#but the story of the light dragon felt more like a suicide

[science-lings]

I know the Zelda series has received fair amount of criticism (some justified) for its titular character often playing the role of the false in distress, but I particularly find complaints about TOTK’s Zelda being “damseled/fridged/sidelined/wasted potential” all because she sacrifices herself to save Hyrule a tad unfair. Most of these complaints come from people who expected her to be playable or at least an in-game companion, but I thought the sacrifice scene was effective and didn’t feel like a disservice to her character or arc. If anything, I felt respect as well as sadness for her because of her decision. What are your thoughts?

First off, I like Zelda's story in totk, I don't see her as a damsel in distress or a meek little princess who didn't do anything to push the plot forward, she was definitely involved in everything that happened in the past, she fought alongside the other Sages and set them up to be able to pass on their secret stones in the future, her sacrifice was the reason Link could defeat Ganondorf and I found the scene where she swallowed the secret stone incredibly powerful.

That being said, I am disappointed that we didn't get more with her, it was probably too much to hope for her to be a playable character in the past but it would've been incredibly cool to really get to experience how Hyrule was before it was founded and the characters we are supposed to care for.

I also don't think Zelda needed another impactful moment where she sacrifices herself for her kingdom. It wasn't some deep development of her character, aside from her feeling like she had a reason to be accidentally teleported into the past. We already know that Zelda is devoted to her kingdom, she already spent one hundred years alone fighting the calamity for her kingdom and all throughout totk, she's praised for being a humble, kind, inspirational person who people are proud to call their princess. Everyone loves her, to the point where when a doppelganger went around being an asshole, everyone was either so trusting of her that even when she did things that would normally start a war, they gave her the benefit of the doubt.

Making Zelda sacrifice her life, or what she assumed would be her life, for the wellbeing of her kingdom in the future, is incredibly in character, but not necessary to make the point that she is selfless and utterly devoted to her kingdom. We already knew she was selfless. and utterly devoted to her kingdom.

It feels like since botw her character has become slightly more bland, she's not really fiery anymore or shown to be anything other than a pleasant and calm presence. It's what made Ganondorf's puppet seem so unbelievable. If she was still shown to be a little snappy and have a little bit of an attitude, the whole sequence where there's an evil Zelda out there would've been more impactful IMO.

I don't think that her sacrifice was a waste, I'm really glad that she got her happy ending, though I think it would've been interesting if being a dragon for thousands of years could've left at least some kind of mark on her, but I feel like that's an idea that is explored enough in the fandom that it doesn't bother me that nindendo didn't really do anything with it.

Overall, I was really invested in her story and I was more interested in looking for her geoglyphs than many other main quest things. (though I did get one of the ones a little early that I definitely should've not seen as early as I did, but I was still really emotionally invested anyway) and the moment the truth was revealed, I ran to her, because I missed her, and I love her, and I was being led to believe that she never got her happy ending.

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Donkeys & Dragons

Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 3.0k

Summary: In which your friends are idiots who think gallivanting around a haunted castle surrounded by lava is a great idea. And then there's a dragon.

ie. Or, I watched Shrek this afternoon and could not stop thinking about the memes of the Prefect being Donkey and Malleus as the Dragon.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [EPILOGUE]

‘Treasure beyond your wildest dreams!’ Ace said.

‘Knowledge long since lost to time!’ Deuce corrected.

‘Yeah, okay, but what is it,’ you asked.

And neither of them had an answer.

Abandoned castles suspended over a sea of bubbling lava were not your preferred holiday destination. You’d told Ace this several times. You’d begged, pleaded, to please just be normal for once. But noooo. Both the snarky, ginger, bastard and the other half of his singular brain cell had apparently decided that suicide ala boiling rocks sounded like a perfectly lovely plan for your Saturday evening.

“I’m just saying,” you huffed as the rope bridge swung worryingly beneath your feet, “taverns are a thing. Faires. Market runs. Casual side quests that won’t wind up with us being flambeed alive.”

“But there’s treasure!” Ace complained, the muddled light off the lava below illuminating his pout in a way that made it look especially punchable. “I heard there’s this really awesome magical sword! Or maybe it was a shield or something—”

“Or something,” you grit out. “What if it’s a book, huh? You can’t even read.”

“We can try!” Deuce returned, a spark of that familiar determination zipping through his blue eyes.

“Or we can sell it,” Ace said, which was certainly the more likely option of the two.

One of the rickety, wooden, slats cracked beneath the low heel of your boot and tumbled down into the lava below. Maybe it hit the gurgling pool of death with a hiss, or a whump, or some other cool sound. But all you could hear was the ringing in your ears.

“Oh my god. I’m going to die.”

“I mean, maybe,” Ace shrugged. “But at least you’ll have a cool new sword propped up at your grave or something.”

You managed to make it all the way to the other side of the horrible death bridge without plummeting to your doom. Except now you were standing at the foot an equally horrifying castle. It was massive—grand on a scale that seemed entirely impossible for something constructed in the heart of a volcano. Its dozens of ebony spires clawed at the sky. The walls crawled with grey ivy and thickets of thorns so dense that you couldn’t see even the barest hint of brick beneath. It looked evil in the way that cursed tombs felt evil—eternal, and still, and oppressive. Like a creature in its own right rather than just an agglomeration of black stone.

Ace drew his sword and Deuce readied his axe. You sighed and plucked at the strings of your stupid fucking lute, and wished once more that you’d had the foresight all those moons ago to take the cushy internship position Lord Crewel had tried to offer you. But, no. You’d wanted to be an adventurer.

The massive double doors of the entrance swung open with an eerie groan. A pair of stern looking gargoyles stood guard as the three of you cautiously made your way into the castle. You swore you could feel their eyes following you—that you’d seen them flex jagged claws into their stone perches in an aborted attempt to dive after you.

The inside of the looming fortress was no more welcoming than out. Dark, emerald, stained glass windows lined the walls—smothering any of the warmer light from the volcano and tinting the entire hall a sickly green-grey. The stone floors and walls were elaborately carved with the faded stories of dynasties long since passed, but what had once surely been immaculate craftsmanship had shifted and cracked with age—crushing floors into tight slopes and littering already narrow walkways with heavy debris.

“We just have to find the tallest tower,” Ace hummed, swiping at a few dangling trails of thorns with the blunted edge of his blade. “And then the highest room in that.”

“The treasure is never in the highest room in the tallest tower,” you complained. “You just heard that in a drinking song once.”

“Is that true?” Deuce frowned, looking terribly betrayed.

“No way!” Ace snipped. “I told you! An old crone read my fortune in her bone dice, and she said to always check the highest room in the tallest tower! Because that’s where I’d find my greatest treasure!”

“Maybe the greatest treasure is the friends we’ve made along the way?” Deuce suggested helpfully.

“No.”

So you split off from a grouchy Ace and dejected Deuce to try and find some stairs. Every room in this stupid castle was swimming in so many shadows that you could hardly tell right from left, let alone if there were any kinds of secret doors or passageways that may lead to an equally secret tower. The chamber you’d found yourself in now was gigantic, and each tentative step you took echoed discordantly through the ashy gloom. You kicked miserably at a loose rock and it skittered off into the darkness with a dull thunk. And then something… odd, began to happen. That darkness began to move—to rise and unfurl like a great set of wings on a beast. And—oh. Oh no.

“Would you look at that,” Ace whistled under his breath, neck craned all the way back as he squinted at what was most definitely the tallest of all the towers this creepy castle had to offer. “Guess what, nonbelievers. I found the—”

“DRAGON!”

Whoosh went the great swathe of emerald fire as it exploded down the barren hallway and nipped at your heels. You dove out into the open courtyard just in time to avoid being roasted alive, and the gargantuan monster behind you let out a roar fit to shake the earth. A quick tuck-and-roll left you crouched behind a fallen pillar, and the dragon’s bright, green, glower turned on you and your garbage hiding spot with a rumbling snarl. Its rows of sharp, white, teeth closing just above your head—missing its mark by barely a hair’s width.

“Gotcha!” Deuce snarled, his armored fists dragging the dragon away by its tail. Or, well, tried to. Because the dragon was a hundred feet long at least, and your blue haired friend probably looked like nothing more than a pesky rat darting between its feet. It turned and snapped at him irritably, taking a great, big, step forward in a bid to get a firmer stance to attack. You threw yourself in the other direction to avoid being trampled.

“Go!” Ace called, charging in from the other side. “Quick!”

Because at the end of the day, they were still both your brave, tanky, warrior, friends. And you were just a very, very, squishy bard who really would not fare well against a particularly motivated goose, let alone a dragon. So you skidded through the rubble and onto your feet, and started to sprint back into the castle’s halls—hoping maybe you’d be able to find a bit more cover.

There was a great clatter, and both Ace and Deuce yelped. You looked back hurriedly to see the pair of them clutching onto the dragon’s tail for dear life as it whipped them back and forth through the ash and debris cluttering the ground. With one, final, great, sweep, the dragon pitched them into the air and sent them careening through the roof of that ‘tallest tower.’ You muttered a hasty incantation and the sparkling outlines of soft feathers danced along your fingers. You hoped you weren’t too far. You were probably too goddamn far. But you hummed frantically under your breath nonetheless and entreated your middling magic to give them a soft landing.

And then there was another wave of green hellfire raining down over your head and you turned and ran.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—

Even if you’d been a champion sprinter, there was little good it would have done you against a beast whose stride was longer than you were tall. You made it back into some hall or other, and into another cavernous room, and then you were pinned into a corner—the dragon looming over you like a vengeful wraith come to take its due.

It was gigantic. Probably the biggest creature you’d ever seen. And it was sleek—all lithe muscle and glossy rows of black scales that glittered oddly in the dull, grey, light. Its wings spread wide behind it, spanning the entirety of the vast chamber. They looked like the sort of wings that could stir up a hurricane. The curling horns atop its head seemed sharp enough to gore a man or twenty, and the purple crests lining its skull were tapered down flat in a way that reminded you a bit deliriously of a pissy cat pinning its ears back before it swatted at you.

Its lips curled back over pointed canines as it snarled at you, and you were showered in a swathe of hot sparks.

“Oh, what large teeth you have,” you squeaked, and when the dragon dipped closer to bellow into your face, your reeled back with a splutter. “I—I mean white, sparkling, teeth!” you rattled, nearly incoherent. The dragon’s snout twitched away, almost like you’d startled it. “I mean, I’m sure you hear this all the time from your food, but—wow! Just! Very lovely! Definitely the prettiest smile I’ll ever be eaten by!”

Slowly it lowered its great head, and you could see the neon glare from its narrowed eyes.

“Not that you have to eat me,” you added hurriedly, hoping to whatever Gods could hear you that your smart mouth could finally be useful for more than just talking circles around assholes in bars or weaseling your friends out of shitty contracts. “I’d very much like not to be eaten. But all the same, we did intrude in your home—and it’s definitely a very nice home—so I’d totally get it. And I guess if I did have to die today, knowing that my life would be in the hands of something so magnificent is certainly reassuring.”

The dragon seemed to preen a bit at that. You could see the sharp crests beneath its horns soften as tension bled from the beast’s posture. It ducked in close again, and this time you felt a sharp pull of air rush past your cheeks as it sniffed you. Its nostrils were the size your head—bigger even, maybe. You didn’t want to think about it, but the dry heat of its breath puffing into your face made the entire thing a bit hard to ignore.  

“Did I mention what a charming home you have?” you rambled on. “Very aesthetic. The gargoyles at the gate were a lovely touch.”

The dragon made a low, warbling, noise in its throat that wasn’t quite a growl, but wasn’t particularly… reassuring, either. It made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

It ducked away—not far, just enough to reach one of the large, carved, walls at the outskirts of the room. Its long neck slithered out before pausing pointedly over an archway. It took you a long moment to realize it was gesturing to something. Another gargoyle from the looks of things—this one almost entirely crumbled away under the strains of time. You could just barely make out the shape of its square jaw and taloned fingers.

You nodded so hard you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

“Yes! I see! Very beautiful! Such fine craftsmanship!”

The dragon cooed at you. Swear on your life and all the money in your back packet. An actual, honest to God, coo. Fuck, maybe you’d managed to charm your way out of imminent dismemberment and death after all.

It ambled closer once again, a curiosity lighting its eyes and warming those neon irises into something that was less poisonous-hell-fire and more mellow-evening-in-the-forest.

Amidst all the rippling waves of ebony scales, your eyes caught on the smallest smear of crimson. Just a touch of red—right along the spikes of its tail. Carefully, cautiously, slower than molasses, you stepped forward with your hands raised. You whispered a handful of familiar words under your breath and your palms glowed fuzzy and blue. Dragons were supposed to be inherently magical, right? So this one would certainly understand that the string of syllables you’d babbled out were good, and helpful, and not at all a provocation. The dragon was looking down at you with lidded eyes, its gaze a bit unfocused. You gulped.

“I’m sorry my friends messed with your tail,” you apologized, gingerly holding your fingers out to hover over the abrasions without actually touching. “They were just trying to protect me. If—if that makes it any better.” The minuscule wound began to knit itself back together neatly beneath the pulses of your magic. “I do tend to need a lot of protecting—I’m not much a warrior, if that wasn’t completely obvious by the everything about me—so I can’t really blame them for being a bit gung-ho about it.”

After a moment or two, the scratches had faded back into solid, matte, black and you drew back with a content hum.

“There! All fixed!” You gave your most winning smile. Please don’t eat me, your brain chanted on endless repeat. Please don’t eat me please don’t eat me please don’t eat me—

The dragon reared back and settled on its haunches with another heavy puff of sweltering breath. You could feel the heat of it prickling all the way up your arms. After a long, long, moment of silent consideration, the dragon leaned forward again and rumbled deep in its chest. When you only stood there, properly petrified, it huffed again and bumped its nose against your sternum, nearly toppling you over.

“I don’t—” you started, nervous. “I’m sorry. I don’t really get what you’re trying to say.”

With another sigh that sounded entirely too put upon, the dragon lowered its great head. The air itself seemed to grow heavy against your shoulders, and you could taste the cloying bitterness of strong magics on the back of your tongue. Black miasma oozed from beneath the dragon’s talons and melted along its scales. The caustic scent of ash and petrichor burned along your nostrils, and you had to pinch your eyes shut and cover your nose to keep from coughing. You managed to sneak a peek past your fingers just in time to watch the shadowed outline of the beast collapse. And out of that puddle of black goo emerged a man­. He was tall and lithe, just as the dragon had been, with glowing green eyes that were terribly familiar. They were framed with thick, dark, lashes and sat perfectly on a face that was nearly too handsome to be human (well, it really wasn’t human you supposed, so that little tidbit probably accounted for said inhuman beauty well enough). Recognizable eyes and stature or no, the curling horns atop his head would have sealed the deal plenty well enough on their own.

He shook off the shadows twining around his ankles with a lazy twist of the hand and then turned to you with a curious little hum.

And holy fuck Mister Dragon apparently had no sense of shame, or maybe just no qualms about social niceties and practicalities, because his human self was wearing about just as many clothes as his lizard form had been.

You squeezed your eyes shut with a squeak, and then double covered them with your hands for good measure.

A chuckle rolled through the air—as dark and pleasantly rich as the finest of chocolates. And then there was a clawed finger beneath your chin, tilting your head back, and back, and back until you were at least half-way sure it would probably be safe to open your eyes again without infringing on his decency.

“You are fascinating, Child of Man,” it—he—hummed, low in his throat. His thumb dragged down to hook beneath the curve of your jaw and support the finger tucked up under your chin. “And it’s been so, very, long since I’ve been fascinated by anything.”

“Uh,” you replied, like a perfectly functional human being.

The dragon’s lips curled up over his pointed teeth—still just as sharp and white as they had been when he’d been so much bigger and scalier.

“I think I’d like to keep you,” he said with a nod to himself, as casually as one may talk about picking up extra groceries from the market.

“Uh,” you said again.

“You did mention that you needed protecting,” he continued, tapping a clawed finger against his own chin. The small smile quirking his lips twisted into something smug. “And that is certainly something at which I would excel.”

Your head was swimming.

“I—I mean. I’m honored that you—that… you—” You couldn’t even think the words, let alone get them past your brain and out of your mouth. You cleared your throat and fought to keep your eyes level with his clavicle and nowhere else. “D-Don’t you think you’re moving a bit fast?” you laughed nervously. “I mean, I’m sure my friends will probably be on their way back down soon—and—I mean, we haven’t even introduced ourselves yet. I don’t even know your name.”

He blinked, slow and serpentine.

“Oh. I suppose you wouldn’t.” He canted his head to the side, long strands of that inky black hair of his spilling across his shoulder. An amused sort of grin worked its way along his mouth. “Dragons are not keen to give out our true names so readily, but you seem like a clever one. Tell me—what do you think I’m called then, hmm?”

You glanced up quickly at the horns atop his head and couldn’t help yourself.

“Tsunotarou?”

He let out a bark of laughter that seemed to shake the walls.

“Oh,” he trilled, looking positively delighted. The hand not curled beneath your chin reached down to snag your own, and he brought your wrist up to his lips. You could feel the imprints of his canines against the soft skin there. “I’ll definitely be keeping you.”

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (13)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: angst, arranged engagement, violence, swearing, trauma, regret, depression, mention of a suicide attempt ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Daemon understood better than anyone what it meant to be the second son, the one who would inherit nothing. It seemed to him that, in contrast to Viserys, he was a blazing fire like a true dragon, giving warmth, light and shelter to those close to his heart, burning those whom he saw as his enemies.

Viserys was always blind, soft-spoken, lacking strong character and clear opposition when things got too far out of hand.

This trait of his had been carefully exploited by Otto Hightower over the years, putting himself in the role of his friend and adviser, playing his part with an extraordinary devotion from which he felt like throwing up.

He knew it was pure courtesy, perfectly calculated, taking advantage of the mourning of the entire Red Keep and his inattention after Aemma's tragic death he slipped his brother his daughter under his nose.

Looking at her on their wedding day, standing in a long, ornate gown he thought she looked like a child on whom someone had put layers of cloth and precious stones; overwhelmed by it all she looked down at her feet, around her nails the red wounds he had seen on her hands ever since.

On that one day, knowing what was awaiting her, he truly felt compassion for her.

After that, however, he stopped.

She could have built her independence, committed herself to the needs of the kingdom, she, however, in the company of that cunt, Criston Cole, gave herself over to prayer and mortification, obediently following her father's orders.

As a woman, she was in his eyes pitiful, weepy, whiny, merely pretending to be saintly and virtuous, having in fact nothing to do with these qualities.

His feelings about her and her father moved involuntarily to her children.

He recognised the dragon's blood in them and treated them differently from the Hightowers, yet he was unable or unwilling to bond with them, seeing how they were suckled to their mother's breasts, which did not allow them to think or breathe on their own.

He watched from the sidelines, observing from afar as Rhaenyra and Alicent's children trained together, how a divide formed between them. He knew that once they grew up and understood what was really at stake, they would throw themselves at each other's throats.

He knew perfectly well whose right to the throne he would support.

Aegon was a drunkard and a cunt, Helaena was quiet and withdrawn, Aemond was sullen and vindictive − he thought with amusement that each of them had inherited the worst from his brother and their mother.

However, he couldn't help but show at least a little compassion and understanding for his brother's second son, who had been punished by the gods, left without a dragon of his own.

Some part of him wanted to speak to him, to get to know him, to see through him as a kind of reflection of himself, but on those rare occasions when he was with Leana and his daughters in the Red Keep he never made such a gesture, which he later, though he did not want to admit it to himself, regretted.

Perhaps things would have turned out differently then.

He could see with what admiration he looked at him, how much he longed to hear at least one word of appreciation from him, any gesture of interest.

He knew that if he could decide who his father-figure would be he would choose not Viserys or Cole but him, and he pretended not to notice that.

Once though, he noticed something that surprised him; strolling through the cloisters of the Red Keep he spotted his nephew and Rhaenyra's only daughter standing side by side in the square, leaning over the table filled with the various weapons. He smirked under his breath as he walked closer, wanting to listen to their conversation.

They were betrothed.

A clumsy attempt by his brother to avoid what he felt in his bones had to happen.

He saw his niece point her finger at one of the weapons lying on the wooden tabletop, a steel black spiked ball hooked on a chain to a special handle.

"What is it? It looks scary." She said with amusement, her voice light and pleasant; he thought with surprise that his nephew's grim and stormy nature did not deter her.

Alicent's son grunted loudly, lifting his chin slightly in a gesture of superiority and intelligence that he hated so much about the Hightowers, clearly proud to be able to speak on a subject in which his knowledge was extensive.

"It's a flail. A very heavy weapon requiring great strength and agility in its use. It literally crushes the opponent." He said, forcing himself into a low, mature, masculine voice, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, his hair in a slight disarray from the few duels he had already had.

"That weapon looks like the kind you die from in agony." Mumbled his niece, tentatively touching her fingertip to one of the spikes – her uncle pushed her away immediately, surprised by her gesture, grabbing her hand by the wrist.

"Are you insane? What are you doing? It's sharp after all, you could have hurt yourself." He said angrily, but she only blinked, surprised by his outburst, and smiled indulgently, showing him her finger.

"I know, silly. I wouldn't want something like that to hit me in the face." She sneered, raising her eyebrows in amusement, joy in her gaze and embarrassment at the fact that he still hadn't let her go.

She took a step closer to him, but he stepped back quickly and lowered his gaze, he noticed in disbelief that his pale cheeks had turned scarlet.

"Not here. Later." He muttered letting go of her wrist immediately. He heard her quiet sigh of disappointment as she nodded and walked away without another word.

He watched as, a moment later, his nephew cursed under his breath, pulling off his leather gloves and moved after her, grabbing her at one of the side entrances by her arm. She turned to him with a smile as if she was sure he would follow her, her lips placing a quick, brief kiss on his cheek.

He let her go, embarrassed and blushing, looking sideways, muttered something, and she nodded and disappeared behind the walls. His nephew returned to the square as if nothing had happened, a lazy, barely visible smile on his face; Aegon looked at him from afar with a look full of pity, as soon as his younger brother came closer he said loud and clear:

"What a twat you are."

He snarled under his breath as he heard Criston Cole immediately respond to his remark by saying that it was inappropriate for a prince to use such vocabulary, his younger brother only gave him a grim look indicating that he himself was torn internally, ashamed of his weakness.

He thought then, moving ahead, amused, that his brother had inadvertently contributed to something that was certainly not his original plan.

These kids really wanted it.

He felt shame because, looking at them, he wondered how he really felt about his wife. He recognised that she was his companion and lover, whom he respected and cherished, but she was not his friend, he could not allow her into the depths of his heart.

Only when he saw Rheanyra did he feel something more; he had the feeling that the air around them quivered when they spoke, he sensed that she understood perfectly the source and reason of his impulsive nature.

Despite this, he found his life peaceful and prosperous, and the death of his wife in childbirth was something shocking and painful to him. He covered his grief with laughter, the thought that he had wasted years of her life, a wonderful, beautiful woman who deserved someone to love her with all her being, giving her something more than a substitute of affection.

Then, however, his nephew lost an eye and everything fell apart like a house of cards, showing how weak their family actually was.

The events that followed wove together in his mind, the closeness of Rhaenyra and their later nuptials brought him a sense of relief, as if two parts that belonged together had been joined.

He watched her daughter from afar, the sadness and grief painted on her after all still so young and innocent face made her seem to him pale and lifeless, at once beautiful, cool and inaccessible, walking around Dragonstone like a ghost, not speaking to anyone despite how much his daughters tried to get close to her.

She was warm, helpful and welcoming when anyone approached her, but did not raise any discussions herself, eating and drinking little at suppers, immersed in her thoughts.

He knew that she was with them only in body.

He decided not to make the same mistake as with his nephew and offer her his interest, his support in the ironic and mischievous form peculiar to him, the only way in which he could show his affection to anyone.

What surprised him was how much she clung to him, how often she cried during their walks together; despite her innate vulnerability she had a strength of character that he appreciated – she was inclined to rash actions or anger, but she was also not docile or naive, she tried to find order in the chaos that surrounded her.

Only he and his niece had been invited to Aegon's nuptials to Helaena; Alicent had expressed in her letter her concern that the meeting of their children might affect them badly and reawaken old wounds, which his wife took as a reasonable argument, and indeed, albeit reluctantly, it was only the two of them who travelled to the Red Keep.

The whole ceremony in the Great Sept dragged on endlessly for him; he looked around, bored, unwilling to stare at the horrified, sad faces of his nephew and niece, testament to the fact that neither of them wanted this marriage.

The wedding supper held in the fortress was lavish with dancing and music, lords from all over the kingdom descended and gathered in the throne room at large, long oak tables filled to the brim with food. Sitting down in his seat next to his wife, he glanced sideways and noticed a figure looking at him intensely, the One-Eyed Prince staring at him coolly, his lips pressed into a thin line.

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief and admiration, finding that he looked like a man, well-built and muscular, tall, his hair much longer, a black eye patch covering the left side of his face.

He grinned with amusement and mockery, wondering to what he owed his attention, and his nephew only hummed under his breath, looking away, apparently discouraged by his reaction.

He wondered, looking at him, taking a sip of wine from his goblet, if he had shown him fatherly concern then, taken him under his wing, separated him from Alicent and Otto, he would be a different man now.

Several toasts were made to the bride and groom, during each of which Aegon drank his cup to the bottom, clearly intent on fulfilling his marital duty completely drunk.

"Stop it. You've had enough." Growled his younger brother, taking his goblet from him with an aggressive flick of his hand, setting it impatiently far from his older brother's reach.

Aegon slapped him angrily on the shoulder, mumbling something under his breath; his younger brother stood up, towering over him, showing him wordlessly that if he touched him again he would regret it.

"Aemond." Said their mother, this green whore, who was looking at them in pain, her hands folded in front of her as if to pray.

His nephew rolled his eyes and left the hall by a side entrance, furious, unwilling and unable to look at it apparently; Aegon with a wide grin reached for his cup again and to his despair took the empty seat next to him that had been occupied earlier by his wife, now conversing with the King.

"Uncle! So many years." He mumbled, tapping him on the back in a friendly, masculine greeting. He rolled his eyes, amused, smelling the stench of alcohol and sweat from him.

"As you can see, everything stays in the family. I don't know how I'm going to survive this. After all, she'll surely cry. Fuck." He muttered, taking a deep, catchy sip from his cup, tilting it so that he drank it all at once.

He ran his tongue over his lower lip, feeling discomfort at the thought that he felt compassion for Helaena for what was about to happen to her.

He glanced at her sad, petite figure; she sat gazing off into the distance somewhere, dreamy.

He wondered as he watched her if she realised what awaited her.

"She doesn't seem to fully understand what I will have to do to her. After all, she's my sister. I don't want to hurt her. She's odd and I don't understand her, but I don't want her to fucking cry." He mumbled out covering his face with his hand, his voice breaking with his every word – he drew in air loudly as if he was out of breath, and he looked at him not knowing what to do.

What was he supposed to answer him?

"Be gentle and kind. Make her feel as little pain as possible. You know very well that how it will look lies in your hands. If you want her to suffer as little as possible, stop drinking because it will take you a fucking hour." He growled, taking the cup from his hand just as his younger brother had earlier, and wondered if that was what he meant then, if he knew his condition would only worsen whatever was to await them next.

"You pity yourself and you smell of alcohol and sweat. Go take a bath or do you want to lay on her like that? Give her some dignity for goodness sake." He said coolly, looking ahead indifferently; his nephew swallowed loudly, sitting beside him like a little rebuked child, playing with his fingers.

He wondered, looking at him out of the corner of his eye if his brother had ever spoken to him about it, if he had prepared him and explained to him how he should behave.

"All my life I've envied him. My brother. He had someone of his own who cared about him. I think he really loved her, uncle. Now I barely recognise anyone myself. I'm not sure any of us are the same person anymore. Only Helaena has remained the same − innocent and ignorant. That's because she doesn't step outside her mind. If she did, she would have gone mad like we did."

It turned out that he was partly right.

What he didn't expect was that when they arrived all together as a family after several years in King's Landing to defend Luke's rights to inherit the Driftmark these two would be lying in bed with each other on their very first night.

"If you tell me you still want to marry him, I will help you. I'd rather you be his wife than lead you and him into a scandal that could destroy your mother. Your betrothal has never been called off, the king will easily prove that no other plans for you can be in force against his decision. But if you decide not to, I will personally see to it that you never see him again and that no letter of yours leaves Dragonstone. Make a manly, mature decision with all its consequences, and stop wallowing over yourself."

He told her then, wanting her to understand that they could not stand in the middle, that they had to choose, or their decisions would drag them all down.

Watching them in the throne room audience, however, the greedy, desperate gaze of his nephew fixed on her as if he wanted to devour her gave him no illusions.

What this boy was telling himself was one thing, but what he was feeling was another.

It was this thought that made him decide to question Alicent's decision in front of everyone, wanting to hear his brother's opinion on the matter, the only one that really counted. He had expected nothing but objections from both sides, however, against the desperate attempts of their mothers, his nephew and his niece's daughter made a decision that did not surprise him at all.

It was enough for her to get up from her seat and walk out to make him press his lips together in rage and follow her out, exactly as he had done then, in the courtyard, when he had thrown himself after her, and she knew perfectly well that he would do so, knowing his nature.

He wondered if she had kissed him this time too, if the tension between them had eased.

He thought that this marriage might actually calm the emotions a little, especially as his brother was over his deathbed.

This union was forcing both parties to be cautious, which could be mutually beneficial.

"She has decided that she wants to stay in the Red Keep until I return." His wife said to him, putting her black leather gloves on her hands, walking beside him towards the dragon's lair. He stopped, looking at her in disbelief, furious.

This was not the plan.

"What?" He growled, looking at her as if she had completely lost her mind. "You're leaving my daughter in the care of that whore and her father-traitor?"

He saw that she smiled at his words emphasising that in his eyes she was his child, that he had taken responsibility for her and protected her as any true father should.

"She asked me to do this. I imagine they both want to clarify a lot of things with each other. Since the nuptials are to take place as soon as possible there is no need to fret, I will personally take her back in a few days." She replied calmly, and he let out a loud breath, impatiently licking his lips.

It was a bad idea, he could feel it in his bones, but he didn't protest and that was his mistake.

The next day he lost two of his daughters.

Rhaenyra, his brother's heir to the throne fell with a groan when envoys reported to her that her father was dead, that her brother had been crowned king, that they had imprisoned their daughter.

She cried out loudly in pain, clutching at her womb; at first he thought it was despair, but then he saw the pool of blood beneath her feet, her terrified gaze, her lips parted in agony.

They both knew it was too soon.

Their daughter already looked like a tiny infant, but sadly her fate was sealed; she wasn't moving or breathing, she was cold, looking more like a doll than a human being.

He felt that he had to leave the fortress; he followed exactly where he always went out with her, with one of his daughters, to the sea itself, and he fell to his knees, breathing heavily, not knowing what he was supposed to do with the rage and chaos that overtook his mind.

He wanted to mount Caraxes and burn them all.

However, his cousin and daughters had cooled his ardour, recognising that they needed to prepare, gather an army, make a plan of action.

He recognised that it was only female sentiment, a weakness that kept them from making the risky decision that his whole life consisted of.

When his wife finally recovered from her brief mourning, despite his entreaties, she did not listen to him and decided to send her sons as her representatives, wanting to extract the pledge of allegiance from those who had paid her tribute many years ago.

He had thought it nonsensical, however, when Luke returned from Storm's End it turned out that his step son had been a naive idiot.

"You flew after him? You flew after him knowing he could imprison you, use you as your mother's weakness? Fucking fool." He growled, turning away from the table with fury, massaging his face with his palm, not believing he could have done such a thing.

"Daemon." Said Rhaenyra in a voice trembling with despair; she looked at her son, trying to calm herself. "What happened next?"

"He brought her. Someone hit her, mother, and I think she tried to take her own life. There were cut marks on her wrists." He muttered, forcing himself into a calm tone of voice.

He turned towards him, looking at him with his heart beating fast.

She had done this for them, so they could attack the Red Keep without fear.

She wanted to make a manly decision, to sacrifice herself, his brave daughter, his little dragon.

"Gods." Said his wife, clutching at her womb, apparently involuntarily recalling the moments when she had carried her under her heart, the maternal tears of pain in her eyes.

"And then?" He finished for her, seeing that she didn't have the strength to get anything else out, Luke swallowed hard, afraid to look at him.

"I told her to run away with me, but she didn't agree. She told me to tell you that she loves you and that she remains faithful to you, mother." Said with difficulty, Jace slammed his fist on the table, furious.

"That fucking bastard purposely made her stay. He planned this, he never had any intention of marrying her!" He said red with anger and he glanced at him indifferently, sighing heavily.

"And then what? He let you just walk away? No one else saw you?" He asked further, pretending not to have heard his outburst; Jace pressed his lips together, furious. Luke shook his head quickly.

"N-no, I was surprised, but no. Forgive me, I had to see her, make sure that she is still alive." He muttered, and he sighed heavily, placing both of his hands on the table, leaning over it, and closed his eyes, trying to focus.

He let her see him without any other witnesses and then let him go even though he hated him, even though he could have trapped and humiliated him.

Why?

A memory flashed through his mind, the way his nephew cursed as he fought with himself to finally run after her, her smile full of reassurance as she turned to him knowing he would follow her, his blush of embarrassment and lazy smile as her lips placed a soft, warm kiss on his cheek, her proof of her devotion and affection that he craved so much.

He had never stopped loving her.

This stone-cold, dangerous man had done something for her, surely after she had tried to take her own life.

"Bring me a parchment and a quill. I need to speak with my nephew."

_____

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[pick-me-up-im-scared]

So Called Revenge (Hiccup x Reader) (Angst)

Author's Note: I felt like doing a one-shot where the reader gets treated shitty, but then gets revenge. I've read stories where the gang (minus Hiccup) treats the reader bad, and I've always thought "but where's the revenge?". So, now I've taken matters in my own hands and wrote the ultimate badass respond. I'm clearly going through something, haha. I'm sorry Astrid for taking it out on you...

Short Summary: You’re getting abused by the dragon riders, both mentally and physically. Ever since you were a kid they seem to have something against you. Though there’s one person who’s not mean to you. Hiccup. You’ve been friends with him for a while now and your getting along very well. Matter of fact, you have a crush on him.

⚠️Warning!⚠️: This story includes swearing and gore and a brief suicide scene.

And if you're very prude, you might consider that this story including smut. There's no sexual acts, just some light "describing".

(y/n/n) = your nickname

Words: 4489

(I don't own any of the GIFs)

Your pov:

Another day in the beloved village called Berk. Notice my sarcasm. Well let's be clear, it's not necessarily the village that's the problem. Rather the people living in it. Even more specifically, a group of dragon riders. My life hasn't been the best, but it could be worse. That's until I hit my teenage years and the dragon riders decided to make my life a living hell. Don't get me wrong, they've had a thing against me all my life. But it's been more physical in the later years. Don't ask me why. Though there's one exception. Hiccup. He´s never said anything rude to me nor laid a hand on me. I think it's cause he feels pity for me. He knows how it feels to be nagged down. Also, the boy doesn't have a bad bone in his body, so he would never even consider doing such an act. And he'd definitely stop them if it wasn't for the fact they never do anything when he's around. They're smart. They know what consequences their actions could lead to if the Chief saw this type of behavior.

But Hiccup and I have more "history" then this. Well, history and history. He tried to interact with me back when we were 15, cause..... well, we were in the same boat. Though I would love to be friends with him, I couldn't even look at him for more then five seconds. Okay, I'll admit it, I have had a crush on Hiccup ever since we were 15. Why not confess your feelings for him? Hum? Well, he's already taken. And Astrid doesn't seem to like me that much to begin with, and I don´t think she would be more found of me if she finds out I've fallen for her boyfriend. Even though I regret not socializing with Hiccup straight from the beginning I've made up for it over the few years. We've grown pretty close, actually. We soon found out we shared an interest in sketching. He loved to watch as my talented hands worked their magic in my sketchbook. I still remember the day he asked me to make a portrait of him. Let me tell you, if I hadn't fallen in love with him already spending 1,5 hours, looking at his gorgeous, freckled face sure would. If you look past the sweating, butterflies in the stomach, and the shaking due to my nerves, I really like to spend time with Hiccup.

I dragged my limping body towards my dresser, changing into my regular outfit. I got down the stairs to make myself some breakfast. Me and my brother barely see each other throughout the day. Just a quick 'hello' or a simple wave whenever we saw each other around the village. It isn't until he comes home at the evening we could properly interact. But he's usually too exhausted by the day's hard work so we just eat dinner then he's off to bed. Due to our 'situation' he has to work harder in order to provide for the both of us. Both our parents has, unfortunately, passed away. Mother died from pestilence, three years ago. No chance of survival, just counting the days she had left. Our whole family got affected by our mother's death, though our father took it the worse. He fell into a deep depression which lead to him taking his life two years later. He hang himself from the wooden beam in their, well his, bedroom. Leaving me and Christopher to take care of our selfs. Remember the part where Hiccup felt bad for me? Yeah, I think this has some reasons for that too.

I did my part, but my payment wasn't in much help in the long run. So I'd stand for the cooking and taking care of the household to try to make it up for him. Especially the long nights. You see, the gang doesn't "just" call me name or tell me what a disappointment I am to my family. There's been a couple of times where they've hurt me physically, too. Punches against the face, kicks in the stomach, even cuts at various body parts. And who has to patch me up again? Christopher. I get mad at myself for not fitting in. Making my brother lack in sleep because I can't stop being seen as a burden. I see Hiccup as my best, well my only, friend and trust him with all of my problems. But how could I tell him his girlfriend and his friends mentally and physically abuse me? He wouldn't believe me. So I try ti stay away from them, but more importantly don´t be around them on my own.

Once the dry slice of bread was washed down by a glass of lukewarm water I was ready to start my day. I opened up the door to be met by grey clouds. This would actually be considered as nice weather for Berk, since we're used to pouring rain or hail. I walked down the village. Noticing my brother at his second shift at the blacksmith. I gave him a wave once we had eye contact. He gave me a warm smile, since his hands were too busy to answer me with a wave back. I chuckled for myself until my eyes fell onto another familiar face. Hiccup. I stopped in my tracks. He was chatting with the rest of the gang, just outside The Great Hall. I got a bellyache just looking at them. Of course Hiccup isn't the reason to my abrupt stop. If it would have been just him and Toothless I would have ran up and hugged him, chatting about something random like we always do. But his company prevent that from happening. Constant flashback of the last solo "meeting" with the rest of the gang went through my head.

I shield my face with my right hand as I quicken the pace, hoping to get away from them as fast as possible. Without getting noticed. "Hey (y/n/n)!" I cringed before looking up to see Hiccup waving me over. Damn it! He saw me. I walked over to the gang, trying not to look too suspicious where Hiccup would notice. It took every nerve in my body to walk over there, being terrified to find out what they'll do if Hiccup leaves. As I reached them Hiccup wrapped his arm around my shoulder while looking down at me, smiling warmly "How are you today, (y/n/n)?". I could tell Astrid's starting to get pissed by the way he approached me. I removed his arm while laughing nervously "I'm great, Hiccup. Thanks for asking". He nodded, giving me another smile. They went back to their own conversations, not really giving me the opportunity to flick in. I began feeling really awkward, just standing there. Seeing this as my opportunity to avoid getting beaten up, I tried to sneak away. As I turned my back to run off, thinking I successfully left without anyone noticing, I felt a pair of arms around my waist. Damn it!

