#that it even bleeds into our leisurely activities

[symbologic]

Recently saw a discussion on Twitter about why Skypiea gets more hate in the West than in the East

The easy answer is: Blame dudebros and powerscalers who care more about fights than about story (to which they will argue arcs like Impel Down and Marineford were FULL of story), or privileged people feeling uncomfy about the anti-colonialist themes (even though, let's be real, those themes are probably lost on the average Western reader :/)

But Skypiea hate in the West wasn't always a thing. At the time it was being released, most English-speaking fans who were keeping up with OP scanlations and K-F fansubs genuinely enjoyed it.

I honestly think part of the Skypiea hate has to do with a trend we've seen over the past decade, where Western audiences are so, so quick to label certain story elements as "filler" without considering their thematic importance and how it ties into the story the author wants to tell.

Basically, Western audiences have become obsessed with hyper-optimized, fast-paced storytelling that leaves little room to breathe

If the people and politics of an arc are beyond the scope or interest of the story's main antagonists, it's suddenly dismissed as filler that detracts from "more important" things

This attitude is not limited to One Piece alone.

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Chapter 18 - Le Petit Empereur

"Miss Kisara, are you safe?" Kiryu asked, gently placing his hand on her shoulders. "We should be safe here, but you should go and hide just in case." "What is going on, Setsuna?" the change in his personality was a complete 180 from the psychopathic pervert that was so desperate to have Ohma acknowledge him as his eternal rival and lover... Or something close enough that would have them both kill each other at the end. "There's danger in the stadium. I have to go back and evacuate the others." he actually seemed... Caring. Still, there was something weird, almost delusional about him. "Please, be careful. The enemy is incredibly powerful and it's Ohma he wants." "...The Tiger's Vessel again?" she muttered, confused as she thought that weirdo was dead already - Or at least, close to that. "Setsuna. You're injured." Kisara pointed out, noticing the blood soaking his white shirt sleeve, and leaking down from his hand, and drenching the grass. "Don't worry about me. I have to go... Get Miss Shion and Tomoko... And Mr. Yamashita too. If only I had some way to stop him..." Setsuna kept mumbling to himself, and his body was twitching, losing balance even. He seemed even more unstable than before. "Hey, Setsuna - Calm down a bit. You look troubled. Come on, talk to me, what's going on?" but in the very moment that Kisara extended her hand towards the man, hoping to give back the very same pleasantry that he had graced her with, under the guise of benevolent saving and caring for - He turned abruptly and attempted to attack her with his special move. Kisara wasn't expecting this, and she immediately stepped back, trying to turn and activate the indestructible, though she had no idea if it would even work - But she was saved. "I found you, Kiryu Setsuna. I won't let you have your way anymore." it was Ohma - Her saviour, as always, though the red head had no idea how he was able to find her... Or, rather, how had he any idea that she had gone missing. "Are you going to defend your own defiler?!" the opponent's voice was dark and low, ominous even. "I thought he was unstable before, but he's beyond comprehension now. He said he was going to save me and his employer... Because you're in danger. I think he believes the guy who was the master of the guardian with the whole Tiger's Vessel gimmick is on this island." the man grunted in understanding. "He's been broken for a long, long time now." Ohma said, easily parrying Setsuna's move, not even exerting any bit of effort. "You rotate your arm from the elbow down when you use that technique. Did you forget already? I figured it out ten years ago." Kiryu was shrieking, livid, to the point that Kisara was sure his throat must be raw and bleeding. "WHY?!!! WHY ARE YOU PROTECTING TOKITA NIKO??!!!" "It's been ten years and you're still not making any goddamn sense. Listen. Niko's not around anymore." Ohma enlightened him. "Wh-What...? What are you saying, Ohma?! Tokita Niko's right there behind you! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, OHMA?!" he looked like such a pitiful man, broken beyond repair. Ohma glanced back at his lover, and let out an amused scoff - Though her hair was still a bit messy, the brush in her hand, she almost sported the same hairstyle as Niko, though it wasn't tied down. She also had, very often, that leisure confidence emanating through her, just like her master - It had once annoyed Ohma, yet now, he looked fondly at these similarities. "Stand back, Hasashi Kisara. I'm probably the one that made him this way." he nodded at her before taking a step forward. "It's time to end our destiny."

But Kiryu was still beyond any capacity of rational thinking, recalling the old times, even going as far as to beg Ohma to kill him. So desperately. Though he pleaded to have his life ended, Kiryu fought to kill Ohma, using his Koei style to perfection, even using some of Tokita's own moves... Or was Ohma the one who copied them? Using the Niko style and switching between Katas at a rapid pace, he combined the Flame and Adamantine moves, going for a Redirection tactic next, only to follow up with a Flame hit again. Setsuna was still up, pitying Ohma for being under Tokita Niko's spell. It was now that Ohma recalled that Niko actually died to save him, not because he was weak. Ohma was under the strong influence of the Possessing Spirit, and he had Setsuna up by the neck, ready to snap it. Niko tried to stop him from going berserk, and though he succeeded, he was left severely injured, succumbing to his injuries after fighting Kiryu's master, as his wounds hadn't healed yet.

But Setsuna kept saying that Niko survived, only to contradict himself by claiming he was the one to kill Niko - And then, he admitted to seeing Ohma as his God and make him angry enough to incur his wrath. Setsuna added another man to the equation - This 'He' that taught Ohma the Advance. The real evil. This monster beat Ohma and forced the 'God' into him. The Possessing Spirit. That's how he became the Tiger's Vessel. Though Ohma had no idea of this 'Real Niko' 's identity, he suspected he had to be connected to Tokita Niko in some way, esecially as they shared similar techniques.

It turns out Setsuna trained under this guy and he knows some truth. Tokita and this monster had trained together, but the 'fake' killed his companions and vanished. Setsuna was trained at first by this 'Real Niko', then got sent to his future master, Taira Genzan, though this man had no idea who the 'Real Niko' was. Dubious. Kiryu had mastered two styles by the time he turned 16. Three years later, Ohma desperately tried to search and kill the bastard who cursed him with the Advance, only to be found by Setsuna - They fought, only for Ohma to receive a Rakshasa's Palm to the heart, instantly activating the Advance and making him go on a rampage. It was then that Niko came and put an end to the Advance, saving Ohma from dying from the strain.

According to Setsuna, Niko and the Real Niko both fought to the death - But then, what about the guardian who spoke of the Tiger's Vessel? Something wasn't adding up. Setsuna's words were incomprehensible, completely nonsensical, and he was even punching the air and arguing, belittling with some invisible entity... Was he hallucinating Niko?

"I feel no hatred for him. I feel nothing but pity. Meeting that son of a bitch who calls himself 'The Real Niko' fucked up his entire life. Kiryu Setsuna was just being used by him. Hasashi Kisara, stand back. I was saved by Niko. Now it's my turn to do the saving." Ohma got in a stance, finally serious abought the fight. "Alright. Be careful." she encouraged him briefly, watching the fight between the two eternal rivals.

Though Ohma took blow after blow, he ended up retaliating with ease, and even went as far as to use the Water Kata, technique which he used to hate before. He had achieved such fantastic speed that even Setsuna was surprised. But the fact that the Real Niko forced the Possessing Spirit on Ohma... Meant that... "Ohma, Setsuna must know the Advanced too!" he cried out in realisation. Setsuna tried to block the blows using his own iteration of the Indestructible, yet it was to no avail, thus, he was forced to put some distance. Tokita didn't let him. Instead, he tripped him with the Weeping Willow then tackled him with the Raging Fire move before throwing more blows to him. Kiryu dislocated his own shoulder to escape Ohma's hold and jumping away, he activated his Advance, just as Kisara predicted... But it wasn't quite the Advance. It was the form he used when fighting Nikaido Ren. Some kind of demon form, he says.

"I'll gladly fall to Demonhood, if it means restoring your Godhood." he fancied himself such a martyr, though he was able to hurt Ohma now. However, even with this secret technique of his, he couldn't turn the tables - That's how much damage Setsuna had accumulated. More, the longer he used the Fallen Demon form, the more brain damage he got. He had transcended beyond even his own irrationality - His only goal was to activate Ohma's Advance and die - Hence why Ohma was easily able to predict his move and repelled it. "I knew you'd do that." with that sentence alone, Ohma destroyed Setsuna's whole psyche. "Wh-Why... Why... Why are you still in that form...? You were supposed to become a God again... WHY?!" he shrieked from the ground on which he was laying so pitifully.

Ohma defeated Setsuna using the very same techniques that the man he hated the most created, and with one last hit, he suppressed the autonomic nervous system. The hallucinations were after-effects from overusing the Fallen Demon, so at least now, though they won't heal, they at least won't degenerate further. Ohma looked for one last time at Kiryu Setsuna, before turning around and walking back towards the dome - Only to fall to his knees and cough some blood. In a flurry, Kisara threw herself by his side and wrapped her arms around him. "Shit. He landed a good one at the very end. I couldn't redirect all of it." the man grumbled from the pain. "Ohma... You're really going to die if you continue. Setsuna is defeated, you regained your memories... What else do you want to accomplish?" the man smiled cockily, gazing at the beautiful girl supporting him and holding up steady. "Sorry, but you gotta let me have my way for two more matches. I want to prove the Niko Style's power... OUR power..." his confidence would have been contagious, were it not for Kisara's heart shattering. His hand found its way cupping her face, and with his thumb, he wiped away the single tear that had escaped, though he smeared a bit of blood. "Let's go, Hasashi Kisara, it's about time for our match. I have to show off too. My girlfriend had such a good fight, I can't fall behind, right?" though his lip was busted and blood was dripping down his chin, he pulled her into a deep kiss, neither minding the taste of iron. "Well... I did say I was going to support you. I didn't expect it would be so literal. But... Ohma... You've already made me... Yamashita... Niko proud. Don't forget that, okay?" her voice was uncharacteristically soft and weak - He hated seeing her like this, especially knowing it was him, the cause of it. Still, he had some consolation knowing that she was going to be fine, no matter what happens to him. She was now the CEO of her family's corporation, so she was filthy rich and could afford to follow her dream of travelling the world... Even if it is without him. She also made a ton of friends with just about most of the fighters, Raian included.

Hatsumi was a good man, and he was obviously protective of the girl - He taught her so well in those years. He made Kisara the fighter she is now. Wakatsuki, the man he is going to fight just now, was her best friend, who helped Kisara become financially stable and helped her in taking her path as a fighter. She relied so often on him, his advice, his kindness, that Ohma was almost annoyed, hearing about Takeshi every damn day. Imai Cosmo, the Grappler King, reminded Kisara of her mischievous side, he even became a sort of little brother for her. He would be a good help for her, for ground fights and grappling, especially considering his small posture. Gaolang was also a good teacher, Ohma though, recalling the special technique that Kisara used in her fight, and even the few Muay Thai elbow hits she landed on that colossal man - He was a good addition to her friend group. The peanut gallery was also a cheerful group that could make her forget about her pains and sorrows - It would do her well to hang around such an easy going and jovial bunch. Hopefully, Raian is actually serious about Kisara and isn't just obsessed with her, the way Karla is. No doubt, Kisara would be able to put him at respect. Ohma wants her to find someone strong, to protect her, but also cherish and lover her as if she's more important than the Sun itself. She deserved that, and ever more. And then, there's Kano Agito, the man whom Ohma did not expect Kisara to befriend, let alone train with. In a brief evening conversation, she had mentioned promising him to take him to see the world and experience the real life - He had no clue what video games and movies were. At least she won't be alone when following her dreams.

If only he could be there with her.

Tokita Ohma lived for fighting, and would eventually succumb to fighting, he was well aware of that - Yet leaving Hasashi Kisara will forever remain his only regret.

By the time they returned to the dome, they were informed the semifinals were delayed by two hours, so Ohma could get treated by Hanafusa. He realised that it was Katahara Retuso, the man they encountered just as they left the spot where Setsuna was lying down - Kiryu had killed three of his men - And they told him the details of what happened while fighting against him. It was his way of thanking them. The Chairman's son was really nice, just like his sister. Hanafusa adviced Ohma to get some rest - But did Ohma ever rest? Of course not. With his arm around Kisara's shoulder, he pulled her for a walk around the corridors, only to find Wakatsuki taking a soda from a vending machine. All three were surprised to encounter each other like that - Yet Takeshi got a soda for the other two also, and they sat down on the couch.

"You know, now that I think about it, we've never talked before, have we? How ironic." Takeshi was the first to speak up, as Tokita and Kisara thanked him for the soda. "You're pretty badly injured." "So are you." Ohma agreed, chugging down the soda. "Well done, Kisara." "I really did nothing." she chuckled at the remark. "That was not - Nothing. I did not expect such a good fight. You did very well." Kisara could only chuckle in embarrassment, raking her fingers through her hair. "Now, now, you two, stop flattering me like that. I've got a lot to learn." she admitted, and the other two hummed in agreement. "One of us might die in the next match." the Tiger was solemn about his notice. "Well, it's a match. these things happen." Ohma seemed completely unbothered. "This match is fixed. Our bosses both support Mr. Nogi. The smartest thing to do would be for one of us to step aside... This was my boss's decision, so I don't plan on opposing him. I only put forward one condition - That I would be the one to advance to the finals." Ohma looked with a certain annoyance at Wakatsuki - But Kisara shot up to her feet, turning to face her best friend. "Takeshi. I'm disappointed in you." his jaw dropped and eyes widened - He was bewildered by what he was hearing. "First of all, you are underestimating how much Yamashita Kazuo cares of Ohma. He knows Ohma wants to fight. He won't be swayed by absolutely anything. The Yamashita Trading Corp won't forfeit under any circumstance." she explained simply, making Tokita smirk at her. She knew what was up. "Secondly... A true fighter doesn't care for political problems. A true fighter does just that - Fight. The one who bests the other advances to the finals. The one who deserves to become a finalist will become just that. So... Takeshi. You are my best friend. I'm going to cheer for you, yes... But at the end of the day... Whether you win or lose, is entirely up to your skills. I have fought you once, I know you are strong - But can you defeat Ohma? I can't tell. Do you even deserve to be in the finals?" Wakatsuki was never on the receiving end of her harshness or scolding - He felt weird. Tokita, next to him, got up and put his arm around his girlfriend, smirking in pride at her. "Just as she said, Wakatsuki Takeshi. I'm not stepping aside for anyone. Let's settle this our own way." he chuckled, walking away. Takeshi looked at the two - Seeing them together, made him realise why Kisara liked Tokita Ohma so much. He was a man worth her time. "Yeah. I guess that's our only choice." he smiled, almost nervously, though there was nobody to see it.

Two hours passed so quickly, and now, the semifinals were to finally begin. Ohma looked down at his girlfriend and stole the lucky charm kiss before entering the arena. She needed more reassurance than him. Standing in from of Wakatsuki, in the arena, made Ohma realise why he was so overhyped, to the point that the crowd was cheering only for him - And even dissing the Fang, who had once defeated him. He recalls his fight against Kisara - She must have had such a tough job, going against this scary guy, realising, after four years, that her best friend is actually super creepy and intimidating. His pressure was different than Kure Raian's, and even completely different than Kiryu Setsuna's. The closest thing to it... Is Niko's. It's the pure pressure of a man who's incredibly strong. These types are the toughest to handle.

Guys who are simply strong are uncontrollable once they let loose, and he's so powerful, I should assume I'll lose if he lands a direct hit on me. He must have gone easy at some point when fighting against Kisara - Surely, he wouldn't actually want to murder her - Though those Blast Cores seemed the real deal. Ohma can't let him take the initiative. His style's full contact karate, so he's gonna want to get close. His range is even smaller compared to other styles.

The ref called for them to take their stances, and immediately, Wakatsuki took the basic Karate stance, letting out a war roar that startled the whole auditorium. Ohma realised that, by the way he shifted his stance, there was something off with his right eye. He'll eventually have to put out his left eye in his first rush. Hit and run tactics should  do him well for most of the match. He had to keep his distance.

Wakatsuki delivered the first blow - But he can recover from this, using a Redirection Kata move. He didn't fall down as expected - He kept himself strong, and landed an even stronger hit to his side - Tokita managed to parry it with his forearm, but the fluffy of lower punches was overwhelming him. He can't block all the damage with his indestructible - How the hell did Kisara mess with him for so long? His blows were heavier than Raian's - No wonder she wanted to train with him in combat. If his indestructible was at a 10, Wakatsuki Takeshi's power would be 5 times more. Ohma was finally able to create some distance, yet Takeshi followed up, throwing a jab at him while he was running away. Ohma was send flying away, sliding across the ground for about half the arena. But the Tiger didn't follow up, probably not wanting to take chances against the grappling that took down the Grappler King.

Ohma could use every second of rest he can get, he thought, realising that he miscalculated the range and movement of a guy weighting almost 200 kg. His forearms were destroyed though - He had no way of counting on the indestructible anymore. So that's why Kisara could only take one Blast Core before completely crumbling down. It looked as though he'd go down before he can put his other eye out. Ohma took a ground stance, one knee to the ground while the other was flexed - He was preparing himself, looking as if he was about to draw a sword from a stone, like King Arthur. Seeing as Ohma wasn't moving, Wakatsuki rushed in - Kisara has only seen this technique used once. Demon's Bane. Though nobody could properly see what had happened, Ohma was almost completely lying down, coughing blood, whilst Wakatsuki had flown away, and he was sitting on the ground, shocked that his shoulder was screwed.

The two fighters eventually shot back to their feet and took their stances. Wakatsuki moved in, delivering a kick to his liver - Lucky Ohma, he used the indestructible that saved his liver from rupturing on the spot... But the damage was evidently massive. Takeshi followed up, not giving any time to rest - Ohma was able to evade all of his monstrous punches, and though he tried to hit back even from his blind spot, it seemed that Wakatsuki adapted to seeing out of one eye. He got hit again, this time, in the stomach, and arm, and more - Wakatsuki acknowledged Tokita from the bottom of his heart. He truly is a strong opponent - He should be proud of being defeated by Wakatsuki Takeshi himself! Takeshi unleashed a storm of continuous low kicks to the point that his leg was all screwed - How long can he last in this condition? If he takes his left leg, he couldn't even attempt another counter demon's bane. Can he do it? Can he somehow pull a miracle run an win this?

"FUCK HIM UP, OHMA!" the man heard his girlfriend scream at him. "HANG IN THERE!!! OHMA!!!" Yamashita Kazuo followed up. It was just like in his fight against Raian, the two were cheering on him, supporting him all the way through. "ALL THE WAY TO THE TOP, OHMA!" he heard Kisara follow up. "DIDN'T YOU SAY YOU WERE GONNA WIN?! PLEASE, WIN FOR ME, OHMA!!!" Yamashita Kazuo, too, continued. Those two were really something else. He didn't deserve them.

Watch me, Hasashi Kisara, Yamashita Kazuo - He thought to himself, landing a kick to his organs - But it didn't phase the colossus who retaliated with a shower of rushes - Until he was able to grab ahold of the back of his head, and pulling him forwards, he kicked him painfully hard, continuing with a ton of hits above Ohma's guard. This wasn't Karate, or anything of the sort. It was a desperation that could only be achieved against a strong enemy whom you fear.

Wakatsuki had no clue how the demon's bane worked, so he was more careful with his attack - He threw a left punch as a bluff, and after knocking his upper body off balance, he threw a right straight.

The whole stadium was silent, waiting for the dust to dissipate. On the ground, laying down, unconscious, there was Wakatsuki Takeshi. Ohma was barely able to get up on his feet. He was wobbly, exhausted, huffing and huffing. Like a beast, Wakatsuki's upper body jolted up like the body of Frankenstein's monster - Contorting all the way to stand up once more. With a weak stance, Wakatsuki dragged his heavy body, step by step, towards Tokita... And then fell down once more.

Kisara wanted to run out there, as she's always done - But the tears wouldn't stop escaping. She was destroyed, watching Ohma wobbling, barely able to keep standing up. It was painful. Still, she wiped those tears and stepped towards him. She smiled at him and put his arm around her shoulders, supporting him all the way to the infirmary, where Hanafusa was to care for him. After all, she promised to support him all the way to the top. The finale was the top. And she will be there for him no matter what. Now, more than ever, she knew that Tokita Ohma had no chance to survive. He was a dead man walking.

Ohma was leaning back on the wall and resting, with Kisara in his arms. Yamashita had brought him a soda. The TV was on, so they could watch the second semifinal. "Isn't it around time your friend enters the arena?" Kisara slowly lifted her head from his shoulder and nodded. "Go cheer on him. I know you want to." "But I don't want to leave you." Ohma saw her bottom lip quivering lightly. She had become as emotional as the day they met. "You won't." he smirked at her, his hand caressing her face - She was so afraid of losing him that she feared leaving his side for even one second. After a long consideration time, the red head sighed and with great difficulty, pried herself away from Ohma, looking for Agito. "I thought you'd want to spend more time with Miss Kisara." Yamashita looked at the man with confusion. "I do. But once I'm no longer by her side, she should stick to her other friends. Find someone else." the old man's heart shattered hearing those resolute words, and he, too, found himself fighting back tears. "Yamashita Kazuo. Promise me you won't let her fall." It was a promise from one man to another. A heart to heart promise that could transcend even the borders of life and death. "I promise, Ohma. I promise."

Leaning back on the wall, Kisara looked out towards the arena. The ground was matted back to its original form. The more she looked at it, the more she grew to resent the very passion she loved so whole-heartedly. "It was a good match." Agito's voice startled the girl. "Both yours, and Tokita's." "Agito." she breathed out his name. His face was stern, cold, unreadable. He was in his best fighting form. She didn't know what possessed her - Was it the overflowing emotions of sheer fright? The heartbreak? The anticipation of the inevitable? Kisara threw her arms around the man's large build and squeezed him into the very first embrace that Kano Agito received in his entire life. He could feel her small fingers digging into his back. "No matter what happens out there, please don't die too. I don't want to lose another important person in my life."  Kano looked down at her with wide, shocked eyes. He was bewildered. He had only interacted with her whole a day and a half, and now she's crying in his chest, pleading for him not to die in battle. Agito could understand absolutely nothing about her irrational behaviour... Or, perhaps, that's how normal people acted? Though, he couldn't pin-point the other dead person she was talking about. Except for that psychopath that forked for the Chairman's arch enemy, nobody died in the tournament. Surely, she didn't mean her parents either - She had killed them herself. "We won't die. We won't lose either." Agito place his hands on her shoulders, pulling her away - But as soon as she looked up at him and he noticed that pitiful expression on her face, he gulped. He remembers one time, when Sayaka's puppy died. She was distraught the whole day, and many other days after. Her brother was unable to calm her down, nor the Chairman. Agito could only stand by Katahara's side, watching him desperately try to comfort his little girl, to no avail. Some unseen wounds just cannot heal, not when they are so fresh, Kano realised. But Sayaka  was gifted a new puppy after a small amount of time, and she grew to love that one just as much as the previous one, and her tears of distraught turned into tears of joy and bliss. Life was a vicious cycle, and it spared no woman. It had a single beginning, and a single end, for every being on Earth. "We await our match against Tokita. It's going to be the best fight we've had in a while." thus, Agito squeezed her shoulders, perhaps as a reassurance, before stepping past her, and into the arena.

Kisara waited no more, returning to her lover and cuddling into his side once again, watching the fight unfold on the TV. The two fighters took their stances, and thus, the fight began. Kisara held tightly onto Ohma's wrist, watching Agito get close enough to Kuroki - And then, they had a stare off. The tension surrounding the arena could be felt even from the screen. At first, it was a battle of Pre-Initiative, the very thing that Kano defeated Hatsumi at, but that contest was soon over, as Gensai was the first to strike, throwing a Devil's Lance at Agito's face, only for him to side step and throw a jab at the Master's head - Their attacks were phasing through each other. Kisara chuckled. "I wish I was this good." she said. "They are reading each other's inception of intent so well that they're dodging before the attack even comes." it was exactly that, Ohma noticed. Little by little, the balance began to lose its equilibrium, and Kano's blows began hitting Kuroki. "You're getting there." Ohma patted her back. Still, despite looking as though he had the advantage, Agito received the full hit of a devil's lance to the shoulder. By dodging the left devil lance, Agito's posture broke down. Kuroki followed up with an eye poke, and then another follow up - But Kano led Kuroki's attacks, so he countered it with a right elbow to the master's hand. He didn't pass up the gap, so he continued to attack - Once people could see what was going on, they saw Kuroki with his forearms raised, his guard up in what seemed to be Sanchin. Hatsumi once told her of it - it's supposed to be the simplest, but also, the ultimate Kata in the Ryukyuan karate style. Someone like Master Kuroki Gensai could make this stance become the most perfect, unbreakable shield.

