

At that time, the two PDAs issued a notification at the same time.

"Eh?"

"What...?"

The two looked at the PDA at the same time and stiffened.

The popup shows:

"1224 Mission Activation Emitter: H.N."

H.N.

If there is a middle or upper rank who doesn't know his name, he is definitely a fool. The abbreviation for "command name" is the name indicating the pinnacle of "Jungle", the "Green King".

"The "Green King", directly, a mission?"

"It's been years, how is that...?!"

"Kerun" and "Jema" quickly opened the application screen and began to devour the details of the mission. As the story progressed, the faces of the two became more and more red.

"What is this, aren't reward points weird?!"

"500 points for just one transport mission! He must have made a mistake!"

"No, but it's real because it has an official electronic seal! Even if something goes wrong, I'm sure the points will be paid!"

"Hey, is there something like 1000-3000 here?! Seriously, I don't know what this means, huh?!"

A little further, there was an explosion. The waitress who brought the water had dropped the tray. "Oh, sorry!" The waitress said, tilting her head, and she quickly began to pick up the broken glass, which, of course, they did not notice. There's no way you can afford to notice a petty accident when gold is scattered in front of you.

"For now, let's go! Whoever can do it in pairs will request acceptance of the mission!"

"Ok! I'll apply for the next mission now! First come, first served!"

Grabbing the slip, the two of them hastily left their seats. The bright eyes in their eyes had already removed the sense of stagnation they had felt before.

++++++++++

In the empty conference room, Shiro breathed out silently.

The strategy meeting ended successfully. Both "Homura" and "Scepter 4" agreed to follow Shiro's instructions, and most of the clansmen have now come out to take positions. The only people left in the conference room are the "Red and Blue Kings" and the business class members, such as Kusanagi, Fushimi, and Awashima.

First, the first stage.

He managed to gain the trust of his "friends". They will act according to Shiro's strategy.

However, there are still many things to worry about.

Kusanagi and Anna then approached Shiro.

"Hey, Shiro-san. I think the strategy makes sense. Let's do our best together."

Izumo Kusanagi. Shiro considers him the balancer of the makeshift "Chabudai Alliance" as an executive of "Homura". In the previous question and answer session, he took the initiative to raise questions that other members might have. Thanks to that, the exchange after that was pretty smooth.

"Thank you, Kusanagi-san."

"But are you sure? The members of the "Jungle" clan are just two people who are getting on board, what's going on?"

That question, too, was probably something that came from "Homura" instead of him. Shiro nodded.

"Yes. As I explained earlier, those two are the only people Hisui Nagare really trusts. Other members of the clan are probably used for diversionary operations to save manpower against "Scepter 4". A mission has already been launched for that purpose."

"Mission 1224" has multiple meanings. Disruption of "Scepter 4", improvement of lower clan members by dispersing a large number of points, and above all a declaration of war against the "Chabudai Alliance".

With a snort, Kusanagi looked into his PDA.

"Huh, "Mission 1224". How nice of you to let us know when you're going to hit the road to attack us."

"I thought of a line called a hook, but it probably isn't. Hisui Nagare probably won't do such tricks at this stage. On this day, he must come from the front. "Homura", together with "Scepter 4", should form a blocking line. Please, Anna."

"Leave it to me."

The little "Queen" nodded silently. Although she is a girl, the willpower that dwells in her eyes is comparable to that of any "King". The current "Red King" will surely become a good "Queen".

That's what Shiro thought, and even though it was before the battle, he felt a relief.

"...By the way, what do you think of him?"

Kusanagi suddenly said that.

Following his line of sight, Munakata was standing on the other side of the conference room.

Next to him is Fushimi Saruhiko, an executive. He looks like he was giving an order for something, but he couldn't hear it from there. However, just the cold expression in his profile left a terrible impression on him.

"He never spoke his mind. I wonder if we can trust him."

"I don't know. But it's the only way to win. That's how powerful the opponent is."

For Shiro, the "Chabudai Alliance" is a friend. Probably for Anna too.

But for Reisi Munakata, it's different. The "Chabudai Alliance" is a partner in the fight, and more importantly, it is nothing more than an "enemy of the enemy."

After completing the request, Munakata left the conference room. Looking at that back, Anna muttered.

"Reisi..."

"Furthermore, that person has been holding the "Slate" only since the Lieutenant passed away. Therefore, the load is heavy and the consumption is heavy. No wonder he is being cautious."

As he said that, Shiro also narrowed his eyes at Munakata's back.

"The "Slate" will allow humans to evolve without limit unless it is controlled by the power of the "King". Munakata-san took over the job previously done by the Lieutenant. We, especially me, must thank him."

How much weight is on his back? Despite being injured and overwhelmed, Munakata tries to carry the "Slate" alone, without anyone helping him. It is not an exaggeration to say that now that the "Golden King" is dead, the order of the world depends only on him.

That's why Shiro hopes someone will stay by his side. It would be great if there was someone he could take on, even a small part of that great responsibility. He couldn't do that himself, but even so, the "King" needed such an existence.

The "King" is also a human being.

++++++++++

"Well then, I'll give you the rest."

Munakata said that as he entered the elevator leading to the "Slate Room".

Fushimi remained silent and did not reply. Until the moment the elevator door closed, he continued to look at Munakata. Munakata said nothing more either and looked at him with a cold expression.

As the elevator began to move, Fushimi finally let out a click of his tongue.

Turning on his heel and walking down the corridor, Fushimi pondered on the order he had just received.

Since he joined "Scepter 4" until now, he has received numerous requests. There were many orders that were out of common sense, and Fushimi was able to carry them out despite his complaints. Because he could predict the importance of that order and the extent of its effect.

However, this time the order was canceled once.

Fushimi had no idea what would happen if he followed him. But Munakata must have seen it. A vision of how things will play out after that.

Because he is the "King".

They were chosen by the "Slate" and move the world itself with their superhuman macroscopic vision and abilities. Fushimi and other members of the clan are nothing more than pieces. There is no need for the cogs connecting the gigantic mechanism of the "King" and the world to understand the whole, that makes Fushimi irritated.

"If it's you, you won't hesitate."

Munakata didn't even change his expression and said it clearly. He knew he looked that way, but he was quite refreshing to be told so boldly. He even made him think that he might have gotten into "Scepter 4" in anticipation of that order.

Traitor.

Fushimi's mouth formed a smile that seemed to rise.

Excellent. Such a role is suitable for him. Not because he sees himself as such, but because it's the most effective. Fushimi decided to carry out the order.

"Fushimi."

He stopped when his name was called.

Before he knew it, Vice Commander Seri Awashima was in front of him.

"What are you doing? Hurry up and go to your post."

"I know. I'm about to go now."

The function assigned to the Fushimi post, by Isana Yashiro, was to manage the battlefield from the outer command vehicle. Analyze the information, divide the enemy and lead the battle trend as desired. Although they are not on the front line, there is no doubt that they play a very important role.

Fushimi believes that he will always be watching.

Fushimi's ability doesn't shine in a group. Fushimi's strength lies in observing, analyzing, and remotely controlling the crowd.

He can't deny what the "King" does. No, but it is also true that he is irritating.

He let out a small huff and was about to walk past Awashima.

"Wait."

Awashima stopped him again.

He wondered what it was, and when he turned his eyes, he was greeted with a questioning look.

Awashima remained silent for a moment, as if she chose her words, but when she finally opened her mouth...

"The Captain did he seem okay?"

She asked that.

"Eh?"

When he involuntarily raised his eyebrows and asked back, Awashima's cheeks were unusually red. As she muttered nonsense words like "no" and "it", her gaze wandered in the air.

"This is the decisive battle between "Jungle" and us. The Captain's condition is directly related to the success or failure of the strategy. From your point of view, is the Captain alright?"

Fushimi was stunned. He only knew one thing.

"Aside from being fine, he wouldn't do something like this if he didn't have a chance to win, right?"

"I see. You're right."

As he said that, Awashima looked down anxiously. Seeing that, Fushimi felt a pain in the side of his stomach. "King" is the same as the sky or the sea. It is beyond human control. Even if he was worried that the sky would fall, it was literally a baseless worry, but it seems that even a person as smart as Awashima couldn't understand it.

Although, the sky can fall and the sea can dry up.

There are also times when the "King" falls apart.

Still, Fushimi's conclusion remained unchanged. "King" is "King" and man is man. If the time came for him to break down, there was nothing they could do. It was just a waste of time to fight.

Even if he said that, Awashima's trembling expression would not change. Fushimi thought it was a bother, so he casually said...

"And if something happens, the Vice commander should do something about it. He seems to only trust you."

"......!"

Awashima's eyes widened and then she clenched her fists as if she was ready for something.

"Oh, it's true!"

(It's easy, this person.)

So he thought, but of course he didn't say it.

++++++++++

The sun went down and the night grew.

"Outside" is, oddly enough, Christmas Eve. The eve of the savior's birth.

Gorgeous illuminations, lively crowds, and laughing voices. That kind of happy scenery is nowhere to be found in this building. All the windows and doors are covered with steel barricades, and the interior is packed with countless barriers and traps. In contrast to the celebrations in the outside world, this place has a pre-war silence.

However, the silence gradually began to fade.

One by one, like a flash of light in the darkness of the night, those reports were sent to the Mihashira Tower.

A mysterious group is holding a mask parade in Yodomiya.

It is said that a threatening letter was sent stating that a bomb had been planted in the Tsubakimon government office building.

According to legend, a robbery by a masked group occurred in Shizume.

