#just thinking too many thoughts about storm bringer today

[sableeira]

asagiri is so funny for writing that scene in storm bringer where chuuya took revenge for dazai’s scheming by hanging him upside down a pole and spinning him around. And dazai just let him do it. While simultaneously explaining his strategy against verlaine. To save time.

The way this scene went framed it as the natural conclusion that didn’t even require further communication between dazai and chuuya while adam and shirase are completely confused. And once asked what’s going on they both behave like little shits because they are so deep in denial about their bond that they just choose to call the others dumb for not understanding their special brand of soukoku shenanigans.

[popopretty]

Storm Bringer Spoiler (7)

I am not sure if anyone has translated it yet but many people asked me about the relationship between Verlaine and Rimbaud so I hope these excerpts from Rimbaud’s memoirs will help. These are from two different parts of CODE;04 of the novel.

Please feel free to re-translate it if you want. Just understand that I do make mistakes because I don’t speak either Japanese or English as my first language. So sometimes I will change or update this translation without prior notices. 

Day xx

General Directorate for Special Services, Operations Department, Special Forces Group, Agent

Fine weather - Evening - Waning Moon

The mice are running, black in the gray of the evening.

A mouse lady is running, gray in the black of the darkness. 

I look at the moon, holding the pipe in my mouth. Doing nothing can be fun too. Let’s go when the fire from the pipe goes out. 

After I run, behind the dry sound of my shoes, there will be nothing but death and corpses and blood and aguish and misery.

Day xx

General Directorate for Special Services, Operations Department, Special Forces Group, Agent

Rainy day - Midnight - Waning Moon

I am writing this after crawling out of the rat hole. I am staying at a leaky inn. There is the sound of the rain leaking somewhere. The lamp on my bedside is too dark I can’t even see the bottle of wine on my desk clearly. This handwriting definitely looks bad too. But for the time being, it doesn’t matter. 

Because I want to write down what happened right away.

Until just two hours ago, I was in the secret cellar of the anti-government forced called “May of the Revolution”. It is all over. The outcomes are superb. In the eyes of the higher-ups. 

But for me, I can’t bring myself to think that the operation was a success.

When I stepped in, all the members were at the celler. And ultimately, “he” is dead.

I wrote “he” here because this organization only has one single member. 

The mastermind behind the anti-government movement is a skill user commonly known as “Faunus” (*TN: The original Japanese words is 牧神, which means the God of Shepherds. He is called Faunus in Roman mythology and Pan in Greek mythology. I just picked Faunus because I like the name). I fought him once. He was strong. On top of that, he has a secret weapon. He by himself has created a skilled artificial lifeform, the “Black No.12”. That’s a monster that can manipulate gravity at his will and nullify any physical attacks. “Faunus” used an instruction system to freely control that lifeform. 

But this time, our Intelligence Department has done an amazing job (how nice it would be if they could do that every time). They managed to figure out in advanced that the input of the instruction system could be done by letting the lifeform breathe in some kind of special metal powder. That’s why all I had to do was to destroy that metal powder generator.

Freed from the instructional system, “Black No.12″ regained his consciousness as though he had just been released from brainwashing and turned to attack his creator, “Faunus”. That was a chilling sight. With just a squeeze of “Black No.12″ ‘s palm, half of the facility was blown away, together with Faunus’ upper body.

After that, I carried the unconscious “Black No.12″ outside. Now he is sleeping in this cheap inn.

What will happen to him now? Will he be executed by the government?

It’s terribly cold. The fire from the fireplace feels so far away.

Day xx

General Directorate for Special Services, Operations Department, Special Forces Group, Agent

Bright day - Noon - Strong wind from the East

I am writing this wearing a thick coat, earmuffs, fur gloves and thermal underclothes.

I was talking to the liaison officer in the café earlier, and was told about “Black No. 12″ ‘s treatment. It was so unexpected that I had to ask again three times.

The government seems to consider “Black No. 12″  a valuable collaborator. Because as “Faunus” ‘s watchdog, the information about the anti-government network has been hammered into his head. We will train him, and make him a spy. And it seems that the education and supervision tasks have been left to me. 

Education? Me?

Can I really do such a thing?

I don’t have any connections with others because of this job. Because friends and families can become a spy’s weaknesses. Both my parents and my former lover thought that I had died in jail.

Can someone like me teach someone and guide them the way?

I don’t know. But what if I can?

Someone like me, who had thrown away his past and his name to be called by merely a code name, now can do something for someone else, for my country, and for my newly-born friend. The thought of that made me more excited than I could imagine.

My life, and my death probably won’t be passed on to the future generations. What will be given to me after my death will be nothing but a broken, nameless tombstone. But I am okay with that. As long as before I die, I can leave behind something for someone.

My first task is to give “Black No.12″ a new code name.

I have decided it already. Paul Verlaine.

The real name that my parents gave me long ago.

Paul. One day you will read this memoir and know the secret about yourself. I pray that that moment will be a time of blessing for you.

Day xx

General Directorate for Special Services, Operations Department, Special Forces Group, Agent

Cloudy sky - Midnight - Can’t see the moon

I can’t believe it. We have successfully deciphered the “Secret of the Gentle Forest”. The worst beast of all is sleeping there. That’s where Verlaine’s

(The page was torn from here, unreadable)

....

Day xx

General Directorate for Special Services, Operations Department, Special Forces Group, Agent

Fine weather - Before dawn - New moon

It’s the day before my infiltration mission into a military base of an enemy country, so I am leaving a slightly longer record today. There will be no support for that mission. No rear backup either. No collaborator from inside.

The target to be captured is a new type of skilled weapon. It takes the shape of a little boy, but is actually a disaster that has the power to destroy the world.

It’s a dangerous mission. I might not make it out alive.

But if there is anyone who can successfully carry out this mission to take the world’s disaster from the hand of the enemy country, it can’t be anyone other than me and my partner, Paul Verlaine.

I have been thinking about it for a long time. About what I can do for my reliable partner Verlaine. I couldn’t come up with an answer until yesterday.

I will celebrate his birthday.

Of course, he doesn’t have an exact birthday. But I considered yesterday his birthday. On the same day four years ago, Verlaine killed Faunus and gained his freedom.

I ordered a small pudding from a confectioner in Paris and headed to Verlaine’s hideout with a bottle of wine under my arm. Verlaine looked more doubtful than surprised. So I explained to him.

Celebrating one’s birthday implies a very simple fact. In other words, it carries the message that “the fact that you were born is worth celebrating”. No matter what anyone says, your birth has a value.

And then there is one thing that can’t be missed when celebrating a birthday. A birthday without it is like the night sky without the moon.

A birthday present.

What I gave him was a black hat.

A brimmed bowler hat. It is neither particularly expensive, nor something made by a famous hatter.

However, the cloth of the sweat-absorbing band that goes around the inside of the hat was made of a very special material.

A rainbow-colored metal made from 10% platinum, 10% titan, and gold as the central material of the rest. It carries “Faunus” ‘s skill.  It was the thing that was almost completed in his lab, but I modified it into the shape of a hat.

When you put your head inside, the cloth of the hat will serve as a coil, and  prevent the external instruction system from interfering with the mind. On the other hand, the instruction system can be controlled from the inside, or in other words, the will of the one who wears this hat.

If Verlaine has this black hat, he will be one step closer to becoming a “human with free will”.

His reaction was pretty strange. He was neither happy nor surprised. He just said “I will take it for now.” with his calm eyes. He didn’t say anything after that. We drank the wine, said good night to each other then parted.

Even now, after one day has passed, I still don’t know if that was the right thing to do. Verlaine’s eyes were freezing and as far as beyond the North Pole.

But we will know the answer soon.

Tomorrow, at the enemy’s base.

If it is for the sake of my partner, I will gladly conquer any hell.

As long as I have my God in the sky above, the bonds in my heart, and the future in my reach.

(This is the last sentence of the memoir. Nothing was written after this.)

....

[linklethehistorian]

BSD Season 4 Reveal: Initial Impressions

Speculation and initial personal thoughts under the cut due to spoilers for the manga up to Chapter 95.5, and Storm Bringer (and also the Fifteen light novel and the previous anime seasons, but I should expect that’s a given by now and no longer requires a spoiler warning to begin with, since it’s been years).

Hello, everyone! It’s good to see you again! As I’m sure you all know, last night I was made aware of the announcement for BSD anime Season 4, and now that I’ve gotten some decent sleep and had some time to reflect on the announcement with a clearer and more alert mind, I’d like to share all of my initial musings on the matter with you — both positive and negative.

I actually do have a quite a few points I’d like to cover, so rather than going on one long, messy rant, I’m going to be separating them into different sections as per my two previous articles — here and here (the latter of which is still in progress) — on the animated series.

With that out of the way, let’s begin!

Season 4 Light Novel Adaption Expectations & Thoughts

Given the series’ at-times-beloved-and-at-other-times-disastrous past tradition of including a light novel adaption into each season of the anime, I do think it should go without saying that the speculation on which one, if any, will get chosen to be “brought to life” through the TV series this time is a very valid avenue for anyone to want to go down immediately upon finding out that there is going to be yet another season.

Personally, I don’t think any speculative analysis of a new season is complete without that kind of banter, so let’s explore the possibilities and what exactly they each entail, shall we?

Ordinarily, I would have tended to go on a longer ramble about the situation and all of its implications than I actually will this time around, but thankfully, most of what I’ve already said and the reasoning I’ve already laid out in my speculative article on the previous season still holds up, so today, I will mostly just be building off of that, instead. (If you haven’t read that already, I do highly recommend reading it before you finish this mini-article, but it isn’t strictly necessary, for I’ll probably quote or summarize most of the important parts here.)

As stated there, while there are, in fact, still many light novels to cover in the anime before we’ll have seen them all — Untold Story, 55 Minutes, BSD Gaiden, BEAST, and the at-the-time-unknown-of Kunikida and Katai's Magnificent Days short story and Storm Bringer — when we take into account informative relevance to the current arc and all previous seasons, we are really left with only a few possibilities.

BSD Gaiden, being a spinoff in its own right, is, if anything, better suited to being a movie — or better yet, becoming its own spinoff animated series, sometime in the distant future, and has nothing of major relevance to contribute to the main series at all at present.

BEAST, while informative in some ways about the Book that is so highly sought after and semi-used in Season 4′s arc(s), is honestly the farthest of all light novels from being necessary to introduce into the main animated series. To quote the aforementioned piece I wrote prior to Season 3′s release:

Yes, [...] I too agree that the things this novel brings to light about the Book and its functionality are almost as insightful and compelling as the very premise itself; however, [...] in the end, this story is an AU and therefore has the least necessity to be brought into the animated series in any way, and I’m quite sure that if any of the information from it regarding the Book is truly essential to the main series, it will be brought up at some point within those events on its own, as I can’t imagine that Asagiri would ever leave critical information only within what otherwise would appear to be an entirely optional side story/spinoff. [...]

If BEAST is to be animated at some point at all [...] I feel that it would be best served [...] as its own standalone movie, probably ideally released sometime after our hypothetical Season 4, which should be fairly Book-centric in itself.

Furthermore, now that BEAST has its very own, fully-fledged live-action movie coming out, as much as I may enjoy the idea of seeing it animated someday, I really don’t think that that will — or even should — be taken into consideration anytime in the near future, when there are many other novels already waiting to get their chance to come to life in a movie or TV series that haven’t gotten such special treatment or privileges.

In regards to the Kunikida and Katai's Magnificent Days short story, I’ll admit that is the novel (if it is to be called such) I know the least about at present, but from what I do know about it, although it does star two characters who appear in both Season 3 and Season 4, it also doesn’t seem to establish anything of critical importance to either of these seasons, or the main story as a whole. Thus, I feel that placing it as this season’s light novel adaption — although it may be able to be squeezed into a very small number of episodes with no issue, from what I understand, if not just one — would be a waste of both time and opportunity, if they’re determined to keep with this tradition; I think it would really just be better off being adapted as a bonus OVA of some sort later on, if they felt the need to animate it, as I frankly don’t feel it’s long enough or high-stakes enough to be worthy of an entire movie, however cute or touching it may be. As for 55 Minutes, while I do think it’s one of the better candidates out of the bunch to be chosen, my feelings about it ultimately still remain as they did over two years ago: that it would be best relegated to a movie, either released sometime between the previous season and Season 4, or — given the better understanding I obviously have of Season 3′s contents now — between Season 4 and a potential Season 5, depending on how far into the manga we truly go in this season (more on that question in the next section).

If you would like to know more about my reasoning for why I think 55 Minutes could be considered a good candidate to go alongside Season 4′s (or a potential Season 5′s) main arc(s) at all, you can read about that in my previous article’s section on the subject, as well why I think that although it is a good candidate, between it and Untold Story, the latter is really a much better fit to be integrated directly into the new episodes. As much as I would like to talk about that again here, I think it would just be a massive waste of time to merely (and probably poorly) re-iterate what I’ve already said and documented very well in the past, when that information is presently available for you to go back and read at any time.

Now, with all of the above eliminated from the running, that ultimately leaves us with the two possibilities I think are most feasible for them to choose: Untold Story and Storm Bringer.