In a battle between masters of Pre-Initiative, once you go on the defensive, it is nigh impossible to recover. Agito was able to land a move that garnered a cough inhale from Kuroki. The man then moved, only to appear as if he lost his posture thanks to Kano's continuous blows. He was using Kuroki like a sandbag. Gensai attempted a chop towards Agito - But the Fang grinned that wicked, monster-like smile of his, taunting the master by easily countering his move, hitting that hand of his, before punching him the hell away. Kano Agito had exceeded Kuroki Gensai's expectations.

"I cannot face a master like you with my martial arts alone." Kano got in the same low stance that he used against Naoya - The stance that he taught Kisara to use, to freak Wakatsuki out. "Allow me to use this Me. All of me." that cheshire grin must have put even Raian's wickedness to shame. "Agito's gone back to his Formless style!" Kisara gasped - Ohma didn't often see her so excited, but this style must be something she wanted to learn. No wonder she wanted to befriend this monster - Just like Hatsumi, he expressed styles that could ply well with her own. First it was Systema, now the Formless style once again. If Kisara was to master these styles the way Kano Agito did, she would be unbeatable, he thinks. Or, at least close to that. The Fang once defeated Wakatsuki Takeshi using his Formless style alone. Now, Ohma defeated the Wild Tiger with his Niko style only. She just needed to polish her techniques with the right people. Kano Agito was the right man for that task now. "Smart move. Kuroki Gensai is a Martial Arts Master, to the point of perfection. I think Agito realised he can't beat him with Martial Arts alone, so he chose an unpredictable style to catch him off guard, to counter him with tactics outside of the limits given by Kuroki's martial arts knowledge." her fighting theory was getting better and better with every fight she watched. With so many tacticians and strategists around her, she needn't him any longer. She will be fine, Ohma reassured himself.

Agito landed strike after strike after strike in a flawless flurry of hits - Yet even with this fantastic strength, Kuroki Gensai was unshaken. He was a genius above all else - And though Kano was tricky, he found an opening. Kuroki attacked with another devil lance - But he got stopped. Ohma was startled by Kisara's jolt and cheerful laugh. The look on Kano Agito's face was a caricature no longer, but his former, collected self. She must have realised the implications behind that man's words. "He's even more unpredictable than me! To think he could change so easily between his Formless and Martial Arts styles - He's fantastic!" Ohma smiled at her. What a child, getting so excited over over some guy catching another's wrist and immobilising him like that, as if she wasn't used to her own Aikido style that generally did the same thing. To think she'd ever get so excited over some guy that wasn't him. What a vixen. "What a monster." Ohma chuckled at her, watching Kuroki getting his left shoulder dislocated and all four fingers of his right hand broken. He had lost both of his devil lances now. He must be in a predicament. Having his wings clipped allowed Agito to reach an even further evolution, a complete mastery of the two sides of him. Only to receive a wound not from Kuroki's left hand, but from his thumb, the only remaining finger left intact.

Master Gensai used centrifugal force to re-set his elbow back in place - To think he would have the skill to perform the impossible with ease... Agito's caution was heightened. He was now on the offensive, making Agito ponder where he would strike from - Left or right? But Kano got it wrong, and whilst his own right hook punch missed, Kuroki's hit caused the Fang such intense pain from the impact that it assailed him. Agito's functions felt declined, all because of the organs, peritoneum, body - His everything was fighting the pain, and this was the only way to keep him stable - He switched to a formless style, only to receive a heavy headbutt that left his right eyes closed. "What the hell..." Kisara gasped, watching Agito completely miss Kuroki once again, and receiving another ruthless hit to his torso... Though he had been hit only three times, Agito felt complete agony. Why did his strikes have such impact? It was nothing compared to either Gaolang Wongsawat, the Thai God of War, who stood at the pinnacle of striking martial arts and possessed the fastest blows, nor the Herculean Wakatsuki Takeshi, who had the most powerful hits in the world. Agito received another right chop to his shoulder, causing him to retreat immediately.

"I think Master Kuroki realised there is a time delay between Agito switching styles." Kisara muttered - Ohma had agreed. "His caution of the devil lance also put him at a disadvantage." he noted. "Just like with Wakatsuki Takeshi, who was cautious against my Devil's Bane, so Kano Agito did the same." the very man got hit with a palm heel then grabbed by the neck of his costume. Agito couldn't expect any of these lands, thus, they all landed. All heavy blows were perfected by decades of training, thus they struck him without warning... And thus, they had impact. Agito got hit with another right straight punch.

"He's throwing punches with his broken fingers?!" Ohma couldn't believe his eyes. "Kano Agito's already using his indestructible. Does that mean they're too powerful for indestructible?" Kuroki did not miss the moment he backed away. He knocked Agito off balance with another palm heel, then a middle knuckle fist. If Kuroki was once used as a sandbag, now, he was the striker. Though Agito was knocked back with a right palm him once more, he was ready to get hit with a devil lance, but Kano finally used his kicks. Why hadn't he used them before, like in his fight with Hatsumi? Kisara had no clue, but at least she realised, he evolved for the thousandth of time.

Once the kick landed, he immediately switched back to the Formless and landed a heavy blow to his head, which was blocked by the master's broken hand. Agito decreased the time interval of the switch by a few milimeters, throwing off the master's calculations, hence allowing the Fang to kick and possibly break the Master's shin.

Formed, yet Formless. Formless, yet Formed. Upon being wounded more than ever before, he obtained a new power. Kano used a left knee hit which got blocked by the Master's forearm, and he closed the distance. Agito smirked confidently, his plan working well in luring his opponent. The very hit that he used to defeat Hatsumi, the hit that was virtually impossible to evade - The Dragon Shot, as he called it - In all of Agito's arsenal, it was his strike with the greatest fire-power.

But the Dragon Shot misfired.

Kano Agito's wrist was completely destroyed. Kisara cringed, one hand immediately slapping over her own wrist - She couldn't imagine the pain he was feeling. Kuroki had used a supinating wristlock. His right hand took the full brunt of the dragon shot, fracturing his thumb, yet he was able to incapacitate Kano's hand completely. Even with all his fingers broken, Kuroki forcibly contracted his muscles to make a fist - There is more to the Kaiwan Style than just the devil lance, after all. "That's just like Niko Style's bone-bonding! How does he know that technique?!" Ohma gasped in shock. Master Kuroki Gensai was the greatest enigma in the world.

Fury. Unease. Despair. These could not even come close to describing the flurry of emotions that gripped Kano Agito. He had fought over the course of 160 matched to repay his debts. He had crossed fists with the strong many, many times over, and each time, he evolved, attaining victory. Now, Agito was facing the biggest wall in his entire life. He instinctively understood that all of his fights had been for this very moment. "Pugno, ergo sum." the girl muttered under her breath. Agito, just like every fighter in the Kengan world, lived to fight. They fight, therefore, they exist.

Agito thought with his very existence in the line. He predicted his opponent's next move, but he was sorely lacking his usual strength, and shook him off. Agito went for a right knee hit, only to get hit himself with a right bent-wrist fist, followed by a right knee to the gut, and much more. No matter what the Fang threw at Kuroki, the Master moved as though he wasn't injured in the least, and deflected him with ease.

Kano's last spring towards the Master proved fatal, as he got struck with a strike to the jaw - An elbow hit used as a counter, used with the full body weight behind it. Agito stopped moving. In the brief moments that Agito was immobilised, Kuroki delivered a new move - Straight punch, Six Strikes. Everyone gasped, realising the legend of The Fang of Metsudo was ending. Though Agito was a monster in all its right. Even with his brain concussed, even with his right arm destroyed, the Emperor would not die. The Fang of Metsudo would not stop. Kano Agito would not falter.

But that moment came at last.

Two great stars collided, and one star fell. The star that shone brighter, shone fiercer, shone stronger - Remained. The name of that Star was... Kuroki Gensai. "Emperor of the Kengan Matches - You, too, were truly strong." the Master acknowledged the fallen champion.

"Fuck. Me." Kisara's jaw was dropped to the floor. The end of an era has ended, and she was there to witness it. "You'll catch flies." Ohma chuckled, pushing her jaw up. "Let's go." Kisara immediately took off all of his bandages and helped him stand. "Can you do this?" she asked, quickly snapping out of that awestruck self, and coming down back to earth. It was the last time she would see Tokita Ohma fighting. It was going to be a legendary fight.

Accompanied by Yamashita Kazuo, the trio were ready to go towards the arena - But were stopped by the Master himself. Kisara felt her breathing halt in place, until the man himself asked for Ohma to have a chat with him. Though the manager was fine returning to the infirmary and make sure the finale can be slightly delayed so they can have this chat, Hasashi Kisara did not move away from her boyfriend, not did Ohma attempt to push her away. His arm remained placed around her body. "You're pretty tough, aren't you, pops? You fought so brutally just a second ago, but you're already fit as a fiddle." the brunet chuckled dryly. "Do not overestimate me. Even I suffered injuries and fatigue. This is an inescapable reality, no matter how strong you may become." Kuroki was modest, for how great of a master he was. "So? What'd you want to talk to me about?" Ohma asked, though he wasn't ready for the conversation that followed. "It's been ten years since Tokita Niko left this world." Ohma's eyes widened in shock. As Kuroki so painfully put it, judging by their awful injuries, there was no guarantee they will both get out alive from this match, thus, he wanted to tell Ohma of the Niko style, as he is its heir.

Kuroki spoke about the lawless zone known as the Inside, and of this man who came, seeking the unification of that land through martial force. He created the basis of the Niko style. His name was Gaoh Mukaku, the final successor of the Gaoh Style of classical Jiu-Jitsu. Though he was a complete army in the body of a single man, even 30 years spent there accomplished nothing - Thus, he decided to pass on his style for the next generation. He raised the orphans from the inside, training them - But Tokita Niko was not a stand alone person. All of his students were named the same - Not only to keep the impression of people from the inside, as Tokita was one of the districts, but to spread the legend. Tokita Niko became a fictional yet charismatic entity, created to rule the Inside. Though the plan worked, their enemies grew in number, thus, Gaoh tried to train them all with a secret technique... However, something happened in that forest. Most of the Nikos were murdered, whilst the survivors scattered, and Gaoh Mukaku was never seen again.

Ohma was skeptical, though he believed his words - Yet how did he know all this, was a different matter. He says his own master was a man who assisted in the compilation of techniques to create the new Niko style. Gaoh Mukaku was a friend of his master, Kazufumi, and they would often swap techniques. It was during that time that he met Niko, who sought him, asking for his help....

The conversation went on for a while, but Ohma was grateful to have this new information about his old master and the fighting style that he uses. Master Kuroki went to get ready for his fight in the finale, whilst Ohma took Kisara with him to see the old man. Yamashita Kazuo pulled some strings to delay the match just long enough to spend some quality time with his fighter. Kazuo placed a towel on the ground and had Ohma lay down for him to give him a Shiatsu massage. Kisara couldn't help but hum in amusement and she sat down next to him, caressing his sea-weed hair. The old man said Cosmo's master taught him how to do massages.

"I have to say, looking at you up close, I didn't realise you had so many scars." the old man's voice wavered softly. "When we first met, I was so surprised by your build, I didn't even notice your scars. I really... Didn't know anything back then." "Of course I'd be covered in scars. I've been fighting for as long as I can remember." he chuckled, showing off his forearm. "Remember this scar, Yamashita Kazuo?" "Ahh! That one! That's from Lihito's Razor's edge, isn't it?" the old man gasped, watching the symbol of Tokita Ohma's first Kengan victory. "It still aches when it rains. Oh - Don't tell Lihito that though, it'll just get to his head." the brunet chuckled lightly. "Ahaha, yeah, I bet Lihito would be happy to hear that." the CEO laughed jovially. "...It's not just Lihito though. The scars from the Medicine man and Sekibayashi still hurt sometimes. So do the scars I got before that. I guess Niko would say - That's the price you pay for your recklessness - Isn't that right, Hasashi Kisara?" the solemn tone of his wasn't enough to snap her out of her trance. "I thought you'd start telling Yamashita Kazuo the history behind every scar on my body. You've seen them all, many times." he even tried to fluster her with subtle implications. Nothing. The fact that he accumulated damage beyond even his capacity was painful enough to accept. The manager looked at the girl's face - She was barely holding herself together. He understood the sentiment all to well. Though he loved Ohma as much as he loved Kenzo and Yasuo... Kisara loved him the same way she loves life itself, or perhaps even more. It was a sentiment beyond his own comprehension. "Hasashi Kisara, help me up, will you?" the man playfully tugged on her arm to get her attention. She moved robotically, but did just as before - Holding tightly onto his body as they walked towards the entrance to the arena. She felt as though she was guiding him to the guillotine and chopping his head off herself. "It's about time now, isn't it? Let's go, Yamashita Kazuo." he smirked cockily at the old man, who nodded, barely fighting back the tears. "Alright." he ushered lowly, following them close behind. "Whoaaa, you hear that? Feels like the stadium's shaking!" everyone was cheering for the finale to start already. It was fascinating. "Ohma. You're strong." the old man admitted. "Now, I haven't seen everyone in the world - And there might be someone even stronger than you out there, for all I know. But to me, YOU are the strongest! You never give up in the face of adversity. You've taught me that true strength is more than just physical strength. I could change myself because of you! YOU SAVED ME! And I'm so ashamed that I haven't done anything to repay you." the old man bowed deeply at his beloved fighter. "Hey." Ohma huffed in amusement. "Thanks. I'm glad I had you as my manager." Ohma said, stepping towards the entrance. "Bye. I'm off now." it sounded like the harshest farewell in history. "MY NAME IS YAMASHITA KAZUO!!!"  the old man screamed, as loud as his lungs held him. That day, when they first met... Yeah, that's right. What a good memory the old man has. "Do you remember the first thing I said to you that day? It wasn't just flattery. I always mean what I say. So I'll ask you one more time - You wanna fight too?" the old man was left behind, only softly able to mutter a response that may or may not have been heard. "Yes... Let's fight... So please come back safe and sound."

Once they reached the very entrance, Ohma pushed himself out of Kisara's arms, putting his hands on her shoulders and squeezing lightly. "You dumbass bookworm, you always did worry too much." Ohma realised she had stopped fighting. Her whole body was shaking and tears were rapidly falling down her face. "That was your cue to call me a Stupid gym rat." she only started crying more. "Ah, come on, stop crying, you know I hate it when you do that." she was just like a little child. Just like four years ago when they first met. "You're supposed to cheer on me all the way to the top. This is the top. Are you gonna bail on me now?" she shook her head, but still couldn't utter any coherent word. Poor girl. Loving so  much was a curse, and being unable to keep your emotions at bay was even worse. He used his fists to eliminate them, while she used tears. Even now, after proper fighter training, after participating in a Kengan match against the veteran himself... Even now, she remained his overly emotional little princess. How cute. "Hasashi Kisara. Won't you give me my good luck kiss?" "Take it yourself." she stammered so much over those three words, that he was almost surprised he understood her. Cupping her face, she gave her the single most tender kiss that they have ever shared. "I love you." Kisara almost jumped at the man, desperately trying to claw back at his hands and put them against her skin - But she remained like a statue where she stood, unable to even shift her gaze and watch him strut to the arena like the proud champion he was. Kisara fell to the ground like a broken doll and started sobbing. The old manager was witness to it all, and never once had he heard such a heart breaking scream as the one Kisara let out. But he was the only one to hear it, being shrouded by the loud cheer of the spectators. She was tugging on her hair, succumbing to the sheer distress and hysteria overtaking her mind -

Until finally, miraculously, she stopped. Yamashita Kazuo heard steps coming forth - He realised there were fighters he was acquainted with, who were not in the seats behind the commentators. Perhaps Kisara sensed them, for although lethargically, she pulled herself back to her feet, deathly quiet. They seemed friends of hers and supporters of Ohma. They walked right past him and stood by her side, one of them patting her shoulder - But she felt nothing. Like an android with no power left, she looked at the fight. All of her senses were cut off.

She watched Ohma take a Marionette-like stance, and once the fight was declared to have begun, he encircled the Master with a flickering footwork. Kuroki easily stopped him, as well as all the strikes Ohma attempted to land. Ohma's body was weak, until it wasn't anymore, and he activated his Advance and caught Kuroki's fist. Kisara whimpered. How she hated that damned secret technique. Ohma abused Kuroki's fist, broken by Agito, and brought the Master to his knees. When he tried to hit him with the devil lance, Tokita retaliated with a right knee, followed with numerous blows that made Gensai back down. All his attacks were blocked. Kuroki was advancing forwards, looking like a heavily armoured soldier.

Kuroki realised that, although Ohma was faster, he was lacking precision while in this state, and he took advantage of that knowledge, striking his face. Ohma evaded another devil lance using the phantom pace, landing a heavy blow to Kuroki's cheek. Ohma evolved. He could use the Advance and the Niko Style together.

Kisara recalled his Advance theory after the conversation he had with Kuroki. Being a master of the Niko style, the Advance was his only choice, despite it being a death wish. Stupid Gym Rat. He knows very well that he's gonna die. Fucking prick. Confessing his love for her whilst telling her he was going to kill himself in the arena. What a fucking inconsiderate shit head. "YO!!! STUPID GYM RAT!!! THE FUCK YOU DOIN'?! FUCK HIM UP ALREADY!!!" she shrieked at him from the top of her lungs. He was right - She promised to cheer on him to the bitter end. She couldn't stop now, even if her whole body was trembling and her voice was breaking.

The Master was impressed by Niko's pupil - He made the Tokita master proud. His blood was boiling as he landed a right downward elbow, but the follow up palm heel didn't come in contact with his opponent. Another person found his way there. Kisara didn't know who it was, but the other fighters there were shocked to see the one man that seemed out of this world completely, joining a bunch of fighters. Why was Kano Agito there? Though he was watching with half of his face bandaged, he could still see very well the fight. Tokita Ohma's Niko style was different than the style that he knew. Why was it different, he wondered? He also wondered why was Kisara trembling, just like before, during his fight? Was she crying again? Was she afraid for Tokita Ohma's life?

"OHMA!!" Agito heard her scream her partner's name, watching as his strike was repelled, and he was sent sliding to the ground painfully. He was back again, and ready to strike - Yet he barely parried another devil lance. Now he tried to confound the opponent, changing directions whilst keeping at top speed. How he could do it, they had no idea... But it was in vain. Kuroki started predicting his movements, and his blows started landing. "S-Stop.... Ohma... Stop... Stop already..." her shoulders were shaking harder, and Agito even heard a sniffle. He couldn't understand what she was feeling, watching her partner getting hit like that, spitting blood and what not. Though Kuroki threw all those hits with the intent of them being finishing blows, he seemed to have dispersed the impact. He was a fiercer foe than even Tokita Niko in his prime.

Kuroki knocked Ohma upwards with a left knee, then brought him down with a left elbow, following with a straight punch: six strikes that shattered his shoulder. He diverted all blows with his redirection move, missing all his vitals, but the amount of damage he has taken is considerable.

Yamashita Kazuo did tell me... That there might be guys out there who are stronger than me. This man is definitely one of them, Ohma thought. Hasashi Kisara is cheering for me, even if she knows it will be the last time she sees me fighting... Or, at all. I can't just give up now. I can't let them down, images of both Kisara and Kazuo flashed before his eyes as he used that cursed technique that he was never able to do properly - The Water Kata, Bind of Pisces technique...

But he got hit with a devil lance as he was holding the man into a tight hold - He was forced to undo the arm bar. His leg was damaged, that's going to affect his footwork and speed considerably. He lost his gambit, unable to break his arm, and now he's suffering from it. He was forced to undo the Advance.

"Will you choose death for your convictions? Then, at least allow me the honour of burying you." Kisara froze, hearing that omen. "DON'T YOU DARE DIE ON ME, YOU STUPID GYM RAT!!!" Kisara shrieked at him, hoping he would hear - And he did. Ohma chuckled, getting in a stance. "Sorry, but I'm not smart like Niko was. Let's save that talk for after the match." he said - It made Agito wonder - Was death such an awful fate, after all? Or was the idea of irreversibly parting from a dear one such a painful concept?

Whatever Ohma did, Kuroki's strikes looked as though they were bending - But not for long. It took less than a second of lost focus to get painfully hit, as his vision was blurring from the loss of blood. He took the brunt of that hit. Idiot. "OHMAAAA!!!!!" he could hear the voice of both Hasashi Kisara and Yamashita Kazuo, waking him up to the real life. is childhood didn't matter anymore, nor did his time with Niko. He had to live in the moment, for as long as he could.

Like a monster, drenched in his own blood, Tokita Ohma didn't fall, no matter how many lethal blows, kicks or devil lances he received. The sheer fighting will-power kept driving him forward. Even when his feet weren't holding him up any longer, he still punched back... Until he couldn't anymore.

Hatsumi couldn't feel the girl's shoulder anymore - Startled, he looked at the spot where she stood, and his heart sank. Kisara had fallen to the ground silent tears falling down her face, as she took deep breaths. Yamashita Kazuo, too, seemed defeated - Why, no one could understand.

WE HAVE A WINNER!!!

Agito had never seen a person as fast as Kisara once she leapt from her spot on the ground, sprinting half-way through the arena and throwing herself at the fallen man. "Baby? Ohma? Love? Are you alive? Please, please, please be alive. I beg of you, be alive. Be alive. Live. Gods, please -- You're the great Asura... You have to live. You're Ohma... You are my Ohma... Please, baby, please be alive. Sweety? Honey? Baby-cakes? Sweetie-pie?" desperately and knowing that the fallen one's main problem was his heart, she tried CPR on him, waiting for the people to get a stretcher and get Ohma to the hospital wing. "... Ohma?" his heart beat was faint, the girl could barely feel it, or his pulse. He seemed broken beyond repair. "Wake up, Ohma, please. Please. Wake up already. I'm afraid. I'm so afraid. I need you, Ohma. Please, open your eyes and look at me. I want to see your eyes again. I want to hear your voice again. Please, Ohma, protect me like you promised. Guide me like you promised. I'm shit at directions - I-Imma get lost. Please, hold my hand." but unlike before during his fight with Raian, Tokita Ohma wasn't conscious at all. He couldn't hear her voice, nor hear her desperate please to him - Thus, he couldn't reassure her in any way. "He fought well." Master Kuroki tried to touch the girl's shoulder, only to get his hand slapped away. He needn't any word for her. He had lost many friends, he could understand her pain.

Finally the stretcher was brought, and they rushed Ohma to the infirmary, where, once again, Hanafusa was to take care of him. Kisara was able to stand up, and just like Ohma's starting stance, she stepped towards where he was going, like a marionette. Hatsumi though he knew the extent of Kisara's love for that guy - But he was wrong. He didn't understand even a small fragment of it. Watching her grief and fear now... He pitied the girl. All the fighters stepped aside, allowing her to walk, followed by the manager. If they called out her name, she had no idea. She was deaf to any voice but Tokita Ohma's.

She held his hand all the time while he was resting in bed, crying uncontrollably for hours and hours, while everyone was enjoying a large party. Even Yamashita was out, unable to see Ohma in such a state, but also, because the medical team was busy treating him. They couldn't run a full test on the island so they were preparing to send him to the mainland as soon as possible. Bullshit. Kisara knew better than this. A little after every doctor left the room, Ohma awoke. The Sun was already setting outside. He cast his glance at the girl sobbing and holding tightly onto his hand - No wonder he felt his whole arm wet. Poor thing. He reached out his other hand to pat her head. Pitifully, she rose her head, smiling back at the man.