I got dragged back to the group, my hopes of getting back to my house went further and further away. Getting back to the exact position I was in just a few seconds ago Hiccup held his arm around me to prevent me from leaving again. "Where were you going?" he asked as he tried to study my face. I sighed "Nowhere". He looked suspiciously at me, but didn't ask any further. "So (y/n), we were wondering if you wanted come fly with us?" Hiccup asked with his adorable smile. "Uhm, I don't have a dragon, so... very sorry Hiccup but unfortunat-" "You can fly with me and Toothless" he interrupted before I could finish my excuse as to why I 'unfortunately' couldn't join them. I glanced at Astrid before looking back at him "You don't have to. I'll be fine right here". Hiccup chuckled "Stop it, I know how much you like to fly when we're alone" Astrid's eyes widened. "You're coming. That's a Chief's order" he joked.

"I'm just going to do... some manly businesses, then we're ready to go!" Hiccup informed before starting to walked off. I looked at the group who already smirked at me, giving me an idea of what's to come. Answering with a worried look I quickly grabbed Hiccup's upper arm, making him stop. "I-I'll go with you" I said, trying to cover up how terrified I actually am. He looked at me for a while before saying "Uhm.... I'm going to pee, (y/n/n)". I began to panic even more "I know, but you know, it's always better to do things together" I laughed nervously again "I..... I c-can keep you company!". He looked at me confused "It's just around the corner, I'll be quick". "Oh, babe. Could you get me my spare sweatshirt? I seem to have forgotten it at home" Astrid asked, knowing all too well what she's doing. "Yeah, sure! (y/n) it'll take a bit longer including that, but I'll be back as soon as possible" I listen as my last bit of hope blew away. I'm screwed! I watched as Hiccup left.

"He's nice, isn't he?", I snapped my head towards a smirking Astrid. "Huh?" I asked rather confused. Was she genuinely asking or was this some sort of trick? My question was soon answered as Astrid punched me straight in the face, making me fall to the ground. As I dragged my hand under my nose I saw blood. I tried to swipe it up with the sleeve of my tunic. Hiccup can't see this! I looked up at Astrid as she continued "I've seen the way you look at him. But he's mine, and I don't like other girls looking at my boyfriend". "Why? You're afraid he'll leave you for me?" I snapped back, but immediately regret giving such a cocky comeback. Her eyes widened before she punched me again, this time focusing on my eye. My head fell back with the sudden dizziness.

Astrid grabbed me by the hair to keep my head up while she spoke to me "I don't need to worry about you. Sluts isn’t his favorite anyway". She lets go off my hair and instead grabbed my wrist, pressing it against the ground while she strangled me. I grabbed her face with my other hand, trying to make her get off me. "Hey, Snotlout! Grab her other wrist!" she ordered, and soon both my wrists were against the muddy ground. Astrid brought out her dagger. She motioned to Snotlout who lifted up my navy tunic to my neck, exposing my bare chest to the rest of the gang who were circling us. Both to get a better look at what was happening and to cover up the ongoing situation from the people walking by. They laugh at the sight, which made me fight even harder to get out of their grip. I need to get out of here. Come on (y/n)! Come on!

"Let's see what the guys think when your breasts are butchered" Astrid said when she slide the knife over my exposed chest. I bit my lip at first to prevent myself from screaming, knowing they'll punish me hard if I do. But as she continued to slice my flesh I screamed out in pain. Snotlout was quick to cover my mouth until the damage was done. Astrid smirked devilish at her work as I panted heavily. Snotlout let's go of my wrist, figuring I wouldn't have the energy to do anything anyway. "From what I've heard your bed's pretty busy. At least that's what Calvin said", my eyes widened at the mentioning of his name. Calvin were my ex boyfriend, who I've spent 2 years of my life with. Based on his personality, I wasn't surprised he talked to the gang behind my back. What I'm nervous about is what he told them. You'd think I'm over a relationship that ended 2 years ago, but how can I when it's constantly brought up?

"He would brag about taking your virginity before you were wed" Astrid continued. "No he didn't" I said unsurely, looking up at the rest of the gang that still surrounded me. "Yeah he did. What type of things you were willing to do. The slutty behavior you would take on. I still remember Hiccup's disgusted face when he told us" Astrid continued. He told Hiccup, too? "Stop it!" I screamed, tears steaming down my cheeks. "I know Hiccup well enough to know he doesn't like girls with slutty behaviors like yours. He like his girls virgin and pure. Not someone who's willing to spread her legs at any guy that gives her a little attention. Not that you had a chance with him to begin with" she laughed while looking down at me. My blood was pumping with anger as she continued to lie. Even though all I felt was anger, my words just came out as whispering "Please stop" why wouldn't she stop? "What? I'm just telling you the truth. You're sad now that your imaginary fairytale wouldn't come true, cause Hiccup wouldn't even touch you with a stick?" my blood was boiling more and more with every word Astrid feed me "Come on, (y/n)! Don't aim at guys that's out of your league. It's only pathetic. You know they only want you for what's in your pant-". Astrid was cut off as I pushed her off me and slammed her against a house. I wrapped my fingers around her neck and began to choke her.

"I said stop it!" I yelled straight in her face, not being able to handle the anger that was built up inside of me. "Why won't you listen for once and shut the fuck up?" I said through gritted teeth as I squeeze my hands harder around her neck. "(y/n) stop! She can't breathe!" Snotlout yelled as he approached us. "Don't you dare fucking touch me again!" I snapped back, not taking my eyes off Astrid. A satisfaction filled my body as I saw Astrid chip for air. All the anger I've kept inside from all the things she'd said and all the gestures was being thrown into this moment. I heard Snotlout's steps behind me again. Not wanting to risk this opportunity being disturb I pulled Astrid away from the house wall and put her in a chokehold instead. We turned around quickly to face the rest of the group "I said stay away!" I yelled. Thank gods Astrid wasn't able to fight back due to her unconsciousness, otherwise she'd easily take me down. Snotlout was still walking towards us, making me sigh.

I grabbed Astrid's dagger and threw it at Snotlout's thigh. He screamed out in pain before dropping to the ground. I grabbed my own dagger and pointed it towards the rest of the gang who slowly backed away. The pain of Astrid pressed against my opened wounds was nothing compared to the satisfaction. The satisfaction of finally getting my revenge. "(y/n)!", I snapped out off my focus at the yelling of my name by a familiar voice. Tuffnut took this opportunity to unwrap my arm around Astrid's neck while shoving me to the ground. As I looked up I saw Hiccup rubbing Astrid's back as she was coughing like crazy. He looked at Snotlout who's moaning in pain while laying on the ground, before he turned to me. "(y/n)! What did you do this for?" Hiccup asked with an angry tone. He was clearly pissed off, but why? If he had heard just one of the things she was saying we wouldn't have this discussion now.

"She started it!" I said while pointing to Astrid. Hiccup rolled his eyes, clearly not believing me, "Oh come on, (y/n)! Stop act so childish! You could have killed her!" he raised his voice again, especially at that last part. "Too bad you pushed me away, or I could have killed that bitch" I mumbled. Hiccup snapped his head, staring daggers into me "What did you just say?". I'm not back out of this. I stand for what I think, I'm not going lower myself to that pest's level. "I said, too bad you pushed me away, or I could have killed that bitch!" I repeated while standing up with grace, ignoring the pain. Hiccup couldn't believe what I had just said, even though he heard me the first time. He didn't know what to say. His eyes just looked at me with disgust. I brushed off my pants before making my way back to my hut. As I walked past Astrid I quickly went up to her and kicked her in the stomach. I smirked as I walked off, fulfilling my goal of making her feel at least a tenth of the pain she'd caused me. I ignore Hiccup's upset calls for me, and the rest of the gang's insults that was being thrown.

Hiccup's pov:

"You're so delusional, Hiccup" Christopher, (y/n)'s bother, said while I tried my best to comfort Astrid. She didn't coughing anymore, but she was still holding on tight to my shoulders. I sighed and turned to Christopher "What? Your sister were about kill my girlfriend. If there's one thing I'm not it's delusional". "You can't be this stupid, right?", I felt Astrid stiffing in my arms but played it off as fear. "If Tuffnut wouldn't have pushed (y/n) away she would have kept going until Astrid stopped breathing. Or did I get that part wrong?" I asked sarcastically. "Yeah, she probably would, but she had her reasons". I let go of Astrid to stand up and walk over to Christopher. "Oh, please tell me what reasons she had that would make it sain to kill someone!" I yelled. My gods, what's up with this family? "Because Astrid would do the same to her!" I got a bit taken away by the tone of his voice.

"You all would" Christopher gestured to the whole gang, who looked down in shame. What are they doing? Is this true? "They would never do such a thing" I defending the gang, praying to the gods this isn't true. Christopher huffed "You haven't seen what they've done to her, Hiccup. The deep wounds I've had to clean up. The painful screams and sleepless nights. The old wounds barely having a chance to heal until they're met by one ones. Words a 13 year old girl shouldn't even know exist, non the less being called. All the death threats and names being thrown at her. How would you like it to be called 'a useless whore who's the reason her father killed himself'?". I flinched at the harsh words. My eyes began to get glossy as the information gets feed into my head. What have I done?

"And for you to call yourself Chief and don't know anything about it" he said while poked his finger at my chest before walking away. I look around at the gang while asking "Is this true?". My expression showed the guilty I was feeling. "Is what true?" Snotlout asked, playing dumb. "Have you told (y/n) those awful things and abused her behind my back?" I spat, already knowing the answer based on Snotlout's unnecessary question. I cringed as the words came out of my mouth. I can't believe someone would say and do those things to (y/n). The sweet and beautiful girl I´m happy to even call my friend. For people to say that is fucked up, but these people also being the people I refer to as friends. And my fucking girlfriend being the worse? After some time they all nodded, making me feel like throwing up. Everyone expect Astrid. I walked up to her, not even bothering to hunch down to her level. I looked down at her and asked "Have you been apart of any of these actions, Astrid?" She looked at me nervously, not being able to have eye contact with me for more than a second. "No, I would never do such horrible things, Hic. Not to our beloved (y/n/n)". I knew she would lie. "Why are you lying to me?" I ask with a sturdy tone. Her face dropped "I'm not, Hi-". I cut her off by turning my back to her, walking away.

The information Christopher told me clouded my mind. He's right, I am a useless Chief, even more a friend. If I were a good friend I would have noticed this way before. This explains why she never wanted to come down to the lake to swim. Why she'd stay home for days at the time once she'd been felt with the gang by herself. Gods, I'm an idiot for not connecting the dots! I could feel the tears forming in my eyes, but I quickly blinked them away. I can be the one crying when I'm the asshole. I walked up the porch till I was right in front of the familiar door. I knock. I heard Christopher's voice from inside "(y/n), I told you to sit down and rest! I can answer the door!". I heard uneven steps getting closer and closer.

As the door opened I could see (y/n) limping as she took another step towards the doorway. She supported herself against the handle which allowed me to see the bandage that covered most of her upper body though her opened shirt. What have they done to her? My poor (y/n). She widened her eyes when she saw me. I could tell she immediately tried to hide any signs of her injury, straighten her back. "Are you here to continue yelling at me?" she asked bluntly. I shook my head. "If you're here to receive an apology, you can fuck off! I'm not sorry for finally putting that pathetic bitch in her place" I tensed up a bit at her harsh words, but then remembered the things they've done to her. Now the guilt came back "Yeah, about that, I'm so sorry (y/n). I should have listened to yo-" "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Bye" she cut me off and slammed the door right in my face. Okay, I deserved that. I decided there's no need to knock again. She wouldn't answer it anyway.

I was actually quite surprised to see her at The Great Hall at lunch time. She had a plate of food in front of her, but by the looks of it she hadn't touched it. I grabbed my own plate and made my way over to her table. "Is this seat taken?" I asked, pointing at the spot in front of her. She look at me for a while before shaking her head. I sat down and she immediately turned her head, not wanting to look at me. "Chicken isn't your favorite?" I asked jokingly. "There's other things that makes me lose my apatite" she answered brutally, still looking at the floor beside her. I sighed "Look (y/n/n) I-" "Don't call me that!" she snapped. I jumped at her sudden outburst "Okay, sorry.... (y/n), I'm so sorry, I truly am. I should have trusted you. It's just- I never thought Astrid or any of the others would ever do anything like this to you. Not in my wildest, darkest imagination".

"Well they did" she bite back. "I know, and I don't know what to do to make it up to you. I truly care for you (y/n), and I can't forgive myself for letting you go through this for so long" I caressed her shoulder while pouring out my feelings. She look at me shocked "I-I love you, Hiccup". Now it's my turn to be shocked. S-she l-loves me? "I-I'm sorry, what was that?" I asked, wanting to make sure I heard her correct. "I love you, Hiccup. I have ever since we were 15. I wouldn't socialize with you because I got so nervous whenever you were around. I know we'll never be anything, so I've tried to hide my feelings for you. But I guess Astrid noticed it anyway. Half of the things she told me was surrounding that. Me having a crush on you". Okay, Christopher definitely didn't tell me that. She took a deep breath before she continued "I know you're with Astrid, and I don't mean to ruin anything. I just felt the need to confess and now seemed like a good time". She lowered her gaze in order to avoid eye contact.

I sat with my mouth wide open. I can't believe what she just confessed. She love me? She has loved me for six years and she hasn't told me? "Y-you love me?" I asked, still not sure if this was a dream or not. She nodded. "You can go back to your gang now. I won't bother you anymore, don't worry" she informed before standing up and leave. Due to my shock my reactions were a bit delayed. But as soon as my mind was coping the situation I raised up and ran towards her "(y/n) wait!". Once I caught up with her I noticed the tears running down her cheeks "Hiccup, please don't make this harder then it already is" she cried out "Try to forget about me and go to your girlfriend". As she finished her sentence I grabbed her cheeks and kissed her. I could tell she was shocked but soon gave in. As we pulled away she looked at me confused. "She's right here... in front of me" I said while smiling at her. She smiled back before pulling me into another kiss.

_____________________________________________________________

Author's Note: Not how I planned to end this story, but it's cute. Though I would like to know your opinion on endings. Do you like having them being sad (if it's allowed), or do you like this cutesy 'live happily ever after'- type of endings?

[daemonwritesstuff]

HOTD MATCHUP TRADE WITH @coffeebooksrain18

You have been matched with...

Daemon Targaryen!

RUNNER-UPS: Addam Velaryon, Ser Gwayne Hightower & Aemond Targaryen

As you can tell… I have matched you up with Daemon Targaryen! The infamous Rouge Prince. When I was reading though your information I felt like he would be a good match for you!

You guys give off opposite attract vibes (in a very good way ofc !). He could relate to you for your temper you have, he doesn’t visibly show his temper when he’s upset but he shows it through his actions (aka by murdering people) but I think you would be able to help him calm down, your touch soothes him and it gives him the reassurance he needs.

He’s very charmed of the fearless side you show, he admires that you aren’t afraid to die (not in a suicidal way) It’s what attracted him to you in the very first place when you guys met. He respects you so much in the beginning but later on his platonic feelings towards you turns into something more serious than he’s ever experienced in a long time.

Since Autism wasn’t a thing during this era we’ll just pretend it is. He respects your condition and boundaries when you first told him, he wanted to show you how much he does love you and it is the first thing he does to earn your love. If you needed any of your comfort items or food, he’ll be right there with them or he’ll send the servants to bring them for you.

He usually watches you read books when you guys are sharing a bed together each night (this starts when you guys start dating after a little while) and he silently reads through each page you read while he rests his head on your shoulder and his arms around your waist and stomach. He always buys you books since they remind him of you so much.

He was very amused when he first found out about how possessive you are of him, whenever there are other ladies around fawning over him your there to pull him away from the crowd and he can tell how jealous you are. He always reminds you that he is yours and you are his and nothing wi ever change that.

SHIP TROUPES

Fire (Daemon) x Water (You)

Is always ready to fight (daemon) x is already ready to calm them down (you)

Loves gifts (you) x Needs psychical touch (daemon)

SHIP SONGS

You get me so high by The Neighborhood

I was never there by The Weekend ft. Gesaffelstein

You are in... House Targaryen!

You are the second daughter of Viserys I Targaryen and Aemma Targaryen! You would be the most beloved daughter to them and to your subjects as well, you we're most likely treated with more attention than Rhaenyra was. You bring the light to this house and make everything more warmer and cozy.

DRAGON

Instead of Helaena having this dragon, you were the one that got the most enchanting dragon, Dreamfyre! The story of how you got this dragon is so sweet to me... Dreamfyre sensed your emotions and so many other things about you, you were so calming and understanding with her and you got her as a dragon, she loves being around you so much :)

RELATIONSHIPS

RHAENYRA TARGARYEN --- She is your oldest sister! even though you guys are sisters you two never got along, you seemed like you were always the favorite child and that you were more worthy than she was... The tension has straightened out a bit but its still awkward to this day foward.

ALICENT HIGHTOWER --- She is one of your best, best friends! you guys were always close with each other and always seemed to understand each other in some way. You guys always have lunches together and read together, she wasn't to fond when she heard that you were dating that Rouge Prince but that never stopped her from caring and loving you

AEMOND TARGARYEN --- He looks up to you so much! with what he went though as a kid and even up until now it was always a nightmare for him but you always made everything better and made him feel better. He also had (and still has) a crush on you but ever since you were taken away from his uncle he couldn't really talk or look at you much.

RHAENA TARGARYEN --- She is the second daughter of your beloved, Daemon Targaryen. When he first started dating you and he told her and baela, she felt really thrilled to have a mother-like figure in her life again while Baela felt like he wouldn't be with you for long and he was making the wrong decision. But Rhaena is almost always with you and your presence is just so peaceful for her.

HELAENA TARGARYEN --- She is another bestfriend of yours! you guys are similar yet so different to each other in many ways... She felt like she was never seen or heard with her family and you were the only one that was there for her... she's also always around you when you visit :)

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (44/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 9440

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: Arianwyn returns to King’s Landing triumphant, having not only won the support of the Vale, but by striking a great political blow to Daemon. But her feeling of triumph is quickly shattered when she learns that Aemond has already returned – with blood on his hands.

Warnings: blood, allusions to suicide

Series Masterlist

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The Curse of the Kinslayer

The myriad lights of King’s Landing sparkled as brilliantly as the stars in the sky as Arianwyn and Emrys descended to the Dragonpit. Though she knew she could not see it from this distance, she still looked for the light of her bedchamber windows, hoping to see the shadow of her husband waiting for her.

She did not.

But the Dragonpit was lit brighter than she had ever seen. Fires had even been set within the eight towers adorning the upper dome – which she had always assumed were lookouts but now saw clearly as beacons to guide dragonriders home in the dark. When was the last time they had been lit?

Emrys was delighted by the display, circling low over the roof of the Dragonpit to bask in its glow before finally landing. Despite his exhaustion from the long flight – this time, they had not stopped for a rest, as their departure was delayed – he was still drunk on the sense of triumph he felt from his rider.

Arianwyn’s heart was pounding with excitement and anticipation. She could envision so clearly the pride on Aemond’s face when she told him of how she had won the Vale and exposed Daemon’s crimes for all the world to know.

But it would not last long; she knew that, and it did not bother her in the slightest. For she would enjoy what came next even more than his pride.

Perhaps she wouldn’t even have time to light her new candles before Aemond pulled her into bed.

But she would still try.

“Kostagon ao nādīnagon bisy ēlī?” She asked of the Dragonkeepers who had approached to take Emrys’ reins, gesturing to the saddlebag she had stuffed full of candles in Wickenden. “Jaelan naejot gūrogon ziry arlī naejot se sombāzmion lēda nyke.” Can you remove this one first? I want to take it back to the castle with me.

None of the acolytes responded. Indeed, none of them would meet her eyes as they guided Emrys into a crouch so she could dismount.

They must simply be tired, Arianwyn reasoned, or perhaps nervous. It was near midnight, and a storm was approaching – she had seen the dark clouds on the horizon as the sun set. But when she climbed off Emrys back, he turned to look at her, his icy blue eyes wide with concern.

“Iksis mirros pirta?” she asked the nearest acolyte, though her eyes never left her dragon’s. Is something wrong?

Though she received no reply from the young man, Emrys narrowed his eyes and gave a low huff. He did not know what, but something was indeed very wrong.

Arianwyn stepped forward to approach his head, trying to comfort him, but was stopped when a strong hand wrapped around her arm. When she turned, it was Elder Dantis, looking as grim as death.

What was the old man doing awake at this hour?

“Rȳbagon,” he commanded. Listen.

She was about to ask why or what, exactly, she should be listening for, but Dantis lifted a finger to his lips. A command to be silent and listen.

So Arianwyn did. She closed her eyes and let her focus drift to the sounds of the city.

She could hear the sand shifting beneath Emrys’ claws, the shuffle of the Dragonkeepers’ robes, and the crackling of many torches and fires. Beyond that, there were faint sounds of conversation in the streets, horses and carts clattering across the cobblestones, and music streaming out of open tavern windows.

But underneath all of it, low and grumbling like distant thunder, was a weak, mournful noise.

Arianwyn spun around, focusing on that heartbreaking cry, trying to find its source. But, amongst the din of the city, all she could determine was that it was coming from the south…

The Tourney Grounds.

Vhagar.

“Issa glaesa,” Dantis assured her when she whipped around to face him, eyes wide and already wet with tears. But the relief was short-lived. “Yn ziry ilimā hae lo issa daor.” He is alive. Yet she cries as though he is not.

Already, her heart was racing wildly. “Skorion massitas?” What happened?

“Gīmīlon daor,” he said, releasing her hand. “Īlon jiōrteks dōrior udir hen sombāzmion.” I do not know. We have received no word from the castle.

She gripped his frail arm with all her strength, for without it, she had no doubt she would collapse. “Istin jikagon naejot zirȳla.” I must go to him.

“Yes, Princess.” Dantis let her hold onto him and even set his hand on her back to guide her away from Emrys to where two horses were saddled and waiting. Atop one was Ser Warren Crayne, his face reddened from the sun and crumpled with concern. “He has been waiting here for you since the morning.”

Warren’s presence by itself comforted Arianwyn beyond measure. It always did. But he was alone, which meant the rest of her guard was needed elsewhere… needed by Aemond. And he was not with a carriage or wheelhouse but horses from the royal stables. That meant –

“We must hurry, Arianwyn,” Warren said, leaning over to offer a steady hand while she mounted the horse next to him.

Once in the saddle, she noticed the small rope linking the horses. A safety precaution, so they wouldn’t be separated – so she would not bolt away from him as she had done the last time she rode through the streets of King’s Landing to Aemond so many years ago...

Arianwyn looked at him, searching for reassurance in his deep black eyes but finding only worry. Her voice broke as she asked again, “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted as he spurred his horse into a trot, taking hers with it. “He arrived back this morning, and he was… not well. I have never seen a man in such a state anywhere but on the battlefield, and even then, only a small number of times. He has confined himself to his chambers and declared that he will allow entry to none but you. I came directly here after informing the Queen of his request so I could bring you to him the moment you arrived back. I have heard nothing since.”

Dantis had been right then; Warren had been there all day.

Aemond had been in their rooms, alone and unwell all day.

Surely someone – Kiran or Alicent, or even Orwyle – must have gone to check on him. But if no word had been sent to Dantis or Warren…

“Can we go faster?” Arianwyn begged. “Please?”

Perhaps another day, Warren would have denied the plea. It was dangerous to race through the city’s crowded streets without adequate protection, even this late at night – especially this late at night. But he could not deny her when he saw the distress written so clearly on her face and the tears shining in her eyes.

He unsheathed his dagger and, in one motion, sliced through the rope holding their mounts together. “Go,” he whispered. “I will follow.”

-

Arianwyn dismounted her horse before it had completely come to a halt in the Red Keep’s courtyard, despite the shouted protestations from Ser Warren, who arrived mere seconds behind her. But she did not listen.

Her attention was drawn to the castle doors, which burst open moments after her arrival to reveal a frantic Ser Criston Cole, flanked by Ser Willis Fell and a knight Arianwyn did not know, but who wore the white armor of the Kingsguard.

She ran forward on stumbling legs, weakened by her own roiling emotions and a day spent riding both Emrys and the nervous mare than was now being wrangled by an exhausted-looking stable boy.

“Princess,” Cole murmured into Arianwyn’s hair as she collapsed into his arms. “It is alright. You are home.”

“It is not alright! Aemond is not alright,” she protested, trying desperately to find comfort and warmth in the cold steel of his armor. “I should have come home sooner. I shouldn’t have left at all.”

She could feel Cole shaking his head as he held her, bringing an armored hand to cradle her head. “You staying here would not have changed what occurred at Storm’s End.”

Immediately, she pushed away from the knight, and all arguments and regrets vanished. “Storm’s End…?” she breathed. Yes, that was where Aemond went. To try to sway Lord Borros Baratheon to Aegon’s cause.

“Was it Borros that hurt him?” she demanded. “Why have the armies not moved south? I will fly Emrys there now and burn the entire – ”

Cole shook his head again, trying to draw her back into his embrace. “It was not Borros, it… I need to take you to the King. He and the Hand can explain. And the Dowager Queen.” L

“I don’t want to see Aegon,” Arianwyn cried, at last pulling away from Cole and into Ser Warren as he came to stand behind her and laid a hand on the small of her back. “Or Otto or Alicent. I want to see Aemond.”

“You will,” Warren said softly, his touch gentler and less insistent than Cole’s. “I promise we will take you to him, but I agree that you should see the others first. If they can explain what happened… you should not see Aemond before you are prepared.”

At last, Arianwyn relaxed in Cole’s grip, and he released his hold enough that she could turn to face the commander of her guard. “Is it really so bad?” Her voice was small and weak, in a way it had not been since she was a child.

She was so afraid.

Even more so when Warren, Cole, and the other Kingsguard mumbled their affirmation.

Arianwyn fell silent, knowing that if she tried to say anything else, she would be unable to stop the deluge of tears brewing behind her eyes. So she took Ser Warren’s hand, needing to feel something solid and steady, and nodded.

As she followed the knights through the halls of the Red Keep, she never looked up from the floor. It did not matter where they led her or where she would meet the King. They could lead her to the Black Cells for all she cared.

Wherever it was, it wouldn’t be with Aemond.

She only had to get through a few minutes with Aegon, Alicent, and the Hand. They would tell her what had happened and who had hurt Aemond. Then she could go to him – hold him, help him. And once she knew who…

Arianwyn would unleash the fires of the Seven Hells themselves upon whoever dared hurt her husband.

“Aria?”

It was Aegon’s voice that tore her from her vision of eternal red and black fire, sounding more serious than she had ever heard him. Indeed, as he sat at the head of the Small Council table, the Conqueror’s Crown still low on his brow – would they ever dare alter the artifact so it would fit him properly? – he looked every bit the King he now was.

Except in his eyes. A darker purple than Aemond’s, and perpetually rimmed with red. Those eyes held a glimmer of decidedly un-kingly fear.

Arianwyn knew her silver eyes held the same.

“Are you alright, Aria?” Aegon asked. He shifted in his seat – also too large – like he wanted to go to her but decided against it.

She shook her head. “I will not be alright until I see Aemond.”

Alicent – who Arianwyn only noticed then – sighed where she sat to her son’s left. “I fear seeing him will bring you no comfort, my dear.”

“You have seen him?” Arianwyn looked at her desperately, ignoring whatever so was implying in favor of finding an actual answer as to her husband’s state.

“None of us have,” Otto said at the King’s right. He had stood when Arianwyn entered the room and still made no move to sit. His long face was as grim as the Stranger themselves. “We do not dare enter his chambers, as he has threatened to kill anyone who does. Excepting you, of course.”

Arianwyn’s stomach dropped, and her brow furrowed. It was not entirely unlike Aemond to make threats when he was angered; he had done so many times before. But to kill? And threats that encompassed his family? That was worrying.

And they seemed to believe he would follow through on his threat…

“Surely he was just upset,” she said, too quietly to be convincing. “He cannot mean it.”

“Aria…” the Queen reached out, inviting her good daughter to take the seat across from her that the Hand had vacated, but Arianwyn did not move nor release Warren’s hand. “He attacked his manservant. He broke the poor boy’s arm – his crippled arm.”

To her own surprise, Arianwyn did not vomit, even as her stomach roiled violently.

Aemond would never do that. Not to Kiran, who was so utterly devoted to his master. And who, she suspected, Aemond was devoted to as well.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head weakly. “No.”

“More concerning is that he has killed the Prince Lucerys,” Otto added, with no pity or gentleness to the declaration. Instead, he only looked to Arianwyn, assessing her reaction.

She closed her eyes, ducking her chin as she shook her head. The same reaction she often had upon waking from a nightmare as a child, as if she could shake the bad thoughts away if she only tried hard enough.

It never worked then, and it did not work now.

“No,” she whispered again. Not a denial, but a plea. A desperate plea to the gods or whatever forces guided the world that the horrible words were not true.

“He has,” Otto said, still studying every inch of Arianwyn’s face. “And with the boy’s death, any chance we had at resolving this dispute peacefully dies as well.” He narrowed his eyes and suppressed a dark smirk. “He lost only one eye. How could he be so blind?”

Arianwyn felt a familiar cold creep through her veins. She threw off Warren’s hands and stalked around the table to face Otto. For the first time in her life, she was not afraid to face the imposing figure, even as she had to crane her neck to look at him directly.

Had she not been so consumed by her worry and rage, she might have noticed the glimmer of impressed fear in his cold eyes. Might have seen the moment he became the only person in the world, save her husband, to know the depth and intensity of her inner fire.

“If you ever say something so vile in front of Aemond…” The menace in her words died when she balked and swallowed the rest of her warning.

Never before that day had she made a threat – against anyone – and she quickly found she did not like the taste.

“He is your grandson, Otto,” she muttered. Then turning to Alicent and Aegon, “He is your son and your brother! How is it so easy for you to believe the worst of him? We do not know what actually happened!”

Alicent began to cry, a hand covering her mouth to muffle her whimpering. As he gave his mother his hand to hold, the King was the only one to look guilty and turn away from Arianwyn in shame.

Good, she thought, they should all feel guilty and ashamed.

Aemond was their family.

All he wanted, all he tried to do his entire life, was to make them proud. To be the son and Prince they wanted him to be.

But now, they had turned on him, just as the rest of the court had.

As Viserys had.

“We know that Lucerys is dead,” countered Otto. “As is his dragon. By all accounts, Aemond is responsible.”

“Who gave these accounts?” Arianwyn spat. “How do we know we can they can be trusted?”

Otto sighed, quirking his head like a cat watching a bird, curious and evaluating. “The report is from Lord Borros Baratheon himself. Or rather, his Maester. It seems Rhaenyra is also gathering allies. She sent Lucerys to remind Borros of his father’s oath to the Princess. Fortunately for us, Aemond had already made the marriage pact. And Borros is a stubborn old fool. He did not take kindly to being commanded by a bastard child.”

“I don’t care about the Borros Baratheon or any of our allies,” Arianwyn growled. “What did they say about Aemond?”

For a moment, it seemed Otto would not tell her. She could not tell if he was worried about how she would react or if he simply did not want to upset her. Either way, the pitying look he gave her was nauseating.

“It seems your husband was not satisfied with letting the boy run home to his mother,” he continued, ignoring Aegon’s scoff as he poured more wine into his cup. “He demanded that Lucerys put out his own eye as payment for the one he took.”

Tears sprang to Arianwyn’s eyes. She could no longer face the Hand as he spoke. Though she wanted, so very badly, to insist that Aemond would do no such thing, she could not.

All his good sense disappeared when it came to his nephew.

That much was clear from their wedding night – before it had become their wedding night. It had been his uncontrollable, burning anger at Luke’s laughter that made him forget Daemon’s threat on her life. It had been his responding cruel words that had put her in that dark hallway, with her father’s hands around her throat, squeezing the life from her.

Arianwyn knew his soul as well as her own. But even she could not predict what he would do when faced with the boy who had stolen his eye.

“Lucerys, of course, refused, as any sane man would. So, Aemond moved to take the eye himself.” The Hand stilled when a sob escaped Arianwyn. Despite his anger at his grandson, he did regret upsetting the girl so. He had already apparently lost one of his greatest assets to madness this day. He preferred not to lose another to heartbreak. “Lord Borros forbade the bloodshed in his hall and had his men take the boy back to his dragon. But when Aemond asked for his leave, the capricious fool all but gave him permission to hunt Lucerys down.

“What, precisely, happened next, we do not know,” he admitted. “All we do know is that those in and about Storm’s End heard roaring from within the clouds. Some even claim to have seen a bout of dragonfire. Then, this morning, pieces of Lucery’s dragon washed ashore.”

Aegon grimaced, clutching his goblet tighter. “Both wings, one attached to some part of the torso. And I believe the back legs and tail were still in one piece.” He looked up at Arianwyn with darkened yet sober eyes. “The kind of damage only another dragon – one the size of Vhagar – could do, Aria.”

“Then he must have been provoked,” Arianwyn stammered, shaking her head furiously as she wiped her tears. “Lord Borros is lying about what happened at Storm’s End, or something else happened after they left. Aemond wouldn’t…”

Her voice trailed away as the memory of six words, written in Aemond’s hand, filled her mind.

Curse of the Kinslayer be damned, he had written once. When she told him how Daemon kept her from Emrys, and he offered to come and save her.

He could be so blind – damn the word – when it came to protecting those he loved.

He had threatened Jace with that rock when Baela held Arianwyn down in that tunnel.

That same night, he had spoken in desperation to protect his mother, not knowing that his words would prevent him from seeking justice in the future.

He had lied to Arianwyn, something he had never done before, in his letters. Just so she would think he was well and safe.

He had followed her out of the Throne Room following the death of Vaemond Velaryon, not caring that the whole court would see – that her father would see.

He had raised his sword against Daemon in front of the court the next day, again not caring that his actions would be all the confirmation some would need that her father’s accusations were true.

He was just as blind – perhaps more so – when it came to Luke.

But Arianwyn could not blame him for it. Why wouldn’t he harbor hatred for his nephew?

The loss of his eye had been horrific. And the pain of it had not ended when the Maester stitched up the skin. She still knew precious few details, but those she did were enough to justify the hatred.

Orwyle had performed more procedures after they returned to King’s Landing. For that night on Driftmark, he still had his eyelid. Now, he did not. She did not know how many times he was subjected to the Maester’s knife, but even once was enough.

And he had such hatred for the milk of the poppy. He had been so nervous when Arianwyn mentioned it had been in his tea. How long had he spent with his mind addled by the drug, as the King had been?

To Aemond, who had always wanted to be in control, not being allowed full mastery over his own body must have been torture.

He had struggled, apparently for many months, to adapt to the loss of half his eyesight. Had pushed himself so hard that he more than compensated for what was taken.

Even when he was ‘healed,’ he wasn’t. Not really. The scar still pained him. But he endured it.

Just as he endured the harsh words of those around him. The cruel whispers that echoed through the walls of the Red Keep, calling him the ‘One-Eyed Prince.’ The villain.

What would those whispers say now?

Arianwyn braced herself on a chair as her sobs began to come harder. “I need to see him,” she begged. Of whom she did not know.

“I think that would be wise,” Alicent conceded, wiping her tears away.

Otto came to help Arianwyn stand, offering his hand to her. She reached out to take it but froze when he spoke again.

“Find out from him exactly what happened,” he instructed. “Then report immediately back to me.”

Rage again surged through her veins, and she screeched as she shoved him with all her might. Still, he only stumbled back a step.

“I am not your spy!” she yelled, ignoring the hands of Ser Warren and the other guards wrapping around her to hold her back as she fought to rake her nails down his face – a face so like the one she loved. “I go to him because he is my husband, and I love him, not because you ask it of me!”

Once Otto retreated to the other end of the room, the guards released her, but formed a barrier between her and the Hand.

“You will get your ‘report’ the moment I remember to give a shit about you or what you want,” she spat, not acknowledging the look of dismay on the Queen’s face or that of somewhat pleased surprise on the King’s before she turned and left.

-

Slumped against the wall across from the five guards at her chamber door, Arianwyn found the last person she expected to see – Kiran.

His right arm was in its usual sling and bound in thick linen. There was no sign of blood seeping through the wrappings or other injuries. And though his eyes were distant and red from tears, he did not look to be in pain.

At the same time her heart broke to know that Aemond had done that to one of the few people outside his family that he cared for and trusted, she said a prayer of thanks that the injury was minimal. For she knew her husband was capable of far worse than a broken arm.

“What are you doing here?” Arianwyn’s words seemed to bring him out of the trancelike state he had been in, eyes clearing as he looked at her and immediately filling with tears. It set her own eyes watering. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

Kiran shook his head furiously. “No, Princess. I’m staying here until I know he’s alright.” His voice broke, though as his tears began to spill down his cheeks, he spoke with impressive determination. “I need to tell him that I am not angry with him – that I do not blame him.”

Arianwyn instinctively reached out to set a comforting hand on his arm but pulled back when she realized to do so may aggravate his pain. Though she was touched by his words, she did not understand them. “Kiran, he broke your arm.”

“No, he didn’t!” At the confusion on her face, Kiran continued, “It is not broken. It is… I don’t remember the word the Maester used, but it is not broken!”

A sob escaped Arianwyn, from relief that Aemond had not severely hurt Kiran and guilt that he had hurt him at all. “I’m so sorry,” she choked out, feeling utterly ridiculous for crying more than him when he was the one that was hurt. “You’ll be well compensated, I promise. And I’ll find you a new position myself, so – ”

“A new position?” Kiran asked, so shocked that his own tears stopped immediately. “Am I being dismissed?”

“You don’t…” Arianwyn looked up at him with a furrowed brow. “You want to stay in Aemond’s service? After what he did to you?”

He blushed, looking away and cradling his wounded arm. “If he’ll have me. I know it wasn’t really him, and… the Prince is the only person that was ever truly kind to me. I can’t abandon him just because he’s had a bad day.”

Arianwyn reached out and wrapped her hand around Kiran’s left wrist, wanting to hold his hand but not wanting to push too far. “What did he do to earn such devotion from you? I don’t understand how anyone could earn such unwavering loyalty that you would forgive even this.”

“He brought me into the castle, to tell it briefly.” Kiran lifted his bad arm and twisted his mouth into a half-smile. “Someone like me typically isn’t meant to be seen by anyone, much less royalty.”

He paused, then tipped his head toward the door to the bedchamber, where Arianwyn had fixed her gaze on the Runes sketched in the wood. She could just barely see it through the gap between guards. Ser Warren still stood behind her, but four others – Sers Simon Mullynn, Rolan Krey, Conin Rocke, and Rody Tollett – now stood guard at the door.

She avoided each of their eyes, unwilling to endure the pity and worry she was sure to find there.

“Please tell me the whole of the story Kiran,” she breathed, blinking away both tears and the memory of her and Aemond carving those Runes in their youth. “I am not ready to see him, but I think hearing something… good may help me to be.”

“Yes, Princess.” Kiran licked his lips to temper his smile before recounting the tale. He was practiced in its telling, for he repeated it each time he overheard another servant speak ill of his master. He was proud to say that, thanks to him, foul rumors about the “One-Eyed Prince” had nearly vanished from the Servant’s Hall entirely.

“I was originally a stable boy,” he began. “The lowest of the stable boys. My duties were to manage the tack and groom the horses, but mostly to clear out the stables. I could do all of it well! It just took me a little longer than others.