Oh, and I know, I know — I can hear the metaphorical stones being cast at me already; how dare I mention Storm Bringer as an option above all those older novels for them to pick? I’m clearly just biased and want to see more of my favorite character/story getting animated, or I must be a Soukoku shipper (I’m personally not, by the way), or some such thing; go ahead, get it out of your systems, I know it’s probably in there from the moment you read that, but, if you do think any of that, you’re actually very highly mistaken...sadly.

I would love to have listed Storm Bringer of my own volition, because I’m “biased” and excited about it; that would definitely be a more fun reason for me to have done it, personally, but...that’s not remotely the case.

In actuality, if I got to choose between the two novels in regards to which would get to be this Season’s light novel representation in the anime, I would actually still choose Untold Story, just as I did for the then-hypothetical Season 4 I explored the possibility of prior to Season 3′s release. 

To quote myself during that time, I still very much do believe that:

[...] yes, [...] you could absolutely adapt Untold Story into season three, and yes, it would give everyone even more information than they already had and perhaps even more reason to feel the way they already do about [Fukuzawa and Ranpo and their bond], but if you’re looking for the story to actually have an impact on anything, you would be better off waiting until it would have some kind of effect on the overall plot, provide some form of insight towards it, and aid in altering the way things are perceived; an opportunity which is clearly presented to us in the form of the manga’s Chapter 65 and Chapter 66 — which, in the anime, would manifest themselves as episodes within Season 4.

In these chapters, it is shown how Fukuzawa fought Mori for the freedom of the young Yosano Akiko and how he and Ranpo together gave her the chance to join the Armed Detective Agency as its second ever member.

If Untold Story were to be introduced at the beginning of Season 4 or even well into it, just before these episodes, it would have a very heavy impact on the overall story, and it would lend even more importance and depth towards all of the characters that are involved, while also displaying the extreme contrast between the methods, morals, and personalities of the two heads of the series’ leading organizations to an even greater degree than ever before.

I still stand by what I said there, now and forever; Untold Story is without question the light novel that has a place in these new episodes — that is not, and never was up, for debate.

The real question is, though, does Studio BONES feel the same way about it as I do?

I’d love to say “yes, absolutely!”, but the reality is that despite technically getting what I wished for and knew could have been best last Season, it was that same ‘granting’ of my wish in the way that they did — butchering and bloodying it beyond recognition and removing nearly all of the reasons why I thought it belonged in that season in the first place in favor of rampant fanservice — that opened my eyes to the very harsh reality that quite frankly, BONES cares more about raking in that sweet, sweet cash from SKK content than preserving narrative integrity, at the end of the day.

Trust me, being the dedicated and passionate Fifteen and Arthur Rimbaud/Randou fan that I am, I would love to be able to say that if they do choose Storm Bringer over Untold Story, it would at least all be for the right reasons of wanting to deliver on giving us the rest of the tale they presented to us last season, but that motive is an utter impossibility, even if they someday try to claim it, when the way they butchered Fifteen ensured that at least 70% of the plot and lore that actually mattered in Storm Bringer was destroyed beyond redeeming, unless they go back and redo it — which they won’t, because that would be admitting to their error.

As things stand right now, because of that fact, even as a fully-fledged, several hour animated movie, Storm Bringer would be an utter disaster of a film, much less as a 400+ page beast of a novel — more than three times the size of any light novel before it, including its predecessor— crammed into the space of 3-4 measly episodes in the television series.

Quite frankly, although I fear this may sadly be a very hot take, unless that miracle happens and they somehow, someday decide to abandon their pride and redo Fifteen correctly, I would really rather they never touched its sequel at all — even if that means I never get to see an animated Storm Bringer; I would rather never see it in that medium than to see it and have it butchered.

Unfortunately, though, I know all too well that that novel is much too tempting for them to resist forever; not because of the amazing, deep, beautiful, simultaneously tragic and hopeful story it can tell, or because of the well-written cast of characters, but because of the opportunity for fanservice it brings.

I am not delusional; I know that it will be animated at some point — whether that is now or later — and when it is, it will be a pitiful, cash-grabbing disaster that has no right to share its title with the novel from which it claims to have been born. The only question we have is “when is that going to happen — in Season 4, or later?”, and sadly, I don’t have an answer to that.

Personally, I see a high probability they will try to animate it soon, but whether or not that means including it in the upcoming season is anyone’s guess; all we can do right now is hope that if they do try to fit a light novel into it, it will be Untold Story, instead.

The Hunting Dogs Dilemma: A Concerned Exploration of Season Length & Exhausted Resources

Of course, that brings us to the next issue: should there even be a light novel adaption this season? I know this is a much-debated topic in the fandom, but personally, I have always been of the highly controversial opinion that yes, they do belong there — at least, until now, and that’s all thanks to a little something — and a good many someones — present on the newest poster.

While I may be just as excited for the new season as the next person — yes, despite my reservations and how my initial public reaction may have come off, I actually am looking forward to the new episodes in general — the very fact that we’re apparently getting so far into the arc as to see the Hunting Dogs and the Aerial Casino period, much less on the main illustration...concerns me.

I had honestly hoped and expected, for several reasons that I will elaborate on within this post in just a short while from now, that the Season would end on the Chapter in which the Hunting Dogs first arrive on the scene in their pods, after the Armed Detective Agency is ‘revealed’ to supposedly be the Decay of Angels via the use of the Book.

With the revelation now shown to me that it will apparently be going farther than that — and potentially still include a light novel adaption — we are once again forced to return to the age-old query we explored last season: just how many episodes does this season intend to have?

Up until now, every season in the Bungou Stray Dogs anime has had a total of 12 episodes on average, and it would be very logical to assume that Season 4 is going to be no different. Yet, if that’s true, how exactly do they intend to fit all of these chapters into one season? It’s utterly ludicrous to even dream of doing such a thing — and that’s without taking any potential chosen LNs into account; without that, it’s already impossible, but with it, it’s even more so!

Perhaps if they decided to do a 24 episode season and forego the LN adaptation — which I find highly unlikely, but let’s go ahead and give them the benefit of the doubt for a moment — it could somehow work, but even then, the question remains of just how far they intend to go with the arc. Ending it at the point just before the Hunting Dogs are all introduced would have made sense; it was logical, it left a cliffhanger for a potential fifth season that would leave viewers definitely wanting more, and it would leave a fair amount of content already in existence for that next season.

Try as I might, I just cannot begin to fathom what good can come of trying to cover much more than that in Season 4; where will they end it? Do they intend to finish the entire current arc in this season somehow, when at the time of writing this, the ending isn’t even out yet? How do they intend to cram all of that into just 24 episodes, let alone a potential 12? Hell, what do they even intend to do for a Season 5 if they push that far and leave themselves few to no current manga chapters left once they’re done with and release the season? To exhaust all of your current resources like that, when you could easily get away with shoving in a light novel adaption and ending Season 4 at the aforementioned logical spot, with plenty of content left to spare, just seems entirely reckless on their part.

I have all of these questions, and absolutely no answers to give; it isn’t sustainable, it isn’t wise, it isn’t even profitable, and it confuses me beyond belief.

Season 5: To Be or Not to Be — A Look into the Potential Future of an Animated Series that Has Spread Itself Too Thin

So, if all of this is true, and they intend to push through to the eventual defeat of Fukuchi and the Decay of Angels, what awaits us at the end of it all? Is there even hope for the animated series to easily continue and thrive beyond that point?

I want to be positive, to end this on some spectacular final section that gives all of my readers — my fellow BSD fans — hope, to have my words be like a warm, friendly pat on the back that says “don’t worry; everything is going to be just fine! ^-^”, but if I intend to continue to be honest, all I can really do is try to look at the statistics of the situation and offer up the most likely probability as a potential answer, and from where I’m standing right now, it...sadly isn’t looking very good.

True, it did take them a little more than two years to announce the anime this time — definitely a bit longer than the length of time between Season 2′s and Season 3′s announcement, comparatively — but even so, if they want to continue this pattern of averaging a new season every 2-3 years (supposing Season 4 doesn’t jump the shark with this new, bold tactic and actually does well enough to warrant another season at all), will they even have enough new content to make by the time a Season 5 would roll around?  Honestly? I don’t know the answer to that; every arc has been a different length — some longer than others, and this current Decay of Angels one definitely being the longest of them all yet, spanning over a whopping 50 chapters long and counting. We don’t know how long the next arc will be; it could be 16 like the smallest arc to date, it could be around 20 like the average arc seemed to be up until this point, or it could even be as many as this arc or more. 

Even if we are optimistic and say that the next arc could be as low as 16-20 chapters long, when we factor in that the current arc hasn’t even ended as of writing this, and seems to at least have another 10 chapters to go before the end — if not way more — that’s still a good 26-30 chapters of content that needs to be produced before Season 4 can be finished, and Season 5 can be remotely feasible.

To quote my previous article: 

A new chapter of the BSD manga comes out once a month in the Young Ace magazine; this means that in one year, barring any potential breaks, a total of 12 chapters are released.

If we presume that Season 4 comes out sometime next year, that could be enough for this arc to have ended in the manga just before its premier, but definitely not enough time for much of anything else to have been produced.  Assuming Season 4 could span anywhere from 3-6 months depending on how many episodes it contains, by the time it ends, around 3-6 new chapters of the new arc could potentially exist, should Asagiri-sensei and Harukawa35-sensei take no breaks; that would mean they would still have to wait at least another year to a year and a half to have enough content to even begin talks about a potential Season 5, then probably spend another year or so working out the specifics before making the announcement, and then it could take potentially another half-year to a year before it’s out. That’s three to three and a half years for the next season; it’s not undoable by any means, but definitely not the most ideal situation ever.

If the next arc is longer, however, and reaches, say, 30 chapters, you’re looking at a good four and a half years before we get a Season 5, after Season 4 ends, and even longer than that if it becomes as impressively long as the current arc and they intend to do the entire thing in one go again.

Could the animated series stay relevant enough to survive another four and a half or more years without another season after this? Potentially, it could, supposing they make Season 4 really good somehow, despite these concerns, and keep the series in anime-only people’s hearts and minds by possibly renewing BSD Wan! for another season, and/or releasing new movies in the meantime (whether original content or LN-based), but once again, it’s certainly not ideal and could prove to be a major struggle for them in the future.

All I can really say is for now is to hope for the best, even if, like me, you manage your expectations so much that you are actually expecting the worst-case scenario. As I’ve said before, I actually do love the anime very much, save for the handling of the Fifteen adaption, and I do hope that it can live on and continue to be as great as it has, in my opinion, almost always been besides that.

I am, above all, thankful for this new season, and hope it is everything we dream of, even though I may not have the most positive outlook at the moment for all of the aforementioned reasons.  Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading my initial thoughts on Season 4; I feel like they’re certainly not as well-articulated as usual, but it is the best I can do on short notice, and without allowing myself to obsess over re-writing it a million times before finally getting around to posting it weeks or months later.

Thank you for your time, and I hope you have a wonderful day. 💖

Oh and BONES? Hands off Storm Bringer. 👀 🔪 

[shyvioletcat]

"Wanna like...I mean, if you're not busy... we could get lunch? Or just coffee if you don't have a lot of time?" firefighter au bish