"Hasashi Kisara. Let's go for a walk." she merely nodded her head, unplugging him from all devices and supported his body as they sneaked out, towards the forest. He let himself fall down at the base of a tree, pulling the girl down with him, cuddled into his chest. It took a lot of effort to get out here. "Hah. What'd you know. I see Niko." he chuckled weakly. "What is he saying?" the girl asked, her her head resting against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. "He says I did well. One step short from beating that guy. Didn't think I'd see him again after regaining my memories. Guess it's a sign." he could feel her whimper. His grip tightened on her. "Then tell him to fuck off. He's intruding in our private moment alone. Jerk." Ohma chuckled, planting a kiss on top of her head. "He laughed. Says he's proud of me for becoming strong and finding someone like you to rely on." his smile vanished. "And he vanished. Guess he's giving us our time alone." he muttered, his weak hear swelling at being able to see his master's cocky yet proud smile once again. "So - I didn't think it will really end up like this. My weakling girlfriend became such a cool fighter and became the CEO of the biggest private medical hospital franchise. How does it feel, being so successful at less than 30?" "I would give it all up, just to spend one more day with you." if he wasn't so tired, Ohma might have been moved to tears. But he hasn't cried in his whole life, and won't start now either. "Well, I probably can't give you a whole day, but this evening, for as long as I last, is only yours." he told her. "Do you hate me? For throwing away my life like that? For not being able to stay by your side and keep my promises to you, as you did to me?" Kisara shook her head. "I love you more than I love anything in this life. I don't care about any promise. I just want to spend these last moments with you... And I want to hear your heart beat for as long as it has strength." "Ever the romantic one." he smiled weakly. "Forgive me. I just remembered that I saw you crying once, some years ago, after the characters of a tv series didn't end up with their happy ever after. I guess I forced that on you." he felt her nodding her head. "Please, speak more. I want to hear your voice for as long as you can talk. I don't want to ever forget it, for as long as I live." Ohma pulled her away, just to see her, and he undid the buttons of her shirt. "Can you promise me one last thing?" she nodded. With a small smile, Ohma placed his hand over her own heart. "You once told me that your heart is mine. Then, I want you to promise that, after I'm gone, that no matter how much you're going to grief, you will seek your happiness, even without me. Find another man to love. Spend time with your friends. Follow your dreams. Continue to train and fight. Live your life for the both of us. Can you promise me that?" she nodded her head, sniffling. "Say it. I want to hear you say it." "I-I..." she hesitated. The thought of loving another man seemed so outlandish to her. "I don't know if I can promise now that I will fall in love with a man that isn't you... But... I can at least promise to do everything else." "Good girl." he nodded, satisfied with the promise. "Kisara." her eyes widened - Never once had he called her by her given name alone. "I wanted to get back home when I did this, but I won't make it. I can already feel my life slipping." he said, one of his hands rummaging through his pockets. "Before we got here, I asked Yamashita Kazuo to come help me out with something. Said it's for a friend. Well, now I guess he knows it was me who needed it." he continued. "Sorry for putting you in this position. I never wanted to make you upset, let alone cry. I guess I did this quite a lot during this tournament. I kinda screwed up. But you forgave me. All these years, you stood by my side. You supported me, you cared for me, you showed me kindness. You saved my life. You were even fine with not calling you anything else except for your name. How could you stand the jerk that I was, no clue. I'd have beaten up that guy big time. And he was so boring, only caring about fighting and eating." he grinned weakly, looking up into those beautiful eyes of hers. "I'm gonna be selfish, but I'm not tying you down to a dead man. I just want you to know that... Hasashi Kisara, I have always seen you as my guardian angel. And I want you to marry me. Only for as long as I live - You're free to have fun after." he pulled a small wooden box that he carved himself - It had K + O on top of it. Once he opened it, a white gold ring was revealed, sporting an elegant zircon. Kisara slapped her hands over her mouth, hanging her head. "I would marry you and only you, no matter how many times I am reborn. You're the only man that I ever loved, Ohma. I love you so much." such a bittersweet feeling... Ohma truly felt cruel, putting her through all this. Still, he gently pried her hand away from her face and slipped it on her finger. "Sorry, I'm shit at jewellery. I know you love your gold, it suits you. But I never saw you in white. That's what girls wear when they marry, right? Thought it would fit." Ohma could see the way she forced herself to smile properly at him. She was always trying to hard to care for him, no matter what. "It's beautiful." she whimpered, reaching her hands to intertwined her fingers with his own. "You didn't even look at it." he teased her, pulling her down into a kiss. It was weak, but filled with so much love, that for a moment there, he actually had hopes of surviving. "Kisara. Can you sing to me?" "Forgive me... My voice isn't great at the moment... But I will do my best... But, Ohma?" he hummed in questioning. "You will forever be my husband and I will forever love you more than any other person in the world. So... Just once... Call me by my marriage name." He chuckled lightly, his arms holding her even closer to his chest. "I love you, my wife, Tokita Kisara."

For one last time, Ohma felt Kisara's fingers digging into his shirt - And for one last time, he heard her voice, singing to him, the saddest song there ever was.

Just sleep in my tender arms, Don't worry about any harms, All because I'm right here, with you.

One day, your world will grow stronger, Maybe you'll try to leave my side. And someday, I might not see you, I wouldn't say just go ahead, I just want for you to answer, Will you remember me? Will you come by and say hello?

When your world rises with the sun, And my world is setting with it, Will you and I stay together now? With all of our old pastimes, I'll start to set up my old clock, To come by and visit you forever.

Kisara couldn't feel Ohma's heart beat any longer. She stopped singing, and she snuggled even closer into his limp body, crying harder. At some point, she heard a rustle - The jovial voice of Yamashita Kazuo, as he found them. "Oh, there you were! I've been looking all over for you! Ow, ow, ow, my back." he grumbled, making his way to where the two lovers were embracing, yet didn't dare look down at them - Instead, he looked up at the starry sky. "Guess the Sun's set already. Boy, would you look at those stars. We didn't have any time to look up at the night sky during the Tournament." the old man admired the twinkling stars, somehow staying strong despite the sobs coming from the girl. "We'll be leaving the island tomorrow... I don't think we'll ever come back here. The extraordinary time will end, and we'll return to our ordinary lives. The people from public society and the people from the underground will go back to their everyday lives... But, there are some who can't go back to their everyday lives." the man sighed. "Time will move on, and our experiences will become memories. We'll never see some of these people again... But we can say for certain, that we were here. I'll go back to my everyday life too, but I'll never forget the time spent on this island." just like the woman, he, too, ended up sobbing furiously, whilst forcing himself to smile, in memory of Tokita Ohma. "Goodbye... Ohma."

Yamashita Kazuo allowed the girl more time to weep, before he left to inform Hanafusa that Ohma had passed away, and to retrieve his body. Kisara had no strength to cry or grip onto him anymore, only watching him being taken away from her, with Kokomi being the only person trying to comfort her. Much like a zombie in the dead of night, Kisara found herself walking back to their shared room, wishing to feel the side of the bed where he once slept on - Yet she bumped into Kano Agito - The same way as when she first talked to him. The man looked down at her, the single, unbandaged eye wide with shock, sing the girl so upset. He heard Tokita was awake and fine. Was the rumour wrong? Unexpectedly, she threw her arms around him for the second time that day, burying her face into his shirt. "Why are you crying?" he found himself asking. She couldn't speak at first, and instead, she raised her hand, show casing that ring. Though he didn't understood at first - It clicked. Did Tokita propose? "Ohma died." so the rumours were a hoax. "Ohma is dead." how was he supposed to comfort her? He had no idea. Agito remained quiet, yet this time, his arms engulfed her small body, mimicking her.

He allowed her time to weep - And he tried to think how would a normal person react to such a complicated situation. "I have resigned as the Fang." her body stiffened. "I want to learn about the world. I don't know how to comfort you for your loss. But if the offer is still available, I want to join you in your journey around the world." Kisara looked up at him, surprise on her face. "Really? You want that?" the man grunted in affirmation, taking out a handkerchief and wiped her tears away. "Yeah. I would love to. Let's do that as soon as we return home, okay?" Agito had a small smile, seeing a little bit of life in her eyes.

The following morning, before everyone was to leave the island, Kisara looked for the Chairman. She asked for help, for someone to be a proper stand-in and rule her company in her place, as she goes to travel with Agito. Of course, the old man easily solved that issue, glad to see Kano, who had sort of become his own child of sorts, was finally looking for his own life. Perhaps resigning was the best thing he could do for himself. Kisara then met with Agito, ready to leave the island on a private jet, but was surrounded by some of her friends - The others, she at least had the phone numbers of, so if anything, they could text. They all expressed their condolences, especially after noticing the engagement ring, hanging from a chain around her neck. They promised to see each other again - Especially those with whom she was friends with, prior to the tournament itself.

"I'm leaving the country. With Agito." she explained, and although her voice and expression were pretty monotonous, she at least tried to offer a small smile. "We can text and call each other. I don't know how long I'll be away... Or where we'll go. But I don't want us to ever break contact." it was shocking enough to know that Kano resigned, let alone that the two became good enough friends to go travel together. Perhaps they both had wounds that needed healing, and the other was the perfect method of mending. "Well, that was always your dream. Have fun, angel." Hatsumi smiled encouragingly at her. "Things are going to get better, eventually. Hang in there. If you need us, you know how to get ahold of us." Takeshi, too, patted her shoulder. "Yeah, exactly! We've been friends for so long!" Cosmo grinned so brightly, that made even Kisara chuckled weakly. Kisara felt a strong hug - Turning to see who it was, she realised it was Raian, so she pulled him away. "Don't even bother, psycho." she shook her head - She wasn't in the mood for his obnoxiousness. "Nah, babe, the gag's all done for. Just wanted to say that I wanna fight with ya again some day, so come back stronger, gotcha?" the girl shook her head. "Fuck fighting. I'm done." this earned a collective amount of gasps - But before anyone could interject, a new person spoke up. "Well then, now that the competition died, you're all single, ain't ya, hot stuff?" she couldn't believe that, ever after all this time, Tanji had to go this far and piss her off. Raian was ready to punch him off the island, but Kisara stopped him quickly. At first, she wanted to curse him into oblivion - But then, she looked down at her ring, sparkling so brightly from the Sun. She smiled, as if she understood a lesson. Carefully, she took off the chain and put on her engagement ring, latching the chain around her hand firmly - In a single instant, she punched Tanji's face so hard that blood flew everywhere. Raian was laughing so hard, while the others were shocked. "I changed my mind. It's not - Fuck fighting, I'm done. No. I'm not. Instead - Fuck you, shithead, I'm done with you." with a smirk, she used the cleaver-like technique she learnt from Agito to make him fall, before trying to mimic the spear move he pulled on Hatsumi - Who cringed, watching it. "Can you not do that while I'm around? It still hurts!" Sen grumbled in annoyance. "Yo, Raian - Wanna play volleyball?" the girl chuckled, grabbing Tanji's hair and kicking him with all the strength she had. Once, Ohma told her, the best way to let out your frustration was to beat something up. He was right. Far better than crying, at least. "FUCK YEAH!" with another wicked laugh, the Kure prodigy punched away at the victim, and the two pushed and pulled the kick-boxer between one another, until he couldn't move anymore. "How many kick-boxers must I beat to death before they get that they stand no chance against me?" she scoffed, raising her hand to look at her hand. "Ah, shit, his filthy blood dirtied my ring. Disgusting." she sighed, walking towards Agito, using his handkerchief to clean the ring, putting it back around her neck. "Ready, Agito?" the man nodded, and with one last wave at her friends, Kisara was helped up on the jet, and they went back home.

It didn't take long for Kisara to pack a backpack and go to Agito's - Together, they went to have a chat with Takayama Minoru, the man who was widely known as 'the second best'. Seeing him without his mask was weird, but Kisara had to admit, even with that wound from Agito, he still looked conventionally attractive. He had no reason to hide his face, other than giving the menacing look. "Going on a journey, huh? Look who's got too much time on his hands, now that he's stepped down as Fang." the man jabbed at Agito, though it was clear he wasn't really as hateful as before. "I've been living in a bubble for too long, so I'm going to broaden my views of the world the only way I know how. Kisara offered her help, so we're going together." Agito affirmed. "Omori told me that you're not declaring your candidacy as the next Fang." he cleary saw Takayama as worthy of the title. "I didn't want your hand me downs." the joke only landed on Kisara, who chuckled. "Okay, that was a joke." he admitted, though his face was unchanging. "It looks like there are still some threats sneaking around, so I've decided to keep protecting the master as a bodyguard." he explained. "We've got things under control, so get going already." Tayakama gave them his blessings. "Still, I never thought you'd ask for this." he threw a key at him, and Kano easily caught it. "You can have it. Not like I have time to ride it anyway. It's more than what a beginner rider like you deserves... Go out there and find yourselves. Both of you." "It's a Harley Davidson -- Damn! Thanks, Takayama, you're the best!" the man scoffed, not even bothering to look back and see the way the woman was admiring his motorbike. "How nice. I've always wanted to ride one." the two high-fived, getting for their first ever motorbike ride. "Are you ready, Agito?" the girl hopped on the motorbike, her arms around his waist. The necklace ring was tucked well under her shirt. Every time she missed her husband, she would clutch away at it, and she would feel better. It was not time for her to abide to her promise and seek her happiness. Live for the two of them. "Yes. Where to first?" Kisara shrugged, grinning. "Wherever the road takes us."

Though it was the end of a chapter, it was time for another to begin. Kisara was going to battle her emotions, but it the end, she will prevail - The same way she will prevail, learning Agito's fighting style and perfecting it to her own stature. She was finally able to get out of the house and see the world - Be free, like an uncaged bird - And she wasn't alone. Wherever she went, she knew she had her friends to rely on, and with Kano Agito by her side, she knew, no matter what happened, she will be fine.

Though the Ashura was no more, the Kitsune is going to march forward, walking down a new path, supporting the Emperor, and guiding him on his own journey towards finding himself. Ohma had once been Kisara's guide in life - Now, it was time for her to hold someone's hand and help them navigate further ahead.

And though she never speaks out her last name, wanting to detach herself completely from her authority back home, in her heart, she wasn't the CEO of the Hasashi Medical whatever. She was the wife of the most beautiful man that ever existed - Tokita Ohma.

Her name was Tokita Kisara.

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[wishlan]

The Future of Work-Life Balance with Wishlan: How Technology Can Help, Not Hinder

In our digital age, achieving a healthy work-life balance can feel like an uphill battle. Technology, while facilitating productivity and connectivity, often blurs the boundaries between professional responsibilities and personal life. Yet, within this complex landscape, lies an opportunity for technology to serve as a tool for empowerment rather than a source of distraction. Let's explore how innovative approaches to managing technology can pave the way for a more harmonious existence.

The ubiquity of smartphones, laptops, and constant connectivity has revolutionized the way we work, but it has also encroached upon our personal time. The result? Increased stress, burnout, and a diminished sense of well-being. However, instead of viewing technology as the enemy, we can harness its potential to restore equilibrium.

Digital detox tools offer a means of reclaiming control over our digital interactions. Apps and browser extensions that limit access to work-related websites and notifications during off-hours empower individuals to disconnect and fully engage with their personal lives. By scheduling device-free periods, we create space to unwind, fostering deeper connections with ourselves and our loved ones.

Remote work, while offering flexibility, can exacerbate the challenge of maintaining boundaries between work and personal life. However, by leveraging project management tools and collaboration platforms, teams can streamline workflows and enhance efficiency, even in a virtual environment. Clear communication and established boundaries between work and personal spaces help prevent the two from bleeding into each other, fostering a sense of separation and balance.

Automated time management tools offer another avenue for restoring equilibrium. Time-tracking apps and productivity suites help individuals allocate their time more effectively, ensuring a balance between work tasks and leisure activities. By delegating repetitive or time-consuming tasks to AI-powered tools, we free up valuable time for activities that nourish our well-being and creativity.

Mindfulness and wellness apps provide support in cultivating intentional tech use. Meditation apps and digital wellness platforms offer guided practices to reduce stress and foster present-moment awareness. Setting reminders to take regular breaks throughout the day promotes mental clarity and prevents burnout, reinforcing the importance of prioritizing self-care amidst the demands of modern life.

To navigate the complexities of the digital age successfully, we must cultivate intentional tech habits. Setting boundaries is paramount – establishing clear guidelines for when to engage with technology for work purposes and when to disconnect for personal well-being. Prioritizing self-care is equally essential, recognizing that productivity and well-being are interconnected. By practicing digital mindfulness, we approach technology use with intentionality and awareness, questioning whether each interaction serves a meaningful purpose.

Ultimately, achieving work-life balance in the digital era requires a proactive approach to managing technology. By embracing innovative tools and cultivating intentional habits, individuals can reclaim agency over their time and prioritize what truly matters. Let's embark on this journey together, forging a path towards a more balanced and fulfilling way of living in the digital age.

[hoursofreading]

I spent a lot of the last year vibing, and because we live in a capitalist hell, I am constantly made to feel guilty for it. When the world went virtual last March, there was an immediate anti-productivity wave across liberal and left-leaning social media. During the first weeks of lockdown, when we were told we’d be home for a few weeks at most, people began posting their stay-at-home goals online––some folks kept reiterating that Shakespeare wrote “King Lear” while in quarantine, and therefore we should use this time to produce something meaningful, too. In response, many pushed back against this mindset, insisting that we are in “unprecedented times,” that productivity doesn’t matter, and instead we should spend our time pursuing hobbies: the ever-ready antidote to capitalist whims. En masse people started knitting, and making sourdough from scratch. It was cute, but only for a minute. While baking is an unquestionably sweeter activity than any sort of grind, many quickly found this did nothing to curb burn out or exhaustion. Capitalism not only defines how we spend our time, but our relationship to the things we fill our time with. Are you knitting a scarf to learn a new skill, to indulge in a pleasure, to take breaks from labor? Or because it will look good on your Instagram feed? Under capitalism, anything can be work; even, and sometimes especially, a hobby. Writer and artist Jenny Odell addresses this in her 2019 book, “How To Do Nothing,” which I’ve found myself returning to often in recent months. “In a situation where every waking moment has become the time in which we make our living,” Odell notes, “and when we submit even our leisure for numerical evaluation via likes on Facebook and Instagram, constantly checking on its performance like one checks a stock, time becomes an economic resource that we can no longer justify spending on ‘nothing’.” This notion of time as an “economic resource” is exactly what vibing aims to break away from. It is not a coincidence that the last year has brought both the collapse of capitalism and an upending of time. This year of stillness and retreat has made it plain that time is not an empty thing we have to fill but a living thing that we must shape. Time changes. Because the world changes, and we change with it. To vibe is to shape time into pleasure, to mold it into something that feels soft and tastes sweet. It is to take a pause that bleeds into another. “Until finally,” writes Githere, “the space between the dream and the memory collapses into being your reality—now.”

on vibing - by mary retta - close but not quite

[gdmcgilledkp]

Cultural Inclusion in Physical Education

Physical activity is an intangible part of the fabric of society; physical education is, in various forms, part of cultures around the world. This introduces the topic, what is culturally relevant P.E? Theorist Gloria Ladson-Billings (1994) first coined the term culturally relevant pedagogy. This belief system goes beyond inserting a “cultural” unit into a lesson plan but requires a deeper awareness of the learners' cultural backgrounds and community context to create meaningful pedagogical experiences. This introduces another question: How can students participate in physical activity across their lifespan if their physical education experiences are disconnected from their lived realities? The domination of acquiring sport-techniques and focus on extrinsic factors disenchants students who do not identify with these practices in the first place. The question of culture bleeds into a recent pedagogical approach known as Meaningful Physical Education; part of this approach centres around personally relevant learning, which culture is an integral part of.

Introducing a variety of domains, not just sports but dance, recreation, outdoor education, and health and considering these domains from a critical perspective can encourage culturally relevant P.E. Learning through movement does require theoretical conversations to take place, reminding students that even during the physical activity they are thinkers and learners. Using physical activity to approach cultural topics can be a powerful way to visit the various ways exercise is performed and adapted worldwide. Physical activity and the cultural mores that surround it manifest in different ways; something as simple as team sports versus solitary sports can be complicated by what other cultures value. As a pre-service teacher, I am cognizant that the insertion of ‘culture’ in the curriculum, especially in my own educational experiences, meant surface-level incorporation of traditional dress, food and celebrations. Although valuable, these alone flounder compared to the deeper elements that make up culture, such as the belief, values, art, behaviours, traditions and way of life that create the lens through which pupils learn and interact, the very root of social interactions, especially in a pedagogical setting. Athletics, sport, recreation and leisure take on various shapes for those from diverse backgrounds. Incorporating these divergent methods can create inclusion and strengthen the value of physical education as a whole. This question focuses on the artful aspects of teaching, not necessarily asking every teacher to be an anthropological expert, but rather to be astute and aware of our own cultural biases that inform our decision-making, to build functional units of instruction that are coherent with our heterogeneous social context. Being a cultural facilitator requires an educator to be tuned in to observable behaviours and intangible beliefs that influence each student's learning. Physical education presents a unique opportunity for students to learn psychomotor skills in an interdisciplinary way, tapping into the rich diversity of the classroom and the community in which we find ourselves. Ignoring this fact would leave an untapped well of knowledge that would otherwise be a disservice to our pedagogical endeavours.

[katnissmellarkkk]

how about Katniss’s birthday before the Quell — do we hear much about that? if anything? if not, what about Peeta taking a timeout from his trainer persona to bring her something like a cake? 🥺

I’m always a little insecure when I do post prompts because I don’t know if it’s exactly like the prompt but I actually think it’s like 99 percent close? Which is like, amazing for me because I always twist prompts a little 🤏🏻 and I don’t think I did here! Anyways! I finally wrote this soooo. Well actually I wrote most of it a while back but I finished it and cleaned it up. But anyways, yay! I hope you and everyone else who blesses me by reading enjoy this! It’s short — at least for me. I don’t know the exact word count but … probably too long for a drabble but a short oneshot. Okay anyways, if I keep talking the AN’s going to be longer than the oneshot.

Since the morning after the Quell was announced, I’ve done my best to not cry again about my given fate. Going back into the arena a second time—this time with all experienced killers, who have been friends for decades, no less—was daunting, but one morning of weeping is about all I could afford.

Not that I truly had time to wallow in my own misery. Peeta had me and Haymitch on a tight regimen. Every day he pushes us further, every day he orders us to cut the breaks between circuits shorter, to keep on running, to not lose our momentum, to hit the target again and again and again. And again.

It’s even gotten to the point, as of late, that Peeta’s mother, the witch herself, has forbidden our usage of her precious flour sacks as weights, claiming she still needs the ingredients to keep the bakery running and we’ve already wasted enough.

Her son is rather put out with her — to put it lightly — but for perhaps the first time ever, I’m grateful to the sour woman. Last year, when I cited Peeta’s ability to toss a sack of flour over his shoulder, I didn’t recognize what a true feat it really was. Even after two weeks of attempting to lift the stupid, heavy objects, it still took all of my strength to even get the stupid things off the ground.

Haymitch and me so much as shared a conspicuous smirk when told we no longer have to endure that particular activity.

Of course, Peeta still insists on heavy lifting to gain muscle, trying to find a substitute for the flour sacks in way of buckets filled with gigantic rocks and overfilled water jugs. This doesn’t seem to be of much strain to him or Haymitch — and therefore, not of much help to their training — but I can visibly see the difference in my arms day to day. Having never done much lifting in the past, since it’s hardly necessary for hunting or trapping, it’s particularly fascinating to me, watching my biceps grow larger as Peeta’s insistent training plan marches on.

But Peeta still feels the need to push himself further. Perhaps even more so than me — or our now very sober mentor — he feels the urge to always put additional strain on himself, more and more with every day that passes on by.

And as of today, his dissatisfaction with the lack of heavy weights available for his training finally reached a head when he casually pitched the idea of using me as a weight.

At first, I thought he was kidding. For a solid minute, I just stared at him, waiting for the punchline.

It was only after I glanced at Haymitch’s uncharacteristically earnest face that I realized there was no joke in the matter. I debated refusing for a moment before I sighed, resigning myself to becoming a human leverage.

It took over an hour of Peeta lifting me over his head, of being swung up in his arms, being whirled over his shoulder or seesawed up and down, for me to realize this was actually a nice break for me from the rigorous training. By the day’s end, I’m perfectly content to let my fake fiancé bench press me, throw me up like the sack of flour he covets so badly and whatever else he deems necessary.

It was only later on the walk home, right after Peeta said he needed to stop by the bakery to see his father, that Haymitch predicted the true reason for my day of leisure.

“I suppose that was the boy’s birthday present to you.”

My head whips upwards towards him, shocked. No one has mentioned the date at all as of late. The acknowledgement of the sparse time left until the games is weighing heavy on us all. “How do you know it’s my birthday?”

Haymitch raises an eyebrow. “Because I do,” is all he says finally, as he turns in the direction of his own house now. Just as he reaches his door though, he murmurs, “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” before heading inside.

Ever since the announcement that I’m doomed to be reaped again, my mother and Prim have done just about everything to make things seem okay around the house. Beyond that even. They’ve dedicated themselves to always appearing cheerful, to always having dinner ready for me, to always having a remedy for healing my achy muscles or advice for putting on more weight.