All these are psychic crimes that "Scepter 4" should deal with. According to the protocol that Munakata had promulgated beforehand, those crimes should be solved by the ordinary members. He doesn't know how it turned out in reality. The Special Forces, who can quickly respond to unforeseen circumstances, cannot move from that location now.

If this place is controlled, this country, no, the order of this world will collapse.

And then the vanguard appeared without being too flabbergasted.

"In front of the main gate, the members of the Green Clan, Mishakuji Yukari and Gojou Sukuna, have been seen!"

A surveillance camera attached to the front door showed their appearance. One is a small child and the other is a tall young man. Both steps are light, and not the slightest tension can be seen to go to the decisive battle now. As if enjoying a night walk, the two of them slowly approached each other.

A green blade flashed in Sukuna's hand.

"I'm going to hurry up!"

Like a wolf unleashed, Sukuna began to run. The close-up of Mishakuji and Kotosaka, they noticed the camera and smiled and waved their hands, and then the surveillance camera footage stopped.

"It seems that all 4 surveillance cameras have been destroyed!"

A rippling wave of agitation swept through the "Scepter 4", which surrounded the invaders inside the main gate. The "Silver King" had already predicted this situation, but even they had doubts as to whether it would come true.

"From the front... How reckless."

"That's why we have confidence in our power."

Hearing voices whispering one after the other, Awashima stepped forward and raised her voice.

"They're coming... All members, draw your swords!"

"Yes!"

On command, the members of the Special Forces unleashed their sabers. The experts who have dealt with numerous crimes with supernatural powers stared at the front door with a tense expression.

Suddenly, the front door exploded.

Two shadows rushed forward, easily breaking through the fire shutters reinforced with military barricades. Gojou Sukuna and Mishakuji Yukari. They are the two best ranked rankers that "Jungle" has.

Mishakuji walked with magnificent steps as if he had just appeared at a party.

"Merry Christmas! I have come to receive the "Slate"."

"So number 2, Seri Awashima, is the only one who seems to be able to score points!"

Saying that with a horrible smile, Sukuna rushed straight towards Awashima. Of course, Awashima has nothing to fear. Gojou Sukuna, who emphasized "points", was already expected to target her. She didn't mean to come up with a silly game, but if she limits the other person's actions, she'll use it.

"All Members! The Match Begins!"

"Yes!"

Special Forces are deployed to the left and right of Awashima. Surrounding Sukuna from three directions and defeating him. Seeing the absolutely unfavorable situation, Sukuna smiled like a warrior beast.

"Scepter 4" misjudged Gojou Sukuna's characteristics. He wasn't just a battle junkie who liked to fight. Unfavorable battles and boss battles with a high degree of difficulty are the most exciting. Sukuna was that kind of player.

++++++++++

A loud sound coming from below marked the beginning of the battle.

Explosive sounds, crushing sounds and cutting sounds The sounds are so diverse that it is hard to believe that there are only two enemies. The situation below can be monitored from where Shiro is, but so far the damage is progressing within the expected range.

Standing next to Shiro and looking at the monitor, Kuro said in a low voice.

"Looks like it's started."

The images on the monitor clearly conveyed the inferiority of "Scepter 4". Unable to withstand Sukuna's attack and Mishakuji's sharpened offensive, it seems they were falling behind.

"Shiro. I have absolute confidence in your strategy, but is it alright? Leave the first floor alone to the Blue Clan."

Shiro silently shook his head at Kuro's concerned question.

"As I explained in the strategy meeting, the first thing we should do is interfere as much as we can with those two... the envoys of the "Green King". Their goal is to reduce our strength. We'll do the opposite. I told Awashima-san to fall back at an appropriate point. It's okay."

As if she heard Shiro's words, Awashima started issuing retreat orders on the monitor. Withdraw in an orderly manner while maintaining formation. This is a feat that would not be possible if it weren't for "Scepter 4", which focuses on control tactics.

"The real thing is when the "Green King" comes out. Conversely, does that limit the amount of time the "Green King" can move?"

"That's right. That "King" is certainly close to being the strongest. I don't know if I, the "Blue King", and the "Red King" could win even if we try our best. No, on the contrary, I think it can even overwhelm the people in this building by itself. However, it doesn't take long for it to exert its power. In a nutshell..."

Shiro raised a finger.

"If we exhaust everyone and let the "Green King" run out of time, we win. If they reach the "Slate" before time runs out and steal it, we lose."

"I see."

Kuro nodded silently, and then Neko appeared.

"Hey, Shiro. It's kind of funny."

Kuro lowered his head in amazement.

"What are you talking about?"

"Because there's Shiro and Kurosuke. All together. They're all working so hard together. Wagahai, my heart feels tight."

Then, Neko opened her arms and hugged Shiro and Kuro together.

"I think it's alright. Nyahahaha."

"My gosh, you're such an airhead as always."

Kuro laughed helplessly, and Shiro also hugged Neko's body and laughed.

"Yes. That's right. We're all good together. Let's celebrate Christmas in a big way."

"Yes!"

Neko's energetic response echoed with the sounds of the battle below.

(Yes. It's okay. It should be okay.)

With a smile on her face, Neko desperately tried not to listen to the voice that echoed from within.

From below, the sounds of the battle can be heard endlessly. The blues are fighting the greens. They're going for them, she believed. As for the blue ones, frankly speaking, Neko didn't like them very much, but now she wants them to do their best. She wishes them good luck, and she wants them to win.

She wants the greens to get out of there.

The sound of battle was getting closer. To Neko's ears, they sounded like footsteps. The sound of "it" approaching. An "it" with an eye that never loses even the slightest hole, far away.

She heard it from inside her. It is the sound of knocking on the door. Inside her, a door that shouldn't exist was being knocked on. Someone was trapped there. She walked out of here, screaming to remember, knocking on the door.

Neko pretended not to hear it.

She put more strength into her arms that hugged them both. Otherwise, she wouldn't be able to keep smiling. Like a child huddled in her house waiting for the thunder to stop, she went still and rigid.

++++++++++

At some point, the excitement of the battle began to turn to frustration.

As Sukuna advanced, the enemy fell back the same distance, maintaining their formation. At first, Sukuna realized that was just a ruse.

As proof of this, no one has yet beaten the other player. The damage is dealt steadily, but just as they are about to finish, an exquisite obstacle appears.

Even now, as he was about to stab the collapsing blues with a sickle, another one rushed in from the side.

"Scepter 4". Vice Commander, Awashima Seri, is the most troublesome, Sukuna clucked. She carefully observed the overall situation of the battle and made accurate and quick decisions. If it weren't for Awashima, the enemy camp would have collapsed long ago.

In that case, he would just finish that first.

"Yukari! It's Awashima!"

When he gave an order to attack from the left, Mishakuji turned from the right with the same breath. Sukuna cornered Awashima with explosive acceleration using the extraordinary "Burst Dash" application. Sukuna bared his teeth and smiled as he brandished his scythe.

"I'll get those points!"

At that moment, Awashima screamed.

"Now, Fushimi!"

Along with multiple ejection sounds, his vision was dark and blocked. The acceleration of "Burst Dash" couldn't be stopped right away, and Sukuna lost his balance from being caught by it and rolled awkwardly on the ground.

"Dammit, what is this?!"

He swung his scythe blindly and tried to cut it, but couldn't even move his limbs. Just when he realized it was a catching net, he heard Mishakuji's voice from outside.

"Don't move if you don't want to hurt yourself, Sukuna-chan."

Almost at the same time that he cringed, several sword flashes ran and his vision opened up brightly.

The net that was cut to pieces by Mishakuji's sword danced around Sukuna, who was on his buttocks. Mishakuji snorted at Sukuna, who was frozen with wide eyes.

"Are you okay? Shall I give you a hand?"

"No!"

Red-faced, Sukuna stood up and readied the scythe again.

While Sukuna was being restrained, the opponent was setting up their formation. Retreating further into the hallway from the front door, Awashima yelled.

"Come on!"

The reason why the blood rushed to his head was because he was aware that she had once exposed him to something unpleasant.

"You make me sick! You're a small-time character though!"

Mishakuji's high-pitched voice stopped Sukuna, who was about to use the extraordinary app again.

"Sukuna! Don't chase her!"

"But!"

"You know where we should be heading right?!"

Mishakuji pointed a finger above his head, and Kotosaka also flapped his wings in agreement.

"Up, up!"

"Our job this time is to pave the way for Nagare-chan, who can only fight for a limited time."

He clicked his tongue. He was maddening, but it was just as Mishakuji said.

"It's certainly not the time to use resources in a place like this."

He took a deep breath and regain his composure. It was none other than his own mistake that he got caught up in the opponent's plan. Mistakes are mistakes, and repeating them without understanding them is hopelessly clumsy. Thinking so, Sukuna once again directed his attention to "Scepter 4".

They all held up their sabers and turned their eyes full of fighting spirit towards them. But they never tried to attack them themselves.

With just that, it seemed that the intentions of the other side could be seen. Don't attack aggressively and set up a trap while blocking that attack. It's a perfect delay tactic. Sukuna clicked his tongue again at that impatience.

Mishakuji smiled slightly and took a step forward.

"Fufu. You seem to be making a lot of plans, but it's no use. After all, you are the bright green of "Jungle" and the beautiful flowers that bloom there are my food."

Mishakuji struck a strange pose as he moved his body like a stage actor.

"It's only a foil!"

He exclaimed very happily.

Feeling embarrassed to see his partner's embarrassment, Sukuna turned his gaze to "Scepter 4", but there was no one there. Even though Mishakuji is in his own world, they will probably go ahead with his own tactics.