*stokes the slow burning fire*

Masterlist

~~~~~

Aelin was fuming. Arobynn Hamel, their oily snake of a landlord, stood in the doorway taking in the scene before him. She didn’t doubt he knew exactly who Rowan was, just like he knew who she was. He made it his business to know his tenants.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” He said, the smile on his lips made Aelin’s skin crawl. She was glad she’d grabbed the robe.

Aelin didn’t bother to hide her annoyance as she spoke to him.

“Mr Hamel,” Aelin all but growled.

“Please Arobynn is fine, I’ve told you so many times.” His gaze went to her door. “I just returned home and I had a lot of voicemails about how your door was broken. It seemed like an emergency so I thought I’d come and see what was needed to fix it.”

“Never mind it’s at 730 on a ‪Saturday morning‬,” Aelin said.

Arobynn shrugged, “Like I said, it seemed like an emergency. Mr Whitethorn, isn’t it? Don’t live a few doors down? And it was you who left the messages?”

Arobynn stepped into the apartment to inspect the door, Aelin found herself instinctively moving back.

Rowan in turn stepped a bit closer to her and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes.”

From the tone of his voice it seemed Rowan was just as pissed as she was.

“I’m sure it’s an interesting story,” Arobynn drawled, “of how Mr Whitethorn came to be the one to inform me broken door and offer to pay for repairs.” He played with the flimsy sliding lock.

“Please inspect the door and inform me of the cost,” Rowan said, his voice flat.

Arobynn Hamel was a not a good landlord, but he also wasn’t a bad one. He kept the apartment building in such a state that it functioned and repairs were usually done in a timely manner, except when he went on a holiday and only left a note on his door informing his tenants, but never did he do anything above and beyond it was just what was needed.

His personality also left much to be desired. Arobynn always left Aelin feeling a bit slimy after their interactions. Especially now as his gaze shifted from the door to her, taking her in. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Rowan stiffening.

Arobynn didn’t acknowledge anything and turned his attention back to the door and tsked, “I might have to replace the whole door. I’ll get some of my friends on it today, can’t having you living like this. You must be terrified to sleep at night.”

“Great, are you done?” Aelin snapped ignoring the quip about her sleeping.

Arobynn looked at her, eyebrows a little high. Aelin rolled her eyes.

“I suppose so,” he said sauntered back to the door. “I’ll be back very soon.”

Aelin was about ready to throw the landlord from her apartment but he backed out on his own and she didn’t even wait for a farewell before she shut the door on his face.

Aelin rubbed at her face letting out a frustrated sound onto the palms of her hands. Arobynn had thoroughly killed the mood, and from the sound of it he was coming back any second.

Aelin peeked through her fingers and saw Rowan rubbing at the back of his neck, probably feeling just as awkward as she was.

“Do you —“

Rowan’s words were cut off as a ringing sounded from the bedroom. Aelin swore and stormed off to her bedroom. Aedion’s name was flashing on the screen.

“What?” She barked at him.

“What’s got you so feisty first thing in the morning?” He said from the other side of the phone.

“I was about to have possibly the best lay of my life,” she whispered. “Just if you were wondering.”

There was a beat of silence. “Sorry for interrupting.”

Aelin sighed. “It wasn’t even you. Arobynn turned up just as things were getting interesting.”

Aedion let out a low whistle. “That’s terrible. I was just calling to check if you were still on for breakfast.”

Aelin slapped her palm to her forehead. She’d totally forgotten. Aedion was about to head to Wendlyn for 2 weeks and they’d planned to do a breakfast before he had to flew out in the afternoon.

“Yes of course,” Aelin said.

“I don’t want to get on the way of your… plans,” Aedion said and she could hear the smirk in his voice.

“My asshole landlord has already gotten in the way of that. Speaking of, can you bring it here? I don’t want his gross minions in my apartment unattended.”

“Yeah okay. Is your friend going to stay?” Aedion asked.

Aelin turned to her open door, she couldn’t see Rowan, but hadn’t heard the door open so he was most likely sitting in the couch or something. Aelin sighed.

“Maybe.”

“I’ll get some extra stuff anyway, if he doesn’t stay you can drown your sorrows in extra pastries. Bye,” Aedion said.

“Bye.” With that, Aelin hung up.

Taking a deep breath Aelin stepped out of her bedroom and as she suspected Rowan was on the couch. He heard her and stood up.

Before he could say anything she said, “My cousin is coming over, he’s headed to Wendlyn for work today so we’re having breakfast.”

“Oh,” Rowan said quietly. “I don’t want to intrude on that, I’ll go.”

Rowan approached her, when he was close enough he grabbed her hand his thumb running over the back of it.

“You can stay, if you want,” Aelin said a little hopefully.

Rowan shook his head, “I don’t think I’m ready to meet the family.”

Aelin supposed that was fair, it was already awkward enough. Then Rowan let go of her hand and continued walking right past her to get his stuff from the bedroom. Aelin shook her head at the disappointment in her gut. The plans she had had for that bed and the two of them this morning.

Aelin phone started buzzing in her hand again this time Asshole Landlord lighting up the screen.

She ignored it. She would call back in a minute.

Rowan walked by her again, all the way to the door. But he stopped and turned around, his free hand running through his hair. He was most definitely nervous.

“Wanna like…I mean, if you’re not busy… we could get lunch?” Rowan asked.

Aelin swore the gods were working against her, laughing at her disastrous timing.

“I’ve got to take my cousin to the airport,” Aelin said, her voice pained.

“Or maybe just coffee if you don’t have a lot of time?” Rowan offered again.

Aelin smiled a little. At least he was being persistent.

“Yeah that would be good,” Aelin said. “I’ll let you know.”

Rowan smiled and nodded before he walked out the door. Again, Aelin’s phone rang. Arobynn calling again. Aelin took a deep breath and schooled her voice into passable civility.

“Hello, Arobynn. What’s happening with my door?”

~~~~~

*throws giant log of the burning fire* Sorry. It was burning a little too quick… needed to slow it down. But trust me. Soon. I got my plans. Just hold in there.

Tags:

@tangledraysofsunshine // @nalgenewhore // @highqueenofelfhame // @galyxsy // @fucking-winchester-trash // @literary-licorice // @http-itsrebecca // @highladyofthesith // @aelinfire-bringer // @soup-that-is-too-hawt // @sleep-and-books // @3am-reading // @average-girl-at-best // @but-she-was-aelin-galathynius // @rowaelinforeverworld // @alifletcher2012 // @westofmoon // @tswaney17 // @mydarlingfireheart // @rowansfirebringer // @chocolate-eating-bitch-queen // @vanilla28 // @fireheart-of-your-dreams // @enquires-state-building // @im-not-rare-im-rarr // @your-high-lady // @mariamuses // @ttakeitbacknoww // @vi0let-femmes // @kindofawalkingpoem // @sleeping-and-books // @armixers-unite // @velarian-trash // @queenofxhearts // @princess-galathynius // @heroesofterrasen // @ladyofstoriesandmusic // @unassumingsodalovesherbooks // @empire-of-wildfire // @brittneym15 // @camerooonchiu // @worldoffae // @mybbyfeyre // @crackedship // @lowhangingtreebranches // @over300books // @yourwhisperingshadows // @thesirenwashere // @pilesofriles // @chemicha // @keshavomit // @sarahbringsoutmygay13 // @wifeofchrishemsworth // @impossiblescissorspeachpaper // @cat5313 // @judelovescardan // @illyrian-velaris // @flowerspringsea // @whitethorn15 // @whiskeybusiness1776 // @notaddictedtoanything // @thereaderandfangirl // @mynewdreamwasyou // @tintinnabulary // 

[musicnoots]

Jupiter - The Bringer of Jollity

George Luz/Reader

A/N: This is what happens when I listen to Gustav Holst’s The Planet five times a day. Inspired by the fourth movement of the suite: Jupiter - The Bringer of Jollity. You can listen to it here.

Synopsis: There’s nothing that brings more joy in your life than George Luz.

Tags: @gottapenny @dustyjjumpwings @higgles123 @croatianbagudna @wexhappyxfew @medievalfangirl

There is nothing George wants to see more than your pretty little face. Your body. Your presence. You are the reason why he looks forward to the end of the work day, driving home just to see you at home, looking beautiful as ever. He longs to feel your touch after a long day at work, to be cured of whatever ailment simply by just the sound of your voice. You are the love of his life—he’s proclaimed it seventy times, still not enough.

He races up the steps of your West Warwick home, practically shoving the keys into the keyhole and unlocking the door. The day you agreed to come home with him after the war was the happiest day in George Luz’s life. He asked you on V-E day, despite knowing that you both would get shipped out to the Pacific at any given day. You didn’t think twice before throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him all over his face.

When the war ended before you guys could get shipped out, George started talking about buying a house and living out the rest of his life with you. He started talking serious business about living together, where you would want to live because you were from the West Coast and he was the prodigal son of the East Coast. You simply smiled and told him you’d follow him wherever. Just as long as you were with him.

“Honey, I’m home!” he exclaimed loudly, his voice almost echoing throughout the household. He throws his keys on the table and smiles when he hears your footsteps down the hallway.

“Hi, baby!” You ran right into his arms, allowing him to wrap around you and while your face was smushed against his chest. Today had been your day off from work, but George still had work today, leaving a big fat kiss on your cheek before he left this morning. You looked so peaceful while sleeping, he didn’t want to wake you, instead whispering a faint Bye, sweetheart. I love you. I’ll be back this afternoon.

“How’s my favorite girl today?” he asked when you pulled away, kissing the top of your head while your arm was still wrapped around his waist.

“Pretty good, I slept in, and oh! Georgie—“ you grabbed his hand and led him into the kitchen where his eyes widened to the size of golf balls. “I made you a pie.”

George loves a good pie. Definitely not more than he loves you—you’re number one in his heart, but pies take number two. Pies just taste better when you make them. Every time you make him a pie, his heart melts and he falls even deeper in love you because his favorite person made his favorite thing. It’s a win-win situation. He looked at the pie, a chocolate cream pie, and then back at you before pulling you back into his tight embrace and peppering your face with kisses. “God, I love you, babe! I love you so much! How did I deserve such an amazing woman? The world will never know!”

“Aw, George, I do it because I love you,” you said, knowing that your boyfriend would definitely complain about not getting you anything in return even though he didn’t need to.

“Babe! You’re amazing!” He pulled you back into his arms for another bear hug, resting his chin on the top of your head while his hand rubbed circles on your back. “Lucky for you, I got you something too, shmucks.”

“George, do really don’t have to get me anything, y’know.”

“Nah. I got it for you after I got off from work.”

“No, baby, you didn’t have to,” you pleaded, feeling bad every time this happened.

“Babe, can’t a man spoil his girlfriend?” George loves spoiling you. Ever since you two got together, he loved to give you things rather than to receive them. During the war, it had been little knick knacks that he found in houses—he once gifted you a hen’s egg—and when you moved out to Rhode Island, George quickly found himself going into shops to find you a gift. It doesn’t matter what day of the week or what time it is, George Luz loves to spoil his girl. “Turn around, Y/N, I want this to be a surprise.”

You were hesitant to comply with his request, expecting a silly gift like a bouquet of flowers he got from the neighbor’s front yard or a muffin because he thought it looked like you, but every gift from him is a gift you love. It was until George turned you around himself that you stood with your back against him, mind racing with what he had in store for you now—your little bundle of joy.

“Oh, babe. You’re gonna love this,” he said, knowing that you had no idea what he was doing.

You giggled. “Can I turn around now?”

“No! I’m nervous!”

“George, you’ve given me gifts like, all the time.”

“This one is different! It’s special!”

You grinned and shook your head. You always wonder how you managed to score a man like George, he was God’s ray of sunshine and the only man in the world who would challenge the wits of Apollo, he is the thunder that storms bring, and he is Jupiter, the bringer of jollity. You always wonder, but you never questioned because you always knew that he was meant for you. Loving George Luz was the best decision you have ever made.

Your head tells you that he probably got you another set of utensils for the so-called dining collection, but your heart thumps so loud in a sea of uncertainty you’re sure he can hear it. “Okay, babe. You can look now.”

When you turn around, you don’t find George in front of you, but instead, he is on one knee with a ring in his hand. No velvet box like the movies and books suggest, but this is everything beyond your dreams.

Your initial reaction is shock, complete and utter shock at the sight of your man—George motherfucking Luz—kneeling on the floor right in front of you. You always knew that this would be the man you’d want to marry, the same man you’d commit yourself to be with forever without a second thought, but you still found your heart to skip a beat when the ring flashed before your very eyes.

“Y/N, babe, I—“

“Yes!” You fling yourself into George’s arms, not even allowing him to finish his speech because you already knew what your heart wanted.

He catches you in his chest, your nose buried into the crook of his neck as he stands back up and covers your face in kisses. He’s overwhelmed, even more than you are. He’s glad you said yes, but he’s also grateful that you agreed without any convincing from him.

“God—“ he said in between kisses, “I can’t believe you said yes, oh my God, I love you so much.”

Tears filled your eyes in joy and excitement, too many emotions in your head to comprehend the feeling in your chest. “Georgie—“

“Oh, babe, why are you crying? This is great!” he exclaimed, trying to get your spirits up. “We’re gonna get married!” He paused. “Oh, God. We’re gonna get married. We’re gonna get married!” He grabbed your hands and immediately started to jump, tapping his toes on the floor of your house like a five year old. “We’re gonna get married! Oh, boy! Isn’t that great, Y/N?! We’re gonna get married!”

“I know, baby!” You kissed his cheek, letting a tear fall down your cheek and George wiped it right off with his thumb. “This is great! This is so, so awesome! I love you!”

“I love you, too, babe!” He placed a firm kiss on your lips before his attention flew to the open kitchen window. “God, we should let the neighbors know. I think they’re still mad from the last time when I took flowers from their front yard, but I hope not!” George took you by the hand and dragged you to the sink, practically shoving both of your heads out the window. “We’re getting married, guys! Can you believe it?! Woohoo!” he screamed out the window, followed by a string of giggles from you.

God, you loved George. It was never for the small gifts he gave you or the idea of a domestic life after the war, it was always about him. He was always a special kind of guy whether you knew him personally or not. He brought joy to the world, your world, and you never wanted him to leave. You always wanted him, and now you could have him forever.

You looked at him and that stupid and charming smile on his face and it was like falling right back in love with him back in Aldbourne when he’d walk all the way to the home you were being quartered in despite being two blocks away. Back to Holland where he kissed you during the liberation festivities in Eindhoven. Back to Bastogne when he told you that he loved you. Back to Austria when he asked you to come back home with him.

Your hand went to caress his cheek with your thumb, admiring the man who was now your fiancé. “This is the best gift you have given me.”

“So those murder utensils I gave you last week wasn’t the best?” he scoffed, trying to act like he was disappointed even though he just got engaged seconds ago—peak George Luz.

“You mean kitchen knives, George?” you laughed. Murder utensils.

