#it remains to be seen however whether those reasons materialize soon enough to make that tag make sense

[potteresque-ire]

I’ve got several asks about BJYX supertopic’s recent battle for the top CP ranking. I’ve meant to answer them the way they’re asked, but the answer gets long. Dear Anons ~ please forgive me for splitting the answers into multiple posts!

As with everything I’ve said about CPs, they’re mostly my limited observations—unlike history and news, it’s impossible to find articles about any of this that pass journalistic standards. Therefore, please consider the following to be my personal impressions and ramblings, and as usual, everyone please feel free to point out mistakes and add your own thoughts!

Everyone probably knows already, but the new drama that has brought waves to the Weibo’s CP ranking list is Word of Honour (山河令, which I will abbreviate to WoH), and the CP pairing is known as Lang Lang Ding (浪浪釘, LLD). I haven’t watched this drama yet but as a Wuxia (and slash) fan, it is on my to-watch list. Nonetheless, I’ve been watching the developments surrounding the popularity of the drama and the CPs, and I think I can make the posts long enough just with these observations alone. (I’m incredibly long winded :D )

For the CP competition, I think it’s important to point this out: the LLD supertopic is a mixed character-CP and real-person-CP supertopic, unlike the YiZhan supertopics (BJYX, ZSWW, LSFY) that are real-person-CP only. This means comparing LLD and the YiZhan supertopics is really …  comparing apples and oranges, especially when WoH is still airing (and therefore providing fresh candies for the character CP with every new episode). I therefore wish this kind of popularity competition doesn’t take root in the international fandom; it’s … a bit silly to me, really. It makes little sense.

That said, however, I understand why c-turtles are fighting so hard for the #1 CP spot. C-ent (as is true with many other aspects in the country), numbers and ranking are everything. That 20(?), 40(?) minutes during which BJYX supertopic fell to #2 the first time already made “news” headlines that claimed that WoH had surpassed The Untamed (TU)—an even stranger comparison, if one thinks about it. BJYX, technically speaking, doesn’t have anything to do with TU. It’s a GG/DD real person CP.

But it doesn’t matter—numbers are numbers, and they talk to c-ent watchers, the commercial interests looking for their most promising future investments. The perceived power of c-turtles hinges on them and by power, I mean both fan power and spending power, which are almost synonymous terms in c-ent. Many of you have probably seen those charts that rank the popularity of c-ent entertainers by how much goods, in monetary value, they’re able to sell. How much do the c-turtles contribute to these monetary values? Are they, as a collection of fans, worth keeping, worth wooing?

The notion that only the fan’s spending power means something may cause unease in many i-turtles—and it is, indeed, a very cold-hearted assessment, as it implies that fans are little more than living wallets to be emptied. My observations have been that such a notion doesn’t bother c-turtles for the most part and, IMHO, they’re being realistic for their sociopolitical environment. They also respond to this notion accordingly—while it is difficult to tease out the exact percentage of turtles among Gg and Dd’s active fans (fans that make major purchases goods and merchandises), c-turtles have previously demonstrated their ability to contribute a substantial fraction (in the 10s of percent) of money spent on Gg and Dd. As these splits are only very occasionally visible to the public, the CP ranking likely serves as a constant reminder of c-turtles enormous fan/spending power — without which, Gg and Dd’s popularity will also take a hit.

In that sense, c-turtles are fighting for their right-to-exist. Remember when I talked about the “traditional” thinking that CPFs < solos, and that one CPF = one (loyal) solo lost? This means c-turtles must be able to demonstrate their ability to offer something that the solos cannot, and more importantly, that their offer will not come in any other name. If c-turtles proved last year that they wouldn’t change their name to solos, then this year they’re set to prove they’ll not change their name to LLDs or other CPFs. 

If the latter sounds a bit like a battlecry, it may be exactly that. Ever since the announcements of the long line of upcoming Dangai’s, ample inflammatory posts have been made on the platform to get c-turtles to “defect” to the new dramas, or predict that as soon as another pair of random, beautiful men start to throw candies on screen, c-turtles will promptly forget about Gg and Dd and join the fun. The latter, especially, can be quite insulting to read, as one can imagine. However, with c-turtles being a loosely connected group of millions, despite their apparent firm stance that they shall stay turtle, their underlying nerves that these “insults” may turn out to be true can also be felt — the worry that c-turtledom will haemorrhage when the next popular Dangai with enticing M/M CPs (character or real person) come along. 

WoH, as the first drama that fits the criteria, is therefore a test— a test that many c-turtles likely view they must pass with flying colours to prove their point, to stand with their heads held high among those who do not care about BJYXSZD (not necessarily solos—many solos, BTW, have actually helped the turtles out this time); to show that turtles are not only every bit as loyal as other Gg and Dd fans, they’re not so … cheap as to take any random “industrial saccharine” (工業糖精; referring to ZQSG-free candies created solely to lure in fans) and walk away.

The reform of the BJYX supertopic (which now allows candy analysis and explains the sudden appearance of many old candies), the flood of BTS videos from almost every Zhan Jie previously involved with the YiZhan CPs, the temporary retaking of the top 3 CP spots by BJYX+ZSWW+LSFY ... can therefore be viewed as a rally of c-turtles. The message is: we’re not going anywhere. We’ve got enough candies that no other (M/M) CPs can hope to match in quantity, in quality.

(And the parade is indeed impressive.) (The reform also didn’t come out of thin air; there have been discussions about the supertopic’s candy sharing rules before.)

Some c-turtles have rightfully been concerned about how such a parade of candies can affect Gg and Dd. They point out that some candies should still remain 閱後即焚 (“burn after reading”, instant return to hiding after release like certain BTS videos); that at some point, c-turtles have to let go of their obsession of staying on top of the CP rankings. TU is already almost 2 years old, and being a little lower on the CP ranking list will take the heat off the YiZhan fandoms in the long run, incite less outside forces trying to fan the flames between the shrimps and the motors and the turtles.

The rules and guidelines of c-turtledom therefore remain a work in progress, and c-turtles, the millions of them, are still learning as they go.

Personally, I have faith in what will come. I also haven’t been too concerned about the candy parade, because most information is already out there for those who’re determined to find them — on Bilibili, Douyin, Zhihu etc. I spent some time talking about the Gg Assistant fic not with the goal of eliciting pain or panic, but rather, as a demonstration of why it has been the tradition of CPFs—not only the turtles—to play things very cautiously, with 閱後即焚 and 圈地自萌 (“to play within the circle”; ie, keep all information and candies within CPFs) being the default rules even after removing the “queer factor” from the discussion. Real person CPs have fate as one of their writers and so, unlike character CPs, their candies can have unintended, unpredictable consequences. As the YiZhan fandoms have now grown big enough that their candies can no longer be realistically well-contained, it may not be such a bad idea for especially the sensitive candies to return under the “jurisdiction” of the BJYX supertopic, so to speak. c-turtles can then gain better control of their comes-and-goes. Their narratives.

(CPN below.)

About narratives. @rainbowsky have previously written a thoughtful piece on the possible reasons the YiZhan fandoms have been allowed to thrive, and I’d like to add the following hypothesis—it may be a way to take pre-emptive control of the Gg/Dd narrative in preparation for the scenario where their relationship is exposed without their consent. Some i-turtles, I think, may have already gained a sense of how ruthless, cruel and above all, quick the c-ent rumour mill can be. If Gg and Dd get outed by a third party, chances are they won’t have time at all to create a fresh narrative, and the one that come out of the rumour mill will likely be … very ugly, containing every worst misconception people have against homosexual relationships. Whereas now, c-turtles already have a narrative at hand—the canon-fanon that, while c-turtles may not agree on every detail, is largely agreed upon on the important milestones. The supporting materials are also ready: the videos, the images, the voice and arrow guides on them.  

For me, another interesting question is whether this c-turtle rally and parade of candies are truly necessary in the end.

I’m curious about what will happen to the LLD supertopic when WoH completes its airing. There’s really no precedence for this kind of a mixed character + real person M/M CP supertopic setup — the history of Dangai is short, of popular Dangai’s, even shorter.

Guardian (鎮魂), the first successful Dangai aired exactly a year before TU (in the summer of 2018), never had a dedicated CP supertopic (please holler if I got this wrong! I know there’re Guardian fans here ~ hello! *waves*). Discussions of Guardian’s CPs were found within the drama’s supertopic (剧版镇魂); the real-person-CP also never had its own name; its discussions were hidden under the character CP (巍瀾) tag.

Then came TU. Its real person CP (BJYX) split away from its character CP (WangXian) long before the airing for the drama—the birthdate of the BJYX supertopic was 2018/04/28 (TU’s airing date: 2019/06/27).

After TU, two Dangai dramas have already aired before WoH that seemed to have largely passed the attention of i-fandom: The Sleuth of the Ming Dynasty (成化十四年) and Winter Begonia (鬢邊不是海棠紅). Winter Begonia, in particular, was well received. Their character CPs never really took off, however, being conceived and perceived as more brotherhood than romance. Age also played a factor for Winter Begonia—Yun Zheng (尹正), known to many turtles as Dd’s motorcycle buddy, is 34, and Huang Xiaoming (黃曉明) is 43. The associated real person CPs also never became popular as a result; Huang Xiaoming’s famous marriage to a beautiful actress also meant that a real person CP was likely to be off the table for Winter Begonia from the start.

The best reference I can think of then, when it comes to speculating the fate of LLD, is therefore the fates of the CP supertopics of 2020’s summer hit, Love and Redemption (琉璃). I’ve talked about its character CP before; essentially, just days after the drama was done airing, the (het) character CP (初遇夫婦) was broken up and in a manner largely criticised as unnecessarily cruel to CP fans. Its supertopic closed immediately afterwards. The supertopic for the real-person-CP (冰橙汁) got to live, however, and is still active today.

The commercial forces behind WoH will likely break the character CP as soon as the drama is done airing; popular het and non-het character CPs in the recent years have gone through similar fates. What does this mean to LLD then? Does it mean the supertopic will be shutdown, since the drama itself already has its own supertopic? But what will happen then to its real-person CP, which has been incorporated within the LLD supertopic? Will the real-person CP be broken at the same time as the character CP to allow for immediate “purification” of real person CP fans into solo fans, to avoid future “headaches” like BYYX—a bound between the actors that cannot be severed—or 227 that, in the eyes of many passerbys, remains an issue of solo vs cpfs?

Only time will tell, and I very sincerely hope it’ll get a happy ending. Fans are made to love, and it saddens me every time to see them being severed from their loves, or pitted against each other especially when it’s clear it’s the social media platforms, the commercial interests behind the scenes — not just the production/media companies but the YXHs, the water armies — who will reap the benefits in the end. Personally, I feel no joy in seeing anyone’s favourites getting torn down, even if they aren’t my own. Gg and Dd’s safety — and the safety of every upstanding, hardworking c-ent entertainer like them — doesn’t hinge so much on their CP or solo or drama ranking, but whether their fans can refrain from bringing their conflicts into the public eye, from “occupying social resources”—ie, deflecting the public’s attention from the “core socialist values” the government intends it to focus on.

Fandom is big enough for us all.

#pie metas #yizhan #bjyx

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 1-19 NIGHT: 命运的拐点 Destiny’s Turning Point Translation

“Destiny is like a gust of wind… Red leaves flutter, flying away in the face of it.  And it is when the winds pick up ― That you meet once more…”

“I know… Who would’ve thought that such coincidences exist in this world?“

*Light and Night Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *Main story tag will be #For Light and Night

By the time I returned backstage, everyone was discussing where they should go to celebrate later.

MC: You guys go on without me. I’ll catch up once I’m done packing up here.

Gao Cheng nodded before leaving with Wu Yue and the others.

I headed back to the preparation room alone. It was definitely way more empty now, compared to all the hustle and bustle that had been going on during the contest.

❖☆———————————★❖

I folded all of the clothes into neat little piles before placing them into the box. The last coat hangs upon the highest hanger. I stretched upwards as far as I could on tiptoes, but alas, that didn’t quite make the cut.

MC: I should go find a stool.

Stepping atop the stool, I finally managed to retrieve the heavy coat. I held it with both hands, carefully using my foot to feel around for the ground.

However, I suddenly missed my footing just as my foot finally brushed the floor—

MC: Crap!

I hurriedly gathered the clothes into my protective grasp and brace for impact. Yet, all I felt was the feeling of someone firmly supporting my shoulders from behind, catching me as I fell.

???: Careful.

❖☆———————————★❖

I whipped around in surprise, only to be faced with a pair of familiar eyes.

MC: Evan!?

He nodded, but he didn’t look the slightest bit surprised about it at all. He smoothly took the clothes in my hands and hung them inside the closet.

❖☆———————————★❖

Evan: Are you okay?

MC: I’m okay. Thank you, but what are you doing here?

He was dressed in a respectable suit, just like when we first met.

Given his tall stature, I’d have no doubt thought him either a model or one of the guests that had been invited for the contest, had I never seen him before.

Evan: Work reasons. I never thought that I’d be meeting you here again, of all places.

MC: Work?

But all the staff members of this event don uniforms, and he didn’t have a media badge pinned to his chest either.

MC: Wait, you work for Warson?

Evan hesitated, his lips curling into an arc, yet he made no move to refute it.

MC: I can’t believe such coincidences actually exist in this world…

Evan: I’ve seen your work. I love it.

MC: You don’t have to comfort me. I’m fine.

Evan: I’m not trying to comfort you.

Evan: Aesthetics is something very personal and fickle. While there may be people who don’t accept your work, there will naturally always be others who will acknowledge it.

Evan: And it just so happens that I’m one of those who do.

Evan: Can you tell me why you decided to use the strongest Black Chiffon to make the hat?

MC: It’s because I feel that it is striking despite how ordinary it looks.

MC: I like how tough it looks despite being so ordinary.

Evan: What a coincidence. This material is also what the lining of my first suit was made of.

Evan: It does look very ordinary.

Evan: Unfortunately, I accidentally got it snagged onto something and it ripped. That was when I realized that the lining was still intact with little damage.

Evan: So, see? There will always come a time where the strength masked beneath all the ordinariness has a chance to shine.

Evan: Plus, if you look at things in the long run, it is more often than not the ordinary things that bring about the most pleasant surprises.

Saying so, he faced me with a smile. His eyes were filled with emboldened certainty.

I suddenly felt as if a warm and gentle breeze had come and blown all the complex feelings I harboured within my heart, along with all the embarrassment I felt.

Turns out that I am not as alone on this creative path to design as I’d initially thought. There was still someone out there who’s expecting great things for my future, at least.

MC: Yeah, thank you.

Evan’s smile turned a little exasperated at that.

Evan: Why are we back to square one again just like the night when we first met?

Evan: You’ve already said “thank you” to me a good many times now.

I awkwardly fiddled with my bangs, looking away in hopes of changing the topic.

MC: Right, speaking of that day… Could you wait for me for a bit? I’ve got something I want to give you.

I reopened the box that I’d just sealed up and rummaged around inside until I finally found the jewellery box housed at the very bottom of it, where a smoky-grey pin was kept.

MC: It’s a gift for you.

Evan was stunned, seemingly quite surprised.

Evan: You made this?

MC: Yup. I couldn’t sleep due to all the adrenaline I felt when I got home that day, so I made this.

MC: I want to give this to you as thanks for the coffee that day.

MC: I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again, so I just carried it around with me just in case luck decides to be on my side.

MC: I honestly never thought that I’d be seeing you again this soon. This tie pin might look a little crude, but I hope you don’t mind it.

Evan looked at the tie clip in his hand, the light in his eyes dulling a little.

MC: I can still make changes to it if you think it doesn’t look good enough. This was honestly something I made in a jiffy.

Evan: Thank you. I really like it.

He shook his head, fastening it securely onto his tie with a look of utter seriousness.

He didn’t look quite the same as I’d imagined him to with the tie pin on, but it suited him surprisingly well. Much better, in fact.

His tie was now decorated with a sliver of smokey grey. It was just like a beam of light that penetrated through the fog: Bright, but not blinding.

MC: Great! It really suits you.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. It was then that my phone started vibrating in my pocket.

It was a message from Gao Cheng asking me if I’d finished packing up all the stuff on my end, and when I’d reach the celebration.

Evan: You have plans after this?

MC: Yeah.

Evan: I won’t hold you up any longer then. Thank you for your gift, I’ll make sure to treasure it well.

MC: You’re welcome. I’ll be leaving first then.

I packed the rest of the stuff into the box, lifted it into my arms, and left the preparation room.

❖☆————���——————★❖

He took out a jewellery box from his pocket where a smokey grey tie clip lay within.

It was much more sophisticated than the one he currently had on. Whether it be the materials it was made of, or the level of craftsmanship it was made with, it was still superior by many leaps and bounds.

Seeing the girl’s gradually disappearing figure, Evan lowered his eyes,

Something peculiar flickered in his eyes for a moment as he suddenly thought of the words that the girl had said earlier.

Evan: I know… Who would’ve thought that such coincidences exist in this world?

❖☆————— ⊹ For Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 1-16) | Next Part: (Chapter 1-19 Light) / Chapter 1-20

#光与夜之恋 #Light and Night #Otome #Translations #Tencent #萧逸 #Osborn #齐司礼 #Sariel #陆沉 #Evan #查理苏 #Charlie #夏鸣星 #Jesse #For Light and Night

[holycatsandrabbits]

Tollense, an original serial romance by Dannye Chase, Chapter 1

A history professor falls in love with his best friend, a 3000-year-old vampire.

READ FROM THE BEGINNING: You are here!

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Chapter 1

1993

Professor Liam Beyer was born a decade after the deaths of the last soldiers to fight in the US Civil War. Thus, he was not expecting to meet a Union Army veteran in his 4 o’clock symposium on the Battle of Antietam.

Liam noticed the man as soon as he walked in, and not just because it was odd for a member of the public to show up for a faculty lecture at the university. No, the man caught Liam’s attention because he was distractingly handsome. Literally, Liam was distracted enough to drop his pen onto the overhead projector, causing a giant shadow to loom over the map of Maryland on the screen behind him, as if a third army had materialized there in a dense offensive line.

The man was of average height, with a slender build. He had dark hair in a short, modern cut and wore a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt with a faded label. He looked like he might be thirty, which was about the age Liam was, and so Liam did not immediately assume that the man had seen action in the Civil War. But there was something faintly strange about him, just in the way that he walked, light on his feet like a dancer, but stepping firmly, without a dancer’s well-practiced grace.

“General Lee,” Liam continued, in a slightly strangled voice, “of the Confederate Army, was, of course, outnumbered, but the battle was Union General McClellan’s to lose. Had he understood how superior his force was, had he taken more risks, he might have been able to deal a decisive blow to Lee’s army as it retreated. In fact, McClellan’s performance at Antietam was part of the reason that President Lincoln later removed him from duty.”

Liam put up a transparency of a white church with peeling paint, standing alone on a grassy rise. “On September 17, 1862, 7,650 soldiers died at Antietam, making it the bloodiest day for Americans in history. Two days later, a man named Alexander Gardner took some of the first widely-seen battlefield photographs of dead soldiers. Some were awaiting burial, and some were still lying where they fell. It was very difficult at the time to take photographs of battles themselves, as the technology involved careful treatment of glass negatives, and that was nearly impossible under battlefield conditions. But the dead do not move, and these photographs were so clear that when displayed in New York, family members recognized their fallen sons.”

Liam put up a transparency of one of Gardner’s photographs, young men lying on the ground in an oddly perfect line. The unknown man looked away.

oOo

Liam had grading to do after his symposium, but he walked to the campus union to grab a sandwich first. He was definitely not expecting Handsome Unknown Lecture Man to appear out of the crowd and drop into the seat opposite him. Liam was very proud that he did not choke on his bite of ham and swiss.

“I hope you don’t mind,” said the man. “I enjoyed your lecture. My name is Kurt.”

Liam put his hand out to shake. Kurt’s touch was faintly cold. “Liam,” he said.

Kurt cocked his head slightly to the side, as if assessing him. “I know. Liam Beyer, 27, assistant professor of history, specializing in battles. Is Antietam your favorite?”

“Um— one of them. I did my dissertation on it. On McClellan, specifically.” Liam felt slightly odd about the fact that this stranger knew who he was, but of course, it was all publicly accessible information. “Are you a Civil War buff?”

“Somewhat.” Kurt leaned back in his chair. “Antietam, god. I remember Bloody Lane— that’s what they called it after. The road was sunken in because so many wagons had gone by over the years. It was like trying to fight your way out of your own grave trench.” Kurt spoke with a faint accent that Liam could not place, something that seemed to shift from one place to another.

“You talk like you were there,” Liam said, smiling. “Are you a reenactor?”

Kurt gave a sharp laugh. “No. You?”

“I’ve been a technical advisor. It’s nice to meet other people who share my strange obsession.”

“Those pictures you showed,” Kurt said. “Photography is such a bewitching art. Those boys are long gone, but remain ever present in death.”

“You know, the war helped make Spiritualism popular,” Liam said. “It was so hard on the families back home to lose contact with their soldiers, not knowing what happened to them, or when, or where. They couldn’t bear it, and turned to mediums.”

Kurt smiled, and it made his bright green eyes sparkle with amusement. “Have you ever been to a seance?” he asked. Liam shook his head. “Most I’ve been to were quite boring,” Kurt said. “But every once in awhile—”

“That sounds like a good story.”

“I’ll tell you sometime.” Liam’s brain was already far too occupied with how attractive he found this poor man, and that was probably why the sentence sounded more like a salacious promise than it really was.

“So what do you do?” Liam asked faintly, crumpling his empty sandwich wrapper. “Are you a student?”

“Not at the moment. Just a fan of history. Of battles, actually.” Kurt leaned forward a little. “Liam, would you mind if I came to your office tomorrow to talk more? I have some questions and I think you might be the one to help me answer them.”

“I— of course.” Liam told himself that he agreed solely because he liked to talk about history with people, and that it didn’t matter whether or not said people were ridiculously attractive.

Kurt smiled at him again. “Until tomorrow then.”

On his way out of the dining hall, Liam was stopped by a student with a question about an assignment on Gettysburg. “I didn’t want to interrupt your dinner,” she said.