"Oh, yes. Let's move on."

After saying that and starting to walk, Mishakuji stopped his pose as if nothing had happened and followed Sukuna. Sukuna started heading towards the stairs as he thought about how he could do something like that, even though he had full confidence in his abilities.

++++++++++

"Seriously, you have a useful power, the new "Red King". With this, you can communicate without worrying about the intervention of the green ones."

Putting a red marble in his palm, Shiro muttered so.

The red marble pulsates slightly and emits a slight heat. This marble, which all members of the "Chabudai Alliance" have, is the medium for Anna's network of supernatural powers.

Not only images and sounds, but also thoughts can be transmitted instantly. This power, which was like an expansion of Anna's sentience when she was Strain, was the cornerstone of this operation.

If the other side is winning with individual strength, it is a good plan to suppress it with numbers and cooperation.

With his eyes closed, Shiro spoke to the marble with his mind.

"Mishakuji Yukari and Gojou Sukuna have launched an invasion. Everyone, please follow the plan, ok?"

That voice reached Anna's consciousness and spread throughout the "Chabudai Alliance". The members of "Homura" lift their spirits. Although out of print, "Scepter 4" still has a strong fighting spirit. And...

Munakata, who was motionless in the "Slate Room", looked at Shiro through the net.

"Now. If possible, I would like things to go according to Isana Yashiro's plan."

Shiro smiled wryly. There was no anger. When the line is drawn so clearly, it's quite refreshing.

Also, apart from Munakata, Shiro had a firm trust in him. Maintain order in this world and strive for its functioning. Reisi Munakata, who tries to do it out of a sense of responsibility rather than selfishness, is similar to Daikaku Kokujoji.

The fact that Munakata is standing on the last line is a great relief for Shiro. As he said, if things go according to Shiro's expectations, then it's fine. Even if something unexpected happens, it will definitely happen. As long as Hisui Nagare isn't stupid, Munakata will do something about it. Somewhat irresponsibly, Shiro decided to think so.

And now...

The image of a "Jungle" member breaking through a blocking net that was placed ten and twenty times in a straight line appeared in Shiro's mind.

"Mishakuji, Gojou, both, captured by the security camera on the 10th floor!"

"I understand. Manually activate the defensive equipment inside Mihashira Tower as planned."

At the same time, in the command car of "Scepter 4" that was waiting outside, the scene of two members dealing with them fiercely was also sent.

Fushimi Saruhiko and Enomoto Tatsuya. He is an information warfare expert on "Scepter 4". Of course, he is no match for Hisui Nagare, who controls the electronic network, but even so, within this limited local network, he can carry out operations without interference from him.

"Entrapment 10-E +3, +4, F -4."

"Normal Entrapment Deployment Confirmation!"

"It's a whole course in suspended ceilings, traps, and electric shock. Please dance at least."

After taking control of Mihashira Tower, the numerous barriers and traps created were activated one after another by Fushimi and Enomoto. Enomoto glanced sideways at Fushimi's smiling face.

But...

"Everything is broken!"

Those obstacles didn't seem to stop him. As he brandished his sword while humming, Mishakuji easily broke through the barricades that stood in his way and the traps that attacked him. It was like navigating an uninhabited field.

The smile disappeared from Fushimi's face and he clicked his tongue.

"Tsk. After all, this level won't stop you. So..."

Again, Fushimi began to write at breakneck speed. He was trying to catch Mishakuji and Sukuna jumping on the hierarchical map like tops with his fingertips.

"Entrapment 11-D -3, -4, -5, 2-S +4, +5, 9-Z full yards."

In the video, traps that are a bit more radical than before (flash grenades, rubber bullets, high-pressure water cannons, and tear gas bombs) appear one after another and attack the two of them. Mishakuji and Sukuna turned left and right and began destroying the traps while repelling and dodging those attacks.

But that's what they're there for.

As Fushimi pressed the last key, a huge blind came down, dividing the room in two. In the video, Sukuna and Mishakuji stopped their feet and turned to the shutter in surprise. Multi-alloy reinforced shutters block even tank shells. Not even they can break it.

"Entrapment Deployment Confirmed! Mishakuji, Gojou, both have been successfully separated! However, the damage seems to be extremely small for both of them."

"Monsters."

Fushimi spat that out. According to the plan, he was supposed to wear them down a bit more, but it didn't seem to be going so well. Fushimi began selecting the traps to activate next as he called out their predicted routes that had started moving again.

Those shows were fully shared with "Homura" who was waiting upstairs.

Anna's heightened sense makes it, like different parts of a single body, tied to a vast consciousness. If "Homura" is the right hand, "Scepter 4" is the left hand, one of Fushimi's fingers.

Lighting a cigarette and exhaling purple smoke, Kusanagi said in admiration.

"A plan to divide and guide two powerful individuals individually, surrounding and exhausting Gojou Sukuna with our Red Clan and Mishakuji Yukari with our Silver Clan. It would not have been possible without Fushimi's ability to master and perfectly operate the security equipment of this building. Right, Yata-chan?"

The dialogue pointed towards him and Yata turned irritated.

"Kusanagi-san. I even admit that he has his skills in this."

Fushimi was removed from the combatant list this time because his information processing ability was outstanding even among the "Chabudai Alliance". Although he has Anna's support, he has so far been able to guide those two non-standard people. It's "Homura's" job, to do the "finish off" after leading them.

"More importantly, was it about time? Is the child in charge of us coming?"

"Really. That's all thanks to Shiro. That brat owes me a lot."

With a fighting spirit on his face, Yata slammed his fist into his palm. Fushimi support is annoying but useful. If he failed to defeat the cornered enemy, he doesn't know what kind of disapproval he would do. With that thought, Yata turned his gaze towards the direction the enemy was supposed to come from.

At that moment, the barricade was cut into a cross.

"Here we go!"

With a warning voice echoing, Yata charged the staff in his hand with red supernatural power.

A tall shadow appeared from behind the clouds of smoke.

"Eh?"

To all appearances, he was not a child. For some reason, the man whose entire body was drenched with water brushed his hair as if to remove the dripping water droplets and looked at them.

"Oh? Are you my partner?"

Saying so, Mishakuji Yukari pointed his sword at him.

"Hey! This is not the brat, Saru!"

When he involuntarily yelled, the counter argument returned without delay.

"Each of these guys is strong against nonsense. I was able to lead him somehow, but it's a mistake to the extent that the opponent is different! If you have any complaints, go ahead and do it yourself!"

"Well, that's correct."

Shortly, Kusanagi found himself next to Yata. With a lighter in hand, his lips smiled, but his eyes didn't. He was ready for battle.

"Nothing will change if you "suppress one". Or else, Yata-chan, why don't you try your best if you're not dealing with children?"

"Tsk! Shit, I get it!"

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Yata was still holding his staff. As Kusanagi said, he can't choose who is his opponent. His role is to defeat the enemy in front of them.

"Get ready, you green bastard! We won't let you through here!"

"Yes. I'm looking forward to it!"

With a happy smile, Mishakuji ran straight ahead and Yata gripped the staff tightly.

++++++++++

The noise began to enter Anna's otherworldly web.

Perhaps because the Red Clan has begun to fight in earnest, they are worried about her support. Shiro's spirit is sensitive to how turmoil is transmitted as waves. Not surprisingly, he believed her. Even though she is a "Red King" and she is determined to fight, this was the first time she had fought an enemy equal to or better than him.

"Well, our turn is almost here."

When Shiro said in a low voice, Kuro nodded.

"Mishakuji and Gojou will be held by the entire clan, including the "King". And when the "Green King" arrives, the three "Kings"... "Silver", "Red" and "Blue" will fight against him. Surely there is no other way than this. But..."

A slight shadow fell over his expression. Shiro tilted his head and asked.

"Kuro, what's wrong?"

"Don't think I'm being foolish. If I were stronger, at least if I could fight Mishakuji Yukari on equal footing, you'd be able to fight more easily."

"Kuro."

Shiro touched Kuro on the shoulder.

"I've only heard the story, but I don't think you're inferior to Mishakuji Yukari."

"But you also said that back then."

Kuro asked back with a doubtful face. At that time, Shiro had just returned to Gakuenjima. In fact, Shiro said something to the effect that it would be easier if Kuro could compete with Mishakuji. Astonished, Shiro pondered on whether he had been worried about it for a long time.

"That was a joke. And I also said that you weren't doing your best."

Kuro was upset.

"What do you mean? I certainly did my best to deal with it. I didn't mean to cut corners."

"Yes. At that time, you still couldn't use your true power as a member of the Silver Clan."

"Silver...?"

"I certainly made you a member of the clan. But that's it. It didn't get to the point where we could use the Silver power, our supernatural ability. But now…"

Shiro put extraordinary powers into his own hands. A shimmering silver aura was transmitted from that hand to Kuro's shoulder, and Kuro's eyes widened in surprise.

"This is...?!"

"Kuro. The only thing you could use was the colorless ability. There's no way you can win against Mishakuji Yukari who uses two colors. With my power, you'll be able to fight him on equal terms for the first time."

It was as if the Silver power had turned into Kuro's self-confidence. As he confirmed the supernatural power that filled him, Kuro looked back at Shiro and nodded forcefully.

Shiro smiled quietly and added.

"Besides, I'm sure you'll really show your power more."

At that moment, Neko who had taken the form of a cat at his feet suddenly raised her head. She returned to her human form and let out a voice full of vigilance.