“Y’know, babycakes, this ring was nothin’! Cost me a couple hundreds only.” He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you close. “But I guess makin’ you Mrs. Luz is great, too.”

[lahdolphin]

I’m missing Stars Aligned today and can’t stop thinking about this universe so I went through a lot of my notes and found a bunch of information I’ve never shared. Thought I’d dump it into the tag I have for the fic.

Inarizaki, Niiyama, and the Wastelands -- Inarizaki aesthetic and Niiyama aesthetic

On a continent to the south, there is the kingdom of Inarizaki and the Niiyama Empire. There may be smaller kingdoms and what not as well, but these are the major two. To the east is Inarizaki and to the west is Niiyama. Separating the two is a place known as the Wastelands, a stretch of desert that receives no rainfall (even the desert kingdom of Inarizaki receives some). 

The Wastelands is characterized by cracked dry earth, dead foliage and lots of tumbleweeds. They say no civilized, sane person would live there and crossing this place is a near death sentence. The Wastelands is home to the second kind of changeling, though they don’t call themselves that. They prefer the term “shifters.” Unlike the changelings of Fukurodani, who can all turn into birds, shifters in the Wastelands turn into dogs. If Kyoutani, a shifter, was ever to met up with Iwaizumi, Oikawa, and co., it would be here. (Currently, a major clan in the Wastelands is run by a woman who is married to the god that created the shifters, though most people don’t know he’s a god. They have a son, Kyoutani, who will not be reborn like the Colored Mages, but who does have special powers and otherworldly skills.)

Niiyama is a matriarchal society with architecture and aesthetic based loosely on Aztec or Mayan culture (think Road to El Dorado) paired with every stereotypical rainforest aesthetic. Niiyama is home to lush rainforests, “exotic” animals like leopards and tigers and colorful birds and poisonous frogs, and female mages that worship the moon goddess. These women are trained as priestesses though people in Inarizaki like to call them “witches.” The current Black Mage is part of the royal family (specifically, her eerily old great-grandmother is the empress and she will give the throne to the Black Mage, the first royal female by blood since her). This is Niiyama’s captain in canon and at this point she doesn’t have a name. I like to call her Jun. She has a long title like Danerys in Game of Thrones, something like “[Name], Rightful Heir to the Niiyama Empire, High Priestess of the Moon Goddess, the Black Mage reborn, Daughter of the Forest, Bringer of Storms, etc. etc.” (Gods and goddesses can be found in the forest. They take on the shapes of giant animals, or humans. It’s best not to go too deep into the forest alone.)

Inarizaki is a patriarchal society and is a mix of a ton of aesthetics--Dorne in Game of Thrones, your stereotypical Arabian Nights, ancient Egypt, Gerudo from LoZ, and a few others. It is known as a land of summer, a sandy desert kingdom with large cities at coastal ports and internal oases and along rivers. People travel by camel across the sand or by boat along the coast and rivers. It is a very wealthy kingdom, but also a very poor kingdom. Only a few are wealthy and they control the poor to the point where the poor enter contracts, essentially selling themselves as slaves, to get a large sum of money in return which they can give to their family. Of course, not everyone enters a contract and some are taken by force. Here, there are many gods, but the people mainly worship the sun god and their economy is based on their massive export industry and trade in general. (Similarly, there are gods that roam the desert. One likes to sit at your campfire at night; you should give him food. Others will guide you through the desert, others led you to death. Do not trust a stranger in the desert.)

Essentially, Inarizaki is the antithesis of Niiyama (desert vs. rainforest, sun vs. moon god/goddess, patriarchal vs. matriarchal, etc.). Despite their differences, both kingdoms share ancient ruins with similar imagery and architecture. In Inarizaki, these ruins are buried beneath the sand. In Niiyama, they’re hidden in the depths of the jungle, some even underwater. Even in the Wastelands, there are crumbling ruins inhabited by the shifters to escape the sun. Treasure hunters search for these ruins and steal their treasures, often hiring guides and curse breakers. These places are very dangerous and no one knows what civilization built the ruins.

Three Empires/Triple Islands -- aesthetic

To the west, there are three islands either known as the Triple Islands or the Three Empires. Each island is about a day’s boat ride away with favorable winds and they’re roughly placed in a triangle, equidistant apart. There is the Nohebi Empire, the Itachiyama Empire, and the Mujinazaka Empire.

Long, long ago (to the point where it is just a story and not a known fact), these three islands were one land. However, three groups fought and the gods decided to split the land to stop the fighting. To this day, those gods are alive, hidden away on the islands to stop violence from breaking out between the current empires. (Perhaps in the story it was three siblings? Or maybe just three groups. I don’t think the current empires were established at that point in history. It was a really long ago.)

Mujinazaka is loosely based on the aesthetic of Tibetan monks and whole Air Nomad thing in Avatar the Last Airbender. The major god here is a frog. A lot of monks here are warrior monks, though they are generally peaceful. Most of them actually use magic but don’t use staves, preferring beads and such to amplify their magic, allowing them to fight with their fists but produce bursts of air.

Itachiyama is loosely based on some other ancient Asian culture (tbd). This is the place I know the least about, other than the emperor has many children, including a daughter that was rumored to be Oikawa’s potential bride after he came of age. The major god that resides in Itachiyama takes the form of a salamander.

Nohebi is based loosely on feudal era Japan. The major god residing in Nohebi is a snake. Second to Nekoma, they have the most mages based on percentage of the popular than any other kingdom/empire. They are also known for their academics. The capital, which is surrounded by cherry blossoms that last year round thanks to magic, is the home of the emperor. He has a vast network of spies/ninjas and personal samurai-like guards. The Green Mage has been said to live in Nohebi and I’ve mentioned in author’s notes that this is Daishou, who likes to take on the form of a snake but is not the god I mentioned before. I don’t know if he would be an advisor to the emperor, or maybe the head of his spy network, or perhaps serves some religious role for his ability to turn into the snake they worship. His presence in Nohebi is well known, and the emperor has some bit of control over him (but how much can you control a Colored Mage, really?--something I think Daishou takes advantage of).

Like with Niiyama and Inarizaki, gods like to roam. There are the major gods on each island but also more minor gods that you can find traveling. Some are good, some are bad, some are neither and simply exist. 

[katehuntington]

How You & I Will Be - part four

Fandom: Supernatural Timeframe: mid-season 2 Main characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam & Reader (friends) Series summary: When a hellhound case in the mountains goes sideways, Dean and Y/N find themselves trapped in a small cabin, miles from civilization. A serious injury forces the two hunters to come to terms with their true feelings for each other. Rescue is on its way, but will it be in time? Warnings part four: angst, pining, fluff, swearing, alcohol, description of blood and injury, possible character death, saying goodbye, all the tears.  Word Count:  3926 words Author’s note: Part 4 of a 5 part mini-series.  @idreamofhazel and @littlegreenplasticsoldier, thank you so much for being awesome betas! Hold on to something, because it’s gonna get dark and sad. Tissues are mandatory.

Find the ‘How You & I Will Be’ masterlist here!

     Unlike the raging blizzard that is whirling around the cabin outside, inside it’s completely quiet. The flames in the fireplace have died down to a few glowing chunks of charcoal, barely breathing. Dean settled against the wall hours ago and hasn’t moved since; Y/N fell asleep against his chest this afternoon and has been out of it for most of the time. And so he watches the lighting of the scenery change outside as sun goes down and the night comes in, washing dark clouds through the valley.       It has been three days since the hellhounds attacked her. Not allowing himself to sleep has him exhausted, but Dean refuses to let his guard down. He has to stay on watch, he has to keep going. Maybe if he keeps fighting, she’ll be able to hold on, too.

     His arm is wrapped around her, his cheek on her hair. The leftover moonshine keeps him company, comforting him whenever he lets the liquor burn his throat. He was able to contact Sam through the satellite phone again. His smart little brother found a ritual to send the hounds back to the doghouse, but getting his hands on the exotic ingredients has been a challenge. Several hunters are pitching in; Bobby, Ellen and Jo are all working around the clock. But when he glances down at the woman they are all desperately trying to save, he hopes it will be enough. He lets out a worried and shuddering sigh after registering the paleness of her skin and the shallowness of her breath.

     In his entire life he prayed once or twice, maybe. When he was little he would ask God to bring his mom back, but he grew up quick enough to understand that he could pray all he wanted, his mother was never coming home. Today he prayed, though. He begged the man upstairs not to take her, to give her a chance.

     But her condition is getting worse. The infection has caused blood poisoning, by the looks of it. Her fever spiked even higher few hours ago, causing restless dreams and hallucinations. Sometimes she is so far off that she mistakes him for her father. She cries for him, for her mom, too. She told him she was sorry about a hundred times, Dean can’t figure out what she meant. But damn, Y/N is putting up one hell of a fight. 

     ‘I’m not gonna die, I’m not gonna die, I’m not gonna die!’ 

     She keeps repeating it as if she’s trying to scare the reaper away. Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise him if one is already lurking in the corner of the room, like a vulture waiting for the wounded animal to die. The bastard can wait all he wants, Dean can still feel her chest rise and fall, he can feel her shiver. He can feel the intense heat coming from her clammy skin. She’s alive, and again Dean closes his eyes and rests the back of his head against the wood, letting another weary breath slip from his lips.

     God, please…. Please, let her win this fight. I’m begging you here, okay? I’m on my knees, I’ll do everything you ask. Please, just this one time…

     As if it’s a sign from above, the satellite phone rings. Startled, Dean opens his eyes and stares at the piece of equipment laying a few feet away from him. Y/N stirs for a moment, awakened by the beeping sound, but he is able to slip his arm from behind her back and gets up without disturbing her any further. In three big strides he’s next to the phone, picks it up and presses the green button.      “Sam?”      “Dean, hey.”      Relieved, the oldest Winchester places one hand on his hip and stares through the window into the dark night. It’s always good to hear his brother’s voice, especially in desperate times like these.  “Tell me you’ve got something.”      His words come out with a tremble in his voice he didn’t mean to be audible. But his brother heard it nonetheless. “I do. We got all the ingredients and Bobby is lifting the curse as we speak.”

     During the following silence, Dean can hear the soft chanting of his surrogate father in the background. A sigh of relief escapes his lips and he silently thanks the man upstairs. But then Sam’s tone dawns on him. The words weren’t cheery or excited, not relieved like you would expect from the bringer of good news. Before Dean can ask about the downside, his brother continues.      “How is she doing?” he wonders. “Did she get worse?”      Dean turns around to observe Y/N’s unconscious figure leaning against the wall. He swallows thickly when he notices her grey skin tone, the dark shadows under her eyes, her lips pale and dry. He has seen it before, on the faces of hunters and victims whenever the monsters got to them before the Winchesters could. It’s as if the skull illuminates through the skin, eyes sunken in their sockets slightly more. The face of death. Dean turns away, having trouble to accept what is right under his nose.      “She’s on the verge, Sammy,” he speaks softly, trying to stay strong.

     “There’s a rescue team on standby in the valley, but they won’t be able to make a move until dawn, and that is if the storm passes,” the youngest Winchester breaks to him, as gently as possible. “It might take until tomorrow evening before we can reach you.”      Dean gulps, witnessing the bad weather outside. The realisation that Mother Nature might be a major deal-breaker sinks in and Sam can hear a trace of panic when his brother objects.      “No.” Dean shakes his head stubbornly. “No, no, no. She needs help right now. What about a chopper?”      “They don’t fly during blizzards like these.”      “A snowmobile then,” he thinks out loud, pacing back and forth. “How long will it take if you hike up this fucking piece of rock?!”      “Even if we manage to reach you guys on foot, she will never survive the way back in her condition. It’s fifteen degrees outside, winds blowing over 70 miles per hour…”      “Well dammit, Sam! There must be something!”

     Dean turns around, pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes squeezed shut. He glances over at her for a second, making sure she is still asleep, but Y/N has barely moved since he picked up the phone. He knows his little brother heard the desperation in his voice. He knows how this looks, but he can’t accept it. He can’t allow it.      “Bobby contacted a witch he owes, maybe she’ll be able to tame the weather. But it’s gonna take a couple of hours at least.…”      “She doesn’t have that much time, Sam. I-I don’t think she’s.…”      The line cracks a little when silence is the only thing that remains between the brothers. Dean presses his trembling lips together as he fight the tears, but he’s unable to continue. He doesn’t need to finish his sentence for Sam to get where he’s going. It takes a while before either of them speaks.

     “Dean, listen to me...” Sam says eventually, his voice broken too, “you’ve got to tell her.”      The older brother stares outside the window, watching the wind taunt the snow, shooting it across the night sky like razors. The fact that Sam doesn’t tell him that it’s going to be just fine, but instead chooses to offer advice on how to handle the final hours, states the obvious.      “No. Maybe if I don’t, she’ll be able to keep throwing punches,” he refuses, the words coming out shaky.       “That’s not what I’m talking about,” Sam rephrases. “You need to tell her what we talked about in the car. You have to tell her that you’re in love with her.”