But if they’re usually chipper, tonight they’re downright ecstatic when I cross the threshold. And the reason is all too obvious.

This is likely going to be the last birthday we spend together. And not just of mine, but any of ours.

It strikes me unexpectedly that I’ll never see my own sister grow up, I’ll never see her into adulthood, I’ll never be able to watch her become the talented healer, the wise beyond her years young woman, the nurturing mother she’s doubtlessly destined to be.

And I almost get choked up at the thought. My resolve to not break down into tears like the morning after the president’s announcement nearly crumbles. But I hold it together somehow. By some inexplicable strength deep inside, I hold myself together.

My mother did her best to recreate the lamb stew dish from the Capitol I loved the best and I practically lick my plate. Not just to make her feel good but because all this training has exponentially increased my appetite.

Prim tells me all about school and Lady and a funny man she healed this afternoon, who had a proclivity for telling jokes while she stitched his bleeding arm.

She’s just getting into a pretty fabric she saw in town today when a loud knock interrupts us. My mother glances at me meaningfully, as if urging me to go get the door.

I shoot her a puzzled look, as I’m the least personable member of this family and surely, no one is here to visit me.

“Go on,” she says though, nodding towards the entryway. “Go see who’s there.”

I stand from the table and hesitantly humor her, unsure the entire walk there what could be awaiting me on the other side.

The answer dawns on me as the most obvious thing in the world, as soon as I turn the knob.

And see Peeta standing on my porch. He’s still in the same white shirt he wore earlier, still damp with sweat from the heat outside and the added exertion of lifting my body weight countless times.

But that’s not all I notice. Right off the bat I see that he’s holding something delicate in his hands. I blink once before recognizing what it is.

A birthday cake.

A birthday cake that has been meticulously frosted into a deep pine green. My favorite color, as he knows.

I realize after a moment that my name is cursively splayed across the top in white icing.

“Peeta,” I open my mouth to say something, to say just about anything, but much to my dismay, nothing comes out and I’m stuck fumbling like an idiot in the doorway.

He gives me a tight smile though and it’s the first smile he’s really showed me in weeks, and as he gently pushes the cake into my hands, it strikes me just how much I’ve missed the sight. “Happy birthday, Katniss,” he whispers, his baby blues lingering on my face only for one beat before he quickly turns to make an escape.

Before I can think it through, I’m calling after him. “Peeta, wait!”

Very slowly, he swivels around to face me. “Yeah?”

I freeze, dumbfounded. I don’t actually know what I wish to say now that I have his attention. That I miss him even though I don’t know how I really feel for him? That I plan to trade my life for his in only a few weeks time and all his work and effort to prepare me for the games is useless because it’s him I intend to come back home? That I hate his trainer persona so much and I wish he’d go back to just being my friend again?

That I really miss it when he acted like friend?

Instead all that comes out is a choked invite. “Come in,” I urge, and the plea in my tone is palpable. “Please come in and share this with us.”

He thinks about the proposition for a long moment, leaving me still standing there like an idiot, holding a cake too big to fit in my hands. Finally though, he graciously relents to my request. “Okay,” he murmurs and I swear I see something akin to excitement in his eyes.

And I wonder in the back of my mind how many nights Peeta spends alone, eating these delicious desserts by himself in his too grand dining room.? I wonder if, deep down, he secretly wanted to join me and my family for cake? If he misses our attempt at friendship too?

He generously takes the cake back into his hold, having the advantage of strength over me. Lifting bread-trays and flour sacks all his life made him reasonably strong before our first games. The current training regimen him and I — and Haymitch too — are currently doing has made him remarkably strong.

“Thank you,” I whisper again as he brushes past me in the doorway, as he enters my home and heads in direction of the dining room where Prim will doubtlessly be overjoyed at the sight of the sweet treat.

“You’re welcome, Katniss,” he says again, and flashes me one more smile. This time it’s less shy and with teeth. “Happy birthday.”

Yes, I think to myself as I shut the door behind us. Happy seventeenth birthday to me.

[andraaste]

I am not your enemy - Lance fanfiction part 15

No, you’re not dreaming, here is indeed chapter 15 ! I sincerely hope you’ll enjoy it 💕 (and please, forgive me for the quality of the translation 😭)

Chapter 15 : We’re going to make a deal, you and me

- Good evening, my little dragon.

I closed my eyes for a moment to savor the sound of his voice in my ear, feeling like an eternity had passed since the last time we were alone. At this probably late hour, the corridor was quiet, there was hardly anyone to surprise us which helped me to let myself go and take advantage of his proximity.

- Good evening, I answered, amused to hear him call me like that a second time, the first being when his ice had mingled with my breath.

I felt his lips in turn sketch a big smile close to my head. Running one of his hands to the doorknob of his bedroom door, he opened it before placing his two palms on my hips to push me into the room, leaving me no possibility of stealing away. Once inside, he closed the door behind us with a snap. I took the opportunity to finally turn to him and remained speechless for a moment.

Lance was visibly coming out of the shower as his loose hair was dripping onto his black t-shirt and the rolled up towel he had laid casually on the back of his neck. His locks, an almost bluish white, fell wildly on his face, making him look younger than I had ever seen him before.

I literally thought I was fainting when he looked at me with his eyes both icy and burning under the barrier of his frivolous locks.

My God, he was so beautiful.

- How are you feeling ? I went to see you in the infirmary but you were snoring pretty loud, I didn't want to wake you up, he said seriously before bursting into a frank laugh at my bewildered look.

I really hoped I hadn't done this.

- I'm much better, thank you, I replied, giving him a grimace in passing. And at least I hope you liked it, otherwise I don't know how to go about looking attractive.

Approaching with a bemused air, a thin amused smile stuck on his face, he slipped his hands under my neck until his fingers came to mingle fiercely at the base of my scalp, thus tilting my head in his direction and giving birth to light currents of energy on the smallest bit of skin he touched.

- I'm really reassured, he confessed intensely, before resuming in a much lighter tone. Your snores are the sexiest I've heard, don't doubt it. Besides, if you hadn't been bleeding, I would most likely have had a hard time resisting your charm.

I couldn’t help but laugh in my turn at his nonsense. I wasn't sure if I'd ever seen him so relaxed before, but I liked it more than I dared admit.

- In that case, I'll try to be careful not to look too attractive, you shouldn't give up.

As if to prove my words right, his intense gaze drifted shamelessly to my lips, giving rise to a new sensation in my lower stomach. His expression, meanwhile become indecipherable, literally hung on me at the slightest of his movements, my heart pounding so hard I was sure it could almost become audible.

But it was with disappointment that I felt him slowly let go of me, brushing my neck with a tiny involuntary caress.

- You’re right. I unfortunately have the impression of not being far from it, at times.

Suddenly absent, he lost himself for a few seconds in contemplating the void behind me, which allowed me to observe him more openly. I was about to answer him when his voice echoed between us again.

- You look much healthier than yesterday, anyway. Besides, were you able to eat something ?

Oh. How could I tell him that the only thought I had in my head when I woke up in the infirmary had been to see him, before even thinking of anything else ?

Realizing he was right, I rubbed a hand on my stomach as a low gurgling sound was heard.

- Uh... not yet, I said, caught in the act. In fact, I didn't have time to take a shower either.

A new smile surreptitiously dawned on his lips.

- Was the little human in too much of a hurry to find me ?

- No matter what, I defended myself, looking away, the blush rising in my cheeks. I just walked past your room before arriving at mine. And then, you didn't give me the choice to enter, I'll call you back.

- It's true that you seemed completely against it, he said ironically.

This idiot was having too much fun with the situation for my liking, so I decided to fake my departure.

- Well now that I'm gone, I'll be able to go take care of all that. I'll probably see you tomorrow, Lance.

My light tone didn't seem to baffle him for a second. I walked around him to make my way to the exit while watching him out of the corner of my eye casually remove the wet towel from his neck. But, when my fingers were about to engage the handle, a dark-skinned hand suddenly entered my field of vision, coming to rest with authority on the wooden frame, keeping the door firmly closed. His breath tickled my cheek.

- Alright, we're going to make a deal, you and me, he began. You can go take a shower, but then you meet me here. I take care of the rest.

- When you say "the rest", do you mean that I take my meal in your room ?

- It's almost midnight, the refectory is closed but Karuto is still in the kitchen. I know very well that he will make an effort for you, on the other hand he will never let you eat on the spot when he has just cleaned the room.

I did indeed imagine Karuto reacting that way, which made me laugh.

- What if I don't accept ?

- Who said you have the choice ? he wondered, breaking into a broad, confident smile.

I crossed my arms, an eyebrow raised and an amused pout.

- Isn't a deal just supposed to be accepted by both parties ?

He withdrew his hand before shrugging, feigning innocence.

- Call it what you want as long as your butt comes back quickly here, and know that I will not hesitate to come and get you myself if necessary, he concluded with an air that didn’t leave the leisure refuse.

This man was just incorrigible, but for once I must say I was ready to listen to him very wisely.

*

Once my shower was finished, I quickly went to my room to put on some clean clothes. Was I stressed about joining Lance ?

Totally.

With a lump in my stomach, I knocked on his door and then entered without waiting for an answer. Leaning over a book with an ancient cover, the dragon seemed to be searching for something in these pages yellowed by time. Crouching on the ground, his long top hair fell over his eyes, hiding part of his concentrated face.

I walked into the room as he carefully closed the book, straightening up in the process.

- Hey, I said softly, stopping near him. What are you looking for ?

Seeming relieved to see me come back, he grabbed me delicately by the waist to plant a kiss on the top of my head, making my poor heart resume its frantic run.

- Hey, he replied calmly while releasing me, as if nothing had happened. I go through all of the HQ books relating to the three great races of Eldarya, including dragons and aengels, but I can't find anything similar to what's happening between our powers. I almost wonder if this phenomenon isn’t totally apart, even if it’s quite insane.

Tilting my head to the side, I observed the old cover he still held between his fingers before noticing that the title was written in Greek. Turning my head in the direction of the bookcase that adorned the wall beside me, I was amazed to discover that it was filled with a multitude of alphabets that I was unable to read.

I returned my attention to him.

- Maybe this is information that has been intentionally suppressed ?

He seemed to think about my guess, his gaze in turn lost on the covers.

- At the point where we are, I think anything is possible.

He tried to push the wicks that blocked his view with a passage of his hand, but they immediately returned to their place, which made him look incredibly... wild.

And sexy.

When he returned his attention to me again, I had the unpleasant feeling that my thoughts were on my face, which probably made me turn crimson. Fortunately, the dragon seemed in a calm mood and did’nt get up.

- Are you hungry ?

His question caught me off guard, I had totally forgotten that point of our "deal", if I could really call it that. Lance went to get a tray on his desk, on which sat a real full meal. So he wasn't laughing when he said that Karuto would agree to do this for me, I clearly hadn't expected that much.

He put the tray down on his bed and invited me to sit down.

- I don't really have a suitable place to eat here... I hope it will be okay anyway.

My heart warmed even more at his attention. I felt... good, to be completely honest.

- It’ll be very good, don’t worry. Thank you so much.

I sat down and began to eat timidly at first, then with more and more appetite as my hunger aroused. By the time I swallowed my meal, the dragon had returned to his activities, leaving me plenty of time to observe him.

Entirely dressed in black, only the color of his hair contrasted, highlighting the trace of his scar on the back of his neck. It was the first time that I had seen it almost entirely, it ending its way under his top.

Leiftan's words came back to me then. This scar, it was probably the wound with which he had been made dead, becoming as a result of this incident the character of Ashkore. What had happened to him, exactly ? The aengel had described it as his only weak point, which was why he never went out without covering the back of his neck. But another question was bothering me.

Did he ever show it openly to others, as he was doing with me now ?

My gaze fell on his back, which was both wide and slender. Our relationship was progressing step by step, it was a fact, but had it evolved so much without me realizing it ?

It was true that we had kissed, but this incident had only happened once. I had reacted with my deepest fears, seeking some comfort in the arms of the only person who had actually seen me. And, in truth, Lance had ultimately only responded to my urges.

But, calmly, what was it then ?

I ended up swallowing my entire meal, and it was with a full stomach that I got up to put the tray back in its original place. Probably remembering my presence, the young man decided to stop his research and put back the books he had taken out. I decided to join him, placing myself at his side in order to help him.

- Did you manage to find something ? I questioned him, cascading my long black hair down behind my shoulder.

- Not at all.

Leaning forward slightly, he came to rub his face with both hands, looking visibly overwhelmed at not finding any information that could be of use to him.

- I didn't find anything about your connection with Leiftan either, to believe that these phenomena are totally unique to you, he said while giving me a sideways glance. You really have something special, no matter what you think of it.

I pretended to be focused on my task to hide the cloudy feeling his assertion gave me.

- Something special, that's for sure. I'm sure there hasn't been any aengel before me that's been on the verge of death because she couldn't pull out her poor wings.

Lance laughed frankly at my reflection, visibly amused by my jaded expression.

- On the verge of death, exactly ?

- Obviously ! And don't laugh, it's a lot more complicated than you think, I continued on the same length.

His gaze much sharper than a moment earlier, made butterflies born in my stomach. I liked to see him come alive when one of our discussions amused him.

- Indeed, I had forgotten that I did’nt know what it was like to have wings, he quipped before nimbly intercepting my vain attack on his shoulder, making resonate again his hoarse laughter as his hand decided not to let go of mine.

- You will end up hurting yourself, I will prevent you for your good.

Personally, I used to call it an oversized ego. I assumed, however, that it was too late to make up for this point on him.

- Besides, you could see your back when you went to take your shower ?

- Yes, I said, remembering the image of my skin, it strangely almost healed. We hardly distinguish anything, there are only a few traces of bruising. I don't understand, yesterday I passed out because of this, and today... it's like there never was anything.

The dragon was silent for a moment, probably analyzing my words.

- It's already a good thing that it has improved, even if I understand your frustration at not reacting in a "normal" way, let's say.

I stopped, my free hand resting on a book and my gaze fixed in front of me. That was it, he was right. Although in this particular case it was a good thing, my body was once again reacting in an abnormal, inexplicable way, and it was this point that bothered me the most.

Without ever showing anything, Lance always listened attentively to the slightest of my silences.

Sometimes I felt like he understood me better than I did.

I turned my attention back to him and was surprised to fall directly on his gaze of such cold blue and such deep intensity, that I lost myself in it without any escape. His hand finally let go of mine to move up my arm, stopping its course when his long, thin fingers reached my cheek. When these slid down the back of my neck, I instinctively turned my face in his direction.

Just before his lips caught mine bluntly.

I in turn buried my fingers in his hair while responding eagerly to his kiss. Without warning, his other arm wrapped around my waist to lift me up against him, pinning my legs on either side of his hips. In two long strides, Lance turned off the overhead light to turn on a new, much more intimate one, then laid me confidently on the mattress. His body positioned just above me, I pushed him to stand up with my hands against his chest, following him in his race. When he found himself only leaning on his knees, I lifted his dark t-shirt to pull it over his head. The dragon helped me without flinching, rolling his muscles under his tanned skin as he sent the garment to graze.

Without giving me time to do anything, he made me tilt back again so as to come over me completely. Catching my hips with his large hands, he slid me so that I was pushed up higher in the bed.

I grabbed the hem of my t-shirt and pulled on it, quickly baring my stomach and then my chest. Lance didn't have the patience to wait for me to finish removing it to take it to the next level. With dexterity, he was already unbuttoning my pants with one hand while kissing each part of my body which was revealed little by little, then, with a sharp and precise movement, he pulled on them in order to slide first my buttocks then my legs, until I remove it completely.

Only wearing my panties, I dug my fingers into the quilt above my head under his feverish gaze. He continued to kiss my body, varying sometimes between a nibble or a lick on my burning skin, his eyes disappearing in the wake of his messy hair as he started the slope of my curves.

When I felt my underwear slide over my thighs, his kisses became softer, deeper. He parted my legs with his suddenly patient hands, stroking my thin skin in a slow trajectory as he positioned himself lower.

My breath quickened in a split second when his tongue met me.

First applied, the young man wasn’t long in settling on the crescendo of my moans to deepen each of his licks, bringing me to the climax when his fingers joined the dance, sinking deep into me. My legs began to shake, forcing me to sink my teeth into the flesh of my arm so as not to wake up the whole HQ. When my jolts finally subsided, the dragon didn't give me a second's respite. Kissing my mouth passionately, he stood up to remove the only clothes he had left. I couldn't help but bite my lip as I admired the beauty of the man standing in front of me.

A slight smile spread across his full lips as he towered over me again, making his way effortlessly between my thighs. He leaned on one arm and grabbed one of my legs with his free hand, pulling it over his hip. I took the opportunity to wrap it around him and at the same time raised my pelvis, so as to make it easier for him.

Sliding my hand on his cheek, I anchored myself in his gaze so intense that I was deeply moved.

Unfortunately, I couldn't keep my fingernails from digging into his flesh when he pushed hard inside me. A single drop of blood immediately escaped the scratch and came to his lips as he began to perform several massive back and forth movements.

He leaned close to my ear.

- My angel, I have just started and you already bleed me, he laughs weakly.

But he didn't give me a chance to answer, at least not as I would have liked. Accentuating his jerks, my cries began to fill the room more and more loudly.

It didn't take long for our mouths to meet again, as if magnetized now that they had finally found each other, in turn making the red pearl flow to the hollow of my lips.

(Chapter 16)

[eryiss]

Ship: Freed x Laxus

Rating: Teen

Prompt: Two Bros Chilling in A Hot Tub/Lightning Struck

Summary: Freed knew he had a lot to learn about being a professional wizard, and when he was paired up with Laxus for a mission he expected to learn a lot. He didn't expect to spend a day with him in a hot tub, and he certainly didn't expect to get an entirely unrelated education about life and about love.

Notes: Hello everyone, happy Fraxus Week. For the two bonus days, I've murged the prmopts together to make a two-shot. The second chapter will be uploaded on July the 22nd. I hope you all enjoy it, and head over to @fuckyeahfraxus to see all the other content for the event.

Links: Chapter Two ||| Event Masterlist ||| Archive of Our Own, Fanfiction

Chapter One

Year: X782

Location: Magnolia, Fiore

Professional Wizardry was still new to Freed. He hadn't wandered into the profession without the expectation that he'd be forced to do things that previously would have been unthinkable, or that his life wouldn't change entirely the moment he had joined a guild, but he felt like he was learning a new aspect to his profession every day. His expectations of the job and the reality of the job was almost entirely different, and Freed found himself enjoying the challenge.

He'd thought he'd be on missions near constantly. He'd go to some place in Fiore, use his magic to fight off a monster or dark wizard, and get paid for it. He hadn't expected there to be a community attached to it, that they'd be such a rigid tier system of missions, and how missions could be anything from finding a lost item, to being on a team attempting to disband a cult. There was so much more, and it was all fascinating.

After his eighteenth birthday three months prior, the jobs that he was allowed to accept had greatly opened up. They were more difficult, presented him with a greater threat to his life, and he was relishing the challenge. He could have gone on those missions earlier, but he much preferred working alone. While he was accepting that being in Fairy Tail meant there was a certain level of comradery with fellow guildmates, and that with that comradery there also came obligations, he didn't see the point in splitting his finances with others while he was powerful enough to perform these missions on his own and take home all the money himself.

The exception to this was Laxus Dreyar.

Master Makarov had approached Freed on his birthday with a proposition. He was worried for his grandson, wanted someone to look after him, and wondered if Freed would mind occasionally attending missions with him. He claimed that, while officially the money would be split between them, Makarov himself would make up the difference for Freed so that he would be paid in full. Freed had agreed, and that had been that.

Up until that afternoon, Freed had not gone on any missions with Laxus. They'd hardly spoken, even with Makarov's assurances that they'd get along. Freed would only be on certain missions and that afternoon's mission was apparently one of them. Makarov told Laxus Freed needed training in more advanced missions, and that he should be the one to do it. Laxus hadn't argued.

Somehow, while attending to a supposedly A-Class mission, they found themselves in Magnolia's hot spring and spa resort.

It was surveillance, so the mission stated. The Rune Army themselves had place the job, stating that they believed that members of a potential dark guild were using the site to host meetings and plan attacks. The resort had been trying to get rid of the suspects but couldn't do so without putting their staff in danger, and having an army presence suddenly appearing would tip the dark guild off and give them time to hide all evidence. The Rune Army wanted mages from Magnolia who could plausibly be in the spa for leisure time, but could also defend themselves from attack, to watch them for suspicious activity. Freed had a feeling that Laxus had taken the job to have a day relaxing in a spa, rather than because he felt the Rune Army needed the help.

None of this would have been a problem for Freed – he'd long since accepted that what constituted a job was a wide array of things – if it weren't for the elephant in the room. Or to be more precise, the Adonis wearing nothing but swimming trunks in the room.

Freed was a professional, but he was also eighteen years old and in the presence of an undeniably handsome man. Nobody, no matter their opinions on Laxus, would state that he was anything but sexy. Tall, blonde, square jawed, barrel chested with a scar over his eye and a tattoo over his pecs. His abs looked to be cut from steel and his legs comparable to tree trunks and, well, Freed was only human. Laxus was distracting.

"So," Laxus suddenly spoke as he slung a towel over his shoulder. "I don't exactly know what Gramps wants you to learn from this, but I'll try and teach ya some shit. Surveillance rule number one: fit in with yer surroundings. You seem pretty good at that."

It was only a moment, but Laxus' assessing gaze over Freed's body was exhilarating. But unprofessional.

Laxus didn't seem to notice, and instead started to walk out of the locker room they'd both changed in, and towards the area where they were meant to be watching. Freed followed, making sure to look straight ahead, rather than give into temptation to check out the man's back and his ass, and it wasn't a difficult task. While Freed had no qualms admitting his attraction to the blonde, he knew where his focus needed to be put. The mission was important, not his hormonal desire for his guildmate.

"That's the door we need to watch," Laxus said as he tilted his head to the door. Freed knew that of course, but Laxus was speaking again before he could say anything. "Pretty open room, lots of vantage points. Where should we go?"

Ah, it was a test then. Good, a worthy distraction and hopefully it would nip any ideas that Freed was in some way Laxus' inferior in the bud. Freed looked around the room quickly, glanced towards the door that they needed to keep in their sights, and quickly made a plan of how the rest of the day would go. Strategy was his strong suit.

"The hot tub," He said firmly. "At least for now."

"Why only for now?" Laxus asked. There was no condensation in his tone, he was simply asking for Freed's reasoning.

"Staying in the same place throughout the afternoon would be suspicious. We know who the suspects are, but that doesn't mean they're the only people involved, so we need to look like regular customers constantly," Freed explained, speaking quietly as they walked further into the room. "As we've only just got here, it makes sense for us to use a facility instantly. Going to sit by the pool or at the juice bar would be odd, at least for now. The massage tables and spa treatments are too distracting, but the hot tub allows us to sit and watch without anyone questioning it. It'll give us the lay of the land without drawing any attention on us."

"And we both have to do it?" Laxus probed. "Wouldn't it make more sense to split up and cover more ground.

"Later," Freed dismissed. "We came in together; we'll need to do things at the same time at least once in a while. As I said, the treatments are distracting and as such we should do them one at a time rather than simultaneously. If we spend the whole day apart after we've arrived together, it'll raise suspicion. The hot tub is a good vantage point, and so a good way to be seen together while not losing an advantage."

Laxus thought for a moment, before nodding, clasping Freed on the bare shoulder, and giving him the smallest of grins. "Yer good at this."

"Of course I am," Freed retorted, and that seemed to make Laxus grin wider.

They walked towards the hot tub, which was at the back wall, attached to the main pool. As it was a Tuesday afternoon, only a few people were loitering around the resort and the hot tub was empty. Freed placed his towel on the handle provided and walked into the hot tub, soaking his entire body sans his head in the hot, bubbling water. His muscles relaxed instantly, and he felt himself slinking down ever so slightly.

"You ain't here to relax," Laxus said in a voice almost teasing as he climbed the stairs into the tub. "Eyes on the mission, remember."

Freed went to point out that, given Laxus was looking at him rather than at the door, he was just as distracted. But Laxus chose that moment to sit down, submerging his chest in water and spreading his arms wide. His left hand was close to Freed's shoulder, and Freed felt that it was an act of great resilience that he didn't give into base urges and watch Laxus as he adjusted to his relaxed, wet – very very wet – state.