"Shiro! Something's getting closer!"

At last the time has come. He was ready and he had nothing to fear. Even if the opponent is the strongest Clansman.

"Is it Mishakuji Yukari? Neko. If the parrot is with him, I'll leave him to you."

"Yes! Leave it to me! I'll eat him like Christmas chicken!"

The moment the Neko bravely said that, the shutter at the entrance of the room was destroyed with a crash.

Through the hole, a small figure slowly entered. A child. Bracing a scythe with a glowing green blade on his shoulder, he looked around vigilantly.

Shiro frowned and said in a low voice.

"It's not Mishakuji Yukari. Is it Gojou Sukuna?"

In response to that voice, Sukuna looked at him. A belligerent smile appeared on his lips.

"Oh! He's the "Silver King"! I didn't expect the last boss encounter here. He was irritated with so many traps, but I'm lucky!"

"Shiro, let's do it!"

Neko, who was ready for battle, yelled and Kuro drew his sword silently. Seeing that, Sukuna's smile deepened even more. Even though it was three against one, and one of them was the "King", there was not a trace of fear in his expression, as if he was enjoying the difficulty.

"I'll make Nagare have one less thing to do. It's time to earn a lot of extra points, "Silver King"!"

"Don't believe it!"

Kuro yelled and ran off. Sukuna waved the scythe at him in response. As he looked at the two clansmen who began to fight violently, Shiro's thoughts were spinning at high speed.

However, Mishakuji Yukari and Gojou Sukuna, the two members of the clan, do not have the same abilities. Mishakuji is clearly stronger. That's why the plan was to have the silver team, including a skilled "King", against him.

It collapsed. Although war is always accompanied by unforeseen circumstances, now they must anticipate the consequences of that situation.

What about the Red Clan?

Though aware of the marbles in his hand, Shiro thought of the other clan, "Homura", that he had to deal with the powerful enemy that he was supposed to be in charge of.

++++++++++

A few minutes after the battle began, "Homura" began to fall apart.

Mishakuji's attack was like lightning. By the time he seemed to arrive, he had already made up his mind. Several clansmen had already passed out and were lying on the ground. They weren't dead, but getting back into combat would be difficult.

"Bastard!"

Yata's skateboard sped up, transforming anger at his friend's defeat into speed. Rotating the flames wrapped around the staff, Yata attacked Mishakuji with the same momentum.

With a smile on his face, Mishakuji took it smoothly.

"Tsu...!"

"It's a good hit. But momentum alone won't do anything."

Swaying, Mishakuji's sword swayed as if carrying a mist. The pressure on the rod instantly disappeared and Yata felt as if all his hair stood on end. His intuition as a fighter who had been through many a rough patch told him exactly what would happen next.

Be killed.

It was Kamamoto who saved Yata from that prediction.

"Get away from Yata-san!"

With an aura pouring out from his entire body, Kamamoto launched himself into a desperate stance. The sight of a red-hot giant crashing into him is like a volcanic bomb.

Mishakuji narrowed his eyes and instantly stepped back. Kamamoto's gigantic body passed through an empty space and buried itself in the wall, creating radial cracks.

Kamamoto said out loud as he looked at Mishakuji.

"Are you alright, Yata-san?"

"Oh. You saved me, Kamamoto!"

"Hmm, I see."

Swinging his sword, Mishakuji slowly looked around the room.

While Yata and Kamamoto dealt with Mishakuji, other clansmen surrounded him. All of them were looking at Mishakuji with angry eyes.

Facing a look of anger and hostility, Mishakuji opened his arms quite happily.

"It's obvious, but it's very different from the blue boys. Even if you get hurt or fall, you'll never break and your life will shine even brighter... Fufu."

With a heartbreaking smile on his lips...

"You are beautiful!"

"Go away! Guys!"

Almost at the same time as Kusanagi's order, Mishakuji kicked the ground.

If he hadn't pushed the skateboard behind him, he probably would have been knocked over. Yata barely managed to parry Mishakuji's attack, which shot out as he spun, then turned his back on him and began to run. Kamamoto shook off his giant body and followed.

"Yata-san, it's dangerous, it's dangerous, it's dangerous!"

"Shut up and run!"

"My God, didn't you let me in?"

From behind, Mishakuji, still smiling, chases after him. Yata ground his teeth as goosebumps rose on his neck. It is completely true what the enemy said, and it is too uncomfortable to run away with a tail between your legs, even though you have fought so hard. But...

"Hurry up, Saru!"

Several blinds fell behind Yata and Kamamoto, as if they had heard the words shot into his head. Kamamoto looked back with a relieved expression.

"Hey, good! With this, for a while..."

The shutter broke and Mishakuji ran inside. Carrying a mysteriously shining sword and running while smiling charmingly, he has a terrifying beauty that is far from human.

The two fled again with all their might.

Behind Yata and Kamamoto, multiple layers of shutters blocked him. These obstacles last less than a few seconds. Mishakuji's sword pierces shutters 1, 2, and 3.

The fire bullets fell like shotguns that attacked Mishakuji.

"You failed."

Although he was taken by surprise, Mishakuji's reaction speed was still amazing. He quickly swung the sword to knock down all the bullets. Then, alert, he lowered the point of his sword and looked at the man who shot the flame.

Correcting the misalignment of his sunglasses, Kusanagi said in a relaxed tone.

"My young man, will you be with me?"

With a laugh, Mishakuji pointed his sword at Kusanagi.

"So, will you be my partner?"

"No… sorry about that."

Kusanagi turned around. The shutter came down again as if to cut into his back.

In a room surrounded by shutters on all sides, Mishakuji shrugged as he still held his sword.

"It's really endless... It's not beautiful to blatantly waste time."

++++++++++

"Shit! This guy!"

Sukuna jumped again as he echoed evil.

In terms of speed alone, Sukuna could surpass Mishakuji Yukari. Irregular feints. Kuro's body reacted precisely to him approaching while preparing irregular feints. Sukuna's scythe attacked from the right, but Kuro's sword "Kotowari" stopped it and repelled it.

(My body is light... Is it because Shiro is next to me?)

Kuro's eyes widened as he saw the sword glowing silvery white. The power that springs from the depths of the body resides in the sword inherited from his master. As if to congratulate Kuro who became a member of the Silver Clan.

He thought so. This is what he wanted. He can fight for his own master. He is now standing in a place that the powerless young Kuro could never reach.

Instinctively, Kuro looked at the sword with a silver aura.

(Ichigen-sama, I am...!)

"Don't look away!"

Seeing that as an opportunity, Sukuna continued to attack. But...

"Neko!"

"Yes!"

As Neko activated his supernatural power, silvery-white bubbles began to bubble around Sukuna. Sukuna tried to shake off the waves of foam rising from under his feet and tried to get rid of it with his sickle.

"What is this?!"

That is exactly the gap. Kuro quickly approached and roughly pushed Sukuna's body with the scabbard he was holding in one hand. Sukuna twisted his body to avoid it, but all he could do was change the angle. He was shocked as he was, he rolled backwards on the ground, but immediately got to his feet.

Sukuna yelled in anger and fatigue.

"Dammit! You coward!"

"Hmph. Say what you want."

"Ah, Shiro looks bad."

Shiro and Neko lashed out with light banter, and Kuro pointed the tip of "Kotowari" directly at Sukuna. The three members of the Silver Clan are organically cooperating and supporting each other. Sukuna was his only opponent and he didn't feel like losing at all.

Suddenly, the smile disappeared from Shiro's face. Turning his Japanese umbrella around, he turned his cool gaze on Sukuna.

"Well, your activities have ended. As a fighting force, you will surely be crushed here."

Sukuna was overwhelmed by the intimidating feeling of a "King" that was unimaginable from his usual gentle demeanor.

He yelled out loud to cheer himself up.

"Do not be silly!"

In a fit of rage, Sukuna attacked Shiro with even more violent movements than before. The blow was blocked by Kuro, who immediately stepped forward. He wasn't going to let his fingertips touch Shiro. It became the sword of the "King", and it moves like a shield. At that, Kuro felt joy well up from the depths of his body.

++++++++++

The wheels of the wheelchair creaked as they rolled across the marble floor.

Hisui Nagare, who had advanced to the center of the hall, looked up silently. Various sounds can be heard from the upper floor, which has been converted into an atrium. The sounds of crashing, breaking and running. Combat sounds.

Iwafune, standing next to him, spoke as if he were someone else's problem.

"Oh, you're also surprisingly good at it."

Nagare closed his eyes and tried to activate his supernatural power. Most of the electronic networks have been removed from that building, but some are still alive. He tried to control it and check the situation of the battle.

But he changed my mind.

Now he's there.

He's not the person he was when he could only look out from his underground hideout. If he feels like it, he can go anywhere. He can see the world with his own eyes, not an image as a collection of light particles.

That made him so happy that he trembled.

"Right now, the status is around 70% clear. You're a little early, Nagare."

Nagare denied those words in a calm voice.

"No, it's not too soon. I'm here to fight."

"Eh?"

Iwafune, who questioned him curiously, guessed everything just by looking at Nagare's profile.

The appearance is nothing more than the usual deadpan. However, inside, the excitement and enthusiasm of a child impatiently waiting for an excursion is about to overflow. For a long time, Iwafune, who had been with Nagare as father and son, understood that very clearly.

Iwafune said with a sigh.

"Hey, there are three "Kings" waiting for you upstairs, you know? Wait a bit longer until Yukari-chan and the others make a route."

"I'm not going to wait."