     Again, silence as Dean bites his lip, moving the speaker away from his mouth slightly to make sure Sam doesn’t pick up on his quivering breath.      “If you don’t, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life,” he pressures. “She deserves to know the truth.”      “She’s dying, Sam. I don’t think she wants to listen to some dude pouring his heart out. This isn’t about me,” Dean responds somewhat agitated.      “You are not just ‘some dude’ to her, Dean! You have no idea, do you?”      He can hear his younger brother sigh on the other side before he continues.  “You’re not the only one I had long night conversations with. It’s a two way street, man.”

     Struck by realization, Dean stares into the storm, eyes wide, mouth slightly opened. Is Sam telling him that this profound feeling is mutual? Sure, a part of him hoped it was. But living a hunter’s life didn’t allow him to feel that way. Sometimes he picked up on something, but he always thought of it as harmless flirting. Besides, she knows him. She knows him better than any girl he has ever come across. She knows about his inability to cope with sorrow and loss. She saw him wreck the trunk of his own car with a crowbar after his father’s death. She knows about the drinking, the urge to hit the liquor cabinet every time life gets rough. She knows about the many, many women, a girl in every town they passed through. He put her through silent-treatment, he raged at her when she confronted him with his habit to stuff up all his pain, grief and anger. How could she possibly love him back?        “She’s in love with me?” he whispers in disbelief.      “Yeah, head over heels,” Sam acknowledges. “She couldn’t stop talking about it.”       Stunned, Dean runs his hand down his face, a mix of emotions knocking him over. If only he had known, maybe they could have made it work. Maybe, just maybe, they could have had something beautiful.       “It would mean the world to her, Dean. Tell her.”      He nods, even though Sam can’t see it.      “Alright, I will.”      A trace of a small smile forms on the corners of his mouth. He never knew he could feel so conflicted. Intense joy opposite an even greater grief. He only just became aware of her feelings for him and he’ll barely have time to act upon it.             “I’m so sorry, Dean,” Sam continues, sadder than a moment ago. “I really hoped you wouldn’t have to live through this.”       Jessica Moore, the love of Sam’s life. She pops into Dean’s mind instantly. He met her once, when he broke into their home in the middle of the night to he pick up his little brother up and search for their father. The way Sam looked at her was almost foreign to him, Dean didn’t understand any of it. He sure does now. He also understands Sam’s desperate attempt to save her when Jess was burning on the ceiling. If anyone can relate to how defeated, hopeless and scared Dean feels right now, it’s his brother.      “I know,” he sighs, appreciating his sympathy.

     He turns away from the icy window to face her again. She stirs, restless by a fever-dream, but then she wakes up. Confused eyes scan the room for her companion. When they focus on him standing by the window, she settles. Not for long, though, because his facial aspects are almost out of character. Tears are shimmering on his bottom eyelashes, eyes filled with desperation. The always optimistic Dean Winchester, who counters every problem with either a joke or another way out, is looking at her as if the world is about to come crashing down. He still has the satellite phone pressed against his ear and she realizes it’s probably Sam on the other side. It’s then when it clicks in her mind and she understands what’s going on.      “Bad news, huh?” she presumes, voice raspy.

Dean opens his mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. The single tear that was still clinging to his eyelid comes down his cheek. It’s impossible for him to lie to her as he intended. She would see right through the deceit anyway, having the ability to read him like a book. Dean bites his tongue to keep back the false promises, his jaw flexing in the process. Not trusting his voice, he nods as he swallows apprehensively. Without words he is able to explain exactly what is happening. He would have given anything to tell her otherwise.

     Y/N breaks her gaze away from him, her mouth slightly opened as it starts to sink in what this means: no one is coming to save her. Her breath hitches in her throat when she tries to breathe in deeply and she identifies it as panic immediately. ‘Calm down, slow breaths, you got this’, she tells herself.       In all fairness, she saw it coming. Even when Dean remained hopeful, she felt the life slipping through her fingers. Her body has been whispering it in her ear, so has her common sense.      “Is that Sam?” she ask softly.      Again Dean nods and she reaches out for the phone. He hands it to his partner, after which he turns away and runs his hand down his face, wiping away the tears.

     “Sammy, you there?”      Immediately, her voice calling out for his brother, calling him Sammy, causes Dean to tear up again. No one calls Sam that, the youngest Winchester would stubbornly correct those who dare to use that nickname. Except for Dean, except for her. That’s how much she’s like family to the brothers.      “Hey Y/N, it’s good to hear your voice,” Sam replies, having trouble keeping a steady tone. “Hanging in there?”       “You know me; not going down without a fight,” she forces a smile, wearing her mask well.       Dean has walked away slowly, his arms crossed in front of his chest. When he reaches the fireplace he leans against the warm stone shaft that runs up to the roof. He waits, listening, while trying to figure out how to deal the inevitable.        “...So there’s no way you can reach us in time?” she asks, after listening to Sam’s explanation.      “Y/N, I-I’m so sorry.…” Sam’s voice breaks.      She nods, her eyes watering. “It’s okay, Sam. You did everything you could.”      The one who is about to die, comforting the one who will live. It’s heartbreaking at least and Sam is touched by her attempt.      “Who’s gonna watch Breaking Bad with me, huh?” Sam smiles, taking a little trip down Memory Lane in order to lighten the mood.       “The big question is who’s gonna be my partner in crime in Vegas upstairs. I can’t count cards without my personal Einstein,” she chuckles through the sadness.       It remains quiet for a few long seconds as both search for things to say. It’s the youngest Winchester who speaks first. His message is as sincere as they come.      “I’m gonna miss you so, so much.”

     Sam doesn’t mean to, but his words hit so hard, that she crumbles. The curtain falls and so do the tears. Her eyes seek Dean, who is watching her having one last conversation with her best friend. He knows that the dam is about to break, so he approaches her slowly and crouches down to level with the girl he cares for so much. Even though he is having a hard time himself, he puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes it lightly, letting her know he’s right there.      “I’ll miss you too,” she responds, her voice quavering. “Do me a favor, will ya? Take care of your brother for me?”      Dean looks up and away, anything but in her eyes, because he knows it will destroy him. The knot in his stomach tightens and fresh tears roll down his face anyway. Breathing gets a little tougher, a constraint in his chest builds up. God, this hurts.      “I will. You have my word,” Sam promises, unable to tie his emotions down.      “Bye, Sammy.”      “See you again, Y/N.”

     Despite the tears glistening in her eyes, she smiles. Y/N cherishes the moment, then lets the air flow from your mouth and presses the red button. Dean takes the phone from her hand and lays it on the floor next to him, then faces the woman who has his heart. Numb and drained she stares at the fireplace that is barely spreading light anymore. The final words she just exchanged with Sam forces her to face the facts. God, she’s scared. She doesn’t want to die, not after everything that she missed out on saying.      “I fucked up, Dean,” she whimpers.       “Hey, now why would you say that?” he wonders, trying to read her.       “I should’ve done things differently. I- I should’ve lived more, should’ve had more fun, worked less, maybe for once listened to that ticker in my chest,” she pauses, catching her breath when panic causes her to ramble. “It’s just that - that now my time is up, it becomes so clear how bad I fucked up. I just, I wish I….”

     The words flow out together with soft sobs until she can’t continue anymore, so he hushes her softly. Where in the past Dean would have hit the breaks the moment he felt the urge to show affection past the borders of a platonic relationship, he does the exact opposite this time. Dean takes her hand in his, letting their fingers entwine with each other. Somewhat surprised Y/N casts her gaze down at their hands, then up into Dean’s eyes. His touch sends a warm sensation up her arm and spreads through her entire body. God, does it feel wonderful. A warmth she didn’t think she’d feel again since the approach of the end has left her feeling stone cold. It’s only now that she notices how he leans into her, until his forehead rests against hers. A quivering sigh leaves her lips as she squeezes her eyes shut, moved by his tenderness.

     After some time, she whispers, “You know what?”        She creates a little distance, cupping his face and rubbing her thumb through his scruff. His pupils bounce between hers, taking in every feature. For a second her eyes light up, ignited by the connection between the two of them.      “Of all the people, dead or alive, that I could spend my final moments with, I’m glad it’s you,” she says, contented. “I want you to know that I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

     A smile spreads across Dean’s face, creating lines that tell exactly how much those words mean to him. She mirrors his expression as he reaches up to sweep her hair from her face, then traces her jawline with his fingertips. The look that he gives her is unlike any gaze he’s given her before, because this time, he doesn’t hold back. 

     Dean leans in, inching closer and about to do the one thing he has been longing for.      “I should have done this a long time ago.”      He kisses her, in the most loving, gentle and yet passionate way possibly imaginable. Only now he realizes how desperate he was for this moment, how long he waited. How long he kept torturing himself by convincing his heart with his mind that he could never have her, that she would never love him.

     Y/N lets it wash over her and returns this symbol of his love by pulling him deeper into the kiss with the little strength that she has left. Dean takes his sweet time to let her feel how much she means to him, his lips lingering on hers. Then he slowly breaks the connection, cherishing the moment as he rests his forehead against hers. His  eyes remain closed, but eventually he allows himself to gaze at the universe in her eyes. Overcome she stares back, witnessing a shade of green somewhere between hidden rainforest and soothing emerald. Suddenly, she feels it. An urge, the words on the tip of her tongue waiting for her mouth to open. Of course she’s scared of rejection, of the aftermath, but she doesn’t let it win. No, for once she says exactly what her heart tells her to say. Then the one man who she never expected to say it out loud, beats her to it.

     “I love you, y’know that?”      Stunned she stares at him, tears welling up again.      She didn’t know.      She hoped, she dreamed, but she didn’t know. God, she wishes she knew! She would have spent her time differently, she would have stayed by his side every minute, every second. She would have been more careful.  She would have told him how much she loves him so many times that maybe one day he might even start loving himself instead of remaining hateful for the wrongs and mistakes he made. Now might be a good time to let him know. Better late than never.       “I love you, too,” she tells him.

     The realization of being loved is a beautiful thing to witness. The moment of disbelief, then astonishment, followed by a gratitude that grows to a volume that causes his eyes to pour over. It’s astounding that despite the grim future, he is able to shed a few tears of happiness. She loves him, how amazing is that?      “We’ve got piss poor timing, though,” he remarks, making her chuckle.

     The comment was meant to be funny, to bring back that bright smile and those bright eyes once more. It works, but then it also states the awful truth. This story barely began and it’s already coming to an end. And so her smile fades as she comes back down from her cloud. The rush of her amazing moment with Dean was coursing through her body like ecstasy, but its effect fade fast. It’s beginning to sink in how exhausted she truly is, how much of an effort it is just to sit upright. Breathing is becoming a mission and the pain from her leg has spread through her entire body.      “I could use that drink right now,” she says, hinting at the bottle of moonshine.

     ‘Let's disinfect that wound first and get desperate later, okay?’ That was Dean’s response when she asked for the drink last night. That they’re desperate would be an understatement, so with a little reluctance he hands her the liquor.      Letting her drink the alcohol feels like giving up in a way, but he helps her take a sip nonetheless when she is unable to heave the bottle to her mouth on her own. Just a sip is all it takes to trigger a cough.      “It’s not Jack…” she admits. “But it’ll do.”      Dean sets the bottle down and scoots up against the wall next to her, slipping his arm behind her back. Tired, she rests her head against his chest after he pulls her close. His steady heartbeat drums against her ear as he caresses her shoulder. It feels so good to finally let her guard down around Dean, to be close to him without having to be afraid to show too much affection.

     “I don’t want this to end,” she whispers.      Dean nuzzles his nose in her hair, trying to comfort her with his touch. She can’t see, though, that he has closed his eyes, trying to prevent himself from falling apart.       “Me neither,” he responds, his voice soft. “We still have some time, right?”       She nods, weakened, although she can’t say for sure if ‘some time’ can be expressed in hours or minutes.

Oh, boy... I know, it hurts. If you wanna rant, cry or scream at me, go right ahead and hit up my inbox. Stay tuned for the finale soon!

Read the final part here!

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[gukyi]

fire and ice | kth

⇒ summary: you hate winter, but taehyung is here to change that.

⇒ jack frost!au

⇒ pairing: taehyung x reader

⇒ word count: 4k

⇒ genre: fluffity fluff fluff

⇒ warnings: excessive use of the word “snow”

⇒ a/n: a very happy birthday to the love of my wholest life, kim taehyung!!! this is in celebration of that loser’s birthday. also, i got a lot of good feedback for a jack frost au, so here it is!

Maybe Kim Taehyung is a bit reckless and a bit untamed, but he sure knows how to have fun. After all, he’s been doing this for three hundred years, give or take a few decades. It’s not like ‘fun’ is a foreign concept to him.

He’s always been like this, really, always looking on the bright side of things, trying to find a way to make his life more entertaining. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, and Taehyung is anything but dull, if he does say so himself. With his staff in his hand and the promise of winter on his fingertips, Taehyung lights up the lives of those around him. Only, they don’t know it’s him. Nobody does, really. That’s when being Jack Frost isn’t as cool (hah) as people think it is.