"I will if you will," Freed eventually said back, looking towards the door. He missed how Laxus' gaze lingered on his body just a little too long.

They fell into silence, and Freed made a genuine effort to keep his gaze away from the man who shared the hot tub with him. He truly hadn't thought this through. He hadn't realised that, as good as Laxus looked from afar, he looked better up-close. Maybe he should have denied the request to join the mission. And maybe he should have worn a looser swimsuit…

"So," Laxus said after a while, looking up at the ceiling for a moment to crack his neck. "How much is the old man paying you to spy on me?"

Freed halted, and removed his eyes from the door and looked towards Laxus. His face only, of course. "Excuse me."

"Rule two, you gotta trust the guys you're working with. So don't bullshit yer team members," Laxus said with a little grin. "Answer the question."

"For every mission that I do with you, he'll cover all the money you take from it, so I'm fully paid," Freed explained. He saw no point in lying.

"Guess we're gonna be doing some well-paying missions together then, if we wanna bleed the old bastard dry," Laxus smirked, and it was an oddly alluring look on the man. Freed looked away from it, and towards the door again. "You gonna tell him that I'm onto him?"

"I'd rather keep the deal up, I can get good money doing this," Freed shrugged, and he saw Laxus grinning a little from the corner of his eye. He tried not to pay attention to the expression, and instead focused on a man who could fit the description of a suspect. The man walked past the door, but that didn't mean he wasn't who they were looking for. "Why did you agree to this if you knew your grandfather wants reports on you?"

"Because it's gonna happen anyway, might as well accept it," Laxus shrugged. "I knew he was gonna get someone to do it, kinda glad that it's you."

"Why?"

"Because yer interesting," Laxus said, looking up at the ceiling again and closing his eyes as he lowered himself deeper into the water. Freed's gaze flickered low on the man's abs for a moment before looking to the door again. "We get a hell of a lot of mages joining Fairy Tail. Lots of people who think they're tough shit and wanna become the next powerhouse. Yer the only person I think whose got a chance of actually doing it."

The compliment was flattering. Laxus had something of a reputation for being generally rude and selfish, and either they were exaggerated or Laxus was making an exception. Freed felt it was a combination of both, but he accepted the compliment without complaint.

"You know my magic?" He asked.

"I've been keeping tabs on you since you came here, yer interesting," Laxus nodded, wading a hand through the water absently and sending ripples through the bubbles. "People give the darker magics a lot of shit. They're idiots. You can kick ass, and you're not bad to be around. Pretty much the opposite of a Fairy Tail mage right now."

"Does that opinion extend to you?"

"What d'you think?" Laxus asked with a cocky expression that Freed found himself enjoying.

"I wouldn't be here if I thought you weak."

"Good."

They fell into a silence, with the bubbling water warming Freed and making his muscles loose and relaxed. He kept a steady gaze on the door, making sure to avert his eyes when someone walked into the room, so his staring wasn't too obvious. It was a worthy distraction, and one well needed now that Laxus had apparently been watching him for all of eight months. That, combined with the fact that Laxus was wearing swimming trunks and was less than five feet away, could all become rather an issue if Freed didn't focus on anything else.

"Okay, your turn to relax now," Laxus said, cutting through Freed's thoughts. His voice was a little more relaxed. "You can't stay lookin' at the door all day. You'll get a crick in the neck."

"I'll be fine," Freed dismissed.

"Doesn't matter," Laxus stated, shifting slightly to get closer to Freed. It was to get a better view of the door, but the body heat that rivalled the warmth of the water was a noticeable feeling and Freed tensed. "Rule Three: lean on yer teammates. Sometimes you'll need to slack off, that ain't something to fight against. So long as someone in the team is on full alert it isn't too bad a problem. So sit back, close yer eyes, and let me take over for a while."

Freed was hesitant, but Laxus was clearly taking over keeping his gaze on the door, and Freed eventually found himself sliding down to further cover his body in water, and closed his eyes as relaxation flowed through him.

When his mind began to slip, Freed found himself thinking that Laxus was actually rather helpful. Freed wasn't quite so arrogant to think he knew everything about wizarding work, and an S-Class mage would have things to teach. Laxus especially would be useful to learn from, given their apparently similarities in working styles. Freed would need to learn how to work in a team, even if it wasn't fond of the idea, and Laxus might know how to offer actual advice rather than pointless mantras like 'your team should be your family' and other nonsense he'd heard from Fairy Tail. Without lying about why he was there, his team-ups with Laxus might be mutually beneficial.

Perhaps relaxing wasn't too bad an idea, either. Freed's mind had been somewhat consumed by his work. Finding a place to live as a seventeen-year-old had been difficult, and he'd put in a lot of effort in getting rent on time. But now he got better paying jobs, that urgency could fall away a little.

With a bit of effort, he tried to push the fact he was on a job to the back of his mind.

Once this whole thing was dealt with, maybe he would invest in a pass for the resort. In his preliminary research for the mission, he'd heard good things about the facilities, and even though he'd only been in the hot tub as of yet, he felt inclined to agree.

Though perhaps Laxus' company was partially to blame for his mood.

Fairy Tail had sometimes felt like a lonely place. Their focus on friendship, family and their revoltingly sentimental ideas about goodness were nice in principle, but when you were on the outside looking in it could get under your skin. Freed knew he was at fault for his lack of relationships with his guildmates, but perhaps Laxus might be a good starting point. Ironic, given that nearly everyone had told him Laxus was off-putting and rude.

The bubbles sent a pleasant chill over him, and Freed felt his tenseness ebbing away. When he got a pass for the resort, he'd have to explore the idea of a massage. He'd never thought it appealing, but perhaps he could be convinced.

There wouldn't be much convincing needed if Laxus were the one massaging him.

"Shit," Laxus hissed, and Freed's eyes whipped open. A rush of panic filled him that somehow he might have said that aloud, but the idea was ridiculous. He looked to Laxus to see worry flickering over him. "The suspect saw me looking, I think he went to get backup."

"Are you sure?" Freed asked, mind suddenly back on focus again.

"No, but we made eye contact. He's suspicious of me," Laxus was clenching his teeth, seemingly annoyed at himself. "We can't fuck it up, the Rune Army don't take shit like this lightly. We need a distraction or to get out."

"A distraction will be easier," Freed concluded. "Does he know for sure that we're looking out for him?"

"I wasn't being careful. I was watching him for about a full minute without being subtle. Pretty sure he knows it's not a passing glance."

"But that doesn't mean you know what he's doing, it just means you were looking at him," Freed mused aloud. "What if we throw him off the scent, give him another reason for why you were so focused on him."

"The hell would that be?" Laxus growled a little, and Freed scanned the room. They were the only two people in there now.

"Maybe you wanted him gone," Freed thought, plans forming in his head. Many of them he had to dismiss outright. "Perhaps if he sees something he wasn't meant to see, he'll think you were looking at him because you wanted him to leave."

"What the hell would I wanna do that I wouldn't want him seeing?" Laxus snapped, agitation rising. An idea came to Freed. It was good, it would get them out of the situation no doubt, but it might have a few repercussions in the future. Many arguments both for and against it flung through his mind, and his indecision must have been obvious, as Laxus continued talking a moment later. "Rule four, if a mission's going to shit and you think you can salvage it, you do it. So if you've got any ideas, I'd love to hear them."

Freed went to open his mouth to explain his idea, but he heard movement from across the room and glanced towards the door. It was opening, and two more suspects were walking through it, stone-faced and angry.

Before he could second guess himself, he launched himself onto Laxus and began to kiss him.

It was a sloppy, energetic, and passionate kiss. Laxus was frozen for a few moments, but Freed forced himself to push on in the hope that Laxus was trying to understand what was happening. Laxus quickly started to kiss back, and a hand ran down Freed's back, pulling him close. Freed began to mess his hands through Laxus' hair, heart pounding and a ringing in his ears cutting through his panic. He couldn't think of how bad an idea this was, about how there were probably hundreds of other ways to deal with this, because rumours stated that the dark mages were powerful, and he didn't want to get into a fight he could avoid.

Kissing wasn't enough for his plan. People kissed all the time. They needed to get… intimate. Freed began to run his hands over Laxus' torso – damn was he strong – and he felt large hands groping at his ass in return. He gasped into the kiss, and forced himself to remember that it was just for the mission.

The sound of a door closing snapped him back to reality, and he glanced to the side without breaking the kiss to see the suspects had left. He pulled himself off of Laxus, to find he'd been dragged so he was straddling the man's thigh at some point, and turned away with a blush, panting quietly.

"Good plan," Laxus said, voice also breathless. "Think it threw them off."

"Yes," Freed agreed. He couldn't look towards Laxus now. He simply couldn't. "I'm sorry for doing-"

"Don't, you did what you had to do," Laxus cut him off, voice somewhat stern, which wasn't helping the situation. "I would've done the same if I thought of it, and you fixed my fuck up. So no complaints."

"Okay," Freed didn't feel any better. He stood up and reached for his towel, still not looking at Laxus. "I think I should sit at the juice bar for a while, we've been together for long enough."

"Wait," Laxus began, shifting slightly but Freed was climbing from the hot tub before he could reach for him. "This ain't- you don't have to leave on my account."

"I'm not," Freed lied. Because of course he was. Laxus might be straight, he might not like Freed, and he might not appreciate being kissed like that at random. "If we spend all out time in the hot tub, it'll look odd. It was overdue, more so now they've seen us."

Laxus looked ready to argue, but sighed and nodded. Freed walked towards the juice bar, fighting the urge to touch his lips. Electricity danced over them.

Kissing Laxus… it felt like being struck by lightning.

[thespianbooks]

A Court of Nightmares and Starlight //Chapter 6//

(Chapter one) (Chapter two) (Chapter three) (Chapter four) (Chapter five) (Chapter six) (Chapter seven) (Chapter eight) (Chapter nine) (Chapter ten)

(tags: @thron3ofbooks, @df3ndyr, @courtofjurdan, @art-e-mis, @herondamnn, @the-third-me, @im-still-trying-here, @emikadreams, @paytin77, @mis-lil-red)

“Are you absolutely sure it's a boy?” Rhys asked me as we lay entangled in bed, his ear pressed against my bare stomach and his hand splayed just below my navel.

I giggled as I ran my fingers through his raven locks. In the week since I announced my pregnancy, he asked me different versions of the same question. His hands also seemed to have become permanently glued to my stomach; along with his ears and lips. Every chance he had, Rhys would try and get as close to the baby as possible—which I welcomed, absolutely content with how devoted he was. The morning after Starfall, Rhys insisted we visit Madja’s clinic in Velaris—determined to learn anything and everything there was to know about pregnancy and what it would entail for me. The healer happily obliged, and informed us both of what the next eight and a half months would look like. Not only was a high fae pregnancy longer than a human’s, but as with other fae ailments, any symptoms and risks I faced might be amplified.

There were the normal symptoms I was already accustomed to: nausea, vomiting, fatigue, and others I would soon face: backaches, swelling in my hands, face, and feet, and occasional headaches. Hearing about those symptoms didn’t cause any alarm, they were common and unfortunately came hand-in-hand with creating a new life. Madja also said that every female experienced her pregnancy differently; some had severe complications and had to be on strict bed rest, while others hardly experienced anything other than a few minor discomforts. I hoped for the latter of the two.

It was hearing about the risks, which included a small chance of bleeding that could lead to a miscarriage while we were still in an early phase, that made me nervous and caused Rhys to enter in a full-blown defensive mode. Any prior protective behavior he was experiencing before now intensified with his innate need to safeguard me and the baby. Madja assured us that this behavior was expected and normal between mates; with females in such a vulnerable condition, a male��s instinct was always to protect his mate and their offspring. To his credit, Rhys offered a sheepish grin along with an apology in advance. Having already witnessed what he was like after we were freshly mated, and how he managed to reign himself in, I knew most of it was beyond his control.

However, I welcomed some of his coddling after my unpleasant symptoms returned a day after our visit with Madja, and fluctuated throughout the week. The extreme fatigue seemed to be a permanent state I would stay in for the duration of my pregnancy, but I pleaded to the Mother that my nausea spells would soon cease. It was torture being unable to leave my room for periods of time throughout the day. Unfortunately, there was no predicting when the queasiness would hit, so for the time being I would have to bear with it and hope none of the others would notice and wonder why my seemingly mysterious illness still remained.

Rhys and I decided to hold off on revealing the news to our friends and my sisters until we were out of the realm of possibility for a miscarriage. Madja reassured me that the chances were slim and divulged that although it was difficult for high fae to conceive, it was also difficult to lose a pregnancy. In spite of my relief, I didn’t want to take any chances and asked the healer for all recommendations on how to stay as healthy as possible.

So, along with the prenatal herbal teas she initially prescribed, she also ordered that I immediately put a halt to my morning training sessions with Cassian—which Rhys whole-heartedly agreed with, much to my chagrin. As much as I enjoyed being active, however, I knew fainting after only a couple of minutes of basic punching forms was a sign that I should be taking it easier. My body was now working overtime to provide not only for myself, but for a baby that was growing more and more by the day. Instead, Madja suggested I take more time to rest and relax, to allow myself more free time for leisure activities like my painting. Knowing my concerns, and guilt, over becoming stagnant, Rhys promised my duties as High Lady wouldn’t be affected—which left me relieved.

However, as much as my mate knew how capable I was of tending to my regular duties as High Lady, I couldn’t help but be amused at how much he insisted on spoiling me. He now reserved the right to tend to my every want and need; whether I was weary or not, Rhys began to wait on my hand and foot under the guise that since I was carrying his child, he would carry everything else. I appreciated it most whenever I was feeling particularly nauseated or drained, but I drew the line whenever he tried to spoon feed me my meals—I still maintained my irritation for it, no matter how much of a mother hen he was going to be for the duration of my pregnancy. I also valued it on morning’s like today when I had awoken with little to no desire to leave the comforts of our bed—whether it was from my overwhelming fatigue or not.

“Yes, the Bone Carver appeared to me as our firstborn. A miniature version of you,” I answered with a sigh of mock exasperation.

“And you’re sure this mini-me didn’t happen to actually have long hair or maybe more feminine features? It is dark in the prison, afterall, maybe you missed a couple of details,” he tried to reason, raising his head to look at me.

“I showed you what he looked like,” I laughed.

“Ah yes, but I saw through your eyes Feyre darling. So to clarify the vision, I have to rely on the original source. In this case, that’s you,” he said, his grin positively feline.

I grabbed a pillow and smacked him with it as I laughed, “Smartass.”

His grin remained as he braced himself against my stomach playfully, “Careful darling, you’ll hurt the baby,” he teased.

I rolled my eyes and hit him again as he laughed, “It’s a boy. Maybe the next one will be a girl.”

“Next one?” He asked, his violet eyes lit up as they met mine with raised and amused brows.

“We’ll see. Let’s focus on our son first,” I said.

His chuckle reverberated through me as he pressed his ear to my still-flat stomach. Despite no growth progress being made on my pregnant belly, he was obsessed.

“I want him to know I’m here,” Rhys answered before I could ask; double checking to make sure that my mental shields were intact.

“He knows,” I said as I continued to brush my fingers through his hair. “He was calling out to you for weeks before either of us realized he was there.”

During our visit, I had Madja explain the mystery behind the faint glimmer that fluttered between us. The ancient inkling that existed between mates as a confirmation that they had successfully procreated. Rhys was in awe of the information, and hoped the glimmer would remain throughout the months. So far, my little glimmering baby was silent—perhaps reveling in finally being noticed.

“Still, it’s never too early to bond with my son,” he said with a grin as he pressed a chaste kiss to my stomach before subsequently moving from his spot and hovering above me. “Are you feeling well enough to have breakfast with everyone, or shall I bring you breakfast in bed?”

I sighed as I held his arms, lightly tracing the pattern of his tattoos as I debated, “I could honestly sleep for another couple of hours. You should go, let everyone know I’m okay,” I answered.

“I’m beginning to run out of excuses to explain why their High Lady has been so inclined to not leave her room.”

I hesitated, realizing how hard it actually was to keep up the deceit. A part of me knew Mor was suspicious of something already, having guessed Cauldron-knew-what on Starfall. The others I couldn’t even begin to guess what assumptions they made.

“Should we just tell them?” I asked. “I know we wanted to wait a little while longer, but it just doesn’t feel right to keep giving excuse after excuse.”

Rhys nodded in agreement, “I’m pretty sure Cassian and Azriel know something, but they have too much respect for your privacy to pry it out of me.”

I laughed and sighed tiredly, “Do you think they’ll be excited?” I asked.

He smirked, “Well I don’t think they’ll be disappointed.”

I rolled my eyes and pushed him away before sitting up as he chuckled. He caught my wrist carefully before I could get up from the bed, “I think they’ll be more than happy to hear there will soon be a new member of our Inner Circle,” he said.

I smiled, “He’s going to be spoiled, isn’t he?”

“Rotten, my love.” He replied as I laughed.

X

I didn’t realize how nervous I would actually be until we sat down for breakfast. Our morning routine was proceeding as normal—everyone gathering in our grand dining hall, another room I was particularly proud of in the estate. I planned for it to be large enough to fit all of us comfortably, and took extra consideration for the Illyrian brothers and their mighty wings.

I took comfort in seeing everyone in their customary morning moods; Amren and Mor chattering over a new line of jewelry on display at their favorite shop at the Palace of Thread and Jewels, Elain displaying a book of pressed flowers she had been collecting to Azriel—who actually requested to see it the night before, and Nesta keeping a watchful eye on the pair while Cassian engaged her in some kind of boastful conversation. I was actually surprised to see how close they were sitting together without Nesta having a sneer on her face. I tried to remember the last time it was she even looked at him with a sneer at all.

Getting distracted, my love? Rhys asked down the bond.

I glanced at him and took a sip from my glass of orange juice. What, should I just blurt it out while they aren’t paying attention?

Why not?

I paused. Really?

If you don’t, then perhaps I will.

I blinked and opened my mouth to say it, but when the words refused to come out, Rhys grinned mischievously before simply turning in his seat and said, “Feyre darling is pregnant.”

Everyone’s eyes instantly turned to me and I blushed under their collective gaze. There was quiet for little more than two heartbeats before Mor and Elain’s high-pitched squeals met the air and the sounds of chairs scraping the floor filled the room as everyone moved. Mor was the first to reach me as she threw her arms around me in a warm embrace.

“Oh, I knew it, I knew it!” She cheered as she hugged me and my eyes burned as she pulled away, Elain wrapping me in her arms next.

“I can’t believe it, Feyre, you’re going to have a baby!” she exclaimed, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Azriel and Cassian congratulating Rhys with clasps on the shoulder.

I laughed aloud when Cassian wrapped an arm around his shoulder and wrestled him around, “I knew you had it in you Rhysie!” he exclaimed as Azriel nodded his approval.

Just as the shadowsinger turned his attention to me and took a step in my direction to congratulate me, Rhys was out of Cassian’s hold and in his path—blocking him from getting to me with a deadly snarl on his lips.

Cassian barked a laugh and slapped a hand on Rhys’s tense shoulder, “Is this a second version of that mating bond rearing its ugly head?” he taunted.

Before Rhys could turn that snarl towards Cassian, I touched his other shoulder gently in an attempt to calm his feral temper. Almost instantly, he relaxed as his gaze drifted to my stomach and shrugged Cassian’s hand away.

“Madja warned us that this might happen,” I said, “But I’d prefer you two not destroy this room.”

“We can always have it out in the training pit later, Rhysie.” Cassian goaded, cracking his knuckles with a wicked grin.

Rhys squared his shoulders as his hand came to rest on the small of my back, “I’m fine here.”

“A typical male guarding his offspring,” Amren said coolly, and I was grateful for the attempt to lighten the animosity that briefly began to brew. “Congratulations girl. It’s about time our group is graced by a youngling’s presence, it’ll be a welcome change around here.”

“How far along are you?” Nesta asked, and I was surprised to see her standing beside Cassian, not realizing she had made her way over during the hostile interaction with Rhys, instead of attempting to shield Elain.

“Almost three months now,” I answered, my hand coming to rest on my flat stomach. “I found out the day before Starfall.”

“Aha! I told you!” Mor cheered as she turned to Cassian and Azriel.

Cassian swore under his breath and Az dipped his head in acknowledgement, and I balked. “What’re you talking about?”

“We all made a bet on how long it would take for you guys to announce it. I gave it a week, Cass bet two, and Az bet you would be half-way along before you told us. Which means I won!” Mor sang excitedly.

“I lost the minute his darkness over here didn’t shout it from the rooftop after you told him,” Amren revealed nonchalantly, motioning to Rhys.

“Wait, you all knew?” I asked, bewildered.

“Are you kidding? I smelled it on you the minute we came back from the mountains,” Cassian admitted, “I’m surprised Rhys didn’t, with him being your mate and all.”

“To be fair, a part of me did know, but until Feyre was fully aware herself, I wasn’t going to raise any suspicion,” Rhys said nonchalantly, and I could feel his attempt to tame his preternatural instincts in order to avoid giving into Cassian’s baiting.

“So, this wasn’t really news then?” I asked, unable to hide my disappointment.

“It was for me,” Elain interjected, grabbing my hands gently with a smile, “I had no idea, and I’m so happy Feyre.”

“I didn’t know either,” Nesta added, and I was astonished to see a formal look of support on her lovely face.

Elain embraced me again as my eyes burned. They were all happy for us, and as Amren mentioned earlier, a baby would soon be welcomed by everyone here. I tried not to let the tears fall as I imagined my son being held in each of their arms. I sniffed as I stepped back from Elain’s arms and blinked in surprise when I saw Amren, Mor, Azriel and Cassian standing together before me and bowed with their hands over their hearts—just as they had done years ago after Rhys and I were newly mated.

“Our vow of service and protection is extended to the child you carry; our future High Lord of the Night Court.” Mor explained before I could question them.

“Or the future High Lady,” Cassian said with a wink.

I glanced at Rhys as he slid his hand back onto the small of my back, and without the need to communicate through the bond we knew we would keep that revelation a secret.

“This is normally a tradition sworn to the High Lord, but seeing as you are our High Lady, and the one who is actually doing all the work, we pledge our vow to you and your child.” Amren continued.

My heart tightened and my face flushed as they all stood as one, their hands still on their hearts. I captured the image in my mind, imagining what colors of paint I would need later and the exact canvas I would use to commemorate this moment forever. Sworn protectors of the Night.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice still thick with the unshed tears.

Mor grinned and came up to envelop me in another hug, “Your emotions are going to be all over the place now! You don’t have to worry about holding back, we all understand,” she crooned and I laughed with a sob.

“I’ll admit, I’ve never really been around pregnant females outside of the ones in the Illyrian camps, but I’m willing to learn,” Cassian reassured.

“We all are,” Azriel added.

I sniffed and wiped at the few tears that escaped, “I guess we’re all experiencing this for the first time,” I said.

“I’ve at least held a baby before,” Mor said proudly.

“Before it burst into tears and reached back for its mother,” Rhys remarked with a smirk, earning a glare from the golden-haired beauty.

“Hey, I’ve held a baby before,” Cassian defended. “You forget, I’ve taught younglings how to fly. Sometimes that required holding them when they cried.”

“Your idea of holding a youngling included patting them on the back until they calmed and tossing them, sometimes in mid-air,” Azriel smoothly cut in.

“That happened once, and it was an accident!” Cassian barked.

“So, you dropped a baby in mid-air?” Mor asked.

Elain gasped in horror at the thought, causing Amren to burst out laughing and Nesta rolled her eyes as Cassian fumbled over his words to try and defend his actions. I squeezed Rhys’s hand as my heart swelled and his eyes met mine with an easy grin, his free hand coming to rest on my stomach—happy to finally be able to do so in front of everyone. I returned his grin when that familiar glimmer fluttered excitedly beneath his touch, our son happy and no doubt feeling right at home with his family.

[subwalls]

WHUMPTOBER 2021 - 5/30

No. 5 - I’VE GOT RED IN MY LEDGER betrayal | misunderstanding | broken nose

Also available on AO3!

Punz probably shouldn’t feel as satisfied as he does.

For one, he’s still bleeding. His whole face stings, and when he wipes a thumb under his nose, it comes away wet with blood.

Oh, well. He’s no stranger to violence—hired muscle is hired muscle, and sometimes that goes beyond pokémon battles. Whatever. As long as he gets his money, he’s not complaining.

Dream looks  murderous.  