Iwafune laughed as if he had given up at Nagare's stubborn insistence.

"At this rate, you can't even hear Iwa-san, who is a surrogate father?"

"Affirmative. I will act selfishly."

"Fufu, it's time to rebel. Alright, let's go."

Nagare looked at Iwafune and smiled.

"Thank you, Iwa-san. I am grateful to you."

And so, Nagare stood up and looked up again.

There is an enemy ahead. His enemy. Enemy of "Jungle".

Hisui Nagare never had ill will towards them. He recognized the power of their as a "King", and even respected one of them.

But still...

"It is true that the combined forces of the "Silver King", "Blue King", and "Red King" are powerful. But if it is me..."

There was no wavering in the confidence that he was the strongest.

"It's an easy win!"

Then, Hisui Nagare opened his arms.

He easily broke through the straitjacket that wrapped around his body and unleashed all the supernatural powers that were sealed.

Picking up his wheelchair, Nagare began to run. Due to the "alteration" power that overflows from his body, his body transforms into lightning. With a trail of green glow, Nagare disappeared up the stairs, bounding up and down like an unleashed beast, or like a happy child.

"Well, you can enjoy it as much as you want."

The expression on Iwafune's face as he watched with narrowed eyes was just like his father's.

[xfangheartx]

Summary- Blitzø and Stolas finally talk.

Preview:

 The weekend came by faster than Blitzø expected. Honestly, there was a part of him that really didn’t want to have this talk, but he knew it had to happen. He couldn’t just leave things alone and expect them to turn out fine… he had already made that mistake too many times.

  “Dad?”

  Blitzø glanced to his right, where Loona sat, and Buffy sat in the back, blinking at her father in concern.

  “Do you… want Buffy and me to go in with you?” asked Loona.

  “Yeah, maybe we can talk to Prince Stolas together,” said Buffy.

  “No, girls,” Blitzø said. “Look… Stolas just wants to talk to me, okay? I don’t want him to feel like he’s being ganged up on.”

  “Well… can we at least go in to say hi to Via?” asked Buffy.

  “You can if you want,” Blitzø replied, “but Stolas and I want our privacy, you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Buffy nodded.

  “And girls,” Blitzø began, “whatever happens… just know that it’s nothing you did and it’s nothing you can fix, okay? If Stolas and I decide that we shouldn’t be together… then that’s the way things are.” He sighed as he gripped the steering wheel. “Even if it sucks…”

  “We’ll be here for you, Dad,” said Buffy.

  “Yeah,” Loona nodded. “We promise.”

  “Thanks, girls,” said Blitzø before he looked up at Stolas’s palace, then took a deep breath before he opened the door and stepped out of the van. Loona and Buffy stepped out, as well, and followed him up the steps. As they did, Blitzø could feel his heart race inside his chest, and every breath felt too short and tight, causing him to clutch at it tightly.

  That’s when Buffy reached down and gently held his hand, and Loona placed a hand on his shoulder, causing him to look up at his daughters, who both smiled at him in reassurance… and seeing those smiles caused him to smile back and nod gratefully. Soon, Buffy reached up and knocked on the door, and after a tense moment, Octavia opened it.

  “Oh, hey,” she greeted.

  “Hi, Via,” Buffy greeted back.

  “How’s it goin’?” Loona asked.

  “I’m… I’m doing okay,” Octavia answered. “I mean… I could be better.”

  Blitzø couldn’t help but feel like someone dropped a lead brick in his stomach and it fell right out his ass. Seeing Octavia like this, all sullen and withdrawn reminded him of how she was the day he met her. While she didn’t seem to have that resentment in her eyes that she had before, he could see something else that, to him, was just as bad, if not worse: disappointment.

  “Uh… where’s your dad?” Blitzø asked.

  “Upstairs in his room,” said Octavia. “He’s waiting for you, Mister Blitz.”

  “Thanks,” said Blitzø as he made his way inside. “And you girls can sit together and chat about… you know… teenage girl stuff.”

  That did get a small snort from Octavia, and that did get Blitzø to smile… if only for a little bit.

  As he made his way upstairs and walked through the long, winding hallways… he stopped for a brief moment as he spotted something out of his peripheral eye: the room with the chandelier. Blitzø’s heart dropped even deeper the moment he spotted it covered by the black silk tarp… and he could almost hear the laughter of his childhood self in the room echoing from within.

  This once beautiful, glistening room had lost its splendor and had become nothing but a place to gather dust.

  “Hello, Blitz.”

  Blitzø tensed as he turned around… and there was Stolas. The prince towered over him, just as he always did, and the way the light from the windows shone off him cast his shadow over the imp. However, as Blitzø looked up at the owl, he noticed that his red eyes glowed with a deep, heavy sadness… and guilt.

  No… not guilt. He didn’t want him to feel guilty. He didn’t want Stolas to feel bad… not for something he did.

  “…Hi, Stol’s,” said Blitzø, glancing away and refusing to make eye contact with him… and that made Stolas’s heart sink.

  He hated seeing him like this… seeing the imp he loved so dearly feel as if he couldn’t even look at him. He wanted so desperately for him to speak… to look at him and feel like he could be safe with him. He didn’t want him to do this, again: build up his walls and shut him out.

  “Blitz,” Stolas said. “Come with me… please.”

[maeve-is-annoying-about-books]

A Series of Unfortunate Events

Or, a post which is so terrible, so full of atrocity that it would be best if you averted your eyes. To take this post and print it only to shred it, lest all innocence in the world be lost. We again advise you to please, turn of the computer now and run from it as fast as you are able to and enjoy the great outdoors instead. Perhaps a spot of hiking, which will do you much more good than this meandering misery.

Y'know, I was barely a kid anymore when I read these the first time. My father was actually the one who collected the entire set, the new book on each release and read them through right away. And then he pushed them onto me when he was done. He did that a lot, pushing me toward books he liked and I don't think I ever showed the appreciation I should have at the time.

But this post is more about revisiting them recently and finding out how strongly they aged. I mean certain things and details definitely got caught up in cultural changes, as they are wont to do, but the core idea there?

A Series of Unfortunate Events is about how much people can suck. It's about good intentions always getting run aground by politeness. It's about how a paper thin veneer will stop justice, if not outright use it to its own advantage. Like the maddening marriage scene. All of the adults sitting around going, "Well, it's all legal! There's nothing we could possibly do about this! Oh damn we've been had, we'll be sure to be very cross about this when we read about it in the paper." Like... What the fuck do you mean there's noting you can do go up on the stage and introduce the Count's face to your fist! You heard him say "drop the baby"! There have to be laws about this but no one knows any?

Of course they don't, because an adult is constantly stepping around the carefully-cared-for grass of their neighbor, while a child only sees the cannon pointed at them from the window and wants to hurry.

"But it's such a nice lawn and look, there's a window! He wouldn't break his window to shoot us!" The adult says, noticing and not caring about the lit match in the cannoneer's hand. Or the "I hate windows" shirt.

The metaphor ran wild with me for a moment but I'm not going to apologize for overuse of metaphor when it comes to these books.

And I think that's really the core of what the series is. It's one that remembers how arbitrary and ridiculous people seemed when one was young. And hell, it remembers how ridiculous people still are. It's an endlessly frustrating work where you wish just one person would just listen to (which used here means believe in) you. That something was wrong, or that life doesn't have t o be this miserable. Or that yes we can do something I just need you to volunteer a little of your time and goodwill. But volunteers are few and far between. And so very often put in harm's way.

But, way back when. When Dad first put that book in front of me and said "I think it'll help you." That was the most lifelike depiction of doing good I'd ever seen. It's not a heroic and splendored thing celebrated by parades. It's quiet and tricksy and enjoys spending time in dark alleys and secret tunnels. Where its shadow looks suspiciously like evil and you have to try really hard if you want to separate the two or else get led astray.

In reality, "doing good" is just "doing your best".

[euph0synee]

Prologue or something !!

“Prabhu, how could u marry a normal human girl who came from a different timeline?“, Narad, who slightly crouched out of respect in front of the lying figure of Vishnu asked worriedly.

Vishnu, who had his eyes closed lying on his snake bed with one hand holding his head and the other resting on his waist and his face held a smile so beautiful that could even make the sky blush, slowly opened his eyes, “Narad what are you talking about?“, he asked.

“You know what i am talking about Prabhu. You know everything yet how could u ask me what's wrong?“, Narad said with a frown and gaining a small chuckle from Vishnu in response.

“The one marrying her is Krishna not me Narad“, Vishnu said.

“But Prabhu you are Krishna !“, Narad exclaimed.

Vishnu smiled again, “Narad speak clearly what seems to be the problem with Krishna marrying her?“

“The problem is she's just a normal human girl who got lost in time and You are the Supreme Personality of Godhead. No one else can be with you but Devi Lakshmi, Only her, the Prakriti can handle your splendor “, Narad talked worried about how the things would turn out if Krishna actually end up marrying the human girl.

“Narad, if she was just a normal human girl she would not have been lost in the time in the first place“, Vishnu said softly.

“Wh...What do you mean, Prabhu?“, Narad looked at Vishnu with a confused face.

“Narad, What makes you think that every girl existing in all these universes i created are not Devi Mahalakshmi herself? She is the Prakriti, She is everything and nothing. She is Me. Narad, the girl became the epitome of Mahalakshmi from the moment i started residing in her heart. She is not just a normal human being who cannot handle my splendor. She is Lakshmi who as you said, is the only one who can handle my splendor“, Vishnu said his smiling not fading even a bit as he looked at Narad.