Jack Frost? Yeah, that’s Taehyung. He’s sure you’ve heard of him, heard of what he does. Bringer of snow and ice, the fucker behind all of the times you’ve slipped on the ice while walking down the sidewalk. Though, Taehyung likes to think he’s being funny, and that he brings more fun than anything else. The snow is just a bonus. But yes, Jack Frost, Taehyung, it’s all the same to him. He’s the one that brings winter to your front door, knocking on it with pale hands and a lopsided, boxy grin.

Not many people know who Taehyung is—or, Jack Frost, that is—besides him being “just an expression” (God, he hates that phrase), but you do. You always have.

That’s why you’re his favorite.

Kim Taehyung has been trapped as an eighteen-year-old ever since he became Jack Frost, felt the cold sweep through his blood and replace it with snow, turn his hair silver and his skin a frost-white, but he’s known you ever since you were little. He remembers you well, remembers how, the first snow of your five-year-old age, you stormed outside, looking like a puffy marshmallow, and stomped around in the snow. He remembers your mother telling you that it was Jack Frost who did this, trapped snowflakes in your hair and flurries on your face. He remembers you frowning, turning your head to the side, and declaring that you hated him.

He remembers being seen by you next. Remembers standing in front of you, frozen as ice, as you shouted.

He’s been with you ever since.

You’re something of a Scrooge when it comes to winter, always have been, and Taehyung thinks it’s hilarious. He always puts in the extra effort, when the moon decides for a sprinkle or a blizzard to befall your little city, to see how you’ve been doing.

Taehyung brings fun, brings snowball fights and sledding hills and snow days, to the people of the world, but he brings a little bit of mischief when it comes to you.

The look on your face never fails to make him beam.

The story you tell with Taehyung began at age five and has continued ever since, with him letting the wind take him back to you to bother you for another winter, without fail. Taehyung has watched countries rise and fall, seen towns build and decay, seen the world turn for over three hundred years, but you’re something of a strange constant in his life. Taehyung lost track of time by his second winter as Jack Frost, but you bring it back to him.

Maybe that’s why he’s always so drawn to you. There’s something about you that makes him wish he were still human again.

He remembers, vividly, the sound of your shrieks as he took your sled ride too far, his staff controlling the breeze that kept you flying through the air until you gracefully fell into a snowbank, heart racing. He remembers how, at night sometimes, when the wind is howling and Taehyung is creeping outside your window, he’d blow it open, letting flurries dot your windowsill and the wind wake you up. Remembers how he was the one behind the ice patch in the high school parking lot, the one that made you fall in front of that stupid crush of yours.

He relishes in how you scream his name without fail, every time something happens to you.

Taehyung loves winter, but he thinks he loves teasing you even more. After all, you hated the snow even before Taehyung barged into your life.

And when you pull up in your family’s driveway after your first semester away at college, jumping out of the driver’s seat to pull your suitcase from your boot, Taehyung looks on from the dogwood tree that grows in your front lawn, and decides that this is the winter where he’ll teach you to learn to love the snow.

With a flick of his staff, flurries surround you, soft snowflakes dotting your hair, eyelashes, black peacoat. He watches you as you pause, suitcase almost rolling away by your side, and stare up into the sky.

“Taehyung!” You shout, and it makes him burst into a fit of giggles. The sound of his melodious laughter makes you turn your head straight towards him, eyebrow raised in disapproval. “I’m back home for half a day and already you’re doing this?”

Taehyung flies down from the tree, landing softly in the thin layer of frost that dots the fading green grass of your garden, and smiles. “Thought it’d be better if I got a head start this year.”

“Whatever, I don’t wanna hear it,” you say, fighting the grin Taehyung can see wants to make its way across your lips as you reach for your suitcase.

Taehyung takes one look at the thing and decides that the fun starts now. With a kiss blown your way, he sends your suitcase flying, a sheet of ice underneath its wheels that makes it travel on its own. You almost topple over once your fingers realize your suitcase is no longer there, and it’s once you catch your breath that you see it taking a cruise down your sidewalk.

“Taehyung!” You shout again, hands curling into fists as you shake them vigorously his way. Taehyung, mid-air, is bursting into laughter at the sight of you, fruitlessly chasing after your suitcase as it slides on the ice he’s made. When he finally regains his senses, he freezes the suitcase, stops it from sliding into the road as you place a heavy hand on the thing, leaning over to catch your breath.

Taehyung flies over, a chilly hand on the small of your back. “You okay?”

“I hate you,” you say, narrowing your eyes as you scowl. “You always make winter so much worse.”

“Well, lucky for you,” Taehyung says, walking casually beside you as you wheel your luggage back up to your house, now a whole uphill battle away, “I’m here to change that.”

“Excuse me?” You ask, shocked expression taking over your face as your eyebrow raises in question. You look in disbelief, mild concern lacing your features as Taehyung grins.

“I’m gonna teach you to love winter,” Taehyung declares.

You roll your eyes, eyebrows furrowed in worry as you heave out a sigh, watch your breath dissipate in front of your eyes, already knowing you’re not going to be able to do anything to stop him. Taehyung laughs as he watches you, blowing a kiss your way as he flies off, ready to take on the world with you. His kiss bursts into a flurry in front of your eyes, and you blink as you watch the flakes fall to the ground, shaking your head fondly as you walk inside your house.

Taehyung, taking respite in the dogwood tree once more, smiles to himself, and wonders about tomorrow.

At seven in the morning, Taehyung busts through your window and blows a cold kiss onto your sleeping face, and it would be a ruder awakening if he weren’t so overwhelmingly attractive. Taehyung smiles warmly, a weird sensation for the literal embodiment of Jack Frost, as he watches you rub the sleep from your eyes.

“What the fuck!” You shout once you realize he’s here, but you immediately collapse back onto your pillow, curling away from him as you throw a pillow on top of yourself. “God, can you wait?”

“Nope,” Taehyung says, shrugging happily. “You’re learning to love snow, end of story.” He’s already asked the clouds today to bring a snowfall to your town. It’s too late to turn back.

“Now?” You groan. “You’re making my room all chilly.”

“Kind of what you get for being friends with Jack Frost,” Taehyung reasons.

Even from under your pillow, he can hear you scoff. “I’d hardly call us friends.”

Taehyung pouts. “I’m hurt, Y/N. We’ve known each other for so long and you don’t even think we’re friends?”

You pull the pillow off of you, sitting up in your bed, hair messy and a trail of dried drool down your chin, and smile helplessly. “Well, I guess we’re kind of like friends.”

Barely an hour later, Taehyung is tugging you off of your front lawn, sled in his hand, as he leads you to the best damn hill in town. He’s been down this hill so many times, seen kids sledding down it since there was a town built in this little part of the country, that he knows it almost by heart. Knows what makes the snow here tick, the wind blow.

“I don’t know about this, Taehyung,” you say hesitantly, eyeing the hill with worry. “I’m not a fan of the snow on better days.”

Taehyung laughs, takes your warm, human hand in his frosty one, and tugs you up to the top of the hill, where children have already started to gather in preparation for sledding down. Fire and ice, is what it feels like when your skin touches. He can do nothing but stay cool, emanates only a frost and a chill, but that sweet burning of the heat of your hand as it meets his turns him drunk, desperate for more.

“Come on, it’s not that bad, Y/N,” Taehyung begs. He motions to a kid beside you, a small boy no older than six, as he gets on his belly on top of the sled, and skids down to where his mother waits at the bottom. When he stands up, he erupts into giggles. “Please?”

“You first,” you say, handing the sled to him.

Taehyung shrugs, happy to take a turn, and jumps on, the momentum sending him flying forward. With a little bit of a push, he flips in the air as he’s sledding down, shrieking with joy. When he reaches the bottom, he sends you a thumbs up, feeling like he’s five-years-old all over again. You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your coat. He takes that as his cue to fly back up to you, handing the sled to you.

“Your turn,” he singsongs.

You look tense, a little cautious, as you settle in on the sled at the top of the hill. Taehyung loves the way you look at him for guidance, your worried eyes meeting his, sparkling in the sun as it beats down upon the two of you.

“Here,” he says. “I’ll wait at the bottom for you.”

Your eyes grow even more nervous.

“Don’t worry, okay?” He tells you. “I’ll catch you if you fall. I promise.”

With that, he flies down to the bottom of the hill, right in front of you, arms outstretched. With a nod of his head, he motions for you to go.

You shut your eyes the second you feel yourself sliding, instinctively beginning to scream—in terror or excitement, neither of you can tell. Taehyung watches you the entire way down, sees the way your open mouth slowly curves into a smile as you find yourself getting the hang of this sledding thing.

That is, until you hit a hidden rock buried in the ground, and you go flying off of the sled, right into Taehyung’s arms. As his back hits the snow, he laughs.

“How was that?” He asks excitedly, looking down to meet your eyes, where your head rests on his torso. “Did you like it?”

“It was a little fun,” you say, pursing your lips. “I’m sorry I made you fall,” you apologize.

“That’s okay,” Taehyung says, arms still wrapped around you as you sit up. “I said I would catch you, didn’t I?”

The next thing Taehyung does is take you back home, letting you dust off the snow that’s gotten into your boots and on the nape of your neck and along your bare wrists, where your gloves meet your coat, before chucking a snowball right at your chest.

“Taehyung!” You shout, shocked. “What the hell?”

“Welcome to your first snow day, Y/N!” Taehyung says as he forms another snowball in your hand, tossing it right at your torso. You yell again, but this time a smile is fighting its way across your face.

“Oh, you’re in for it now, Taehyung!” You shout.

Taehyung’s always loved the feeling of snow as it hits him. Call him crazy, but Taehyung loves the snow on his skin, how the cold seeps into his bones and sends a chill down his spine. Maybe that’s why the Man in the Moon made him Jack Frost. Because no matter what happens to him, he’ll always find a home amongst the snow, peace in a blizzard, happiness in the cold. Taehyung sees the light in the darkness, the fun in the frost. He always has.

He’s screaming as he runs, dodging your snowballs as you pelt them at him. The sound of his voice makes you laugh, a giddy look on your face as you finally sock him in the head. It makes him fall flat on the ground, laying on his back, and he smiles. Now you’re finally getting the hang of it.

“Get up!” You shout, a snowball already at the ready. “What, Taehyung? Too scared?”

Jack Frost? Scared of the snow? Unheard of. Taehyung conjures up another snowball in his hand, not even having to move, and it’s a split second between him sitting up and throwing it at you before you’re on the snow floor as well, beside yourself with giggles.

He flies over, juggling snowballs in his hands as he hovers above you. Your eyes are scrunched up into crescents as they look at him, bright and warm and lovely, just like you.

“Starting to like the snow yet?” Taehyung asks you, knowing smirk on his face.

“I will, once I win this snowball fight,” you say, taking a chunk of snow and throwing it right at his chest as you get up, cackling. Taehyung gasps at the feeling, surprised you’d pull such a low blow like that, and turns around, only to see you disappear behind the tree in your snow-covered garden.

“Can’t hide forever, Y/N,” Taehyung taunts, a sizeable snowball dancing between his fingers. “You’re gonna have to face me eventually!”

“Not if I can help it!” You shriek, quickly moving away from the tree to toss another snowball his way. He dodges easily, watches it fall and melt into the rest of the snow that covers your lawn like a blanket.

He approaches the tree stealthily, though it’s not like the two of you are totally unaware of each other’s locations. He can hear you giggling behind the trunk, soft laughter filling his ears with song. It almost makes him not want to chuck this snowball at you, but too little too late, and he’s pressing the ball of ice against your back with a victorious cry as you gasp.

“Taehyung!” You shout, ready to chase after him, but Taehyung’s got another trick up his sleeve (he always does, he’s Jack Frost, after all). As he pauses, meeting your eyes, he flies upwards, leaving you speechless and pouty as he rests on a branch that hovers above your head. “That’s cheating!”

“Not cheating if you can always do it anyway,” Taehyung jokes. He’s too high up for your snowballs to reach, but not high enough for your voice to be out of earshot.

“You’re such a little asshole,” you say, but there’s no insulting tone lacing your voice. Only fondness, a happiness that Taehyung doesn’t think he’s ever heard from you before. At least, not when you’re surrounded by snow. It warms his frozen heart, makes him feel like maybe, if he dreamt hard enough, he’d become human again. Human enough to let his warmth seep into yours, press kisses along your skin without it turning to frost.

Humans are weird, or at least, they are now that Taehyung isn’t one, but it’s people like you who make him wonder what might have been.

“Come and get me,” Taehyung taunts, tossing a snowball casually in his left hand as he leans back on his right.

“You’re too high,” you whine. “I don’t like the snow enough to try and get you to come down.”

Taehyung pouts at the mention of your dislike of his favorite thing that exists in the known universe. He knows you’re just teasing him. He can tell, from the way you bite your lip to prevent yourself from smiling, to the laughter that still echoes in his ears. He’s done his job but he doesn’t want to leave you just yet. He never does.

“Aw, really?” Taehyung asks, bottom lip out. “That’s such a shame. Guess I’ll just have to—”

“Taehyung!”

He’s fallen backwards, let his hands let go of the tree trunk that keeps him steady, and it’s the sight of your wide eyes that has his crinkling into smiles. His legs are hooked onto the branch, keeping him safely hanging above you, and he looks down to see you shaking your head, breaths quick.