He can’t do anything, though. Not with a dozen trainers and their pokémon encircling him, not when he’s a ranger first and foremost and doesn’t even have a proper team to fight them with. The cheeky punch he got in before everyone managed to corner him is the last punch he’ll ever land.

So what if only a handful of the deployed pokémon are actually battle-trained? The only defense he’s got left is Rowlet, who’s less of a partner and more of a pampered pet. Even Eret’s coddled baby Eevee could probably dispatch it with a few well-placed Tackles—which means it would be a piece of cake for their Gallade.

As it is, the little green bird’s nowhere to be seen. Punz vaguely recalls Dream sending Rowlet away somewhere before the confrontation, preferring instead to recruit the local Steelix and Tyranitar that live in these jagged mountains. But with his stylus broken and his makeshift party disbanded, Dream’s not even a trainer. He’s just… alone.

Furious, but alone.

“You  traitor ,” Dream hisses at Punz, eyes narrowed. He shifts his weight as though to close the distance between them, but Tommy’s Pikachu crackles threateningly, and he doesn’t move from his spot.

Punz meets Dream’s glare with a lazy smirk, hand calmly set on his Mega Houndoom’s curling horn. The evolution is tenuous at best (probably because they’re not in active battle, Punz thinks, and refuses to acknowledge the confused glances his pokémon keeps shooting him), but nobody else will be able to tell.

“Give it up, Dream,” Punz says leisurely. “You’re done. Look around—nobody’s on your side.”

“We,” he bites out, “had a deal.”

“I’m afraid Tommy had a better one. Mercenaries go where the money is, don’t you know?”

Dream raises a hand to his mask, the plain white plate left skewed to the side of his head. “Alright, I get it. I misunderstood the terms of our contract,” he says, dragging the mask back over his face in a movement Punz has seen a thousand times over in his dealings with Dream; it’s a tell more than anything, that Dream feels uncomfortable. Nervous.

Before, it evoked some… professional concern from Punz.

Now, he tries to pretend it’s just the triumphant rush of near-victory.

“I wasn’t aware you could break it without telling me,” Dream continues, slipping his hands into his pockets. The mask makes him look calmer than he must actually be. “But that’s fine. Better late than never.” And then his gaze swings over to Sapnap.

Something—shifts. The wind changes direction, howling down, flattening clothes and fur as it rushes through the craggy peaks of the shattered savannah.

Sapnap’s eyes widen. “You wouldn’t,” he says, and everyone turns to look at him in confusion. His Charizard lowers her head with a threatening snarl, but he pays her little heed as his words stumble on. “Dream—Dream, enough, you can’t—you know they don’t respond to evil intent—”

“Evil?” Dream cuts in, icily. “Is that what you think, Sapnap? Was  I the evil one, and not the ones who barred us from our own home, who threatened our loved ones, who started this whole stupid war, who  left without a second look back?” He withdraws his hand from his pocket, and Punz stiffens at the sight of a green ball in his hand—but it can’t be a pokéball, Dream’s not a trainer—he doesn’t know  what  it is. “If that’s what you think, Sapnap, I’d rather ask them!”

“Who’s them?” Tubbo hisses at Tommy, who shrugs.

Sapnap seems to know, though.

Sapnap whirls around, eyes wide, crying out, “Get back!” Not that there’s anywhere to go, really, on this tiny, crowded plateau, but—

Dream thrusts that radiant green sphere into the sky, and it lights up gold between his fingers. “I wish,” he shouts, and the sky crumples over him, “I could just put an  end to all of this!”

Vivid green light pours through the sky, a brushstroke of violent viridian stretching down from the heavens, and with it comes a windstorm so fierce it presses everyone against the ground.

Everyone except Dream, standing tall in the eye of the hurricane, hand suffused with so much light it hurts to look at. He says, so quietly it’s nearly lost in the commotion, “If you want a fight, so be it,” and a jade-scaled tail whips out of the maelstrom to knock half the party off the lip of the cliff.

“Houndoom!” Punz shouts, and his partner immediately snaps his jaws shut on the back of Tommy’s shirt, stopping him from careening off the edge. The others are probably fine; there’s plenty of fliers between all of their teams, but Tommy is Punz’s first priority by contractual obligation.

Serve the hand that pays, and all that.

The wind rips apart, and too late Punz realizes that there’s an unnatural rasp to the wind roaring through the area, the bellow of a pokémon emerging in absolute fury.

And Rayquaza, lord and keeper of the heavens, embodiment of the skies themselves, tears through the clouds with just enough speed to slam their claws into the earth around Dream and  shriek  a challenge to the rest of them.

On instinct, most of the other pokémon flinch. The only one to roar back is Sapnap’s grim-faced Charizard, spouting flame that gets whipped away into nothing the moment it leaves her tongue. Sapnap himself looks torn, but eventually reaches for the keystone glimmering on one of his many rings.

He doesn’t get a chance to activate it before Rayquaza cloaks themselves in light and rushes forward, gouging a canyon into the ground as they Thrash.

“Arceus may love you still,” Dream hisses, finally dropping his arm, “but  we  do not.”

[wrathofthewind]

xii. Burning

“Don’t worry, I already annihilated that creature.” While he spoke, Marius calmly stirred mint leaves into water, along with something that looked like salt crystals and gave a cup of the mixture to Arnalt. Because Arnalt was used to having Marius handle these kinds of ministrations whenever they went on overnight hunts, he unconsciously followed each step; first taking the solution in his mouth and washing out his teeth and tongue before spitting the foamy residue into the nearby metal tray, which Marius helpfully held up. 

“Not even her ashes remain.” Marius continued. Now wiping his face with a towel again and quickly unwrapping a treat--feeding him a tiny apple candy, one of Arnalt’s favorites, pressing it quickly on his tongue and automatically tilting his jaw to close his mouth before Arnalt could think too much. “Whatever questions you have, I’ll answer them myself, but you need to hold my hand now.”

Marius extended his hand.

Arnalt, candy still rolling in his mouth; Fucking! Turned! To! Run!

A demon couldn’t have scared him more than the sight of Marius casually coming to get him. He might as well carry a scythe and declare himself death itself! 

But he’d forgotten his legs were still numb with the effects of the dream world and fell heavily forward about to crash and crack his skull. 

A single arm braced him and kept him up, half-restraining and half-holding him.

“Alright, alright, you don’t need to hold anything you don’t want to.”

Arnalt was unceremoniously picked up in Marius’s carry. And he should’ve felt frightened but his first thought was that this was a little bit ridiculous. Marius was slightly taller than him, sure, and fairly strong… sure… like... impressively so, his body already built like forged iron, accentuated by supple and slightly tanned skin--but he was so much younger! This was not how you treated an elder! This was an insult to his royal lineage! And insult to his seniority! Marius was still an adolescent! 

Wasn’t he?

“Pft, don’t look at me like that.” Marius smirked.

A gong rang inside of Arnalt’s head. He almost lost it.

The nerve! The… The audacity!

“Careful, if you scream I’ll have to gag you.”

Ah!

If Marius could paint a picture of Arnalt right now, it would be a cool but sensitive beauty, reluctantly pressing her hands against a willful bandit who’d offended her family name. His soul’s painting would look more like a tiny frantic bird irrationally screaming.

But before he could say a single word they were already engulfed in darkness. The room faded and then… showed up again? But this time everything was in black, white and shades of grey. Marius walked straight through the walls, ignoring the still unconscious bodies of the two guards, Arnalt firmly secured in his arms.

“Tyssen! Pallax!” He practically stuttered the names out.

“Oh they’re useless, they’ll only hold us back.”

“But—!” 

It wasn’t so much a matter of concern, though of course there was, but how could Arnalt possibly trust to leave them behind after everything he’d witnessed? His mind went a mile per minute with scenarios.

“Arnalt...” The voice that interrupted his whirlwind was suddenly soft. Apology and fondness intermixed. 

It made Arnalt glance up, misty eyes blinking. 

Marius smiled with the corner of his mouth. “I’ve missed you.”

Well that did it. That shut him up. Arnalt would never answer such a thing. The sheer impropriety had his ears glowing red. If his legs weren’t numb and his shoulder wasn’t wrecked he would kick him straight up. He could punch him. He still had one good arm. He could definitely punch him.

“You’ve been working very hard for my sake. I’m very happy.”

Where was the respectful “Sire” and “My Lord” and “Your Highness”! Where was the meek little thing that drank his soup, ate his rice like a good little farm animal, and then obediently followed master’s orders! What the hell, who was this boy!?

“Insolent!” Arnalt may be failing as the master of this cheeky little mongrel but he was fast becoming triumphant as the master of monosyllabic retorts. 

At least.

“Yell at me all you want when we’re out of here, I’ll gladly bare your disciplines.” Marius didn’t look at him this time, concentrating on an escape route in this watered down grey world, but his eyes betrayed a twinkle and his voice held a coquettishness that made the tip of Arnalt’s fingers itch.

Marius moved like a panther, stealthy and assured, then fast as a bolt of lightning. He wore black garbs that made him seem like a hired assassin, but Arnalt knew these were also the clothes given to criminals once they’d been issued a sentence of execution. Black as night, black as emptiness, black as the nothing they would become.

It didn’t feel good to see him dressed like this. 

Arnalt had so many questions. As if reading his mind, or just knowing the motions of what made the creature called Arnalt tick, Marius started speaking leisurely and answering questions without prompting. 

“Once they open the medical room it’ll look like someone took you. Trust me, it’s better that way, otherwise Pallax and Tyssen will face the brunt of treason, you can’t just come to the Winterlands to save me willy nilly, how foolish have you gotten lately? Shh, don’t speak, my voice is cloaked but yours is not, if anyone heard you and turned to see us, even if they found nothing, they could corner us and bump into our physical bodies. That would be awkward, I don’t like slamming into bodies if I can avoid it.”

He light-speed stepped his way towards the courtyard.

“If they find you with me, it’s fine, they’ve already sentenced me to exile... which, you know, execution, exile, what’s the difference at this point.” Marius was grinning, wildly unaware of his own words? How could he be so laid back about this? 

“Even if they sentence me to something worse, I can escape them. As you can see it’s actually very easy for me to escape things with this little trick. Again, don’t talk back, I know what you want to ask.”

This time, they were in a grassy area of the courtyard and there were twigs strewn about, so Marius carefully side-stepped them. “You want to ask me, how my arms aren’t tired when you’ve clearly gained some weight—ok! Ok! Haha, I won’t provoke you don’t pinch me so hard, ow, that’s going to bruise.” Marius laughed easily, as if he wasn’t currently making some kind of daring escape, as if this was just a a playful dance. As if there weren’t a bevy of guards and an entire council of monks, scholars and warriors, possibly a prince or two with aerial rings waiting in the wings... seriously what was this madness!

“This ability I have is simply a shadow veil, I’ve had it since I was in the jungles, it’s probably the only reason I survived. Is it part of the curse? I don’t know, I haven’t met someone else who can do it and I’ve never met anyone like you who is actively trying to figure out what I’m made of but—-hey! Wait! Don’t look so wronged, I’ve always wanted to share it with you, I know how important Kurian research is to you, but… I was having a lot of fun, and honestly I felt this would make you feel too uneasy, and you’re always so busy and never let me talk, I have my own grievances you know… just…” he cleared his throat, now making his way to the outer roads. A few guards were walking so he leaned against a stone wall for a bit to let them pass.

“That woman, she also had the ability to do this, and it’s not the first time I’ve met someone like her. Other… Kurians. There’s a lot I’ve wanted to talk to you about for some time now.”

“Then why didn’t you—!”

“Shh!”

“Explain yourself right now do not forget your place in my--!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

The guards were walking right past them and heard a strange muffled sound. They turned towards the wall but saw nothing. They circled the area, looking for a source but couldn’t for the life of them make out what they heard. The tall grass was swaying in the wind and created a shuffle like sound, the leaves rustled, and an errant rock or two moved as they stepped on the grounds. Nothing seemed out of place, and yet something felt out of place. The wind itself felt a little warmer, and the space felt a little dense, and there was a strange darkness near the wall, but with the canopy of leaves nearby it was hard to tell if it was just a trick of the light.

For a minute, they thought they heard a distressed breath.

Impossible. Was there a ghost?

Was this a haunting.

They kept on their way but made a note to come check later at night, when ghouls usually roamed in their original shapes and could be approached and questioned.

Arnalt bit Marius’s lip and that warm abrasive presence finally separated a few inches.

“Ow! You’re ferocious aren’t you? It’s your own fault, my hands are busy and I told you to be quiet.”

Arnalt couldn’t even conceive what had just happened. His face was on fire. Actual fire. His cells burned. His lashes burned. One moment he was being told wildly important information that had been withheld, his blood practically boiling, and the next moment a pair of warm soft lips had descended over him and silenced him sweetly. The softest melting touch, covering him like a warm candy-apple, the pressure of a soft toffee wrapped in the most delicate and translucent rice paper, a sensation so sudden and so smooth it shot straight to his lower abdomen as an arrow dripping with honey, gathering into a pool of sticky sweetness that made his body feel slow, heavy, and malleable. Marius’s hands firmly gripped him in place, pressing them together and slowly tightening as if possessed. As if... possessive. The action twisted Arnalt’s mind into a knot, his entire soul crackling like a recently lit ember. 

It was chaste, but it wasn’t brief, and the sustained contact made his skin practically vibrate. The guards walking around them were a kind of torture. Even when it stopped, that sensation left an echo of skin, like a film of liquor or the brush of a petal. He was sure his very pores were about to bleed. He couldn’t even summon his words, eyes so wide they felt like thick coins: Indecent! Shameless! Beast! Brute! Indecorous wanton CHILD!

There weren’t enough insults in the world to fling at that young man who suddenly, very boldly, licked his lips and timidly peeked at him from beneath a thick curtain of lashes, a fine blush painting his exquisitely carved face. 

Arnalt’s ability to speak quickly drowned in the hot spring of his brain, a hissing sound popping between his ears, like a kettle with tea at the ready. He wanted to serve it to himself and choke on it to death. 

Marius didn’t say anything more and resumed his walk, not the slightest sign of fatigue showing on his shoulders from carrying Arnalt all this way, but when he spoke, his voice was a few decibels lower, even slightly hoarse. “Let’s leave first and then I’ll tell you everything. There’s a carriage waiting.”

It didn’t take long to arrive at this carriage, which was hidden between mounds of hay and a thicket of leafy trees. Marius hopped on the back, using his shoulders to move the curtain aside. With Arnalt still tightly secured in his arms, he then gently, as if setting down an exquisite treasure, placed him on one of the cushioned seats.

He checked his temperature.

“You’re burning up.” His brows furrowed.

“I am quite fine!” Arnalt snapped, his voice much louder than he intended.

“Alright, alright, if you say so, but we’ll stop as soon as we can and I’ll sneak in somewhere and get you a nice cool drink alright?”

Arnalt’s shoulder was injured, his legs were numb, he was dizzy, his spirit had taken more shock than he could handle in the span of a few short hours, and he was tired from days with lack of sleep, vexed… but he was a Prince of Aegeria, the Eagle of Azuria, and like a bird circling a nest of fat rats after starving for days, all the anxiety gathering between his eyes, the restraint, the concern, and the plethora of unfathomable emotions he’d been carrying since Marius’s sentencing, all of it fused into a single target. A pair of claws had finally sensed blood. His hand, purchasing an opening, quickly descended towards its intended prey.

Pah!

A solid, brutal slap landed on Marius’s face.

[god-fucking-dammit-mizutani]

Just This Once

Word Count: ~3600 Part: 1/? Summary: Taichi gets invited along on a free vacation with the Izumi family to a quaint little cabin where there promises to be great food, plenty of activity, and sun in the forecast. The catch? The whole family thinks he’s dating Koushirou.

Taichi wishes it were true.

Read below or on AO3

"This has got to be the most ridiculous thing you have ever done," Yamato decides. Even under his sunglasses, Taichi can feel the heat of his glare. It could rival the sun today, already sitting at the highest point in the sky, without a single cloud in view to obscure it.

Taichi looks away, frowning. "It's not the most," he protests. Yamato takes a long, audible sip of his iced latte. Nothing in Taichi's memories leap to his defense. 

When they come to the longest patch of shade along the dirt road, Taichi feels their pace shorten to a leisurely, measured gait. Wind races past them, a wonderful reprieve from the heat. August has been brutal. Yamato reeks of several coatings of sunblock, masked ever so faintly by an overdose of cologne. Taichi's nose tickles with the repulsive combination; his iced tea tastes like chemicals just from the smell of it. 

Yamato pins his bangs up against his head with the slide of his sunglasses. Somehow the dark makes his eyes all the more brighter. He kicks at a collection of pebbles on the dirt path. Taichi watches them skitter along, some rolling into the tall, uncut grass on either side of them. "When are you leaving?" 

For a while Taichi doesn't answer. He can hear a mother shouting at her kid for something on the playground nearby. 

"Tonight," he finally shares, tugging at his shirt in quick bursts like it's a fan. Bits of the fabric are already damp with his sweat. 

Yamato stops dead in the path. A jogger who had been catching up on their tails just narrowly leans out of the way to miss bumping against him. Taichi watches her blaze down the pedestrian pathway, his muscles twitching with want to follow the same path, to enter a secret race against the other runners at the park fueled only by the desire to be faster. 

Maybe it's just his instinct to run away, begging him. 

It's too hot. 

"I told you it was too late to back out," Taichi mutters, picking back up on their previous pace. Yamato jogs up beside him a moment later and Taichi hates that he feels kind of sorry for how strenuous that must be when the air just tastes like heat. 

"Backing out," Yamato scoffs— wheezes—" is not the point. Have you no sense of self preservation?" 

Taichi can't argue with that. He's been wondering the same thing himself since the moment he woke up, since the memory of his promise had solidified from some fever dream into reality.

Maybe it was heatstroke.

Taichi frowns. He knows it wasn't. 

It had, after all, been Koushirou asking. With his eyes so wide on the other side of their video call, it had felt like Taichi was staring down a deer trapped in his headlights. "Just this once," he had pleaded and Taichi just couldn't say no.

Yamato kicks at another collection of pebbles sleeping in their way, his black slacks covered in a layer of dust so thick the fabric looks almost as if it were tip dyed beige. Taichi watches as the stones arc along the air, before sprinkling back to the dirt like a smattering of shooting stars. He wonders if he could make a wish on every single pebble, but he knows he'd only ask for one thing. 

He almost chokes on his iced tea, not preparing for the bath of pseudo chemicals it coats his tongue in. Throwing it out after all the money he spent would only put a worse taste in his mouth and so Taichi takes another long chug.

"Pretending to date the guy you're in love with is your most boneheaded idea," Yamato doubles down. He shakes his drink, ice shuffling around the barely there liquid. When Yamato sips around his straw it sounds like he's sucking on air. Taichi takes another chug of his own drink and wishes they could switch. "And on vacation with his goddamn family."

Taichi lets out a long huff. He hates to admit Yamato's right, even if it technically wasn't his idea, so he keeps it to himself, kicking at the ground instead. All it earns him is a blanket of dust on the cuffs of his jeans.

The line between the shade and the sun is striking. Heat clings around Taichi like a toxic friend welcoming him back, and he wishes he were anywhere else.

Almost anywhere else.

"Hey," Yamato starts, knocking his shades down over his eyes in a deft swoop. Taichi mourns the sunglasses he had every intention to grab on his way out of the house this afternoon as the light of the sun burns his eyes. "At least I've got a whole week to plan your funeral." 

Taichi feels the edge of his lips twitch into a sardonic half smile. "It's great to have friends you can depend on when it counts." 

Yamato crosses over into him for a moment, their shoulders brushing minutely. "Don't mention it." 

Taichi throws his drink out in the closest receptacle. His tongue feels heavy, like someone bathed it in sunblock. 

"I won't." 

Early evening does little to abate the heaviness of summer. Taichi had hoped they'd leave the mugginess behind in Odaiba, with the exhaust fumes and high rises. It's too cold with the wind of the highway whipping by them to keep the window down completely, but too warm inside the car to keep it shut. Taichi doesn't trust the air conditioner to not burn out again , and so he settles on leaving the window open just a crack. 

Even with little competition from the wind and other traffic, the radio can barely be heard. Taichi only knows what's playing because the station only seems to have the license to just three songs. 

He doesn't ask why they're leaving so much later than the rest of Koushirou's family. Taichi can guess that much himself; an attempt to stave off the inevitable embarrassment and barrage of intrusive questions. A breath of fresh air before the oncoming storm. 

Taichi wishes it would storm, just for the night. It's so hot.

His leg bounces without his permission. "Should we set some, uh, ground rules?"

Koushirou hums, tapping his fingers on the top of the steering wheel. Taichi hoists his seat back a little bit, watching Koushirou watch the road for a while before the other repeats, "Ground rules," quietly to himself. Just a little bit behind Koushirou's ear is a deep, inset stain Taichi had forgotten about from when Mimi had drunkenly thrown a ketchup-saturated burger at his head. Taichi frowns. He can't remember why. It was probably deserved, he decides begrudgingly.  

It's weird being the passenger in his own car, but Koushirou had insisted on letting him rest the majority of their ride. Taichi breathes in, tightly. It's a nice thought. 

Koushirou spares him a quick look, almost as if he's alarmed to see someone else in the car. Taichi’s fingers tap the console of his own door, a small impulsive voice in his head telling him it's not too late to tuck and roll. He withdraws his hand, playing with the bridge of his seatbelt instead. 

Koushirou looks back to the road. "What do you suggest?" 

Though it pains him, Taichi suggests, "No kissing?" He tries not to be bothered when Koushirou readily agrees, as if the thought is burning something unpleasant into his mind. 

"Anything that you find congenial," Koushirou decides a second later. "Short of kissing," he adds, "just treat me as any other partner you've had." 

Taichi turns his head to look out the window instead, the suggestion somersaulting in his stomach. Outside the trees and guardrails are nothing more than blurs of color. Taichi makes a game of trying to pin them into their proper shapes until it strains his eyes and makes his head dizzy. 

"What are we going to tell your parents after this week?" He asks as soon as the thought occurs to him. Taichi meets Koushirou's eyes in the rearview mirror.

"That we weren't compatible in a romantic capacity. Naturally," he adds. 

"Yeah," Taichi drawls out. "Naturally."

"We'll relay that we worked best as friends." Koushirou tilts his head back just enough to offer Taichi, what he suspects, is supposed to be a reassuring smile. It doesn't work. Taichi just thinks he looks cute, trying to still be attentive to the road and him. "Lay low for a few days," he continues. "Then we proceed as if nothing has changed." 

Sunset stains the sky above them, bright blues just giving way to rose-pinks and burnt-oranges. It looks like someone painting over a used canvas, and Taichi watches the colors bleed towards the horizon through the driver side window. He hates how pretty sunset looks on Koushirou, like the world created it just to softly compliment this boy. 

Taichi feels it when the car starts to roll along the highway slower. "Traffic," Koushirou reports without Taichi having to ask. "Seems we still hit rush hour," he tacks on apologetically. Taichi leans up from the chair just enough to see the forest of red lights glow all at once in front of them. They're still some ways off, but Taichi knows Koushirou is prudent when it comes to literally everything, so he refrains from commenting. 

He lets his head fall back down, the strain in his neck evident only now that he's resting. 

Taichi catches the sun by some far off mountains. He closes one eye, reveling in how the orange-red deathball seems to shift perfectly between the hills at his whim. He tries with his other eye, then back and forth. 

"I never asked," Taichi realizes when the car finally comes to a full rest. For a moment he worries that his words have been swallowed by the scream of emergency vehicles racing towards them until Koushirou hums for him to continue. "But what started all—" Taichi looks up at him for a moment, pursing his lips for the word to come to him. His leg bounces again. "You know, this ?" He gestures at the air between them. Koushirou snorts.

"Our ersatz relationship?" Taichi thinks the sentence would sound best without ersatz—whatever it means— but he makes a noise of agreeance. "My cousin obtained a partner this year." 

Taichi waits. In his peripherals he catches the bright, red lights of the emergency vehicles long before the ambulance comes up beside his car. Koushirou always drives in the slow lane. Taichi doesn't think he even moves to pass other cars. More often he's just content to ride shotgun while Taichi drives. 

He catches Koushirou watching the police cars as they pass, his knuckles on the steering wheel white and straining. 

"It was a calamity," Koushirou recalls, eyes back on the road. His stare looks more pointed, less dutiful. It's been a while since he cut his hair, Taichi realizes. It curls around the shell of an equally reddened ear and Taichi tries not to sound pushy when he asks him to continue. "My aunt started interrogating my mother if everything was okay, if I needed help finding someone because I'm a recluse and never get out." 