“Oh, it would have been fine,” Liam told her. “We were talking about the Civil War ourselves.”

The student gave him a confused look. “Dr. Beyer— weren’t you eating alone?”

oOo

In the end, Liam decided that as he’d never dreamed up a handsome man in quite so much detail before, that the student had been mistaken and simply had not noticed Kurt’s presence at Liam’s table.

And yet. There really was something very strange about the man. Liam couldn’t quite pin it down, just that there was a disconnect between what Liam was seeing and what he was feeling about him. For example, Kurt appeared to be thirty, but Liam would swear he was older. Kurt had looked perfectly natural at dinner, but it had also seemed like he didn’t quite fit in with his surroundings. Like if you’d taken a photograph of him at the table, he would have been slightly too bright, out of focus, or without a shadow.

Kurt’s knock on Liam’s office door finally came around eleven, and Liam was, he realized, far too happy to see him again. At first, nothing about the visit seemed terribly odd. They discussed Antietam again, then traveled forward to the Somme, and then much farther back, Megiddo and Kadesh. Kurt seemed to know less about those battles, Liam noted, but he was quite familiar with things taking place after Thermopylae in the 5th century BC.

It was easy to talk to Kurt, especially about interests they had in common, and as the conversation went on, Kurt seemed to relax a bit, which made Liam do the same. The day before, Liam had thought Kurt moved without grace, but that wasn’t exactly right. Kurt had a different kind of grace, a fluidity of small movements instead of large ones, an artistry shown in the fluttering of fingers while the rest of the man kept entirely still. The emphasis on such small motions seemed to draw Liam in, narrowing his focus away from his surroundings and onto his visitor. But at the same time, Kurt had such an air of other about him, that it was almost like Liam was looking at him through beveled glass, never quite getting the whole image at once.

However, Liam’s sense of ease around Kurt vanished entirely when another student knocked on Liam’s door with a question about an assignment. That in itself was perfectly normal, but during the whole time that the student was in Liam’s office, she didn’t speak to Kurt or apologize for interrupting their conversation. She didn’t give a single look to the chair that Kurt occupied beside Liam’s desk.

When the student had left, Liam leaned back in his chair, trying to fake the calmness that he no longer felt. “All right,” he said, watching his visitor carefully. “You want to tell me why I’m the only person who can see you?”

********

READ FROM THE BEGINNING: You are here!

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Updates Fridays on Ao3 and DannyeChase.com (rated E), and Tumblr (rated T)

Want to create fic, art, or other works based on this series? Please do! Just dm or tag me.

My previous serials are for Good Omens: Mr. Fell's Bookshop and Love's Endless Light

My Carrd

#Dannye writes #original fiction #serial fiction #tollense #vampires #romance

[inb4belphienaps]

warnings: demon hunter au, monsterification (?), blood, gore, fighting (physical), death word count: 2028

Through the sounds of one man’s grunting and the clash of metal meeting hardened flesh, the ground of the forest shakes. Whatever birds had remained in the wake of the battlefield signal to one another (warning not just their own, but also the other inhabitants) that the current fight taking place could have devastating repercussions. More devastating than the smell of iron continuing to linger in the area.

As the earth shifts, flashes of bright light mingle with green smoke, creating a pool of fog that, were it privy to the eyes of outsiders, would hint at sorcery being afoot.

Magic holds its weight here in these lands. Depending on where your loyalties lie, you are either the hunter or the hunted. The former is normally trained in combat and taught to wield their powers as well as their swords. The latter, on the other hand, is feared, for the reasons that they are hunted are rooted deep in their very nature.

They go by many names – creatures of the dark, harbingers of evil, infernal bearers of sin. The list continues. And the stories grow. Generation after generation, children are taught to fear them. They are…demons. Children too in fact, of the King of Hell.

A royalty shrouded in mystery. The legend says that those who look upon his face never again see the light of day. And, since, no one has been able to confirm nor deny the numerous depictions of him, littering the books of those whose teeth chatter at the very mention of his title and covering the walls of the temples erected in honor of those who fight against him, he is better thought of as the very embodiment of your worst fears.

The soldiers are easier to motivate that way, more willing to be shaped into obedience. Whether that is seen as the mangled bodies of their loved ones or heard as the cries of the innocent, they are to never show mercy to the beings that do his bidding.

However, there are those who (baring the markings of a heretic), believe that these monsters were once human. That they sold their souls and gave into the darkness. That they were swayed by sweet words of promises unkept and in the end only saw suffering.

There are also those who, in the same manner, believe that these monsters take on the forms of humans. Either the humans they’ve converted or humans that they are to ravage, soon-to-be victims of a plague that cannot be cured or forgotten.

Dangerous thoughts like these are what make the difference between a good soldier and an immovable hunter. If there is doubt or a shadow of sympathy when facing these beasts, you may very well find your head removed from your body, and then, shortly after, consumed in its entirety.

(Yes...they feed on humans.)

Blood mars the surrounding trees and smothers the leaves, painting them an ugly copper. Where the dirt turns black, Simeon knows a struggle took place. How valiantly his brothers and sisters must have fought, he thinks. And how unsavory a death they must have met.

With this in mind, he steels his resolve and focuses all his energy into the magic materializing in his hands, imbuing it into his sword. He’d perfected his techniques. Trained until they’d become an extension of him and his will.

“Why”, the creature says, “they didn’t tell me they were saving the best ‘til last.”

Simeon neither flinches at nor acknowledges its voice. A voice that would otherwise send humans fleeing, pushes him to carry on, to increase his speed and thrust forwards with accuracy.

“But I suppose I should’ve known. The ones before you were far too weak to stand against me.”

He lunges, twisting half-way when he’s met with a swipe of a giant arm and a lash of a bright-green tail. Green. The color of evil. Green. The color of sin.

“They never had a chance.”

“Quit your blithering, monster. I have no intentions of hearing you speak.”

The creature smiles. Though its features are ghastly and covered with remains, Simeon can make out the ends of its mouth and how they curl upwards.

“You’ll have to cut out my tongue then, hunter.”

With each instance that their magics meet, the world around them becomes all the more obsolete. The serene landscape is instead transformed into an arena, of which only the strongest contender will leave from unscathed.

Simeon has hunted many of these puppets in his time. Cutting their strings and burning their shells, he’d gotten used to the smell of them. Except their appearance is another matter entirely. This creature that stands before him is a testament to that.

Its scales shine in the sunlight, like jewels beneath clear waters. Its limbs are strong and impressive. Its horns, like the antlers of a magnificent stag, demand his attention. Disregarding the loathing he feels; the creature is almost beautiful.

Almost.

He creates some distance between them, reconfiguring his stance and propelling himself off the scarped face of a mound of rocks piled atop one another just so.

The creature is quick to respond and close in on him, running on all fours at him head-first, like a raging bull. Its strides are far and wide, causing Simeon to abandon future attempts at discouraging close combat.

There is a menacing, contained kind of anger that permeates from the creature. He senses it every time its magic brushes against him be it the patches of exposed skin or his armor.  There’s a heat to it too. A hot measure of lethality that reminds him to be careful.

Demons are after all, tricky beings with a history of dabbling in the dark arts (necromancy was nothing to them). These are experienced fighters, unhinged and free to do as they please without their need for self-preservation or the need to maintain their dignity getting in the way.

The sheer force of their clash resounds, akin to a clap of thunder and the sparks that fly as its talons scrape against Simeon’s metal gives ode to the lightning that would normally accompany it.

When they part, following a further exchange of blows, Simeon is panting, and the creature seems excited by the notion.

“You are a creature of the dark. You take solace in the shadows, so you may attempt to flee from your sins but make no mistake, beast”, he hisses, jutting his chin out defiantly with a type of pride that the creature knew all too well, “I will have your head.”

The creature laughs and bares its fangs. Only…the hunter in front of him pictures how they’d glint on his neck, to serve both as a reminder and as a medal for his efforts.

Taking this monster down and fashioning his remains into something wearable? It was the least he could do for his companions who had sacrificed themselves and died fighting. Hell itself would have to freeze over before he’d admit defeat in any sense of the word so that their deaths would not have been in vain.

Suddenly, something splits in the air, the fractures dissipating in a myriad of pieces that could pass for shattered glass and Simeon is temporarily rendered immobile. His eyes widen, and he feels the creature within him. It was invading his mind.

Sentiments of nights spent practicing on his own and memories of harsh winters spent in front of crackling fires cause his shoulders to shake. There, amidst the confusion and horror, his friend’s cheerful visage startles him back into reality.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you?”, the creature chides. “It’s dangerous to go looking for the dead.”

So, the creature knew his intentions. To find his friend and give him a proper burial. His friend, who was probably now disfigured beyond recognition, was waiting for Simeon to find him. He could feel it. His friend, the one who had been there to see him through the hardest times of his life, was calling to him.

“Silence”, Simeon spits, venom coating his demand as he hurtles daggers and magic alike at the looming silhouette shrouded in mist. Each one ricochets off of its hide, and he clenches his jaw. He wasn’t focusing hard enough.

“I’ll give you two seconds to prepare yourself”, it says.

The creature then comes to a standstill and Simeon feels the first inklings of dread. A sentence like that meant that he was either going to be met with a resistance he had no hopes of fathoming or it had a trump card up its sleeve – another nasty trick it could use to its advantage.

“One.”

Wind rustles the foliage above and carries his scent towards it. He tightens his grip on his trusty weapon and tilts his head to the side to crack his neck.

“Two.”

With inhuman speed, it leaps, first into the thickets, disappearing from view, then to his side, grabbing him by the scruff as he’s rendered helpless.

Simeon squirms, his sword doing little to better the situation, and he kicks at the creature’s torso. The dull sounds of his foot colliding with its build send a rush of panic through him. And then-

And then he is falling. And the creature is smiling, eyes narrowing in satisfaction as he looks down at the devastation tainting his features. The creature stands at the edge of the cliff, watching him descend into the abyss.

“What a shame”, it says. “You put up such a good fight, little hunter.”

As the creature turns his back, its ears twitch and it swivels around in disbelief. Was there a humming noise? A buzzing? A ringing in its ears?

It doesn’t have the chance to come to a conclusion. Simeon surges upwards from within the depths, colliding with its giant frame, and crushes it to the ground, with the same foot he’d used to kick it just moments before firmly planted on its chest.

“You…you have wings”, the creature whispers.

Simeon resists the urge to shiver. He hadn’t known he’d had them. He hadn’t known he was even capable of conjuring such things.

In its moment of weakness, he plunges his sword into its chest, watching the expression in its eyes change from bewilderment to indifference. Perhaps this was its way of dealing with death. Upon realizing that it too, like him, is capable of it, perhaps it resigned itself to its inevitable fate.

“What is your name, hunter?”, the creature rasps.

He hesitates. It is said that once a demon utters your name, you are forever cursed. And yet, with the outcome of the battle decided, he’s willing to take his chances.

“My name is Simeon.”

The creature nods once and sighs, as if vaguely fatigued.

“And what do they call you? Do your kind even have names?”

It snickers, and Simeon removes his sword, the severe movement causing it to stiffen and clutch at the fresh wound, talons covered in its own sanguineous substance. He feels no remorse or contrition at the pitiful sight, and he digs his sword in once more, eliciting a grunt. The creature assesses his hands – vigorous and seemly, and baring a ring too.

“Satan. That is my name.”

.

.

.

As the sun sets on the horizon and bathes the scenery in twilight, a shadow emerges from the edge of the forest close to the border. His clothes are ripped, and his blonde hair is covered in mud.

He stands, taking a deep breath in, and closes his eyes. When next he opens them, they glow a vibrant chartreuse – its yellow and green hues mixing together to create an uncanny image. The dust has settled and so has the blood running through his veins.

A body lies beneath his feet. Its uniform indicates that the man was once a solider. And as he turns him over, a familiar-looking ring falls out of the soldier’s pocket. He stoops down to pick it up and admires it in the low light.

Yes, those seemly hands and those crystalline irises that’d shown unwavering tenacity.

He will return. If only to cradle that hunter’s pretty little head in his hands.

#when i first considered this pair #this concept was FAR from what i thought i'd write them in #also that lrb was too perfect not to have come before #might have to edit this when i wake up omg #obey me au #obey me writing #obey me angst #obey me simeon #obey me! simeon #obey me satan #obey me! satan #satan x simeon

[ktheist]

twenty-three.

chapters:  22  / 23 / 24 

knight!jungkook x princess!reader

x

The rest of the ghosts have arrived. You’ve placed them in the left wing. The same wing which tower Jungkook was imprisoned in. You wondered before how nobody could have known your knight was here and how the matter was handled so quietly. Those who were there were fired and never allowed into the castle again - and there were close to none besides Eunha who witnessed him being dragged to the left wing because it was too early in the morning, everyone was asleep except the guards who were patrolling.

“Here we are,” a minute smile graces Jungkook’s lips - it’s the freest you’ve ever seen him while he holds a hand up to shield the sun as he studies the vineyards wrapping around the tower like a predator’s claws on its prey.

“This is the only part of the castle that’s secluded,” you fiddle with your fingers on your lap - you can’t even look at the tower for more than a minute without feeling the wicked churning in your stomach, yet you place the man who was captured and held here to stay and call it his home, “it’s an old castle nobody uses anymore. Not even maids come here besides to clean. You and the others won’t be disturbed - you can train here as much as you want.”

Yoongi, the man who’d arrived with Jungkook has been snoring off under a tree not too far away. When asked, your knight - no, he’s not a knight anymore. Not after you allow Taehyung to take that title away from him. Perhaps you should have fought harder - perhaps you should have threatened divorce but another part of you had wanted to set Jungkook free. Give him the option to be a normal man who serves no one but himself.

But he’d come back to you - and he will keep coming back to you. That is your only regret. To have doubt your knight so - to have thought he would be better off without you when you could barely breathe when he wasn’t around.

These days, your chest feels light and your shoulders feel stronger as you carry the weight of the crown. All because you have Jungkook by your side - yes, he’s still your knight by oath. He vowed his allegiance to you. Such bonds you to each other, transcending status and title.

“I should go,” you finally say, “the delegates from Goldwald are arriving two weeks earlier for the festival.” The festival is held annually coming winter to celebrate the founder of the Southern Kingdom. Legend has it he thawed the ice that blankets the Southern Kingdom by marrying the Ice Queen. When she fell in love with the founding King, the ice across the lands melted as well. As any kingdom has its tales, so does the Southern Kingdom - in the end, they remain a mere excuse for a celebration. A short escape to help them forget the misfortune they live in due to the rulers’ greed.

You stand face to face for the longest time. Just watching each other. Neither willing to say the first goodbye.

It’s been too long - he was locked up in the tower for three months and it took another two for you to shake Taehyung’s suspicions off so you could bring Jungkook back without the King’s inquiries.

He’s much better compared to the time you saw him in the pub - healthier. Stronger.

Jungkook finally sighs - a telltale of resignation. He can never win, can he?

“When will I see you again?” The callousness of his hand has become a welcoming comfort when he places them against your cheek. It enforces his presence and affirm that this isn’t all just a sweet dream.

“Perhaps not in the nearest time.” Your hand cover his and bring his knuckles to your lips, “Taehyung is returning tomorrow and he’s quite the child - he would fuss about me walking about outside of my office. It’d be hard to make an excuse where he can’t follow me to.”

At the mention of the name and your belated realization of your too rambling about the King’s behaviour, Jungkook’s free gaze turns hard and cold. The smile that adorned his face, now pressed in a distraught line. “Is he giving you a hard time? If you say the words, I’ll rid him off you-”

“No,” you speak over him a bit too hastily, “there’s no need for such thing. He’s no threat to me at all.”

“I see.” Is all he says as his hand falls away and his gaze reverts to Hoseok and Changmin’s sparing. “You should go, your majesty. I wouldn’t want to demand more of your time than you can give me.”

“I’ll come back as soon as the festival ends and once I send the King away to round the outskirts of town.” It’s a promise but given his words and the circumstances, you know it sounds as though you’re saying it because you have to. 

A faux assurance.

But for you or for him?

x

“Lady Yerin,” you stare at the brunette’s reflection - she’d make a good wife for the King. Pretty pink lips and natural pinker cheeks. She may need lessons to conceal her expression half of the time but otherwise, she’d be perfect, “you were one of the King’s candidates, were you not?”

Her jaw slacks just the slightest bit as she stares back at you, the hair combing your hair pausing too. She’s stopped trying to get into your good graces but she knows making an enemy out of you isn’t the wisest. “Y-yes, my Queen. I was.”

“How would you like to assume that position?”

The noblewoman’s response comes too quick compared to her previous one, “your majesty, I would never humiliate you so-”

“Then don’t,” you curtly speak over her, gaze hardening at her startled expression, “as you can see I’m with a child and I cannot fulfill the King’s... nightly needs in my state. It would be cruel of me to torture him so when all he needs is a woman - any woman, truly - and I’ve decided to take up the task to find him a suitable second wife.”

You caress the gentle protrusion of your belly through the silken material before stealing a gaze at the mirror. The corners of your lips curl at the woman’s furrowed brows and her tightened jaw - true to her upbringing, her pride overrides her reasoning. To show such contempt towards her own Queen - how amusing, “I must warn you, however, that the King may be against it and you’ll have to seduce him with your charms - but even I shall admit you have plenty of that thus, it won’t be much of a problem.”

“I understand it’s all too sudden. You may take your time on deciding whether you wish to live as the King’s wife or to find love outside of these walls.” You fix her with one of your practiced smile - as though you’re only looking for a fellow woman of the court, “Of course, I can’t wait forever - an advertisement will be issued tomorrow for an interview to find the King’s second wife among the kingdom’s noblewomen.”

x

The first shouting begins half and hour after you’ve settled in your bed with last year’s ledger to read before you go to sleep.

“What is this? What is the meaning of this?!”

Yerin had come to you earlier tonight. Cloaked with a hood covering the pretty curls of a noblewoman. Nobody knows of the mutual arrangement. You let her enter your chambers and you’ve taken to the royal chambers, one that the King and Queen would share to spend nights with together and only for that purpose. But seeing as you’ve never waited for Taehyung in the royal chambers - nor were there any need to as the physician had advised against any strenuous activities, Taehyung had always strode into your bed chamber anyway and spent the night there before returning to his own private chamber to prepare for the day.

She would be ruined if she’d boast about the proposal to the other noblewomen and get thrown out of the court if the King does not approve of his second wife that you’ve personally selected.

How should you say this? Say, tonight is the night she shall seduce the King and once it’s done and affirmed, it shall be alright for her to boast about her new status all she wants.

You thought it was difficult but not entirely impossible.

It turns out you’re gravely mistaken.

Sighing, you set the ledger down and treads towards the door that connects the royal chamber with yours. Yerin pleading cries is drowned out by Taehyung’s boisterous exclamations as he sits on the bed, naked with only his lower half covered by the blanket.

As soon as Yerin sees you, she runs towards you like a frightened child. Your chest tightens at the sight of this usually stoned-heart woman being stripped to her core and seeking your aid - you. The person she must hate most but have no other choice but to serve because being one of the Queen’s person would secure her spot in the social world.

“Take your belongings and return to your house. You don’t need to come in tomorrow - wait for me to call you.”

She’s trembling when you place a hand over her shoulders in an attempt to comfort her. At this point, nothing in these treacherous walls can offer solace to a woman whose pride is wounded so.

“A-alright.” She stutters beneath the hood that she hurriedly put on.

As soon as you are left alone with Taehyung, do you finally shoot him the glare of daggers. “Have you no sliver respect for women?”

 “This was your doing? Why?” His eyes focuses on you and only you. The infamous tyrant you married is finally bearing its fangs at you - the glint in his eyes is much more dangerous than the excitement for blood and death.

“Why else?” You scoff but the hands that caresses your belly is gentle - that’s right, you’re doing this for your child. All for your child. “It’s only been three months. I’m surprised you lasted this long but if there’s no telling how much longer you can go without sex - and when that time comes, you’ll do it anyway, won’t you? At the risk of my child.”

He’s about to bulldoze you with an onslaught of protest but you beat him to it, “don’t tell me you’ve forgotten? The smell of blood on the battlefield - how you were going to drive your sword into my chest if I was close enough for you to do it? If you were so prepared to kill me then, what difference does it make now if you were to take me in my pregnant state?”

The dangerous glint dims by the end of your words. And for a moment, all he is, is a shell - a man hollow of his aspirations and ambitions. So frail and breakable. It’s a surprise even to you - how words could shatter such ruthless man, the warlord, the tyrant.

When you take a step towards the door you came through, it seems to have shifted something inside him - jolted him out of his state of stupor. A thud echoes off the walls when the sheets tangle around his ankle and send him tumbling down in his haste to get to you. Instead of standing, he shuffles to you on his knees until his hand latches onto your wrist, “don’t leave me, please.”

It’s the please that gets you.

His hand falls away as he shuffles around you, hot breath caressing your belly as his arms wraps around your waist, fingers digging into your skin from the sheer desperation seeping off him but you’ll allow him to hurt you this much -  you’ve faced far worse before.

“I-I’m sorry - I’ll do whatever you want - anything you want!” The silken materal of your night gown sticks to your skin from his tears. “Just don’t- don’t make me hold another woman that’s not you.”

His sniffle is the only thing filling the silence. In the end, he’s not sorry that he terrorized the Northern Kingdom and killed your men - he’s only apologizing so he won’t have to lose you.

The marriage between a King and Queen is never the same once there’s a second wife, or a second husband. Not many queens has taken a lover based on history but it’s not unheard of - nor is it against the law.

In that sense, the law views the Queen as equal as the King. It comes to the matter of actually ruling does it discriminate.

“Anything?” You ask, gazing down with steel eyes as he blinks away his tears, nodding a little too eagerly to prove himself. 

“Yes, my Queen - anything you want.”

“Goldwald.” You finally say. The Southern Kingdom and Goldwald has been politically friendly - it’s a small nation with flourishing lands and closest to the seas, it has every kind of resources to attract the merchants and that’s why it’s been able to stand on its own.

But not for long.

 “Conquer Goldwald for me.”