“She was destined to marry Krishna because this is the statute of law“, Vishnu finished as he closed his eyes once again falling into his slumber leaving behind a confused and embarrassed Narad.

p.s - this is the prologue of 'gen z y/n in dwapar yug' if u couldn't tell

[wickedsrest-rp]

Name: Zofia Kowalska Species: Vampire Occupation: Former Antiques Dealer Age: 315 Years Old (Looks about 26) Played By: Grace Face Claim: Matilda De Angelis

"I’ll build myself and my world anew from burnt and broken pieces, and I'll fashion them into something shining and glorious."

Zofia Kowalska had always wanted more from life. She dreamed of parties and jewels, castles and crowns. She loved the night because it hid what was true. She could stay in bed in the forgiving shadows, convincing herself that she would wake the next day living in splendor. She would curl up with that dream and try to will it into existence, until her enemy the sun started to creep its way over the horizon to remind herself her life was no fairy tale.

Zofia grew up in Gdansk, youngest child of Milos, a cobbler, and his wife Izolda. The couple didn’t have enough money to pay another dowry, and all of her siblings had earned their share. Zofia would simply have to set aside her childish fantasies and grow up. Still determined to enjoy some worldly comforts, Zofia decided if she couldn’t be the one wearing the pretty dresses, at least she could be near them. At the age of 16 she set out to attempt to work her way up in the households of the local nobility. After years of working as a maid, she finally became a lady’s maid to Karlonia Branicka. The lady was famous for her parties, and even more famously well connected. Dignitaries from all over found themselves in Karolina’s parlor. Zofia had long been considered a spinster, but it couldn’t possibly hurt to look at the beautiful strangers the noblewoman had collected over the years. At one party in particular, a new addition to Karolina’s menagerie of friends captivated Zofia. She’d been instructed by her mistress to see to the Du Pont’s every need, and Zofia was all too eager to please. Though she was surprised to find Madame Seraphine Du Pont seemed to be just as fascinated with her as Zofia was with the woman and her companions. “A pretty thing like you should not be a mere servant, ma colombe.” The woman had said, petting Zofia on the cheek. “Wouldn’t you like to be so much more?” Hearing her dream spelled out for her, Zofia nodded. “Yes,” She had said. “More than anything I’d like to be like you.”

The next day, Zofia Kowalska was reported dead. And yet she’d never felt more alive.

Zofia Du Pont never wanted for anything. When she had arrived at the Du Pont clan’s chateau in the Loire Valley in France, she felt as if she’d stepped into one of her dreams. It was easy to forget that she no longer needed normal food when her new form of sustenance was poured out for her in crystal goblets and fine china tea cups. Seraphine and Adrien, Seraphine’s consort, as well as their ‘son’ Henri, taught her everything she needed to know. To unsuspecting humans, she was always presented as Sofie Du Pont, Adrien’s distant cousin. Zofia learned that being a Du Pont meant experiencing life as it was meant to be lived. Operas, ballets, and art galleries- the most exquisite fashions and perfumes- nothing was too good for the Du Ponts. The revelries went on for centuries. Sofie saw the world, and played with it. From spectacles such as seeing the Eiffel tower light up for the first time, to pretending to be the long lost duchess of a notable Russian family on a dare from Henri, Sofie Du Pont did it all. So when her new family wanted to join some of the Du Pont clan that had made their way to America, why would she have said no?

The United States at the dawn of a new century was a whirlwind for Sofie. She barely noticed the Depression or the onset of another World War- it was hard to when she was still thriving off the high that was the twenties and still enjoying the luxuries of being on the Du Pont bank roll. She didn’t notice, as the decades passed, that more was going wrong. Every day they received news that more of their clan had gone missing, or turned up dead. She didn’t start to pay attention until Seraphine and Adrien were killed by a slayer and Henri went missing. And by then it was too late.

Alone for the first time in her existence, she had made her way by selling antiques, and had started to settle into life in Wicked’s Rest. She’d started to find a home for herself, to make a new family. Things were finally looking up again. A shame that’s when she stepped into a trap.

Being one of the last survivors left those hunting her clan to eradication with the brilliant thought that she might be in contact with the others. Holding her hostage for months, they tried to extract the information they thought she had from her by any means necessary. Then one day, they made a mistake. They left only one person on guard. In a moment of clarity from the fogginess of her mind, Zofia managed to escape. Now, she’s more determined than ever to finish the hunters off, and to create a new clan for herself.

Character Facts:

Personality: Charming, focused, loyal, captivating, driven, obsessive, vain, forgetful, impulsive, detached

She once pretended to be the long lost Grand Duchess Anastasia as a dare from Henri

Her birthday is June 3rd 1709, making her a Gemini Sun, Aries Moon.

She worked for a while as an independent art broker and antiquities dealer. It’s very easy to sell old works of art when you’ve been collecting them for centuries. She rented a small space as her office in Nightfall Grove, and called the business Dorian Gray and Associates (she thinks it's hilarious, even if she was the only ‘associate’ the business had)

She’s gone by many last names over the centuries, but her first name has always been Zofia, Sofie, or some variation upon that. 

Before it was driven to near extinction, she was a member of the Fleur De Sang clan, a vampire clan in France. The Du Pont line of the clan was a particularly prominent one, and their deaths/disappearances sent many scattering into hiding.

She has always been a patron of the arts, whether it’s performance art, sculpture, paintings- you name it, she supports it. One thing that she’s held on to over the years that she probably shouldn’t have because it’s INCREDIBLY conspicuous is a portrait of her done by Madame Le Brun. The painting is over two centuries old and belongs in a museum and not in Sofie’s apartment. But there it is. Hanging in her living room.

[its-sixxers]

Prey

One priestess Embraces another.

The Hundred Years’ War was in its twilight. The convent operated as it ever did, God unchanging whether English or French - but even it would not be untouched by the war. In war nothing was written in stone, all was malleable, the only law that of the sword - and a nun had no such weapon.

Elaine had first spotted him when feeding the hungry - a well dressed man who did not belong among their number, but had joined the line nevertheless. She had wondered what use a rich man such as he had for the humble meal she and her sisters offered, but as his eyes roved about her robed form she fast realized he had a hunger of a different sort.

That night she had told the abbess, and was informed that the man was the son of a powerful noble that had proved his worth in skirmishes against the English, and that there was little that could be done about simply looking. 

So Elaine ladeled soup into his bowl, and tried not to look him in the eye. The day she did, she saw something in them that chilled her heart.

An omen, perhaps, for late that evening as she went about extinguishing the candles of the abbey there was movement in the shadows. The noble’s son had lingered in hiding, for hours, no doubt - and he wished his efforts to not be in vain. 

His breath stank of wine as he approached her, and Elaine spoke her courtesies, tried her best to get him to depart for he was not welcome. The man advanced, and she backed away - until he had her pressed up against the altar, her elbow knocking over the wrought iron cross that sat upon it. The man had bled so the abbey could stand, his gold kept its hearth lit, he said, so why could he not enjoy its splendors?

While his name was lost to time in her memory, his face a blur, Elaine would remember for centuries what took place in the next heartbeat.

Lord, she prayed, let him not touch me.

The man reached out and tore her veil from her head, gripping the back of her neck to try and pull her toward him. Elaine grabbed the cross and swung. Iron connected with skull, and blood sprayed across her scapula.

Her first murder was committed in a church.

Elaine watched him fall lifeless to the ground, her grip on the cross white knuckled as she comprehended what she had done. There would be no misericord for her, only the gallows.

She dropped the cross and fled, tearing her bloodied scapula off as she ran.

The man’s horse was stabled within the convent, and though Elaine had not rode since she was a little girl her memory did the work for her. The horse seemed to know the way out of the city well enough, and good it did for her mind was a haze. It was near dawn by the time she had escaped the city bounds, and she still had little idea of what to do. In her wimple and habit she looked similar to any average woman, but any average woman had little business on a horse in the countryside unaccompanied - and she had no coin.

One sin begat another, as she tried to think up a story to tell, a lie to survive - she was a refugee of war, she was from a countryside convent that had been destroyed by the English, something, anything to net her mercy.

Perhaps she did not deserve it, if it was to be gained in such a way. Perhaps she had doomed herself already.

Elaine slept in a ruined farmhouse off the main road, and woke damp, shivering, and hungry. Her sustenance that day were apples scoured from a farmer’s orchard, her heart racing for fear of being caught.

Three sins. How easy it was to fall.

By sunset her legs ached from riding, and she knew she couldn’t spend another night outside, and so when she caught sight of a village’s lights glimmering in the distance she decided to throw herself upon their mercy and pray for undeserved kindness. The first door she knocked on was that of a cottage belonging to a small family. The husband opened the door, a baby within crying at the sudden draft, and Elaine begged him for shelter, giving him her story.

He glanced at her horse, and agreed to do that and give her food for the road if she gave him her steed in exchange.

It was not her horse to offer, and the deal was better than she could have hoped. Elaine lodged next to the family’s children that night, and was told the nearest monastery she could approach. Paris was too full of refugees already - a fact she knew well.

The man warned her not to roam after dark, when she left in the morning. There was some sort of animal that hunted by night in the area.

Elaine despaired of being able to reach the next village by nightfall on foot, and prayed she would find shelter on the road. 

Sunset gave her no such luck. She clutched the sack of goods the peasant man had given her to her chest and staggered forth in the dark, guided only by the moon. Despite her fear, the moonlit world was beautiful, conjuring memories of her youth - creeping out of the cottage to watch fireflies at night, listening to the wind rustle the grass. Elaine took heart in memory - until another sound joined that of the night.