“The man who managed the stables, Gurnar, liked to tease me. Or… I thought it was teasing at first. I know now he was just a cruel man, and I was his favorite target. Easy prey, thanks to my arm. It never got too bad – one of the other stable boys would come to my aid, most of the time.” He sighed, steeling himself. The next part of the story never got any easier to tell.

“One day, he was… worse,” Kiran had to suppress a shudder at the memory. “And I was the only stable boy there that day. Everyone else was ill. I don’t think I actually did anything wrong. Gurnar just wanted someone to torment, and I was there. He started yelling about my sloppy work – that I put the tack on wrong, cut one of the horses while grooming them, or didn’t clean out a stall properly. He just shouted and shouted. And then, with one of the farrier’s knives in his hand, he said, ‘If that crippled arm is so useless, I may as well cut it off.’”

Arianwyn watched in horror and confusion when his face broke into a smile as he continued. “Prince Aemond happened to be entering the stable then. I don’t know why. I think now it was an act of the gods. But he heard what Gurnar said, and he was furious. He didn’t say a word before he grabbed Gurnar by the collar and slammed him into the stable wall. I know he whispered something to him, because I saw Gurnar go as white as death, but the Prince has never told me what it was.”

Kiran started laughing, even when his eyes were still red from crying, and his arm ached with every breath. “Then the Prince pushed Gurnar into a pile of muck and brought his foot down on his arms, one strike on each just above the elbow. He did break Gurnar’s arms – both of them! When he turned back to me, Princess, I was so scared. But then he looked me right in the eye, and I knew then that he wasn’t what everyone said he was. And he offered me the position as he manservant, just like that!”

“Just like that?” Arianwyn echoed. She was still crying, but no longer just from fear or sadness, but from sheer pride at her husband’s good heart.

“Well…” Kiran shrugged slightly. “He did ask first if I could read. And I could – I taught myself how so I could read the names of the horses, you know how they’re written on those little plaques on their tack?” He began to laugh slightly, and to his and every one of the guard’s delight, Arianwyn began to laugh with him.

“Thank you, Kiran,” she said, at last lacing her fingers through his. She brought his hand to her lips and pressed a short kiss to the back of his hand. “I promise that you shall always have a position with us, for as long as you want it.”

He smiled and dared to squeeze her hand, pleased that her smile grew wider at the gesture. “Thank you, Princess. I admit I would very much like to accompany you to Runestone. I have never left King’s Landing before, so seeing what lies beyond the walls…”

“You shall see it all,” Arianwyn told him. “Wherever we go, you will be with us.”

“As long as I don’t have to get on dragonback,” he replied sheepishly, “I would be happy to.”

They only smiled at each other for a moment, imagining a future that might very well have died only hours before, when…

Arianwyn stilled, her eyes once again finding the Runes on the door. “Kiran?”

“Yes, Princess?”

“You saw him?”

A pause. A moment where Kiran brought himself back to reality.

“I did.”

“Is he… how is he?”

Another pause. A consideration of what, exactly, to say. Of whether the truth was too horrible to voice aloud. If Kiran could bear the weight of the Princess’ heartbreak.

“He is… wounded, Princess,” he finally said. There were no words to describe just how wounded. “His heart is… and his mind, it… he is not himself. I am sorry – if I have made it worse.”

Though her tears had welled once more, Arianwyn did not let them spill as she gave Kiran’s hand one more squeeze before letting it fall. “You have nothing to apologize for, nothing at all. Thank you for all you have told me. Please, do not stay out here all night. You need your rest.”

Arianwyn did not have the strength to look at Kiran’s face before she turned from him to face the door to her – and Aemond’s – chambers. Neither did she look at the faces of her guards as they stood aside to allow her to approach.

Tenderly, as though it was the holiest of relics, she ran her trembling fingers across each of the Runes in the wood. They granted protection from monsters and spirits, but would that protection extend to whatever demons Aemond had brought with him from Storm’s End – demons of his own making?

As she retraced the Runes, then again, and a third time, Arianwyn prayed that they would. Prayed that the Runes she traced on his chest nearly every morning protected him. Prayed that the Runes carved into the sapphire had kept him safe and unharmed.

She prayed for so many things as she retrieved the small brass key from the chain around her neck and unlocked the door.

-

The solar was endlessly dark and hauntingly quiet.

The storm clouds Arianwyn had seen earlier were now blotting out the light of the moon and each of the stars that had guided her home. No fire was lit in the hearth, and had not been for some time, leaving the room as cold and unfeeling as the stones of the walls.

Not even the candles that usually cast a golden glow over the tapestries and blankets and books that made the apartments her home – their home – were lit.

The only light came from the faint glow of the city far outside the castle walls and the occasional flash of lightning.

After one such violent burst of light, Arianwyn’s eyes landed on the door of one of the cabinets, torn off its hinges with such force that splinters of wood were scattered on the floor below it, among the slowly drying remains of several broken bottles of Arbor Gold.

And beneath the rumblings of the following thunder, she heard a low, mournful cry – so similar to that she had heard from Vhagar only an hour before.

“Aria…”

She swallowed a choking sob. His voice was so quiet, so raw, so desperate. It was not the voice that soothed her, lit a fire within her, and whispered sweet words in her ear when he thought she was asleep.

It was broken.

“Aemond?” she called softly. He had been so quiet that, with the thunder and pouring rain, she could not tell where he was.

Lightning flashed again, and she looked for him by the couch and hearth. But he was not there.

Another flash, and she turned to look for him at the table and beside the bookshelves. He was not there, either.

A third flash, and she looked through the open door to his study. His desk was empty.

The thunder grumbled again, louder this time. The storm was drawing nearer.

Then, as it faded, she heard it again.

“Aria?”

“Aemond? I’m here.”

Lightning, then thunder.

“Aria?”

She could hear the tears in his voice, the disbelief that she was truly there.

How long had he been calling for her, to be answered by only silence?

Though the thunder was closer, Arianwyn had heard him well enough that she now knew he was in their bedchamber. She did not wait for the light of the storm to return before she stumbled blindly to the door. Finding it slightly cracked, she burst through without hesitation.

The lightning lasted only long enough for her to see a blur of black leather and bloodstained silver hair as Aemond turned frantically away from her, scattering the shards of glass around him across the floor as he scrambled closer to the cold stone wall.

“No,” he moaned. It might have been a shout if his voice was not so weak. “No… please.”

Cold surged through Arianwyn’s veins. It froze the tears within her eyes and slowed her heart until she was not sure it beat at all.

But somehow, her body still moved. Her legs brought her to the edge of the glass, then lowered her down to the floor. Her arms folded within her lap, the urge to reach for her husband there but quieted. And her chest brought in a great breath of air to fuel her voice.

“Aemond,” she said, just loud enough to be heard over the storm. “My love, I am here. I am home.”

She watched as Aemond raised his hands to clutch his head, palms covering his ears to block out her voice. Blood was caked on his fingertips and splattered through his hair.

If it had been a battle on dragonback, how had he become so bloodied?

Cautiously, she leaned over the moat of shattered glass to try and lay her hand on his shoulder.

But he sensed the movement before she got within a foot of him and jerked away as though a single touch would kill him. “No!” he shouted. “Don’t touch me! Please… please, Aria!”

“I will not touch you,” she assured, pulling back behind the glass and holding her hands tight to her thighs. “But Aemond… will you look at me?”

He shook his head again, groaning as if in pain. With all the blood on him, it was entirely possible. More than possible – it was likely.

“My love,” she said, more insistent but still gentle. “Please look at me.”

Lightning flashed again, and silver flecked with red was reflected on every shard of glass as Aemond shook his head once more.

There was no sound but the storm.

Arianwyn felt that every drop of rain was taunting her – taunting the tears she felt but could not let fall. She wanted to cry, to scream, to pound at her chest until her heart beat again. But all she could do was clench her fists in her lap.

“Will you tell me what happened, Aemond?” she asked, hating how stilted her voice was. She sounded like Otto – cold and unfeeling.

Aemond ducked his head and whimpered.

Arianwyn took several deep breaths as she considered what to do next. She could try and force him to look at her, to tell her what happened. But she had tried forcing him years ago when he first started retreating into himself. It had been the only time they ever fought.

No, he required a more gentle approach.

“Do you want me to speak, or would you prefer silence?” It was a question she had asked countless times before, during his ‘quiet days.’ Sometimes it helped him to hear her talk. Others… he could not bear a single sound without panicking.

She did not say anything until he lowered his hands from his ears and braced them on the floor – his permission for her to talk.

Shifting so she could lean more comfortably against the side of the bed, Arianwyn began to tell Aemond the story of the past three days. How excited Emrys had been to fly so far. The charm of Wickenden, its Lord, and Lady, and of the dozens of candles they had gifted her. How Gerold’s hair had gone white, and how excited Jeyne was to meet her.

How she had told the Lords of the Vale of Daemon’s crimes and won their allegiance.

But she did not tell him everything. Anything that would cause him more worry or strife was left out. Her arrival at the Eyrie after the sun had set and the perilous journey through the mountains. Jace’s arrival at the Vale and how he had argued for his mother. How he confessed his love for Arianwyn.

And Lamentation. She did not tell Aemond that the sword was still strapped to Emrys’ saddle, awaiting its new wielder.

She did not know why, but she suspected that news – that Gerold trusted him as the new Lord of Runestone – would hurt him more than anything else.

When she finished her tale, Aemond seemed calmer – if only slightly. His breathing was slowed, but still uneven. But he had not cried again or otherwise reacted poorly to anything Arianwyn said. In truth, he had not reacted at all.

Still, he was no longer so volatile that she was afraid to ask…

“Lucerys is dead?” she asked.

Aemond raised his head as though he wished the rain would pour onto him through the window – as though he was beseeching the gods.

“Yes.”

The word rang through Arianwyn louder than any thunder and struck her harder than any lightning.

Still, she pushed further. “You killed him?”

Aemond’s body lurched as though her question was a dagger she had buried in his spine. “I… yes. No. It… it was Vhagar. She killed him.”

For a moment, it seemed the thunder echoed the dragon’s dirge.

“Did you give the command?”

“No!” Aemond almost turned to face her then, but she only saw a glimpse of moon-white skin marred with dried blood before he looked away again. “I just… wanted to scare him.”

It was the second time that day Arianwyn had heard those words. Both times, the intention had led to bloodshed.

Jace had only been a boy when he brought a knife to that tunnel. Aemond was a man, and a man should know better –

But a dragon would not.

A dragon hears more than words. They possessed a mysterious, arcane sense that lets them hear the innermost thoughts of those they were bound to. Desires and wishes that the rider themselves may not be aware of.

Realization settled in Arianwyn, leaving her chest feeling hollow. “Aemond, did you want him dead?”

“I did not want to kill him.”

“But did you want him dead?”

“I did not mean to kill him.”

“I know, my love. But that is not what I am asking. Did you want him dead?”

“Aria, I…”

She leaned across the glass and grabbed his hand to silence him, hoping he would look at her, but he did not. At least he did not protest her touch this time. “You swore that you would never lie to me, Aemond. So please, answer me. Did you want him dead?”

His entire body shuddered with one great sob, and an agonizing whine escaped him.

“I did.”

As she heard the words, Arianwyn felt that she was falling from a great height. Her blood went cold, and her bones rang with hollowness. The impact was near, and it would crush her.

“I’ve wanted him dead every day for six years,” he growled, voice shaking with both guttural rage and unfathomable anguish. “Since he took my eye and made me into a monster. Since he stole my father’s love. Since he took you from me and tore out my heart. I didn’t just want him dead, Aria. I wanted him to suffer the way he made me suffer.”

His voice broke, and he doubled over, ripping his hand from hers as he grasped at the floor as if he could claw his way to the Seven Hells. “I wanted him dead, but I didn’t want to be the one to kill him.”

Arianwyn was frozen as she had never been before. Every muscle called out to her to go to him, to embrace him. But she could not.

“It was supposed to be the gods!” he shouted. “They would deliver justice where my father would not.”

Another sob. It struck Arianwyn like a blade.

“But they have forsaken me. Abandoned me. Condemned me for my sins. For wanting their justice when I do not deserve it – I never have. Every prayer I have ever said has been a waste.”

Not every prayer, she wanted to tell him. They had prayed together that night on Driftmark that the gods would bring them together again.

That prayer had been answered.

“I have wanted for so much that is not mine,” Aemond moaned, slumping against the bed with his head still turned from his wife, “and this is my punishment. I will never be more than the monster they always meant me to be.”

Arianwyn’s frozen heart began to beat again when he finally faced her, then fractured entirely, shattering into a million sharp pieces, just as the mirror had.

The sapphire was not there – torn out by his own hand. Even after it was gone, he had continued to claw at the empty eye. Dozens of deep scratches now crossed the old wound, leaving trails of blood washing down his cheeks along with his tears.

His violet eye was rimmed with red as he looked at his wife, his beautiful face twisted with such desperation that she could not breathe.

“It hurts,” he cried.

Whether he meant his scar, the fresh wounds on his face, or his heart and soul, Arianwyn did not know.

All she knew was that she did not care what he had done. She did not care whose blood stained his hands. She did not care about the war that would surely follow in the wake of Lucerys’ death.

Her husband was in pain. More pain than he had been the night his eye was stolen from him, the night they had been so cruelly ripped apart.

Death did matter. War did not matter. The entire cursed world did not matter.

Only Aemond mattered.

Arianwyn could not stop her voice from breaking as she crawled over the glass, thankful that the bronze plates on her armor prevented it from piercing her, and took his trembling form into her arms, pressing his wet face to her chest. “I know it does, my love. I know.”

“Make it stop,” he begged, his sobs racking his entire body.

She had never wished for anything so much as she now wished for the knowledge of how to do just that. But she did not know, and no god answered her prayers. Perhaps they had forsaken her too, for loving him still after what he had done.

All she could do was hold him tighter and tighter as she whispered soft words into his ear, assuring him that she would always love him, and that she would never – never – leave him.

-

It was long hours before Aemond had finally exhausted himself and fallen asleep in Arianwyn’s arms. But even then, his brow was still furrowed with torment, and his body twitched as he dreamed. In the short time they had shared a bed, she had grown accustomed to seeing the moonlight reflected in his sapphire when he slept.

Now she saw only darkness.

Carefully, so as to not disturb him, she extracted herself from his arms. Then, silently, she moved around the room, searching every corner and crack. But it was nowhere to be found.

She moved to the solar, searching everywhere, even in the spaces between cushions on the couch, but still, she did not find it. Nor did she find it in the study, the dressing room, or the bathing room.

Wherever it was, it was not in their chambers.

Wrapping herself in her cloak, Arianwyn left their apartments to continue her search. She tried the library, the Small Council chambers, the family parlor and dining room, and even her old rooms.

Still, nothing.

Of course, it was foolish to search all these places. He had not left their apartments since he arrived, going straight there from…

Arianwyn sighed when she realized where she needed to go.

If it was not below the waters of Shipbreaker Bay, there was only one other place it could be.

She turned to Ser Simon Mullynn, who had followed her from their chambers and throughout the Red Keep as part of his night’s watch. “We need horses,” she whispered.

He only nodded in reply, though there was a pain in his warm brown eyes that made Arianwyn think that he knew more about how she felt at that moment than most would.

She knew he had been widowed as a young man, but he had never pursued another woman nor spoken of how his wife died. Arianwyn had only ever asked once, but received no answer, and was hastily warned away from doing so again by Ser Adrew.

When he lifted her onto her steed, she caught sight of a single tear running down his tanned cheek, and she knew.

She would rather the world end than let that happen.

“I can’t leave him alone,” moving to dismount her horse. She was not as strong as Ser Simon. She could not survive the same pain she saw in his eyes.

But he held her firmly to the saddle.

“I left word with Ser Kayl to fetch reinforcements to stand at and in your quarters –to watch as he sleeps, should he wake and try to....” Even her most stoic guard could not bring himself to say the words. “He is not alone, Arianwyn.”

She nodded, signaling him to mount his own horse as she blinked the tears from her eyes. It had been years since she rode through the city on her own, and with the rain that still fell hard and heavy, she would need her sight to find her way to the tourney grounds.

-

Vhagar was resting precisely where she had been only days ago, when Arianwyn had brought Emrys to meet her. She left Ser Simon at the end of the clearing with the horses to not startle any of the beasts. The horses were already unsettled by her lowing lamentations.

It was foolish of her to approach a dragon when her emotions roiled, especially a dragon so easily provoked and likely still drunk on the taste of fresh blood. But she felt she had no choice. She needed to find it.

When she was close enough to feel the dragon’s hot breath ruffling her hair, Arianwyn removed her riding glove and held out her hand. “Vhagar?” she called. “Vhagar, nyke jorrāelagon aōha dohaeragon.” I need your help.

The dragon’s orange eyes flicked open, and she raised her massive head as a deep growl rumbled in her throat. Behind her, the sound of Ser Simon drawing his sword rang through the air.

“Lykirī! Ao gīmigon issa!” Arianwyn shouted. Calm down! You know me.

She channeled all her fear and sorrow into anger, pouring into her voice as she tried to command the Queen of Dragons. “Nyke se ābrazȳrys hen aōha kipagīros, se nyke jorrāelagon aōha dohaeragon!” I am the wife of your master, and I need your help.

Focusing with all her might, she brought every memory she had of Aemond to her mind. Let everything she had ever felt from him surge through her again so that Vhagar would see and know she could be trusted.

Finally, after a heart-pounding moment, the dragon seemed to calm, at least enough for her to resume her approach.

Arianwyn continued, “Aemond ēza ojūdan mirros. Kostagon nyke jurnegon syt ziry?” Aemond has lost something. May I look for it? She gestured to the saddle on Vhagar’s back, asking permission to mount her.

With a low, warning hum, Vhagar set her head back in the grass. Taking that as an agreement, Arianwyn raced to the rope ladder on the dragon’s side. As she began to climb, she remembered watching Aemond triumphantly mount her for the first time on the beach of Driftmark.

Neither of them could have ever predicted this.

If she had known what the dragon would one day do on his behalf, she never would have let Aemond go to that beach.

Finally, she reached the saddle. It was enormous, and must have cost a fortune. She supposed that was why it had been passed from rider to rider, repaired and altered countless times over the years. To commission a new one for each rider would have bankrupted the crown.

Cursing herself for not bringing a lantern, Arianwyn blindly searched each pocket and saddlebag.

But it was not there.

Feeling thoroughly defeated, Arianwyn slumped in the saddle seat, resting her head on one of the large handles as she gave in to the tears she had held back for so long.

She would not find the sapphire.

It was lost, likely in the belly of some sea beast by now.

She knew it was silly to cry over a lost jewel when her cousin had been killed and the entire realm sat on the precipice of war.

But it was not just a jewel.

That sapphire had been her first expression of her love for Aemond, though she had not known it at the time. She had imbued it with the magic of her ancestors to grant him all the strength, bravery, and wisdom of the greatest kings of their family. To protect him when she could not. To keep her love with him when she was far away.

And now he lay forlorn in their bed, cursed as a kinslayer with a shattered soul.

The Runes had failed.

She had failed.

Still, she wanted to bring it back to him. Still, she had a single shred of faith that someday, the Runes would protect him when he needed it most. Still, she ached to save him, as he had done for her.

Maybe she just needed to start over. Find a new stone, one that better matched the beautiful color of his eye. She would carve the Runes herself this time, to make certain her intentions brought the magic to life.

Just when she had resolved to do so, something caught her eye. A familiar blue gleam reflected the light of the moon just breaking through the clouds.

There it was.

Caught in a torn seam between two layers of leather, the sapphire sparkled at her as if alive and winking mischievously.

Arianwyn’s tears stopped, and her breathing slowed as she reached down to take it. It was clean and entirely undamaged. Turning it in her fingers, the moonlight illuminated one of the Runes.

Two lines, converging in parallel. The ends split, reaching back for the other, but never quite touching.

She wrapped it tightly in her hands, savoring its weight.

Somehow, it had made the journey home.

It was impossible.

Miraculous.

An act of the gods.

Or perhaps, the result of an ancient and powerful magic.

She smiled as she descended Vhagar’s side, whispering her thanks to the beast.

Her eyes gleamed with grateful tears as she returned to Simon and rode back through the city streets to the Keep. When she returned to their chambers and dismissed the guards from their watch, she thanked them each dearly, embracing them as they left.

Aemond was where she left him, clutching her pillow to his chest as he slept fitfully. The tension had not gone from his face, and he cried out softly as he dreamed. Nightmares, judging by the way his eyes tightened and his fists curled. Arianwyn stroked his hair softly to soothe him as she sat by his side at the edge of the bed.

She retrieved the small periwinkle scrap of silk from where she had tucked it into her armor and carefully wrapped the sapphire. Once it was secure, she placed it atop his bedside table.

He would find it tomorrow. For now, Arianwyn would let him get what rest he could.

Shedding her leathers, she laid by his side, wishing she knew how to ease his mind. When he shivered, she pulled their blankets and furs back over them, ensuring he was warm.

Then, she pressed closer to his chest. Every time he whimpered, or his lips trembled, or he reached out for something she could not see, her heart clenched painfully.

As she had the morning after they had been married, only eight – or was it nine? – short days ago, she traced Runes across his chest.

Peace. Comfort. Serenity. Protection. Each one punctuated by the Rune of love, drawn just over his heart.

With each motion, Aemond seemed to calm. His lip stilled, and his breathing steadied. Finally, he fell silent, and wrapped an arm around Arianwyn’s waist.

At last, he looked as he did every other night she had shared his bed, save for the absence of his sapphire and his new wounds.

Arianwyn leaned forward, kissing his temple before she settled against his chest and surrendered herself to sleep.

Never again would she doubt the power of the Runes.

Next Chapter

[cheesus-doodles]

Chapter 6: Don't Look Back in Anger

Former Gang Leader Darling AU (Red Dragonflies)

Red Dragonflies Masterlist | Masterlist | Ao3 Link for the Sane

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tw/cw: mentions of murder, death, gun violence, body mutilation and self mutilation, suicide, dead dove do not eat

A/N: This was so supposed to be out for my birthday but I still made it in the end! Didn't get a chance to have this beta read because this is an absolutely monster! Hope yall enjoy, this was more for my sanity because I just had to tell this story! Thank you everyone for sticking around!

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“I’m tired, Takeomi.” Your voice, soft and weary, was a far cry from the firm yet kind tone he knew well. 

The man said nothing, cigarette clenched lightly between his teeth as he plopped down onto the still damp grass next to where you were leaning against the trunk of an old, gnarly tree, hands tucked neatly under your legs. Despite knowing you for as long as he had, your eerie ability to tell who was approaching you from behind without turning your head still sent shivers down his spine - you had always been a tad too aware of your surroundings for his comfort, let alone for someone as young as you, even if it did come with the territory. At the same time, it seemed like you weren’t actually registering that he was here. Almost as if you were just leaving a voicemail.

The early morning gale that had just an hour earlier blew the torrent of rain through his open bedroom window, heartlessly drenching both him and his bed, seemed to favor you more - now a soft breeze that lightly tossed your hair up as the cool air blew in from across the open field. You didn’t turn to acknowledge him, large doe eyes not shifting from where it was fixed on the overcast heavens, rumbling gray clouds with a hint of an impending thunderstorm blocking out what should have been azure skies ablaze with the dancing colors of the rising sun.

Next to you, your mobile phone nestled untouched among a patch of grass and flowers chimed incessantly, the small screen lighting up with what seemed like a continuous stream of message, the lull created by the humming of cars whizzing by a stone’s throw away only occasionally broken by the ring of what would be another unanswered call. A picture of a smiling blond-haired boy holding up a piece of taiyaki took the place of your phone’s normal background, accompanied by a familiar name splashed across the top of the screen - Mikey. “Not going to answer that?”

“I don’t think so.” Came your almost dreamy response, hand reaching out to absentmindedly flip your phone around, hiding the blinking screen from his view. But this was more an intuitive move on your part rather than an attempt to dodge your responsibilities - it was easy to tell you were barely even present in the moment, watching the time slip by through your fingers. More like a visitor simply watching from afar.

Takeomi lit his cigarette, before stubbing out the match on a small, mossy rock, the sizzle of fire extinguishing drowned out by the roar of yet another vehicle racing by somehow oddly poetic. Taking a deep breath, the once-feared Black Dragon Vice Captain allowed himself to consider his next move. 

Nothing about you and your life had ever been easily rectifiable when things fell apart; and if there was anyone that had learnt this lesson well, it was undoubtedly him. He had tried to help previously, what with his renowned strategic skills in battle, but it was always Shinchiro that had a better handle on you and solutions for your endless troubles when you came knocking. Yet the duty that came alongside the blessing the Black Dragon founder gave to you all those years ago now fell to him, and no matter how unsuitable he felt for the role, Takeomi owed it to his best friend. Filtering through his memories, situations where he found you like this - a kid lost in the world with a burden far too great for your small delicate shoulders - were far and few between, though the outcomes were always the same: much like a game of chess with just the two opposing kings left on the board, there was no obvious solution and no obvious end. Exhaling, Takeomi dropped his hand from his lips as he watched the smoke quickly dispersing into the cool air, whisked away in the light draft - he was really getting too old for this. 

But time ticked mercilessly on, the man turning once more to look over a still unmoving you, glazed eyes reflecting everything yet nothing at all; you needed to be grounded before you were in any state to talk. There wasn’t much he could ask or say if you remained as you were - and the curiosity was killing him. The longer he takes to rouse you from this zombie-like state, the more you would come up with worse and worse ideas, trapped in your head with nothing but time; and of course the lesser time Takeomi had to find out the comings and goings of your life and of the greater Kanto region when you did finally emerge. Passing his stick from one hand to the other, the former Vice Captain of the Black Dragon reached out, though he hesitated mere inches from your head. How did Shinchiro do it again?

Fuck it, he thought, withdrawing his hand sharply; it wasn’t like Takeomi could say exactly how his friend brought you out of these moods all those years ago. Might as well he tried something different. Reaching back down into the pockets of his pants, the man pulled out that comforting box of cigarettes.

“Stick?” He grunted, though he moved to pass you the slightly crumpled packet before you could offer an answer. And unsurprisingly, you accepted, the torn plastic wrapping lightly crunching under your touch as you slid one out for yourself with ease, allowing him to light it for you with a new match. His death at the business end of a furious Koji's cane when (not if) the other found out was but expected, watching you choke on the lungful of foul-smelling smoke you inhaled; you always hated the smell even after you had picked up the bad habit from Shinichiro (and him, though Takeomi would never admit it) all those years ago in a bid to manage your mounting stress, and was made to drop it cold turkey when your concerned friends cut you off. In his defense, this was the best he could think of in the heat of the moment. 

The two of you sat in silence, the clouds above head leisurely drifting past in whichever direction the wind took them, uncaring about the problems of the mortal world below. Takeomi took another drag; now, to wait.

You seemed to shake back into reality a few puffs and several horrid sounding coughs in, blinking owlishly at your surroundings and then at the former Black Dragon Vice Captain as you took in your location; he wouldn’t be surprised if you yourself had no idea how you got here. He had heard of your legendary auto-pilot mode from both your weary Red Dragonflies and Shinichiro. “Takeomi? When did you get here?”

“Just a while ago.” 

You hummed, taking another look around. "Did they send you?"

"Yep," The former delinquent dropped his head into his hands, rubbing weary eyes into his palms, his lit cigarette uncomfortably close to his skin. "That fucker Jun appeared yelling outside my fucking door this morning and woke me up at 4. Said something about giving you space and to look out for you, then left for baseball practice. Fuck me, I just went to bed and my neighbours were pissed. Don't even know how you people keep finding me."

“Sorry,” You laughed, not sounding the least bit apologetic, your eyes scrunching up along with your nose as you did, and just for that moment, you actually looked your age. Takeomi blinked, and the illusion dissipated. "Must have been Masashi’s doing. He doesn’t like it, but he’s good at this sort of thing," you mused, hand reaching for your discarded phone to weigh it in your palm. “Probably has me tracked here too.”

You didn’t seem concerned in the slightest that you most likely were being watched by your friends in red; nor that Takeomi seemed to have found you with little difficulty, sitting in the same open field you so loved since you were young. The delinquent with the scarred eye was certain that it wasn’t a lack of foresight for you to be sitting out in the open like this for several hours (even taking into consideration your disassociation), and that you were more than capable of vanishing into thin air with no trace to follow if you wanted to as you had many times in the past. Yet Mikey and his Tokyo Manji Gang were unable to find you even while you weren’t trying to hide? Did they even know you?

He shook his head; the more he thought, the more questions he had - and the one thing he was sure of was that you wouldn’t answer them all. But one question stood out in his sleep-deprived mind, the burning need to know overpowering his hesitancy. “So what happened?”

"Thought you know better than to meddle in our affairs?" The corners of your mouth quirked up as you gently teased. "What was it again? Something about a cafe and some Serpents- "

"Okay, okay I get it!" He hurriedly blurted out, cutting you off, cheeks burning slightly as you laughed once more. The last thing he wanted to be reminded of was that, no matter how many years ago that incident had been. You did take pity on him and his incessant need to know though (bless your soft heart), your gaze sliding off him and fixating onto a tiny white flower sprouting from the grass before you started speaking again. 

"Izzy - Izana - he came to visit. And they met him in the morning."

Ah. Takeomi winced. That already explained so much. “And then what?”

You sighed, running one hand through your hair. “Furusawa snitched on my past to my friends. About my time with the Reds, most likely about me and Izzy. I don’t even know the full extent.”

“Mikey and his gang?” The former black dragon cocked his head. “Why?”

“I don’t know!” you threw your hands up, letting out an annoyed 'urgh'. “I’ve been trying to think of a good reason why, but I got nothing. It’s weird that Furu would do something like that - it’s not him, you know? Maybe he was influenced into ratting me out?”

And that was the danger of letting you stew alone for so long, Takeomi immediately reaching out to flick your forehead. “Or he could just be genuinely worried for you and not know who else to turn to.” 

You reluctantly considered the older man’s words, rubbing at your forehead. “I guess so,” you grumbled, but you were far from convinced.

“Think on it for a while. Izana did put you in quite a bit of danger.”

You shrugged, just as a chime on your phone went off. “Well, time’s up.” Getting to your feet, you dusted off your spotless skirt, before turning to face him one more, the moodiness on your face replaced by a small smile. “Been good speaking with you again, Takeomi.”

“Off to meet Izana?”

“Not just yet,” you hummed, glancing at your phone once more before finally tucking it away in a pocket, unaffected by the continuous buzzing of your Toman friends desperately trying to reach you. “Got somewhere else to be first.”

“Take care of yourself okay?” Jun had explicitly instructed Takeomi not to let you go and meet Izana on the threat of death (he was going to die anyway for that smoke), and he remembered this fact fine despite his half-sleep daze - how could he not at the end of a baseball bat he knew painfully well? But you were you. You knew how to look after yourself.

Dipping your head, you raised a hand in parting. “You look a lot better, Takeomi. I’m glad. Try not to get into so much debt again.”

The former Black Dragon Vice-President blinked. Debt, again? Wait, had you been the anonymous benefactor that had negotiated with his yakuza debtors? The man whirled around, the wind whipping at his well-gelled mullet. “I-” 

But you were already gone.

‎

‎

“She replied to you, didn’t she?” Mikey demanded, abyss eyes swinging around to meet glazy sandy ones, the metal of his phone creaking and crying out under his crushing grip, the unfortunate messenger of yet another failed call. “Try again.”

Kazutora sniffled, a fresh round of hot tears trailing a well-trodden path down his already reddened cheeks. “B-But she’s not picking up-” His response was half whimpered, half wailed, mobile phone held just mere inches from his eyes as the boy desperately tried to scan through his flurry of messages on the tiny screen with blurry eyes, all in the hopes of that it was him who missed a newer reply from you. The reply had been just a single fullstop, more likely than not a mispress, yet the Toman founders couldn’t help but hold out hope. “She’s not-”

“Nothing from my side either.” Draken announced over the duo-colored hair boy, letting out a ragged sigh as he allowed his hand to fall away from his face, hitting the worn wooden bench with a muffled thud. Running one hand over his sweaty brow, the stormy clouds that had already unleashed its fury once but still loomed threateningly above did little to alleviate the humid air that clung to his skin. What a wretched day it was, with neither the sun willing to shine nor the wind willing to blow, yet it was especially so without you by their side to make the world brighter.

The dark eye bags that hung low from most of their eyes were even clearer in the dull sunlight - the previous night spent apart from you, knowing nothing about where you were or whether you were safe had weighed heavily on them. “This is all their fault,” Baji hissed, the audible anger that rolled off his tongue, enough to make any regular delinquent in his vicinity tremble at the mere thought of being on the receiving end, this time directed at a foe not present. Bronze eyes flickered over to the outwardly calmer Mitsuya, though the mix of rage and anxiety broiling behind his lavender eyes were clear to everyone around as he gingerly rested his phone face-down, his face taunt and stiff as he spoke up. “No word from any of the others. She hasn’t been at any of her usual spots.”

The sound of wood splintering as Baji hurled his bottle across the patch of grass, curses rolling freely off his tongue as the plastic now embedded an inch into a new split in the wood letting out one final groan before releasing its water to drain freely to the ground. Yet the boy was barely a breath off even after the incredible show of force, instead turning to stomp off and look for himself. And the rest of the Toman founders let him - the First Division Captain had always been the most agitated and impatient of them all. No doubt he was eager to have you back with him again, and the bad sleep the boy got only made him more impatient.

"I told you we shouldn’t have listened," came the accusation hurling from Kazutora, unblinking eyes reddened from hours of crying. “Why would they tell us the truth?” Given it was Kazutora that made the traumatizing discovery of you being missing from your room after shimmying his way up that big tree outside your window, his disgruntlement with Mikey’s decision to stand down was almost understandable. Just maybe if he had been a little earlier, a little faster in chasing your tails up that threateningly dark flight of stairs, he could have been there for you, to comfort you and tell you that it’ll all be alright, that Toman would take care of you even if the rest wouldn’t. Like how you were always there for him. They could have been there for you.

Maybe they should have, Draken considered, glancing back down at his phone as it started to beep with the quarterly hour updates from the rest of the captains and vice-captains of the Tokyo Manji Gang rolling in. But at the same time, he could argue that the information that they had gained in a single hour speaking with your left hand man in return for letting you roam for a night was almost worth the trade-off, whether or not the others agreed. 

‎

“Leave her.”

The previous night had been choked full of emotions in the aftermath of the fight between you and Furusawa, your house falling into an uncomfortable, unusual silence despite the presence of so many people.

Hase dragged one hand down his face, the weariness usually confined to his eyes now smeared across his expression, visibly aging the poor soul by a good decade. Though this tire failed to dim his sharp words or that unnerving look that he leveled plainly at the Toman founders, with even Kazutora, himself already poised to follow you, hesitating. “It wasn’t a question, if I wasn’t clear,” the blue-haired man reiterated. The quiet lethality Hase emanated even as he was bonelessly slumped against the doorway to your kitchen was impressive, even by Mikey’s lofty standards - the unspoken promise of pain should they cross him received well and clear by all six. They could understand why this unwanted intruder was worthy of being your left-hand man and First Division Captain, though it certainly didn’t mean he had their respect. Far from it; these Red Dragonflies were the ones that stirred up this whole unnecessary drama in your life. A smooth-sailing life that you shared with them and only them.  If only these assholes had never clawed their way out from the past. 

“Why?” Mikey challenged, crossing his arms. Having to stand by and watch a side of you emerge like a cornered viper was already pushing the limits of what he could bear, not to say those doe eyes that had never known sadness with them that now brimmed with tears and anger; the boy didn’t think he had felt this angry in a long while. The one time he let you stray away from him against his will, let your leash loose on your pleading request and your absolute promise that you would be back by his side in three days, and this happens. The Toman President didn’t recall promising to let you leave him again and again like some sick game of peekaboo, and it didn’t help that your old gang was trying to cut your reel to your real friends for good.

The blond-haired boy was momentarily ignored in favor of Hase fumbling in his pocket, pulling out a pristine smoke pack only to sigh before tucking it away once more. “Fuck, can’t smoke in here,” he muttered, turning to face the boys again. "I’m sure you have your questions. If you don't go upstairs, I'll answer as many as I can." 

Of course they would be immediately enticed - who wouldn't be? Someone as precious to them as you, who they thought they knew better than the back of their hands, but it turned out to be a complete lie. How much were you keeping from your dear friends? Draken held up his hand, cutting off Baji before the other could start to demand answers. "How many, and what kind?" Being a lot more skeptical than his hot-headed friend, Toman’s Vice Captain crossing his arms as he bodily turned away from the flight of stairs you had just fled up would have made for a frightening sight, his face taut with the effort of keeping the worry from his expression, though neither Mikey nor Kazutora held no such reservation, both boys almost a mirror of each other as they slammed open palms into your creaking wooden table, who took the blow with a groan.

“Who is Izana?!” “Who the fuck is Izana?!”

The Toman Vice Captain let out a groan, and both boys were sent reeling from the dining table with a slap each to the back of their heads. “Shut up.” Even in the wake of such a serious event, these two needy babies couldn’t take things seriously for once when it came to you - this was a negotiation between gangs, and jumping straight to the question was accepting all the terms at face value. “Sorry bout that, Hase-san.”

“No worries. An hour of questions, and nothing too personal about Boss.”

The blond-haired boy with the dragon tattoo pulled out a chair, waving the other to take a seat. “Let’s discuss.”

‎

‎

It had been a full hour after Hase had concluded his talk with the Toman founders, and a ward away back in the Red Dragonflies’s home turf of Shinagawa City, it was in an unassuming room that two of the Wings had gathered over a chessboard. Plain, painted beige walls were covered with baseball pictures of kind, and another wall was lined with an unproportionally huge bookshelf and filled to the brim with books - yet the centre of focus of the room was a rack with a collection of various baseball bats right next to a simple bed, the sole shelf that no one else was allowed to touch. “White knight to D4 please.” Koji set his cup down on the coffee table, and not far from where he sat, a dull clink: the distinct sound of a chess piece being set back down on its wooden board. “So what do you think?”

Jun furrowed his eyebrows as he surveyed the board. “And they still don’t know about that night? Or what she’s done with him?” The Second Wing clarified. “Black bishop to D4.”

“Unlikely given their reaction,” the Third Wing responded, adjusting himself on the cushion as he recalled what Hase had told them earlier. “Can’t imagine they would have been as manageable as they were if they did. White queen to D4.”

“True,” Jun paused, momentarily falling silent as he thought both about his next move and Koji’s words. “Boss is on the move again huh?” 

Koji nodded. “Cutting through Shibuya.” They had no doubt of your exact location as you moved through the city; with a gang as big as theirs and the number of connections the Wings had, it was almost child’s play to have eyes on you at all times. Okay no, even Koji had to admit to himself that that was a lie without certain caveats - it was child’s play to have you followed and tracked if you weren’t trying to hide, like you were last night after disappearing from your room. No amount of connections or eyes found you despite them scouring the city, and all the Red Dragonflies could do was wait on their ass for you to appear once more.

You were simply too good at concealing yourself when you wanted to disappear.

“Meeting Izana?”

“Not just yet. I have men in the area around the cafe, they haven’t reported any sighting of her or Izana.”