Taichi whistles.

"She means well," Koushirou says in defense, "but she is tenacious when she sets her mind to something." 

"Right," Taichi agrees. He's got a few of those, but he's lucky enough to have a large extended family, that he and Hikaru tend to mostly fly under the radar. 

Koushirou breathes in. He presses off the break briefly and the car rolls forward before jerking to another stop. Taichi watches his eyebrows knit, or twitch, like Koushirou's still in the middle of an argument with her. 

"My mother knows I have the propensity to like people," Koushirou continues, his cheeks now staining a pleasantly warm red, "so I couldn't lie there." 

Taichi nods along, twisting the seat belt around his hand, then again, and again, until there's no more give. 

"I started getting calls," Koushirou admits. His eyes are almost as wide with terror as they had been the night before. "She was giving out my number to her friends, for any of their interested children." His face pinches. Taichi understands, a bit. If it's not one of their friends, Koushirou will rarely answer his phone, text or otherwise. "She started making all these plans to go to bars during the trip, and then she offered to—" Koushirou swallows tightly. "Telling her I was already in a relationship seemed the only way to appease her." 

Taichi scrunches up his legs and straps the top end of the seat belt around his knees, let's the weight of them pull until the belt fastens around his midsection tighter. "So," Taichi starts, "you told them we were dating?" 

Koushirou hums. "Not," he stops. His one hand falls to the gear shift on the console between their seats. "Not quite. I'd hoped just saying someone was enough, but then they insisted I bring my partner to the family vacation, if my cousin was bringing his and I, well, originally excogitated asking Jyou, but," Koushirou presses his lips into a thin line, "it didn't quite develop that way."

"Oh," Taichi says intelligently.

Koushirou lets out a long sigh, as if he'd been holding the breath in this whole time. Taichi looks out his own window, at the dotting of stars already freckling the sky. With everything darkened, he can vaguely see Koushirou's reflection. Taichi frowns.

"We can turn around," Koushirou says all at once, his head turning towards the rear of the car. On instinct Taichi sits up and looks behind them as well. There's already a line of cars sitting all the way down from where Taichi can see. Koushirou thumbs the button, as if he might actually put the car into reverse and drive them out of there. 

"Koushirou," Taichi starts, putting his hand over the other's until he looks up, dark eyes still wide. 

"We can tell everyone the highway shut down," Koushirou asserts. "Or one of us developed food poisoning—" 

"Koushirou," he repeats, offering a vaguely reassuring smile. "It will be fine." Taichi sends a swift look back over his shoulder, and then a pointed one before them. Koushirou follows his eyes. Taichi squeezes his hand where they're still connected over the gear shift. He grins the best he can. "No matter what, we're going to have a fun week, okay?" 

Koushirou smiles back. The night sky halos around him and Taichi thinks that, maybe, the dark compliments him better because Koushirou looks so bright and ethereal. Taichi hopes Koushirou can't feel the rabbiting of his pulse when their hands are still connected.

"Thank you," he says, quietly. Taichi only moves his hand when Koushirou shifts the car into neutral, sinking back in his seat as if a weight had been taken from his shoulders. The radio blares loudly, now that it's hitting the first commercial break. Taichi reaches over to turn it off. It's really disconcerting to him, being the passenger.

"I really mean it," Koushirou enthuses a second later. "I'm very gracious you're here."

"Yeah?" Taichi says. He hopes his grin doesn't look as dopey as it feels. "That's what—" he pauses—"ersatz boyfriends are for." 

Koushirou laughs. The car in front of them moves forward just a second and Koushirou lifts his foot off the brake to follow along.

"You are perhaps the world's most superlative, ersatz boyfriend." 

Taichi throws a hand emphatically over his heart. "Thank you," he says, "all of my actual relationships have been simple practice for this moment." 

Koushirou snorts.

Cement eventually gives way to dirt roads, trees and boulders the only way to mark their journey. The car jitters back and forth on the uneven paths; Taichi worries they'll lose the right wheels when the vehicle jumps over a poorly laid stone. Mother nature is a terrible architect. 

The driveway is rectangular, paved sloppily with pebbles. Rustic, Taichi thinks. Koushirou kills the engine as soon as he slips Taichi's Honda right between the two SUVs already lined up.

"Looks nice," Taichi comments, slipping carefully out of his side of the car, keeping the door close enough to his body so as not to scrape the black paint of the other. Over the hood of his car, Koushirou settles him with a look. Quietly he repeats, "Looks nice." 

Koushirou beams at him. 

They meet around the trunk, Taichi already curling his fingers under the indent above the license plate, waiting. 

Taichi stares. 

Koushirou stares. 

"You have the keys," Taichi reminds him. He tempers his own laughter as Koushirou startles, almost dropping them from his hands. After a few seconds of him fiddling around with the key fob, the trunk opens with a light thunk . Taichi only lifts it part of the way open. He grabs for the green straps of the laptop bag first and offers it over to Koushirou. "You can go in first," he whispers as Koushirou takes his bag. 

Unsteady on his feet, Koushirou tilts his head as if to question him, and Taichi smiles. He insists, "Go ahead," unable to resist ruffling Koushirou's already untamed hair. His heart twinges when Koushirou does not push away, instead leaning against the weight of Taichi's hand, midnight eyes drifting shut. He looks as if he could rest there, with only Taichi's hand to keep him steady. 

"Thank you," Koushirou says, barely above a breath. 

"Yeah," Taichi answers, retracting his hand. "Get some sleep, I'll bring in the rest." 

He hears the drag of Koushirou's feet along the driveway, disturbing every stone on his way. 

Taichi grabs for the duffel bag Koushirou had helped him fill before they left, and the recycled grocery bag he'd filled with some odd snacks he'd meant to eat on the way and his swim trunks he’d almost forgotten. He checks the trunk to make sure the keys aren't there before frowning. He’d forgotten to take them back. 

He hears the lake before he sees it. Lights from distant cabins along the farther shore ripple infinitely in the dark water. Taichi breathes in and the residual smell of campfire reminds him of summer camp and barbeques and for the first time his chest swells with something other than anxiety. He takes a minute more to admire the scenery until the duffel bag on his shoulder reminds him how late it really is.

Taichi does his best to be quiet, taking every step up the porch deliberately, trying to pick up his feet— but it's the screen door he doesn't expect to betray him when it recoils back to it's post with a thunderous wham. 

He stands in the front room, stock still, waiting for a hoard of angry Izumi's to come rushing in and reprimand him. Instead only Koushirou turns around the corner, standing in the open concept kitchen just in front of him. He has a finger up to his lips, as if reminding Taichi to keep quiet. Too late. 

"My dad was waiting up for us. He just went to bed," Koushirou relays on a long yawn. Taichi notices he's already changed into a set of pajamas and he tries not to think how adorable he looks in them. Koushirou points somewhere past the wall and tells Taichi, "Our room's that way." 

Our room sits heavy in Taichi's stomach. He hadn't really given it thought before this moment as he follows Koushirou down the longest hallway. They'd shared rooms in the past, he has to remind himself, but it feels different somehow. 

His stomach somersaults again when Koushirou opens the door. 

"They were being courteous giving us this room," he explains, moving his laptop bag off the single bed. "Since—" 

"We're a couple," Taichi remembers. It is nice of them, he tells himself. They're being supportive. Not trying to kill him. 

Koushirou smiles back at him over his shoulder, his eyes muddled with sleep. "Bathroom's across the hall," he says and Taichi understands that he's really telling him to get ready in the most polite way he can. 

Taichi shrugs the duffel bag off his shoulder by the side of the door, and tosses the plastic bag next to it. He rummages through for one of his night shirts and tells Koushirou, "I'll be back."

Koushirou's already tucked into bed when he’s finally finished. Taichi turns out the light by the door. Little bits of light filter in through the barely closed curtains, and it is the only way Taichi finds his way in the dark.

"I'm sorry," Koushirou breathes out the minute the mattress dips with Taichi's weight. "For dragging you," he trails off for a long while. Taichi watches the ceiling. The fan in the corner of the room is loud. He hopes it becomes white noise. "Dragging you into this," he murmurs out of nowhere. 

Taichi laughs, adjusting on the bed until his cheek touches the pillow, facing the other. 

Moonlight sits lightly on Koushirou's cheeks, elongating every angle of his face. He looks otherworldly sometimes. "I'm kind of glad," Taichi says finally, huffing out the words like he's lost all of his rights to oxygen. "It's rare for you to ask for something like this." Koushirou hums, his eyes fluttering minutely. It sounds like a question so Taichi answers, "Something for yourself." 

Koushirou huffs, a nonverbal protest.

Taichi laughs. "Go to sleep."  

Taichi never falls asleep himself.  Even with his eyes closed his heart just feels restless in his chest, his mind racing with intangible thoughts. Even with the fan humming in the background it's too hot to feel comfortable.

Taichi decides that dawn is just as lovely as sunset, when it crests over the distant treeline outside their window and sits gently on Koushirou's cheeks and wonders how Yamato's doing, if his plans for Taichi's funeral are going swimmingly. 

[a-robin-among-thorns]

In The Shadows Of The Rising Sun Chp 11

Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 

Once again thank you for your patience and for reading this story :)

Chapter 11: A Girl’s Best Friend

Word Count: 2,028

Their first week in the strange situation they found themselves in came and went. New routines became established, waking early to assure mutual chances at breakfast, scouring the library for any books related to the magical customs of japan. Evening snacks, and homework in the forest, followed by lessons in magic and language respectively. 

As Chise had suspected, Reina was unconcerned if she returned late and even seemed somewhat pleased she didn’t have to share dinner company. Even her teachers had reluctantly admitted that her assignments were improving. And to top it off Reina would once again be gone this weekend while she visited a friend from college. 

Not to say they were no hiccups. One such hiccup greeted her that Sunday morning in the form of Elias’ nose hovered worriedly over her stomach. 

Sleep covered her like a film of moss that stretched and cracked as she forced her eyes open. She had no reason to feel this lethargic, she thought, their day yesterday had been spent leisurely reading through tomes of Japanese folklore.   

Concerned wuffles whined through Elias’ nose as he looked her over again. “Elias,” She groaned, “what's wrong?” 

“Chise, are you injured?” 

She blinked. “What?”

“I smell blood.” Troubled pants racked his frame never ceasing his frantic inspection. “I don’t understand, I was here all night… I should have known... what could have…” he muttered in increasing frustration. 

“Blood? I’m not…” realization crashed into her like a tidal wave. She sat up quickly forcing her knees together in frantic damage control. The sporadic movement served only to further worry Elias, as he froze eyes flitting from her face to his claws and back again. Her hands came up in placating motions. “It’s ok! Just... please help me to the bathroom.”

Smoky shadow dissipated and reformed just as quickly as his arms gripped her back and under her knees. As he lifted her in smooth bridal carry Chise quickly inspected where she had laid on the futon thankful for the uninterrupted color that signaled her fear was unwarranted. His strong legs crossed the apartment in hurried steps till the pads of his feet hit linoleum. She wriggled slightly and Elias relented to let her stand.

“Thank you, now just wait out here for a moment.” He made to protest briefly before nodding as she closed the door. 

A brief search in the under-sink cupboard yielded exactly one product. Delightful. 

To say Chise’s cycle was irregular was a gross understatement. There were occasions where entire seasons would pass between the end of one and the beginning of another. As such, she rarely requested sanitary products and that morning happened upon the bad luck of Reina’s supply being all but empty. Her head fell back and her eyes winced shut in a grimace. Not only would she have to devise a way to calm Elias, who had almost certainly melted into a puddle of anxiety by now, but also they would have to run to town and buy more pads. 

So much for our nice day, she thought dejectedly. She supposed in a strange way she should have been grateful for this undeniable sign that her health had improved ever so slightly thanks to the steady influx of food she had enjoyed since Elias’ arrival. Gratitude was difficult to muster however, as her organs decided they had stood idle long enough in the form ripping spasms across her abdomen. She grunted as she strained off the floor. There was work to do. 

The door opened to the scene of Elias nervously fidgeting before fixing his eyes on her. 

She breathed deeply before exhaling an explanation. “Its Ok Elias, I’m not hurt. It’s perfectly normal for girls to bleed every so often.” She prayed silently that she would not have to explain menstrual cycles to him in detail.

His fingers flexed anxiously, making unclear whether this explanation had calmed him or worried him further. “You are...not in pain then?”

“Well I wouldn’t say that.” she blurted as immediately as she regretted. Elias’ entire posture stood on end ready to jump the second she showed discomfort. “I mean, it's uncomfortable but not unbearable. We’ll just need to run to town to grab a few things.” 

Through a truly herculean effort, Chise somehow managed to get dressed while keeping Elias stable as they headed out to town. A grueling trek later found Chise staring at a convenience store racks. She scratched her head in genuine confusion as to which size and amount she needed.  

She finally chose and mentally ran over any possible necessities. Her figurative and literal coin purse was slightly heavier as of late thanks to Elias’ habit of swiping free change off the ground. Thankfully he did refrain from the paper money as asked. As she was mentally debating the cost of painkillers, her attention was drawn to a pair of girls arguing across at the candy aisle. 

“Oni-Chan?" the younger girl whined, "Can we get chocolate for Haru?”

“No,” Her sister scoffed, “mom only gave me enough for dad and nii-san.” 

The little sister's tiny fists shot down spiking her shoulders in a heated attempt to appear larger. “But you have money!”

“Yeah, but I’m not paying for chocolates for your little crush.” The older sister continued unaffected. “You should have thought of it before the day of.”

“Pleaaase? I’ll do your chores for the week?” The younger one pleaded quickly changing tactics.

“...Make it two weeks and you have a deal.” 

Chise absorbed the meaning of her accidental eavesdropping as the sisters loudly made their way to the checkout. Why had they made such a fuss over candy? And more importantly, why did she feel it was so important to her right now? 

Shouldn’t have waited till the day of...the day of what? She mulled to herself. It couldn’t have been three separate birthdays...oh. Well, that made two glaringly obvious surprises before lunch. 

Chise was passingly familiar with holidays that forced family participation to at least acknowledge her as an occupant of the household. But a purely social holiday, Valentine's Day, was as foreign a concept to her as what it felt like to stand under the Eiffel tower. She had heard about, seen it on tv, even observed chocolate-coated rendezvous at school. But actual active participation? Well, that required several things, money, time, a recipient. All things she didn’t have. 

Didn’t have until…

Her eyes flitted down to her feet. To the passing observer, the odd branching patterns of her pale shadow cast in the artificial storefront light would be attributed to the irregular shapes of the snack aisle. That same snack aisle she quickly found herself striding towards where the sisters had stood arguing not a minute earlier. 

The electronic doorbell of the convenience store blared in her ears as Chise left feeling like a thief seconds away from apprehension. Despite having paid for the entire expense without dipping into the last of their food money. Her shopping bag’s weight felt as though it belonged to someone else but she strode forward. 

She was all but running by the time they reached the apartment and took the stairs two at a time. The door opened, shut and locked all in one motion. In the same second that her back thudded in emotional exhaustion against the door a wave of shadow surrounded her. His face formed first clearly desperate to see and speak to her before all else. His arms and legs took a full second longer to form as he scanned her for discomfort.

Summoning all her courage she plunged her hand into the grocery bag, fishing furiously. “Chise, what are-”

“Here!” she exclaimed louder than intended. But she knew that without considerable force neither the words nor the present would reach their destination.  

He was taken aback for several silent seconds, staring slack-jawed at the small package thrust forward in her palms. He shook his head and delicately plucked the present from her hands. “What is…”

“It’s a chocolate bar, for Valentine's day...for you.” She blushed fiercely.

“You were supposed to acquire provisions for yourself.” He accused in a surprisingly serious tone. 

“I know! And I did. I just...i-in Japan girls give chocolates to b-boys.” An odd thought questioned whether he considered himself to be gendered in any way. But that was for another time. “It’s how we celebrate Valentine's day. It's nothing special, but I... wanted to…” Her explanation had devolved into rambling and she forced herself to breathe. 

“I’m sorry…” I knew I shouldn't have done this she chastised. The warmth of his hand on her shoulder distracted her from his nose leaning forward. "Don't apologize," He breathed directly into her ear. He nuzzled her temple before pulling away, an odd heaviness settling in his expression. 

“I...wasn't expecting this,” he finally uttered. “Thank you for the gift.” He gasped. “Is there something I need to do for Valentine's Day?” 

Relief flooded Chise in a rush leaving her feeling giddy at the strange and adorable situation. “No, not until White Day. It's custom to give flowers to the person who gave you chocolates. You don’t have to though.”

“No, I want to!" He exclaimed, his jaw opening frantically, "When is White Day?” 

“It's not for a month or so.”

“Oh, please let me know when it comes.”

His eager desire to please caused a happy little smile to rest on Chise’s lips. A smile that was quickly broken apart as her ears rang and her stomach dropped. Her blood sugar and body fell in tandem, the later cushioned in Elias’ lightspeed grip. A miasma of terror permeated his being as he struggled to find words. 

“Sorry, I should have eaten before we left.” Chise offered feebly as she fought the pounding against her temporal lobe. Against his chest, she could feel him swallow forcibly as he brought her back to the futon. Any protest she had was stifled by gentle comfort as he laid her tenderly and covered her with their blanket. There wasn’t any harm in resting her eyes was there?

In the background, she heard clanking about the kitchenette but her sudden onslaught of fatigue made discerning meaning from the noise an impossibility. It wasn’t until Elias set the coffee table upright that Chise’s full attention was brought back to the present. The sound of cheap ceramic hitting wood followed by a light sloshing caused her to sit upright cautiously. 

“I...was unsure I could work the microwave.” Elias sheepishly offered as Chise took in the sight before her. The plastic cup she preferred to use had been filled halfway and beside it was a haphazardly filled bowl of cereal. She smiled. “Thank you...were is yours?”

“I don’t need any until you eat.” 

“Elias-“

“I am not the one collapsing. I can last a few minutes.” He argued pointedly.

Chise sighed at her foolishness and diligently began forcing down spoonfuls. Midway during her meal Elias rose and retrieved cereal for himself. Chise watched him intently between gulps. She chuckled to herself when he accidentally spilled milk on the counter. As he was looking for a rag to clean with, Chise spotted his candy had been placed on the counter. 

“Would you like to eat your chocolate?” She called gaining his attention. He nodded bringing the package along with him as he sat across from her. “How...do you eat it?” He asked.

She extended her hand to which he placed the candy, watching intently as she tore the plastic and returned it to his hands. “You just take a bite.” He delicately closed his jaws on the corner of the chocolate and bit down. The bar crumbled slightly leading Elias to worriedly struggle to catch the crumbs. Chise stifled a giggle. His jaw moved in an odd semblance to chewing with his teeth barely opening before he swallowed. 

“Well?” Chise questioned.

“It is,” his tongue flicked out swiping a spot of chocolate flecked on his incisors, “very sweet.” He broke off a piece offering it to her. She accepted, popping it into her mouth.

Chise smiled, “Yeah...it is.” The pain in her abdomen was present but considerably dulled. Very sweet indeed.  

[darklesmylove]

call off the war | alarkling

basically a prompt request for throne smut lol not sorry about it

***

"Leave us. Now."

My voice rang throughout the throne room with cold authority, sending the advisors practically scrambling away as I strode towards where Aleksander lazily sat, eyeing me with a touch of both irritation and curiosity at my abrupt interruption. Though everyone else quickly vacated, his oprichniki didn't show any signs of movement, making my teeth clench with tension. "I said out, guards," I narrowed my eyes in an effort to look more intimidating than I felt. They didn't so much as acknowledge me. My heated glare moved to Aleksander, who was still silently watching me in that infuriatingly calculating manner that he always did. "Tell them to leave." I insisted, crossing my arms over my chest, my tense grip biting painfully into my skin.

A slender finger pressed to his rosy lips as he arched an elegantly contemptuous brow. "And why should I do that, Alina? What authority do you have to give me orders?"

I had to actively fight the urge to stomp my foot with what would have been near childlike indignance, instead leaning forward with a cool, controlled air not unlike himself. "You will prefer this being done in privacy, moi soverenyi."

He paused, clearly contemplating my words as he studied me for a moment. A single wave of his hand immediately had the two oprichniki bowing in respect before filtering out of the room as well.

He crossed his legs at the ankles, motioning for me to continue.

Anger surged again.

"We had an agreement. I gave myself up so that you would stop your madness and you are still planning another move with the Fold? I am not going along with this, I am not going to be complicit in this pointless war you are determined to continue."

My cheeks heated as he almost immediately let out a soft chuckle dripping in mocking.

"I agreed to refrain from harming your little loyal band of followers, Alina, nothing more. Go on, continue to make me your villain all you'd like, sankta, but I am doing what is necessary. War is necessary. You will realize that I am right in time, once your pitiful otkazats'ya comrades have faded away to dust, as they will," he uttered smoothly, entirely unbothered in the face of my fury.

"You act as if I am some naive orphan still and not the Sun Summoner that has challenged you time and time again, Aleksander," I hissed. At the use of his name he stiffened, his knuckles going white as he gripped at the gilded armrests of his throne. The silent tension was almost palpable as we glared at one another.

My thoughts shifted.

Maybe a different strategy would prove to be more effective. Gradually, I let my expression soften.

"You act as if I'm not your apt pupil," I spoke in a low murmur, taking the last few steps forward to close the distance between our bodies. His eyes flashed with something indiscernible, going dark as his stare lifted to hold mine.

"You are," he affirmed, expression shuttered from hinting at any emotion.

A split second of hesitation.

If this was the only way I would get him to listen, then I was going to use it. I was going to play him at his own game.

I lifted a knee, my skirts sliding up my thighs as I straddled his lap, grasping a fistful of his shirt to hold him in place as, slowly, I leaned in.

The wanting in his eyes was now unmistakeable, though he didn't react to our drastic change in position, merely tilting his head ever so slightly.

"Will this convince you, Aleksander? Is this what you want from me?" The seductive lilt to my words was a direct emulation of him, startling even to myself. Slowly, almost gently, my lips grazed over the corner of his mouth, the skin to skin contact sending a rush of power and pleasure through me that almost made me falter. But the soft hitch in his breath only spurred me further.

"You know exactly what I want from you, Alina," he uttered softly, his grip falling to the small of my back and pressing me further into him. I couldn't deny the thrill the words sent through me, a new kind of heat crackling across my skin.

"And you know what I want, so maybe we can come to an agreement," I slid a finger down the luxurious material of his shirt before slowly, methodically, starting to unfasten the buttons one by one. His grip tightened even further, sinking into my hips. The muscles in his jaw feathered with tension as I pushed the material from his shoulders, my fingertips skimming over the planes of his hard muscle. "Maybe you'll find me to be more persuasive than you thought," I hummed almost conversationally. The softest of growls left his lips, the beginnings of his control starting to slip.

Satisfaction washed over me despite myself. I was the only one that could affect him this way, and that power was utterly intoxicating.

Gently, one hand wound through his silky curls, my other trailing over the buckle of his breeches. A spark of hot desire zipped across the tether as his eyes narrowed to mere slits.

"What game are you playing at, Alina?" he steeled, muscles coiled tightly against me as I started working at the belt clasp.

"The game you initiated, Aleksander, don't play dumb with me," I returned, my words matching his in equal coldness. His lips parted before quickly snapping shut again as I pulled off the expensive leather belt, subsequently grasping at the fabric of his trousers and tugging them down off of his hips.

"Alina." My name was a warning cloaked in softness and lust.

I couldn't help the smug curl of my mouth. "Don't tell me you haven't thought about this moment. Don't tell me this isn't what you desire, Aleksander." We were closely connected enough for me to feel just how much he wanted me, an ever present need that thrummed through the both of us with every single heart beat, every single breath. He didn't move, frozen still as I shifted my hips against his quite obvious arousal. My eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment, a soft moan of pleasure forming on my lips. Cautiously, as if he was trying to resist the urge, his hand lifted from my waist, stroking almost reverently down the length of my arm.

A dangerous urgency sparked in my chest, and as much as I loathed the feeling, I couldn't deny wanted him just as much as he wanted me. I craved him like an addiction, all consuming and entirely impossible to resist.

My other hand buried back into his hair as my lips collided against his. He kissed me back with surprising desperation, his mouth cool and his tongue warm as it danced over my lower lip, begging for entrance. A deft hand slid down the front of my blouse, undoing the buttons and promptly shoving the material from my shoulders. I couldn't help the shiver that slid down my spine, my skin crackling with heat under his touch.