#jungkook smut #bts smut #taehyung smut #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios #bts #jungkook #taehyung #taehyung fanfic #taehyung fic #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #bts x yn #jungkook x yn #taehyung x reader #taehyung x yn #knight!jungkook

[toloveawarlord]

Pt. 3

Characters: Alara & Mansion Residents

Tagging: @plumpblueberry @ihavenotfallenyet @claire-maccarthy @littlewitty

A/N: Wow this took a ton of time and I rewrote scenes multiple times. I have mapped out the rest of this mini-series and it will be about 8 chapters long. Give or take a little bit!

Their opinions differed.

Split.

Arguments covering all the options of how to handle their tiny guest. Arthur, Vincent, and Napoleon siding on the best choice being for her to stay with them. She would be protected, safe, and happy. Jean, Mozart, and Sebastian were erring on the side of caution, finding all the reasons it would be wrong for her to remain. The rest of the residents were undecided.

Comte sat at the head of the table, no indication of his own thoughts on steeled features. Eventually, it would fall upon him to make the final decision as the owner of the mansion. Having his residents in disarray over a single human child, no matter how tragic her plight, simply wouldn’t do. She’d left quite a mark on the ones who had met her.

“Would it not be best to send the little mademoiselle to an orphanage? She’d be cared for, fed, sheltered, adopted into a permanent home,” Jean said. He’d only see the stepfather and he did sympathize, but this environment was most dangerous for a child.

Arthur gave a breathy laugh, waving his hand to dismiss the idea. “It’s unlikely that she’d last a week in a place like that. Her mother was bought, and that threat continues to loom over her. She’ll be eaten alive in an orphanage.” The mere idea of subjecting her to more trauma set a frown on the writer’s lips.

“Poor choice of words, Arthur. She’d be eaten alive here if one of us lost control.” The sour pianist hadn’t even laid eyes on the girl, but the presence of a child could bring adverse effects. What if she caused a ruckus when he was creating? All he knew of children was they’re loud and insatiable.

Isaac’s gaze flickered between the opposite parties. Both had their valid hypothesis of the outcomes of her staying, and yet... “If you’d met her, Mozart, you’d surely have reservations in throwing her out. We have a steady supply of rouge and blanc.” He’d consider it an outlier to say that their vampire state is the largest threat to her safety. Isaac couldn’t, in good conscious, send Alara off after seeing her carefree smile surface with them.

“I’m in agreement,” Vincent spoke up. Cerulean blue eyes downcast at his hands, the lingering feeling of her trembling body against his own ever present. The reason unclear, but the painter wished to protect her from the world that sought to harm her.

Sebastian cleared his throat, his opinion on the matter he thought irrelevant. “I believe it will be your decision, M. Le Comte. What action do you advise we take concerning our little guest?” He would honor whatever Comte decided.

All attention fell onto the pure blood at the head of the table, many of them wearing their emotions clearly on their faces. The truth being that an orphanage would not treat her kindly, but with so many residents against her stay, the most comparable choice was to place her in a family that he trusted to be good for her.

“I’ve a suggestion,” Theo interrupted, having remained neutral and quiet for most of the conversation. He’d only met the girl briefly, and the facts of their nature as vampires posed a real threat, and yet, humans could be just as dangerous. The situation a heavy one. “We should take a couple of days to deliberate on it.”

Dazai hummed in response but began to nod his head in agreement. “A rushed decision could result in a wrong choice. That man might simply claim her from an orphanage, and her fate could twist into more pain.”

“We shall keep Alara in our care until we can ensure her a home that will be suitable. Whether that be here, or elsewhere.” Comte spoke at last, bringing a swift end to their meeting. Tension and emotions were still high from the confrontation only hours earlier. All needed to reflect and rest.

As for himself, Comte went to visit their guest. He assured Napoleon that no reason remained for a guard. Oscar wouldn’t dare return so soon after his talk, if at all. The snake of a man had accepted the generous donation and returned to his hole. Shutting the door soundlessly, Comte turned his attention to the soft whines coming from beneath the comforter.

“Calm your fears. No harm shall come to you here, mon petite cherie.” Words laced with comfort and full of protection. He brushed his fingers through silky locks of black hair until the pained expression calmed. Had this child ever known a night of rest without nightmares since coming to France?

No real solution had been settled. His house in partial disarray. A little girl in a precarious situation where she would likely be subjected to more pain before this ended. Comte draped his overcoat over the back of the armchair before settling in it.

Finding any home for her was a simple job. His connections were endless but nowhere fitting the standard of life that he could provide for her. Any upper-class French couple would only treat a foreign child as lesser than. He refused to send her to anywhere less than a home that could give her anything her heart desired.

Yet, keeping her here held a great risk. A household full of vampires. The secret could be kept easily if no one bit her, at least until she was old enough to know. But children were reckless and hurt themselves easily. One slip and she could end up dead. Though he trusted each and every one of his residents and believed them to be careful enough to keep her safe, accidents were a possibility.

How would she effect the balance?

Too many variables and at the center was a little girl who had already made her way into his heart. Comte had no children of his own, and his experience with children limited. Never once had he desired to care for one until he saw those pale green eyes change from fearful to full of life. He couldn’t bring himself to fully give in to her if it meant disrupting the other residents.

He only intended to rest his eyes. Thoughts enraptured in problems stacking upon problems with less solutions to fight against them. The raging storm outside reflected within his own mind. The longer they kept her, the harder it would be for her to part with them. The right answer alluding him at every turn.

Morning light spilled over into the bedroom, bringing warmth to the room. Sky without any lingering dark clouds of the intense storm. Birds chirped a happy tune, signaling a better day than the one before. Even the sun peeking over the horizon gave a promise to be brighter and warmer.

Comte awoke to the serene moment, content to simply listen to the birds sing beyond the windowpane for a little longer. As he moved to shift his legs, a weight that hadn’t been there the previous night prohibited it. Golden eyes slid open, unsure of what to expect.

Beneath a silken blanket, Alara sat on his lap, cheek pressed against him. Her breathing soft but she slept soundly, clutching his other arm to her as if it were her only lifeline. Black hair messy and tangled from the blanket shifting around it. Either the storm or her nightmares had woken her, and she chose to seek comfort with him.

“You’ve seen too much for your age,” Comte spoke quietly to her, petting her head. There were quite a few problems with her being in the mansion, but perhaps he could smooth them all over. As he lifted his palm to stroke her hair again, the girl woke with a start.

Pale green eyes wide with fright and confusion. She tried to slide away from him, memory fuzzy. Most mornings in her home had been lonely, and if anyone were there, it did not bode well for her. Without realizing, Alara had pulled away too much and slipped nearly completely off his legs.

Comte reacted inhumanly quick, leaning forward and catching her before she fell into the floor. “You’re alright, Alara. No more harm will come to you,” he assured as he placed her back onto his lap. “We slept a little late this morning. I’m confident that breakfast is waiting.”

The fear lingering in her eyes began dissipating and, in its place, a bit of anticipation. Her eyes flickered to the door as someone rapped on it before opening it. The way she recoiled to hide herself from view was bittersweet. Her openness to be comfortable with Comte, yet afraid of it crumbling down around her.

“I have purchased clothes more suited for her as requested. It will be delivered later in the day. However, I brought this for her to wear today.” Sebastian held up a beautiful, coral rose dress made of the finest materials that one could buy. “I’ll see to her getting dressed.”

He’d promised to do so, but once alone with the girl, it seemed an arduous task. Sebastian laid the dress on the bed along with the socks and shoes he’d picked out to best go with the outfit before addressing the child ducked down on the other side of the bed. “Please come out from there Miss Alara.”

“I can do it myself!” She dressed herself every day. The maids taking the time to teach her how in order to not have to do it themselves. As long as no buttons were out of reach, Alara had confidence that this task could be completed.

“I’ll wait outside, then.” Sebastian wavered at the door. He couldn’t allow her to cause herself harm, but at the same time, pushing her would only put a rift between their relationship. Should Comte decide to adopt the girl into the home, it would become his duty to oversee her needs met.

With the door almost completely closed, Alara peeked over the top of the bed to be sure that he’d gone. Satisfied that the room was empty, she rounded the bed and observed the dress up close. Her fingers dragged across the material, softer than she’d ever felt before. Nothing like the coarse and uncomfortable dress that her stepfather bought for her.

No buttons were in her way. The dress slid easy over her head and she only struggled for a moment to get her arms through the fitted cuffs at the bottom of the sleeves. Alara plopped onto the floor, falling onto her back as she tugged and pulled the white sock over her small foot, then repeated with the other.

The final touch, a pair of black shoes with a strap that looped around her ankle and buckled to the other side. She’d been taught how to do it, but it had always proved hard. After a few minutes of struggle, the girl simply tucked the end of the strap through and thought it to be fine.

“All done,” Alara announced to an empty hallway. That man was a butler, so he must have something else to do. All the staff at her stepfather’s home worked all day long and never stopped. Cleaning, cooking, delivering. She shrugged her shoulders and began down the hall. The kitchen and dining hall were down the stairs somewhere, so she must be going in the right direction.

A door ajar caught her attention, as all the others were tightly closed. A room filled with more books and interesting treasures than she had ever seen before drew her in. A haphazard mess, but a beautiful one. Books were stacked taller than she stood, paintings and maps stuffed all in between. Whose room would this be?

Atop one of the stacks, a shiny necklace laid in plain sight. Curiosity took over, as no one was around to see, and she reached up to take it. Nothing supported the tower books and the slightest shift caused the entire thing to lean towards her, ready to bury her beneath it’s hard covers.

Though Alara squeezed her eyes shut and covered her head, the anticipated pain never hit her. Instead, the overwhelming smell of cigarettes filled the space.

“That was a close one, wasn’t it?” The man holding back the stack of books had appeared from the other side of the pile. He imagined this must the girl that had caused the big commotion. Such a slight but beautiful child. Only half awake, he’d barely caught it, and hadn’t realized that his lazy expression was being misconstrued as an unhappy glare.

Alara took a step back, pale green eyes wide with many emotions, but the most present one being fear. Who was this man? Why was he sleeping on the floor? Would he be angry with her for invading his room? How much trouble was she in? The only men she’d known to smoke were her stepfather’s so-called friends.

“Scusa, - hey, wait-”

The words barely reached the child that started to bolt from the room. Being startled by a stranger had scared her at first but being reprimanded for entering a room that didn’t belong to her brought about the most distress. Alara spotted a figure ahead that she recognized from the previous night. “Arthur!”

The writer turned at the call of his name, lighting up with a smile for a brief moment until he noted the frantic state, she was in. “What’s the matter?” He couldn’t fathom what might have startled her so.

“Pick me up!” She rose up onto the balls of her feet, arms outstretched and begging for it. He’d protected her last night and she did quite like his accent, so a sense of familiar safety came from being around him.

“You don’t need to try to climb me,” Arthur chuckled as he did as she wanted. His gaze flickered from her to Leonardo’s room where she’d come out of. He must have been sleeping in an odd place and accidentally scared her. What good fun. With the girl’s legs locked around his waist and thin arms so tight around his neck, Arthur patted her back. “I’ll wager that Leonardo isn’t as frightening as you think he is.” 

Leonardo emerged from his bedroom, brushing his hand through his hair. “I had no intentions of scaring you, cara mia.” He’d only heard the story of what happened second hand, and grossly underestimated how timid and fragile her mindset was.

The only response given was a soft whine as she hid her face in Arthur’s neck and tightened her grip on him. “Scary.” Her whisper soft enough that only the writer caught it, to which he found quite amusing.

“This is quite the predicament you’ve gotten yourself into.” Arthur grinned at the other vampire. He wanted to bring her down for breakfast just like this. A triumphant entrance as he’d boast that he’d won her trust. “I hadn’t a clue you liked to torture young ones.”

“I saved her from a stack of books about to collapse on top of her. That’s the opposite of torture. I’m sorry, princess. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

No response came.

Leonardo tried speaking to her as they walked down to the dining hall. She refused to even look at him, only responding to Arthur when he asked her an unrelated question. He sighed in defeat as they reached the main door. It would take some time to recover from this incident.

A truly bad first impression.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp comte #ikevamp leonardo #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp theo #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp jean #ikevamp mozart #ikevamp sebastian #ikevamp napoleon #ikevamp dazai #ikevamp isaac #alara bayar #and so they met #the next part will introduce her to mozart and jean #comte adopts a child #he becomes a papa #eventually #we love comte

[nijiirorhyme]

NaruMitsu/WrightWorth Fic: Lights, Camera, Action! Chapter 2

Sorry for the double upload!

NaruMitsu/WrightWorth Fic: Lights, Camera, Action!

Fandom: Ace Attorney

Ship: Mitsurugi Reiji | Miles Edgeworth/Naruhodou Ryuuichi | Phoenix Wright, Ayasato Mayoi | Maya Fey/Karuma Mei | Franziska von Karma

Warnings: None

Tags:Alternate Universe - Actors, Other Additional Tags to be Added, More characters to be added

Description: Rookie actor Phoenix Wright can not believe his luck as he  scores his first major acting role in one of the most anticipated movies  of the year. But, what was better than starring in one of the most  anticipated films of the year? Starring in one of the most anticipated  films of this year with famous actor Miles Edgeworth.

A Wrightworth acting au where two dorks (eventually) fall in love!  

Chapter 2/?

Alternatively, it can be read here!

Text below cut!

Act 1 Scene 2  

October 6th, 10:10am

 Global Studios: Conference Room

Phoenix shifted in his seat, the heavy formal atmosphere unfamiliar to him. This was his first time ever having to properly sit down with the director of the movie and read through the script together. He needed to remind himself to breathe, and his nerves weren’t exactly aiding him to do so.

‘“Thanks for joining us today.” The director spoke curtly, but nonetheless it caused Phoenix to jump from his own hyper-awareness. “You all know why you’re here, so I’ll cut to the chase before I’m finished with my fourth cup of coffee”

‘Four cups of coffee?’ Phoenix thought. ‘We aren’t even five minutes into the meeting though…’

Just as Phoenix thought that, the strangely dressed director’s assistant smoothly pushed another cup of coffee across the table, comfortably sliding right into the director’s hand. He took a sip, “Make that five, Trite.”

Phoenix swallowed, ‘... I didn’t even say anything… And it’s “Wright”, not “Trite”...’

He soon found out that the director’s name was Godot. A strange name, if you asked Phoenix, but it must be a pseudonym. From then on, Phoenix’s first impression of the man felt like some bizarre dream. It almost felt as if it wasn’t real because every time he opened his mouth, Phoenix couldn’t comprehend anything he was saying. It was like that one incoherent dream he had where he was locked in a bedroom and this one talking pillow spoke to him in riddles about how to find the key.

No Time for Turnabouts, a suspenseful action movie which follows an elite detective known for solving any case he’s assigned to, Detective Kyle Solvit. After years of  dedicating his life solely to his career as a detective, he is tasked with his biggest operation yet; taking down the biggest underground crime group, the Liss Family. He carefully crafts an elaborate plan to go undercover as one of their own members in order to take out the group from the inside. However, Ruth Liss, the head of the Liss Family, catches wind of the detective’s plans, causing the entire mission to backfire on him, but not before he is saved by a carefully planned uprising amongst those he caused to turn against them.

Detective Solvit had no time or room for this mission to fail, thus the title of the movie reflected such. The ultimate reason as to why he had this mission in the first place, was not only for the greater good, but because of someone he absolutely needed to save. Years prior to when the movie takes place, Solvit had his first run-in ever with Liss over the debt his family had accumulated and left him with. With absolutely no money in his pockets to repay the debt, Liss takes his older sister as payment, making her his wife. She is never seen again. It is for this reason that Detective Solvit became a detective in the first place, waiting for the day he could see his older sister again.

When Phoenix first auditioned, he auditioned for the part of the super charming and cool detective, Kyle Solvit, but his dreams were dashed once he finally heard the news as to whether or not he passed the auditions. It turned out that they actually casted him as the heartless head of the Liss family. Though it was a shock at first, Phoenix was nevertheless ecstatic to be casted in his first major role… even though he had absolutely no idea how he would portray such a character.

Ruth Liss was a heartless man who prided himself on the fact that he would use anyone and anything to get what he wanted. No matter how many people put their faith in him, no matter how many people pledged allegiance to his family, he was willing to sacrifice anyone and anything to achieve his goal. He kept those who worked under him in line by making them fear him, and those who personally knew him were afraid to even breathe around him, which unfortunately, happened to be the complete opposite of how Phoenix was in real life.

An actor’s job is to portray the characters they are assigned to regardless if they have the same personality as the person portraying them or not, but for Phoenix, this differentiation was hard for him. How could a man who couldn’t even hurt a fly portray someone who would probably kill the fly, then as overkill light its carcass on fire in a way that dramatically displayed his power?

Whatever the answer was, Phoenix would do it. Not only so this movie would be a success, but so he could make his old mentor proud and perhaps… show a certain someone that he was worth at least some respect.

-

During the meeting, Phoenix remained stiff. From his renditions of his lines to every single time he spoke, he could feel an intense and aggressive stare assaulting him. He only noticed this from the corner of his eye, but the moments he did speak, he started to see Edgeworth’s eyebrows sink lower and lower in displeasement. However, on the contrary to Phoenix’s behaviour, Edgeworth was a natural. He would tell the directors what he would be doing for what scenes, gave constructive criticism on where he thought parts of the script could be improved, and even acted out some of the lines in order to get a feel for the ones he wasn’t necessarily keen about. Phoenix was in absolute awe. The fact that Edgeworth could flawlessly play a character in any genre of movie showed Phoenix how versatile the man was as an actor. Though Edgeworth was particularly mean to him just minutes ago, he was certainly admirable.

Phoenix, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to grasp his footing. As soon as he felt like he finally got it when he tried to interject or give his opinion much like Edgeworth successfully did, it would often fall flat as it would be countered by the man himself. After that, he knew that it would just be better if he didn’t talk after he embarrassed himself by suggesting that Kyle Solvit should perish by the end of the movie to which Edgeworth told him that they wanted to respect the original source material and killing the protagonist after all he went through would simultaneously kill the suspense the rest of the movie spent building up. Not like it was possible to alter the script significantly to begin with, so any of Phoenix’s suggestions were already null and void the moment he opened his mouth to speak.

12:13pm  

Once the meeting was finally over, Phoenix took in the deepest breath he had ever taken. For some reason, that meeting was a lot more emotionally draining than he thought it would be, but it felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, making him feel a bit lighter. Sure, he had a lot to do in order to prepare for the days they actually started shooting, but that was a problem for tomorrow’s Phoenix. Right now, the only thing that was on his mind was to go home, kick back, and relax-

“Nick!” Maya’s voice was so loud that it caused his ears to ring and almost spooked him right out of his seat. “Guess what I just did!”

“Something good hopefully?” He cautiously asked in a rising tone.

Maya nodded and gave him a smug look. “Well, I’ve been thinking… Since you and Edgeworth hate each other…” She trailed off.

‘Hate him? I’ve barely even spoken to him enough for me to hate him!’ Phoenix thought.  

“I talked to his agent and… guess who’s going out to grab coffee with the two of them!”

Phoenix froze, suspended in the motion of getting up from his seat. He was in utter disbelief. Coffee? With the two of them? How did Maya even get them to agree to this? Was it possible to cancel?

For some reason, the thought of interacting with the man intimidated him. Edgeworth didn’t seem like he was the talkative type, meaning that Phoenix would have to carry the conversation. Every time he thought of that fiery glare the man gave him when he was displeased with the rookie actor, it was enough to send a chill down Phoenix’s spine and send goosebumps all over his body.

One look at Maya told him that she was stoked for this opportunity. She spoke with such pride in her voice and with sparkles in her eyes that even Phoenix had a hard time making up an excuse as to why he couldn’t go. Besides, Maya was involved in almost every aspect of his life which included knowing his schedule and the fact he had nothing planned after this, so making one would be useless regardless.

“When? And how did you get them to agree to this?” He asked, perplexed.

“Now!” Maya grabbed him by the wrist, then started to drag him out of the room and down the hall. She looked over her shoulder right back at him, Phoenix barely being able to keep up with his ecstatic agent, “And I have my ways.” She giggled.

Phoenix didn’t know what strings she pulled, but needless to say, he was not looking forward to this little outing.

 October 6th 12:09pm  

Global Studios

“Hello, Ms…Von Karma, it’s nice to meet you! I’m Maya Fey, Phoenix Wright’s manager.” Franziska saw a shadow looming over her open binder as she was packing up to leave, an outstretched hand entering her vision.

Franziska looked up, finally making eye contact with the overly friendly girl. “It’s nice to meet you too uh… Ms. Maya Fey…” Hesitantly, she took the other girl’s hand, shaking it firmly. Franziska wasn’t used to this openly expressed friendliness.

“Maya’s just fine.” She said, shifting her own binder to sit more comfortably underneath her arm. A beat of silence passed before she spoke again. “This meeting was interesting! I’ve never been to anything like this before.”

“Indeed…” Franziska responded. “This is your first time being at a pre-production meeting, correct?”

Maya nodded, “Yep, and Nick’s too. We could have gone to more of them… but Nick’s never gotten any main roles besides this one…”

“He does seem like a foolish man.” The manager inwardly cringed when she thought of his suggestions throughout the meeting. Who would have thought that that foolish fool would foolishly recommend something so foolish? Asking if Kyle Solvit could die at the end of the movie… who did he think he was?

“Yep!” Maya affirmed. It seemed that Phoenix Wright was actually the fool she took him as. Then, she added, “That’s how he normally acts, but it’s okay! Somehow, it always ends up working out for him.”

“Somehow?” Franziska inquisitively raised an eyebrow.

Maya stroked her chin, pondering. “Well… there was this one time where he was an extra for this movie and he broke one of the props on set. The director was really mad, but!” Franziska flinched at how loud her voice became to emphasize the word.  “Luckily, they made an extra, so all he got was a scolding!”

…

Franziska looked down at the whip neatly wrapped around itself in her hand. If the man was here right this moment, she would not hesitate to strike him with it for being the fool he was.

“Anyways, speaking of Nick,” she continued, not even stopping to question why she had such a weapon. “I came here to talk to you about something.”