“Hmmm. She could have changed the location or the-” 

The conversation and his thoughts were momentarily derailed when Jun’s bedroom door burst open, and two girls stumbled in, still dressed in their elementary school uniform. “Nii-san!” “Nii-san!” They echoed, instantly reaching to tug at those golden locks attached to their older brother's head.

“OI!” A flail of arms had them let go for an instance, though the twin Matsuno sisters were quickly back at it with their grabby hands. “I FUCKING TOLD YOU TWO I’M BUSY!”

“No cursing nii-san!”

“Yeah no cursing!”

“We can’t reach the biscuits!"

"We'll cry if you don't get it for us!"

Jun only let out a string of even more colorful curses as he forced himself to stand, grabbing his baseball bat as he stalked out the door, his screeching echoing back. “RYUU! I TOLD YOU TO HANDLE IT!”

Koji sipped on his tea, following the shouting and the various bangs of objects and doors fading down the corridor. “I told you I’m studying, nii-san!”

“FUCKing STUDYING MY ASS! ONLY SHITBRAINS LIKE FURUSAWA HAVE TO STUDY!”

“Its always the fucking Sanos I swear.” Jun complained as he settled back down, bedroom door having been slammed shut and locked behind him, though it was a moment later that Koji realized what the conversation had moved to. “First Izana, now fucking Mikey. I fucking hate that Shinichiro. Peanut for brains. What was he even thinking?”

“You think so too?” 

“Fuck yes?! She’s like a fucking dog on a leash - indulges them too much. Let them do whatever they fucking want, have you heard how many of her schoolmates they beat up?”

“We did that too,” Koji pointed out, earning himself an extremely annoyed tsk. 

“That was different! And we don’t ask for cuddles or to sleep in her bed, do we? Fucking clingy bastards, every last one of them.”

“Well-“

“Fuck you, if you had asked her out earlier we wouldn’t be in this fucking mess, would we?”

He could feel the very pointed look shot at him without even looking, and Koji couldn’t stop the blush that crept up his neck onto his face. That was a very personal attack, and Jun knew it. “I-I couldn’t, okay?”

Jun sneered, but the sound quickly gave way to a thoughtful mumble. “I supposed if we could turn them on Izana and his new gang, it would be useful.”

The Third Wing straightened, a feeling of hope blossoming in his chest. They just might be able to save you after all. “Explain.”

‎

‎

If he was being completely honest with himself, Takemichi had to admit he lost the plot a long time ago. When he had first started, he had only one goal in mind: to stop Hina’s seemingly inevitable future death. Yet even several leaps in plus the counsel of a police detective in the form of Naoto, the twenty-six year old couldn’t quite say where he had gone wrong: he just couldn’t figure out where you fit in. In his current future, with so many deaths still fresh on his mind - Mitsuya’s peaceful, almost sleep-like one, surrounded by flowers, and Mikey’s tearful goodbyes and those pain-filled eyes, hiding out in the middle of nowhere begging to be put out of his misery - Naoto had been unable to find any head or tail of you, though you certainly did exist in the past (where he had seen you with his own two eyes), the detective having pulled out your old school records. But the trail went stale there - no job applications, no hospital records, no death certificate. You seemed to have vanished off the surface of the earth roughly twelve to ten years ago, never to be seen again, and there was no trace of the Red Dragonflies left anywhere.

It didn't make any sense - you clearly were the sun that the Toman founders revolved around despite you turning out to be a rival gang leader yourself, and Takemichi having only ever caught a glimpse of you alongside them once. Chifuyu had refused to speak any further about you after that fight in the abandoned docks of Shinagawa, muttering that Baji-san would not be happy and it was better Takemichi forget he ever saw you, and the same went for any member clad in the black and gold uniform - most simply paled and asked if he was looking to die. The six monster delinquents that made up the backbone of the Tokyo Manji Gang seemed almost normal (if he dared say) with you laughing in their midst, ruffling their hair and handing out forehead kisses like they were children - no doubt none would have let you go so easily. So where were you? 

Takemichi was barely able to muffle the groan that slipped out, drawing just the attention of his classmate to his left as he ruffled his hair in despair. What to do now? Letting out a sigh, the blond-haired boy slumped in his seat, allowing his head to drop and hit the wooden table top with a thud. Though he did mildly regret that decision as well given the wood was much harder than it looked, and his forehead was throbbing. Hopefully it didn’t bruise too. The sun had barely rose over the horizon of trees that lined the windows of his classroom, rays of morning light filtering through the leaf canopy muted on the rough surface of the blackboard already scribbled with several math questions, 

The light knock on the classroom door that broke his teacher's rambling words had him nearly rocketing off his seat, his train of thoughts quickly derailed with the wave of sudden dread settling into the base of his gut. The mere probability that it was Mikey and Draken that had come looking for him again was enough to have him break into a cold sweat, though his nerves instantly settled  when it was your soft, melodic voice rang out across the otherwise silent classroom. "Sorry for the disruption, is there a Hanagaki Takemichi here?"

Oh you were just looking for Hanagaki Takem - wait. That was him. And your voice sounded awfully familiar for some reason -

Takemichi only had enough time to poke the top of his head above his propped up textbook before twenty sets of eyes instantly turned accusingly on him, but your own set of doe eyes never left his teacher’s to follow the others, a gentle smile pulling at your lips when his teacher couldn’t help glancing in his direction. The blond-haired boy was sure he could hear the unspoken accusations loud and clear from just those looks alone - what horrors did he unleash this time? First Mikey and Draken, now what?

More importantly, what in the world were you doing here of all places asking after him? Weren’t Mikey and the others turning Tokyo upside down looking for you right this moment? That mental image of you lying (asleep or unconscious, he didn’t know nor did he want to find out) in your Vice President’s arms, Toman’s founders having rushed to your side and congregated around you as if in prayer. Those looks on their faces: they had been burned into his mind ever since that night; the absolute fear, the sheer rage. The urge to maim. He gulped - you were going to be the death of him, and Takemichi wasn’t quite that keen on dying just yet after all. How the fuck did he get himself into this mess again?

Though somewhat fortunately for him, the same math teacher that had always scared the living wits out of Takemichi was in his corner this time, and was none too willing to give him up that easily. Probably because of his abysmal grades. “Excuse me, who are you to Hanagaki-kun? You don’t seem to be from this school and class is ongoing,” she demanded, though those extremely stern eyes simply bounced off an unflinching you. 

Seemingly more perplexed at her question than frightened witless by that death stare, you paused, your head cocking to your side as you considered her question for a moment before it registered. "Ah! I have-" Turning to rummage through your bag, you retrieved what looked like a carefully folded note. "I have a letter from the principal to excuse Hanagaki-san for the rest of the day. May I come in?"

The once-lifeless classroom instantly erupted into hushed whispers, his classmates now shamelessly leaning over aisles and tables to discuss their conspiracies, the eyes that previously only stared as long as was courteous were now fixed on him like flies to a honey trap. Though this time, Takemichi had to admit he couldn’t quite disagree with the gossip storm whipped up - who were you to get a letter from the principal just to excuse a mere student like him? Why him? But he didn’t have much time to ponder that either. You were waved in regardless of their theories, the blond-haired boy only watching the letter changing hands, and then the resignation that washed over his teacher’s face as she scanned over the crisp paper. “All right then. Hanagaki-kun, please gather your things. The rest of the class, turn your attention back to the question on the blackboard.”

The pressure he felt on his chest grew with every step you took towards him, his heart pounding away while cold sweat coated his shaking hands as he attempted to shove his belongings into his bag as quickly as he could. You either didn’t notice his nervousness at your presence, or rather you chose not to, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you picked up and offered him a lonely pencil left behind on the desk. “You ready?” 

Your attention was drawn away as he haphazardly stuffed down the last of his papers, a quick rap on the desk of Takemichi's deskmate having said boy jerking his gaze up to meet yours as the math class started up once more around the two of you, the scribbling of pencils and chalk against blackboard quickly rising to cover up the sound of murmuring students. Winking as you held a finger up to your lips, the usually silent Suzuki who Takemichi had been seated next to for the past half a year looked like he had seen a ghost, face paling to a chalk white before reluctantly nodding.

“Right, let’s go.” You ushered him out the back door. “Come on, we have five minutes before Hisao outs us.”

“Hisao?” The blond-haired delinquent repeated in a daze, his bag swinging loosely from his grip. 

“One of Koji’s, if my memory still serves me well.” You scratched at the nape of your neck as you breezed down empty corridors with ease, navigating the corridors like you had been here your whole life. "Though I swore he was in a different school?"

Hisao-kun; that meek, quiet boy who barely spoke? He was a delinquent as well?

“How can someone so unassuming be a delinquent, huh?” You laughed when Takemichi almost walked straight into a wall upon hearing his exact thoughts said out loud. “You’re too obvious, Hanagaki-san. Not every delinquent wants to stand out, you know?”

Your hand shot out to catch the elbow of his uniform, pulling him round the bend of a side corridor. “They all have their own stories and histories they carry,” you mused, as the two of you started your descent down a dim stairwell, the lack of students in usually crowded halls only serving to amplify your voice, and then the deafening silence as you fell quiet.

“Um..uh…” Takemichi scratched at the back of his head, fumbling for a way to break the awkward lull. What should he say? Why did you call him out of his class? Where should he start with his growing list of questions? “How should I address you? D-do I call you Boss too?”

He wanted nothing more than to kick himself in that instance. But you didn’t seem to mind his foot-in-mouth moment, your lips instead twitching upwards as the two of you stepped out into the mid-morning, an umbrella sprouting up above you. “Told those meatheads to knock it off.” You mumbled under your breath, the fondness carried in your voice unmistakeable, those doe eyes turning on him as the blond-haired boy was pelted with drizzle. “I’m not your boss, Hanagaki-san. My name will do.”

"Takemichi is fine. So why did you call me out?" He tried to ignore it the best he could, the feeling of his clothes slowly drenching and his hair gel coming apart, given he had forgotten to bring his umbrella, but you noticed and generously waved him under the shelter of your own, though you did hand it over to him to carry for the two of you.

“Not beating around the bush, I like it. But here is hardly the place to talk, Takemichi-san. Walls have ears.”

“Walls have ears, right,” the boy muttered to himself, eyes turning back down to scan the wet gray pavement. Here he was, once more following a stranger to god-knows-where and crossing his fingers that it didn’t get him killed or worse. The rest of the short walk was spent in that same silence; at least you seemed comfortable, humming a tune under your breath as you led him down twisting alleys that Takemichi never knew existed despite having lived in this city all his life. At some point the time leaper couldn’t quite pinpoint, your silent duo seemed to have crossed some unspoken line, and his surroundings - even the very air - around him shifted. The buildings grew taller and taller with every turn the two of you took, reaching up like tendrils in an attempt to swallow the sky. Even in broad daylight, something felt very off with this place, and the unlit signs that popped up more and more, sprawled haphazardly across worn walls tiled with large gray bland tiles, loose messes of wires hanging low between buildings, didn’t help make the blond-haired delinquent feel any more at home than the unusual stillness permeating the narrow backstreet and the feeling of eyes following the two of you. 

It wasn’t as if he couldn’t hear the bustling city just a stone’s throw away; the crowds couldn’t have been that far off, one street, maybe two? Almost as if he was in a bubble of sorts, the rumble of people muffled and the atmosphere they brought muted. This was no place to be caught as a passerby, Takemichi knew, yet for all the nervous glances tossed your way, you didn’t once look concerned. He would have continued on his merry way without noticing you stopping in front of one of many well-decorated doors if not for you catching his sleeve once more, and the blond-haired delinquent just had enough time to straighten up when the door slid open with nay a creak, only for Takemichi to instantly pale at the sight of a burly man filling the doorway with full sleeves of tattoos, and a very thick hand wrapped around what was very obviously a gun. “Can I help you?”

You ignored both the man and Takemichi’s visible sweating, instead attempting to peek past the enormous figure in your way. “Shoji! I’m here!”

A crash immediately echoed out from deep inside the house, followed by a failed attempt at holding back swearing and a ‘Let her in!’. Said doorman stepped back and aside, and you said your thanks, walking in and straight onto sleek wooden floors without blinking an eye, though this time Takemichi was hot on your heels, blue eyes fixed unmoving on you as he kept his head down; he wasn’t risking being left outside by himself, not with the sharp gaze of the guardian of the door trailing him suspiciously right up till the two of you disappeared round a corner. He wondered what fresh new hell he had just walked into.

Fortunately, nothing of the physical kind (or yet at least), Takemichi having to cough back his laugh at the sight of said Shoji laying on the floor groaning with his head in his hands, a book on the floor next to him, as the two of you stepped through the doorway of a non-descript room. But you had no such restraint, the genuine laugh slipping from your lips light, taking both of them by surprise, Shoji blinking owly up at you, his mouth an O shape. “Always the compromising positions, Shoji.”

“I swear it’s not me this time,” the average-looking boy whined, quickly picking himself up and off the floor, narrowed hazelnut eyes sliding to glance at a now-shut door before returning to you. “Mia threw it at me right the instant you yelled.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say.” 

The other ran one hair through black hair, letting out a groan as he thrusted the book at you. “I swear! I don’t even read this shit!”

“You don’t read anything, you mean,” you retorted. “You still don’t read anything.” 

For once, Takemichi felt lucky that he had all but faded into the background amidst the commotion your arrival had drummed up, the blond-haired delinquent watching from the doorway as you and your friend (?) bantered back and forth like kids on a schoolyard, Shoji having barely blinked an eye at his presence. Yes, you two were just kids. Amidst the plain, normal-looking reading room, and the laughter and smiles as you caught up with Shoji, lightly wacking him with the book when he complained, it was almost hard to remember where he was or the burly man he had scampered past just minutes earlier, Takemichi somewhat relaxing into the wooden frame - it felt homely. 

“So what are you doing here? You hardly ever come round.”

“We’re just passing through. I need to access the tunnels.” You paused, before continuing. “And don’t let Hase or the others know.” 

Shoji sighed, replacing the book on the table, switching it out for a judo jo that had been tucked away behind a bookshelf. “You never changed either. Come on, I’ll walk you there.”

“So how did you know I was back?” The black-haired boy grumbled, though he didn’t look particularly annoyed at the fact as he led the small group through winding hallways, Takemichi having long lost which way was back. “No one was supposed to know, not even you.”

“That’s because-” 

“That’s because I told her, Shoji!” The blond-haired boy felt his face pale one more as yet another enormous man seemingly appeared from nowhere, bare chest and arms completely covered in hair-raising tattoos depicting an assortment of demons and man-eating animals, his yukata hanging from his waist as he marched forward. But it wasn’t just the tattoos or the threateningly thick muscles that had the twenty-six year old trapped in his juvenile body ready to bolt and never look back. There was something about his aura, the way the older man carried himself that screamed authority. That screamed danger. This was undoubtedly someone that had taken lives with not a wink of sleep lost, and would do it again. 

“Mr Tsutsui!” You laughed, leaping forward into unexpected open arms. And Takemichi could only watch gobsmacked as said man with the pants-wetting glare burst into an equally unanticipated hearty chuckle as he wrapped those beefy arms around you. “It’s been a while!”

What was with you and men who seemed to defy human proportions?! The time leaper bit his tongue. 

“Been a while? You didn’t come visit!” The yakuza boss ever so gently patted your back, the soft smile looking foreign on that hardened face. “How’s it going? Everything okay? Is that fucking piece of shit still bothering you?”

Those steely grays slid to him. “And who’s this?” It was the first time anyone had bothered to question his very out of place existence in this place, and Takemichi couldn’t say he liked it.

You came straight to his rescue.“This is Hanagaki Takemichi, Mr Tsutsui! He’s a friend,” you chirped. 

“A new boyfriend?” One suspicious eye and a hand itching in his direction, the man’s shadow seemed to flicker and grow across the wooden floor boards like hungry ghosts - Takemichi gulped. This was it. He could see his life flashing before his eyes.

You, on the other hand, just seemed rather amused. “No, no. Just a friend. A friend-friend.”

And he was instantly dropped from all relevance, the yakuza boss instead turning on his son. “SHOJI! When are you going to marry her huh? Hurry up!” The older man complained, wacking the younger Tsutsui on the back hard enough for the slap to echo.

Shoji, on the other hand, seemed a lot more preoccupied with trying to cool his flushing face as opposed to the hit he just took, the poor black-haired boy trying desperately to look anywhere else but at you. “Oto-san! Stop it, you’re embarrassing me!”

“Embarrassing? You’re embarrassing! Why haven’t you learnt to be a better boss like this young lady here?! When are you going to snag her before someone else does?”

“OTO-SAN!”

“Ah Mr Tsutsui, I can assure you Shoji is a fantastic boss.” You patted one thick arm, looking up at the man towering over you with no fear in your eyes, conveniently pretending you hadn’t heard his second question. “He’s come a long way.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Mr Tsutsui humpfed, but he stepped aside to make way for you to pass through. “I’ll let you be on your way now. Come round more often, you hear?”

“Of course, Mr Tsutsui! See you soon!” One final wave, and the man disappeared behind yet another identical door, followed swiftly by another black-suited man that Takemichi had failed to see previously, the door sliding close and locking shut with little fanfare.

“Stupid oto-san and his stupid mouth,” grumbled Shoji after him, taking a turn in the opposite direction; the narrow corridor the three of you had been travelling down opening up in a vastly wider hallway lined with spotless wood panels but still equally devoid of souls, elegant paintings hanging at evenly spaced distance giving the place a softness and sense of delicacy that the people did not. “He needs to learn when to stop talking, I swear.”

But you obviously disagreed, stifling a laugh behind delicate hands. “Your father is a great boss. There’s still much to learn from him, I would say.”

“Still! He’s so embarrassing, god!”

One more turn, and it was a positively small, worn door that seemed to have been your final destination in this cold, lifeless place, Shoji heaving open the heavy door to reveal a void of nothingness beyond except for the sole light on the opposing wall, waving Takemichi on while pulling you aside. The blond-haired delinquent though didn’t dare to venture far from the door on the off-chance it did close behind him and seal him away; he knew you weren’t the sort to bring him all the way here just to sentence him to death, but still.

From his nervous dance right on the inside of the thick steel vault-like door, he found that he could still hear traces of your conversation. “You haven’t met Izana yet?”

“No, not just yet. In a bit.”

“Stay safe, you hear? He’s still as unpredictable as ever.”

“I promise I will - I’m not going around looking for trouble.” There was a pause, and Takemichi scrambled to move away as your voice floated towards him. “I’ll see you later, Shoji.”

The door closing reverberated around the round enclosure, the tunnel walls vibrating slightly with the force of the door. 

“Sorry for making you walk all the way here,” you started, waving him to follow as you led him down into the nothingness, the dim light fixtures to worn, leaky walls doing little to illuminate where any of you were going. “But it’s kind of on-the-way for me, and it is a private place to talk.”

“Ah- don’t worry about it!” Takemichi let out an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his head. “So what did you want to speak about?”

You hummed, the sole note haunting in the dark. “I know that look.” 

Those few words were enough to almost trip him with how they caught him off guard. "Huh?" Takemichi spluttered out. "Wh-what are you talking about?"

Yet you didn't even miss a beat, unsurprised by his reaction, your walk coming to a stop as you turned to face him with a curious lilt of your head. "That old soul trapped behind your eyes," you elaborated, those doe eyes of yours that showed the world everything you thought yet at the same time seemed to read his past and present through his gaze alone. “You’ve… experienced things no one should, and they have left a mark on your conscience. On your soul.”

You couldn’t possibly know, could you? “I-I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” Takemichi felt the lie seep through clenched teeth. He was in so much trouble. 

And you instantly saw through that as well, your lips quirking upwards. "I won't ask. Too much information can be a curse." You continued to walk. “I’m more interested in your relationship with Mikey and Ken-chin.”

Ken-chin? “Oh, Draken? I- um- we’re…friends?” 

“I’ve only just started seeing you around, but you’ve left quite the impression. They went to pick you up from school, didn’t they? Mikey’s spoken about you too, previously. Said you reminded him of Shinichiro-san.” 

Mikey?! Spoke about him? Takemichi gulped. He didn’t like where this was going at all, and he was following a stranger down a tunnel.

“Takemichi-san.” Under one flickering lamp, you stopped once more, turning to face the time leaper directly. “I need your help.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve ran my Red Dragonflies since I was eight. They've relied on me as much as I've relied on them for strength. And I don't think I can walk away from them again. But my boys - Toman doesn’t like them. At all.” You admitted, your hands folding behind your back as you turned to lean on the old wall. “I think you know how overprotective they are over me. They hate my Reds. But I can’t pick sides.”

He didn’t respond, but you pushed on regardless.

“I- I’m worried. About Mikey. About Kazutora. About Baji and my friends. I don’t know how they would react if I can’t be there for them, whether they'll try to take it into their own hands.” Sighing as you ran one hand through your hair, you seemed to have age where you stood, the eyebags hanging under both eyes darkening. “Drastic measures with drastic, dire consequences.”

The tunnels were deathly silent, somehow even more so than the maze of rooms and tunnels above - Takemichi barely dared to breathe, let alone answer you, should he wake the creatures of the dark. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do to keep everyone safe. But I can’t be everywhere at once. I don’t want them to get hurt doing something stupid in my name.”

“Promise me you’ll look after them.” He wasn’t being given an option, the gentle look in your doe eyes replaced by that same steely gaze he had seen all those nights ago now levelled at him, the first night he had ever seen you. The night of the fight at the Shinagawa container terminal with your own men. And trapped here with you with no knowledge which way was up or down, there was little else Takemichi could do, though he thinks he would have regardless of where you had cornered him.

“I-I promise.” Because how could he not? With your determination to go to any length for Mikey - and with Mikey’s cold body against warm skin still fresh in his mind - there wasn’t anything for Takemichi to lose in siding with you. Maybe you were the turning factor in his struggle against Kisaki. “I’ll keep them safe.”

You simply nodded, finally straightening from the wall and continuing to walk, your light steps barely audible despite his own echoing for miles down the labyrinth. The silence, at least, was now a more comfortable one.

“Well, this is your stop, Takemichi-san.” Glancing back down the tunnels into the swallowing darkness, you smiled at him, beckoning him to enter the phobia-inducing unlit side tunnel. “Just follow this all the way and you’ll see a ladder. It’ll bring you back out near your school. Mine is up ahead.” 

“I’m counting on you, Hanagaki Takemichi.”

‎‎

‎‎

Masashi has long been the quietest member of the Four Wings, and despite the mousy-brown haired boy being more than capable to lead his own division, it wasn’t a stretch to say his strength was far outstripped by the other three Wings and the beast that was Furusawa. Such were facts he and the others knew well, especially when it came to taking advantage of rivals underestimating him. So when Hase and Jun had approached him to discuss the high possibility of your Toman boys approaching him for information on you and what information he should disclose, Masashi made sure to listen to his two older friends - he didn’t want to mess up or worse, make life even harder for you.

And yet again, Jun and Hase had spot on with their predictions; Masashi had heard them coming before they ever had the chance to knock on his door, trampling all over his floor with their dirty boots. The Fourth Wing resigned himself to asking one of his members to clean it again after they left - he wouldn’t be able to work in peace with the thought of his floor being desecrated like that.

Moments later, as expected, a quick rap on the door before two heads, one lilac and one blond with a dragon tattoo, were revealed from behind the door, dressed in full Toman uniform. He supposed they weren’t too bad, given how clean their white boots were. “Pardon us for the intrusion, Tsuchida-san,” the boy he knew as one Takashi Mitsuya called out as he strolled in. “We have some questions if you have the time.”

The other - Baji Keiseke, you told Masashi before - simply kept quiet, glancing around the room filled with gadgets of all kinds and seemingly random objects that Masashi had been testing for use as weapons, though the annoyance at having been seemingly dragged here against his will was clear on his face. That was easy to read at least. He waved them into the only two available chairs.

Bringing up his hands, the Fourth Wing tried to communicate first with Japanese Sign Language, asking them to please call him Masashi, then switching to American Sign Language when he only got confused looks in return. But neither got through, only serving to anger the previously unspeaking Baji, who threw up his hands. “You throwing gang signs at us huh?!”

A hand shot out to catch him by the wrist, forcing him back down into his seat. “Behave, Baji,” Mistuya chided, before turning back to Masashi. “Sorry Tsuchida-san, we can’t understand you.”

The brown onion-haired boy let out a silent sigh, reaching out across his table. The duo tensed, only for a ding to ring out - Masashi settling back into his seat, his hand retracting to reveal a table bell. 

A moment later, a knock, the door opening to reveal another brown-haired well-muscled boy in a tank top, signature red jacket tied loosely around his waist, spannel in hand. “You called, Cap?”

Masashi pointed at your two Toman friends, and signed quickly. The boy nodded as Mitsuya turned to shoot him a quizzing look. “I’m Hideo, the Fourth Division Vice Captain. And Cap says to call him Masashi.”

“Is there anything wrong?”

“Don’t worry, it’s not you,” assured the other, rubbing his neck. “Cap’s selectively mute. He doesn’t talk much, so I’ll be helping to translate his sign language.”

Masashi signed more as Hideo made his way over to his captain’s side of the desk, taking a seat on a stool that he pulled out from under the desk. “Captain says ask away, he’ll try to answer whatever he can.”

Mitsuya and Baji exchanged glances, before the shorter of the two took a breath and started. “We were wondering about Izana’s relationship-”

This was going to be a long day.

‎

‎

What to do, you wondered, letting a hum slip past your lips, the resigned smile pulling at your lips matching the weariness in your eyes. You never meant to try to balance as many moving parts as you did, torn between your past and your present; yet with every tweak you made in a vain attempt to solve the kinks in the system only surfaced more problems you simply didn’t know how to solve. What to do indeed.  “Am I strong enough, nii-san?” You sighed, resting your head against the cool stone as you mentally ran through the events of the past few weeks again in your head, your hand fiddling with the petal of a fresh flower. “Should I keep going down this road?”

The rustling leaves of the giant canopy stretching overhead whispered its answers, the breeze caressing your cheeks and hair, though you could understand neither. The cemetery was usually quiet at this time of day, with most of the living caught up in their own day-to-day rather than bother about those who were lost to time; but you found yourself having wandered here again, as you always did when you needed to think. Somewhere you could just be without the weight of someone else’s expectations. In a kinder life, you were sure this safe place would have been home, where your older brother would have fearlessly fought off anyone who dared disturb you during your rest time. The thought of your only family, forever young in your memories, squaring off with and scaring away a much larger yet very confused Furusawa brought a small wave of giggles. You yearned for nothing more than to hear those teasing words you could almost hear fall from your older sibling’s mouth, that of course you weren't strong enough, that you shouldn't try to bite off more than you could chew, that you should let your big brother take care of things. Alas, life had other ideas, and here you were.

“It’s tough,” was all you could bring yourself to admit out loud, though you couldn’t help but laugh as you hastily wiped away the accompanying tears welling along your eyes that came with the turmoil of emotion in your chest that you kept strictly locked away; who knew what would happen if ever you let that out. “Look at me being a complete mess. Crying for no reason.” 

Hands wandering to tug at the few errant blades of weeds at the foot of the grave, it was times like this you had to wonder how he did it - how did your brother cope with being a gang leader along with all the stresses of raising you? And it wasn’t like your brother’s life was anything that could be described as easy even before you came along - you vaguely recall his own inner circle berating him for taking on the extra burden of caring for you once, though maybe you remembered that incident wrongly. It was quite the distant past after all, and the sound of boisterous laughter and copious amounts of alcohol filled the memories of your early life far more often than not. Running one hand through your hair, you instead turned your mind to more recent, pressing matters; no point reminiscing on a past you couldn’t change when you were now stuck in a conundrum of tangled situations. “Well nii-san, hope you’re ready to listen cause I think I got myself into quite a pickle this time.”

You had long fallen quiet after pouring out your problems and bouncing possible solutions off your unanswering audience, now content with enjoying the temporary peace that came with the territory. Having made up your mind on which road to walk, all you could do now was to wait and find out what laid for you and your friends at the end of the dark tunnel, heavy eyelids closing against your will with the onset of silence. It was the sound of footsteps nearing that finally broke you from your stupor, the quick glimpse of white-hair you caught from the corner of your eye giving away your guest. “Izzy?” You mumbled, turning in the direction of the sound as your eyes fluttered open, though you made no move to stand from where you had been resting against your family headstone. “What’re you doing here?”

The white-haired boy only chuckled as he squatted to gently brush away a freshly fallen leaf from the otherwise immaculately kept grave, carefully laying a bouquet of fresh chrysanthemums on the altar as you frowned down at your watch. The new glow of yellow reflected in black granite was a memento of the afternoon sun missing from the overcast sky. He knew exactly where to find you even before you failed to turn up at the agreed meeting spot - one glance at the familiar faces mixed in with the usual crowd on the prowl for him and you and Izana was sure you weren’t anywhere close by. You were always so diligent with the upkeep of this place. It had been raining earlier, yet your family marker was already dry while droplets still clung stubbornly to the others around you, the crisp flowers on either side of the headstone swaying lightly in the wind. “Pay my respects, of course. Brought some flowers.”

Your furrowed eyebrows only pinched further. “It’s not time yet, is it?

“It is. An hour past, in fact.”

Blinking, the words slowly settled into your head as he busied himself rinsing his hands off with your dipper and pail. “An ho-” Attempting to quickly lurch to your feet, you would have hit the ground face first if not for Izana’s quick catch of your waist. “I’m late!”

The white-haired boy tugged you down. “Don’t worry about it. I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“You’re here,” you repeated again, staring blankly at him as he picked his bouquet back up. “Oh! Izzy, you’re here!”

“I am indeed,” the white-haired boy replied amusedly, splitting the bundle of fresh yellow flowers into rough halfs. “I’ll just add them to the side.” Izana never had the chance to know, let alone meet, your brother, your older sibling having passed years before he ever met you, but no doubt without his influence, you probably would have never had come roaring into his life - he would suppose he did own a lot to this mysterious figure you so adored even now.

Simply humming your acknowledgement, you accepted his hand, and Izana pulled you back up. “You’ve grown a couple of tails.” One tanned thumbed pointing to behind his shoulder - there was one he spotted not far off, watching the two of you from a distance. “Seems like they knew you would pop up here.”

“They’ve been around. But we’ll lose them soon.”

But one tanned hand halted your steps before you could leave, the same hand retrieving a small brown envelope from the depths of his jacket to pass over to you. “Before we leave, this is for you. I found this stashed away.” 

“A photo?” Those doe eyes of you instantly lighted up as the entire image was revealed from the depths of the envelope. “Oh, this is!” You certainly recognised the two men beaming back at you from the aged paper, each with an arm thrown cheekily over the other, posed dangerously on some kind of ledge with their two motorcycles in front. Izana knew the one of the right well - it was his Shinichiro, the same one who took him in when there was no one else to turn to. The other man though - “It’s nii-san and Shinichiro-san!” 

But you looked uncertain. “Are you sure I can have this?”

“Why not?”

“Well… Shinichiro is here as well, wouldn’t you like to keep the photo?” Your gaze dropped away from his, though one delicate finger continued to lightly trace meaningless patterns into the frail yellow paper. “I could just make a copy of -”

A finger pressed on your lips before you could finish. You’ve never been able to hide your true feelings well, especially not from him. “It’s for you.” 

“Thank you.” You whispered, hugging the paper to your chest, before ever so carefully replacing the priceless photo into its envelope and slipping it into your bag. 

Izana stood, dusting his pants off slightly before offering you his hand. “Shall we go?”

‎

‎

Hase never quite got used to the overwhelming smell of fried trash that was nuggets. Didn’t matter where it was from, what choice piece of chicken went into making it and what expensive oil they were fried in - the stomach-turning smell simply from being in the same room as a box of them was enough to make him hurl. There was no way Hase could spin this to even begin to understand what pleasure Furusawa (or anyone with better taste honestly) got from gouging himself silly on these, yet here he was strolling down the road with the most wretched smelling package consisting of not one, but two boxes of McDonald’s nuggets (the apparent holy grail of nuggets, whatever that meant) hanging off his arm that obviously weren’t for him. 

Unfamiliar streets came with its share of stares and whispers, though the attention directed towards his towering figure, pierced ears and blue side-swept hair were to be expected - unlike their home ground of Shinagawa, the good folks of Shibuya were probably a lot less familiar with the sight of him or accepting with how much he stuck out of a crowd. Not that it bothered Hase of course; the Red Dragonflies’ First Wing clad in a simple black tee and jeans more focused on pausing at every shadowy side street and checking its name against the small text printed on his screen, the inability to find the small lane whose address he had drawing his ire a lot more than the opinions of nobodies.

How fucking difficult could it be to find one god-forsaken street? Letting out yet another sigh, he ran one hand through his hair, the well-gelled strands bouncing back into their precise location as his palm passed over them. This was precisely why he hated anywhere outside of Shinagawa, Hase concluded, with no relief to spare even as he finally turned down the right back lane, the overlapping shadows casted by tall glittery buildings lining both sides quickly swallowing him back into the comfortable darkness. Fortunately for him, there was little searching left to do, the sight of the former Black Dragon Captain leaning against an unassuming door frame, signature lollipop stick hanging from his lips, though it was the yellow and purple striped hair that really caught his attention. What a change from the mob of white he remembered, even if Hase couldn’t quite agree with the color combination, his lips involuntarily quirking as he neared. “What happened to your hair?”

“Changed it a little,” came Wakasa’s flat, unamused response, as he straightened, leading the way into the building. “Watch your head.” Though it seemed that Wakasa had said too little too late given there was little left to dodge - a very clear man shaped hole where someone clearly smashed through parts of the doorway where he couldn’t fit. 

There was a brief moment of silence, and the neighborhood’s ambience, consisting mostly of the occasional quiet rumble of a nearby washing machine and the rustle of clothes being set out to dry, that seeped in through the gaps in the wall, only delayed the inevitable.

“So what’s up with Furusawa?” And there it was, Wakasa’s droopy eyes failing to hide the interest lacing his tone, the older man turning slightly to glance at Hase. “Haven’t seen him this upset since his first and only loss against me and Benkei.”

“He had a fight with Boss,” Hase replied, the slight amusement he had found all but evaporating as the weight of life came crashing down once more, his expression returning to its usual sullen frown. Right, he still had yet to deal with Furusawa. “Must be pretty bad. He doesn’t even want to spar.” The delinquent-turn-gym owner directed Hase’s attention to the rightmost wall with a quick thumb as the narrow corridor opened up into a big, airy room. Allowing his eyes to wash over the racks of weights and the small boxing ring, the sight of a flat ass in white pants sticking out of what used to be a wooden padded wall broke the overall tranquility of the quiet area. He had to bite his tongue just to keep his expression serious, but even if Wakasa noticed, he didn’t bring it up. “Benkei and I offered for old times’ sake, since he looked so down. Furusawa ignored us, but Benkei went ahead anyway. One punch.”

“Fucking stupid old man.” The First Wing let out an aggravated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just send me the bill for the repair. We’ll take care of it.”

“Door and the wall. Can’t take classes like that.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll get it to Koji.” Hase mumbled distractedly, having spotted that eye-catching mob of hair even where it was sprawled from behind some benches from the moment he walked in. At least those colors made more sense than whatever the old Black Dragon was sporting. 

“Koji?” Wakasa stopped him with an arm before he could take another step, that raised eyebrow saying everything without a single spoken word. “No Koji. Too stingy. You handle it.”

“That’s why he’s our treasurer. But fine, I’ll settle this later.”

‎

The sound of the front door clicking close behind the former Black Dragon resounded back down the dark corridor behind him, but Hase paid it no mind, advancing cautiously on his target. “Furusawa?”

There was no response, not even a twitch from where the usually unflappable Vice Captain lied. Reaching the makeshift barricade of racks and closets, said man didn’t turn at the call of his name nor at the smell of his ultimate indulgence, slumped on his side facing the wooden paneled wall where he had been since stumbling in the previous night.

“Mr. Nakamura said you didn’t turn up for work today. He was waiting for you by the gates all morning,” Hase paused, glancing to his side once more at the mob of brown and pink hair - still nothing. The blue-haired man itched to light the cigarette he was twirling between his fingers, though tucking the stick out of sight at least helped to temper that temptation. Wakasa definitely would have something to say about smoking inside his gym even if it did help momentarily lift this weariness of life Hase could never quite shake. “He and the others bought you some nuggets you know, said to come back whenever you feel better.”

“Don’t wanna work,” Furusawa grumbled, shifting slightly on his side, thick white-knuckled fingers clenched around his tattooed arms tightening their grip. 

At least getting a response was a good start, but the actual content of the answer was not. Of all the defense, security and less-than-savory job contractors from around the world that had come knocking trying to recruit the infamous beast (the First Wing shuddered to think of all the trouble if you hadn’t stepped in to fend them off from your clueless partner-in-crime with your equally infamous connections), Hase was certain Furusawa had rather liked his construction jobs that you had found and approved for him. Manual, simple and well-paid.

“How bout a no-limits spar?” He offered instead, nudging the other’s leg with his heel. A rarely-offered treat, given Hase’s disdain for Furusawa’s no-limit strength and his lack of awareness and control over it whenever you’re not present, but if that was all it took to bring back the cheer in his friend, then so be it. Living with some bruises and a few broken bones is child plays for a veteran underground fighter.

A twitch earned from the sulking man at the salivating temptation, but ultimately no hook. "Don't wanna fight either."

That definitely wasn’t good - Furusawa never turned down a no-limits fight. Or any fight as a matter of fact; Hase was sure there was nothing in that empty brain of his but fighting. “Then let’s go get Boss.”

“No.” He must have been more hurt from your lashing out than Hase had first thought.

“Why not?”

“...We’re not friends anymore.”

He doubted that neither Furusawa nor you believed that statement. “Are you sure?”

Another twitch. “She said so. Not me.” For a man, the Vice Captain of the Red Dragonflies of all people, who had never tasted defeat in all his years as a delinquent, whose larger than life shadow kept the gang safe - seeing this beaten, defeated side was hard to stomach. A kicked, abandoned puppy indeed, waiting for its owner to come and pick him up from daycare.

Hase sighed again, dragging one hand down his face. Looks like he has to resort to that. Steeling his gut, the blue-haired man popped open one paper box, wincing as he felt the grease coat the tips of his fingers as he gingerly extracted a nugget from it's not-so-eternal resting place - he’s never going to get the smell off now.

Leaning over the side of the other man, Hase dangled the foul fried meat mere inches away from Furusawa’s face. “Can I not tempt you with this amazing, delicious nug- oh woops.” Two pairs of eyes followed the treasured treat that slipped free from lightly pinched fingers, hitting the ground and bouncing in an almost comical fashion.

A pause. Silence.

“You big fucking idiot,” Hase sighed out almost in relief as the tanned man stuffed into the wretched golden and now-dirtied shape made of meat into his mouth. Furusawa was back. “That’s disgusting.”

Furusawa paused mid-chew, looking back at Hase in confusion, free hand already sneaking out to grab the offered paper bag. “I thought you said it was delicious?”

The blue-haired man simply rolled his eyes as he surrendered the fast food bag, and the two fell into a comfortable silence, with only the sound of munching breaking the stillness.

“I should have killed him that night, Hase.” Furusawa muttered, stuffing yet another nugget into his mouth. “Boss would have been mad, but I should have done it anyway.”

The bonk of Hase’s fist bouncing off a barely bothered Furusawa was loud enough to echo in the large, otherwise empty room. “Don’t be stupid. Mad was what Boss was when she woke up in hospital; you'll be lucky if she ever looked at you again. Then what are you going to do?”