“God, you scared the shit out of me,” you say, a hand on your heaving chest.

“Worried, Y/N?” He taunts. “You know I can’t die.”

“I know,” you say, sighing. “You just wear me out sometimes, you know? I feel like I need to always be near you.”

“Worn out?” Taehyung asks, and he doesn’t even need to see you nod before he’s sending his magic down to you. It lifts you up, brings you to him as you come to rest on the tree branch next to him. He swings his body back up to meet you, smiling at the sight of you so close to him. “Wanna rest up here?”

“I’ve never seen my garden from up here before,” you say, in awe of the view. It’s like you’re the rulers of your own little world, a kingdom of snow right in front of your eyes. Surprisingly enough, there’s nobody you’d rather be up with than Taehyung.

Taehyung can feel your body heat through your many layers, coat over sweater over shirt, hat pulled tightly over your head and gloves warming your fingers. He feels how it emanates off of you, like a cozy campfire you roast marshmallows over. Taehyung can’t remember the last time he was near fire, but being with you makes him remember the feeling anyway. You’re fire, warming up his heart and teaching him that even if he’ll live forever, there are moments which he cannot forget. Moments like these.

“Did you have fun today?” Taehyung asks, swinging his legs. One of his feet hooks onto yours, making you jump in surprise before you realize it was just him.

“A little,” you concede, and even though Taehyung knows you’re a liar, knows that you had way more than just “a little” fun today, he takes what he can get.

“Really?” He asks in excitement.

“Just a little,” you insist, though Taehyung can tell that even you know you’re fibbing.

“Okay, alright,” he says, rolling his eyes as he lets you pretend that today wasn’t fun. “Whatever you say, Y/N.” A finger reaches up to press onto the tip of your nose, making you scrunch it up.

“Your fingers are so cold,” you say, taking one of his hands into yours. You bring it up to his mouth, blowing on it with your breath, and he can feel the heat touch it before disappearing into his skin, leaving it cold.

“It’s no use,” Taehyung says, but he’s not sad about it. “I’ll always be cold, Y/N.”

“That doesn’t matter,” you decide, meeting his eyes. When he looks into yours, he can see beauty and wonder and love swirling in your irises. He wonders if you can see the pure adoration in his. “You’re warm to me.”

Hearing the words makes Taehyung do something he never thought he’d ever so, not since he became Jack Frost, bringer of fun. He places a frost-covered palm on your cheek and presses his lips to yours. Fire and ice. That’s how it’ll always be, the two of you. Fire on his lips and his tongue, ice as it decorates your hair and your skin.

When you part, Taehyung can see his breaths as he takes them, mixing with yours. He’s never been able to do that before.

“Glad I could teach you how to love the winter,” Taehyung says, and the smile that breaks out on your face is enough to warm him with the heat of a thousand suns. You’re all of the warmth he’ll ever need.

“I don’t love it just yet,” you remind him, eyebrow raised. His hands still rest in yours.

Taehyung shrugs, an idea lighting up his mind. “Then, I suppose I’ll have to come back tomorrow?”

You nod happily, and finally, finally, finally, Taehyung knows why he was always drawn to you. “I’d love to see you again.”

⇒ hmu with feedback or just talk to me here!

[strawberrymarshmallowstories]

Cycle of Time

Title: Cycle of Time

Pairing: Jimin/OC

Word Count: 3k

Rating: SFW guys, it’s all safe!

Summary:  But there was still something that held you back and you couldn't let it go. No matter how hard you tried, your fingers stayed grasped around the material, your eyes flickering between his back and the soft knit in your hands.

Inspired by Serendipity

BTS Oneshot Collection: Gods & Goddesses AU

 Never seen such fear in sky-blue eyes,

Shall I keep your nightmares at bay?

It’d be easy, my breath against your lips,

My hand against your cheek,

And no words left unsaid.

 ~

 You first met him on a crisp Autumn morning, where the previous hot summer days sported tinted leaves and bone-chilling winds. Lowering degrees called for thicker coats and jackets, alongside with boots to hold out an unexpected shower or two.

But the sky had yet to lose its magical touch. The early morning glow still graced with its cool rays, albeit ones rarer with each passing. Autumn had always carried the essence of endings, like a late-summer sunset in its breathtaking beauty. 

But even such beauty couldn’t soothe the mournful twists, of a loss of something. A ticking bomb of the sorts, one without a timer but close, so close...

You blamed Fate, that old obnoxious bastard, for meddling where it didn’t belong. A pair of damned olive green gloves had been a bait.

Any other god would've ignored it, passed it off as irrelevant.

But not you.

One day it'd take you to your immortal grave, but until then it was your battle to fight. Diversity of human emotions - what a weakness to have. Addicting but oh-so-sweet. Ones so fickle, while the other of the strongest Ancient steels. 

 You drank in the warmth, fingers clenched around the knit as your eyes lingered on his turned back. You’d never tasted anything like this, like sugar on the tip of your tongue.

You’d never been drawn to sugar. Hated the toxicity of it.

 And before you realised, your feet moved on its own. An invisible pull, of a moth to a flame.

He'd piqued your interest, with a muted fog a shade over his truest colours. But while humans barely felt it, you could see it. A mask built through pain, from one life to another. Although now he’d forgotten, the lurking demons had never left.

All humans had their own. Ones silently waiting, until an opportunity arose to claim its throne.

 But this boy had the spirit of a fighter hidden behind kind eyes and rosy cheeks. Even subconsciously he tried to block your careful probing, to block an unfamiliar entity it had never met before.

You would’ve been wary had it been any other immortal, but he didn’t taste of the cold metal that could slice to bones. Instead he held warmth in his soul. A human touch.

But almost too stable for a human, when his inner strength more matched those of your kind. That's why for a second he'd confused you, with his well-formed shields, strong and resistant.

Your steps slowed.

A stability forged through necessity perhaps, you thought. Of perseverance and pressured practice. That’s how one leashed their demons. But one could never be rid of them. And so his own waited like ravenous carnivores, with their teeth a hot breath against his neck.

You clenched your fists. For eons Earth had vibrated in 3D. This world could never appreciate such a bright soul. 

He didn’t fit in either. Like you, in a way.

A smile, you realised. That’s what belonged on his lips. 

 And so you ran to meet dark caramel eyes of mesmerising shades. Soft and kind but with a depth of an electrifying touch.

Blush sparked your cheeks before you even realised. Did they have a name for this?

You wanted him closer, a realisation that had you stepping back. You wanted to touch his thoughts, glimpse at his memories.

Absurd and way out of any reason. 

But by then you no longer cared. You shouldn't have, had no reason to reach out to what humans considered private.

But you did. 

The unreasonable need was a warning number one.

Snippets of good deeds flashed before your eyes. With greed you drank it. Gorged on it. Many, oh so many memories that evoked something you couldn't explain. How he’d chased after a balloon, how he’d bought tea for a homeless man on the coldest days of winter.

Just because.

Humans didn’t do just because.

But he did. And the joy from his memories eased your twisting pain. Perhaps that's how he got to you, having his ease and bliss soothe your own pains.

 Most humans you’d met had been perfect examples of the 3D vibration. He only wanted to fit in, and so his dark blue haze acted like a mask. 

Because otherwise he'd shine too bright. 

And the brightest stars burned out the quickest.

But you could tell his energy sought something closer to match his. It wanted to be seen, appreciated for its light, although dimmed by physicality. And while the human world still resonated with 3D, his soul energy tried to push itself upwards. Unusual for a human, once again.

'I believe- is it yours?' You held out your palm. Only now your fingers unclenched around the soft knit, to reveal the rich forest green.

For a moment he looked at you, his eyes as if piercing through to your soul. And when  realisation sparked in those mesmerising browns, you watched the brightest of smiles form right in front of you.

How beautiful. And strange.

You’d seen many smiles, most with a touch of Arctic immortality. Just one glance and it could freeze human hearts into a million shards. None of those smiles had ever held even a flicker of warmth as did this man’s you'd never met.

For a moment you forgot how to breathe, as if Fate itself had clenched its fist around your throat. Suffocating as if no breath was quite enough.

But there was no fear. Because in a state of joy, fear didn’t exist.

On 3D Earth, to be without fear was unseen.

 Even in a world which lacked support for these lighted souls, in their finite bounds they needed to laugh the most. It all marked the start of a transformation phase, which they would one day lead. 

When there was enough of them.

For now many broke under societal pressures, only because they knew no other way. With anguished cries no one heard.

But you did. You always did, on nights with the blackest skies and thickest fogs that hid their desperate and inward directed pleads. Dark night of the soul, you'd call it.

You’d seen many of them. Bringers of light, is what you called them. Changing Earth one person at a time, one fragile lifetime at a time. Only led by inner calling. Only guided by an inner yearning.

But you felt the faint touch of his eternity. Of his distinct colour and of his scent. That could never be taken away, even from a human.

 With an awkward smile your hands fell back to your sides. And when he said his greetings, even though hoarse and rough, the melody never faltered.

 Your energy touched his in a welcome. And when the light flickered in the broken cracks of his dark hazed mask, you knew you not only wished, but wanted to see more.

‘You're welcome,' you blurted out. To your surprise he only smiled wider, his eyes half crescents that must've taken many hostage.

Warning number two.

You fidgeted with your scarf, the reminder crystal clear. One that could no longer be ignored. You were not of this world. You were not to leave a trace.

You stepped away, with heavy feet and sunken heart.

And you ran. Although you saw his hand rise in a try to stop you.

 You hadn’t been thinking, of course you hadn’t. Not when the sparks lighted the ashy embers in your heart. Something so simple as a smile, but a power that could change the worlds.

And he was only human. A mere human that held no powers.

Or perhaps he did.

 You turned the corner, heart galloping in your chest, damning Fate and its cruel game of trickery. Or perhaps was meant for you, written in stone despite your immortality? To be ruined, and to suffer with others as weak as you.

As if Fate had been baiting them.

 You'd only read about whatever this was, from human books that not always made sense. Some said it made people steal, cheat and lie. Some said it was a blessing of life, healing the most severe of illnesses.

Biased? Definitely.

So perhaps your fellow immortals had been right, when they said you had stayed for too long. Because you were one of them and they knew the best, right?

And you weren't stupid. Not usually. You knew it could never be.

 Because their fleeting life would never match yours.

 *** *** ***

  The second twist of fate found you months later, when an ill-omened rainstorm gave way to bright sky blues. The early Sun still lingered close to the horizon, longing for its travel across the sky. Only the damp heaviness spoke of the past storm, one that had come and left without a warning.

 You sent out a warm welcome at the touch of warmth on your eyelids. But even the bright rays couldn’t wash away the previous night, when the air had been electrified and your energy restless in its bounds. 

Things were shifting on Earth. Quicker, by each day and each year with Gaia's growing impatience. She moved through the Universe at an unimaginable speed, towards a new age it sought. Even with opposition at every taken inch.

But where you’d expected chaos, you only got an ominous sign in the darkest skies. Whatever it was, it kept its distance. Waiting for an opportunity perhaps. Not yet ready, but gathering strength to fight back..

With a sigh you turned around, eyes landing on a small hilltop you frequented on promising mornings. Its picturesque platform had retained its beauty through many decades, its wilderness groomed by human hands. 

But today your stomach hollowed.

A couple had settled in on a wooden bench you often occupied, cuddled side-by-side as the morning chill pinched their cheeks. Sipping coffee with its steam as enticing as its scent. 

Embraced by the colour of budding love, softest of champagne pinks. Barely there, faintest of the blushes. Fragile as roses of ice, with one touch you'd have it bleeding your hands.

 That’s why you’d distanced yourself from humans, because among your immortal stillness pulsed a yearning heart for what would be a tragedy. A fatal weakness that could cost your eternal life.

A gift and a curse.

A tap on your shoulder jolted you out of your thoughts. You snapped around, knowing you shouldn’t have.

Another warning ignored, in your stupid and selfish desires, as you met this boy with caramel blonde hair to match his eyes. With a beautiful crystal soul you’d only met twice. Never, not even once, in a human.

 'Hi,' he started, a radiant grin on his lips. 'It's you, isn't it?'

 His smile got your own lips tugging upwards, even his voice a tempting siren call. Another warning bell, sound and clear. 

Why did you keep ignoring it?

Your eyes fell to his extended palm, to the bright coloured gloves he presented with pride. The second later you touched your backpack. Gone. 

You couldn't help but laugh. Fate had its own strange games, ones you’d never understand. 

Coincidences? More like webbed traps that sought its next victim.

 'Well, this is embarrassing,’ you admitted as you reached for what was yours. His own green knits peeked out from his pocket.

 You ignored that as well. 

Another smile that got your knees close to buckling, and he introduced himself as Jimin. A name that tasted like sugar on the tip of your tongue. Nothing had ever been so velvet soft.

No other immortal would’ve laughed at the clumsy joke that followed. But somehow he did it, and you couldn’t resist.

 But perhaps it wasn’t for the joke itself, as it could’ve been the laughter bubbling from his soul. An enticing sound that for the first time ever, made you want to keep it. To play it again,  to carry it with you.