Usually, Franziska was not one for ideal chit-chat. If she mentally categorized someone as irrelevant, then she would cut the conversation short-- let alone have any conversation at all-- but, for some reason, she couldn’t turn the girl down. For some reason, Maya Fey intrigued her.  “What is it?” She asked.

Franziska felt awfully self-conscious of the woman in front of her, watching her as she pushed a stray piece of her long black hair behind her ear. “I was wondering if you and Edgeworth would want to come with us for some coffee or something? After all, I don’t think Edgeworth likes Nick all that much. It’d be a good chance for the two of them to get along.”

Franziska shut her thick binder with a resounding slam, Maya flinching ever so slightly. This caused her to feel slightly guilty, she didn’t mean to scare her. Then, she reached for a smaller notebook--her planner--and flipped it open to today’s date. Giving her and her little brother’s schedule a glance over, she closed it, looking back up at the woman. “Indeed, my little brother and I are not the biggest fans of that fool, but we would be happy to accompany the two of you.” Miles Edgeworth may complain to her later, but this could be considered a professional outing. If they wanted to make this movie good, they needed to cast away their disdain for the other man and get along. Perhaps, this was necessary.

“Yay! Thank you, Franny! I’ll go tell Nick right now! Mr. Godot gave me your number, so I’ll text you the details in a few!” As fast as she entered, just like that, Maya Fey left the room.

Filled with a bit of confusion as she processed the interaction she just had with the woman mere seconds ago, the only thing she could process out of all of that was the fact her heart skipped a beat when she heard Maya call her ‘Franny’.

She smiled to herself. Maybe scheduling this little outing with the two of them wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

#ace attorney #naruhodo ryuichi #mitsurugi reiji #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #wrightworth #narumitsu #i tried

[thanedai]

NAME: Dadarius Balanthe

ALIAS/NICKNAMES: Darus Volen, Skin, Carpeth

BIRTH DATE: 15th Urma

BIRTH PLACE: Delenum Village, Alsales

ETHNICITY: Alsalian/Fioren

LOCATION: Unknown

MARITAL STATUS: Single

FAMILY: Gotraius Bala (Father; deceased), Liandra Anthes (Mother; deceased), Narie Balanthe (Older sister; deceased), Roen Balanthe (Older brother; alive)

OCCUPATION: Soldier, Spy, Terrorist.

AFFILIATION: None

WEAPONS: Short sword  and daggers

FIGHTING STYLE: Zardian Warrior Combatives (Alsales’ old aggressive form of Zard combat; generally a hand-to-hand style, but can implement swords and shield. Uses magic to create an impentrable defense of the body, where a blade will glance off the fighter’s bare skin).

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Pansexual/Grey-romantic

ABILITIES:

MAGIC:

Mind Control: He can weave his magic into other people’s minds and force them to comply to his will. He does not need to speak in order to use this ability, however, he can if he so wishes. He can use what is called ‘double-layering’, telepathically pushing the suggestion, while speaking it out loud with extra magic. Should he be unable to speak, however, Darus simply needs to use more power to push the suggestion on someone.

Should the person be stronger of mind, they can shake off his suggestion even under repeated use. However, normal people have rarely ever been able to do such a thing. Darus can use this ability on more than one person at a time, whether he’s in their presence or at a distance (so long as he can see the person he can send his suggestion, though incredibly long distances have proven to be weaker than closer ones). He has controlled up to thirty people this way using short-term orders. If he needs the person for longer, he will have to remain near enough to continue giving orders, or to push his magic more.

Suggestions can last for several hours depending on how much magic he used to control a person. If he weaved his magic into someone’s mind, they will be under his control for at least 24 hours, though it’s rare he will ever need someone for that long anyway.

Those he has used his control on are usually too confused to explain the situation, especially if he has altered memories or told them to forget things. Therefore they become unreliable even after the effect has worn off.

Over-use backlashes on Darus with severe migraines and only rest can bring his magic levels back to normal.

His mind control has made him an incredibly good at infiltration and remaining unseen, as those who have seen him usually are unaware of this fact later on and cannot give an accurate report of what occurred.

Teleportation: His second special magic. He needs to only think of himself being in another place and then push himself to materialize there. It takes far more energy than his mind control magic does. He can go practically anywhere using this magic, but he has to have at least seen a picture of the place he wishes to go to, or have been there previously. Over-use will cause severe pain over his entire body and render him immobile until he regains his strength. Darus has regularly done this to himself, and has learned to push through the pain, but this keeps him from using any other magic for the time being.

Armor: He can use magic to strengthen his skin to near-impenetrable so that it becomes armor. He can use it to shield only certain parts of his body, or his entire body although the latter requires more energy.

Physical enhancement: He can use his magic to make himself stronger, and faster for as long as his energy lasts.

Word Magic: Because his magic is not specific to any emotion or element like others might be, he has low-level of either. What he has is ‘word magic’ meaning he must speak aloud the specific incantation, unlike others. Darus carries a magic tome with him, of which he can cast Combust (a fire-based magic which bursts flames from beneath his opponents feet), Defend (temporary weak shield which can deflect one magic-based attack), Detonate (creates an explosion at a specific target), Burst (a gust of strong winds which will cut into an opponent), and Heal. Without the book, however, he cannot cast.

Because of his weakness in offensive energy-manipulative magic, Darus has done everything in his power to enhance all his strengths, as well as making his weaker skills (word magic) as best as possible.

NON-MAGIC BASED SKILLS:

Incredible hand-to-hand combat skills, as well as with blades. He’s an expert at concealing weapons.

As a spy, he has learned to make himself invisible with the use of disguises and can infiltrate almost any facility without being seen or caught.

He’s a public speaker, the kind of person who could probably persuade someone to come to his side; at least when he is attempting to be reasonable.

He’s a linguist and learns languages fairly easily.

He trains animals.

HEALTH:

Physical: Good health, in general. Has three jagged scars that cross from the right side of his face to his left.

Mental:

Poor anger management skills.

Has some sociopathic/psychotic tendencies.

HEIGHT: 6'7

HAIR COLOR: Light brown

EYE COLOR: Red

SKIN COLOR: White

BODY TYPE: Athletic.

NATIONALITY: N/A

REAL LIFE FC: Cillian Murphy

ANIMATED FC: –

PERSONALITY:

Patient | Aggressive | Cunning | Manipulative | Decisive | Dominant | Leader

ABOUT:

     Darus was born to a surprisingly poor family in Delenum Village. His father was an outcast, having once been a powerful Zard in Valden City. He broke several Sacred Rules and was stripped of his rank. His magic was sealed, leaving him with little of it to use. He found refuge in Delenum Village as a delivery man, taking goods from village to town to city. Sometimes he would act as an assistant to the healers, but for the most part his existence was one of disappointment. Darus’ mother was a Delenum native from a large family of farmers. Gotair and Lia met when the former was searching for work, and Lia’s father granted him a job as delivery driver for their foods.

    Darus was the third of their children, and the last. It was rare that couples ever had more than two or three children, as Ildrat were long-lived people who could wait thousands of years before deciding to have their next kin (and in that time could have changed partners several times). They were close and when they were young, before their paths were decided, they spent hours playing games together.

Darus grew up on Gotair’s stories of his time in Valden City, and the feats the High Master Zards. The three children were of strong magic, following from Gotair, as he continued his Royal Bloodline of Bala. Narie, the eldest, was also the strongest. She was unable to stay in Delenum for long as her magic grew unstable, and though Gotair knew of ways to help her, he did not have the means. He sent Narie off to Valden City to study in Zard Tower where she thrived. Narie returned to Delenum every holiday, and any length of time she was able. Darus learned even more of the Zards and became enthralled. He wanted to follow in Narie’s footsteps and bring peace to all of Praxon.

   The middle child, Roen, showed great skill in magic as well, but asked not to be sent to the Zards. He wished to enter into the military, for a war with Loesis was brewing and he wished to help. Neither parent liked the idea, but there was nothing that could be done. Soon they wouldn’t have a choice of whether to enter the military at all. Both Gotair and Lia were drafted when war really did break out, and Darus was left in Narie’s care. They moved to Valden City and as soon as Darus was of age, he joined the Zard Apprenticeship. It was a few years into his study when Narie died. She and the other High Master Zards were tasked with creating Alsales new Spirit Orb. The previous had been burnt out by an attack on Alsales. Narie believed that creating the Orb would help attain peace for Alsales, as it was a symbol of solidarity between warring nations. Darus wanted to believe that. He was devastated and almost left back home to Delenum. But it had been Narie’s parting words to tell him to keep going on with his Apprenticeship, and that she would always be with him through the Orb. So he continued on.

   Perhaps it was the words of his Master during the Apprenticeship, or perhaps it was simply seeing the continued ravages of the world, but Darus soon grew to hate Alsales. He hated the warrior ideology, the declarations of wanting peace and failing always to achieve it, the way in which those who did not have a powerful name were stepped on and forgotten. Faldren Dulin, the First Zard of Alsales, had a statue erected in Valden City, but the other Zards who lost their lives creating the Orb were forgotten. Perhaps it was that. For Darus loved his sister more than anything or anyone in the world, and Alsales had forgotten her cause; her sacrifice.

   These emotions stirred in him for years, and years. He began to formulate a plan against his country. During a truce when the King of Loesis was to change, Darus was sent with his Master, Gelena, to oversee the ceremony and pursue an alliance with the new King. Darus met the young Petric Danfert and the two of them became allies in their want of destruction against Alsales. Darus, for vengeance, Petric to show that the Veruna could be as strong as the Ildrat.

  Darus made Master. Gelena, celebrated with him that night and he told her of his plan. He thought she would understand, that she was of the same mindset, but it turned out she did not have the spine. He was forced to kill her. When the Zard Council came to investigate her death, Darus claimed she committed suicide. Using the even as an excuse, he resigned his Mastership and left to become part of the military.

  He spent years going back and forth from Alsales to Loesis, using his skills to bring his own plans into fruition. Eventually Alsales overpowered the Loesian army and won the war. Darus decided it was time he step out of the shadows and finish what he started.

#about (darus)

[taephorian]

Lost and Crying

♡ pairings: jimin x reader

彡 genre: angst, fluff

★ word count: 3.2k

⚠ warnings: mentions of cyber bullying and some triggering words

summary: when you return home crying, jimin comforts you

1:35AM, the clock on your phone reads, your watery eyes reflecting the intense and luminous light from the screen. The sky has turned pitch black and the stars have come as if to welcome everyone back to these hours of comfort and relaxation. Fogs form by the cold weather soften the hard lines of buildings and diffuse the orange glow of sodium-vapor street lamps.

Despite the bitterly cold weather, you are still dragging your feet along the deserted streets, trudging home with heavy footsteps with no intention to reach your destination any time soon. You are clad in a t-shirt under a sweater with a thick navy green winter jacket on top of the white material. However, the large amount of layers do not prove effective at all.

Your defined nose has turned blobby red overtime and your lips are parched and swollen from being in the cold for too long. Your constant sniffles break the silence of the night city. Nothing is going your way today.

The "wonderful" friend of yours has posted fabricated rumours along with malicious comments on a number of social media platforms about you. Everything about you sleeping with guys for money is all a sham, but no one chose to believe you. Whatever that has triggered her to do this, you have no idea. Just the thought of losing more friends shatters your heart. Who are you going to gossip and hang out with now?

Multiple notifications cause your phone to vibrate, but you refuse to check them. You solely assume that they are just comments calling you "slut", "bitch", and "ugly". Giving the power button a long press, you power off your mobile, not wanting to get wounded even further. All you want is to make amazing friends, go on amazing shopping sprees and amazing dates with them. But by the looks of it, none of these are possible anymore.

Tears in your eyes are filled to the brim but you are not willing to let it fall. You have to stay strong. You can not let this get to you. The only part you are at fault is when you decided to make friends with the wrong people — people who frames the innocent. Shivering from the chilly atmosphere, you hope that the boys are all asleep by the time you reach home.

1:58AM, the clock hanging on the grey bedroom wall reads. The boys are all in deep slumber, the perfect weather lulling them to dreamland. The day has been incredibly long and exhausting for them — 12 hours of strenuous practice and recording have finally taken a huge toll on them. All the lights in the two-storey apartment are off except for Jimin's room.

The orange glow of the lamp beside his bed illuminates the whole room. Jimin has been tossing and turning for the past hour, unable to let sleep take over him. The softness and coziness of the white silken mattress are usually the hidden solutions for him to be able to fall asleep right away, but none of those are helping his current situation.

He hates that the night is so unusually silent that the sound of him anxiously typing away on the keyboard of his mobile phone is the only noise he is able to hear. The empty feeling in his heart sink heavier and heavier as the minute hand of the clock ticks by. Where the hell are you?

Only a couple of hours ago did you inform the boys by texting them that you were going out for dinner with your friends, and Jimin was almost reluctant to let you go, because who the hell goes for dinner at 9.30PM? But being your good friend for many years, he knew better than anyone to let it slide just this once.

He has seen you overworking yourself for the past couple of weeks and he thought that it was a good idea for you to get some fresh air and have fun with your friends. He should have known better though, when he saw the unwashed dishes in the kitchen basin, signifying that you have had your dinner before going out. He simply shrugged it off, thinking that you lied to him purely because you did not want him to worry.

Regret flashes Jimin's eyes as he rubs his concerned face with sweaty palms. He should have contacted you right away when he knew you are not out for dinner. Now that you are neither replying to his messages nor answering his calls, Jimin is not able to help but think of unpleasant possibilities of what might have happened to you.

It has been more than two hours past midnight, but all the text messages, "Where are you?", "Please answer my call," are all left unread by you. Should he be more worried about the reason you lied to him or about the fact that you are not home yet? You have never come home so late before without making it known to at least one of the boys. You do not like to make them worry.

As much as Jimin desires to wake the boys up to check whether you have contacted them, he is thoughtful enough to consider their feelings. He knows that none of them yearns to be stirred up in the middle of a Friday night after a fatiguing day. They have to make good use of this well -deserved rest time.

He can never just sleep it off like this is nothing, because this — you going missing at two in the morning — is definitely not nothing. Should he go out in the chilly weather just to find you? At two in the morning? He can feel the anxiety that is beginning to spread within him as he gets to his feet before pacing back and forth like a caged tiger.

Lifting up his right hand only to run them along his locks for the umpteenth time, his left hand remains on his hips. The hand originally on his hair is brought down to rest on the closet beside him when he leans towards it. It is quite surprising that none of the boys has woken up yet based on how loud Jimin's thoughts are.

Basically, he craves nothing more than you in his arms, completely safe and sound...

Jimin has never and does not want to doubt his hearing. However, when the sound of someone pressing on the keypad lock can be heard, he cannot help but question if he heard it incorrectly. Are you finally home after another excruciating thirty minutes of him panicking in the living room? Are you actually back?

Rising from his position on the grey leather sofa, Jimin watches the front door being pushed open ever so slowly…

Behind the door reveals the silhouette of a brunette girl, her delicate hands clutching tightly on to her phone. You warily take a step in the house before closing the door behind you gently. The lights in the living room are off so you assume that the boys should all be asleep by now, therefore you have to be quiet. You do not want them to wake up and see your face — pale and dull, with a lack of colour.

The actual reason for the unlit living room is because; one, Jimin does not want to wake the boys up; two, he is lazy and was busy panicking. The sound of clear shuffling of footsteps that are definitely not yours results in you freezing on the spot after putting your phone down on the dining table.

Twirling your head around to find out the source of the noises, you can barely make out a dark figure with your watery eyes. Jimin's figure emerges in front of you as you take in the sight of his grave expression and his silver hair that has been dishevelled by running his hand through it numerous times.

He gives you a complete once-over, scanning your body for any injuries or cuts with his eyes that are laced with worry. Studying from your quivering pink lips to the three layers of clothing that cling to you but still unable to keep your shivering form warm, his eyes met yours — your broken ones.

Your eyes are still the same as Jimin perceived it the previous time — captivatingly beautiful and pretty, hopes and dreams, young and deep…

No, they are a little different this time. You think you can simply get away with the salty tears in your sparkling eyes? Jimin has been your friends for ages, and he can see through you like a piece of paper without any struggling. He notices every time you are either distressed or troubled, and nothing can and will stop him from approaching you to talk about it.

Something about you is off; he can sense it.

A drop of tear and a pathetic sniffle from you is enough to bring Jimin back to his senses. You are weeping with tears spilling down your cheeks uncontrollably, and then you are sobbing as your breath shortens with a sudden expulsion.

No, stop. Stop it. Stop crying.

You are not supposed to cry. On the way back home, you had vowed to yourself not to let a single drop of tear escape, and now you have broken that promise. But what are you supposed to do other than shedding tears now that Jimin is in front of you, staring at you with eyes darting about in concern?

Quit making a fool of yourself and stop crying like a baby.

Maybe you will be able to, if Park Jimin did not just engulf you in a protective and comforting embrace; his left hand on the small of your back, and his right hand on the back of your head to pull you closer to his chest. His palm runs up and down your hair in an attempt to soothe you down, but you only break down even further.

Your arms gradually make its way around Jimin's waist as he let his chin rest on your shoulder that is trembling violently from your irregular draws of breath. It is more than just crying; it is the kind of helpless and uncontrollable sobbing that slips from your lips ceaselessly.

"What's wrong?" Jimin decides to raise the problem despite knowing well that you are not able to answer him at the moment. The pitch of his voice is lower and more hushed than usual, as if he is fearful that if he speaks any louder, you will shatter apart into small pieces.

With you being the only girl who has been living in the same house with the boys for longer than anyone can remember, it is no eye-opener that at least one of them — Jimin — has developed feelings for you. Having you, the girl whom he adores wholeheartedly, breaks down completely in front of him, makes his heart sting immensely. It unconditionally tears his heart to find you returning home in such an unpleasant state.

You cry infrequently in the presence of any of the boys as you usually keep most of your hardship to yourself. Even though Jimin has reminded you multiple times not to keep it to yourself and to look for him or the others whenever you need to rant or to get advice, he knows that this is a habit of yours and is tough to change.

With the sight of you failing to hold your sorrows in, Jimin recognises that the situation is definitely not the most ideal for you. The way you nuzzle your head up against his chest and the way your fingers grip tightly on to the black fabric of his t-shirt only makes him even more curious about the reason to the tears streaming down your face.

However, repentance and bitterness piqued when he grasps that he was not there for you when you needed him. He was too engaged with his over tiring job that he downright forgotten to check up on you to see how you have been doing.

He is incredibly infuriated at whoever disturbed you, and is more than prepared to square up to them. It does not matter if it is a small little girl or the buffest gangster with tattoos and well-developed muscles, Jimin will make sure to confront them so that you will never be hurt again.

The soft whimpers and tiny sniffles you create that escapes your lips only present you more vulnerably. This constantly gives rise to Jimin's will of protecting and taking care of you. He undoubtedly despises the need to see your pregnable condition. He is remarkably disgusted at those who tend to take advantage of your kind-hearted and selfless nature.

Jimin guides you towards the sofa by your hand and sits you down before patiently letting you cry it all out. The comforting and reassuring words that he whispers to you are beginning to alleviate your heavy heart and strong emotions. "It's okay, it's going to be alright", "I'm here, don't worry".

You profoundly value Jimin for being by your side even though he must be filled with fatigue after such a draining day for him. Although you are usually the type who keep their problems to themselves, you wish to let him know about what has happened as soon as possible. However, you are not able to compose yourself that quickly. "T-They… They H-hate me—"

"Shh…" Jimin hushes you as you distinctly have complications vocalising in between snivels. Hopelessly trying to hold back your tears, you focus on your natural breathing pattern as you attempt to inhale and exhale deeply.

He has never let go of you or left you alone from then on, only when he has to leave your side to grab a box of tissues. For the next twenty minutes, the silver-haired man has a tight grip of you and holds you as close as possible until you simmer down eventually.

Taking hold of a piece of tissue from the yellow box, he assists you in drying your salty tears, gently dabbing below your eyes. He changes the tissue every time the previous one is too damp, not minding getting his fingers a little wet if it is for you. Infinite amount of thoughts and possibilities about why you are so down-heartened floods his mind, but he holds his curiosity patiently, careful not to push you too much.

"Jimin…" You call hesitantly, making the concerned male fix his gaze on you. Responding with a soft hum, he waits for you to continue with a small encouraging smile plastered on his lips. He braces himself for what is going to come at him, hoping that nothing genuinely serious happened to you. But the next few words that falls from your mouth tells him otherwise.

"If someone tells you that I sleep with guys for money, would you believe it?" Your voice is hardly a whisper and is barely audible to Jimin, but you know that he has heard you because the movement of him wiping off your tears stops. The man who was so focused on cleaning your tears now has a frown that is quick to replace the smile that has dropped. His arm remains raised, tissue still in hand, but you become the centre of his attention.

"...What?"

That is the only word that Jimin is able to squeeze out from his throat. He is a at a bereft of speech, not able to bring himself to say anything more. He does not know what he is supposed to think or say. Sleeping with guys? For money? You? He ought to burst out laughing at your foolish joke, but with a glance at your firm and genuine face, he understands that this is more than just a jest.

You catch sight of Jimin's unreadable expression, his eyes boring into yours. Not able to hold his powerful gaze, you fix your eyes on your fingers that have been fidgeting from being too nervous. You gulp and bite your lips, hoping that he will not misunderstand and take this the wrong way. "You won't, right? Why do they all think it's true? It's so unfair—"

"Y/N, can you slow down? What's going on?" Jimin places the tissue on the table before settling his hands on your shoulders, rubbing them slowly in order to pacify you. He can tell you are getting particularly agitated and he needs you to regain your composure before getting more ruffled.

"It's just… It's so unfair that my best friend stabbed me on the back after so many years of friendship…" You go on to describe the situation you are in and show Jimin the distasteful comments on social media. Jimin observes the way your eyebrow creases when you get vexed and the way your pink lips form a small pout as you speak.

As much as he wants to aw at your adorable and lovable expressions, he does not have the mood to. He holds a tremendous disgust and abhorrence towards your friend's behaviour. The wet tears in your eyes that he see you hold back carries the misery and despair you have been concealing the past few hours.

Jimin feels like a sharp needle is starting to pierce through his chest and to making its way to his wavering heart. You did absolutely nothing to deserve all this. He scoffs at how ignorant your friend is that she is fully unenlightened about how amazing of a person you are. She is oblivious to the beauty that you contain inside and outside of you.