The older man shrugged. He hadn’t thought so far ahead.

As much as he hated having to look after this giant baby that had nothing but fighting, eating and you in his head masquerading as a fully grown human being, it was times like this that had Hase realize that beyond keeping an eye out for this indestructible force of nature as part of his gang duties, deep down in some part of his black rotted heart, Furusawa truly was worth doing all this for. After all, he had been the one to drag him kicking and screaming from that meaningless existence in those underground rings, and showed him what life had to offer beyond misery. You and him were the family Hase never knew or had, and he knew Furusawa thought the same - they simply weren’t so different after all.

“Are me and Boss still friends?”

A rare chuckle from the usually sullen man. “Better be. I ain’t counting your fucking lunch money again.”

“Okay,” Furusawa mumbled, looking back down at the empty boxes. “You forgot my ketchup. Boss never forgets.”

Yeah, nope. All that previous goodwill was gone now - he couldn’t believe he had actually felt good about caring for this giant manbaby for that moment in time. “Right, get up. We’re leaving,” Hase spared a glance at the semi-conscious man still half-embedded in the wall. As much as he would rather leave him to become one with the gym punching bags for siding with Shinichiro all those years ago, he did promise Wakasa to help clean up. “Go pull Benkei out first.” 

“I didn’t even hit him that hard,” the brown and pink-haired man whined, though Hase’s raised eyebrow was enough to spur the other into action, Furusawa pouting as he trudged over, the wood splintering as he finally freed the groaning white-haired man from his prison. “Fucking old men getting weaker by the year.”

Hase would have loved to supervise, the thought of incurring even more expenditures making him cringe, though it was the ring of his phone that drew him away from listening to the crunch of wood splintering and watching the accompanying cloud of dust puffing up into the air as the now white-haired Benkei was freed from his temporary wall prison. 

A familiar voice came stumbling across the line, the sound of the bustling city clearly audible in the background, with the occasional honk tearing through the phone. “Um, Captain, uh-”

“Just spit it out, Shou.”

“We lost her.”

Hase blinked, before the words sank in and he let out another dejected, drawn-out groan, dragging his free hand down his face. Fuck him. Fuck him sideways. “What do you mean ‘we lost her’?”

‎

‎

Tap, tap, tap. Pause, and then repeat. No matter which way you led Izana down the winding alleys of Shinjuku, those footsteps seemed to haunt your trail. Never quite close enough to eavesdrop on your conversation - you could tell from the way the sound of their not-quite muffled steps echoed over the faint sounds of the hustle and bustle of the city in these otherwise empty lanes - yet near enough to keep up even if you made two lefts in a short span. You knew your little stalker couldn’t be any of your Reds; none of your boys would have left you alone with Izana for this long as per their captains’ standing instructions, Izana being quite a pariah among your gang. And the same went with your Toman friends; Mikey and the rest would have been already crawling all over you, whining and crying and demanding to know who dared hold your hand like they did. So someone was following you, and you couldn’t quite pinpoint who it was or why. 

Despite the growing concerns obvious on your face, the Tenjiku leader, whose tanned hand was tightly intertwined with your own, didn’t seem particularly bothered. He must know of their presence, you determined, the arrogant crook of his lips and slight tilt of his head hiding no secrets from you when you glanced back at him, perhaps even their identity and purpose whatever that might be. And he knew you knew. But Izana remained stubbornly tight-lipped, meeting your raised eyebrow with those blank violet eyes as he always did, taunting you - this wasn’t information he was willing to give out for free, and at this point, you weren’t willing to start negotiating just yet.

Deciding to leave the matter for the time being, you turned to face forward once more, trying your best to concentrate on the quiet back alleys that stretched out endlessly in front of you. The sun was already starting to sink from its peak, its reign over the sky drawing closer to its end, though the day was far from over - good news, given this place could get quite unnavigable to the average soul once the night sets in. Last thing you would want was to be held responsible by Izana’s new Tenjiku gang should he go missing among the alleys.

“Don’t bite your lip, it’ll bleed.” A quick brush of his thumb brought your attention to the unconscious act, and you stopped. 

Izana only wrapped his arm around you tighter, pulling you flush against his side, and you let him. “I heard you made new friends. The Haitanis brothers from Roppongi, was it?”

“You didn’t come visit.” 

There was only one possible thing that Izana could have been speaking of, and you weren’t the least bit surprised that he was still hung up about those months spent in juvie after all this time. After all, you never quite managed to forgive yourself either for abandoning him. “You know I couldn’t.” You had never wanted to blame your friends for stopping you - they had their reasons that you understood later on after the dust had settled and you had time to think things through. But at the same time, you had your own selfish reasons; Izana was your last link left back to your brother. You didn’t want to let him go - you couldn’t. And you knew your boyfriend depended on you for his feeling of security, his source of affection.

But nothing you tried got through, no matter what time of day it was and who you talked to within the system, and after a while you had simply given up. 

“You didn’t try hard enough,” he insisted, hand wrapping around your arm in protest. “You knew I was stuck in there, and you didn’t even send a letter.”

“I did!” You burst out, unable to keep silent on your unseen efforts. “I sent so many! Letters, lunchboxes, birthday gifts. I even turned up outside, but the guards refused to let me in to see you.” Your words had trailed off into a whisper that Izana caught loud and clear, though it seemed he still didn’t agree.

“You didn’t try,” Izana repeated, and you threw up your hands in surrender, letting the topic drop. It was just a short while more anyway.

‎

‎

Pausing in the doorway, Izana watched as you felt around for the light switch to the left of the door. The click of light instantly illuminated a small room style in a way he could only describe as very ‘you’ - from the soft yellow lighting, to the tired wooden coffee table resting on a plush carpet, to the two sturdy camelback sofas with golden trimmings facing each other from across the room. It was almost exactly as he remembered your famous negotiation room back in the Red Dragonflies’ headquarters save for the lack of a painting, and it was clear the design followed you long after you had left. A quiet beep and then the whirl of ducts, the first of cold air sank from the ceiling as the air conditioning system started up.

You waved him in, closing the heavy wooden door with a thud behind the tanned boy. And as the lock clicked into place, your mannerisms switched into business mode, the familiar gentle look he so loved fading away behind a neutral expression and placid smile. “Sit, please. Sorry I don’t have tea here for you.”

It was no secret that Izana despised this side of you and your little meeting rituals with a burning passion. Of course he thought the whole shebang was still rather cute when it was directed at others; the introductions, the tea and the what-not. You were free to be as neutral and business-like as possible when it came to your dealings with mundane mortals. And if it were anyone else in his place, he would in fact encourage the distance - you weren’t supposed to get close to or show biases towards them after all. But to him? Of all people? 

Unacceptable. Violet eyes followed you as you neatly seated yourself down on the plush seats, though your ex-boyfriend had little intention of putting so much space between him and you again. You let out a huff, the air forced from your lungs as the boy made to settle on your lap instead of the other available seat as expected, throwing his legs up onto the sofa (much to your dismay) and forcing you back as he snuggled and made himself comfortable - with his weight on you, there was no way you were going to get out from under him if he didn’t budge, and the boy knew that well. 

And you did too, first trying to wiggle yourself free from your predicament, and then giving up and throwing him that look, the cracks in your facade already showing through. “Izana, the formalities-”

His hand shot out to catch your cheeks, lightly squeezing them together till your mouth formed a tight o. “Screw them,” he muttered, leaning in close, his lips just centimeters away from your own. “And you call me Izzy.”

Pulling away, your reddened cheeks softly marked with his fingerprints were finally released when you completely gave up the pretense, rolling those doe eyes at him as you obediently mouthed his beloved nickname, Izana allowing himself to sink further against your chest, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, satisfied. Ever since you had let that slip in your excitement at the first of many temple fairs Izana had brought you to, you had been forbidden from calling him by anything but that. And it seemed no matter how many years have passed, he would never let you forget.

On the far end of the room, the simple clock ticked on faithfully from its wall, to which you spared but a glance before returning your gaze to the fussy white-haired boy. “Can we start now?” Yet even with the minutes slipping away, it seemed clear your former boyfriend still wasn’t quite ready to settle down, Izana’s attention this time drawn away by your flawless shoulder peeking out from beneath the collar of your neatly pressed shirt. 

“You better not be leaving a hickey, Izzy.” You sighed out, even though you already knew your words came too late; the feeling of Izana lapping his tongue over the newly formed bruise he had nibbled and sucked into your easily-marked skin was a familiar one from days past. “Fine, just the one then.” 

But said boy wasn’t quite done yet, tugging at your shirt collar to reveal the other still flawless shoulder. “One more,” he mumbled. “Gotta match.”

“Uhuh, no more,” Your hand came to clap over his lips, lightly pushing his face away, though the pout you earned almost made you u-turn on your decision. “Come on, don’t give me those eyes. At least tell me why you called this meeting?”

“Kiss,” was all you got in response, Izana tapping his lips with his free hand, the other sliding around your neck, attempting to tug you closer. 

You resisted, protesting the request. “We aren't togeth-”

But he didn’t let you finish, turning his face away from yours in protest. “Kiss first,” the tanned boy insisted again, and the sigh that followed slipped out from you once more before you realized. How many times was it you had sighed today? Realizing you were going to get nowhere, you gave in - a pattern you were starting to notice that you had yet to kick. It wasn’t like you didn’t know what the other was doing, trying to wring as many concessions out of you as he could get away with, yet here you were. “Okay, fine, fine. Come here.”

The room stilled as your soft lips met his, the quiet rumble of vehicles driving past the industrial building fading away into nothingness. Though the peck you thought you could get away with quickly turned into a full, lengthy kiss, Izana refusing to let you pull away as he cherished every moment of being able to taste you again, you couldn’t find it in you to be angry at him; not even at the tongue that lapped at your lips, eager to leave his own taste behind before he let you catch your breath. You had little doubt about how the other still felt about you despite all this time away, and you couldn’t lie and say you didn’t miss this either. Miss him.

"You've been smoking again." You could hear the frown in his voice without even having to look, the disappointed tone one you were familiar with from your younger years; Izana had always been very disapproving of the smoking vice you had picked up, complaining about how he didn’t liked that you ‘tasted different’, and had been one of the biggest factor that led you to stop cold turkey two years ago. 

“It was just the stick.” 

“Promise?”

“Yes, yes, I promise,” you assured the boy amusedly. “Now can you tell me why you’re here?”

Now satisfied, the Tenjiku leader moved quickly. The events of the next few seconds happened faster than you could see; Izana reaching to pull something from the depths of his pocket, grabbing your hand, and a new weight on your ring finger. The simple silver band shimmered under the warm yellow light as the shadow of his hand slipped away. “Marry me.”

It wasn’t lost on you that the promise band you had given Izana on his birthday was similarly worn, glimmering tauntingly against his brown skin from the fourth finger of his left hand, though unlike your own gift, the elegant engraving on his own was on the outside, the carving of yours and his name a clear warning to whoever cared to look close enough. On second thought, you really should have considered all the ways that your well-meaning birthday present could have been interpreted wrongly - you had just really wanted it to be convenient. Maybe you should have thought about a necklace instead?

More importantly, how were you going to let him down? Izana certainly wasn’t one that would simply give up and walk away without a fight, especially when it came to issues to do with you.

Yet in the physical world away from your mental turmoil while you pondered and considered, the reasoning for your hesitation seemed to have been similarly misinterpreted, your former boyfriend tilting his head as you struggled with yourself, breaking your train of thoughts when he grabbed your hand. "It doesn’t have to be now,” he emphasized, thumb stroking the new accessory, running over and over where your name was carved into the metal. “I'll wait for you as long as you want. Five years, ten years. It doesn’t matter."

The ticking of the clock in the dead silence sounded a lot more menacing now than it did just a few minutes ago. You let out the breath you had been holding, shaking off his grip. “Izzy, you know I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“We’re not together anymore.”

Izana wasn’t pleased in the slightest at your statement, those violet eyes sharpening as he met your gaze, brows furrowing. “I am your boyfriend.”

“I-”

“You never broke up with me, did you?” Though technically true, you didn’t feel like pushing the same point again since the earlier discussion you two had, and you dropped that argument, trying a different one. 

“My Reds-”

The interruption came again swiftly, Izana seemingly already having a counter prepared for every excuse. “We’ll merge our gangs, Tenjiku and the Red Dragonflies, and get married. Rule the world together. Like you promised we would, remember?” His tone dreamy, the Tenjiku President allowing his eyes to drift close as he pressed your face into his chest, arms wrapping ever so tenderly around you, even if those tanned muscular limbs felt a lot more like a boa constrictor tightening around its prey. “Tenjiku is yours. All of it. I even picked the same shade of red for you.”

“You know I can’t live without you.” Thump, thump, thump. You could hear his heartbeat from where you were, huddled close against warm skin, his quiet murmur echoing in his chest. You remember better times, falling asleep to this same comforting sound amidst raging thunderstorms outside in the dark of night. And when your expected agreement failed to materialize, it was the underlying agitated urgency that had been broiling and boiling mere inches under the surface, the depraved, needy side of Izana you dread to deal with, that reared its ugly head, and his arms tightened. “W-why aren’t you saying yes?”

Pushing off from you, those same wide violet eyes you had fallen heads over heels for were searching your own almost frantically, looking for any sign, the slightest indication of your agreement. But you had nothing to give but disappointment, letting out a sigh as you ran one hand through his soft hair in a last-ditch attempt to keep the Tenjiku leader grounded and the meeting on track. You didn’t like when he was like this - a crushing mess of insecurities lost in his own doubts and fears. You just wanted him to be happy. “Izzy, you attacked me and sent me to the hospital two years ago. Furu, Hase - none of them would ever agree.”

No answer. “Izzy?”

Izana didn’t seem to have heard any of your words, his pupils completely constricted; swept up by the voices in his head lying to him, whispering falsehoods. You knew that look - it was the same one you saw on that fateful night. Your gut sank like a stone as he began to speak - you were already too late. “I knew it.” 

The slap that followed rang your ears, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the otherwise silent room. The surge of pain and throbbing only settled in after as you started to register what happened, one delicate hand hesitatingly reaching up to prod at your flushed, swelling cheek, you barely holding back the tears you could feel starting to brim. “You fucking slut.”

“You’ve been sleeping around with other men, haven’t you?” But his accusation wasn’t a question, his shaking grip latching onto your wrist, though the tremendous force behind his squeeze was a far cry from the gentleness he held your face with. “Is it Mikey? Someone else?”

“There is no one else,” you managed to get out through gritted tea, your attempts at pushing delicate fingers under his crushing one to free yourself failing time and time again. And as the throb escalated into a searing pain, your hand turning an ugly shade of red, you finally relented. “Izzy, you’re hurting me!”

‎

Like a hand scalded, the Tenjiku boss released you instantly, recoiling away from where you now nursed your bruising wrist. Violet eyes went back and forth between his own hand and yours - he hurt you? Him? Impossible. He could never hurt you. The disbelief faded as quickly as it started - he, of all people, couldn’t have hurt the love of his life - and his attention snapped back to your disagreement, pupils sharpening as his lips quirked into a playful smile. No - whatever he did, it was out of love. Unyielding, suffocating love. “Does your brother know I wonder? Did Shinichiro die knowing that his precious prodigy was a little whore that spread her legs for whoever?” He sang, his touch gentle once more as he danced his fingers across your cheek. "They were failures, wasting their lives to raise a heartless slut like you."

The watery eyes and tears that streaked down your cheek almost instantly disappeared, and in a split second, your face darkened, hardened narrowed eyes swinging to meet his gaze without hesitation, the darkening bruise on your wrist all but forgotten. “Don’t you dare speak of them like that, Izana,” you warned, that soft, loving voice of yours giving way to a dangerous edge. 

There it was, the other side of you that Izana had seen all those years ago, that raised the hairs on the nape of his neck. The true Red Dragonflies boss, a ruthless, unyielding leader who wasn’t afraid to stomp on and break whoever dared oppose you. Not the benign, level-headed negotiator who only helped diffuse hot heads, but the delinquent gangster who wielded the sheer might of her gang to accumulate territory and claw her way to the top with the vain excuse of protecting precious friends - splattered with the filthy blood of scumbags, forcing down into submission all who came before with a sneer and the business end of a metal baton. The suppressed half of you who ignited this unquenchable fire in his chest that only the gentle, kind you could soothe.

“Or what?” He giggled, pressing his forehead against yours, white hair framing violet broken eyes as one tanned thumb caressed the eyebags that hung low from beneath your eyes, before following the contours of your cheek to the corner of your downturned mouth. “You’ll beat me into submission? Send me back to the hospital, maybe for good?”

Izana let out a hum, dilated pupils following his hand that danced a path down your chest, slipping below the hem of your shirt to trace the long, jagged scars that decorated your abdomen. He knew how they looked, having seen them countless times in his dreams - the same ones he gave you all those years ago to mark you as his, to remind the world that you were his. “Would you do it yourself? Or would you get your little puppy to do it again?”

His questions were like a punch to your gut, and you couldn’t answer - he knew. Izana was there when you had swore on your honor to Shinichiro to care for him like your own when you had first asked for permission to date; after all, he was the Black Dragon’s heir, and you were an upcoming rival gang leader. To never let him come to any harm while under your wing, the same promise you had extended to apply to the rest of your precious Red Dragonflies. He knew you couldn’t even deny the implications of his questions; you had broken your oath even before Shinichiro’s death. You had allowed hurt to come to him.

The hot air he exhaled against your skin made you shiver as he kissed and nibbled a hot trail down your neck. “You killed your brother, then my brother,” Izana breathed. "And now you want to kill me too."

"I-” Your breath hitched in your throat, and you turned away, swiping at your eyes. He didn’t push, simply watching as you took a deep breath to compose yourself (you always did this when in a tough corner), before facing him again. “I’m sorry Izzy. I promised Shinichiro that I would take care of the Black Dragons for him.”

Ah, he saw the full picture now. It wasn’t just your pesky little red flies orbiting you that was interfering with his ideal future, but also his lack of standing as the leader of the Black Dragons; you did make the promise to him when he was after all. No doubt once he had broken and reshaped Mikey into his Shinichiro, you’ll side with him over those annoyances, so all that’s left would be - “So when I take back the Black Dragons, you’ll be mine.” The Tenjiku boss hummed, tracing one finger down your jawline. He leaned in, and you didn’t move as he stole one more kiss from your soft lips. “Wait for me.” 

It took but a blink for the tanned boy you called your ex to stand from the seat he had been sharing with you and pull the heavy soundproof door open with little effort, and one more for him to disappear from your sight, with all that’s left of Izana’s presence being the lingering scent of his cologne. The air left you as you slumped back into the sofa, dragging both hands over your face. You messed up royally. 

‎

‎

Takemichi himself was in an equally unideal situation. Being back in his twenty-six year old body only served to dig up unwanted memories; no matter how many times he that feeling of Mikey’s blood staining his hands and clothes, the sight of the light leaving those once unflappable abyss eyes, of his skin turning ashen and going cold in Takemichi’s arms - it was enough to make the man hurl. The streets of Tokyo felt much darker and hostile than he remembered despite the noon sun being high in the sky, and for the first time in many time leaps, Naoto’s presence didn’t make Takemichi feel any less lonely or any more hopeful. Even if he had started his fight in the hopes of saving Hina’s life, Mikey, Draken, Mitsuya - Takemichi couldn’t stomach the thought of leaving them behind. They were his friends now as well, and even if he had to keep forcing himself forward, he would find a way to save them all.

“Kurokawa Izana huh?” Naoto huffed out, leaning against the wall of the alley, fingers flying over the screen of his phone. The frustration was clear in his stiff posture. “How is it every time we get close to saving my sister, it's just more obstacles?”

“I don’t know,” Takemichi admitted, crossing his arms. “I don’t know.” And that was all he could say: despite having come back from the past, there was still too much he didn’t know even now, and there was nothing to gain if he lied anyway. More so he came back precisely because he was hoping that the future held answers he couldn’t find in the past. The more he dug, the more convoluted and confusing the information became, the lines between cause and effect joining and tangling in an impossible mess. Where does one start unraveling this? Was it Kisaki pulling the strings, like what they had suspected all this time? Takemichi had yet to see head or tail of him, let alone anywhere near Mikey, but the effect he had on past timelines was clear. Or maybe it was you being the sole factor that tipped the scales leading to Hina’s seemingly inevitable death? But then again, no matter how much the past world seemed to revolve around you, neither Naoto or Takemichi had ever encountered you in person or on paper, dead or alive in any timeline, and it was hard to ascertain your impact.

The time leaper sighed again, the hum and drum of vehicles speeding down roads just a stone’s throw away swallowing up the despair. What now? The silence was his only answer as the world continued to turn uncaring around the duo, the narrow alleyway that snaked between tall office blocks as devoid of life and hope as when they had started. Even the small strip of sky that peaked through the faraway roofs were empty of stars, the occasional wisp of gray cloud drifting by and disappearing as quickly as they appeared.

“There’s not much more I can do here,” Naoto finally announced, his phone screen locking with a definitive click as the other slipped it back into a pants pocket. “I’ll head back to the station and see what else I can find.”

Takemichi nodded, straightening from the brick wall he had been leaning against, though he wasn't quite able to stop himself from wincing at the crunch as his shirt pulled away from the crusty wall; that was going to take a while to wash off, he just knew it. Yet before the former delinquent could assure the detective of his own plans following his departure from this god-forsaken place, it was a stranger’s voice - one that seemed so familiar yet unfamiliar - that answered Naoto. “And what else is there to find?”

“Don’t play dumb. We still need to look into Kisak-” Those furrowed eyes barely had a chance to catch a glimpse of shaved and striped blue hair, let alone realize that it wasn’t his time-traveling partner he was responding to, before a swift kick smashing into the back of his head with a sickening crack had his eyes roll into the back of his head, the only surviving Tachibana sibling collapsing to the floor with a soft huff. Takemichi could only watch with wide eyes as Hase kneeled to carelessly roll over the unconscious man, comparing his face against a tiny photograph, before standing seemingly satisfied, tucking the picture away in a coat pocket - done under a minute. They hadn’t even heard the man. 

Every last hair on Takemichi’s body instantly stood on end as those tired gray eyes swung onto him, though the man made no move towards him, only reaching into his pocket to fish out a fresh pack of smokes. “And I would presume you’re Hanagaki Takemichi.” It wasn’t a question, Hase leaning back against the same crusty wall, robotically lighting the end of his cigarette and letting out a sigh when he took a puff. “Kisaki did say you would be nearby.” Falling quiet, the other took the moment to enjoy his break and cigarette, even allowing his gaze to slide off Takemichi and onto the pavement. Both of them were well aware that there was no way Takemichi was outrunning or outfighting the former First Wing, the former delinquent needing only one look at the slim muscular build hidden behind that black turtleneck and similarly colored coat to understand the difference in ability. 

The crunch didn’t seem to bother Hase as much as it did Takemichi when the man straightened his posture, sighing once more, his lit stick still hanging loosely from his lips. “If you relax your neck muscles, it won’t hurt so bad.”

“Huh-?” What looked like a boot flying his way, and then the world went black.

‎

Takemichi jerked awake with a bang, the sensation of pain once more flooding his senses as his eyes popped open. Wh-where was he? The table’s leg that his head was just carelessly smashed against gave a wobble, Takemichi noted, struggling slightly in a bid to right himself, make himself more comfortable even. But his new captor could barely care, failing to even spare a glance back as he continued to drag his two prisoners down what looked like a hallway of sorts by their feet. Next to him, a still unconscious Naoto, limp body being bumped and dragged with no complaint, and of course being of completely no help in attempting an escape; not that Takemichi could blame the other - that blow he took to his head had looked especially hard. Besides, he would have preferred not being awake for this very uncomfortable ride anyway, but it was too late to change that particular fact, and the black-haired man resigned himself to his fate of observing his new environment.

Simply calling his surrounding luxurious would be an insult; the ornately carved walnut legs of tables dotted with gold rising high above plush carpets, the granite bases of statues too far above ground level for Takemichi to see, the bottoms of Chinese porcelain vases decorated intricately with masterful paintings of cranes and dragons. Anything and everything he landed his gaze on was certainly worth more than his entire net worth, including that table he was mercilessly rammed into and probably the carpet he was dirtying with his mere presence - he would hate to find out what would happen to him should he be the cause of something breaking. The long, slow journey came to an end in front of a plain wooden door, one that was out of place amidst the opulence yet still flanked and guarded by two pairs of black shoes. Takemichi supposed this was Hase’s (and his own, by extension) destination, even if it didn’t seem like he was expected.

“Ah Hase-san, you can’t-” “The boss doesn’t want to be inter-”

Their attempts and warning did little to deter the blue-haired man who brushed past them, grabbing the worn bronze handle and wrenching the door open with surprising difficulty. The hefty door groaned, almost as if a welcome bell. “I’m coming in.”

The flood of sunlight hit Takemichi like a fork to his eyes, the sheer glare momentarily blinding him despite his eyelids shutting almost instantly on their own accord - he hadn’t even realized the absence of natural light throughout his short traverse along the corridor ground until now. Left to just wait for his poor eyes to adjust, it seemed that Hase wasn’t as badly affected by the sudden change, hauling the comparatively smaller man easily up into a seat of sorts and binding him to it with duct tape.

All he could hear was the sound of someone moaning and sighing, the wet pop of lips pressing, suckling and releasing. Of skin rubbing up tenderly against skin and clothes ruffling.

“Brought them both, Izana.”

Takemichi blinked, a moving brown blob slowly focusing into a man with shaggy white hair bent over on a low bed against the breathtaking backdrop of a clear blue sky, slim back exposed with what looked like a sleeping robe tied loosely around his hip. Were they in a penthouse? I-Is that Kurokawa Izana? The same man that Kakucho had begged for his help to save? 

A brief glance of the gigantic room was enough to conclude that; even if the room itself felt positively spare compared to the grandeur of the corridor outside, the furnishing was still top quality - walnut wood trimmings and granite counters with hints of gold, an eye-popping amount of jewelry and branded goods scattered carelessly across various pieces of furniture, and the rug on which the bed rested on that looked more expensive than ten years of rent of his shitty apartment. And in the far distance, the edge where the city meets the sea, a priceless view that took his breath away, that few would ever enjoy.

But Izana didn’t even spare a glance at the marvel outside his window nor in their direction, more obsessed with something - someone? - huddled under him, only reluctantly leaving where he was cuddled against your soft skin when Hase let out a loud, annoyed sigh. No doubt the former Red Dragonflies Captain didn’t care to be here.

“Looks like we have guests, baby girl.” Izana whispered into your ear, before leaning down to press one last soft kiss to your lips, though your unblinking gaze never once moved from where it was fixed on the ceiling. Yet as he pulled away from you and the light pouring softly from the ceiling fell once more on you, Takemichi watched on with horror as every inch of skin revealed was littered with injuries of all kinds. Ugly yellow and green ones with clear teeth marks decorating your shoulders and collarbones, older purple ones that layered and overlaid again and again over each other, scars and fresher cuts long and short running in every direction that carved a twisted trail across your limbs and body. Almost as if they were markings of a devotee, though he doubted any of them were voluntary.

Hase grimaced at the sight, but said nothing, quickly averting his eyes as a fluffy towel was pulled over the vile decorations on your skin, the pure, innocent whiteness of the fur a sickening contrast to what everyone knew lied beneath. But the similarly white-haired man only hummed as he slipped his robes back over himself before expertly maneuvered your motionless body from the plush bed and into his arms like you were a life-sized doll, allowing Takemichi a flash of his own scarred arms and hip, the raised welts catching the daylight against his tanned skin for a single breath; what looked like your name scrawled again and again into his arms permanently. 

Though all your injuries paled in comparison to the gaze that were carried in those doe eyes of yours as you were carefully lowered into an armchair, Izana ensuring that you were propped up and leaned against the soft backing of the curved frame before letting go. Gone was the confidence and assurity, the fire in your gaze that you had leveled at Takemichi just a mere few hours ago, when you had requested - no, not requested, demanded - he looked out for Mikey and Ken-chin and the rest of your precious Toman friends. You were but a shell of the self Takemichi had met, and your empty eyes reflected as much, that gaze looking right past him and into the abyss, at something no one else could see - you might as well have been dead if not for the steady rise and fall of your chest.

So fixated on you, lost in your blank look was Takemichi that he didn’t even notice Izana’s sickeningly loving smile running from his face as those unblinking violet eyes slid away from you, nor the gun, retrieved from a nearby dresser drawer, being held loosely in his grip as he turned back to face them. Two swift shots, and instantly Naoto let out a shrill cry of pain, hunching over as far as his tight restraints allowed him to. Takemichi whipped around, the spell broken, just in time to catch the tears spilling freely as the younger man’s eyes squeezed shut, the blood spurting forth from both his shins staining his black pants. Izana barely seemed bothered, the lack of care at the agony unfolding in front of him obvious in that nonchalant gaze. “Tachibana Naoto. You killed my Mikey.” Announced as if such a painful memory was worthy of a death sentence.

Wait. How did Izana know that? Catching a glimpse of Naoto’s black eyes, it was clear even through the pain that the other didn’t know either - it had only been him, Naoto and Mikey at the scene. So who? Then the gun was turned on him, and Takemichi found himself having other things to worry about.

“Hanagaki Takemichi.” The muzzle lowered, the new Toman boss tilting his head as he considered the twenty-six year old. “You’re supposed to be for Kisaki.” And there it was, that wretched name again - Kisaki Tetta. Was it Kisaki who did this to you as well, like he did to everyone else? Was he the one common denominator tying all these miserable timelines together? Alas, all Takemichi had were more and more questions, and a woeful lack of answers. 

Running one hand through your soft hair, your face was nudged in his direction, Izana pressing his face side by side with yours. “Come on sweetheart, you recognise him don’t you?” He mumbled, lifting one of your limp hands in a vain bid to help you wrap your fingers around his gun, to which he lifted to point directly at Takemichi, the glimmer of a silver band from around your fourth finger catching his blue eyes for a moment. “That scum that was always hanging off of Mikey, remember?”

The gun went off, and for that moment, Takemichi felt his heart stop, his body hunching over automatically. Did you..? Did he? But the clink of metal hitting marble rang out from behind him, and you still didn’t respond (and Takemichi starting to think you never will again, not in this timeline), the white-haired man simply sighed, retrieving his gun from you - a missed bullet. “No matter. Maybe we should try carving your name into them again,” he cheerfully suggested, swapping the deadly weapon out for a small blade, the dull scalpel having long been caked in someone else’s blood. “You twitched the last round I did that.”

Naoto began to thrash with all his might as Izana rounded around your armchair, though the detective only succeeded in toppling him and his chair to the ground; the plush carpet and the awkward angle he found himself in made it impossible to budge any further. This was it, Takemichi thought, the cold sweat beading on his forehead making him shiver, his clammy hands refusing to even let him try and tug at the duct tape around his torso and arms. This death was going to be the worst.

Bang - a single gun shot rang out right as Izana stepped away from you. And then a second shot rang out from right beside him, and the time leaper whirled around, Hase's still smoking gun a mere meter away from where his head was. But it wasn’t pointed at him or Naoto. Even the man who now ruled Tokyo in Toman’s name was momentarily confused, glancing down at himself as if to check whether any red patches were blossoming, though that small quirk of his lips was back when none did. “You missed.”

Your head lolled to the right, and the dead weight pulled the rest along. A pause, the world falling silent save for Takemichi’s ears rang with the sound of his heartbeat thumping away. All eyes followed as your lifeless body tumbled off the chair, falling to the carpeted ground with a quiet thud, unmoving. Chaos erupted like a bat out of hell. Takemichi couldn’t quite tell who was screaming, what was happening, his vision blurring with hot tears that stung at his eyes. Was he screaming? Was it Izana? Why was he crying?

Falling to his knees with your name wailed out in a pained cry, the heartwrenching sight of Izana’s hands tugging at your arm like a child, at your hair to try and rouse you one more was enough to pluck at something in the time leaper’s heart, those violet eyes scrunching with the feeling of tears running even as the man broke into a laugh. “H-he didn’t hit you, did he? He missed! G-get up! Stop playing with me!” 

The way your limbs were sprawled under you made you seem like you were fast asleep, though the blood pooling and soaking the once-spotless carpet underneath you told a different tragedy. Those empty eyes didn’t change even after your passing, still staring past Takemichi in the vast beyond. 

“Y-you can’t! I won’t allow it! G-get up!” The Toman boss was all but a wreck, trying to help you up again and again, only for your body to slip from his trembling grip every time. “Please, please! Get up!”

“I can’t live without you, please.” A quiet murmur, the laughter died away as reality finally set in, Izana allowing you to fall for the final time, crazed smile wiped from his face. You really were gone. 

“I-I-” Hands covered with your blood, he shakingly stood, turning to face the silent, solemn blue-haired man, and although the tears kept falling, it wasn’t just devastation in those violet eyes. It was pure rage burning in his usually emotionless gaze - and Takemichi understood. Even if you had been unresponsive all this time, you had still been there, a source of superficial comfort for the other to cling to. And that years-old comfort bandage had just been ripped away.

“W-what did you do?! HASE!” Scalpel gripped in a white-knuckled hand, your once boyfriend leapt the short throw at Hase, who instantly swung out at him with a roundhouse kick, his black shoe a blur as it cut through the air. Izana was fast to dodge, having somehow already anticipated the move, but the blue-haired man was faster, switching mid-kick to instead swing out with his fist. And it caught the other straight in the gut, knocking the air from him. Izana dropped like a rock with a choke, hitting the carpeted floor with nothing more than a muffled thud.

Silence. Around them, the whirl of the air conditioning was a small relief from the deathly quiet that fell like a thick cloak over the bedroom, the smell of iron impossible to remove from their noses. It was over.

A soft mumble, just barely audible from where Takemichi was restrained, as Hase knelt to gently arrange your cooling body into something more peaceful and graceful as befitting who you were in life before sliding your eyes close, his black pants dampening with your blood barely given a second thought. “Rest in peace, Boss.” It felt wrong to be here watching this, a gentle intimate gesture by a man so stained reserved only for you.

‎

“Well, that’s that,” Hase stated bitterly, reaching out as if to run his fingers through your hair, though he caught himself and wretched his hand back. “She won’t be coming back. And we’ll be gone before he wakes up.”

"He's not dead?" Naoto mumbled disbelievingly, attempting to nudge Izana with his foot, halting when his earlier bullet wounds flared up again. “Fuck that hurts like a bitch.”

The former Red Dragonflies’ delinquent stood, reaching to pull over a dresser stool with one hand and to grab a crystal decanter with the other. He didn’t bother with the small matching glasses. “We promised Boss we wouldn’t kill him. Even if she’s gone, I’ll keep holding myself to that. He’ll probably kill himself later anyway.”

Takemichi took a shallow breath, trying to compose himself. Whatever happened here, it wasn’t the end. He could still change the future, he could still save everyone like he promised himself he would, but as much as that gaze would haunt him, Takemichi needed to know what went wrong. “W-what happened, Hase-san?” How did things turn out this bad?

Hase didn’t answer him immediately, the crystal letting out a chime as it was replaced onto stone counters, reaching into his pocket to pull out a nearly empty pack of cigarettes. The two watched as he lit up, letting out a sigh as he exhaled, the smoke hanging from between two fingers as the tired man slumped back into the chair. “Furusawa died." 

Those two words seemed to echo, carried through the still air by the light breeze of the air conditioning, a hollow statement that carried with it so many memories. So much pain, even if those weary gray eyes failed to show any. "It was an ambush, fifty men with assault rifles jumped Furusawa when he was out alone. That fuckhead was a monster to the end, took most of them with him and badly injured the rest."

Popping open the top of the decanter, the weary delinquent turned hitman looked like he had aged far more than the twelve Takemichi had time leaped, the usual strength in his posture fading as he took a drink straight from the bottle, the bags under his eyes and the creases on his face seeming to lengthen with the shifting daylight, the clouds outside floor-to-ceiling windows drifting past casting shadows across the room.  "We've always suspected it was Izana and Kisaki behind the attack even if they claimed it wasn’t, not that it mattered. Furusawa's death broke Boss. She was never the same after, retreated into herself." 

“How long has it been, six years? Seven?” He let out a dry chuckle, running one ungloved hand through his hair. "I should have let him kill Izana. Maybe Boss’ll be alive and happy."

Takemichi swallowed dryly as he watched Hase take another drag of his cigarette, thoughts zipping through his mind faster than bullet trains with the sudden dump of information. This was the gold mine he had been looking for all this time, insights into the other half of the story that was all but opaque - no Reds would talk to him no matter how he tried, rebutting his efforts with a simple ‘That’s not our story to tell’. 

"I did everything for her. Anything. I killed them right here. Whoever Izana said could bring her back, I killed them all: Takeshi, Shou, Shoji, Jun. Even my own fucking boyfriend." Swirling the amber liquid inside its crystal bottle, Hase couldn’t seem to bring himself to look at them, instead opting to take a straight swallow of whisky as he lived through those minutes again, the usual burn of alcohol down the throat seemingly missing as the man immediately took another gulp. "Two bullets to the back of his head. Isao never did let me break up with him though. Not even at the end." 

A pause. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this,” Hase laughed, though the harsh, empty bark could barely be called one, the regret lacing his tone and weighing in his eyes clear to all. “Maybe because there’s no one else to listen.”

“Um- Hase-san uh-” The once-delinquent felt his voice fade when those empty gray eyes turned on him, but Takemichi could only swallow his hesitation and fear. He needed to know. “How did Mikey become like that?” You would have never let Mikey walk down such a dark path after all, and Takemichi doubted that the once boisterous Toman President would have ever left your side knowing you were in such a horrid condition. “Is Kisaki involved?”

That name drop earned him a raised eyebrow. “They made him believe she died with Furusawa. He couldn’t take the news, broke him differently. As for Kisaki, we took notice of him, but he disappeared and appeared one day in the ranks of Toman, and there was nothing more we could do. Boss forbade us from messing with Toman.” 

“So what will you do now?” Takemichi blinked, turning to look at Naoto. The detective looked a lot worse for the wear, slumping as far as his restraints let him, his words all but a slur he could barely understand - it was clear that the pain and blood loss was getting to the Tachibana sibling. He needed to get the two of them out soon.

“Make sure Boss gets her resting place, maybe go visit Koji if he’s still kicking, then find Furusawa in hell.” 

A groan of pain from the floor was the unspoken bell, Izana shifting slightly where he laid though still failing to wake. The towering man stood, crushing his cigarette out on the counter. “Right, time to go. It’ll be a pain when Kisaki returns.”

Takemichi squirmed in his seat. "Um, Hase-san, could you untie us please?" He didn’t quite fancy the idea of being left behind to deal with the fallout.

“Sure.” Retrieving a small knife from the inside of his jacket, the duct tape that had held them back fell away with a swift cut to each side, the time leaper giving his sore limbs a quick stretch before helping a barely conscious Naoto off his chair, Hase having wandered away back towards what was once your armchair. If what Hase said was true, then they needed to get out of here quickly. 

“One, two, and-” The younger Tachibana let out a groan as Takemichi hauled him off the chair, the two narrowly avoiding toppling over with Takemichi almost losing his footing with the sudden weight. “I got you, I got you. Hase-san, we should g-”

A familiar shot rang out. A sharp stab of pain in his chest, then two as Takemichi fell to the floor with a cry, taking Naoto down with him. It hurts. Everything hurts. His ears were ringing again, his vision blurry with tears. Feels like his shirt was drenching with something. Blood? His? Someone was calling him, but Takemichi couldn’t hear anything, not with his own screams filling his ears, not until a weak slap to his cheek shook him out of it. “Takemichi!”