Hoofbeats.

Looking behind her on the road, she saw torchlight.

Up ahead was a copse of trees, and Elaine sprinted for it - dropping her satchel of goods in her haste. She tripped over the skirt of her habit as her feet left the road, stumbling over uneven earth. The hoofbeats were getting closer, but she dared not look behind her, slipping into the cover of the trees just as men’s shouting had begun.

The copse of trees encircled the ruin of a church - from the time of the Romans, perhaps - and Elaine prayed that she had found sanctuary. With nowhere else to go she flung herself behind a moss covered altar and crossed herself, praying ardently that she would not be found.

She could see lights approaching the trees. The men must have known she had nowhere else to hide. Their torches cast grotesque shadows, flickering through tree branches and dancing across ancient stone. Elaine held her breath and made herself as small as possible.

There were three men, all as well garbed as the noble’s son, though they had scabbards and swords and chainmail that jingled with their every step. They said nothing as they searched the ruin - and Elaine shrunk away as she heard one approach the altar.

Before she knew it she was pulled upright by the collar of her habit, its neckline digging into her throat. She screamed, though there was no one to hear her. The knight - and knight he must have been, for the heraldry on his tunic - ripped off her wimple and held his torch to her face, surveying her features.

A woman worth dying for, he had said, and some small voice in the back of her mind urged her to prove him right.

Elaine’s eyes darted to his scabbard, and she pulled out his sword. The knight released her, laughing merrily as she backed herself into a crumbling wall, pointing the blade awkwardly at her three hunters.

The first knight had opened his mouth to taunt her, but was cut off by a horse’s scream. One of the men took off running for the road, crazed whinnying echoing through the trees.

A man’s scream joined the cacophony soon after, and the other knight drew his blade. All attention had left Elaine, and she took off running.

The first knight turned to pursue her, unarmed and realizing his mistake. Elaine sprinted through a ruined graveyard, featureless statues looming in the dark - her foot caught a grave marker, and she went tumbling to the ground. The knight went tumbling on top of her, grabbing her wrist where she still had his sword clutched in hand. Elaine struggled, but he was perilously heavy, his nails scratching at her fingers in an attempt to retrieve his blade until her knuckles were bloodied.

In that moment she thought she was going to die, whether to the knight or to whatever beast lurked in the dark - and then the front of her was soaked in blood. In the delirium of her panic she thought it her own, until the top half of the knight fell to the side, his bottom half still straddling her. Chain links fell across her stomach.

Too horrified to scream, Elaine kicked the man’s remains off of her and scrambled to her feet, sword in hand as she surveyed the dark.

There was no sign of any beast, certainly not one large enough to have bisected her attacker. The blade quivered in her grip, her entire body trembling as she blinked in the dark, wiping the blood from her eyes.

Elaine caught movement, then thought it was her eyes playing tricks on her - starling at a gargoyle seated upon one of the ruined church walls. Briefly she had thought that perhaps an avenging angel had saved her in spectacular fashion - they had always said be not afraid, after all - until two pinpricks of white light appeared where the gargoyle’s eyes should have been, as if it had opened them.

Fear rooted her to the spot as the shadowed silhouette approached until the light of the knight’s discarded torch could illuminate it. In the dim light Elaine beheld a monster of myth, a demon. A woman’s corpse with a satyr’s feet and claws slaked with blood, walking of her own volition, by some terrible magic. The woman had no nose, had a jaw full of jagged teeth, sticky strands of bloody saliva strung between them and more lifesblood spilled down her chin and front.

Elaine’s grip on the sword grew steady. One swing, that was all she would have.

The woman-creature halted her approach, glowing white eyes surveying Elaine and settling on the blade. Then she made a sound - a chitter, rat like but far deeper, far stranger. 

She moved faster than Elaine could blink, bloodied palms pressed to her cheeks and claws ruffling her cropped hair. Face-to-face, Elaine saw a terrible intelligence in those eyes, and in the next breath she felt a rush of heat emanating from her neck. A haze of pleasure Elaine had no reference for overrode her body, and the world faded.

The next stretch of time flowed in and out, as if a terrible dream. Elaine felt as if she was choking, her lungs burning from a lack of air - then her entire body burning, first as if with fever and then so intensely she wondered if she had not been captured after all and tied to a stake for her sins. Yet liquid passed her lips, and no water was given to those destined to burn.

When at last awareness came back to her, and she awoke from her fever, Elaine was back amid the stones of the ruined church. The woman-creature sat upon a nearby wall, gargoyle-like as before, but this time when Elaine looked at her she knew her name.

Athanasia.

“You’re strong.” Athanasia spoke, in a language Elaine did not recognize yet somehow understood. No one had ever called her that before.

There was only one question in Elaine’s mind. “What are you?” To her surprise, her voice rasped, as if she hadn’t had water in days.

“A hunter. So are you,” came the answer. Athanasia hopped down from the wall, and Elaine noticed her ears - a doe’s, like her feet - were pierced with glimmering gold discs. She approached the altar, and upon it lay the second of the knights - the only one who remained in the church. He was bound in his own torn heraldry.

“What did you do to them?”

“What was deserved. Come.”

At the command Elaine stood, finding that her legs were powerful beneath her. She still wore her habit, but it felt looser about her person. A glance at her hands revealed they were clawed much like Athanasia’s, but oddly it did not fill Elaine with fear.

“They will never hunt you again,” Athanasia continued, walking to the other side of the altar. The knight upon it struggled violently, and Elaine found herself salivating at the sight to her horror. “This is the gift I give to you. It is deserved,” she chittered, sounding pleased - a smile to her tone though her mouth was not capable of it. “I will teach you of it, so you may join the others of our kind.”

“Others?”

“Eat first.”

The knight looked at Elaine with wide eyes, and the matter was one she needed no guidance in, the jumping artery in his throat singing an invitation. Elaine found that her teeth had grown sharp enough to piece flesh, and ate of meat and blood for the first time in an age. When it was done clarity of the action came to her, and she wept.

“Many cry at first,” Athanasia spoke. “This life is different, but more than any could have hoped for. Worry not about the gods. You can still devote yourself to their service, but you are no longer bound by the weakness of the mortal.”

Gods? Heresy - yet had she not witnessed the blackest arts herself? “Are you a god?”

Athanasia’s chittering raised in pitch, so it was nearly musical. “Not yet. Would you follow if I was?”

Elaine stared at the strange creature that had saved her, and wondered if Athanasia was indeed the angel she had prayed for. They will never hunt you again. All the fear of her life - that had seemed very far away now, her only worry now that of her soul. 

A decision could only be made with understanding, and only one being had that knowledge.

“Yes.”

[secret-bug-pain-blog]

Febuwhump, Day 1 - Touch Starved

This is late, and turned out to be mostly a bunch of idiots fighting with each other. Oh well, it's still done. Doesn't matter if it's good or not - it's out. Unbeta'd, might post on AO3 later if it's worth cleaning up.

Snakemouth Den was dark, dank, and absolutely full of mushrooms.

Kabbu could have come up with a better description for it, really, but considering the amount of mythology surrounding it, the number of adventurers rumored to have died in its depths, the treasure rumored to lie within, and the century-and-a-half of people who had vanished into it never to return, he likely could have come up for a better description for it a week ago, when he was still taken in by the splendor of its myth and the many stories about it.

A lot of mythologized places lost their glamor, once you’d been wandering through them for a week and seen nothing but mushrooms and crystals. It certainly didn’t help that most of the cave was too clogged with spores to smell a foot in front of you. The place’s gory reputation certainly didn’t help – he’d been smelling hemolymph on and off for at least the past few hours, and he didn’t want to know if it was multiple corpses or if one of the undead ants that had attacked them earlier had followed them.

At least he had company.

Vi was quite the fierce fighter, doing away with foes far faster than Kabbu could on his own, and finding Leif was a stroke of good fortune all on its own. The moth had a sharp sense of direction, which was a boon and a half when every tunnel in the place looked the same, and had likely saved them from running in circles more than once. With his aid clearing their path-

“Vi.”

Kabbu’s train of thought abruptly derailed as the moth’s voice cut through the silence. He slowed, seeing Vi do the same out of the corner of his eye, her wings flicking open with an annoyed buzz.

“What?” Vi asked. “D’you need something?

“You’re injured.”

That made Kabbu stop in his tracks. Injured? When had-

“Your thorax. Under your secondary claws.”

“I- no, I’m not! I’m fine! I’m not- I didn’t get hit with shit!“ Vi hissed. She fluffed her fur up, glancing to Kabbu for rapport- but now that he was looking for it, the hemolymph plastering her fur to her body was unmistakable.

“You’re not very convincing when you smell like a crime scene.”

Now that he got a closer look at her… yes, she did kind of smell like a crime scene. He wouldn’t phrase it like that himself, admittedly, but it explained where the hemolymph smell was coming from. Kabbu wracked his brain, thinking of when she could have picked up an injury without her noticing. It couldn’t be the spider, or the fall, or the-

“Those… reanimated ants. They must have-“

“Those fuckers didn’t do shit to me! I’m fine!” Vi swung her weapon for emphasis- only to aggravate the wound, making her bite back a sharp hiss.

“Vi-“ Kabbu tried to say, but she just snarled at him.

“Shut it. I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding all over the ground,” Leif pointed out. Vi growled at him.

“Team, stop fighting,” Kabbu tried to intervene, stepping between them. “We just need to bandage it, and she’ll be-“

“You don’t need to bandage it,” Vi interrupted. “I’m fine.”