He incapable of believing how you managed to befriend someone so insensitive and heartless. Being undoubtedly positive about you deserving so much better and more, Jimin presents you a smile that reaches his eyes. It is not a smile that teases you, neither is it one that shows pity; it is a smile that gives genuine love and support.

Even though a tiny part of Jimin's heart pity you for all the complications you have gone through, he is firm about not showing that side of him. He is confident that not in any way do you require pity from anyone; what you ought to have is encouragement and reassurance. In this regard, you can have faith in yourself and trust that you have greater people in your life. This drawback point can also be something you remember your whole being to help you strengthen and enhance your mental resilience.

Tugging you back into his chest for another warm embrace, Jimin wraps his arms around your no longer quivering body. "You'll be fine", "You're worth so much more." Encouraging and motivating words spill from his plump lips once again, knowing that you need them now.

"Thank you… you know… for staying up with me." You speak, a broad smile plastered on your face.

And there it is, the smile that lights up the whole universe — the prettiest thing Jimin has ever seen in a long time. The smile that he misses and adores so much, and caused his heart to melt. It holds just the right amount of genuine sweetness and shyness that makes an unexpected warmth to rush through him.

"Trust me. You're beautiful, and don't you ever dare forget that."

END.

#bts #jimin #jungkook #taehyung #namjoon #hoseok #yoongi #jin #bts fanfiction #bts scenarios #angst #fluff #jimin x reader

[therachelperspective]

TV + MOVIE | Looking (2014-2015) + Looking (TV Movie, 2016)

I am categorizing this under the same denomination as Firefly in that they were both seemingly good shows with potential, cancelled after 1 to 2 seasons because of low ratings. Show of hands who else calls that system bullshit 🤚

THE SHOW

Admittedly, Looking is nowhere near the same caliber as its predecessors (read: The L Word and Queer as Folk), but had it been given a chance, I think could have become something good. I was invested in these characters enough to be bummed when I realized I had finished the first season. Then again, that happens with short episodes and short seasons; it all goes by too quickly. As soon as you start to get into it, it’s over.

I didn’t think it was super groundbreaking setting this show in San Francisco (it really makes total sense given the LGBTQ community the city has), and most of the time, the pace of the narrative seems fairly sluggish. But slow isn’t always bad; it was refreshing not having a scandal every second in a television show. And just because it lacked that type of intense drama doesn’t deem it bad or not worth watching.

What I found most disappointing was that, in its two seasons, I didn’t feel that Patrick had nearly as much character development as Dom or Agustin. While I was invested enough in his story to care whether he ended up with Richie or Kevin (I’m still undecided about who I’m rooting for), overall as a character Patrick’s personality remained entirely the same through most of the series. The few moments in season two where he stood up for himself to Kevin were somewhat redeeming, but a lot of his character was stagnant. Dom showed some ambition and pursued his restaurant, and Agustín became a much more selfless person as he started working for a youth shelter… But Patrick only ever really sought relationships and whined to his friends when things weren’t working out for him and/or were not the way he imagined. I recall a moment during the series when he was ranting about what he wanted in a relationship, but not once did I ever hear him talk about those things to the people he was dating before actually dating them. It was honestly no surprise when things didn’t work out. I will say, as a habitual television viewer, that it was, however, more intriguing to see the reserved lead character be such a main focus of the show, rather than the more sexually driven character placed at the forefront – like QAF’s Brian Kinney or The L Word’s Shane.

When I reached the end of season two, I was glad knowing there was a 90-minute TV movie to really give it some closure. I mean, they could have let the show just end as is, letting everyone use their imaginations as to how the show ended up, and it would have worked just as well, but adding a longer finale episode (a TV “movie”) will most likely give it a more to a true close. Just another reason why cancelling shows so quickly makes no sense to me. In the case of both Firefly and Looking, BOTH of them came back for a final movie to wrap up everything that needed wrapping. Why not just let the series continue a little longer, and let it conclude in a more natural way than trying to force concluding answers to lingering questions into a couple of hours? 


A few other notes: I loooooved seeing Daniel Franzese – Damien from Mean Girls – as a supporting character (he was such a beautiful bear), and honestly he was one of my favorites in the show. But Scott Bakula could have been skipped. I would like to talk to the casting director about why they believed Scott Bakula was the best choice for the role of Lynn. Doris and Dom’s friendship is the best, and the history between Dom and Patrick is one I don’t think I’ve seen before, which I liked. I’m just always jealous of TV show friendships and how close they are to one another.

THE MOVIE

The finale begins with a nine month flash forward; Patrick had since moved back to Colorado to “work things out,” and was returning to San Francisco for **SPOILER** Agustín and Eddie’s wedding! All of the cast has returned – which is a feat in my eyes, considering the finale was filmed a little over a year after the last episode of the show.

Let’s be real, though... this was just a 90-minute vehicle for us to figure out who Patrick would end up with. The other characters had their respective scenes about what was going on in their lives (Dom with a successful food window; Agustín and his marriage; etc.), but the movie mostly revolved around stolen kisses and longing glances for Patrick’s central arc.

Also, will someone please inform me on why Frank was still around – in both the show AND the movie – after his breakup with Agustín? I don’t believe he really added anything to Agustín’s arc other than a very, very brief “Will they or won’t they get back together?” scene. Maybe he stuck around to illustrate how small the gay community is in San Francisco? Patrick did comment on that at one point. Yes, I’ll just stick with that.

There was a scene I did relish where, upon arriving at a coffee shop to discuss business, Kevin completely reamed Patrick about who he was as a person during their relationship and it was so wonderfully accurate about Patrick’s character in the show. But dare I say, in the time between show and finale, Patrick did seem to have matured. Not much, but enough where you felt he was more level headed to deal with whatever romantic venture he would take on next. And while I couldn’t help but root for both of Patrick’s romantic interests – they both had their good moments – I believe he did end up with the right person.

OVERALL

I enjoyed the show; I did. But not where I feel so strongly about it, like other reviewers online. I’ve seen a lot where they make it sound like Looking is the crown jewel of LGBTQ television.

Looking does have qualities that other shows do not (including, apparently, much more lax rules about nudity; thank you HBO), and I love Jonathan Groff while also becoming new fans of some other actors... but I guess for me, it was something to cross off from my watch list and to pass the time. I typically rate what I watch (movies and shows alike) based on whether I would want to own it and/or if I would want to watch it again... and I don’t think I would for Looking. If it would have aired longer, and I were given more material to base my opinions off of, maybe I could get on board with its so-called brilliance. But for now, it was entertainment – because where else could I see Jonathan in a leather vest?!!?! – and it’s time to move on to my next binge.

#quarantine #quarantine viewing #quarantine watching #looking #hbo looking #tv #tv show #television #television show #jonathan groff #review #reviews

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 1-19 NIGHT: 命运的拐点 Destiny’s Turning Point Translation [3rd Beta Test]

*Light and Night Master-list is under WIP *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Game is releasing in 4 days!!! *Join the Light & Night Discord~ *Beta Test’s main story tag will be #Dreams of Light and Night

By the time I returned backstage, everyone was discussing where they should go to celebrate later.

MC: You guys go on without me. I'll catch up once I'm done packing up here.

Gao Cheng nodded before leaving with Wu Yue and the others.

I headed back to the preparation room alone. It was definitely way more empty now, compared to all the hustle and bustle that had been going on during the contest.

❖☆———————————★❖

I folded all of the clothes into neat little piles before placing them into the box. The last coat hangs upon the highest hanger. I stretched upwards as far as I could on tiptoes, but alas, that didn't quite make the cut.

MC: I should go find a stool.

Stepping atop the stool, I finally managed to retrieve the heavy coat. I held it with both hands, carefully using my foot to feel around for the ground.

However, I suddenly missed my footing just as my foot finally brushed the floor—

MC: Crap!

I hurriedly gathered the clothes into my protective grasp and brace for impact. Yet, all I felt was the feeling of someone firmly supporting my shoulders from behind, catching me as I fell.

???: Careful.

❖☆———————————★❖

I whipped around in surprise, only to be faced with a pair of familiar eyes.

MC: Evan!?

He nodded, but he didn't look the slightest bit surprised about it at all. He smoothly took the clothes in my hands and hung them inside the closet.

❖☆———————————★❖

Evan: Are you okay?

MC: I'm okay. Thank you, but what are you doing here?

He was dressed in a respectable suit, just like when we first met.

Given his tall stature, I’d have no doubt thought him either a model or one of the guests that had been invited for the contest, had I never seen him before.

Evan: Work reasons. I never thought that I'd be meeting you here again, of all places.

MC: Work?

But all the staff members of this event don uniforms, and he didn’t have a media badge pinned to his chest either.

MC: Wait, you work for Warson?

Evan hesitated, his lips curling into an arc, yet he made no move to refute it.

MC: I can't believe such coincidences actually exist in this world…

Evan: I've seen your work. I love it.

MC: You don't have to comfort me. I'm fine.

Evan: I'm not trying to comfort you.

Evan: Aesthetics is something very personal and fickle. While there may be people who don’t accept your work, there will naturally always be others who will acknowledge it.

Evan: And it just so happens that I'm one of those who do.

Evan: Can you tell me why you decided to use the strongest Black Chiffon to make the hat?

MC: It's because I feel that it is striking despite how ordinary it looks.

MC: I like how tough it looks despite being so ordinary.

Evan: What a coincidence. This material is also what the lining of my first suit was made of.

Evan: It does look very ordinary.

Evan: Unfortunately, I accidentally got it snagged onto something and it ripped. That was when I realized that the lining was still intact with little damage.

Evan: So, see? There will always come a time where the strength masked beneath all the ordinariness has a chance to shine.

Evan: Plus, if you look at things in the long run, it is more often than not the ordinary things that bring about the most pleasant surprises.

Saying so, he faced me with a smile. His eyes were filled with emboldened certainty.

I suddenly felt as if a warm and gentle breeze had come and blown all the complex feelings I harboured within my heart, along with all the embarrassment I felt.

Turns out that I am not as alone on this creative path to design as I’d initially thought. There was still someone out there who’s expecting great things for my future, at least.

MC: Yeah, thank you.

Evan's smile turned a little exasperated at that.

Evan: Why are we back to square one again just like the night when we first met?

Evan: You've already said "thank you" to me a good many times now.

I awkwardly fiddled with my bangs, looking away in hopes of changing the topic.

MC: Right, speaking of that day… Could you wait for me for a bit? I've got something I want to give you.

I reopened the box that I’d just sealed up and rummaged around inside until I finally found the jewellery box housed at the very bottom of it, where a smoky-grey pin was kept.

MC: It's a gift for you.

Evan was stunned, seemingly quite surprised.

Evan: You made this?

MC: Yup. I couldn't sleep due to all the adrenaline I felt when I got home that day, so I made this.

MC: I want to give this to you as thanks for the coffee that day.

MC: I didn't know if I'd ever see you again, so I just carried it around with me just in case luck decides to be on my side.

MC: I honestly never thought that I’d be seeing you again this soon. This tie pin might look a little crude, but I hope you don’t mind it.

Evan looked at the tie clip in his hand, the light in his eyes dulling a little.

MC: I can still make changes to it if you think it doesn’t look good enough. This was honestly something I made in a jiffy.

Evan: Thank you. I really like it.

He shook his head, fastening it securely onto his tie with a look of utter seriousness.

He didn’t look quite the same as I’d imagined him to with the tie pin on, but it suited him surprisingly well. Much better, in fact.

His tie was now decorated with a sliver of smokey grey. It was just like a beam of light that penetrated through the fog: Bright, but not blinding.

MC: Great! It really suits you.

I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. It was then that my phone started vibrating in my pocket.

It was a message from Gao Cheng asking me if I’d finished packing up all the stuff on my end, and when I’d reach the celebration.

Evan: You have plans after this?

MC: Yeah.

Evan: I won't hold you up any longer then. Thank you for your gift, I'll make sure to treasure it well.

MC: You're welcome. I'll be leaving first then.

I packed the rest of the stuff into the box, lifted it into my arms, and left the preparation room.

❖☆———————————★❖

He took out a jewellery box from his pocket where a smokey grey tie clip lay within.

It was much more sophisticated than the one he currently had on. Whether it be the materials it was made of, or the level of craftsmanship it was made with, it was still superior by many leaps and bounds.

Seeing the girl’s gradually disappearing figure, Evan lowered his eyes,

Something peculiar flickered in his eyes for a moment as he suddenly thought of the words that the girl had said earlier.

Evan: I know... Who would've thought that such coincidences exist in this world?

❖☆————— ⊹ Dreams of Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 1-16) | Next Part: (Chapter 1-19 Light) / Chapter 1-20

#光与夜之恋 #Light and Night #Otome #Translations #Tencent #萧逸 #Osborn #齐司礼 #Sariel #陆沉 #Evan #查理苏 #Charlie #夏鸣星 #Jesse #Dreams of Light and Night

[the-four-disaster-bastards]

How long have Elgor and Alteir known each other and how did they meet?

((They’ve known each other for about 50 years at this point. By now, they pretty much may as well be married, but it certainly didn’t start that way. Here’s a rp with @renegadenephilim of how their first meeting played out!))

—–

     Most can agree that the Earth is a desolate, dark place, razed by the hoards of demons that roam it. Light itself seems to struggle to reach the planet, and even when it does, it rarely offers comfort. The harsh sunlight that beats down on the Ashlands is proof of that, leaving little of that desolate realm and the broken skyscrapers that border it trapped under heat so thick that it warps the air.

     Such heat should be stifling to all that attempt to move through it, but for one particular runaway frantically climbing the broken flights of stairs that still line the inside of one of the dilapidated skyscrapers, it could hardly matter less. Many don’t dare to climb so high, where they could be picked off by the remaining Hellguard who still patrol the skies. If he can just find somewhere high enough to hide himself from the hoard for a while, he stands a chance of survival.

     With every flight he climbs, with every bit closer he gets to the sun, another one of his scales turns gold. That might concern him, if he wasn’t so worried about hiding himself.

     Another few flights of stairs finally take him to the roof, where there’s just enough left of a storage room at the very top of the building for him to squeeze into. He pushes the door open and forces himself through its frame, ignorant to how the sunbeams shining in through the holes in the ceiling seem almost opaque in how bright they are. He has enough space to huddle in the corner and keep himself out of sight, and that is what matters.

     That is, until his tail sweeps through one of the rays of light, and is met with a burning sensation across the skin that came in contact. The demon hisses and brings his tail closer to himself, only for his eyes to go wide when he sees the change in color to his hide.

     "What in the nine circles…?“

     He tilts his head skyward and gazes into the strange, unearthly light. It yields no answers for him, instead leaving only a split second for him to react as its luminosity increases exponentially, bathing everything it touches in burning white.

     There’s no scream, no roar, or no sound of impact—just a brilliant sunburst that encompasses the entire tip of that skyscraper, large enough to be seen from miles around, burning brighter than the sun for the crucial few seconds that it lasts.

     While there are, fortunately, no Hellguard close by enough to be of any concern, there is one former member of their armies whose eye is caught by the brilliant light.

    He notices it only as a glint off the weapon he sharpens at first, but then it becomes far too bright to be natural, in a way that is all too familiar. From where he sits in one of the half-ruined buildings across from the source, he turns his white-blue gaze upward, and finds, to his chagrin, that the light is so bright even he now has to squint against it.

    Perhaps that shouldn’t surprise him, but the presence of the golden light itself does. Why would it be here, so far away from any place one would expect it?

     He takes it upon himself to investigate. He takes to the air with redemption cannon in hand, just in case.

       Fortunately for him, it becomes evident that the weapon he carries will not be necessary as soon as the ruins of the skyscraper’s peak are reached.

     The being caught in the epicenter of the light lies motionless on the ground, taking only the slow, shallow breaths that those without consciousness can take. There’s no evidence of a struggle in the area, but the wounds he’s sustained might have suggested otherwise in any other place.

     Fragments of scales and tinted bone surround the being’s body, as if they were forcefully shorn away from him by the light. His hands and feet are bloodied, yet still shimmer with the remnants of the energy that just burst throughout the sky. This same energy crests the back of his head and the tip of his tail.

     Most striking is the damage–if it can be called that–to his wings. Blood runs down them in thin streaks, acting as lingering evidence of the transformation they’ve just been dealt. They now faintly resemble the build of the Destroyer’s wings, save for the golden membranes that bind them to his back and tail. Those too glow with the same heavenly light.

    It’s obvious that this creature used to be a demon from his horns and animalistic features. Now that he’s been touched by the light, however, it’s hard to say what he should be called.

     The fallen angel hovers a short distance away from the unconscious demon, pointing his weapon almost without thinking.

     Every bit of ingrained instinct in him is trained to kill demons on sight. Uncountable years of combat have made it second nature, if not first nature. It’s almost everything he knows; it’s almost everything he’s ever done.

     But he doesn’t shoot.

     This demon–if he can still truly be called such–has been touched by divine light. For what reason, the angel could not begin to fathom, but he would know that reason if he could.

     At his wordless command, he summons the only companion he has left in these uncertain times. As if materializing from shadow, a griffon-she-wolf-hybrid steps forth, sniffing at the demon cautiously. She, too, is more than familiar with killing demons, and the smell of this one’s blood makes her go tense, as if about to attack.

    “No,” her handler commands. “We’re taking him with us.”

     The beast’s canine head snaps up to look to her companion, as if looking for confirmation that she understood the order correctly. The look she gets in return confirms that, yes, she did.

     She shifts her taloned feet uncertainly, but ultimately obeys. With her handler’s help, the demon is carefully, gently lifted onto her back, and they depart, returning to the hideout they’ve holed themselves up in as of late.

—–

     Some time passes before he begins to show the first signs of consciousness again, but sure enough, his breath hitches in his chest after being shallow for so long. The ringing of his ears is the first thing that stirs him, but its effects are not enough to rouse him completely. The splitting headache that grows more pronounced with each throb in his skull prevents that.

     Altael doesn’t know that he’s been moved, nor does he know that his body is no longer the one he started out with. He can barely feel anything save for his head, and even that sense is limited. Try as he might, he can’t find the strength to open his eyes yet.

     The only thing he has the strength to do is exhale a weak, quiet groan, and even that is hard to hear above the ringing in his eardrums.

     "Hm,“ his impromptu caretaker hums at hearing the first signs of wakefulness from the demon after so many hours, musing mostly to himself. “Perhaps you’re not dying just yet after all.”

     He sets the blunt end of his lance to the floor and stands, at which his beast companion’s canine head snaps up to attention. The floor creaks faintly with the weight of the angel’s steps as he comes to the side of the makeshift bed the demon lies atop.

     He’d managed to wrap up the worst of the wounds with bandages, but he could do little else with any certainty on his own. Perhaps now that the stranger is beginning to stir, there is more he could do–but he has questions first.

     "You. Can you speak yet?“

       In his dazed state, Altael doesn’t entirely recognize the words being spoken to him, nor does he recognize that he should be concerned that he’s no longer alone. The pain in the base of his skull is still his most predominant concern–all else is second to it for now.

   Still, he manages to roll his head to the side with another quiet grunt. The movement makes the ringing of his ears grow louder, but he still attempts to open his eyes and track the source of the noise that pierces through the constant drone.

     Eyes as golden as his wings slowly crack open and blink, but there’s no focus or recognition to be found in them. His vision is too blurred for him to make out anything but this stranger’s outline, but at least he doesn’t look like a demon.  He hasn’t been brought back to the horde. That means he can still work through whatever this situation is, whenever he regains his wits. That’s a good start.

     “Rrrgh…” His first attempt at speaking only comes out as a pitiful growl that might have been another groan if he could have worked his voice up. Another few seconds pass before his second attempt at speaking.

     "…What?“

     He might be able to speak, however simply, but his ability to hear and process words isn’t entirely there yet.

     "So, that’s a definitive ‘mayhaps,’” the angel standing above him decides aloud, shrugging and nodding. “I suppose I couldn’t have expected much better just yet.”

     He turns, his long feathers ruffling slightly with the movement. He pulls a chair up close by the bedside and sits in it somewhat heavily. His lance remains in a loose grip at his side.

     "It appears as though you won’t be moving anytime soon,“ he observes. “Hopefully you’ll be talking sooner.”

      He can vaguely tell that quite a few words were just spoken, but there are very few he can definitively make out before the sound of his captor sitting down in his chair makes him flinch and close his eyes. Each new movement and noise he processes wakes him just a little further, regardless of whether or not he really wants to be awake yet.

     "Head hurts,“ are the next two words he strains to push out, in an attempt to justify his slowness to respond. Though he hasn’t spoken much yet, his voice seems tinged with a slight accent.

     He draws in a deep breath and brings his hand to his face to rub at his eyes, only to find that his fingertips feel…odd, to put it mildly. This must be a side effect of whatever head wound he was dealt to put him in this state–why else would his hands not feel like his own?

     The angel actually gives a faint chuckle at that.

     "I would imagine all of you hurts,” is his amused response. “A demon touched so directly by holy light should be thoroughly dead.” He leans forward, now unsure whether he’s talking more for his own sake than for the sake of actually receiving an answer to his questions.

     "I would ask you why you aren’t, but you don’t sound quite well enough to be interviewed.“

     Is that what happened to him?

     This revelation manages to stir Altael a little further, enough for him to put actual effort into making his eyes focus again. He starts by looking at his…his paw. This is not his hand, so why is it attached to his arm?

     Much to the protest of his head and wounds, he pushes himself slightly more upright, enough to give the rest of himself a look over. His legs seem to have suffered in much the same way, and where that flame on his tail came from is entirely beyond him. Then he catches sight of the golden membranes affixed to his tail.

     He follows these up until he sees where they connect with what once were his wings, but are no longer shaped as they used to be. Flexing the one splayed out at his side confirms that it is his, unbelievable as it may be.

     “Is…that light what did this to me?” He hesitantly asks, apparently more concerned by his new appearance than the angel he’s keeping company with.

     "I can only assume so,” is the fallen angel’s uncertain response. “I didn’t witness any transformation firsthand; I only saw the light from a distance.” He drums his armored fingers along the hilt of his lance.