His gaze focused on a now visibly pale Naoto, the detective’s hand shaking with the strain of having to reach up to hit him.

“Good, you’re not dead yet. Would have made me feel bad if you died so quickly.” The voice came from the edges of his vision, that striking mob of blue-hair that sauntered back into his field of sight still perfectly gelled despite the ongoings of the day. “What made you think you’re leaving here alive?”

A new lit cigarette hung from his lips, though it was the muzzle of that same wretched gun that ended your life that was smoking once more, the shadow cast over him blocking the overhead ceiling light enough for Takemichi to watch Hase casually sliding out the magazine to check the number of rounds left before reloading it with a click. “Say your goodbyes or whatever. I’ll put you two out of your misery.”

‎

‎

Twelve years in the past, the day’s horrors similarly had yet to pass for the poor souls gathered around a non-descript entryway just off the main shopping streets of Shibuya, men in neatly-pressed black suits could only watch on in a mix of horror and utter admiration as the Vice Captain of the Red Dragonflies bodily lifted the spotless jeep above his head, metal groaning under the stress while the man looked barely a breath off. “Give me back Boss!”

They knew who he was of course - how could they not with their own heir having being part of the same gang - but with their specific orders not to engage this particular monster in any way, there was not much they could do but cling on for dear life and pray to whatever god out there to watch over them. 

Luck was on their side this fine day, as the plain wooden door was thrown open.

“Mamoru Furusawa!” Came that sharp lash of his tongue, and the monster of a man paused, car still hauled above his head as a familiar head of black-haired stepped out, clad in a simple blue yukata, wooden judo jo tucked neatly under one arm. “What did I say about throwing my cars around? You put that down now.”

The car alarm went off with a screech as Furusawa sheepishly replaced the vehicle back in its lot along the street under the watchful eye of the former Second Generation Red Dragonflies’ boss, as the side street started to flood with more men clad in a variety of outfits and covered neck-down in tattoos similar to Furusawa’s, seemingly pouring out from every doorway and alley along the street. 

“Been a while, Shoji,” Hase’s voice rang out in greeting as he stepped out from the shadow of a vending machine, his half eaten bagel disappearing into the depths of his jacket pocket. “When did you get back to Tokyo?”

As if on cue, the other three Wings made their appearances from the various nooks and corners, and Shoji blinked. Had they always been this stealthy? “Sometime last month,” he admitted, throwing up one arm in mock surrender. “Sue me, I was caught up with work.”

A pause, the alley stilling as the yakuza’s made men tasked with protecting the boss’ son eyed the delinquents wearily, afraid that they would be the one to ignite the fire. What now?

“Come here you fucking piece of shit!” Faster than they could turn, Jun already had Shoji’s head tucked under one arm, furiously rubbing his knuckles into the top of that mob of black-hair, as Masashi gingerly boinked the same head with the end of the judo their former boss had just been holding. “Trying to keep secrets from us already huh? You’re fucking turning into Boss!”

Koji let out the laugh he had been attempting to stifle, and the alley seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. 

“Fuck Furusawa! Put me down!” You could hear Jun’s ear-piercing cursing and swearing even from deep within the maze of rooms, carefully folding and packing away the small amount of belongings you had brought along with you, and even the minor scuffle echoing down otherwise empty corridors as Shoji led the troop down into the hideout. “Yes, she is back, no Furusawa, you will use the hallways like they are meant to be used. And yes, I will ask Koji to charge every last cent to you if you tear through my walls.”

“She’s just through here.”

An almost stampede of footsteps and your door burst open, and five echoes of ‘Boss’ shouted into the small bedroom had you wincing at the volume.

Instantly swept up into the familiar, comforting arms of your oldest friend, you instinctively ran one soothing hand through that mob of brown and pink hair. “I’m sorry I burst at you, Furu.”

You didn’t need to apologize to him, and Furu had always insisted that you never needed to, that he couldn’t care what wrong you had inflicted on him as long as you were safe. But you knew when you were wrong, and you simply couldn’t go on leaving that mistake unresolved. Not after what you had gone through with your own brother - you would never let anyone suffer through that like you had.

Very carefully set back on your two feet, your Vice Captain’s giant hand came to rest ever so gingerly on your head with a gentleness reserved only for you. “Sorry for snitching on you Boss.” Though Furusawa’s sharp eyes and easily distracted mind had already zeroed in on something else, and with the lightest touch he could muster, picked up your wrist, the yellow and green handprints left having faded away into a light purple after a frantic icing session. “You’re hurt.”

The gleam of silver from said hand immediately caught another pair of eyes, and Hase leaned in to get a closer look. “A wedding ring?” Came that skeptical, disgusted voice - no doubt everyone present already knew you had met Izana in private against their wishes. 

“He did this, didn’t he?” Koji prodded, Masashi nodding along. “What happened?” 

"A lot," you sighed out, tugging off the ring and slipping it into your pocket. There was no point in hiding it anymore from your friends - like what Takeomi said, they really were just worried about you. “Izzy asked me to marry him, and that he wanted to merge his new gang with ours under me.”

You knew how toxic your relationship with the tanned boy was; that didn’t need to be said, but all it took was one simple question from Jun to break the camel’s back. “Why don’t you just fucking leave him be?”

Why? Why indeed? 

Unable to stop the fat tears that burned their trail down your cheeks, you were grateful when Furusawa wordlessly turned your face into his shirt - your best friend somehow always knew what you needed before you thought of it. “I-I can’t. I can’t let him go.”

And they watched as you buried your face and shame away like you always had - so many years had they stood by, watching you hurting yourself for the sake of a sick, tormented soul in the name of love - and so many years have they tried to save you from yourself. But time and time again you always went crawling back. “He- Izzy’s the last link I have to nii-san. I can’t.” 

They watched silently as you allowed yourself to sort out your turmoil of emotions, Furu stroking your hair as you composed yourself. What else could they do?

A few minutes of silence was what was need for your sniffling to die down, and there was a certain resolution in your eyes when you finally looked back up again, your eyes reddened.

“I’m going to tell them everything.”

“Boss, I don’t think that’s a good idea either.” “No, don’t fucking do that.”

You blinked. Your Reds… didn’t want you to talk to the Toman boys? “I shouldn’t?” You repeated incredulously, glancing at Jun and Koji who had spoken in unison. But that was exactly what Furusawa had did yesterday - you had thought that they were the ones who had prodded the man into action.

Jun slapped Koji on the shoulder, and the blind man sighed, taking up the unspoken torch. “Boss, we think your friends are too uh- volatile to take that kind of information in one go. Too overprotective, like how Izana was.”

Having promised yourself that you would try your best to listen to your trusted friends more, you let their words sink in. Ah, you could see what they were saying and where they were coming from. “They are, but they have a right to know as well.”

“Maybe you should try giving them some first, and depending on their reaction give more,” your Third Wing suggested, his white cane coming to rest in front as he leaned back onto a bookcase. “You should be careful around them.”

A chime went off on your phone.

“Well, time to go home,” you accepted the handkerchief offered to you by Koji, gently dabbing your eyes dry before returning it to the man with a smile as thanks. “I’ll keep in mind what you said, Jun, Koji, but I still want to try and fill them in.”

“I’ll walk you home, Boss,” Furusawa immediately offered, but you waved him down.

“I need to apologise to Mikey and the others as well first. But feel free to swing round later when I’ve settled them down.” Pulling your phone from your pocket, you texted a short message to your Toman friends, the ding carrying with it your apologies and your assurances that you would see them home within the next hour. You heaved the bag over your shoulder. “I’ll see you boys later.”

‎

‎

The piece of bitten taiyaki hung listlessly from his hand as Mikey stared out into the open ocean, his mind a thousand miles away and two hours in the past from where his body was. The waves lapping at the wall under him were mild, the outgoing tide having started to draw out towards the calm sea, reflecting the vibrant colors splashed across the sky as it went. 

He knew not to take anybody’s words at face value, let alone trust those falling from a stranger’s mouth, yet Mikey couldn’t quite shake off what Kisaki had just told him. As much as he didn’t want to believe it, as much as he wanted to just write off the other as a trouble stirrer, the Toman President simply couldn’t despite it all just being hearsay. That delinquent had been right - you were still hiding secrets from them. From him. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone else in your life except for them, your Toman friends. The friends that had spent countless nights and days beating back any scum that had dared to try worming their way into your life, that had dared to steal your attention and love away from them. The same friends that had formed a gang just for you, one that revolved around you like the earth did the sun, that existed just to keep you safe. You were supposed to be theirs, and only theirs. Lavishing your love dishing out those priceless cuddles and forehead kisses, spending your time with them or for them, being theirs forever and ever. Being his.

And it was all their fault, that blond, spectacle-touting delinquent agreed. Those dirtbag Red Dragonflies that had come crawling out of the woodworks, those trash-eating flies you lovingly called friends that sullied you, that dragged you back into the dark underground he had been trying to protect you from. That had once let you get tainted and hurt. But he could help Toman. He could help Mikey get you back to his side.

A caw of a seagull, and then two as the sun slowly sank towards the distant horizon, the beams of sunlight growing thinner as the day neared its end. What else were you hiding in your past? The chime of his phone broke the peace of the seaside, thought the familiar voice calling his name ever so sweetly that Mikey had used as his ringtone for the past two years failed for the first time to bring any relief or any childish joy into Mikey’s darkening heart. 

‎

‎

You took a deep breath. It was the last small hill before your house, and you could already hear your friends mulling about just ahead. Above head, the first of the street lights flickered to life with a soft buzz as the night sky crept ever further, swallowing up what was left of the daylight. This wasn’t going to be an easy conversation by any length, given how overprotective your boys had been even before this mess you pulled them into, but you resolved to at least see it through to the end. Taking the last few steps that brought you fully over the hill, it seemed your initial assumptions were correct, your boys failing to see your silhouette popping up over the darkening horizon, too lost in their thoughts or the anxious pacing and/or rocking up and down the asphalt.

"Hey." 

Their heads were a blur with how fast they turned, and in an instant you were swamped. It was a miracle you weren’t thrown backwards from the sheer force of being tackled. “I’m sorry for running off like that. You boys shouldn’t have been dragged into what was a fight between me and Furu.”

“You’re back,” Kazutora whimpered, burying his face into your shirt which quickly drenched with his tears. “You’re back.” You rested one hand on the top of his head, a sad smile pulling at your lips - he must have gone through so much.

Yet you quickly noticed there was one familiar blond mob missing from your huddle - it wasn’t like Mikey to miss any chance to monopolize your hugs. “Mikey?”

Your friend continued to stay more than an arm’s length away from you. "How much have you been hiding from us?" Came the flat question that hid the boy’s boiling anger, to which you internally sighed. And here you go.

“Nothing that you boys have asked me about,” you held up a hand before the Toman founders could jump in, and they paused, allowing you to continue. “I have never lied to you boys about anything you asked me about. I don’t lie. But I’ve not said much about my past.”

You felt Mitsuya and Baji pull away, and those once huddled into you made space for the lilac-haired and black-haired boys who each grabbed at the hem of your shirt and skirt. Looks like they knew about that too even, most likely from one of your Wings if you had to guess - you didn’t fault your friends for outing you, not anymore. And you didn’t try to turn away as Mitsuya gingerly tugged up your shirt, while Baji pulled at your skirt with a quickly reddening face. Inch by inch, the gnarly scar that decorated your hip came into the dying evening light. The still of your neighbourhood was broken by a loud wail from Kazutora and the glances of horror between you and the carving into your skin, the duo color-haired boy once more throwing himself at you, the welling tears pouring from watery eyes.

Draken failed to hide his shaking clenched fist as he leaned in to get a better look, you shivering from the cool breeze on your exposed skin as the delinquent traced the scar with the tip of one equally cold finger. “Who did this?”

“Izana,” you sighed out, and even though your words were mostly lost amidst the panic induced by the reveal of something so gross being present on what was supposed to be your innocent self, it seemed Mikey didn’t miss it. He already knew that as well, but there was no doubt the Toman President knew more than his fellow founders - the blond-haired boy taking the opportunity to stalk directly at you, grabbing you by the wrist.

“So if I break your leg and carve my name into you, you’ll forgive me too?” Mikey whispered, and you froze in his grip, his hand placed exactly where Izana had, covering the fading purple bruise. “You’ll be mine forever and ever?”

But the Toman President was forced to release you just moments later as he dodged a steel pipe that struck and bit into the floor where he stood. 

“I knew it,” Kazutora whispered, a one eighty from his miserable state seconds earlier, though his words carried clear through the still air, constricted sandy brown pupils quaking as they stared down an unmoving Mikey. And you could only watch as you nursed your aching wrist once more. “Y-you were trying to keep her all for yourself. From the start.”

But Mikey all but ignored the accusations, those abyss eyes fixed directly on you. “How much more are you keeping from us?” He repeated firmly, though before you could cave to his demands, a roar of a motorcycle, followed by a rush of stomps in your direction, and the familiar mob of brown and pink hair roared over the horizon as Furusawa came flying towards the gathered Toman boys. “Let Boss go!”

“Furu!”  You called out, but it was too late.

Draken instantly stepped away from you, hand outstretched in protection as he moved to be between you and Furusawa, with Baji and Mitsuya quickly falling into line in a protective circle around you. The Toman President though, had a different idea, and a few quick steps brought him face to face with the massive beast of a man.

“Mikey! Stop!” You were too slow to stop the Toman President from lashing out, his leg a blur as it whirled at Furusawa, though that signature white boot was easily avoided. And Furusawa only grinned at the provocation, straightening to his full height as his chocolate eyes sharpened.

“Nice kick, kid.”

“No," Your blond friend spat back at you. "You wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn't for them.” The word was spat out so venomously that even you reeled back - was that really your Mikey? The Mikey that loved your handmade taiyakis and tried so hard to break down your bathroom door? “I’ll kill them.”

Both boys were quickly stopped in their tracks though when Pah, who had up till now been simply watching from the sideline stepped forward unnoticed. All it took was a bash to the back of both heads - Mikey’s, who had been busy staring down and trying to intimidate a very unmoved Furusawa, and Kazutora’s, who had been busy staring down Mikey, the hands wrapped around his steel pipe twitching with the itch to beat out transgressions, be it real or assumed - for the hostility to instantly break down. Both boys seemed to have been shaken out of their respective foul moods and straight back into the needy boys you remembered from just yesterday - before any of this drama went down, though the Toman Vice Captain had other ideas as the two tried to come crying back to you for kisses and hugs.

“No. Mikey, Kazutora, you aren’t staying here tonight,” Draken ordered, folding his arms as he moved himself in front of you, all but blocking the two from your sight. “Go home.”

And in the face of unyielding anger at the stunt that the duo had just tried to pull - right after your return to them too - your two crestfallen friends, one more stoic than the other, had little choice except to turn to leave, Furusawa watching them from the corner of his eyes with crossed arms.

“Mikey. Kazutora.” Both boys paused, though only Kazutora turned around, watering eyes wiped hastily on his sleeve. You knew Mikey was listening, even if those abyss eyes never did lift off the tarmac road. “I forgive you. I’ll see you tomorrow okay?”

“Boss, you-“

“That’s enough, Furusawa. Let’s call it a night okay?”

‎

‎

Even hours later, huddled among your friends, their whimpers slowly fading away into light snores and mumbles of your name, you were still wide awake, staring up at the ceiling. Mikey had reminded you so much of Izzy that fateful night - you still lived through that nightmare in your dreams, though it had faded away over the years. 

You recalled that it had been a quiet night, a few sparse hours spent alone in the dead of night in a vain bid to finish your piling homework; with your days usually packed back to back with classes followed by gang life (or more so both clashing in a constant fight for your time), surrounded by precious friends who brought with them their own lively vibrance, you rarely ever have time to sit down and chip away at work. Pausing for a mere few seconds to take a sip of tea and wonder what the rest of your friends were up to, the rain pouring outside didn’t help in your attempt to force yourself to stay awake, the pitter patter of droplets against the wide glass window panels a lulling, calming sound; a siren’s call tempting you to give in to your drowsiness.

Alas, you could only try your best to focus one more on the paper in front of you, the words and numbers starting to dance before your eyes even as you ran your pen over them, pointing out each one and imprinting it into your mind. You absolutely had to get this done tonight - there was no other time in the next week, what with the sudden influx of matches to officiate.

But fate had other ideas despite your desperate attempt to defeat your looming deadlines, the attention that you had just barely managed to refocus on your fifth practice test of the night drawn away by the familiar sound of your front door creaking as it swung open, and you sat up, the mental fatigue instantly draining away. Did something happen? What started as light footsteps that grew into a thunder of frenzied pounds up the flight of stairs only served to feed your growing concern, and you stood, your chair screeching as it was dragged across the wooden floor - it was unusual, highly unusual in fact - for any of your Reds to find you at this hour if there wasn’t an emergency that required you on scene.

And when your door was thrown open with a bang, revealing a drenched, wide-eyed Izana glancing wildly around your room before that gaze landed on you, your gut sank. You hesitated. The churn of doubt was unmistakable - the same instinct that warned you away from running headlong into danger countless times. Something wasn’t right with the boy you were facing down. Pushing aside the small voice in the back of your head screaming at you to run, to fight even (unthinkable, you rebutted yourself - not the man you love), you advanced forward cautiously, fingertips trailing lightly across the worn wooden top of your desk as if to ground yourself. “Izzy? What happened? Are you okay?”

“Y-you’re-” Izana’s pupils were completely constricted, chest heaving with his labored breathing, beads of water dripping off strands of white hair that contrasted with the rest of your unlit room. “You knew.”

An accusation - the weight of his words weren’t lost on you. Pausing as you reached the end of the table, you tilted your head. “Knew what?”

“T-that Shinichiro isn’t my brother. That he had a real brother.” Bitter, bitter words, laced with betrayal, with hurt. Izana had treasured the relationship he had with Shinichiro - the older delinquent was his idol, and you had lost count of the number of hours you had sat with that mob of white-hair in your lap, listening to Izana ramble away about everything and anything he had done and talked about with the older Sano. 

You sighed, lifting your hand from the table to pinch the bridge of your nose. Of course he would find out, you had told Shinichiro. It was better to rip the bandage off earlier than let it sit and stew. Alas, the older former Black Dragon leader had disagreed, and forbade you from spilling the secret. “Mikey.”

“I knew it,” he whispered, the name leaving your lips all but taken as a sign of your deflection. A sign of your betrayal. “You were going to leave me. Like everyone else. For Mikey.”

“Izzy, I’m not,” you assured, as you tried to hide your trembling hand from your boyfriend.The last thing you wanted to do was trigger him even more when he was already in such a vulnerable state. You’ve never seen him like this. “I’m not going anywhere. I love you.” 

But he couldn’t hear you, his eyes completely constricted, his mind in turmoil and his ears filled with those treacherous whispers that escaped from the back of his mind. 

A blink, and Izana had already crossed your bedroom. A swing at you you never saw coming, and then a crack. You remembered the sharp pain shooting up your leg that seemed to resonate through your entire body, the tears that instantly welled and broke free from your eyes as you went down with a cry, hitting the floor with a thud. He- Izzy struck you. 

You tried to stand, lifting your torso off the ground shakingly with your hands, but your right leg simply refused to move, the agonizing pain from attempting to force your body to do so knocking you back to the ground. It was broken. Izzy broke your leg. But your boyfriend wasn’t done - those familiar gentle tanned hands, the same hands that had just yesterday been the one to ever so kindly taken yours and led you down festive lanes of vibrant color and sound, wrapped around your neck. And began to squeeze. 

Izana laughed, even as fat tears rolled down his cheeks, dripping onto you, his shaking empty violet eyes fixed firmly on you. “Y-you can’t leave me. You can’t. I-I won’t let you. Never.” 

“I-iz-zy, I ca-‘t br-eat-” The few words you could gasp out breathlessly, your face starting to tint blue, before Izana released you just as the edges of your vision started turning black.

A hum on his lips, Izana stood, leaving you lying on the ground gasping for air as he wandered over to your study desk, picking something from your stationary holder, before returning. Pulling up your shirt to reveal unmarked skin, the white-haired boy extended what sounded an awful lot like your penknife, and you froze as the cold tip of the blade touched your hip. He wouldn’t, would he?

“Izzy- stop-“

“Shhh, it’s okay.” He pressed down, your scream piercing the night as he began to drag. “It-it’s love. I’m leaving my name for love. Just a while longer okay? Just a bit more. We’ll never be apart again.”

You didn’t remember much after your world had gone to black - just flashes of images, voices, so many voices overlapping while your eyes remained closed, mind desperately trying to shut out the pain reeling through your body. Were they yours? Were they Izzy’s? Every part of you felt like it was on fire.

A sickening crack of bones, the sound of flesh sinking into flesh and the grunt of someone taking the hits. You vaguely recall opening your eyes once more to the dark of your room, the unmistakable flash of pink that caught the light of the streetlamp outside your windows and the silhouette of a fist rising and disappearing telling you everything you needed to know. 

Your throat was hoarse, and your lower body was all but unmovable, but still you tried again and again to lift yourself up. Furu, stop, you wanted to say, though you weren't sure if you managed to say those words out. You could barely tell if Furusawa even did stop pummeling your boyfriend into the ground, your vision completely blurred with the effort it took to open your eyes. 

“For fuck’s sake Furusawa! We - Boss - hospital -“ Hase. Your eyes fluttered close once more.

And then it was the blinding beams of the harsh unforgiving hospital lights shining down at you from the ceiling that you stirred to, and the rest was history.

You turned in your bed, a groan emanating from behind you from where Baji had been fast sleep, the boy whining as he immediately started trying to huddle closer, arms attempting tugging you back into his cuddle, though Draken’s wrapped around your waist stopped any movement away. Right up against your bed, Furusawa sat fast asleep, head nodded forward and unmoving - you never understood how the man could get a good night’s rest in such an awkward position, but you supposed he had had worse (and not for the lack of trying too, you had offered to both your spare room, and to bring the spare mattress into your room, but Furusawa had declined both). 

You reached out to run one hand through his surprisingly soft hair, and your oldest friend stirred but didn’t wake. So much Furu had done for you, so much the two of you had been through together. This road you were walking, you couldn’t give them up again for your own happiness, not the same friends who you had started this path for at the beginning, yet neither could you simply let go of your past or future for your Reds. The delicate balance you had been so carefully balancing ever since your past started merging with your present - it wasn’t going to last much longer, and you were determined that even when it does finally come crashing down, it was you who would cushion that fallout. Not your Reds, not your Toman boys, and not Izzy. And that meant there was only one option left for you.

‎

‎

Five more minutes, Jun told himself, cerulean eyes staring straight into a matching pair attached to a sweating Takemich awkwardly blinking back at him. Five more minutes, and if still nothing happened, he would leave and forget this entire absurdity. This entire situation was already so out of character for someone that thrived on logic and order like he does that the Red Dragonflies’ Second Wing was at a loss as to what to feel, yet still he persisted. What was he thinking, coming all this way on such a ridiculous hunch? 

A time traveller? Seriously? Real life wasn’t one of those sci-fi stories like those Masashi reads; there was zero possibility that time travelling was real, no fucking way. Jun felt stupid even having said it out loud to Hase with nothing but hearsay as proof - that sideeye he got was especially telling as to what the First Wing thought. Plus that dumb kid didn’t even look older. 

But it was the same unshakable gut feeling that had never failed to guide his battle instincts screaming and kicking that drove him to at least check it out, especially so given how uncanningly the stars seemed to align even in the sole week that Jun had been keeping an eye on this blond-haired kid. The split personalities that this Takemichi kid seemed to switch between seemingly at random, though subtle, had been validated by Hisao’s careful probing at Jun’s direction. And no matter which way he turned the other’s behavior, it didn’t match what he understood as borderline personality disorder. 

The teacher had long fallen silent, now resigned to having a seat at her desk instead, her protests of the intrusion during her class by this man who was clearly too old to be a student of this school having gone completely ignored. And with the addition of long blond hair and shock blue eyes, and one very well worn baseball bat, it could be argued that she did make the right choice to not to engage, Jun mused to himself, tapping his prized bat against his leg, even if he wasn't in his red jacket today.

“Is that Matsuno Jun-”

“I think it is-”

“… baseball player who attacked the other…?”

“He looks so scary!”

“-think he would sign my baseball card?”

“Tsk.” Jun clicked his tongue, one foul glance at the source of the mumbles, combined with the threatening ring of his baseball bat hitting metal, was enough to silence them. “What a fucking waste of my time.” Of everything he did, including baseball, battle strategy and even chess, he hated waiting the most.

Four more minutes.

‎

‎

One heartbeat, and Takemichi gasped, blue eyes flying open, both hands shooting to wrap around his gut where he had just been shot. He was… alive? The subtle throbbing pain from being shot, and the shadow of death that had hung so close, still lingered in his subconscious even though there was no such wound on his fourteen year old body. “HUH?! Where am I- Matsuno-san?” As if om cue, the blond-haired boy reared back. “Why are you so close?”

And the final piece of the puzzle fell into place, the Second Wing's eyes lighting up like warm christmas lights on a winter night.

Jun stood in a flash, single-handedly hauling Takemichi up from his seat by his shirt collar. "I fucking knew it!" He exclaimed, a fierce smile pulling at scarred lips, as he tossed the boy over his shoulder as if he weighed nothing more than a bag of potatoes. "You're coming with me."

There was no other information revealed - what Jun knew, why he was forcing Takemichi to come with him in what seems to be the middle of class (again), or why one of the Captains of the Red Dragonflies was at his middle school looking for him to begin with. But alas, all he had were questions and a woeful lack of answers.

Somehow, the once horror-inducing scene of delinquents like him (third years again this time, it seems) littering the corridors no longer surprised or frightened Takemichi as much as the first time, though it still did bring that awful sinking feeling to his gut. On more normal days he would attempt to shuffle past and avoid stepping on the groaning seniors, but much alike Mikey and Draken, it seemed that Jun held no such desire for pleasantries, simply stomping his way through any stray limbs or hairs in his path without a care for the cries of pains. Nothing Takemichi could do but wince and mumble apologies from his perch. 

“Ah Matsuno-kun, I can walk…” 

“I fucking know that!” The former baseball star pushed him off his shoulder with little fanfare, and Takemichi barely caught himself on his feet. “Better not try to fucking run, you hear?”

“Um-uh where are we going?”

Jun snorted, baseball bat coming to rest on the shoulder he had just occupied - a clear threat. “You'll see when we get there. Now shut it, shithead.”

‎‎

"Stand up.” Those two words were enough to draw Takemichi’s gaze straight to the centre of what seemed to be a fighting ring of sorts, a steel cage rising from the sights of the ring to meet in the centre many metres above, the noise of the giant exhaust fans above doing little to drown out those very pointed words.“You aren't done until I say you're done."

And under the glaring artificial light, that mob of blue-hair was unmistakable, be it now or twelve years in the future. Takemichi couldn’t say if it was a good thing that Hase looked absolutely in his element in what looked more and more like those underground fighting rings his classmates loved to whisper about, half-naked amidst the bright spotlights with bandages wrapped around his wrists.

“Hase!” The members of the First Division winced in unison at the sudden screech from the front door. “Need to talk to you about that fucking issue!”

“Five more minutes. You got the proof?”

“He recognises us today, but not yesterday,” Jun announced proudly, pushing Takemichi forward straight into another red jacket. “Tell him, shitbrains.”

“Isn’t that just split personality disorder?”

The boys in red shuffled nervously away as Jun swung his bat round in anger, the wood leaving a large crack in the cement where it struck. “It’s not! Fuck! I’m telling you it’s fucking different!”

The blue-haired man boredly dodged another two pronged attack, ducking under an arm while stepping back from a kick, retaliating with two quick strikes to each face with open palms, sending them hurling and crashing into the steel bars of the fighting cage. “Too slow, work on your coordination more. And I’m asking, Jun, where’s the proof?”

“The proof is fucking him! This fucking fuckhead!”

“What, you need help with getting information too?” Hase rolled his eyes, but his tone was a teasing one, and he signaled a pause, much to the relief of his two division vice-captains who collapsed on the ground with a sigh. Their hell was over. “Whatever, you are right on time anyway. Someone toss him in the ring.”

Takemichi couldn’t help but flinch as those uncomfortably familiar gray eyes were turned on him as he was manhandled into the cage by several obedient members, a trigger to his subconscious left over from his time in the future. Even though he instinctively knew that this Hase in front of him wasn’t the same that turned his gun on him, the time leaper couldn’t quite shake the feeling that the only difference between this set of eyes and the one that had shot him point blank was your active presence. And no doubt Hase definitely picked up on that, that already suspicious gaze sharpening, though he held back from commenting.

“Takeshi, Shou, you two need a lot more practice.” The First Wing turned to address the rest of his division gathered. “And so do the rest of you. I expect you all to up your spars in the next few weeks. I don’t have time for every single one of you bastards, so make use of Shou and Takeshi.” 

There was a mumble of ‘Yes Captain’ that went around the room, and Hase nodded. “Everyone out.”

The fighting arena cleared under three minutes, with several boys in red entering the ring to carry out two very tired, very bruised boys, Takemichi only able to enviously watch as they disappeared outside the thick reinforced bars, and then behind the thick steel entrance doors - how he wished he had never come here.

“I guess Jun was right,” Hase grumbled, and the blond-haired delinquent whirled back around. “You know who we are.” Takemichi attempted to scramble back slightly as the First Wing approached him, though he didn’t get far.

“Ahhh- I mean I was at that fight ahaha…” 

“I fucking told you he’s a time traveler,” the Second Wing grumbled.

Takemichi felt the fist bury itself into his stomach before he registered seeing it fly, the single blow forcing all the air from his lungs right before the onset of gut-wrenching pain moments later, the weight of the punch only magnified with the deceivingly gentle hand rested on his back that stopped him from flying back and mitigating its force. The hum of the large industrial fans above him drowned out the thud of his collapse onto the thinly padded floor, the blond-boy only managing to heave and dry-heave as he struggled to catch his breath, fat tears brimming at his eyes and breaking free to roll down his cheeks as the agony seemed to radiate through every inch of his poor body. But Hase had little sympathy, simply staring down at the downed Toman member. “I fucking hate liars,” said man mumbled, reaching into his pocket for his pack and pulling out a fresh cigarette.

“For fucks sake, can you fucking smoke outside?!” Jun complained, dropping into a nearby chair, a muffled thud as his baseball bat came to rest on the cracked concrete. "Fucking stinks." But ultimately he did nothing more but mumble more as Hase lit himself a new stick - this was very obviously Hase’s home turf, and Jun was but a guest.

“So are you going to start talking or not?”

“W-what am I supposed to say?” Takemichi stammered out as he clamoured to his knees, barely catching his breath.

Hase shrugged. “Either prove you’re a time traveler or you’re not. Stop this fucking goon from continuously coming to waste my time and fill my schedule.” He raised his fist. “And don’t lie.” 

‎

‎

“Thank you for taking the time to meet me on such short notice, Shiba-san.” You waved them in, your light, fairy-like footsteps leaving nothing but a mark where you had trodden across freshly-steamed carpets, as opposed to the heavy albeit cautious steps of Taiju’s. The clatter of boots and shoes alike against polished wooden floors was all but filled the air for the next few seconds as the rest of the audience fell into position, Furusawa taking his usual stand behind your camelback sofa, and Taiju’s two men, Inui and Kokonoi you heard, behind his, pristine white uniforms gleaming against the Tenth Generation Black Dragon leader’s blood red.

A red that was a tad too bright, too vibrant for your own liking, but who were you to question it?

“I’ve heard the tales about you from Inupi,” Taiju’s voice shook you from your musing, and you turned your gaze to meet that sharp yellow gaze.

“Nothing but good things, I hope,” you teased back, your gaze shifting to meet a familiar pair of icy blue eyes. “It’s good to see you again, Inui-san.”

Said boy held up his hand with a quick dip of his head. “Inupi, please.”

You nodded. “Sorry it’s just me and Furu here today. Hase had something come up, he couldn’t make it.” Receiving the murmurs of acknowledgement, you pressed on, the smile falling from your face as you shifted gear. “Well, let’s get straight into business. I want to merge the Black Dragons under the Red Dragonflies.”

[wilhelmsembrace]

Everybody wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die... ~*

Surface.

"A man of mystery, carrying a blade he never unsheathes, his clothes always layered and eyes so sharp that could cut through you if you dare lie on his presence. Some say he was once a brilliant Healer of Ceres, a prodigy amongst the prodigies; some would say he is cruel to those who break the law... What lies underneath that freezing stare? What kind of secrets does one hold so dearly?"

Biography.

( TW: Suicide; Violence; Death )

Love was a funny thing. From bards and dreamers, you’d hear about happiness, hope and devotion, but from real people with real lives, you’d hear about sorrow, tragedy and loss... This story was what happened when you decided to take the worst parts of each of those.

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful noble elvhen woman that would dare fall in love with a simple human man with no possessions to his name. There were many who desired the hand of such fair maiden, one that would put even Goddesses to shame with her light blue eyes and her charming smile, and yet she found herself falling for the one man she could never have.

Ehrhart Blackheart was a waiter at a restaurant by day and worked for a bookstore by night, a man of no wealth, simple, with nothing to his name except a dog and a dream of becoming a renown merchant. Helestina Silverflower was a noblewoman, highborn, pureblooded elvhen, she had everything and more, but never a smile upon her features.

They met, as cliche as it sounds, in a stormy night, when her carriage was forced to stop by the only place that was open so late in the night, a bookstore on the streets of Eterna. She instantly called it fate that she’d find a man so knowledgeable inside, telling her stories of dragons, princesses and knights in shiny armor, he, on the other hand, found in her an opportunity to leave that life of misery and tricked her into thinking he’d traveled the world when that bookstore was as far from home as he’d ever been.

When she got home, her parents were adamant in their decision, that man wasn’t good enough for her, he was a commoner, a nobody, and a human at that, he’d be gone before she’d notice. Their orders? She was to find a suitor by the fortnight so those thoughts would not corrupt her innocent mind. She didn’t listen. Instead, she found herself a solution in a merchant’s caravan, an odd one at that.

The man sold powerful artifacts as if they were simple kitchen tools, exchanged them for stories and other useless things, and yet he carried the one thing she trully wanted, ‘wishes come true’ in the shape of a blade. Helestina asked for a price, and there was one, but that was a price she could never pay. She was upset, frustrated and desperate, and the clever Genasi saw that and offered her another way of payment.

The exorbitant amount turned into a single story, the one she treasured the most. She had no stories of adventures or tales of bravery, so, thinking she’d trick him, she told him the story her loved one told her that night. Little did she know he wasn’t looking for a true story, but one that filled her heart with joy, and that one, although flawed and messy, was her most precious tale.

The merchant gave her the blade, three wishes it would bestow, and her happiness was unmatched as she met her lover the next day. The first wish was that he could be a noble like her, and as such one of the blade’s crystal was gone and he was now a nobleman of a powerful house. With great power, however, comes resposibility and stress, and a simple man who knew nothing was hardly able to manage everything he’d been bestowed upon from day to night.

Ehrhart grew paranoid and fearful of the fake smiles and elaborate phrases, but more than anything, he felt time slip away from him... What would he do if he didn’t have enough time to learn? So he told his lover his concern, but as a sly fox, he reimagined it to fit her innocence; he lied and she fell for it. As her second wish, she wished youth for her loved one, but her words were sever, she wished for him to be by her side forever. The second crystal disappeared.

At the wedding day, they were met with a splendid party, magic and money turning the whole event into something akin to dreams. Everyone celebrated and was happy, except for Ehrhart. He was worried, troubled, his paranoia now was turning into madness, bound to a life together with the woman he had only intended to use for his own selfish intentions. And there she was, having the time of her life, but not him.

Truth is, on the side he had another, a woman from the past, a childhood friend to whom his heart belonged to, Mariane Welsh, a commoner like him, daughter of a fisherman and a fishmonger herself. It was unfortunate how Helestina found out, in the forrest where they had their best moments, there he was with this woman, and in a thousand pieces did her heart break. On that same moment, feeling betrayed, she slid the blade she made him someone with through his heart, and in a single moment she was turned from a happily married woman to a grieving widow, in eternal sorrow and shame for trusting that man.

This would have been where the story ends, but it wasn’t. The man came back to haunt her as it was her wish that they would stay together forever, but she didn’t hear curses or shaming from that vengeful spirit, what she heard was even worse, he asked her to care for a son, one that she didn’t know of, one born of the betrayal that ruined her life. She didn’t listen, instead, as her last wish, what she wanted the most was to end her suffering.

The blade was not so kind, and, instead, it gave her something else, she watched her love die once again in front of her, flames burning his spirit into nothing, sending it to a place no one could ever summon him from. She was now free of the thing that made her suffer. Guilty, she cried for days on end, but after that, she went to meet with the other, Mariane; she brought her to live within her household together with her baby, and even put them in her will. A few days later, she jumped from the highest tower...

Wilhelm Blackheart was a boy born to a fishmonger and her noble lover. He would only hear from his father from stories his mother told him growing up, and Mariane made sure he knew he was also son to another, a mother that didn’t give him genes, but gifted him with the life he had. A life of comfort and plenty of possessions, one that his biological parents never really had when they were little.

The boy with big blue eyes would see his mother grow old with time and his grandparents, although they never allowed him to call them that, would stay the same. When he was old enough, another gift, the Gods gave him magic of his own, one that he could not control, but that spiked the interest of his grandfather. The tall evhen man would begin to tell him stories about the things witches like him would go through in other countries, but not to scare him, to guide him to become a person that would use that gift he had to something good.

As such, when he was old enough, they sent him to study under the Tower, to perfect his magic. Will was never a prodigy, but he was good at it, great even, better than most in his class, and that’s because he had a dream, one that he could be light to those who needed it, a breeze of fresh air in a room full of trouble. So he trained as hard as he could, studied for countless hours on end and even fell sick because of this, but he never gave up.

He found peace in following the School of Restoration because it brought him closer to people who could need his help, but he never saw death as a cruel end. His life was given to him through a tale of tragedy and demise, in his mind, death was just an outcome of living, and as such, it was needed. It was an end to a suffering, such as his other mother would have it. Bringing people back from the verge of dying was a call, and it was his, but one thing he could never do was bring those who’d already gone to a better place back to a world of sorrow, tragedy and loss.

So he became a Healer of Ceres, the youngest in a long time, a position where he could use his knowledge to the good of others, and in that he was best. Years passed by and he had many students learn under him, many prodigies unlike him, some would refuse his teaching because of his age, but the ones who trully listened became extraordinary. He thought that was his purpose, to teach others while doing what he loved, but soon his life would become another with the letter of invitation.

The Queendom needed his services, as it written on the letter, and as he arrived, instead of the Queen herself, he was met with The Speaker of The Elysian Throne of Lysara, she’d been looking for a person with a heart she could trust and that she found in him. From day to night he was Magistrate, a position of power, impartial and vigilant, working under her, and in that he saw a way of helping the people, more than just being blindly judged by a power hungry aristocrat, he could be the one to judge.

Personality.

Caring +++ || Just ++ || Altruistic + Distant +++ || Quiet ++ || impatient +

Status.

Currently working as a Magistrate in Lysara.

Headcanon.