But I couldn't get caught up in him. I wouldn't.

He let out a soft hiss of frustration as I broke off the kiss, both of us already breathless, chests heaving.

"Call off the war," I ordered softly, fingers whispering over his jawline.

His eyes flashed. "No."

I had to stifle my snort. Predictable, at least.

My mouth pressed against his again, allowing the hot need coursing through my veins to bleed into my movement. He matched it with equal fervor, grasping at my skin and rolling his hips upwards against mine. It was painfully difficult to suppress the gasp that threatened at my tongue at the sudden friction between my legs, but somehow I managed to subdue it to a quiet exhale. My teeth grazed over his lower lip before dragging down the length of his jaw and settling on a spot on the graceful curve of his neck. He stiffened, letting out a sharp breath as I pressed a hot, open mouthed kiss against his cool skin, biting and sucking and licking in determination to leave a mark.

Soft, but not quite soft enough, he allowed a moan. "Alina," he breathed, pulling me closer. My toes curled in my boots. How could only he make something as mundane as my name sound like pure and utter perfection?

Focus. Focus. Focus.

Kicking off my shoes, I shifted onto my knees, stripping off my skirt with only a touch of struggle. The immediate flush to my cheeks was unavoidable, the vulnerability of our position suddenly hitting me with staggering trepidation.

No. I was the Sun Summoner, not some orphan girl. I wasn't going to back down now, not when I could sense his walls crumbling further with every passing second.

"Call off the war."

He held my gaze. "No."

My exhale was sharp with frustration. "You're stubborn."

My fingers grasped at the edge of his undergarments, roughly yanking them down.

"Arrogant."

He didn't respond, eyes tracking me with chilling intensity.

"Heartless."

"A monster," he softly affirmed, his hand trailing up the side of my cheek before gently thumbing over my lower lip. I pulled away, cursing the nerves plucking at my insides as I dropped to my knees in front of him. The shock that flickered across his expression was unmistakable. Purposefully slowly, my hand found the base of him, maintaining eye contact as my lips teased at the tip of his length.

His eyelids fluttered.

"Call off the war," I murmured. My tongue swirled around his length before taking him in my mouth.

His lips parted, eyes closing in pleasure. "No, Alina." Though it still wasn't what I wanted to hear, the sight of him was the definition of perfection, encouraging me to take more of him, starting to stroke and suck in deliberate leisure. His grip wound through my hair, another raspy moan filling the air between us. I hummed softly against him, savoring the shudder that passed through his body in response, my hands traveling up the hard planes of his torso. Saltiness beaded on my tongue as I licked his tip again, causing his hips to thrust forward instinctually. "Alina, don't stop," he weakly begged, already seemingly undone, his control lost in a pit of desire and pure, unadulterated need. For quite possibly the first time, he was completely under my control.

When I pulled away, the look in his eyes was dangerously unhinged. "Call. Off. The. War," I insisted, shifting up from my knees and climbing back onto his lap, my hands pressing against his hard chest. "No," he ground out, frustration dripping from his denial.

Heat simmered in his gaze as I stripped off the last of my undergarments, arching a brow in challenge. "You're naive," he seethed, teeth baring ever so slightly.

My lips quirked. "And you're jaded, Aleksander."

His expression stuttered, morphing into something like impressment.

My hips shifted forward as I leaned in, my lips hovering over his. And then I was sinking down onto his length, melting our bodies together in a rush of pleasure and power that immediately left us both utter breathless with the intensity of it. We settled into a sinful rhythm almost instantly, almost naturally as breathing, hands grasping at skin in desperation to push closer and closer still. My fingernails sunk into his hair, roughly tugging on the silky strands, my back arching. His eyes closed as he leaned into the pull of my hands, pleasure swarming over his features.

"We could have everything," he exhaled, almost a moan. I couldn't help my whimper in response, the thought as tantalizing as it always was. We could easily have the world cradled in the palm of our hands.

But we shouldn't.

"Isn't this what you want, Aleksander? Us working together, not against each other?" My voice was almost a plea, euphoria shoring and cresting through me in wave after wave. He didn't respond for a long moment, though his jaw clearly set in reaction to my words. My arm slung around his neck, the desperation increasing as my thrusts quickened.

"You know the answer to that, Alina," he finally let out a raspy pant, eyes sliding open to meet my gaze.

"Then compromise," I whispered against his lips, initiating another kiss hot with desire. His fingertips dragged down the valley of my breasts and down my stomach, sending my pulse racing even faster as he began to tease at my clit with expert movement. My teeth bit down viciously on my lower lip to stifle my cry of ecstasy, my hips bucking into the gentle tugs and swipes that were quickly working me towards the brink.

"I can't," he spoke against my lips, pulling me closer and urging my body faster.

"Yes, you can. You can have this, you can have me, every single day. I will choose you every single day, Aleksander. All you have to do is stop the rest of this madness." My words were silky with persuasion despite my breathlessness, soft with sin.

Because, even after everything he had done, all the death and destruction we had caused, I meant the words with every single fiber of my being. If he agreed, I would be his and he would be mine for eternity. I wouldn't fight it any longer.

He had fallen silent save for his breath, both of our highs fast approaching.

"Aleksander." I was near begging, though for what I was begging for was half lost in a blur of blinding need. He coaxed my hips faster, meeting my rhythm with his own.

"I-" he faltered, hissing a soft curse.

"Just say it." My eyes met his, lips parting.

"Yes, Alina."

The submission was barely processed before we both tipped over the edge simultaneously, screaming pleasure consuming my body in the grips of utter euphoria. His name was the only thing I could manage to get out, my fingernails clawing at his back as he crushed me into him, his lips falling to my neck and devouring my skin as if it held the very taste of salvation. He was everything, the only thing, the rest of the world nothing but a forgotten concern.

And then, unfathomably slowly, the torturous throes of ecstasy subsided, leaving my skin buzzing and my chest heaving as we pulled away from one another, eyes locking with tangible intensity.

"I'm not letting you take it back," I murmured, lips drifting over his. He let out a soft sigh, surprising in the clear content it held.

"I won't," he held me closer, almost as if he was afraid that I would vanish at any second, "We cannot change the world together if you are not with me, Alina. I want you by my side for the rest of eternity. I.. I want you. You are worth it to me. So no, I'm not taking it back." Our hands laced together as he brought mine up to his lips, grazing a  cool kiss across my knuckles. I couldn't help the smile that tugged at my mouth.

"You and I, Aleksander."

"You and I, Alina."

[dynamic-instability]

You can require masks and claim you’re taking all the “social distancing” and hygiene precautions you want, but having a bunch of people sit together in a room for 6+ hours is simply NEVER going to be safe when COVID transmission is still out of control (oops, yikes @schools).

Even setting aside the known risk of asymptomatic transmission from people with no way to know they’re infectious, it is also virtually 100% certain that a not-insignificant number of people will show up to the exam despite having a known exposure to the virus, while actively experiencing symptoms, or even having tested positive. The AAMC seems to think they can say “just stay home if you’re sick uwu!” and that will magically reverse deep-seated pre-med gunner psychology and the legacy of decades of a blatant MCAT policy of “you have to show up at your scheduled time no matter what no exceptions even if you’re literally dying.” They’ve waived rescheduling fees through the end of September and extended (some) application deadlines to help ameliorate this, but because rescheduling cancelled exams from March-May was a nightmare for many people, and because applying as early as possible to med school is widely known to confer a substantial admissions advantage, as long as the MCAT is required, people will continue to knowingly and unknowingly expose fellow test-takers (and test center employees, and all contacts thereof) to a potentially deadly or permanently debilitating infection. Some of these students will travel hundreds, if not thousands, of miles to do so. Some people will likely get critically ill as a direct result of someone taking the MCAT. Some may die.

The ONLY reasonable, ethical choice is for medical schools to collectively decide to eliminate the MCAT as a deciding factor for at least this round of medical school applicants (or at least to go MCAT-optional). I know that’s not a simple thing to say. Obviously it would be a huge burden logistically, and it would definitely raise (probably legitimate) questions of fairness for applicants who already spent the large amount of money and time and effort to study for the exam, and especially for those who have taken it already and scored well. A lot of people would be Big Mad about that decision were the AAMC to make it.

But continuing to require the MCAT during a pandemic unfairly penalizes applicants who are immunocompromised or otherwise at an increased risk from COVID-19 (and those who live with people who are). It penalizes people who work in healthcare and other “essential” jobs who are more likely to have a COVID exposure. The myriad inequalities always present with any standardized test like the MCAT are now amplified dramatically (for economically disadvantaged people in ever-more tenuous situations due to the pandemic, and for people of color, particularly Black people, for whom the trauma of the past few months has been disproportionately, unimaginably high). And even for young, healthy, rich, white applicants who live alone and have ample leisurely quarantine time to review amino acid chemistry until their eyes bleed, physically being present to take this exam requires putting their lives and health (and that of others they come in contact with, ultimately including our communities as a whole) at serious risk, just to take a standardized test.

I know this change is not going to happen. The AAMC is a “non-profit” that clearly still cares an immense amount about making money off of students. And anyway, gatekeeping med school admissions is extremely important to a lot of very powerful people.

Maybe as far as number of infections goes, this is a minor issue amongst other things like schools reopening or bars still being open. But as an organization ostensibly dedicated to healthcare, the AAMC especially should know better than to knowingly contribute further to the spread of a deadly pandemic disease. Everyone in positions of power regarding med school admissions for this year ought to be ashamed that that is what they’re doing.

[nigelgodrichproducer]

Nigel Q&A in The Guardian

https://www.theguardian.com/culture/live/2020/feb/21/nigel-godrich-webchat-ultraista-radiohead-producer

Nigel did a very nice Q&A for The Guardian. Reproduced here for posterity’s sake: 

Q: I saw Atoms for Peace at the Roundhouse [in London]. The lot of you seemed exceptionally into it. How much of a thrill was it to play with Flea? He seemed totally lost in the gig at points. I think Flea is one of the greatest human beings I've ever had the good fortune to spend time with, let alone make music with. He's such a generous player and probably my most rock'n'roll moment is standing on stage staring at his face 6 inches from mine, or when he jumps up on my riser. Massive respect to that guy, and you should read his book. Q: Nowadays, I’m asked to master tracks for Instagram and Spotify as opposed to vinyl and CD. What’s your view about how streaming has affected everything? – John Davis, Metropolis Mastering That's what my book's going to be about... Q: How do you use intuition as a tool in your productions and how do you know when something you are working on is finished? You mentioned Talk Talk and Mark Hollis – he stopped when he thought he could not add anything new. Can you imagine yourself doing something entirely different? Definitely. And it has crossed my mind many times - working more in visuals, videos, even film. But these days the hard thing is finding the time, when you keep getting sucked into exciting things you want to do, and can do. I could definitely write a book and I've enjoyed doing stuff on radio. Q: Is there any track from any artist you’ve worked with that you are particularly proud of? Something that brings back great memories when you listen to it? Sure! How about Diamond Bollocks from Beck's Mutations? Which was just the studio equivalent of sitting in a hot tub drinking champagne with a bunch of your best mates, and two days very well spent I would say. I'll always enjoy listening back to that sonic postcard. Q: Pavement’s Terror Twilight is one of my favourite albums and sounds incredible. But the band broke up soon after it was released and I understand that relationships were strained. Did you enjoy producing that album, and how do you think it holds up to the rest of your work? Yes I love that record actually, it's one of my favourites and I enjoyed making it immensely. It was such an adventure to fly off to America to make a record with people I hadn't met. Maybe there were some internal politics, as there are in any band, but I made friend forever in Stephen and I think I performed my role well: my idea was to make something that stood up straighter and felt like it might reach people who were turned off by the beautiful sloppiness of other Pavement records. I just thought they were such a good band and wanted them to reach a bigger audience. The writing may have been on the wall even before I got there, but I don't think I had any part of that, and I heard they're getting back to play shows, so there's always a happy ending, right? Q: Any chance of another Basement session? I would love to and plan to do more from the basement. Watch some space somewhere, but it was such an enjoyable thing to do and I look back on it as a great archive of those times. For sure it will happen. Q: Where did the artwork for the new Ultraísta album come from? Part of the fun of doing this album with Laura and Joey is the creative elements of all the stuff that isn't music. So for example we do all our own artwork and videos, and the cover is a photo I took of Laura inspired by one of my favourite photographers, Gjon Mili, a Hungarian-American photographer. We also made a lot of video content which is bleeding out into the universe slowly and relates to the album and its theme of colours, and also includes a lot of footage from the London Underground which is a particular obsession of mine. I'm great at dinner parties. Q: How hard is it making an album? How hard is a piece of string? It totally depends on a million factors. The imperative nature of your delivery date, or maybe just whimsical noodlings that can continue for some time. Or it can be really very hard, and you have to coax people who are struggling through a very difficult process. I feel like I've had every version of this. And it can be quite leisurely, eg the Ultraista record, which was what I would call a country club style social bonanza. We could take our time and work on it when we had time, and even though the challenges were there, it was actually quite natural and easy. Q: What do you listen to as you’re trying to fall asleep? I cannot fall asleep with any music playing, at all. I cannot have sex with any music playing at all. I cannot do any other activity, as my brain just tunes into it involuntarily and I'm rendered incapacitated. Q: How much Marmite do you consume? A daily teaspoon. Q: You seem to shy away from technical-oriented discussions. Any reasons for doing so? A lot of bands have noted how quickly you work and that you’re not too precious about the recording process, yet the final result comes off as meticulous. Do you have any insight into how to move fast and capture the energy of the moment? Do you organise the studio and control room in a way that is responsive to any creative situation? The reason is because I think people attach too much weight to equipment and studio trickery when the reality is I consider the most important part of making records is about musical sensibility and communication with those involved, and the notes, and the words. I get very annoyed with people asking me what my favourite microphone is. It doesn't matter. These days I don't even use the expensive ones. One of the reasons why music has become generally worse, and I'm sorry to say that, is that people think about technology more than the actual music they're making. So sue me. To your second question, see the above answer! The recording process is best when fast, because it's then the smallest obstacle to the actual music. That doesn't mean the end result shouldn't be absolutely meticulous and pored over for hours and reconsidered and reframed and sat in different places, whatever, but how far you keep you kick drum from the mic really doesn't matter. Q: Those of us who shelled out for the deluxe edition of A Moon Shaped Pool also received a small length of half-inch tape alleged to have been retrieved from actual Radiohead sessions dating back to Kid A. Were any lost and unreleased gems included as part of this Willy Wonka-like scavenger hunt, or is my piece of tape likely to contain something disappointing, like Colin Greenwood practising a bass run? This is absolutely true. I was staring at mountains of half inch tape reels from the Kid A sessions and felt sad because they were all very soon going to be unplayable useless bits of plastic that would just contaminate the environment. And thought it would maybe be better to send them off to some people who would appreciate them, so as part of the packaging with Stanley Donwood, we realised we have enough tape to wrap each special edition with a small length of it. On each tape is part of an outtake, alternative mix, instrumental, something that would have been thrown away when it became unplayable. It just felt poetic to send it out into the universe. Unfortunately I don't think people truly understand what they have... Q: What was it like working with Roger Waters? Did you consciously avoid “big guitar solos” to negate it sounding like David Gilmour/Pink Floyd. Roger is a fascinating character, really a genius. The whole experience was incredible, being able to watch this guy thinking his way around things, particularly with words and motifs and conceptual ideas. Again one of my rules in that case was there would be no big guitar solos - in the same way as the McCartney thing, I was interested in another musician, and wanted to hear him speak, and hear his musicality. As the usual formula with his solo work seems to be to find some soundalike, and use that Guitar Hero equation, which I feel is lame. So the decision was to use orchestration as a musical foil to the beauty of his simplicity and songwriting which would keep the light and focus on the words he was writing. And keep the focus of the whole work simpler. Q: I would imagine that very few people question Paul McCartney’s methods in the studio. How difficult (or not) was it to say to him, “How about doing it this way?” during the making of Chaos and Creation in the Backyard? Well, that was the entire point! Like I mentioned before, he called me, so I was able to dictate my terms, so to speak. My general appraisal was that I was more interested in him rather than the people around him, so persuading him to play everything was part of the "method" that allowed us to move forward with this work. That worked very well. His charm as a musician is astronomic and undeniable, he's a very intelligent musical person. He was very brave and put up with a lot of crap from me - he could have told me to fuck off at any point, but he really met in the middle to see this experiment through, and I left with even more respect for him than when I went in. Q: Really curious if you like classical music, and if so which pieces? Would you consider doing Big Ears festival [in Tennessee]? Yes, I would not claim to be an aficionado in any respect, but I'm a big fan of Debussy's Preludes, and one of my favourite pieces of music is his Arabesque No 1. I also love Prokofiev in general, and Erik Satie's Gymnopedies really get me going on a Sunday. Q: Is it true that much of The King of Limbs was recorded with the software Max/MSP? If it is true, how much of a hand did you have in programming and using Max/MSP? Jonny Greenwood seems to have taken all the credit … This is basically bollocks. I went to a dinner party 15 years ago and sat next to a Stanford grad who told me about this software, Max/MSP, and took it back to Johnny. He's used it on and off on lots of things, as have I. King of Limbs is made up of everyone throwing pieces of audio together - Johnny used Max/MSP in that case to link up a turnable via a piece of software called Miss Pinky. The result was a huge and gigantic mess that took me about a year and a half to unravel, and then Thom wrote over the top. So there you have it. Q: Thank you for your inspiring work! Do you have a favourite Joni Mitchell album? Joni Mitchell is my favourite human artist of all time, she is incredible. I have to give you a top three. 1. Hejira 2. The Hissing of Summer Lawns 3. For the Roses But would say all of her output between Blue and Mingus is untouchable. She is a unique combination of musical and lyrical talent. She's pretty much the only person I find can write a narrative lyrically that can remain poetic but articulating, communicating, beyond the abstract; it's very specific and very beautiful. And as a musician she dug deep into so many vats of folk and jazz, still managing to spin her incredible voice into the mix. Q: Created an account just for this. I’m a human person who enjoys audio production and engineering a lot. I’m quite shy when it comes to working with other interesting music folk, mainly down to the fact I have no idea how to write a melody. I love sounds and atmospheres, making things sound full and all that great stuff. The question I’m really getting at is: when was the first time you knew you could do this? Did that moment happen at all? And how has your relationship to music evolved? Bit of a belter of a question, but you asked for this so I don’t feel bad. I think I realised, retrospectively, that from an early age I had a fascination for recording. My dad worked at the BBC as a sound man and as a child I was surrounded by the tools of his trade so I always watched enviously and wanted to play with things. When I was very young I asked for a machine to make records, like really young, and he told me in his calm wise way: no I couldn't. But he bought me a cassette machine, so I could go around and record things: the TV, the train set, running water, things that sounded interesting when they were played back. I always aspired when I started recording music in studios, I tried to emulate my heroes, like the Trevor Horns, but found what worked best was going with the things I could do well which were an organic-ness to sound, rather than a clinical shinyness, which I loved to listen to. Making a dark brown soup was more my skill, that making a big fairy cake. I was wise to go with the things I was good at - isn't that the art of life? Q: What compels you to commit to a project? Is it a different circumstance each time? Can you please produce Keane’s next album? Tom Chaplin is a fan, I’m sure you know! Yes definitely, every project is different, but I would say I'm very wary of people's preconceptions and expectations, and generally my first question to them is: what do you think I'm going to do? Just so they don't have some idea that I'm going to repeat something I've done before or make them sound like someone else I've worked with. Generally I can make a fair appraisal of whether I have something valuable to contribute and will generally like what we can do together. I'm not under any illusion that I can improve someone I'm already a fan of so I never approach anyone  – they have to ask me. Q: Are you a night owl? If so, how do you deal with society’s preference for early birds? Do you suffer from insomnia? Hell yes. Nothing great happens before dinner. I have always been like this, I have always leapt out of my bunk bed as a child at 3am to run across and start building something out of a piece of wood, or do a drawing- all creativity happens in my brain at night. I deal with the unfair preference of early birds in society by having chosen a career whereby I get to dictate my hours. I wouldn't dream of starting a working day before lunchtime. Producers start flowing over coffees at dinnertime. I like the isolation at night - there's no background noise, and you can really focus. And also night, it's has a dark cloak of melancholy which makes you connect to something inside, in a way you can't do when the sun is shining. Daytimes are for nice walks in the park - nighttimes are for sitting alone at a laptop. Q: What state are the songs in when you start working with an artist? What is the variant that most changes in the production process? Structure, aesthetics, sound? Love from Argentina! Every single version of the process is different. Sometimes you have everything completely written; siometimes it's a case of building a song from a fragment of audio that's created abstractly, which is the case with Thom's solo work and a lot of Radiohead work. Even if a song is finished you can still improve it with editing and working out what it's strengths and weaknesses are. And also how to present it as an orchestration, or sonically if there's a trick you can use to make it pull you in. I like all versions of this, because they use different parts of your brain, but sometimes it's great to be given amazing songs and a blank slate to make them happen - that hasn't happened for a while! :-) Q: You’ve worked with countless musicians. Do you adapt to their work process, do you propose a process, or is it an exchange? And with Ultraísta, specifically, did you have the same process with the second album [Sister, out in March] as with the first? Did all the time in between the two influence the way you produced an album together? Can’t wait to listen to Sister! There are no rules to methodology, in fact the skill is creating a new method each time that will generate work which will generate output, which then becomes the work. Every time you start with a band that's two guitars, bass and drums you hit the same brick wall, and it's my job to think of a quick fun way to kick the ball out of the pitch, and remain focused enough to catch it when it gets thrown back in again. With Ultraista, what started as an exercise in wordplay and groove construction on the first record this time has become a more refined process and in an effort to make more song like structures. We are all indeed different people from when we made the first things and we're amused by different things, so thus the goalposts move - to keep the metaphor going - and the method changes. Q: Which producers and which records inspired you as a young would-be producer? As a kid, I was obsessed with Regatta de Blanc by the Police, and saw it was produced by Nigel Gray. A lightbulb went off that there was someone called Nigel doing this stuff. In terms of influences, there are ones with mythological status, like George Martin, or Trevor Horn, both of whose work I absolutely love for different reasons. Martin for his inventiveness and creative approach to the technology of the day, ie the new possibilities of multitrack tape, and the use of visual devices like sound effects. Trevor Horn for his obtuseness and skill as making artful pop music using, again, the tech of the day. Which could make bend and shape things to become bigger than real life and make the brain do somersaults. And then more direct practical influences on me such as the people who actually taught me, including Phil Thornalley, John Leckie, Steve Lillywhite, and others. These are people I watched directly and emulated. Q: What is your feeling/relationship with failure? Don’t mean to be a downer, just curious to learn about your journey when overcoming failure. This is a very good question. It also depends on where you're standing. A lot of things could have been better or were small failures, small battles in a larger war. You regard as part of the process moving forward what the end goal is you're trying to succeed. I wouldn't regard any of my work as massive successes as they're all attempts to achieve the unachievable. However, if you're referring to something like the Strokes episode, it wasn't a failure, neither of us walked away hurt from that experience. It was just fascinating. And everything else has been successful, hasn't it?? Q: It’s been a year since the great Mark Hollis passed away. How much of an influence were/are Talk Talk on the Radiohead sound and your work with the band as producer? For me, personally, I was a massive Talk Talk fan and I used to listen to those records endlessly, certainly Laughing Stock and Spirit of Eden. I think they were again things that really plugged into your feelings - our version of a classical symphony that you would start and listen through to the end. Q: Which album has the best atmosphere in its production? I can never get over how rich and ghostly Time Out of Mind by Bob Dylan and Daniel Lanois is. Every record is different and you feel different about every record as time passes, but I think In Rainbows is very evocative due to hte space we recorded it in. All the ambience on that record is real, it comes from the house we recorded it in, so that conjures up a very visual image for me when I think of that record. Also Beck's Sea Change is a very emotional record, evocative, which somehow crystallised perfectly sonically to me, and if I hear any part of it it takes me back to that time. Which I regard as a job well done. It's a conduit to your feelings, which is a goal, it's what you're trying to do. Q: When you’re making a record, do you try to listen to as much other music as possible to spark ideas? Or do you do the opposite – try and isolate any external music to not get thrown off what you set out to make? When I'm working on a project I don't listen to anything else, it's not out of choice, I'm just compelled to be focused on what I'm thinking about, and it stays with me when I leave the studio. I literally don't want to hear anyone else's music!