“If that gash was half an inch longer, you’d be spilling guts out your sides,” Leif said.

“I’m not spilling guts out my sides now, am I?”

That… was not a particularly compelling point.

“If something gets in a lucky shot, you will be,” Kabbu said. “Just- let me take a look at it, and-“

“And what?! Do you think I’m just gonna lie down and let treat me like one injury’ll take me out of the running just because we’re teammates? I’ve only known you for a week, and-“

“Vi, I-“

"That's enough of that." Leif deftly weaved around him and plucked Vi off of the ground, and she went stiff, freezing like a weevil that had only just realized they'd wandered into the path of a northern moth. Kabbu poised himself to intervene – even he knew she disliked touch, after a week with her – but Leif just tucked her stunned body into his ruff, securing her into place under his wings with a secondary limb like she was a plush toy, and kept walking.

Kabbu just stood there, feeling as stunned as Vi looked, as Leif simply wandered off into the cave.

Finally, his brain kicked back into gear and he burst forward. “Leif, you can’t just-“

He was cut off by a purr. A very loud purr, the sort he’d only really seen from extremely contented bugs, and yet-

Kabbu looked into Leif’s arms, only to see Vi… melted into them. It was as though she’d lost any pretense of shape, simply dissolving into Leif’s claws like a slug or a snail. It was…

Leif shrugged. “If she won’t take care normally, then we’ll have to resort to manhandling. Usually bugs don’t take to it that well, admittedly.”

“Shut it,” Vi grumbled. Her voice was hard to hear through the purrs still swelling in her throat, rattling through her tiny frame like she was in the middle of the world’s smallest earthquake. She fluffed herself up, which only really served to make her look more ridiculous – Leif’s fur was far thicker than hers, and the fur on her side was still plastered to her shell with hemolymph.

“We’re just saying, most bugs don’t react like they’re being cuddled by a swarmmate when you give them a tiny bit of handling, especially not while they’re-“

“I said shut it, okay? How I’m doing is none of your business, and-“

“It might not be our business, but it is your teammate’s business, unless you were planning on never telling your teammates about anything.”

“My business is mine, and you’re not even part of the team-“

“And you were planning to bleed to death in a cave over asking your teammate to slow down so you can bandage your wounds.”

Vi’s mouth shut with a click, and she looked away from him. Leif tilted his head at her, waiting for a response.

A long moment passed.

Finally, Leif huffed, handing her over to Kabbu. “Fine, be that way, then.”

Kabbu silently plucked her out of Leif’s arms, feeling her melt into his carapace without another word. Her fur was surprisingly soft, even with the blood trickling down his claws as she shifted her weight. She didn’t say anything as he reached for their bag, pulling their medical kit out of the bottom.

He patched the wound in silence, Vi seemingly trying her best to ignore him as he tied the sturdy leaves over her shell. It was… gory, rough-edged and ragged, and every poke seemed to make it drip blood again. He had no clue how she’d managed to hide it for so long, let alone walk with it. She leaned into his touches, half the time, pressing the rough edges of the wound right into his claws and making her chitin grind against itself in a way that made him wince.

He had hardly taken three round of it before he broke.

"Vi, can you stop-"

"Stop doing what?"

"Stop leaning into my claws. It-"

"I'm not doing anything, okay? Just- keep going, and maybe you'll be done soon."

He gave an affirmative hum, and got back at it.

She kept leaning into his hands. He didn't know if she was even conscious of doing it- she'd lean, then pull back, on and on in a cycle as if she only just realized she was doing it after the fact.

He was just finishing the knot when she finally spoke, sounding like she was dragging the words out of her throat with a prybar.

“…Sorry,” she grumbled. “Just- I’ve had worse, okay? It’s not worth making a fuss over.”

“You’re soaking your fur with hemolymph,” Leif pointed out. “You weigh- what? Four ounces? You don’t have enough blood to spare for injuries like that.”

“I have plenty of blood, and I’ve had a lot worse, and you don’t have to go into this trouble over- over this.”

Leif looked like he was about to say something, but Kabbu darted in before he could escalate it further. “I know we don’t have to, but- we’re partners, Vi. We’re supposed to take care of each other. Don’t you…”

Kabbu trailed off, tying off her bandages. Vi turned her head away from him. “I can handle it. I don’t need you fussing over me every time I get a scratch in the field.”

Her side was a lot more than “a scratch”, but Kabbu kept that thought to himself. He brushed a claw over her back, testing the strength of the bindings, and Vi shivered. Kabbu stopped, holding still.

“Vi, are you-“

“Shut up, it’s fine, I’m- look, it’s embarrassing, and I don’t want to talk about it anymore, and-“

“Didn’t get held enough as a grub, did you?” Leif asked. Vi’s hackles rose, and Kabbu quickly pushed her down just in time to keep her from jumping at him.

“Shut up! You’re a moth, you don’t know shit about things-“

“We’ll take it that’s a yes, then.”

Vi growled under her breath, fluffing her fur. She was about to say something else, but Kabbu pressed her into the ground before she had the chance. “Now isn’t the time for a fight! Venus, you two, at least try to get along! We have a mission, remember?“

Leif stood still for a long moment, fur fluffed, hackles raised, and for a moment Kabbu thought he might have to mediate between them, or tear them apart from an attempt at a duel. Thankfully, Leif’s shoulders relaxed, tension bleeding from his form. “…fine,” Leif muttered. “We’ll try to get along for now. Don’t expect us to drop it, though.”

“Fuck you,” Vi hissed weakly from under Kabbu’s claws. Leif didn’t respond to her, simply wandering back to the other side of the cavern.

She had gone mostly limp, thankfully, all the fight drained out of her. Kabbu carefully released his claw, checking her bandages to make sure he hadn’t worsened her injuries.

He… needed to redo the bindings.

She seemed fine, thankfully. No worse than she was when he bandaged her, at least, though that was a low bar. He gave her a quick pet on the back after carefully plastering the bandages back into place, and she arched into it, grumbling.

Thank Venus that hadn’t escalated any further.

“I think we should make camp for tonight and have some rest before going deeper, all right, team?” Kabbu raised his voice so Leif could hear it, and saw the moth raise his head from the opposite end of the campsite.

“Sounds fine to us. We… could use some rest, before anything else happens.”

Vi grumbled, but didn’t protest. Kabbu went about the motions of preparing a campsite – scooping out nests for everyone, setting out the bedrolls, packing up the medical supplies for later. Vi settled down to watch, after a while, uncharacteristically silent.

Making camp was meditative, almost. The same set of steps nearly every time, it was easy to get lost in it until it was ready to sleep in. Leif settled down quickly enough, Vi staying balled-up into a lump of resentful bee, and Kabbu could almost forget the argument if he just… laid down and tried to sleep.

Hopefully, tomorrow would be less… stressful.

It had scarcely been fifteen minutes before Kabbu felt something tapping on his shell.

Kabbu pulled himself out of the space between sleep and wakefulness, head still full of fog. He looked up at the source of the tapping to see Vi, fur fluffed and hackles raised like she was about to face down a horrid beast.

Vi took a deep breath, and Kabbu’s half-asleep brain could hardly keep up with her before she spoke.

“…look, I’m sorry about- that, but I’m not weak, okay?”

Kabbu was sure his startled look must have shown on his face, because Vi plowed forward. “I mean it, I’m not- I don’t need help, I’m fine on my own, I don’t need a team to prop me up, because I-“

“No one is saying that you’re weak, Vi. Are you sure you’re-“

“I’m fine, and you don’t have to worry about me, and- look, you don’t have to treat me like a cripple, okay? I’ve worked with worse, and I don’t need your pity, because it’ll heal over anyways-“

“I’m not trying to treat you like an- an invalid, Vi! You’re injured, I thought-“

“I can handle it! I don’t need you to- to kiss it better, or whatever. I’m fine!”

Leif stirred in his nest, and Vi quieted down abruptly, shrinking in on herself. She abruptly looked much, much smaller than she had before.

“…Sorry.”

She didn’t meet his eyes, staring off to the side. “I’m- look, it’s just… frustrating. Okay? I don’t…”

Vi trailed off, shuffling her paws. Kabbu shifted to the side of his nest, easing his elytra open just enough to shield it.

“…It’s okay, Vi. I believe you.”

She grimaced, avoiding his gaze. Kabbu shuffled a bit further to the side, eying the bandages over her side. She looked…

“…do you want to sleep with me tonight?”

Vi startled back into motion, fur fluffing up as far as it would go. “What?-“ she started. before wincing as her voice echoed off the walls. She shook herself out, whisper-shouting at him. “Why would I want to-“

“I’m sorry if I’m overstepping, you just- you look like you need it.”

Vi looked like she was trying to decide if she wanted to be insulted or simply surprised at the offer.

“I understand if you don’t want to, I-“ Kabbu hastily added, but she cut him off.

“It’s fine, I just- if you want to, I guess.”

“If you don’t-“

“Just move over before I change my mind.”

Kabbu shifted to the side, opening his elytra to allow her passage. She nestled into his side, curling close enough that he swore he could feel her shape imprinted into his underbelly, worming her way into the space between his belly and the nest.

…there was more space for her than just there, but Kabbu felt like bringing it up would be- poor.

Slowly, he resettled on top of her, feeling her shift under him. She was startlingly warm, especially compared to Leif, a miniature heat pack against his shell. It was a welcomed addition against the cold of Snakemouth Den, and he found himself quickly drifting off to sleep.

Yes, tomorrow would be better.