When Will began to explore his magic, he send a bolt of magic flying across his room that, as he tried to control it, unfortunately turned in his direction and hit him in the arm, leaving a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt down his arm that he hides under layers and layers of clothing and a tatoo was made over the scar. He’s ashamed of his past foolishness and believes his past self to have been careless and ignorant. Later, when he entered the Tower, he finally learned the properties of magic and found in Restoration the path that would bring him satisfaction through taking the pain away from others. The path of Ceres wasn’t even a question, but and answer to his hopes.

Wilhem has always been the support type, but not one that would stay behind, one that would go forth and do what he must to keep his allies alive, fight creatures with his bare hands if needed. His goal in a battlefield is to end the battle as quickly as possible and keep as many allies as possible in good shape. The best version of himself would be a devout to the Goddess with a path focused on the cycle of life and the comfort of death with due aversion to undeath, and a warrior as a side, since he believes in fighting for what is right and would jump to action if his friends needed it.

As a student of the Tower, he didn’t wish only to help people with the powers he learned to harness from the veils of magic and under the protection of the Gods, he was devout to the thought of importance of the cycle of life for all creatures. That’s why when he found a hurt cat on the streets, he was quick to bring him to the Tower, where he could give him the best treatment possible, even at the cost of multiple scratches and bites. It was hard to treat every wound, but eventually they created a bond beyond anything he’d ever expected, they were friends. So he named the Cat Sith Scratch.

Will’s relationship with his mother is that of love and respect, he sees on his mother a person who never allows bad to be the main event of a situation, she finds a way to show a smile even when there’s nothing to be happy about. Even though she was strongly discriminated amongst the nobles and even the servants of the household they were brought to by Helestina, she never once showed sadness or uncertainty, always a kind soul, and a just one that would see through the eyes of order. She was his inspiration, his role model. His other two parents were only tales, and he wanted to hate them, but his mother never allowed it, she said they had their reasons for what they did, both of them died for love, and she was the one to teach him that death was just comfort for the hearts of those who suffered.

The merchant who once sold the blade his grandmother told him his elvhen mother had in her possessions was one called The Wandering Merchant of Tales, which he tried to find for a good while, traveling across Lysara in his free time and going as far as to other kingdoms, but, although he’d hear stories, he never really found that person to ask him which tale his mother traded for that thing. He inherited the blade when he was old enough, as a symbol of what blind love could do to a person, but now it is just a sword with missing gemstones that he carries always sheathed on his belt.

SKELETON

[hellcatinnc]

Bungo Stray Dogs Season 1 Anime Review

Does Include Spoilers....

Ok so I started watching Bungo Stray Dogs and like most I started because of Dazai. He was sexy and even with his wish for suicide he just got to me. Then I watched the first season and was so happy I did it pulled me in fast. Dazai quickly lost the main reason for the show for me it honestly became my favorite character in first season being Atsushi Nakajima. He had so much heart and compassion that the rest lost so long ago. He made me feel as he learned who he was and who he could help. I grew a strong liking to the character and even shipped him with Kyōka Izumi the way he saved her and even the fact he took her on a date they were just too adorable not to love. Ranpo Edogawa caught my interest mainly cause the voice actor Hiroshi Kamiya who played Baldr Hringhorni in Kamigami No Asobi. I was really surprised that Doppo Kunikida even grew on me and his comedian side to him of how he was with Dazai and always knocking the crap out of him but I could tell he was a good man. Anyways Kunikida's power is pretty cool "The Matchless Poet". I love how he can throw the cards out and whatever it is appears. I also think him and Dazai work so great together.

Now don't get me wrong Osamu Dazai is still a big part of the show and I found it funny how he was about the whole suicide with a beautiful woman. It left me wondering why he wanted to die so much but I know its shown as the seasons go on cause I started season 2 already and already starting to understand but I will leave that in season 2 review of it. So the relationship between Jun'ichirō Tanizaki & Naomi Tanizaki was so weird at first but fuck it I didn't even care they were siblings because not only do you easily forget but they don't look alike at all I feel like maybe there is like an adoption kinda story to them maybe. Anyways you know early on their is not only a relationship with them but its also sexual. However when she almost gets killed the way he responds to losing her and later as well he doesn't get even as a brother he gets even as a lover so I'm gonna treat them just as that fuck it, its not like sibling loves bother me much in anime/otome world. Plus not gonna lie Jun'ichiro his power "Light Snow" is pretty damn neat.

Yukichi Fukuzawa seems like a stickler in the beginning but you find he truly believes in his team and he grew on me. I felt like he cares about each and everyone of them and will fight for them at any cost. He is practically Daddy to them all and I think they would fall apart sometimes if he wasn't the lead of it all. Chūya Nakahara seems to be a cool character but of course I feel like he isn't really a main in the first season however I find him actually pretty attractive as well but I swear its how he dresses more than anything its so damn sharp looking. He gives me that true mafia/yakuza feel to how he looks and dresses. He seems to have anger issues but I love his banter between him and Dazai however I don't see this romance so many want and like. I will pass for now both men are hot and I would gladly be in between these men could make a very interesting smut story thats for sure... lol.

Michizō Tachihara seems like a crazy fuck but still pretty cool character so far based on the first season at least, look forward to seeing him more later he has my attention at least. Even though Ryūnosuke Akutagawa is an asshole in the first season he has one of the coolest powers by far his Rashōmon power like a dragon like creature that he can cut people down easily with. I feel bad for Ichiyō Higuchi because you find fast she is so damn in love with that man and he treats her like pure crap however doesn't stop her from taking on the enemies to bring him back when he is captured. The one sentimental moment where he grabs her hand after she saves him I really wanted after he told her he was sorry I wanted her to tell him she loved him I wonder if it would have changed. I feel like his issue is he doesn't even see her following to him is because she loves him. However its a very toxic relationship at least first season, I just hope it gets better because I think they would be good together plus bad guy or not he is fuckin hot too. Speaking of Ichiyō Higuchi honestly girl has some balls and she will do anything even die for that man I can respect her because she probably could have gotten out from what you get from her but she refuses to leave his side. Gin Akutagawa I still don't know much about him but still seems mysterious and attractive cause of that.

After breaking down the people that all made it interesting for me, yes I know there is more these just happen to be my list of favorites. Still amazes me a show with alot of hot bad guys kinda reminds me of Piofiore in that sense. Anyways I feel like it brings a decent amount of action however every part doesn't have to have it which I really like since I normally don't watch ones that are too heavy on it. I love Dazai's power and how he can hush any of the others with his power practically neutralizing even some of the worst bad guys. I still don't see anyone being gay and I will stand by that and I'm ok because seriously too many hot guys for me to even think about them together I would rather think about them being straight makes it easier to fantasize about them then. Overall I would gladly recommend this to anyone whether your into otome and shoujo the most I think you could still like this if nothing but the comedy side of things. I look forward to the next upcoming seasons as I catch up I will write my review on each season.

[longroadstonowhere]

okay on the one hand i definitely played too long today, like i was telling myself to stop for several hours at the end there

but on the other hand i wanted to finish one particular quest and, well, it took a while to do

so, uh, i’ve finished nearly all the main quests i think? so spoilers below

yeah, today i finished up the gerudo quest, as well as saving and rebuilding lurelin, lots of exploration trying to get into the kokiri forest before realizing you have to go down to go up (or at least that’s what i ended up doing and it seemed intentional), saving the deku tree (in what felt like an absolutely dogshit fight), finally went to hateno village and tarrey town (didn’t actually do much there but i visited them), finished all the geoglyphs, got the final memory, tried like five times to pull the master sword cuz i had to go get stamina vessels in between each try, which meant i had to do random shrines for a while, and finally did manage to pull it out

....

so like

zelda’s actually a dragon

like they really fucking did that

no last minute switcheroo of ‘oh mineru is the dragon and zelda’s actually totally fine’, which is what i was expecting - on screen she eats the stone and becomes a dragon

so uh botw/totk zelda wins the ‘most tragic zelda’ competition i think - oot zelda and... i think aol zelda were top competitors, but you just can’t compete with ‘struggle for years with the very concept of using the light force, then finally figure it out only to spend a hundred years doing nothing but holding back the calamity, and then on a fun archaeology trip you accidentally wake up the demon king and get sent ten thousand years into the past where you eventually choose to give up your entire sense of self and wait ten thousand years to give link a fighting chance’

geez, i’m really comparing this in my head to ruby’s half-suicide in rwby this past volume... like, i can’t even articulate much right now except that i’m sad for her

so i guess evil zelda is probably mineru? because like she hasn’t factored into most of the story at all, except for the bit where she mentions her power is to separate her soul from her body - only i guess she might also be in the purah pad? or in that construct that was holding the purah pad? zelda said something to her when she gave the purah pad up so like, who even knows anymore

well, anyway, that’s a whole thing i get to wrestle with, and we’ll see how the story plays out with the final battle

everything else i did today was unequivocally a good time - loved that they brought the gibdos back, but like they’re some kind of weird insect? great choice, totally bizarre in the best way possible, and i had a funny moment in the lightning temple where i was trying to figure out how to get to one of the batteries with rizu, and i kept popping up to the seventh floor cuz i knew i had to get her there somehow but i thought i had to get her there to open the door for the boss room, and then literally just before i got the last battery i realized ‘oh the entire point of the temple is to get rizu into that room’

i was also pretty proud of figuring out that you had to get to the deku tree by going into the depths, that was pretty cool (mildly terrifying cuz of enemies on the way but cool nonetheless)

however, the fight to save the deku tree? that was the first time i looked anything up, because i was getting mauled by the floormasters (or gloommasters or gloomhands or whatever their name is, like hell i’m stopping in the middle of a fight to take a picture of them), and i figured i was missing some essential point to the fight, like there was some easy way to counteract gloom that i just didn’t know about, but no, turns out the way to fight them is to know they’re coming, set yourself up in a bit of the room without gloom, and just shoot like eight bomb arrows into the center of their formation

the phantom ganon fight was also difficult, but that at least felt more reasonable to be as hard as it was, and i eventually made it through by upgrading some of my armor and eating a really good defense up food item - the items he dropped are sweet, too, although i’ll probably never use the sword unless i absolutely have to cuz uh slowly dying does not sound fun

so right now i have a full extra ring of stamina (thanks zelda) and i believe fifteen hearts, though it’s honestly hard to count, which feels like a decent amount to try fighting the final boss with, although i might wanna make another good armor up thing if possible, and also who knows what’s in store once i finally go into hyrule castle

but that’s for tomorrow, because i do need to sleep now and we’ll see when i wake up what i’m feeling like doing

[asoiafdrabbles]

Potentiality Chapter 1

AO3 Link

Overall Content: Trans Jon Snow, Genderqueer Daenerys Targaryen, Dark Daenerys Targaryen, Gender Dysphoria, Deadnaming, Misgendering, Abusive Relationship, Stark Bashing, Targaryen Restoration, Implied Suicide, Stereotypical Gendered Expectations, Canon-Typical Incest

Summary: Daenerys died with her love's lips against hers and his blade in her darkened heart. Jon died alone in the cold with his guilt. That is not their end.

They both wake up years earlier, in a world that is nearly the same...but with two differences that greatly affect them. Jon and Daenerys must navigate the future they know is coming from the bodies of Joanna Snow and Daeron Targaryen, with all that entails.

Ship: Daenerys/Jon, other background/past/minor ships

XxXxX

Winterfell | Pentos

Jon startled awake, hands gripping the blankets around him as he sat. He remembered death, cold and unforgiving, welcome by the second time it came to him. And yet...here he was. He did not feel dead--his breath shuddered through his chest, his heart beat pumped in his ears.

He glanced around, seeing a small, tidy room in what could only be Winterfell. His room, his old childhood room. The same and yet...different. There were tapestries and sundries he was unfamiliar with, not just because he hadn't seen them in years, but because he'd never seen them.

Standing, he wobbled for a moment, the balance of his body unexpected, and when he looked down he gasped. Small breasts appeared in his view and the body that went along with them was more slender and effeminate than he had ever seen.

There was a mirror of polished silver sitting on a table and he grabbed it, staring at himself in the early light of dawn--he had the same hair, though far longer, the same eyes, a long face and pale, pale skin, and yet...and yet he appeared to be a girl.

A girl, not even a full-grown woman.

He searched through his things, finding clothing for a girl, finer than the clothing he'd worn as a bastard boy was, though still nothing like what Sansa might have worn. There were tunics and trousers, as well, worn enough that he knew they'd been used. The sort of things Arya always tried to wear. Something told him she'd made them, this girl he now was.

Hesitating over the clothing, he finally decided on one of the plainer dresses with a huff. He'd come back from the dead (twice, now, if this could be called such), fought White Walkers, ridden dragons, he refused to be afraid of wearing girl's clothing.

His hands moved automatically once he started, falling into a pattern that seemed long-practiced of putting on all that he needed, even of braiding back his unruly curls. The less time he spent actively thinking of things, the more this girl's life seemed to come to him.

Joanna Snow, bastard daughter of Lord Eddard Stark (who still did not know of her mother, which to Jon meant she, too, must truly be the daughter of Lyanna and Rhaegar). She was close to her brother Robb, but closest to her sisters Sansa and Arya, though in different ways. She was the bridge between the two, the peacemaker, and it made Jon's heart ache to realize that in this world they were both better off, both happier, because he was a she.

Shaking himself off, he diligently started through the doors, ready to perform the chores Joanna had before breaking her fast. There was a lot he didn't know, yet, and playing along in this...whatever it was would be necessary until he knew how to escape.

***

Daenerys woke up with a gasp, hands flying to her heart. They felt wrong, as did her chest, and when she looked down...it was all wrong. Too flat, too broad, her hands far too large. Masculine.

She glanced around her, panic flaring before she could start to pull herself together.

The last thing she remembered was Jon kissing her...and stabbing her. The tears in his eyes, the fury in her mind.

She'd heard his story of coming back to life. It was nothing like this.

The room was different than her memories, but still recognizable--she was in Illyrio's manse. That meant...Viserys was down the hall. As soon as she thought it, she knew it to be true.

And once she started thinking through that, more came to her. She was still trying to work through the jumble of thoughts and memories as servants came into the room to prepare her for the day.

It was odd, having men helping her, but her body knew what to do. They bowed and were as respectful as expected, asking "Prince Daeron" if he required anymore from them before she waved them off and settled back into her own mind.

Somehow, she was alive. In the past. Though she was not fully herself. The youngest son of Aerys and Rhaella instead of their only daughter, the girl born too late.

Thinking of her family made her think of Jon again. He had looked miserable, she remembered. Hesitant. Had someone threatened him? Tyrion could have, perhaps, or one of the others who worked against her. Threatened the treacherous Starks that Jon had been so attached to.

She would need to find him earlier in this timeline. The Starks had already sunk their claws deep within him, but she could show him the truth of himself and teach him how to be a Targaryen instead.

As a man, as a prince, she would not be sold off to the Khal. She was trained as a warrior as Viserys never had been, had dabbled in becoming a sellsword once she was a little older and if she could escape his dreams of a throne. She would be no one's victim.

Now she knew that Viserys' fantasies were not so impossible. All she needed to do was find a way to bring the dragons back in this world and the chaos Westeros would fall into because of Cersei Lannister would pave the way to the throne.

The only thing she had to decide on was whether to allow Viserys to take it as her puppet or to get rid of him. He might cause more trouble than he was worth, but he was still her brother. And in this world Daenerys had grown fast enough, large enough, that Viserys hadn't dared touch her as he had in the other. She could be a little more forgiving.

After all, she'd have enough enemies when she abolished slavery among the Free Cities and wiped out the remaining Starks before they could move against her.

XxXxX

Notes:

So as a non-binary person genderswap fics both fascinate me and often feel super awkward. It's worse in stuff set in the modern day or cultures with some level of third gender, but it's awkward regardless, really, even as I like the exploration of how being a different gender might change a character.

I was thinking of time travel fix-it fics for Game of Thrones, though, and it made me wonder...what would have happened if Jon had been a woman and Dany a man? Dany would have been able to get away with a lot more and had much more support to begin with...but both of them would still have much different lives and still need to get to that point. So, I decided to do a time travel fix-it with a "genderswap" of their bodies/the versions of them they're replacing, but the minds of their previous life. The two of them will deal in different ways with this, their histories and culture playing a role in it.

It's Dark Daenerys as she's not far from the mindset she had at the end of the series, though dying (and waking up in a body with a penis) sort of shocked her into a calmer approach to it. It's mostly Game of Thrones canon, with just a little of the books throne in here and there.

[ddelline]

fic OST | bog-bodied

blurb | sakadays my beloved. sakanagurion my beloved. I've ca 5 different fics plotted and half-started at this point (lmao hyperfixation went hard, did it) and HERE is where we start! nagumo-centric jcc days-order trio exploration. in 3 parts, for the 3 doomed by the narrative-people stumbling into a relationship they neither wanted nor needed. no, it will not end well

what | 30 songs exploring the order trio as individuals and as a dynamic w genres ranging from classic rock -> instr post rock -> reworked ambient trance -> classic steppers -> liquid DnB & more

where → spotify  tracklist | under cut

01 | kasabian — fire

burn my sweet effigy  I’m a road runner spill my guts on a wheel  I wanna taste, uh-huh  I’m on fire

02 | young fathers — wow

wow, what a time to be alive  wow, imma put myself first  wow, everything is so amazing  I said wow

03 | kent — generation ex (transl swe → eng)

I was supposed to always stand by you  I was supposed to always answer when you called I was supposed to always have your back I was supposed to always, always, always be the one who comes around, goes around

04 | fleetwood mac — rhiannon

all your life you’ve never seen a woman taken by the wind  would you stay if she promised you heaven?  will you ever win?

05 | foreigner — girl on the moon

she felt so close to me as I reached for her hand she drifted away like the desert sand  it was her and she was gone

06 | the rolling stones — paint it, black

I look inside myself and see my heart is black  I see my red door, I must have it painted black  maybe then I’ll fade away and not have to face the facts

07 | blue öyster cult — (don’t fear) the reaper

seasons don’t fear the reaper  nor do the wind, the sun or the rain we can be like they are—come on baby don’t fear the reaper

08 | parrish smith — sex, suicide & speed metal

instr

09 | 65daysofstatic — drove through ghosts to get here

instr

10 | tricky & martina topley-bird — aftermath

your eyes resemble mine, you see as no others can  here: inherit my kingdom, speak of our peoples’ plan  I’ll be here for my baby, for my baby I’ll be near

11 | courtesy & lyra pramuk — saltwater (transl irish → eng)

open my eyes no more inside  saltwater rain  open my eyes

12 | smith & mighty — yow he koh 

instr

13 | poliça — lay your cards out

in these little moments, lay your cards out: I am waiting  by the waterside summer wading in sunder: girl, get your head right

14 | goldie — state of mind

I realize the state of mind where you have found me  I’ve turned the page and rearranged the cards that life has dealt me  I’ve played the game and felt the pain but I am stronger now

15 | little dragon — twice

twice I turn my back on you  I fell flat on my face but didn’t lose  tell me where would I go  tell me what led you on  I’d love to know

16 | labrinth — formula

the lights are on, there’s no one there puffing with the dragons I’m living for the thrill formula 

17 | massive attack — karmacoma

you sure want to be with me?  I’ve nothing to give won’t lie and say  this loving’s best

18 | the last shadow puppets — miracle aligner

50 feet tall and revved up too high all of our exchanges are by candle light I just realized

19 | nothing but thieves — you know me too well

‘cause every love story always ends in tragedy if you wait long enough filthy impetuous soul I wanna give it to you just to see what you’d do

20 | the kills — doing it to death

doing it to death, oh baby, lately the plans we’re making are the shape of things that never come hold your horses, the light’s up

21 | kent — innan himlen faller ner (transl swe → eng)

as the sky falls down, you’re everything I have I’ll do anything to keep you, as the sky falls I’m everything you have and I’ll do anything for you to keep me

22 | foals — mountain at my gates

you show me a signpost  for where I should go I see a mountain at my gates I see it more and more each day and my desire wears a dark dress ah, each day I see you less

23 | perfume genius — die 4 you

each and every breath I spend you are collecting see it through I would die for you

24 | bat for lashes — daniel

and when the fires came, the smell of cinders and rain perfumed almost everything, we laughed and laughed and laughed and in the golden-blue car, you took me to the darkest place you knew and set fire to my heart

25 | warpaint — love is to die

‘cause I got a knife to cut out the memories so carefully, too carefully—it’s not necessary to be so dark love is to die, love is to not die, love is to dance

26 | hozier — be

be love in its disrepute that scorches the hillside and salts every root and watches the slowing and starving of troops but lover, be good to me

27 | BANKS — 27 hours

it’s been 27 hours since we even saw the sun  since we even saw the sun

28 | kent — vi är för alltid (transl swe → eng)

they’re going to sing songs about us they’re going to make films about us they’re going to write books about us then as now forever

I’m just kidding—no one’s going to write books no one’s going to make films no one’s going to sing songs about us

29 | blackmill & veela — let it be

let it come and let it be let it come and let it be

30 | snoh aalegra & cocaine 80s — stockholm, pt. II (outro)

instr

[dryingpanzer]

(CW: Minor Nudity, also spoilers for different media)

Alright baby! Here’s the TL;DR for the media!

Les Miserables: 10/10

Wicked: 9/10

“In Case I Make It”: 8/10

THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND: 7/10

Delicious in Dungeon: 10/10

Brooklyn 99: 9/10

Now that that’s done, let’s go more into detail!

Les Miserables - Oh, this musical hurts. The indomitable human spirit truly passes on in times of turmoil and misery. Amazing music, amazing set designs, and overall such a moving show. Going into it, I thought for some reason Jean Valjean would be this idol for which people rally behind, but instead he’s just some selfless dude that joins the revolution at the barricade and even saves Marius, bringing him home. This musical hurts, but it’s a good kind of hurt. 10/10

Wicked - Probably the pinnacle of media where it twists the roles to make the antagonist the main character. All of the meta, referential moments that callback to the Wizard are very cute and funny and also helps to connect the two different stories together. The costume design was also amazing and is very befitting of the strange world of Oz. The music was very compelling and catchy. The set designs were great as well, shoutout to the one dude up in the rafters puppeteering the giant dragon. Elphaba was a very compelling protagonist that shines light on the “Wicked Witch of the West” and it was cute seeing an actual friendship form between her and Glinda. Fiyero also had an amazing ass. 9/10, makes me appreciate Twisted more and what they went for.

“In Case I Make It” - Having listened to his previous albums “Everything is a Lot,” “SEFL-iSH,” and “The Normal Album,” the style in this album took me by surprise, but makes more sense as he didn’t have his band members from the Tapeworms this time around (iirc he still used Tapeworms for Normal Album, the album just isn’t listed as a Will Wood & the Tapeworms album). It seems this album goes through more of his mental illnesses and self-conflict, will definitely need to listen to it again more in depth to understand it more. 8/10, fave song is Vampire Reference in a Minor Key, Big Fat Bitchie’s Blueberry Pie (don’t make me type out the full thing please it’s almost as bad as the Song with Five Names) is funne.

“THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND” - Another album where the style was vastly different than what I came to know of Bad Omens. It could also be I was use to their heavy shit with self-titled and Finding God Before God Finds Me, but this seemed to have more clean vocals and electronic parts. Not a bad album though, I still enjoyed listening to it! Then of course ARTIFICIAL SUICIDE came in and just basically knocked me unconscious with its raw energy and sound. 7/10, might have to be another album I listen through again to appreciate more!

Brooklyn 99 - I finally decided to check out this series after hearing and seeing so much about it and also since I was waiting for Delicious in Dungeon episodes to drop. Absolutely hilarious show that I feel does the cutaway gags much better than Family Guy. All the characters are enjoyable in their own ways with my faves being Sgt. Terry and Capt. Holt (rest in peace Andre Braugher). 9/10, fun show!

Delicious in Dungeon - You mean to tell me there’s a show that is a fantasy party adventure that is comedic, heartfelt, AND has good food? Me ass show! From the beginning it felt like the show was already subverting expectations and tropes, from Laois being human fighter but having depth with his extensive monster knowledge, to Chilchuck being the smol-looking boi that (pseudo-head canon) enforces his union-mandated smoke breaks. I am super invested in this anime and is probably one of my fave ever (Lupin III still tops my fave anime). 10/10, I really need to make bread.

[wedreamedlove]

Untamable - Osborn Character Update

First, this is an update to Osborn in Love. Second, please put Lonely Warrior in the BGM—just kidding, although it is an amazingly apt song for Osborn.

Spoilers up to Chapter 13 and especially Osborn's [SSR The 400 Blows TRAJECTORY]. Trigger warning for sensitive subjects such as suicidal ideation, rape, and physical and emotional abuse.

In my previous essay, I said "Osborn carved out his own space and views the world as something that just exists, like himself. To Osborn, the world isn’t something to be disappointed by or to rage at and blame, there are only setbacks you need to overcome, nothing more or less" but this couldn't be farther from the truth. Osborn's talent for flames is really too fitting because he is the epitome of wrath, cleansing and punishing flames, and endlessly burning vitality.

Where to begin? Perhaps the tragedy starts with how he was abandoned by his mother at 9 years old.

[SSR The 400 Blows TRAJECTORY - 14 Years Ago Early Spring]

To leave, the definition of that in the dictionary is to be separated from a person or place.

[...]

It turns out that the true meaning of "to leave" is called not being wanted.

[...]

I walked out in a daze. It's strange, but at the time I didn't feel particularly sad. I couldn't even cry, I just didn't know what to do next. As I walked I thought, from this moment on, I don't know anyone in this world and if I disappear, maybe no one would know.

[...]

[...] For a split second, I felt as if I was standing on the shore, waves hitting my face. I raised my head and shouted, I'll return my body to you.

I'm incomparably looking forward to the moment I kill myself. At least that proves that, at the very end, before the world abandons me, I severed my relationship with it first.

Okay, this requires some explanation. Nezha, a Chinese deity, is Osborn's thematic story. The important points to take away from this story is that, after defending his friends from the Dragon King, Nezha is pushed to commit suicide to save everyone — carving up his flesh and blood to give to his mother and dismembering his bones to return to his father. Later, he gets resurrected. He also has great enmity with his father, who felt that Nezha caused too much trouble to their family and viewed him as a demon.

Osborn views "returning his body" to his parents as cutting ties with them, because they abandoned him and so he has no obligation to them either. However, on the cusp of this despair, he meets one of the few lights in his life, Ye Chuan, who adopts him.

(Incidentally, this memory pretty much confirms that Osborn and Evan are half-brothers, but I will talk about this at the end of the essay because that isn't the focus.)

Despite being adopted, Osborn's scars from being abandoned were too fresh and he struggled with contradictory thoughts like hating his parents, but dreaming about them, but then waking up and hating himself for dreaming about them. He had no way of telling anyone these thoughts and so he became withdrawn, lonely, and wanted for a place where he could truly hide or reveal everything without fear. This is the basis of his pursuit for freedom.

Meanwhile, for four years, he lived on tenterhooks of not acknowledging Ye Chuan as his father because he felt that, sooner or later, Ye Chuan would abandon him too. But at the same time he knew that his lack of currying favor would make it so that Ye Chuan would never love him. The only thing he asked Ye Chuan for was to chase him out if Ye Chuan ever regretted adopting him, because Osborn never wanted to experience coming home to an empty house again.

[SSR The 400 Blows TRAJECTORY - 10 Years Ago Midsummer]

I never let Ye Chuan take care of anything for school and he also fulfilled his duties carefully and prudently, acting as a good transparent guardian. Even if I got into huge trouble, he wouldn't show up. That was an indescribable freedom and the more they called me a wild bastard, the happier I felt. It was as if I finally stopped being restrained by the world.

Whenever I sat on the wall of the school, looking at the sky where dusk and night met, the wandering on the streets with nowhere to go many years ago and the impulse of wanting to die together with everything could no longer control me. I broke free from them.

I thought that Osborn, while bitter, accepted his ostracization from the world and carved out his own space; however, he struggled a lot to reach his current outlook. He once hated the world so much he wanted to cut ties with it first, he wanted to take down everything with him, and it's honestly a miracle he escapes these thoughts on his own. There are way too many examples in real life of people being so disillusioned with the world that they go on to do school shootings, etc.

Now, we move onto what might easily be the most momentous moment of his life. In junior high school, Osborn discovered the Piano Room Game, where the principal raped girls in the piano room. Other students seemed to know about this, but they were either too afraid to do anything or covered their mouths and smiled lewdly.

[SSR The 400 Blows TRAJECTORY - 10 Years Ago Midsummer]

I told a teacher about this, but he looked at me with very calm eyes and told me that it was just tutoring. It wasn't until I stood in the office for a whole day that I suddenly realized this place was rotten to the core.

If you want to rot, then rot. I will never bow my head.

It's indescribable how Osborn has the courage to take immediate action when he perceives a wrong has happened. He was only 13 years old here and braver than anyone, although of course his methods can be called into question, but Osborn has never walked a road of pure light.

He took a wooden gun, no different in appearance from a real gun, and confronted the principal to get him to confess his crimes. However, seeing the principal's fear, Osborn lowered the gun and thought that maybe the principal was just muddled and would change for the better. This costed him greatly and the principal attacked him.

[SSR The 400 Blows TRAJECTORY - 10 Years Ago Midsummer]

My back hurt from being stepped on, but it made me even more clear. If I had to say a regret, there was only this: I will not kill myself, I will lift my sword again and defeat him.

As I mentioned, Nezha is Osborn's thematic story and gets brought up again and again. Here, Osborn viewed the principal as the Dragon King and was planning to take him down and then kill himself. But this moment forms Osborn's untamable core and how he endlessly burns with vitality and personal principles in the face of people, society, and the world against him.

The whole matter escalated, with the principal staging a whole play about Osborn slandering and attacking him, so it was decided that Osborn needed to get sent to a youth detention center. Ye Chuan tried to beg for leniency but Osborn refused to bow his head to these people.

[SSR The 400 Blows TRAJECTORY - 10 Years Ago Late Autumn]

O: You want an apology? Sure.

O: I was wrong, if given another chance, I definitely wouldn't have grabbed a wooden gun.

I'm not going to lie, I was laughing and crying here because Osborn and I share similarities. The moment I heard a demand for an apology, my reaction was "Apologize? Sure. I'm sorry I didn't kill you then and there".

[CHAPTER 13-19]

O: [Ye Chuan] didn't send me in. Although, at the time, I almost thought he didn't want me and was very angry for a while.

O: But in fact, except for him, everyone else probably thought I should be sent in and "educated" well.

O: Even though they don't understand at all, they can casually make assertions about other people's lives.

O: Those students who were sent into Yuda Academy were like me, believed to be "hopeless".

Do you still remember the start of the game?

[CHAPTER 3-14]

Since he said I could sense things... I shot out my hand, covering Osborn's bone necklace.

A feeling of rage exploded in my heart followed by an icy sensation of not belonging anywhere, as if an innocent person was being blamed by the entire world.

At this point, Osborn believed that even Ye Chuan didn't believe him when he called the principal a rapist. (The truth is that Ye Chuan was thinking about Osborn's future and wanted to do anything to save Osborn from pain.)

By the way, the heroine touched his bone necklace to get those emotions and it has its own description.

[SKULL NECKLACE]

Death in the old past, reborn in the new future.

Hello!? Is this not another Nezha reference!? Returning his flesh, blood, and bones to his parents? Then getting resurrected again!? Metaphorically, of course.

Fast forwarding, Osborn entered juvie for a year and then immediately went after the principal again after he got out. Here, he explicitly thinks [SSR The 400 Blows TRAJECTORY - 8 Years Ago Early Summer] "Evil intertwined with power cannot be defeated by justice alone. The past had taught him this deeply." So, he installed a camera in the piano room and got a recording of the rape to give to the board members of the school.

However, the principal was only removed from his position as a principal and then placed in another position. Another example of society failing its victims. Osborn then confronted the principal in an alley with a wooden bat. He lost... again. It's terribly sad that Osborn's conscience refused to let him use his flames on the principal because, even though the principal was an evildoer, he was an ordinary person doing evil.

Osborn got sent into juvie again, except then he got transferred even farther into Yuda Academy. It's suspected that this place is based off of Yuzhang Academy in real life. Please note the trigger warnings in that article. Unfortunately, Osborn fell into the misunderstanding that Ye Chuan finally abandoned him too, when the truth was just that the detention center people told Ye Chuan that Osborn didn't want to see him, which Ye Chuan thought was because he went to beg the school again.

Anyway, there's no other way to put this except calling Yuda Academy a literal hell on earth. Students had no right to say "no", they would be beaten for anything, they underwent electric shock torture, and had to destroy their self-esteem by reporting their faults, etc. Suicide was the only thing the students hoped for. (The supernatural game aspect for this was because it made it easier to remove their souls for the Blood Clan.)

[SSR The 400 Blows TRAJECTORY - 8 Years Ago Early Summer]

After waking up, he climbed to the edge of the rooftop and looked at the rusty red marks on the concrete floor that couldn't be washed away, as if they were a silent accusation.

So long as he jumped, he could escape everything.

Will anyone grieve for me? Will anyone care about my death? Osborn blankly thought.

O: The person who cares most might be Principal Xu.

Osborn laughed self-derisively at himself twice but, when he thought about this, he took two steps back.

He had to live until those people were punished.

[SSR The 400 Blows TRAJECTORY - 8 Years Ago Early Summer]

Zhou Weicheng: Have you thought about what you want to do in the future

[...]

O: I'm going to be an evil person.

Osborn stared at the moon intently, as if something was about to ignite in his eyes.

O: I want to see with my own eyes that those people who commit crimes and sins get the punishment they deserve.

ZWC: Then why don't you be a police officer who punishes evil and upholds good?

O: Good people are limited by many things, but evil people aren't.

O: If it's possible, I don't want to have kindness or compassion at all, they'll just ruin me.

The cruel irony of these scenes is how Osborn's spite to live on and see the principal punished might have been what kept him going in this hell. There are also previous examples of how Osborn's "goodness" made him lower the gun and refuse to use his flames. However, even after literally getting half of his soul removed, it's impossible to call Osborn evil. The thesis of Chapter 13 and 14 is Charlie's question in the PV "What exactly is good and what is evil? Can you tell me?".

In the future, Osborn engineered a "car accident" to kill the director of Yuda Academy. That certainly isn't a good act. However, if justice was not served in this case, then isn't he delivering said justice to the victims?

Either way, I was in pain with the realization that every time Osborn tells the heroine he's "not a good person" he means that literally, because he wanted to grow up to be an evil person and removed the good half of his soul. LIGHT AND NIGHT!! WAY TO MAKE A CATCHPHRASE HURT LIKE HELL!! But would an evil person take in strays? Would an evil person carry out their dead friend's wish and take care of their friend's little brother?

Would an evil person take care of their adoptive father with Alzheimer's disease? After Osborn escaped Yuda Academy, the misunderstanding between him and Ye Chuan got cleared but it also led to the discovery of Ye Chuan having this disease, which Osborn blames himself for causing. Here we enter another incredibly sad story about how taxing it was for a 17 year old to support his sick father. Osborn would beg the neighbors to watch Ye Chuan in the morning while he went to school, then he would come back and work at a night club for money, and he would barely get any sleep for fear of Ye Chuan having an accident at night.

Once again, we see how people at Osborn's new school judged him as being a problem student because he was always sleeping in class. However, once the truth about his situation came out, everyone gave him pitying looks and were encouraged to "help" him out. (It's amazing how this made me feel just as bad, if not worse, than when he was being misunderstood.)

It was at this age that Osborn entered racing and the bounty hunter guild, because Merodach was the owner of a racing club and introduced him to both when he learned that Osborn needed a large amount of money and didn't care about the danger. This is another stab to my heart, because we know he's now genuinely passionate about racing and chooses bounty hunter missions that pique his curiosity but the origin of all that was this.

[SSR The 400 Blows TRAJECTORY - 6 Years Ago Early Autumn]

In the fierce wind, he tore through the track, brushing past death. The wind was strong to the point of making it hard for him to breathe, but he felt that the world he had been fighting for 17 years seemed to finally be unable to defeat him, at least this time they were evenly matched.

His body that had been heavy for so many years finally became a little lighter. He began to imagine that he was a dove or a spray of waves and the wind was so strong that he could easily follow the wind and soar up into the distant sky.

From childhood to adulthood, everything he did was to leave this place.

The world was a wasteland, but he could go far away and find some good scenery. Even just taking a look would be nice.

He even thought that, after earning money, he could buy better medicine and maybe Ye Chuan would gradually get better, and then he would take him to leave this place. The world was so big there had to be a place that belonged to them.

However, as if it were law, there was always something a little sweet before fate took a sharp turn. Ye Chuan's condition suddenly deteriorated.

Osborn decisively broke his wings, making it so that he could never leave this land.

Doesn't this really put into perspective his thoughts on pursuing freedom? [CHAPTER 3-03] "Everything in life requires me to endure and think, only racing tells me to go forward." It also explains why he's so flippant about death because he's practically brushed shoulders with it his entire life.

Anyway, I cannot emphasize enough how well-written this part was and how Osborn's exhaustion slowly built and built until, one day, he had the terribly dark thought of how easy things would be if Ye Chuan was gone. Of course, he felt guilt for these thoughts but the seed was planted.

[SSR The 400 Blows TRAJECTORY - 6 Years Ago Early Autumn]

—[Ye Chuan] was lost, just like that fleeting thought he had.

In this minute moment, [Osborn] felt a trace of lightness at being set free, but what followed immediately was a great panic.

He felt that it was hard for him to breathe, as if in the next second the world he had been working so hard to maintain would collapse.

O: Ye Chuan! YE CHUAN! WHERE ARE YOU? YE CHUAN!

Osborn pushed aside the crowd, searching desperately. He saw the exit of the street market and how dazzling light poured in from there. As long as he walked over, he could immediately seize his freedom.

The freedom he had worked hard for all these years, but could never grasp.

Osborn's steps paused and he glanced at that light-filled exit before he turned his head and walked in the opposite direction.

[...]

O: ... Dad.

His hand grasped him tightly and the two clasped hands were like a fragile string, tying two unrelated individuals together.

It turned out that the desire for freedom was just because there were no attachments.

Now, he decided to trade some freedom for another sort of freedom.

I can't stop thinking about how godly the writers are for fleshing out Osborn's pursuit of freedom this much. He inherently enjoys exploring the world and moving forward, but at the same time freedom is his escape and venting method. It's both his passion and his comfort. However, there really is no need to be afraid of him disappearing because he already knows how precious attachments are.

[SSR Within Reach DATE]

O: If you didn't point it out I wouldn't have noticed. Freedom and wandering are no longer my life's whole meaning.

O: Maybe life is like our trip today, needing to move forward without stopping.

O: After experiencing excitement, the rest area is especially warm but, after staying in a comfort zone for a long time, I want to explore the outside world again.

[SSR Flaming Smoke and Dust DATE]

MC: Actually, I'm really curious, are everyone's missions so dangerous...? Are you used to those kinds of scenes?

O: I don't have the same taste as Ni Dalong, so I rarely take these commissions.

O: He likes the well-paid ones, and I... just pick ones that interest me.

MC: Just the ones that interest you? What are you interested in then?

O: Things that pique my curiosity.

O: I want to see all kinds of people in this world and all kinds of way to live. Something like this.

MC: You really are different from everyone.

O: Really? Maybe everyone wants something different in this world.