     "You’re fortunate I found you before the Hellguard did.“

     It’s only now that Altael chooses to size up the one who will either turn out to be his savior or his captor. Any angel is enough to set him on edge, even when fallen, but this one seems surprisingly…docile.

     And alone. He’s never seen a fallen angel that was without similar company. Everything he knows of the angels who scorn the light tells him that they’re rarely without their flock. Is this one truly on his own, or are their more lying in wait?

     Altael’s train of thought is betrayed by how his body goes tense, but he makes no attempt to flee—yet.

     “Is there a reason you decided to bring me here, instead of killin’ me?” He surveys the rest of the visible hideout before he speaks again. “…wherever here is.”

     ”‘Here’ is not far from where the light touched you,“ the angel assures him. “As for why I brought you here, I have questions you can’t very well answer if you’re dead.” He pauses, putting a curled finger to where his helmet covers most of his obscured chin. His white-blue eyes narrow, dimming their glow slightly.

     "Although, it… doesn’t sound as if you know what exactly happened to you, or why.“

     Well, that’s encouraging. He’s only alive so he can be interrogated.

     Altael breathes out a rumbly sigh and lets some of his tension fade, though not all of it. There may be little point in doing anything but cooperating, since he certainly can’t fight in this state–and even if he could, he has no idea where his weapon is. For all he knows, his spear could still be in that building.

     "You’re right, I don’t.” He gives himself another good look over. Once again, his eyes settle on his new wings. “Ain’t never heard of a demon touchin’ the light ‘n lookin’ different instead of dead.”

     "Nor have I,“ the fallen angel agrees in a disappointed sigh. It was a longshot, but he’d sort of been hoping maybe this was something the demon might know about. His hand moves from his chin to the back of his helm.

     "But there must be some reason to it, yes?” he presses, perplexed. “I imagine you want to know more than I do, even, er…” He pauses.

     "… I suppose I should ask your name, if you have one,“ he states out of formality.

     It’s Altael’s turn to give a dry chuckle at that. Perhaps it’s rude to laugh, given that he might owe this angel his life, but he’s at a loss for what a better reaction would be to this mix of politeness and ignorance. That contradiction strikes him as amusing.

     "Do you think they don’t give us names in Hell?” He asks out of amusement rather than offense. Before the angel can answer, he speaks again. “It’s Altael. Legion Champion and battle strategist…”

     His voice trails off, and his smile goes with it. Too much has changed now for him to retain his titles, hasn’t it?

     "…Former Legion Champion might work better, now that I think of it.“

     "Eligor,” the fallen angel states in a very similar tone of voice to that last detail about the demon’s status. “Former Storm Warden of the Hellguard. Not that the former part is difficult to ascertain.” He sniffs disdainfully, wings twitching. He can’t help but notice, ironically, that their names almost sound as if they should belong to the opposite race.

     "Are you a deserter as well, then?“ he guesses.

     "Only recently,” he confirms with a shallow nod, “It’s why I was runnin’, before…all this.” That statement is accompanied by a gesture to the rest of himself–which he still can hardly believe looks the way it does.

     "I figured I didn’t have long ‘till someone found out I was gone, so I thought I’d lay low in that skyscraper. Look how well that turned out.“

     "Indeed.” Eligor shifts in his seat. He considers asking why a Legion Champion would desert Samael’s forces, but ultimately thinks better of it. Regardless of how much he may or may not have helped Altael, he’s not owed a life story.

     "Well,“ the angel decides, rising to his feet somewhat heavily, “I suppose that would mean we’re not enemies, at the very least. Technically speaking.” He makes a small shrugging gesture.

     "I’d been waiting until you awoke before attempting to treat your wounds any further. Truth be told, I’m not much of a healer at all, let alone for a race I’ve never tried to heal.“

     Technically allies is better than outright enemies, but he knows better than to fully trust Eligor, even given their circumstances. Whether or not there are more fallen angels nearby is unclear, nor is it clear if there’s anyone he reports to. The last thing he needs is for more people to know of his continue existence.

     But that doesn’t mean he won’t take the extra help while it’s still in reach.

     "You’ll…have to tell me what is and isn’t damaged. Lotta my body still feels like it’s asleep.”

     To confirm this, he flexes his new paws again, invoking more of that uncomfortable pins and needles feeling–but somehow managing to unsheathe a set of claws he was unaware he still had. He raises one glowing brow at this sight.

     "…Those’re new,“ he observes somewhat bluntly.

     Eligor squints at him.

     "You… didn’t have claws before?” he asks incredulously. “I find that hard to believe.” He looks the demon up and down, half-turning as if to step away.

     "Exactly how different were you before?“

     Altael sheathes and unsheathes his claws twice more to grow accustomed to the motion before he answers Eligor. His look of incredulity is met with one much like it.

     "Of course I had claws, they just didn’t look like this.” He turns his wrist so he can inspect them a little better. Their curvature is more pronounced, just as their ends look much sharper than they’ve ever looked before. He might actually be able to use them for self defense now, as opposed to intimidation.

     "I also had hands instead of paws. Can’t fathom why the light decided to take ‘em from me.“

     The angel doesn’t really know how to respond to that. He’d sort of assumed the only major change the divine light made was adding a golden color among all the black and red. He didn’t realize there were any major anatomy changes.

     "Your wings.” He gestures to the limbs, venturing a guess based on what he knows of the typical Legion Champion. “Were they always right-side-up?”

     It isn’t unheard of for a demon to have actually functional wings, but it is rare. Even then, it’s usually only a trait observed in demons who were once angels.

     “They most certainly weren’t,” Altael answers assuredly, as if that’s the one thing he still knows to be true of himself in the midst of all of this confusion and change. “That’s what’s so strange about this–I barely look anything like I did before.”

     He brings his paw up to feel at his face again. His horns still seem to be intact, as does his nose and mouth, along with the scars that frame them. That confirms that his general facial structure hasn’t changed, but until he can find a mirror, he won’t know for sure if his transformation was only applied from his chest down.

     "Really?“ Eligor asks mostly rhetorically, his gaze scrutinizing. This whole situation is even more unorthodox than he’d originally thought. Ironically, he gets roughly the same idea Altael has–getting him a mirror to figure out exactly how much has changed.

     "Wait there,” he directs more than requests, turning his back to the demon to step toward an open doorway nearby. He points to his beast companion at the far end of the room, then back to Altael.

     "Marchosias. Watch him.“

     And with that, he leaves, the cyan glow of his wings being the last of him to disappear beyond the doorway. The griffon-wolf obeys the command dutifully, padding over to take her handler’s place sitting upright by the bedside.

     And he’s gone. Lovely. He wasn’t very at ease to begin with here, but now that there’s a large canine griffin sitting just a foot away from him while he’s in a weakened state, he couldn’t unclench his neck muscles even if he tried.

     He looks the beast in the eyes. Then he looks to the door. Then he looks to her again.

     What is one supposed to say to break an awkward silence with a fallen griffin, exactly?

     Marchosias, for her part, looks quite at ease. Her posture is attentive, but neutral, and thanks to her canine face–rather than avian–her relatively relaxed expression is easy to read.

     She tilts her head to one side, regarding the demon with curiosity. One of her ears angles backward as the sound of something heavy being dragged comes from the direction her handler left in, but her ice-blue eyes remain fixed on Altael. Her long, fluffy tail drags across the floor as it sways from one side to the other.

     She’s not yet very familiar with this stranger, but if her master is letting him be here, then she figures he’s probably okay.

     He can’t quite fathom why he feels so inclined to do this, but he tilts his head in the very same way that the she-wolf does, first at her, then at the loud sound coming from beyond this room.

     If he’s dragging a weapon in here to kill him with, it seems to be giving him some trouble. Not that he thinks he would do that so spontaneously after this.

     "That better not be his gun,” he mutters to no one in particular, sounding only mildly disdainful of that possibility.

     That theory is disproven momentarily, when Eligor backs out through the same doorway and the object he’s dragging is revealed to be a large, framed mirror about as tall as he is. It looks as if it was meant to be wall-mounted, but met a milder version of the unfortunate fate the rest of Earth did. As a result, a crack runs across its reflective surface, but it remains otherwise in one piece, which is more than what can be said for most fragile objects made by humans.

     "When I fell,“ he explains without the slightest prompt or even a hint of strain in his voice, “the first thing I wanted to do was see how much had changed.”

     Marchosias moves aside as her master positions the mirror before Altael. He remains to the side of it, holding it upright by keeping one hand on the ornate frame.

     "So. How drastic is it?“

     There’s a long duration of time where Altael is completely silent as he takes himself in, bit by astonishing bit. The face that stares back at him is only barely his own, and the body it’s attached to is more animalistic, more rounded, and more flecked with gold than it ever was before now.

     The glow that comes from his wings is so unnatural to him that it almost makes his skin crawl. Why is the glow that adorns the feathers of the soldiers of Heaven radiating from his membranes? Why does it crown his head and the end of his tail? Why is he, being what he is, the source of it?

     "It’s…quite drastic,” he answers quietly, his voice weighted with uncertainty and dismay at what he’s become.

     Eligor hums pensively at that.

     "It was the same for me,“ he offers sympathetically, the feathers of his wings ruffling briefly. “It could have been much worse, however.”

     Having worked under Samael’s command, perhaps Altael knows that as well as anyone. If there is one horribly perfect example of how far even an archangel can fall, it would be The Blood Prince.

     "Can you tell how badly you’re wounded, at least, and where? Other than where your bandages are bloodied, that is.“

     "Mmh…something definitely happened to my head,” he posits, putting his anxieties surrounding his new form to the side for the moment. There won’t be much he can do to find more answers to his questions if he isn’t in good health.

     He flexes his paws to work some more feeling into them. They’re sore, but he can feel no wounds splitting apart from the movement. Unfortunately, attempting to flex his wings does not yield the same results. Moving those both stings and aches at the same time, especially around the bases.

     "My wings, too,“ he adds, curling his tail closer to himself out of reflex. "Feels like they got torn out and stuck back in.” For all he knows, that could be exactly what happened to him. It’s gruesome to imagine, but he can think of little else to explain their shift.

     Eligor could almost believe that really did happen.

     "You won’t get very far trying to go anywhere, in that case,” he observes somewhat unnecessarily. “Perhaps you are blessed, at least, in that it was not someone else who found you.” He sets about the task of dragging the oversized mirror back to its original place.

     "A fallen flock would have been unlikely to take you in,“ he elaborates, gradually moving farther away. "The Hellguard would have killed you on sight.” He knows that to be a definite fact. “And if you’re a known deserter, then even your own hoard happening upon you may have been your end.” Another dry, almost humorless chuckle echoes from beyond the doorway.

     "You and I may not be so different–neither of us is spoiled for allies right now.“

     ‘Thanks for the reminder of how desolate my life has just become,’ is what Altael might say if he wasn’t wounded and in this stranger’s care, essentially dependent on him until he’s healed, but God, is he tempted to. He at least waits until Eligor has left the room to reach up and pinch the bridge of his nose.

     "So you’re suggestin’ an alliance?” He calls out after him, only to wince as the sound of his own voice makes the ringing in his ears rear its head again.

     Some ally he’ll prove to be, barely able to speak or move yet without causing himself pain.

     "That I am,“ Eligor calls back over the dragging sound from the other room. Once the mirror is back in place, he returns near to the makeshift bedside Altael seems to be restricted to for now.

     "Or at least, I’m offering you a place here, and what help I can give you, in exchange for allowing some further prying as to what happened to you, how, and why.” He shrugs, as if that’s about the most plain way he can put it. It’s not the strongest grounds for an alliance, by any means, but it would at least be a fair enough trade.

     "I imagine you’ll want to know the same, once you’re in any state to go looking for answers. One way or another, unless you plan on crawling out of here rather than walking, it looks as though you have time to think on it.“     He doesn’t necessarily enjoy the idea of being bedridden in a stranger’s home, but it’s easy for him to decide it’s for the best when weighing it against his other options. As an enemy to the horde and the light alike, with very little means of currently defending himself, he must take aid where he can get it.

     And if Eligor is just as curious as he is to understand why light returned to a barren, broken Earth for just long enough to touch him, then he sees no reason why he shouldn’t allow him to help search for answers.

     "If you’re sure this is something you want to pursue, I won’t stop you from helping me. I just can’t guarantee there will be any definite answers out there.”

     He especially can’t claim to understand the mysteries of the light, and if someone who used to dwell among it even seems stumped, he isn’t optimistic that unraveling this will be easy.

     "I can’t say for certain, either,“ the angel concurs, "but it is worth trying. For now, though, you’re in need of rest, and perhaps an effective painkiller.” He turns, once again stepping away into another room. Some sounds of shuffling various containers soon follow.

     "We don’t have much here, Marchosias and I,“ he speaks up from across the hideout-made-home, "but what we do have, you’re welcome to.”

     As if to confirm her agreement to that sentiment, the wolf-griffon turns her head to face Altael with her mouth hanging open in that relaxed, almost-smiling expression a canine at ease often has. Her long tail wags slowly as her handler passes by once more, this time holding a glass half-full of a glowing green fluid. He offers it toward Altael.

     "This should help.“

     Altael doesn’t delay in taking the vial of healing fluid from Eligor, not even long enough to thank him first. He brings it to his lips and tips his head back and downs the entire thing in just a few large gulps. He takes in a deep breath once he’s emptied it, then breathes it out in a relieved sigh as soon as he feels his headache beginning to fade.

     "Thank you,” he says at last, “For that, and for the shelter.” Soreness still tugs at his weary limbs, but with some of his clarity restored, he already feels that much better. The golden flames atop his head and tail brighten as a reflection of this.

     "I can’t say I’ve met one of the Fallen who was quite so generous,“ he observes after a few more moments of silence, with a tilt of his head that betrays his own curiosity. He leaves that statement open ended, should Eligor decide to elaborate more on the nature of his willingness to help.

     "Nor have I,” Eligor sighs, speaking without looking his guest in the eye. He reaches a hand over to pet Marchosias behind the ears, at which she closes her eyes in content.

     "I fell because my views and values are no longer aligned with my former comrades and superiors,“ he explains. "This violation of the truce, this Apocalypse—I can’t support it. The humans didn’t deserve this.” He gestures to the space around them.

     "And those who have fallen farther than I… They might like to think themselves different from the Hellguard, but right now, I can’t agree. Both sides seek only to benefit at the expense of what has happened to this realm. Both sides, as they stand now, are devoid of honor.“

     He can check that off as another first for today—a fallen who fell for a noble reason. More intriguingly, he seems to have fallen for the exact same reason he deserted his own horde.

     “Mmhm,” he nods in agreement, lacking the lengthy words Eligor possesses to articulate himself, yet sharing in his sentiments. “That makes two of us, I reckon. I left my legion for the very same reason.”

     He shifts position again, this time a little closer to sitting up. His tail curls around his legs as he pulls them closer to himself and lets his gaze fall to the floor. It’s odd, speaking so candidly about this after so long keeping it to himself, though he can’t deny that he enjoys this strange freedom.

     “Bein’ a strategist in the horde…I feel as if I was one of the only ones puttin’ any thought into the carnage we were spreadin’. Might’ve been why it was so hard to stand.”

     Eligor gives a thoughtful hum at that. Before today, he never would have imagined a demon who didn’t enjoy carnage might exist.

     This one really is different, then.

     "Could that, perhaps, be why the light chose you?” he ventures.

     "Erm…“  Truth be told, he hadn’t really considered the possibility of his morality being a part of this. He’s heard plenty of tales of demons deserting their posts, but almost all of them end in death–certainly not a physical change in their appearance.

     "I’ve never heard of a demon bein’ touched by the light before, regardless of why they left their posts,” he refutes, though he doesn’t sound too sure of his words, “And even if it was, I’ve still got plenty of sin on my conscience. It’s not like I went my whole life secretly bein’ some beacon of morality.”

     He’s been intelligent enough to be above senseless violence himself, but there’s still plenty of bloodshed that was orchestrated under the structure of his military planning. Just a few hours of finally taking action against it can’t have been all it took to redeem him…

     …Could it?

     "I know it’s supposedly easy to fall from grace, but I’ve never heard of it bein’ easy to rise to it.“

     "I haven’t, either,” Eligor agrees. “But then, the Creator works in mysterious ways.” He shrugs his shoulders. “I thought it worth considering.” He shifts his wings to resettle and fold them to his back.

     "We’re not likely to get very far merely speculating,“ he points out, turning away. "Get your rest. Call for me if you need anything.”

     It seems that regardless of whether he wants for it to or not, this conversation has decidedly ended for now. The angel has a point–there’s little he can do now if he has no answers beyond attempting to restore his strength. Perhaps then he’ll be able to ease some of the dead weight that he’s become on this unfortunate fellow.

     "Very well.“ He eases himself back into a more relaxed position, rolled onto his side with one of his wings awkwardly folded over himself. Strange as it is to have them be so large now, their warmth is at least pleasantly comforting.

     Though he closes his eyes, he does not drift into anything close to a restful slumber. Too many questions without answers still weigh on his mind for that, and instinct dictates that he should never lower his guard in the company of the enemy.

     Even if the company of the enemy has been quite beneficial so far.

#summoned #ic: eligor #text #eltael #altael #angels #demons #darksiders rp #darksiders oc #eligor relevant

[atinytokki]

𝐙𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐭𝐨 𝐎𝐧𝐞

Chapter 2: Mutiny

Summer was bearing down stronger than ever on the ATEEZ. Wooyoung swept his arm across his sweaty forehead every few minutes for hours on end as he toiled under the hot sun cleaning cannons.

Left and right, sailors were shedding articles of clothing to cool off and eventually Wooyoung gave in and dropped his shirt in the pile. 

“Are those ribs I see?” Jongho teased from the forecastle. “We can’t all have your physique, Jongho,” Wooyoung fired back, smirking when their youngest reeled in fake indignation.

“I take offence at that! You certainly could if you joined the morning exercises I invited you to!” Wooyoung was preparing another jab at Jongho when Yunho appeared from the rigging and joined in.

“At least you two have a decent tan! It appears as if my skin hasn’t seen the sun in months.” All the boys laughed at the truth of this statement, but sobered on the arrival of their captain, who was eyeing the pile of shirts. 

“Are you quite comfortable, sir?” Wooyoung joked, not expecting a response.

“If you think I trust any of you enough to take off this jacket and put it in the pile, you’re wrong,” Hongjoong put a protective hand on his lapels before returning to the pile. “Do these need mending or are you just overheating in them?”

“Captain, it’s sweltering out here!” Yunho exclaimed. Hongjoong looked up at his master rigger. “While we’re on the subject of mending, do me a favour will you and fetch the flag. There’s a small tear in it I’d like to patch up.”

Yunho laughed and obliged, flying up the ropes with effortless speed and lowering their special flag. Hongjoong took it back to his quarters with a word of thanks and nothing more.

“Does he always sew everything himself?” Wooyoung turned to the other officers. Jongho tilted his head in thought. “Mostly, yes. He taught Seonghwa to patch sails but everything else, he does on his own.” Wooyoung smiled fondly at the back of the retreating captain. “He’s got such a bold sense of style, so uniquely commanding, but what for?” 

Jongho laughed wholeheartedly at this. “I’ve no idea, hyung! That’s just what captains do.”

There was rum and dancing after supper that night, but Hongjoong felt unwell and retired early, offering a flippant excuse of heat exhaustion.

For him, the night was long and sleepless. A disquieting sensation had settled inside that he was losing strength, each passing hour sucking more out of him. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he was becoming sicker than he’d ever been.

As morning dawned, Hongjoong brought a shaking hand to his forehead and immediately drew it back. His skin was burning at a dangerous temperature and he shifted uncomfortably in his already soaked sheets before giving up and rising to take the morning watch.

The world reeled from the motion of standing and there was a tight pain in his stomach, strong enough that his face was plastered into a grimace. Hongjoong inhaled shakily, trying to clear his mind and return to his work.

He would have to keep it together in front of the crew, construct a façade and hang onto it while he figured out what was going on.

Half a week of clear skies and speedy winds served the crew well and cheered spirits, largely dissolving tensions between sailors new and old. Reassigned to one of Wooyoung’s gun teams, Seunghyun caused no trouble and his unprecedented duel was near forgotten. However, the mistake of one of his lower-rank friends soon became a frigate wide issue.  

“He left the food stores unsecured, and now we have a rat problem,” Mingi explained to a distracted Hongjoong.

“I love the life of a pirate! But I hate rats.” Jongho quipped to Wooyoung, unashamed at having overheard a private conversation. Mingi chattered on, already finished with the damage report before he realised he was completely unheeded. “Captain?”

Hongjoong snapped out of it, wide-eyed but desperately trying to create a semblance of attentiveness. “Yes! Rats?”

Mingi squinted at him, and he knew he had been quiet just a moment too long. The ruse was up. “What’s wrong?” Wooyoung and Jongho perked up again from their corner of the quarterdeck, doing their best to appear indifferent, while Hongjoong tried to convince his second in command that everything was fine.

“Maybe you should lie down?” Mingi’s voice was lowered for privacy’s sake but insistent nonetheless. 

“It’s nothing! Why don’t we work on the rat problem instead?” 

“Come on, Captain, a nap won’t hurt anything!” The words slipped out of Wooyoung’s mouth almost before he was aware. Both captain and quartermaster gaped at him from the helm.

Whoops...

Hongjoong stalked across the deck and drew up just an inch too close to Wooyoung for his liking. “Not a word of this to anyone, do you hear? It’s nothing, but it’ll get blown out of proportion if it reaches the men.” Though tempted to fire back, Wooyoung lowered his head and nodded submissively. 

He watched the bright red jacket of his captain retreat, swaying slightly with each step, and turned with a frown to Jongho. “It’s not nothing, we both know that,” he gritted out. Jongho hummed a yes, eyes fixed on Hongjoong. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do, though. Even San can’t help him if he refuses treatment.”

Wooyoung’s eyes narrowed, a plan unfolding in his mind. “He wouldn’t do something as brainless as that, would he?”