To the next decade, and perhaps even to the next.

A selfish something to cheer you up on your path of solitude.

 Was this what humans felt? Was this the experience you’d yearned to have? To have his energy field interact with yours, your celadon-tinged hue welcoming his unfamiliar humanity. Both trying to feel each other, to understand each other. 

He wasn't at fault. How could’ve he known?

But you did. And that made the difference. You'd allowed it. Even though the caress was one of strange intimacies, far beyond polite interaction you'd allow from an immortal. Two different worlds. Two different beings. 

Who was this kid?

 And why did he pique your interest this much?

As he shifted with an invite lingering on his lips, you could tell he waited for the perfect moment. But it wasn’t about you, it was his humanity, its fragility. 

And you weren't supposed to befriend humans.

So before the perfect moment reached the present, you cut him off with an excuse. 

Saying that you had to go, even though it faded the bright stars in his eyes.

As if the words that you were running very very late were words of a rejection.

Which they were.

For his own good.

 So you held strong, even when his warmth and the energy of life sunk its claws into your heart. He'd gotten too close, somehow, amidst your protective shields and barriers you had honed to perfection. Who knew a heart could feel so close with only a word and a smile.

And it was then, after the rejection that wasn't one, when his shadows raised its head again to step forward. To stand next to him and seep its dark haze all over his crystal blue. 

And there was nothing you could do.

 For this brief moment you hated the whole world. But most of all you hated yourself for what you were. Because you’d given way to his demons.

 And what you had intended as a kind deed had caught up with its consequences after all.

  *** *** ***

  The third time was a test, a miraged choice presented in the most innocent of ways. 

His human steps light and a haunted tune on his lips, he stopped at the traffic lights. His energy had already recognised yours, a welcome brushing against your outer perimeter.

Your brows knitted together in a frown. The touch gentle and barely there. Was this really possible? For a human?

His eyes found yours, as if he’d too felt it. You could tell, by the way his face lit up with a smile that could save the worlds. No hesitation, not even an ounce. And you knew it would never be simple, never as clear as black and white.

Too many greys. Too many shades and too many angles.

A warning jolted through your spine. You glanced at the road, as if someone had called your name. Your true name. And you knew why, as you saw a car approaching at an impossible speed. 

 The traffic light binged green for crossing.

No.

 You weren't to get involved, you weren’t allowed to.

But you'd never forgive yourself.

Not when this beautiful soul would have to leave. Not when his only crime was crossing roads with you.

 And something inside of you snapped. Eyes widening, you watched your fingertips tingle with familiar silver threads reaching out, to disappear into dimensional space. First time ever your energy acted before your command. 

It had acted on its own.

Time slowed to a crawl of a snail, until it stopped. A leaf lingered mid-air, its path stopped and stilled by your interference.

Even Jimin stood there, with everyone else in a world drained of colour. Muted tones, too many greys.

You hated yourself. But it was done.

As if your body was no longer yours, you made your way through the stilled crowd. Of laughs midway through, of clothes stilled in movement, of a toddler with a crocodile tear on her cheek. Of many more people, in mid-step, waiting, expecting, chatting.

How silly. Everyone else was safe.

Only Jimin had been moving too quick. Because of you. Because he’d seen you.

And now it was too late. Perhaps Fate had assigned you to suffer, to face the consequences of no willpower. Perhaps you were too different, even for your own world. Perhaps being different was a sin, even in a world filled with so many beings, entities, of energies.

‘I’m sorry,’ you whispered, your fingertips brushing against his cheek. Even though the stilled world held too many greys, the spark remained in his caramel-chocolate browns. Even his cute little nose had crinkled up, a sign of a forming grin.

Your eyes fell on his lips. What would it feel like?

 Just once?

 Was it really that bad of a crime? This human, who'd given warmth to your cold body, blood moving with fervor - heat you’d never felt before. And for the first time in centuries, your hands felt warm. 

And your body buzzed with life you’d never felt before.

 But he’s just a human.

 You pulled at his hand, leading him back to the sidewalk. In this moment he would live. The choice had been made, and this bright soul would live.

Your free hand balled into a fist - you'd saved him, even if it was the last thing you did. If you went down, if the Ancient Council called you out, it’d be for a reason.

You'd lived long enough anyway.

 What was the use of being a goddess if you had to obey rules. Ones no one really remembered, created eons ago, only vaguely referenced. Only the Source itself could act as a judge. And perhaps Fate.

 You came to a halt with a bitter smile. This gentle soul had given you what you’d asked for, even if he’d never know. 

You pulled off your mittens, the bright orange ones that would forever remind you of Jimin. You took his hand in yours, whispering your last blessings in an Ancient language not many remembered.

A charm of sorts you rarely used, for good luck one never had enough of. But also something of yours, no matter how stupid it might've been.

Closing the charm with a quick peck on his cheek, you stepped away. One out of indulgence rather than necessity. One last side-step you allowed.

Be gone, you whispered, and the energy rose in a whirlwind.

And then you left for the last time.

   ~

BTS Oneshot Collection: Gods & Goddesses AU

[fireflysummers]

Mob Psycho 100 Fanfiction

A Little Tragedy

Reigen Arataka is a well liked resident of the Falling Waters Care Facility.

But he's getting real sick of it, so the old con artist tries talking his shrink into letting him out early on good behavior.

This...really isn’t a happy story. I think a lot about how, the most heartbreaking moments sometimes are the little tragedies, that seem almost mundane in the face of epic battles and whatnot.

There was an unspoken consensus among the men and women working at the Falling Water Care Facility, that the resident of Room 1332 was everybody’s favorite. Everybody knew that favoritism was bad form for any facility, but it was hard not to like him.

Physically, he was nothing special—he was a man approaching his eighties, blessed with good genetics that allowed him to keep his gray-white hair in relative abundance.  A couple of the other residents used the word ‘dapper’ to describe him, and it was true that he’d aged well despite signs of a lifelong smoking habit.  Even in stature, he was nothing special. Standing, he measured at an average height, but even this was restricted and he spent most of his days in the various plush chairs around the facility.

Despite that, though, there was something about him that felt tall. Sitting or standing, he somehow always announced his presence simply by existing, drew the staff and residents to him like moths to a flame. It was nigh impossible to resist that pull, and in the generally oppressive atmosphere of care homes everywhere, it was a welcome relief to all.

“Mr. Reigen, community bingo is in an hour,” informs the employee who had come into change his sheets for that afternoon. It’s a nice room, modestly furnished and well kept, with a large window letting the light in on the half dozen plants lining the sill. There’s a television on in one corner, sound turned down so low that it’s more a white noise than anything.

“I’ll be there, my dear, count on it!” the elderly man replied, waving his hands to indicate that he was rushing to finish whatever business currently stalls him. “Perhaps I’ll finally be able to exorcise that spirit of ill fortune hanging around about the dining hall, keeping me from taking home a prize!”

The nurse gives him a fond smile, a pat on the shoulder, and exits the room without much fanfare. Reigen shakes his head, glasses sliding down his nose a little, then turns back to his guest.

“Anyways,” he says, “Where were we?”

“What was that about?” asks the man, sitting opposite him.

“Shouldn’t you know? You’re my shrink, after all.” Reigen shrugs. “Half the people in this place think that I’m an absolute basket case, spouting all these bizarre stories about ghosts and devils and such.”

“So there really is a spirit in the bingo hall?”

“Psh. Of course not. They humor me, I humor them, it’s an odd little arrangement we’ve come to.  I haven’t dealt with a spirit in a long while, and I’m starting to get bored. Can’t wait to get back to work—I run a consultation office you know? Helping people with their supernatural troubles.”

“You’ve mentioned.  Is your business going well?”

“Is it ever! You wouldn’t believe some of the whoppers I’ve melted down.” Reigen coughs, suddenly looking a bit ashamed. He unconsciously sinks lower into the pillows at his back, then fixes his gaze on the therapist with sudden seriousness. “You’re a doctor right? Patient confidentiality and all that. So I don’t mind telling you this—I’m not really psychic.”

“Oh?”

“Nah. Eighty percent of my clients aren’t haunted either. Not by ghosts anyways.” Reigen shrugs. “Different things. Like their pasts, or sometimes their presents. Most of the time there’s no easy fix, but I’d do my best to set them in the right direction, so that maybe they’ll be able to fix the problem themselves.”

“And what about the other twenty percent?”

“What?”

“The twenty percent that are actually haunted by ghost.” The shrink is watching him intently. “How do you help them if you’re not a psychic yourself?”

“I hired one,” Reigen says, as if it’s as simple as putting out a wanted ad. “Well. You couldn’t even really call it that. I only pay the kid 300 Yen an hour. On a good day. I’m a real shitstain, you know that?”

The shrink hums, but Reigen can’t tell if it’s in affirmation or not. He shrugs, because even if it is he’s been called worse. Multiple times. In just about every form of media under the sun.

“Anyways, this kid, Mob, showed up at my office one day. He’s the real deal man. It’s thanks to him that…” suddenly, Reigen’s words dry up. The shrink looks up at him sharply in worry, only to see the older man’s eyes misty with tears and a watery grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Ha. It still feels like only yesterday when he showed up at my office unannounced. But ah…he’s grown up a lot since then.  I’d like to think I had a hand in that, in pointing him in the right direction, but…”

“It sounds like you’re proud of him,” says his shrink, for the first time since their conversation started breaking his calm façade with a small, fond smile.

“Damned straight I am,” Reigen says with incredible conviction. “He’s the best thing that has ever happened to me. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to be worthy of that little miracle, the day he walked in, so the list I can do is be proud of my boy.”

Reigen pauses again, a sly light in his eyes. “So what you say doc? Am I officially un-crazy? Can I leave yet?”

“I’ll have to talk with your doctor about it,” the shrink replies, getting to his feet. He holds out a hand, which Reigen shakes firmly. “In the meanwhile, you have a bingo game to get to. And an evil spirit to exorcise.”

“You really should speed this along,” Reigen tells him, “I’ve got a business to run. I can’t afford to take this many sick days off. And these accommodations…I can’t afford something this fancy! I gotta get back to work!”

“I’m sure your pupil can handle it.”

“What, Mob? He’s like. Sixteen! He’s got better things to do than run his master’s business! Nah, I gotta get better and get back out there.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” the shrink replies, as he waves a farewell. “I’m sure that everything will turn out just fine.”

“That’s my line!” Reigen snaps.

 There’s a blond man waiting in the hallway.  He’s shorter than the two, a little on the heavy side, and has his hands stuffed into the pockets of his neon colored windbreaker.  In a normal setting, his outfit would be outrageous, but in the muted colors of the care facility it’s almost migraine-inducing.

“How was he today?” he asks as his companion reaches him.

“Worse. He didn’t recognize me at all today. Thought I was his therapist, and that he was waiting to be released from a hospital.”

“A logical conclusion to come to, when you let that brother of yours pick your wardrobe for you.” Teru slings an arm over Shigeo’s shoulder, but it’s painfully obvious he’s trying to lighten the tone. Shigeo gives a telling sniff, curling into himself.

He’s never been terribly emotive, even when he no longer bottled up his emotions so dangerously. Teru suspects that if this were any other person, he would be dealing with a sobbing mess.

Instead, Shigeo straightens up and squares his shoulders. To anybody who didn’t know him, the action would have been enough. But Teru’s arm is still around Shigeo, and he can feel the stuttering breaths, the physical effort to choke back the sobs.

There will be a time and place for that. When they’re alone together, away from the nurses and doctors and attendants and residents, who could be endangered by Mob’s sorrow. There will be a time…but the sheer effort that it takes Shigeo to rise and walk makes Teru’s heart clench painfully.

“You know, you could just tell him who you are,” he says at length, softer this time. “I bet if you went back to that cute bowl cut he’d recognize you immediately.”

“Maybe,” Shigeo mumbles, as the two of them head for the exit. “I think it might make him feel worse though. To know that he’s forgotten.”

“Maybe…” Teru agrees, but wants to argue that the cunning old teacher would have died a thousand painful deaths than watch Mob fight this heartbreak. “On a side note, I exorcised the spirit that was hanging around the bingo hall. It wasn’t really causing too much trouble, just a little bringer of bad luck, but you can’t have those things hanging around a care facility. Someday I’ll figure out how Reigen-san does it.”

“Master Reigen once told me that…the world is full of little miracles,” Shigeo murmurs at length, “I think he read it in a fortune cookie once.”

“Mmhmm,” Teru says, simultaneously marveling how Reigen could make anything sound sincere, and trying to decipher why Shigeo was bringing this up now.

“But he also said, another time, that there’s got to be balance. Which means that if there are little miracles, there are little tragedies as well.”

They walk on in silence, not really paying close attention to where they’re going. It doesn’t matter, really, because this city that they’ve protected with blood and tears is theirs. There is nowhere they could go where they would be lost.

“You know…” Teru finally says at length, “There’s nothing little about being forgotten.”

Shigeo doesn’t reply. They’re far enough from the facility now, far enough from people, that there’s no reason to hold back anymore. And there’s nothing more for Teru to say. Instead he keeps his arm wrapped around his husband, and waits for the storm to pass.