[SSR Spring Tease DATE]

MC: I used to feel you were like a gust of unrestrained wind, going wherever you pleased, and not stopping for anyone.

O: I haven't been that now in a long time.

Osborn's pale green eyes twinkled with light as he bent down and embraced me, pressing our foreheads together.

MC: Mhm, I know. So I wanted to tell you that if you're a kite then I want to be the string that binds you.

MC: No matter where you go, I just need to gently pull the string in my hand and I can feel your presence.

MC: Even if one day everyone forgets you, I'll still remember you.

I will remember your appearance, your voice, and every little thing you experienced.

MC: So, you don't need to envy others anymore.

MC: In this world, you'll always have me thinking about you.

I confessed my thoughts completely, feeling my heart pound in my chest.

It wasn't out of nervousness, but rather the surge of overflowing emotions from within.

Osborn tightened his arms and pulled me entirely into his arms. I also reached out and hugged him back.

A hot breath fell on my neck and then, in the next second, became a warm touch.

O: Silly girl...

O: In the past, I was always used to deciding everything on my own.

O: Where I wanted to go, what I wanted to do, it was whatever I wanted.

O: You’re the only one who makes me willingly obedient.

Osborn's scorching voice landed in my ears and it also seemed to land in my heart.

O: It's a promise then. From now on, I'll be your kite.

O: But there's one condition, once you hold it, you're not allowed to let go.

Some part of Osborn still fears being abandoned and so the heroine truly is a light in his life, not only acknowledging that his flames don't make him a monster but also constantly providing him unconditional love and a home.

Extraneous Thoughts

Okay, so I wanted to bring up Osborn and Evan's relationship again because it's quite exquisite. One comment put it best: Osborn tries his hardest to live while Evan wants to die.

When they met each other, Evan was 12 years old and Osborn was 9 years old, so I'm pretty sure they remember each other. However, I don't think they're that antagonistic to each other and one behind the scenes episode described it best by calling them rivals, because they are opposites of each other. It wasn't like one person took love or resources away from the other person, they both had extremely shitty lives LOL.

Evan was actually the one who helped Osborn escape the castle by opening a secret door. Osborn also invited Evan to run away together with him. However, Evan refused and only looked on enviously as Osborn ran towards the light because Evan felt like he was committing an offense for having that longing.

Two boys, two different choices, two different outlooks. Excuse me as I sigh in admiration at how my biases ended up being foils of each other and related. I really know how to pick them. Makes me feel kind of bad for my feelings about them, since one of them is second best to the other (again)—just kidding.

[fierypen37]

Victory is in Your Veins: Chapter 14

moodboard by @libradoodle1​

Chapter 14

 Day One: Jon

 True to his word, Jon hunkered down in an obscure alley until nightfall. As he crept across the sun-warmed cobbles in the dying light, Jon was plagued with a vague disquiet. No watching eyes. No heavy clank and rattle of chain and fetter. His neck felt strangely light without the weight of the collar. Gods, he was unused to freedom. A pathetic, sobering thought. Missandei had told him stories of slaves who were freed who begged to be sold back to their masters. It is all they know. A slave knows when he must wake, when he must work, when he must sleep. Freedom is a burden to some, Jon Snow. He had sneered at them. Every moment for over two years had been striving to regain his freedom. It felt so long. More like a lifetime.

Jon retraced his steps back to the courtyard. From there, he could find his way to Morrgys’ compound. Before parting, Daenerys had instructed Ser Jorah to toss the collars into the bay. He slipped like a shadow through the near-deserted streets to Morrgys’ complex, poised black and gleaming like a scorpion. The master’s quarters were in the highest tower. Jon glared at the distant lamplight so far above him.

All the measures meant to keep slaves in also worked in effect to keep intruders out. He growled and paced like a stymied wolf. Think. Think! As bitter of a draught as it was to swallow, the truth remained. It was suicide to attempt to kill Morrgys in his own compound. Astapor was not Volantis. A slave rebellion here would be savagely repressed. Legions of Unsullied—the finest slave soldiers in the world—would see to that. Jon imagined Morrgys pacing in his quarters, clinging to Longclaw as a child would cling to a doll. Double the guard, he would say. Jon found a grim smile. Those guards will not save you. One day soon, I will watch the light die in your eyes.

“I shall have to bide my time. The coward loves luxury too much to remain sequestered within forever,” he said to himself. Patience, that’s all he would need.

Another thought niggled at him. Once her dealings with the masters were concluded, Daenerys would ride away. Ride away and take his heart with her while Jon remained in this blood-red hellhole of sand and tears. For what? A sword that hadn’t been his right to begin with? A vow of revenge that could be rendered moot since Daenerys had freed him?

Jon lifted his eyes to the waxing paring of the moon, his gaze unhindered by bars for the first time in years. Jon clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides, at war within himself. The thought of her selling her dragon for an army . . . the sound of it did not ring true. The woman he knew was kind as well as fierce. The whispers said she was called Mother of Dragons. If they were her sons, then she would not sell them into slavery. Not her. Go to her, you thick-headed dolt. Pledge yourself to her in a vow more binding than slavery and never leave her side. Jon wasn’t sure what part of him whispered it to him, but the missing of her was a physical ache high in his scarred chest. Daenerys said she would be bunking aboard her ship the Meraxes in Astapor’s harbor. Maybe just one last look.

 ~

 Day One: Daenerys      

 Daenerys paced in the close heat on her cabin. The translator, Missandei, lay asleep in the berth bed. A mixture of tenderness and pity stirred in Daenerys’ chest. Such a sweet lovely thing. Intelligent and guarded. Her wary golden eyes tugged at her heart. She hoped to coax a friendship between them. A different voice than her Dothraki handmaidens would be a boon. Her decision to trade Drogon for the legions of Unsullied weighed on her. Selling a son into slavery. Daenerys closed her eyes. There was another way, she just wasn’t seeing it yet.

Another weight was Jon Snow. Gods, he was so beautiful. His battered body sculpted to perfection. Wild black hair, deep soulful eyes that betrayed so much emotion on his impassive face. Her fluttering heart hoped he was the one. The man in her dreams who loved her with passion and begged her for solace, for hope. No doubt he had seen her tremble as she removed the collar. Pale and scarred, with a deep, rough voice . . . and then he left. Left to seek his own aims.

“No. It wasn’t him. Ser Barristan could have been wrong. Maybe I am tainted. Mad, just like my father,” she whispered.

Her hands fisted in the tunic over her belly. Her loins ached. It had been so long since her sun-and-stars. Dany longed for the feel of a lover’s body. The warmth and closeness. Irri would relieve the tension, but out of duty, not desire. Dreams weren’t enough. Certainly, she could take a lover from among her khalasar, or even marry to secure ships or swords or lands as all queens must, but . . . she would not risk the steel of her command on fleeting pleasures. Those who followed her did so out of devotion, not because her bedsport pleased them.

The walls of the cabin were too close, too hot. The lamp smoke stung in her eyes. The dragons watched her from their enclosures. Drogon’s innocent amber-red gaze burned her as surely as a brand. Daenerys closed the door softly behind her and sought the quiet of the upper deck. The sliver of moon hung serene and golden above the harbor. The heat had blessedly slackened to a sweet cool calm. Dany braced her hands on the smooth railing and breathed deep. Sick in body and heart. If she believed in gods, she would have sought solace in prayer. Tears pricked her eyes and welled up, though she did not let them fall. I am blood of the dragon. Tears will not beget solutions.

“What am I to do?” she whispered. The seemingly endless journey, forging these stiff-necked, troublesome peoples into a single unit, facing starvation and treachery and death . . . for what?  A land she had never seen? A chair that belonged to her father? She wanted a home. Sturdy walls and safety. A man to love her. A child. Grief smote her and the tears defied her will and slipped hotly down her cheeks. The moon offered no answers, and Daenerys could muster none either.

 Day Two

 The Plaza of Punishment awaited her in grey of dawn. Sleep eluded her, and after bathing in cool seawater, she dressed with care. Today she wore horsehair breeches belted with golden medallions, her favorite brown leather boots and a loose tunic of sandsilk, studded with seed pearls along the neckline. She wore her bell in her braid. Gold and copper bangles jangled on her wrists. Like chains, somewhere her mind whispered. Her bloodriders, Ser Barristan, and Ser Jorah of her Queensguard marched around her silver. Drogon and his brothers were chained in their basket. The dragons knew something was amiss. Viserion and Rhaegal paced in the enclosure while Drogon lay coiled like a still snake, red eyes watchful.

The ranks of the Unsullied that would soon be hers stood in silent, perfect ranks. Over ten thousand in all, including the unblooded and the boys who had not yet earned their spears. Kraznys mo Nakloz awaited her on the wooden platform. Slaves held a silken shade aloft to shield him from the heat of the rising sun, from the cloud of dust kicked up by horses. Another deftly whisked at the flies and midges. Still another knelt holding a tray of cherry wine above her bowed head. Veiled women and tokar-wearing masters watched as Daenerys swung down from her horse, braided and belled like a Dothraki khal. Missandei scurried to keep pace with Daenerys’ quick stride, whispering in her precise voice what the hideous masters said on her approach.

“The master says they are untested. He says it would be wise to blood them early. There are many small cities between here and there, ripe for sacking. He says he will buy the healthy ones for a good price. And who knows? In ten years, perhaps those you sell will become Unsullied in their time. Thus all shall prosper.”

Daenerys swallowed hard. She motioned for Kovarro to loose the chain. He obeyed, handing her the chain shackled to Drogon’s leg. He took flight with a sharp screech, unfurling wings like black silk. Daenerys handed the chain to Kraznys. He in turn handed her the whip, topped with its grotesque golden harpy. The claws anchored to each of her stripes clicked faintly.

“Is it done, then?” she said in crisp Common.

“It is done. You hold the whip. The bitch has her army.”

“--It is done, Missandei said, “you hold the whip.”

Daenerys turned her back to Drogon and Kraznys who struggled to yank the dragon down. The Unsullied rank stood, as silent as ebony-armored statues.

“Dovaogēdys! Naejot memēbātās! Kelītīs!” [Unsullied! Forward march! Halt!] They obeyed. Perfectly. Unflinchingly.

All her fear and anguish burned away as swift as the morning mist. The golden sun touched her shoulders, a warm kiss of benediction. There was no going back now. The watching Astapori were more interested in the struggles of Kraznys to note Daenerys had spoken Valyrian. Missandei understood, her golden eyes wide and round.

“Tell the bitch her beast will not come,” Kraznys complained. All of Daenerys’ fury coalesced into a hard ball in her belly, it rose up and out as hot as dragon’s flame.

“Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor.” [A dragon is not a slave.]

Kraznys stilled, jarred by her words.

“You speak Valyrian?” he said dumbly. Daenerys found a thin smile.

“Nyke Daenerys Jelmāzmo hen Targārio Lentrot, hen Valyrio Uēpo ānogār iksan. Valyrio muño ēngos ñuhys issa.” [I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, of the blood of Old Valyria. Valyrian is my mother tongue.]

“Drogon. Dracarys!”

A black jet of flame engulfed Kraznys and the gathered Astapori shrieked in horror.

Daenerys found her silver’s stirrup and swung astride. With all her strength, she threw aside the whip. Viserion and Rhaegal rose to join their brother in the sky and the colors of their fire dazzled her. Fire glowing an unholy black. Fire white as the sun. Fire green as the fabled wildfire that her father delighted in. Daenerys stood in her stirrups and shouted in Valyrian: “Unsullied! Slay the masters, slay the soldiers, slay every man who holds a whip, but harm no child. Strike the chains off every slave you see! Freedom! FREEDOM!”

“FREEDOM! DRACARYS!” was the answer from ten thousand throats and she had heard no sweeter sound.

 ~

 Day Two: Jon

In the shadows of the Plaza of Punishment, Jon watched. The cadence of her words, the proud set of her shoulders, the sun turning her silver hair aglow. Daenerys.

“Dracarys! Freedom! FREEDOM!” The word rang through him. Every part of him so sharply, painfully alive. As if she’d awoken him from a slumber deep as death.

“DRACARYS!” he shouted along with every Unsullied in the plaza. Had Jon been close enough in the boiled-over cauldron of blood and screams, he would have kissed her hem. Not only was she a shining goddess who freed slaves, but she had given him his chance. Morrgys would be somewhere in the Plaza of Punishment, and Jon would have his revenge.

Soft-footed, Jon jumped down from courtyard wall. He landed lightly on the balls of his feet. All through the long sleepless night, Jon had paced through the streets of Astapor. He found the harbor. He searched for the ship painted with the name Meraxes. Barefoot, he wandered, looking for her, but for naught.

Now, energy sang through his muscles, burning away the weariness like the sun burned the dew. The Plaza writhed in chaos. The Unsullied did as they were bid, marching in perfect ranks down the avenues of Astapor—their spears wet with blood. The Dothraki riders broke around the lines like water over stones, shrieking and slicing out with their gleaming black arakhs. Arrows flew. Long Dothraki whips cracked like thunder. Some of the slave soldiers fought, but more to save their own skin than out of concern for their masters. And the dragons. Living dragons on wing, sleek and small as their mistress, and just as fierce. Their fire burned so bright, so hot in colors as vivid as their scales.

The Plaza fell into eerie silence as Daenerys and her army moved on. Kraznys mo Nakloz was naught but a heap of blackened bones. Jon peeled sandals and sandsilk trousers from a nearby corpse. He found a good dagger, as well as an Essosi shortsword. Jon tied both to his waist. That would do until he found Morrgys. He would be unique amongst the Good Masters of Astapor. A slaver who dealt in fighting pit slaves, his guards would most likely defend him. Like the coward he was, he would retreat to his compound.

“Not that it will save him,” Jon said to himself.

Nearby, an Astapori master moaned, bleeding out from a spear wound in the belly. Turquoise roundels rattled on the fringe of his jet tokar.

“Help me,” he wheezed, blood joining the perfumed oil in his forked beard. Jon looked down on him. If he was feeling kind, he would open his throat, end his suffering. But Jon hadn’t felt anything like kindness in over two years. Jon stood, the sun blotted out by the smoke from the burning.

“The slaves on the Walk of Punishment cry themselves hoarse begging for help. For water. What succor do they find?” he said, stepping over the man. Let him gasp and bleed and die watching dragons dance and his city burn. Jon lengthened his stride into a lope, clapping a hand on the sword hilt to still the joggling. Morrgys awaited. He and the red thing within were of one accord. Swift and hungry. We must prepare her way with blood and the whips of masters.

The Unsullied were nothing if not efficient. Jon saw the evidence of their obedience. Dead men and women in tokars, faces blank with shock. Weeping children. Collars. Collars everywhere. Leather, brass, gold. All yawning open. The slaves had taken the frenzy of battle and armed themselves with the dropped weapons of the guards. Any who survived the tide of Unsullied would not remain so long. The din of the rabble was deafening.

Jon cut through an alley, heading north towards the center of the city. He could circumvent the Unsullied legions with some luck. A screech raised the fine hairs on his skin. A dragon. The green one. Jon craned his head to see him gliding through the air almost close enough to touch. Some kinship bloomed between them, almost as with Ghost.

“Happy hunting, brother,” Jon whispered as the dragon flapped his wings.

The heavy stomp of hobnailed sandals, the rattle of armor, each step timed in flawless sync, was growing louder behind him. The Unsullied were coming. Jon would have to hurry. Astapori natives seethed, a scrum of terrified, confused people. Merchants, wives and children making their way to market. Daenerys’ orders would see these people unharmed.  Jon struggled, elbowing through the crowd. The reek of fear and sweat replaced the lingering scent of smoke.

A palanquin waded through the sea of humanity at a sharp clip. A fresh jolt of energy sang through him. The sword was in his hand. He would hamstring on of the bearers, then as the palanquin fell and he tumbled out, Jon could open his throat—the silk screen parted to reveal a veiled female master, dark eyes darting about like a frightened doe. Jon cursed under his breath, pressing the pace. In a fashion, Morrgys had sealed his own doom—Jon had become a supreme killer. The long run barely winded him as he turned down one avenue, then another. Twice more, he passed fleeing masters in sedan chairs or palanquins.

Anxiety made his empty taut as a drum. The compound was only a couple streets away. Any closer, and Morrgys could raise the alarm and Jon’s opponents would multiply. Gods, if that monster slipped through his fingers, if Jon squandered the gift Daenerys had given him . . . Jon snarled, digging deeper into his reserves of energy.

At last! The gleam of two sweating bald pates, walking on either end of the palanquin. The Twins, and half a dozen sellswords besides. The odds were not in his favor, but when had they ever been? Morrgys’ palanquin bearers were nearly running, the cabin lurching this way and that in its haste. On any other day, it would have earned the bearers a sound beating. Jon steeled himself, gripping the shortsword tighter. In his off-hand was the dagger. If he killed enough of the sellswords, they would break and run.

The only true threats were the Twins. Each were as skilled as they were cruel. Every lash of a whip, every blow from a cane or cudgel rushed back at him. The red thing roared. Too close now for them to turn or call for help---Jon leapt, burying the dagger to the hilt in one Twin’s neck, in one side and out the other. Blood spurted in a red-black fountain, spraying a palanquin bearer across the back. The large man shrieked in alarm, joggling his burden. Fuck, the dagger stuck in the falling Twin. The sellswords, armed with swords and clubs, converged.

“Fuck! It’s the Wolf!” the other Twin shouted.

“Kill him! Kill him!” came Morrgys’ muffled refrain. The Twin fell, gargling on his blood.

First, prevent escape.

Jon swung the sword down, slicing one of the rear palanquin bearers in the arm. Enough to wound. Jon had no quarrel with them; the poor bastards were treated little better than fighting pit slaves. The man stumbled, running into his fellow. The palanquin tumbled to the ground, and Morrgys with it. The remaining palanquin bearers bolted like frightened horses down the street. The sellswords brandished their weapons. One darted forward, but Jon saw the reflection of flames and fear in his eyes. Jon raised the sword, blocking one overhand blow, then parrying one of the others in the same motion. He swiveled, ducked, turned, keeping the sellswords from surrounding him. Another with a cudgel charged. Jon ducked, heaving the man over his back and opened his throat.

A sword flew in, Jon was a hair too slow ducking. The blade opened a long cut across his shoulder. Pain was a sharp burn. It gave him clarity, focus. Jon settled himself. Calm. Quick. Methodical. He dispatched one with a blow across the belly, his entrails spilling like shiny red snakes. He cracked another hard with the pommel, then twisted his neck until it snapped. Slivers flew from the crossed swords as Jon checked another hard overhand. Jon strained, heaving up and shoving him to the ground. With the jagged teeth of the sword, he slashed another open from collarbone to navel. Blood flew up in a fine mist. The remaining two broke and ran.      

The other Twin cowering back loosed his whip. The crack was deafening at such close range, pain and leather curled around his left forearm. Jon endured it, then sawed clean through the whip. Left holding a useless handle, the Twin tossed it aside and drew his sword.    

Jon grinned, picking up a clean sword from the dead sellsword.

“Are you sure you want to do this? Daenerys Targaryen offers freedom to any who surrender.” As if on cue, the dragons filled the sky with their song. Piggy dark eyes darted around.

“Too late,” Jon said, twisting the sword in a whistling arc. The Twin roared, slashing out quick and wild. All his discipline and cruelty had bled away to fear. Simple fear. He reeked with it. Like Daenerys’s dragons, Jon could smell it, was emboldened by it. Jon’s hand shook with nerves and weariness, but as the Twin charged, it fell away. His body was an instrument of death, and his name was vengeance.

Jon dodged the blows with ease. From the tail of his eye, he watched Morrgys struggle free of the collapsed palanquin. The white wolf pommel gleamed at his hip. Longclaw. Jon ducked another wild blow, disgusted. It was almost easy. Jon struck out, a quick sharp diagonal slice. It caught the Twin across the belly. Enough to slow, not maim. The Twin cursed, his blows coming slower. Jon danced to the left, and backhanded him hard across the jaw. As he reeled, Jon kicked him to his knees. With one hard swing, Jon decapitated him. The head rolled in the dirt, face frozen in a rictus of agony. Jon tossed aside the sword, and pried another from the dead hand of a sellsword. The club had a nice heft, so he took that too.

Morrgys had made it some distance down the street.

He could move quickly when properly motivated, Jon thought with grim amusement. Jon closed the distance with ease.    

“Morrgys!” Jon shouted. Close, so close now.

The pain and weariness were dust in the wind. Jon chased him down like a wolf hunting a lone sheep. A wolf you have made me. Do you rejoice? Raw terror twisted his features, narrow black eyes wide. When he saw he couldn’t outrun Jon, he fumbled to yank Longclaw from the sheath. Jon laughed, a harsh sound.

“This is your chance, Morrgys. How did you call it, when men fight to death in the arena? ‘Thrilling? No feeling like it in the world.’ Indeed. Let’s see what you can do.” Jon watched him stumble and cower, and relished it.

Longclaw was too long, too heavy for Morrgys. The blade trembled. He held out one hand in a placating gesture.

“What do you want, Zokla timpa? Gold? Women? It’s yours. How ever much you want.” Jon needed to take Longclaw. First, prevent escape. He batted aside Longclaw and struck with the club, hard in the knee. The joint snapped with an audible crack. Morrgys crumpled with a thin cry and Jon was able to wrench Longclaw free. The leather grip was damp with sweat, but holding it felt like home. Jon could almost taste snow in the air. The sun glinted off the ribbons in dark Valyrian steel, wicked sharp. So sharp it felt as if he would cut the very air.

Beyond the blade, he saw his prey, clutching the broken pieces of his knee. His fine velvet trousers were torn and stained. Hate swelled up, hot and choking. Like dragonfire.

“There is nothing you can give me. Nothing,” Jon hissed, “I want your death, nothing more, nothing less.”

“We can work this out. Name your price. I’ll give you anything. Anything!” Morrgys pleaded, inching away on his arms. The fine white silk of his tunic was soaked through with sweat and caked the Astapor’s red dirt. Jon brough the club down on Morrgys’ right hand. This scream was louder, undulating. Like music. What remained of his hand was a pulverized mess of pulpy tissue.

“You must learn to obey, Morrgys. Your first and simplest lesson. Tell. Me. My. Name,” Jon said. The terror in the master’s eyes was so strong a kinder man would have been moved to pity.

“Zokl--” Jon hit him with the club again, in the belly. Coughing, wheezing, Morrgys feebly tried to crawl away. Jon squatted down over Morrgys.

“My name, slaver,” Jon said, dropping the club and hauled him upright by a fistful of his hair.

“Jon Snow,” Morrgys croaked.

Jon thrust Longclaw, piercing Morrgys’ belly. In and up. Slow, twisting his wrist as he pushed. Wet, tearing sounds. Morrgys’ eyes bugged out, body wriggling like a worm pierced by a hook. He clutched at Jon’s arms, struggling. Jon held fast. Blood trickled from his yawning mouth. Morrgys fell slack, eyes wide and fixed. The light fading until it winked out. Dead. Dead. Jon dropped him, pulling Longclaw free. Gore coated his arms to the elbow. He tilted his head back, exhaling a long breath. He felt light, clean.

Free.

[caffeinatedseri]

Dead Apple Light Novel

Recently, I decided to buy LN 5, Dead Apple, purely because I’m a sucker for all of BSD’s light novels, so this post will revolve around what I took away from this novel. 

Dead Apple is Canon

Since the story jumps around in the timeline a lot, I had originally thought that Dead Apple took place outside of canon (especially with Atsushi’s flashback). 

However, a particular part of Asagiri’s afterword stuck out to me:

Now, allow me a moment to discuss some of the particulars of Dead Apple. Chronologically, the story takes place after the second season of the anime — in other words, after the war with the Guild, which puts Dead Apple somewhere between the ninth and tenth volumes of the manga. 

The novel also ended up affecting the main story in numerous ways, and I’m sure this new experience will continue to influence my future work as well.

It’s not unusual for a light novel to insert itself into the main timeline (see 55 Minutes which takes place in the 10th volume), but it’s nice to have confirmation that the same applies to Dead Apple. 

Of course, just because a work isn’t canon compliant (see BEAST), doesn’t mean that it has no potential for further analysis or it doesn’t bring any added complexity to the main plot. Regardless, this post serves as somewhat of a precursor to my other posts concerning Dead Apple since I have a tendency to talk about it a lot, and I’d like to establish a basis for a lot of my posts. 

Differences between the Movie and Light Novel

In the afterword of the light novel, Hiro Iwahata (the author of this LN) said:

“Furthermore, I worked on this book under Asagiri’s supervision, meaning there are several lines in certain scenes that differ from the movie. It might even be fun comparing the two!  Nothing would make me happier than the fans enjoying this novel alongside the movie.”

As per Iwahata’s request, I went into the light novel, looking for differences between it and the movie. However, the novel is surprisingly, almost identical to the movie (maybe not surprising considering it is a “movie novelization”).

Because the differences are so miniscule, I believe they hold an even greater significance, since Asagiri must have wanted to change these specific details for a certain reason. 

Some of the differences I talk about might be unimportant, but I did my best to catch everything that was changed from the movie.

1. The movie doesn’t mention SKK as a part of the Dragon’s Head Conflict, but the novel says, “Some fought under the alias Twin Dark.” 

This probably means that SKK became a pair either before the Dragon’s Head Conflict or during (although I’m pretty sure that the “organization” they destroyed over night was Shibusawa’s organization).

2. When Dazai says that he would’ve continued killing people in the mafia if it weren’t for Oda, Atsushi has little to no reaction in the movie; I would describe it as maybe a hesitant or concerned feeling.

In the novel, Atsushi has a more outward reaction.

““Huh...?!” Atsushi was baffled. He had no idea whether that was true. What did Dazai mean by that? (...) The melancholy Atsushi felt from Dazai had disappeared, and Dazai continued to speak in his usual lighthearted manner.”

Not only does he react verbally, but the novel also adds an inner monologue (mainly for Atsushi) that can’t be portrayed as well in movie format. 

To me, this change highlights how Atsushi sees Dazai purely as a good person; he reacts in such a startled manner because he believes that Dazai is too good of a person to be in the mafia killing people (which we know Atsushi hates). This trend reoccurs throughout the story, of Atsushi turning a blind eye to Dazai’s “bad side.”

3. This one isn’t at all the movie’s fault, but the novel gives a lot more clues as to what the “dead apple” and the dagger in the apple motif represents.

The first time it appears is when Kunikida and Tanizaki meet the Special Division’s agent, but they find out that he’s already dead.

“It [the apple] was, without a doubt, a simple fruit... save for the fact that there was a knife sticking out of it as if to condemn the taste of sin. A blade had been driven into the symbol of original sin. A dreary, ominous aura, oozed from the ripe fruit like venom. 

Throughout the novel, it seems to associate the “dead apple” motif with Fyodor pretty strongly, especially since this paragraph ties in Fyodor’s ideals nicely with the symbolism of the apple and dagger.

The apple represents sin, the very first sin — which you could interpret as sin at its purest — while the dagger represents the condemning of such sin. However, the apple can also potentially symbolize life, while the dagger stabbing into life can mean death. 

Fyodor’s ideals revolve around “removing the sin” of ability users (represented by an apple in this case) but he does so through manipulation. The dagger is associated with stealth and deception, which is fitting with what Fyodor does to “remove the sin” of ability users.

However, he’s also taking the lives of ability users in this process, hence stabbing the apple, coincidentally committing another sin in his attempt to relinquish all sin.

4. In the “Snow White” Oda and Dazai flashback, everything is identical to the movie (word for word), but there is some additional narration.

“It was an alarming sight — Dazai sounded like he was in a trance. It was as if he was ignoring all this world had to offer while in pursuit of something else.”

I’ve talked about this particular scene before here, but the gist is that Dazai was discreetly talking about himself while referring to Snow White. 

Dazai joined the mafia because he believed that the violence (or true human nature) would give him a reason to live, but we already know that this kind of thinking was flawed.  Thus, this line most likely means that Dazai was ignoring all of the “good” qualities of the world while pursuing a reason to live, which inevitably wouldn’t work. 

5. Right after the flashback, when Dazai takes the pill, the novel really sells the act of “Dazai walking towards his death and going to the evil side.” 

Personally, this scene in the movie felt more open to interpretation after you’ve seen the ending. You could say that Dazai took the antidote and said “Being on the side that saves people is more beautiful,” because his plan is to continue living to save more people. 

However, the novel throws away any possible double meaning with this paragraph:

“Dazai then reached for the pill with his bandaged hand, neatly picked it up, and slowly brought it to his lips — just like Snow White and the sweet, poisoned apple. The venomous red-and-pure-white-pill disappeared inside his mouth.”

After Dazai’s tangent on how Snow White could’ve committed suicide out of despair, the narration compares him directly to Snow White. With the added venomous pill stated outright, it only further cements the idea that Dazai’s actually committing suicide here.

I don’t particularly like this change, because it feels like this moment was set up entirely just to divert the audience’s expectations, rather than it be a standalone scene that makes sense when considering the rest of the story. (It might not necessarily be a change, possibly just a rough translation from movie to novel). 

6. When Atsushi wakes up from his nightmare, there’s some additional inner monologue:

Everything’s okay. I’m not the same person I was when I lived at the orphanage. I have friends. I have a place where I belong — the Armed Detective Agency. Things are different now.

The anime (and in turn the movie) tends to downplay the effects of Atsushi’s trauma — probably due to the limitations of anime — but regardless the novel portrays it much better with how Atsushi’s trauma affects practically every aspect of his life. 

7. I thought Fukuzawa’s ability only gave his subordinates control over their abilities, but the novel says:

“Yukichi Fukuzawa and his skill, All Men are Equal, a peculiar ability that allowed him to suppress and control his subordinates’ skills.”

Does this mean that Fukuzawa could control and suppress all of the agency’s abilities? It could be a weird translation, but it seems oddly specific.

8. This detail isn’t actually a novel exclusive, but it is an extremely small detail that I missed while watching the movie, so I figured I would add it here too.

“the phantom’s notebook had the word Compromise written on the cover. A copy of himself that didn’t follow ideals but made compromises was an abomination to Kunikida.”

Considering how abilities act as the shadow to every character in this story, this is a nice detail that shows how Kunikida’s inner desire is to compromise, because carrying such heavy ideals is undoubtedly a burden. However, because he holds onto his ideals so strongly, it becomes his biggest weakness AND his biggest strength.

9. There’s a super small detail added to this scene with Dazai, Fyodor, and Shibusawa. When Dazai suggests that Shibusawa could be saved by an angel or a demon, the following exchange occurs:

“Hmm... Maybe an angel?” Dazai picked up the skull on the table. “Or maybe a demon?” “It’s obvious what both of your true intentions are, if you ask me.” The third man mirthfully cackled and took the skull from Dazai’s hand.

In the movie, Dazai doesn’t pick up anything, so as a result Fyodor doesn’t take anything from Dazai either. 

Because Fyodor walked into the scene after Dazai suggested that an angel or demon would save Shibusawa, I strongly suspect that this was foreshadowing future events in which Fyodor does “save” Shibusawa by giving him his memories back.

The novel adds more to this foreshadowing by having Dazai pick up the skull before it’s taken by Fyodor — essentially having Fyodor take the cards out of Dazai’s hands and put them in his favor. 

It’s also worth pointing out that the skull is also the object that Fyodor uses to revive Shibusawa into a supernatural ghost of some sorts at the end of the story.

10. This may be just a difference in translations but in the movie, Shibusawa refers to Fyodor as “Demon Fyodor-kun”, whereas in the novel Fyodor is called “Fyodor the Conjurer.” (Ango uses the Conjurer title as well).

In western esotericism, a conjurer is a person who summons supernatural beings, like spirits, demons, or God.

This slightly changes the connotation of Fyodor’s title from a inhuman being of pure malicious intent to just a human who summons these otherworldly beings. This idea also aligns with Shibusawa’s revival, since he’s some sort of supernatural ghost that was “summoned” by Fyodor. 

11. Skipping past the parts where Kyouka and Akutagawa regain their abilities, and Chuuya talks to Ango in the government facility, (since they have little to no changes between the movie and the novel) there is a somewhat significant detail changed in Draconia once again with Dazai and Fyodor.

In the novel, this glowing ball of energy from the movie is actually described as an apple: 

The two lights melted into one and spun until they formed a juicy sphere. They had produced a single apple — a juicy, poisoned apple red as blood.

It birthed a skill — and an extremely powerful one at that — the ability to absorb. Every last crystal adorning Draconia’s walls was sucked into the apple with intense force. Ten — a hundred — a thousand — two thousand — every last one was greedily devoured by the apple...

The apple swelled as it absorbed the numerous crystals until the red light became hotter than the surface of hell.

Since the “dead apple” motif aligns with Fyodor’s character, we can assume that the apple is representative of sin, and sin is associated with abilities, as Fyodor believes.

This strange poisoned apple is made of abilities and has an ability (the ability to absorb), and it commits a sin (greed) in its devouring of other abilities; it’s also hotter than “hell”, which is a very specific connection that leads me to this idea:

My theory is that a normal apple represents life, while a poisoned apple (or dead apple), indicative of a stained, impure life, represents sin. Fyodor believes abilities are akin to sin (what a clever rhyme), therefore all of their lives are sinful.

12. This is arguably the most insignificant change of this entire post, but I feel obligated to put it here regardless since it was different from the movie. When the Special Division detects the singularity of Shibusawa’s dragon form in the novel, it says:

“Abnormal values for singularity are increasing! They’re twice — no, 2.5 times higher than they were six years ago.”

In the movie, the number is five times higher instead.

Why did this number change? Is it significant? I honestly have no idea (I’m surprised I even caught this), but it’s there and I had to document it anyways. 

13. The novel adds this narration for Shibusawa when he gets his memories back and he’s in the orphanage’s room with Atsushi:

“Shibusawa clearly recalled the events from six years ago. Fyodor had enticed him to go to the orphanage where he tortured a young Atsushi... until Atsushi fought back and killed him.”

There’s two things to take away from this: Fyodor had known Shibusawa for at least six years, and Fyodor had been planning the events of Dead Apple since at least six years ago. 

I find it hard to believe that Fyodor’s plan was thwarted by Dazai, because of how Fyodor demonstrated his ability to plan ahead in the main series, but I’m not sure what the long term effects of this plan could be. If Shibusawa succeeded, then it could’ve aligned with the DOA’s goals, but once again I don’t think Fyodor’s plan was actually foiled.

14. Super minor once again, but right after Shibusawa gets revived, the last sentence of chapter 5 is,

“Nobody would ever see the smile on Fyodor’s face.” 

Honestly, I think this was just added to create an ominous tone, but it’s a nice detail regardless.

15. As the red fog spreads across Yokohama, there’s a good part of exposition that connects the “dead apple” motif to Fyodor once again:

“After the red fog devoured the earth, the planet would undoubtedly look like a floating red apple from space. There would be no humans left on its surface, nor any signs they ever existed. It would be a true paradise, and with that, the Dead Apple would finally be complete. A dead planet covered in red fog — that was what Fyodor had planned and sought out.

Nothing other than death could wash away the original sin of man, so it was only fitting for the sin, which started with a fruit, to end with one as well. 

It’s pretty long, but I like the way this passage is written, more specifically the last part since it fits well with the sinful poisoned apple idea.

It also aligns with Fyodor’s ideals of creating a true paradise, free of ability users. However, if Fyodor had planned to have the Earth covered in fog, that could mean that his plan was actually stopped by Dazai and Atsushi in the end.

16. Shibusawa has a few additional lines of dialogue when he talks to Atsushi in their final fight.

“The dragon and tiger... I see now why they are called rivals.”

The dragon and tiger have their roots in Chinese Buddhism, but to go further into that topic would make this already lengthy post even longer.

“Don’t get the wrong idea, though. I’m not blaming you for what happened.”

This line is a brief moment of weakness for Shibusawa, which is interesting in contrast to his strong will to kill Atsushi. Just as Atsushi learned to accept the past and the tiger’s ferocity, Shibusawa shares the same attitude by separating the blame from himself to just simply accepting the past for what happened.

17. In the aftermath of the last fight against Shibusawa, Atsushi and Kyouka meet up with Dazai.

Kyouka asks, “Are you sure this is what you wanted?” which prompts two different responses in the movie and novel respectively.

In the movie, Atsushi says, “Just as Shibusawa was able to forget that he’d been killed before, I think Dazai can put his past behind him again. But this is fine.”

In the novel, Atsushi says:

“... I could probably seal away this memory just like how I’d forgotten I’d killed him before. But... I’m okay with this.”

I interpreted Kyouka’s question in the movie to be questioning Dazai’s loyalties, as he did betray everyone, and Atsushi responded in Dazai’s defense because he trusts him.

However, the novel does change Atsushi’s response to focus on himself rather than Dazai, which in turn changes the implications of Kyouka’s question. 

Kyouka seems to be asking Atsushi whether he was okay with killing Shibusawa, and Atsushi responds by acknowledging that he did kill Shibusawa, and that’s okay. (a very clear development from the beginning of the story when he believed it was unnecessary to kill anyone, and he didn’t want to kill anyone)

18. In the epilogue, Ango talks about the underlying motivations behind the “Dead Apple” case. This change could be attributed to translation differences (like many others in this post), but the connotation does slightly differ from movie to novel. 

In the movie, Ango says, “How is a man like Shibusawa, so intelligent that others look like alien creatures to him, to act, to be destroyed, or to be saved?”

In the novel, Ango says:

“Perhaps the two of them [Dazai and Fyodor] just wanted to get a glimpse of someone like them... Perhaps they wanted to see what he would do and how he would meet his demise... or perhaps how he would be saved.”

The movie simply poses a broad question of what would happen to Shibusawa, a person alienated from the rest of society. 

The novel changes this to focus on Dazai and Fyodor’s perspective — two irredeemable aliens from society just like Shibusawa — executing this grand scheme out of curiosity to see what would happen to someone of the likes of them, and if there’s a possibility for redemption.

19. This is the final difference on this list, and it’s quite a large change. In Fyodor’s monologue at the very end of the story, he has a completely different tone from the movie to novel.

In the movie, Fyodor says, “But in order to end this world, rife with crime and punishment, I do need that book.”

The novel says: 

Glittering high-rises and stately brick buildings stood side by side in this port city with its countless citizens who struggled against crime and punishment. “I think I’ve taken a liking to this city myself..”  Fyodor took a bite of the apple in his hand, and the juicy nectar ran down his delicate fingers. “You’d all better be on your best behavior until next time.”

The reference to the book may have been removed for consistency with the main series, as the book is a part of the DOA’s plan (or more specifically Fukuchi). 

It also seems like Fyodor has grown fond of the city, and no longer wants Yokohama to be destroyed, so it’s still possible that his plan deterred from what he had originally intended.

Beyond that, I’m not entirely sure why crime and punishment was mentioned, or why there’s such an ominous tone to his ending statement, but that’s up to personal interpretation. 

That concludes the long list of extremely specific and minor differences between the Dead Apple movie and light novel! 

Overall, I would say it’s worth checking out the light novel if you don’t have a strong grasp of the Dead Apple story, because it definitely presents the small intricacies of the plot in a more comprehensible way. 

On a side note, the manga adaptation has a lot of noticeable differences from the movie and light novel, mostly with the addition of entirely new scenes (which you can read @buraihatranslations​ — what a shameless self plug). I would highly recommend reading it as those extra scenes are very amusing, to say the least without giving any spoilers.

Honestly, this post was a lot longer than I intended, but I hope you enjoyed it regardless. Thank you for reading!