It was 2AM a day later and Wooyoung was outside the Captain’s door with a fake story about some frayed nets at the ready as an excuse, when it turned out he didn’t need it. Hongjoong didn’t answer, even after five knocks. Wooyoung fetched San and the two of them crept inside. Sure enough, Hongjoong lay sweating and whining quietly in a mess of blankets. 

“Sir?” Their leader shot up, hand clutching his gun, and for a moment didn’t recognise them. “I’m fi—”  “You’re not,” San cut him off verbally, but physically was still cautious in approaching until the gun was lowered. “It’s alright, we won’t tell. Just let me treat you.” 

Hongjoong collapsed back into bed, in a sitting position that was more like a slump, and gripped his head in his hands. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me... I just woke up like this five days ago and I don’t know what it is—”

“Five days?” San plopped down at the foot of the bed, already holding his lantern up to the Captain’s face and examining it. “You should have told me!” 

“I don’t know what it is, San,” Hongjoong bit out. “I need to be fit for command. We’re too close for something minor like this to get in the way.” “Something minor!” San gawked at him and threw up his free hand.

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“San...”

“Tell me how many fingers!”

“It’s dark! I don’t know, I can’t see any!”

Wooyoung shook his head from his spot near the window and pinched his nose. “Let me tell the other officers.” It was more of a statement than a question, and Hongjoong frowned at him from the bed. “They need to know if you are unfit for command!”

The sickly leader groaned in a mix of protest and nausea. “Let San check me first,” he finally sighed, beginning to succumb to the fatigue blooming in his limbs.

San shook his head as he shone the light in unfocused eyes. “I need to go read up on this before I make a call. But I think we can all agree that it would be most prudent of you to remain in bed and avoid spreading it until the judgement is passed.” He sent a pointed glare to his patient on his way out.

Wooyoung followed and closed the door gently behind him. His exterior was stern but inside a nagging worry began to snowball out of control.

Something was really wrong here.

...

Mingi announced a rat-killing competition, offering double rum rations for the man that brought him the most dead vermin, as a sly way to keep the crew busy and clueless to the absence of their Captain on deck as his health rapidly declined.

Wooyoung was posted as supervision and to keep the hunt from turning into a brawl as the crew got rowdy. He had been doing his best to keep his attention off of San’s studying which was vicious and more frenzied every day.

Occasionally he disappeared into the Captain’s quarters to observe something or ask a question, but the surgeon spent most of his time in his sickbay getting his hands on every relevant material he could find. 

From this fact alone, Wooyoung knew they were dealing with something deadly. He sat with Yunho in the crow’s nest, overlooking a perfectly swabbed deck with nothing else to do but mind the winds and sail on.

Even when silent, the master rigger’s presence was comforting. Every time they sat up there, sometimes loud and sometimes peaceful, Wooyoung always experienced a sense of home. This time, Yunho knew he needed to talk. Wooyoung felt soft eyes on him before a soft voice followed.

“It’s unnerving, isn’t it.” 

Wooyoung nodded. “San running around like a chicken with his head cut off to find out what the sickness is...” he trailed off, not wanting to create a whole affair about it, but Yunho knew what he meant. “Exactly. It’s not encouraging. But I do think he’s getting close, he hasn’t slept at all the past couple of days.”

Yunho watched the men moving around on deck, minuscule as ants from his towering vantage point. “I do wish he’d come to our cabin at least and tell me what he’s finding.” “Maybe if Captain wasn’t so difficult,” Wooyoung knew his tone was more bitter than Yunho was used to from him. 

Yunho wasn’t upset but couldn’t help but shake his head. “You’re not understanding his reasons. Hongjoong-hyung isn’t resisting because he doesn’t care whether the crew is in danger, it’s just part of his struggle with—with being strong for us.” Wooyoung was confused.

“Captain’s always...” Yunho was struggling to put words to emotions. “He’s always been so driven to spend himself on us. To give his time and energy to the commanding of this ship, one that he created with his own two hands, you know. Sure, he’s stubborn, but he knows what’s best ultimately and he’ll surrender when his body forces him to. I only wish that wasn’t the case.”

It was interesting to see Yunho, a tall, intimidating boy with the heart of a child and a truly light personality, so serious about something. He was still easy to talk to, and Wooyoung was still relaxed enough to ask a more personal question. “How exactly did you meet him?”

Yunho smiled sheepishly at the memory. “It was when my brother and I were living on the street. We had escaped the orphanage and to provide for our needs I begged, fought in street fights, and occasionally stole change. It was a wild time! I was picking food out of the rubbish at a tavern one morning when I saw a boy at the bar with a bag of silver hanging at his belt. Hongjoong-hyung, but I didn’t know his reputation then. To me he was just some random kid. He was certainly too young legally to buy rum so as he sweet talked the bartender I snatched the money bag. I made it two steps before a gun was on my back and a sword at my neck. And yet to give me a chance to win the money for myself, he challenged me to a fist fight. That was his mistake! He put up a decent fight but I beat him, and he offered me employment. I didn’t want to leave my brother but... the promise of enough money to buy a comfortable life convinced me. I’ll go back for him one day, when all this is over and the treasure is found.” He told the tale with a soft smile, reminiscence twinkling over his face. 

“Have you ever doubted the existence of the treasure?” Wooyoung’s question was quiet, treading carefully among the stars in Yunho’s eyes.

Yunho’s expression didn’t waver but he turned to Wooyoung expectantly. “Perhaps the question you’re really asking is ‘have you ever doubted your captain’?”

Wooyoung blushed but didn’t deny it.

“And I can assure you I have not. I trust him, and he trusts the way to treasure. He’s never given me reason to doubt.” The answer was satisfactory, and Wooyoung gave a small squeeze of gratitude to the rigger’s shoulder.

“Officers report to the Captain’s quarters!” Seonghwa’s yell reached the crow’s nest and Wooyoung felt a sinking feeling hit his stomach.

When everyone was present and the door was thrice locked, San began explaining his discoveries. 

“The symptoms are those of gaol fever so far. If it is some strain of that disease then you must have contracted it from the dead bodies you touched aboard that ghost ship. Those people must have escaped a prison where it was prevalent.”

Hongjoong sat at his desk, complacent, before asking, “Has anyone else caught it?”

San shook his head. “The period of time that it actively spreads must have passed while you were confined here. My other working theory is that the catalyst of the disease was already near death on the ghost ship and is significantly weakened now, having infected you. Still, I suggest we exercise caution and use good hygiene.”

Here he was lost in his mind for a moment, the stuffy room suffocating his thoughts.

“Will he...recover?” Seonghwa put forward the officers’ collective concern.

“It...I...I can’t promise anything. No one has survived anything like this, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible! It just means there’s not much I can do to heal you.”

Here he stared at Hongjoong with shining and apologetic eyes. But their leader nodded as if he had known all along. “I’ll do what I can,” San recognised guilt forming again and let it go. “But the fight is yours, Captain.”

“There’s a rash now,” Hongjoong admitted, resisting the urge to squirm in his chair.

“A sign of regression...” San almost whispered. “You may inform the crew,” he directed his words to Mingi, who by right had command now. “My official judgement is that he is unfit for command.”

Wooyoung’s heart went a mile a minute, and he couldn’t get over the sensation that he was hearing something unintended for his ears.

“How long?” Hongjoong’s voice was steady. He didn’t need to utter the rest of his question for the others to know what he was asking. “At best... two weeks,” San choked out before turning away.

The room was spinning in Wooyoung’s eyes from shock. He focused on San’s shaking back to reorient himself before running to him and enclosing his tense form in his arms. “I’m so sorry,” the doctor was whispering. “There’s nothing I can do.”

Hongjoong himself had his head in his hands and was refusing eye contact with anyone. He allowed Seonghwa to drag him to bed as silence lingered. The officers stood still, trying to work through what they had just heard.

Finally Seonghwa grabbed Mingi and stepped out for a discussion. The others were useless for the rest of the day, eventually retiring and, in the case of San, poring over books all evening again once released from Wooyoung’s grip. Sleep escaped Wooyoung, and he stared at the boards of the ceiling devoid of even aimless thought. 

...

The fire in the kitchen crackled steadily, glowing in the two pairs of eyes that observed it. 

“It’s your charge as quartermaster. This isn’t a conversation we need to have,” Seonghwa’s voice was almost as distant as his thoughts.

Mingi’s eyes were shining with unshed tears, yet flames danced in them. “I know... and I suppose I took the responsibility on myself when I accepted the position. But you and I both know I’m not the candidate who is cut out for it. You are.”

With a shake of the head and a shuddering breath, Seonghwa tried to make Mingi understand. “You’re saying that because you never wanted it to be your responsibility. It’s only proper that you take...” His brow knit together in remorse. “...take what’s yours by right.”

“Seonghwa-hyung,” Mingi whined. “I’m not trying to put the pressure on you so I can avoid shouldering the burden, but think of the crew’s need for leadership. At the very least, couldn’t we share it?” 

“What would he say to that, I wonder?” Seonghwa looked to the door, half expecting Captain to walk in and tell them himself. “I feel silly even considering it. But we need to agree on our course of action, whatever it is. So maybe... maybe that’s the best option. The two of us delegating duties and making the important decisions together. And we both know our most important task is to find land and someone who can help.”

He followed a floating spark with his eyes until it went out, wishing he could wake up from this egregious dream. “If we have to take command, let it only be brief.”

“Oh thank you, hyung,” Mingi finally released the built up tension in his chest, lowering his head into his hands. “I could never do it alone.”

He sniffed in embarrassment and rubbed tears out of his eyes until Seonghwa appeared by his side, guiding him into a hug. “You’ll never need to,” he reassured him.

Both were weighed down by the gravity of the odds stacked against their leader. “Hey, hey,” he shushed the younger boy. “We’ve come through worse.” Mingi nodded as his weeping quieted, but he didn’t speak what was both on their minds.

We’ve never done it without Hongjoong.

...

“Wouldn’t it make sense that a cure could exist in the east for a disease that only exists in the east?”

San chewed slowly on his bite of breakfast and thought aloud. Yeosang narrowed his eyes at him over his spoon.

It had been established as an unspoken rule that the officers wouldn’t discuss Hongjoong’s condition, even amongst themselves. No one could blame San for continuing to search for answers, however, and they all grunted some noise of agreement before returning to their meals. 

“I mean, there’s no record of any affective treatment for gaol fever, but this isn’t exactly the same thing, so is it possible...?”

Finally Yeosang dropped his spoon into the bowl. “San, are you saying there could be a cure somewhere out here?”

Suddenly aware of the attention on him, San became defensive. “Well, like I said, I don’t know. Really! I don’t! But...”

“It would be worth a try?” Mingi cocked his head to the side, understanding where San was going with this.

“Mingi, of course it would be worth a try! I’ve only been looking at known illnesses and this is something unknown which means of course there’s a chance. But it’s not my call, it’s yours and Seonghwa’s. And I suppose Yeosang’s if he can tell us where the nearest inhabited land is.”

Yeosang sighed at the out of place sarcasm. “Yes, I can tell you once I look at my maps. But do you know what type of cure to look for?” 

San nodded, almost eagerly. “I’ve got it narrowed down between a few different concoctions. Get me to an apothecary and I’ll buy their most useful medicine.” 

For the next day Wooyoung could be found faithfully at the crow’s nest with Yunho, waiting to sight land. The atmosphere was rife with agitation, and when he spotted it, the buzz around him grew. Land was a blueish green tinted shadow on the horizon, but to Wooyoung it held the promise of saving grace.

“Let it not be a wasted trip,” Yeosang mumbled, mostly to himself, but Wooyoung heard and countered with a nervous chuckle, “Optimism only please, Yeosang!” 

Mingi called the crewmen together as they pulled up to the dock and announced “Dismissal for the afternoon. I expect you back at sunset.” He didn’t pay much attention to the practically forgotten Seunghyun and followers, who hung around the ATEEZ instead of exploring the harbour.

Seonghwa was at the helm, surveying the deck below for remaining rats, when he noticed Yeosang hanging around just past his peripherals. He grew in concern watching the younger boy who stared off into space as if his mind was running in circles.

“Everything alright?”

There was a pause and a tilt of the head before Yeosang answered, “Well, we both know it’s not.” His lips were pursed again, white rimmed and dry.

Seonghwa leaned heavier on the wheel, mentally begging Yeosang not to go there.

“I mean, last time I poked my head in he looked hours off from leaving us.” Seonghwa’s heart wrenched into a tight knot inside him. He couldn’t figure out if Yeosang was angry or something else. “He still hasn’t addressed us properly with—with instructions or advice or...or last words,” tears were bubbling to the surface, clouding his vision. 

“We’re running out of time,” he cried and Seonghwa was there in an instant. His own breath was coming out in shaky bursts and finally he had to break down as well. “I don’t know what to say,” Seonghwa admitted, scrubbing his face furiously.

He had been putting everyone else back together as they split at the seams but when it came down to it, he wasn’t sure he could convince himself it would all be fine. “I’m scared too.”

Yeosang nodded at the voicing of his thoughts. Without the guilty eyes of the dying on them, they forgot everything and wept together. 

...

Yunho’s eyes were rimmed with red. San took note and refrained from bringing it up. No need to point out how poorly they were faring in this disaster.

The hunt was soon well underway. The pair had taken off to scope out the new wharf while the others stayed onboard.

“What is this place?” Yunho caught the attention of a woman who passed them on the docks.

“Geobugi- the last pirate haven in the east.”

After jogging through the streets of the small seaside town, San located the apothecary shop on the southern outskirts. For being a remote establishment, it was still fairly busy.

Impatience radiated off of him as he stood in line listening to the string of detailed advice being given about plant care to the patron in front of him. When it was their turn he clasped his hands and opened his mouth before being cut off.

“Let me guess, you need to save a wilting rose too.”

...

Hongjoong had descended into incoherent mumbling and fits of coughs.

Mingi, Wooyoung, and Jongho played a card game in the corner of the Captain’s quarters, unsure of what to do during each episode. Just as Wooyoung was about to win the game a single knock sounded from the door, followed by a crashing sound as it was thrown open.

All three stood in shock at the sight of Seunghyun and his accomplices barging in. Seonghwa and Yeosang were trapped in their arms, two swords precariously balanced at their necks. 

“What is the meaning of this!” Mingi took a step back as Seunghyun’s men tightened their grips on the prisoners. 

“This, silly boy, is a mutiny,” Seunghyun laughed back. He hummed a lazy tune and sauntered over to the bedridden Captain, who at some point had become aware that his room was being invaded.

Hongjoong’s gun was locked, loaded, and aimed but a thin stream of blood winding down Yeosang’s neck lowered the weapon by itself. Seunghyun tutted at the shaking captain, limp hair plastered to his forehead, and held his hand out palm up. “Weapons, please.”

With the last of the officers’ guns the power was officially in the hands of the mutineers. Wooyoung held Yeosang’s fearful gaze and tried to send him a withering smile.

To his surprise, the captors removed the biting metal from their necks and shoved them at the other three, causing a collision and knocking over the card table. “You’re not killing us?” Seonghwa’s question was bold but sensible.

Seunghyun ignored him and drew his own sword, placing the long cold edge against Hongjoong’s throat. “No. I need you to help raise the anchor, or he dies.”

“I’ll tear your flesh off if you touch him,” Jongho wasted no time making threats. “I don’t think you’ll get very far, child,” Seunghyun teased, pressing the blade closer.

“Power was transferred peacefully,” Mingi shouted back. “You have no reason to mutiny!” Again the ringleader laughed. “You’ll figure it out soon enough. Now! Unfurl the sails, we have places to be.”

...

Yunho and San were already running down the hill with their prize when they spotted the ATEEZ. “Why are they leaving?” San was stopped in his tracks. 

Yunho ran a hand through his hair. “There’s no way the crew already reboarded!”

To pick up the pace, he scooped up San and carried him on his back, covering the distance to the dock in long strides. When the surgeon was back on the ground he looked around wildly for their seamen. A dozen or so of their crew came running in behind them from the town all jumping, waving, and yelling in outrage at being left behind.

“Stay here, all of you,” Yunho instructed hastily. “We’ll go figure out what’s happening and come back for you.” With that he turned and dove off the end of the dock. San secured the medicine under his clothes and followed him.

“I see them!” Wooyoung’s sharp eyes were directed out the back of the ship through the tall windows of the captain’s cabin where they were confined. “Someone fetch a rope!”

Luckily, Hongjoong had his canvas bag in the room and there was enough rope to lower it to the two swimmers. Jongho secured the end to his own frame and braced himself on the desk while Yunho and San climbed up and were helped in by the other officers. “A last minute boarding,” Yunho gasped out, shaking water from his head. “Who is at the helm?” San surveyed the room in a panic. 

“It’s Seunghyun. He and his minions staged a mutiny,” Seonghwa bit out, pulling up and stowing the rope. “He’s locked us in here and stolen Yeosang’s maps,” Mingi continued for him. “We don’t know where we’re going or why but he won’t kill any of us... I think.”

Yunho frowned. “Are there plans to take back the ship?” Jongho was righting the card table and shaking his head, “They far outnumber us now that the entire crew has been left behind. Did you at least find medicine?”

San nodded vigorously, pulling the little vial out safe and sound. He took it straight to Hongjoong’s bedside.

“How are you?” The question was inadequate for the pain San could see swimming in the Captain’s eyes.

“Alive.”

Hearing his voice crack between puffs of air, San shuffled around to pour a glass of water and helped him sip it. “I’ve got something to help you, if it’s not too late,” the surgeon told his patient softly, uncorking the bottle. “It won’t taste great but it may save your life, hyung.”

Trapped in Hongjoong’s room, the officers made do and spread their extra garments on the floor, sleeping in a huddled formation. San opted to pull up a chair next to the captain’s bed and keep an eye on him through the night. It took awhile with Yeosang’s arm flung across him and Jongho’s feet next to his face but eventually Wooyoung drifted off.

...

“Shoot me.”

Wooyoung jolted out of his sleep, the soft-spoken plea waking him abruptly. He sat up to check with San, but the tired doctor was fast asleep in his chair. Wooyoung swallowed and looked to Captain. It had sounded like his voice that had spoken, but no one else of the officers dozing around the room had noticed. Perhaps it had been in his head. 

He settled back, unsure if he could fall back into the peaceful rhythm of sleep now. A groan from the otherwise still body of Hongjoong captured his attention, and he peered over at the patient to discover his eyes wide open and fixed on the ceiling. Wooyoung’s heart jumped in surprise. 

“Shoot me.”

The words were distinctly his, Wooyoung observed, following the movement of his mouth before lips pressed tightly together into a hard line.

“Captain...?” His hesitant venture was lost on Hongjoong’s ears. The captain was delirious.

Nervous now, Wooyoung stood and leant closer, trying to catch the older boy’s attention. He wanted to say more, but his mouth had seemingly gone dry. Hongjoong was completely unaware and muttered another “Shoot me. Please.”

Deeply disturbed by what he was witnessing, the stricken gunner leaned over the bed and grabbed hold of San’s arm, shaking him awake. “What...? Oh!”

The doctor picked up on what was happening much faster than Wooyoung had, and rose to try to bring Hongjoong out of it. “Captain, can you hear me?”

“Please, I just want to go. I just want to be found already... let me leave!” His cries were growing in volume, and soon other officers were stirring from their slumber. Wooyoung looked on with a furrowed brow, trying to make sense of Hongjoong’s increasingly pitiful requests. 

He was becoming agitated, strength enough to twist up his sheets granted to his limbs in the haze of delirium. “Come on,” San was shaking him, nothing else to be done. “Just wake up, it’s not real!”

“Someone end it, I’m-I’m begging...  No! That’s an order, I’m ordering! Someone...someone shoot.” His stuttering trailed off, and Wooyoung turned the words over in his mind. “I just want to be found. Can’t you see?” These words escaped with perfect clarity and Wooyoung latched on to them. 

He wants to be found? He began to think back to what he knew of Hongjoong’s past. “He thinks he’s on the abandoned island again,” Mingi supplied, joining them at the bedside.

“I just want to leave this place...” Hongjoong had grown exhausted again, fighting San along with the demons in his mind. His last entreaty left his lips almost too soft to hear. “Take me home.” 

“You are home,” Seonghwa had joined them. Wooyoung saw wetness on his face and averted his eyes.

Hongjoong went quiet again, and the attention in the room was inadvertently cast on San, who busied his fingers with the bedding and avoided the eyes. “It’s not an improvement,” he finally said. “But it’s not the final stage yet.”

This was no comfort, but it sent the other officers to their beds in resignation. San paused over Hongjoong’s top blanket, clenching it in his hands before smoothing it out and returning to his chair.

Wooyoung could read frustration in the lines of his face. He wanted to say something, but again gazed elsewhere before returning to the floor. He didn’t sleep.

...

Hongjoong slept all the next day. A mutinous goon delivered some food around midday, but apart from that there was nothing to be done but sit around the card table, playing mindlessly.

Yunho volunteered to swap out with San in keeping an eye on his patient, and when San sank into a chair at the table during the whist game, Wooyoung felt his hopes sink with him.

“He’s almost gone,” San whispered unbidden. Jongho sat back in his chair like he had been struck across the face. Wooyoung was distinctly and unexpectedly aware of how young Jongho was to be in this situation.

“The medicine’s not working?” He asked quietly for clarification. San wouldn’t meet his eyes. “He should have shown improvement by now…”

“He’s stopped breathing!” Yunho suddenly screamed from the other side of the room.

Everyone was there instantly. “How long?” San was reaching for a pulse. 

“Just now, I swear,” Yunho stumbled over his words. “I was watching him like you told me but he just—”

“Stand back!” San didn’t have time to hear the full explanation as he turned he motionless body over and began pounding on his back.

“Someone grab me the bellows!” He yelled and it was placed in his hand by Yeosang a moment later. “What are you doing?” The navigator asked, disturbed at how pale Hongjoong was.

San positioned the nozzle in his mouth and began squeezing air in. “Giving him breath.”

It went on for a full minute before San threw the bellows to the side and in desperation gave Hongjoong a strong slap across the face. This final attempt to revive him was successful.

Gasping and fighting for air, Hongjoong’s eyes flew open. There was a collective current of alleviation and San collapsed back into his chair.

Needing to resuscitate himself after the experience, Wooyoung opened the back windows and took deep gulps of the sea air. He realised his legs were shaking and leaned on the windowsill. Captain just died. He died and came back.

Yunho grasped Hongjoong’s hand and held it in between his. “Please don’t leave us again, hyung.”

Seonghwa’s hand was on San’s shoulder. “That was brilliant.”

“Too close. That was entirely too close.”

No one budged for the rest of the evening, terrified that doing so would send their captain back into respiratory arrest.

San noted after the sun went down that his breathing had actually improved significantly, and began to allow a spark of faith that he would survive to grow inside. “The stuff I gave him was made after an epidemic of a disease quite similar to gaol fever,” he told the others to pass the time. “I think it may be kicking in.”

On their third day of imprisoned sailing Hongjoong came to. It was as if he had needed to hit rock bottom before surfacing.

Mingi watched his eyelids twitch and struggle before sliding open, revealing eyes that were finally focused and aware of their surroundings. The officers didn’t need to be called over to see their captain was conscious, having heard the sound of his voice croak a timid, “Mingi?”

“Yessir?” Mingi responded, happy tears streaming down his face. 

“How sweet,” came a sarcastic voice from the doorway. All turned to see Seunghyun, who had been absent since the mutiny. His mouth formed a sneer. “It’s still too late for you, sir. We’ve arrived.”

...

Taglist: @nightynightnyx @theinvisablessed @twolfiehowl

A/N: Haha take a shot every time Wooyoung doesn’t sleep! Feeeeeeel the feeeeeeeeels ppl! Fun fact: The beginning was a reference to Wave mv filming behind the scenes when Hongjoong claimed he wasn’t hot in that jacket xD I’ve had a lovely week sailing, poking around at the beach and basically having a refresher course in the minutæ of sea living and piracy which will be incredibly useful for the accurate production of this series :) and is of course also of great personal interest. Mum bought me a nautical curiosities book to gobble up :P so I’ll go read that now and then hopefully wake up to some notes tomorrow... P.S. if there are questions about the disease feel free to message me because we won’t really go further into that in the series proper, there’s just too much ground to cover!

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#ateeztreasures #atzeditors #ateez #ateez au #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #ateez series #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez angst #ateez fluff #ateez seonghwa #ateez jongho #ateez yeosang #ateez mingi #ateez san #ateez yunho #ateez wooyoung #ateez hongjoong #ateez pirate au #ateez pirate concept #ateez pirates #pirates #pirate au #fantasy au #tokki #tokki writes #zero to one #treasure series #ateez pirate king

[kurogabae]

TSUBASA: TRAINWRECK CHRONICLES

And Why Bee Train Are Officially Being Labeled, By Me, As The Boomers Of Animation

PART 1 – PART 2 – PART 3 -- Part 4

[Slim Shady’s “Guess Who’s Back” plays in the distance, muffled but threatening]

Look, I know I usually have something to say at the start of these, but honestly? Let’s just go because we’re starting knee-deep in some bullshit. 

Tsarastora (yes... fucking AGAIN):

Well, it didn’t take long for us to return to the land of the walking Not Dead Anymore. Rumor has it that Bee Train was ordered to retcon the S1 finale immediately because who do you think you are to break one of CLAMP’s cardinal rules like that?!? But I’ve never seen any proof of exactly what went down about this plot. But I’m forced to believe Ohkawa materialized behind the director one day and threatened to eat his spine or some shit. 

Anyway. We’re here. Again. And for some reason this is where they decide to have Sakura give Yuuko her White Day gift? Instead of in Piffle? Where she made it? With Tomoyo?

Stop stealing my moments Bee Train. It’s like you’re the crew who edited CCS for America back in the day and tried to market it towards boys so you pushed Syaoran as the main character and tried to remove all romance. Let Sakura have friends! Let her interact with people and have a story! LET HER BE BI!!!

So Yuuko has a dress and Fai makes a joke about being in heaven because the place is so pretty and Kurogane says not to, quote, “say such unlucky things” and it’s moments like this that make you wonder if they Knew and just didn’t care about Fai’s past or if they really were just as in the dark as the rest of us. I flip flop a lot between the two. 

Either way, now the dads are talking about the kids and how brave Syaoran is (why the bullshit in Piffle prompted this I do not know but whatever I guess?) and basically just about how badly they want them to succeed but without just saying it. Meanwhile Sakura is telling Syaoran about her latest memory and I could not for the life of me tell you which one it was and I refuse to go check. The important thing here is that the lazy animation trick that has given Mokona the power of flight is back and she’s hovering around the gang now. Not sitting on shoulders or anything. Just... flying around like she’s Kero. This is fine. I guess.

And then, after what has to be like a solid half hour of just dicking around Mokona Very Suddenly senses a feather. Why so suddenly? Because they wanted to get everything else out of the way first and it was convenient. No other reason. The feather isn’t moving. Neither are they really. She just decides to turn her sensors on now? IDK. Maybe she needs a tune up.

They find the feather not far away just casually sitting inside a rock and everyone but Kurogane is like “Yay! Easy find! Go us!” because apparently no one can learn anything in this anime about what those fucking feathers do. Spoilers: it’s not a rock, it’s a dragon.

[Kurogane voice]: kin

The dragon fucks off and here we come to a Thing. Now, Kurogane is ready to slaughter this thing and wear its bones basically. He is Ready to Fight in a real way. I found that odd and really didn’t care for it. In Hanshin he seems in awe of Celes when it appears to him and even though it’s mostly fanon that Kurogane respects and likes dragons that makes sense. His family’s guardian was a dragon, his sword was modeled after a dragon. His whole motif is dragons! Why is he so ready to kill this one? Does it not count if it’s not a Nihon dragon? Does only Ginryuu get respect? It just feels bad???

But none of that matters because guess what! Dragon shaped as it might be, the thing is a demon? At least, that’s what they’re calling it. Sometimes. Fai says demon, Syaoran says dragon. They don’t.... agree on the term? Shut up. It’s a dragon.

So they soon realize that they are back in Should Be Very Dead-ville and oh no everyone is going to die again unless we get this OTHER feather because if one feather can buy us a month of living surely one more will fix our deaths forever right? ....right? (On a side note; Fai makes a comment about how weird it is that two feathers fell in the same world while he’s from Celes and knows damn well he found two and is unaware of a third!!!) 

Either way the family is gonna help because, you know. Feather. If memory serves, the dragon is hiding in a lake, so what does Kurogane (who is now in charge because of course) have them do? They set the lake on fucking fire. And it delights him. It do not, however, delight the dragon, who, understandably, goes apeshit. Luckily, no one dies and they just hack off the horn that the feather was stuck in. And then they... take it to God again because wow they really do think this will work. Sakura, honey, I know how sweet you are but it only got them one month last time. What good will this do?

The answer is no good!

God basically tells them it’s tough tits, the month long visitation was all they could manage and no matter how many super powered magic bird parts they bring the dead are dead and that’s that. Which sucks for those villagers but haha, bummer for FAi to have to hear. Again. After watching Sakura wish someone to life with a mere piece of her soul. Again. Wonder how that felt. (Short post about Kurogane and Fai’s possible feelings here.)

So to end the episode, Sakura gets her feather back and then the family leaves town but sticks around on the outskirts to watch everyone fucking die again like some sick ass fuckers!!!

I’m not even going to talk about the stupid memory she gets with papa!Clow and learning about how death is a Thing via her dead pet bunny. It happens. It’s inorganic. I hate it. Shut up Clow.

The episode is over and I’ll leave you with this to heal your souls.

I am a simple woman.

Portoria:

WE’RE ON A BOAT MOTHA FUCKER!

If you’re too young to recognize that joke, click the link for... an experience. Wear headphones. Everyone else, please join me in this not-a-Wind-Waker-AU. 

We’re gonna skip all of my bad sailor jokes and focus for a minute on Kurogane’s Sinbad cosplay here because yes good hello I am easily distracted. 

Anyway, the captain is this world’s version of Koryo’s shitty Ryanban and Kurogane and Fai have a moment to wax philosophical about whether or not souls are inherently good or evil, which is fine and I would hardly mention if, while they were doing this, the “camera” wasn’t stood still on an image of Syaoran and Sakura just... smiling at each other while the dads spoke. Like the kids aren’t even doing anything, they’re just smiling. It’s weird. It’s also almost like accidental foreshadowing because HAHA THOSE ARE CLONES! But I’m not gonna go into it for the sake of this joke.

On the ship everyone has to work, Kurogane is terrorizing his new shipmates into compliance under his leadership, Fai and Sakura are cooking fish, and Syaoran is in the engine room with a child version of Fujitaka AKA his father. Understandably, Syaoran is Feeling Emotions, not that the animation is any indicator of this. He also calls a ten year old daddy so things are going great. 

Now yes, Syaoran must miss his father terribly, not only has he been dead for who knows how long exactly (anywhere upwards of 5 years possibly) but Syaoran is far from home without any pictures or familiarity to remind him of Fujitaka, and now he’s got some savant elementary schooler who is an AU version of his dad basically sharing his deepest hopes and dreams.  It’s a weird episode. Oh, and there is no feather, but Mokona is sweet as can be and stays so Syaoran can get to know this version of Fujitaka. Which honestly seems more like a punishment than anything to me, but hey. 

Also, there’s a sea monster. And a haunted island. And something that sounds suspiciously like Piedmon from Digimon. 

Syaoran and Fujitaka get stranded on the island after getting yeeted overboard and the captain telling the rest of the family that his ancestors forbid people from going to the island is enough to stop a rescue mission? Like. Kurogane AND Sakura are sitting there, letting nothing happen. This is fine. Everything is fine. 

And it kinda is because the island if filled with old shit and Syaoran is geeking out like a kid surrounded by his special interest would be expected to. 

In the end, the creepy laughter was wind, the island isn’t haunted, the family tries to row out to save Syaoran and a sea monster is on screen for all of 30 seconds. This episode was boring. Dull. It wasn’t even particularly angsty because Bee Train has no concept of emotional DEPTH!! Their expressions and emotions are as flat as Fai’s ass and as dry as Clow’s deserts. This could have been a very moving and fascinating filler episode, but Bee Train remains in capable of doing ANYTHING AT ALL EVER! I’m bored. This is boring.

At least Sakura looked cute in her little sailor outfit. 

The next episode is “A Date With a Wizard” and that shitshow is getting its own post. Peace. 

PART 1 – PART 2 – PART 3 -- Part 4

#my meta #tsubasa trainwreck chronicles #TRC #tsubasa chronicle #CLAMP #i am filled with an undying and unrestrained hate for all things

[melonkooky]

bts [hyung line] reaction - comforting their stressed and/or sad s/o

requested

genre: angsty with a chance of fluff 

warnings: hinting at/references to depression (tw)

author’s note: IT’S DONE!!! i can’t even begin to say how sorry i am... this is so, so, so late so i apologize. (i also had to change the request a bit just for more variation). i’m a little rusty so i hope this is okay... i could only do the hyung line but don’t worry, the maknae line will come soon!!

please do not copy my work. but please like and reblog it. thank you!!!!

masterlist (in bio)

kim seokjin

seokjin was a little busy himself around the time you were stressed. this seemed convenient in your mind as you only wanted seokjin to focus on himself and his own things. you didn’t want him to worry about you, in other words. but seokjin was attentive. despite his own stressful occurrences, he would eventually notice your drop in mood. like currently, you were slowly distancing yourself from him. whether it was because of school or work, you were just stressed. your head ached and you’ve been at it for so long now, all you could thing was about giving up. you sighed and decided to take a break from it all, something you really needed. you walked out onto the balcony of the apartment you lived in. the night was dark and calm, and it soothed your body and mind. it was peaceful. you had eventually closed your eyes to listen to the light breeze as well as the bustling city around you, you didn’t realize that seokjin had gotten home. he was tired and was desperate to slip into bed where he expected you to be. but he was surprised with lamp lights on and your work/school material sprawled out onto the dinner table. he sighed and saw your figure standing outside. he approached you and stood next to you. “hey.” he greeted tiredly.

you jumped slightly but smiled, looking at seokjin. “hey.”

he smiled with love before asking you, “do you want to talk about anything that’s on your mind?”

your heart skipped a beat. you remained silent before slowly, you voiced all your concerns, whatever was on your mind you told seokjin. and he was glad you did because in the end, you felt better. he wanted to help you, and he did.

min yoongi

min yoongi was working hard in his home studio. a new album was in the works and he was excited about it. music was his passion, and it was his way or relieving stress and forgetting about any problems in his life - even if sometimes making music became the cause of the stress in his life. he sighed as he listened to the melody that he was working on. it was very close, but it just didn’t seem right to him. he decided he should take a break, perhaps eat something since he surely hasn’t done that in so long. come to think of it, he hasn’t seen you all day either. normally on a day like this, when you both are home, you help him with his music or at least bring him some snacks or drinks. but you haven’t. slightly concerned, yoongi saved everything he needed to and left his studio. the rest of the living space was eerily silent, as if yoongi was the only one living there. but he knew you were home. yoongi wandered into the bedroom soon enough, capturing a glimpse of your body next to the bedroom window, earbuds in your ears, your gaze close to empty. you didn’t notice yoongi until he crawled onto the bed next to you. you tried to smile but you couldn’t bring yourself to. yoongi noticed and removed one of your earbuds. “have you eaten at all today?” he asked softly.

you shook your head, a small shrug of your shoulders followed. yoongi stared at you. he could tell what you were thinking. you were more than sad, he could recognize the signs. “do you want to talk? about anything?” he asked, not sure if you wanted to be alone or not.

whether you chose to talk to him or not, at least you knew he was there for you. after you talked to him about all the thoughts swarming in your head, he would take you out to eat, where the mood would be lightened and full of happy things.

jung hoseok

you sighed sluggishly, your body feeling as heavy as ever. it was friday, thank the lord. but that did nothing to bring up your spirits. juggling school and work was exhausting, and the week had been the most hardest week you have ever gone through. however, it hasn’t quite ended yet. you still had a few things to do, and those few things were enough to set you off. you were tired and stressed and you wanted a long break. you dropped all your stuff onto the floor, and left the apartment, despite having just walked in. you walked to and entered the elevator, hitting the highest number: the roof, the roof of your apartment building. you wanted to get away from the world, even for just a few minutes. you needed a break.

hoseok arrived home not to long after you left. he noticed your bag next to the door, slumped over as if you had just tossed it away. while it was evidence that you were home, you were no where to be seen or heard. the apartment was empty. hoseok’s energy was drained as well, but you were gone. he quickly texted you, asking you where you were. you were hesitant to answer, but you replied, ‘the roof’.

hoseok wondered why you were there as he ascended in the elevator. he stepped out and climbed the little stairs that led to the rooftop. he opened the door and stepped out, finding your standing near the edge, staring at the world below. “y/n?” he called softly.

you turned around and flashed him a sad smile. he walked to your side, wrapped his arms around you. “what’s wrong?” he asked.

“lots of things.” you replied.

hoseok wouldn’t push for a more specific answer. instead, he stood there with you, enjoying the peaceful time with you. perhaps later, you and him could watch a movie and fall asleep on the couch together.

kim namjoon

it was one of those days. you didn’t know the exact reason as to why your heart was feeling so heavy and down. you just woke up, and you felt sad, depressed even. perhaps it was from the stress you experienced a few days ago, perhaps it was because you haven’t talked to your family or friends in a little while, perhaps it was just because of all the negative thoughts in your head. these days weren’t often, but when they did happen, they felt like they wouldn’t end. 

you finally got out of bed, hardly getting dressed at all, only a few minor alterations here and there. you grabbed your phone and anything else you needed. then you left the apartment. you got into your car once you reached the parking garages, and from there you drove to the bighit building where your boyfriend currently was at. you parked and walked in. you wandered around until you found where the studios were located. you texted namjoon asking which room he was in, hoping he wasn’t busy and could immediately reply. instead, a door opened and namjoon stepped out, his eyes gazing up and down the hall until he saw you. he smiled, “y/n.”

you smiled, feeling your heart lighten after seeing your boyfriend. he walked up to you and pulled you into a hug, kissing the side of your head lightly. you took a deep breath as you held him close to you. when he finally pulled away, he looked intently at your face. his eyebrows scrunched, and concern soon filled his eyes. “hey, are you okay?”

seeing him, feeling him, you felt better, but it didn’t completely stop the thoughts or feelings. you vaguely told him what you were feeling, resulting in you coming to see him. namjoon understood your feelings. he brought you into the studio where you sat with him, your attention on him and the music, no longer on the negativity.

#bts #bangtan #bangtan sonyeondan #kim seokjin #jin #min yoongi #suga #jung hoseok #jhope #kim namjoon #rm #bts reaction #bts scenario #bts imagine #bts angst #bts fluff #kpop

[theshatteredrose]

A Gathering of Guardians: Prologue (Chapter 15) - Etrian Odyssey Nexus Fanfiction

AN: Ah, another really long chapter. Over 6 thousand words. It won’t end. Send help.

AO3 | Wattpad | FFnet

Chapter 15:

Isiah made his way down the hallway that Axel had suggested to him. One side was a wall of windows that looked out over the main courtyard yard. The other wall was a series of doors. All shut for the time being. About half way down the hall, from what he could estimate, was a set of tall swinging doors. And they were propped open.

Pretty obvious that they led into the clinic.

He idly fiddled with the pockets of his coat as he stepped inside. He had to admit that he was slightly nervous. Only slightly, of course. He had been working in his dad’s clinic since he was born. Tharsis was all that he knew. To be working elsewhere was a significant change for him.

There was also the fact that Isiah had never really gotten along well with other medics. It had always been him and his father. Doing their own thing. Going at their own pace.

Isiah wasn’t exactly worried about working with Lynus. He had gotten to know him pretty well through their letters. And he appeared as harmless as a creampuff. He had also gotten to know Derek through their letters, too. So, it wasn’t those two he was apprehensive about.

He just hoped there wasn’t a staunch, by the books medic that would start shit with him. His father had dealt with that. And Isiah had, as well. It was incredibly agitating to have someone harping on you all the time.

Shaking his head to rid himself of that current thought pattern, Isiah stepped through the opened doors. In front of him was a large wooden desk with a few flies already scattered across it. To his left was another door, an office if he were to guess. And to his right was the medical bays. Eight beds. Four on each side.

And there were two beds with curtains drawn around them. One on the right wall, furthest from the door. The other on the left wall, second from the desk.

Hm. Appeared to have patients already.

The curtain from the bed furthest away suddenly moved to the side, and Lynus stepped out. He held a folder in his hand, to which he kept his attention upon as he idly drew the curtain close behind him. He paused for a moment to scribble someone into the folder as he absentmindedly walked through the bays.

Before Isiah had to announce himself in some way, Lynus lifted his head up and smiled. He wasn’t surprised in the slightest. Much like Nitish often was.

“Isiah. I see you’ve found the clinic,” Lynus said as he drew closer, his smile taking on a more apologetic slant. “Sorry for leaving so suddenly.”

“It’s fine,” Isiah replied with a slight shrug before he motioned toward the two occupied bays with a tilt of his head. “I assumed you were called away for a reason.”

Lynus glanced over out of habit, his smile faltering further as he nodded his head. “Yes. I have a couple of patients in my care right now.”

He obviously wasn’t going to say who they were (as if Isiah would know) and what thir ailments were. Which was fair. So, Isiah instead took another glance around the clinic, noting the equipment and necessary materials.

“Hm. Not a bad set-up, I have to admit,” Isiah said.

Lynus nodded his head as he folded the file shut in his hands and placed it under his arm. “I was surprised, too. I do hope the number of beds we have are enough, though. I’m also thinking about asking Villard whether I can turn one of the storage rooms into a library of sorts. To keep the reference guides within easy access.”

“Yeah, that would be a good idea,” Isiah said as his mind momentarily drifted toward the items and materials he had brought with him. “I have a few things of my own. I imagine that you do as well.”

“Ah… I brought half of my clinic, honestly,” Lynus uttered as an unexpected light flush appeared on his features and he idly scratched his cheek. He then coughed lightly and motioned to the door that was to the left of the entrance. “Moving on, this is the office. Villard initially presented it to me to use, but if you need a space of your own to work on a project, you’re more than welcome to use it, too. Only fair, since there are other medics who would know their guildmates better than I could.”

Isiah followed Lynus into the office and took another moment to inspect his surroundings. Large wooden desk that faced the door and window that looked out over the clinic. Bookcases already filled with books. A filing cabinet close to where the desk was situated. Not a bad looking setup either.

“You do have a point,” Isiah said idly. “But I do hope that my pack of idiots don’t get into too much trouble.”

Lynus offered a light laugh as he walked over to the desk and set down the file he had been carrying. “I hope so, too.”

“Lynus?”

A man with long brown hair and piercing golden eyes stepped into the office, he being the one who called Lynus’ name. He wore long purple robes, dissimilar to that of a runemaster however.

“Hm? Is something wrong?” Lynus immediately asked the newcomer.

But the man shook his head and turned his attention toward Isiah, which was rather unexpected. “No. I just sensed a different presence.”

Lynus made a noise of understanding and moved to step out from behind his desk to approach the two of them. “Then let me introduce you; this is Isiah, from Tharsis. Isiah, this is Oracle, leader of the Aurora guild in Armoroad.”

“Isiah, huh?” Oracle said before Isiah had the chance to respond. “So, you’re the Demon Medic. You sound fun.”

“Who told you that?” Lynus asked, exasperated.

The corner of Isiah’s mouth twitched into a half smirk. “It’s fine. The title doesn’t bother me. In fact, it’s frightened many a patient into compliance.”

Oracle folded his hands into the sleeves of his robes. “But threatening them has to be quite entertaining?”

Though the question was highly unexpected, and asked in a totally deadpanned manner, Isiah shrugged. “Sometimes. Especially if I’m in a bad mood. Other times, I just want them to get out of my office.”

“Hm,” Oracle hummed in thought for a moment before he nodded his head. “That’s reasonable, yes.”

Lynus uttered another sigh, which caused Oracle to turn his attention toward him. And in the same deadpanned manner, asked Lynus an equally unexpected question; “You’ve never had to kick out a patient? Or quite literally kick a patient?”

“No,” Lynus practically blurted out, somewhat taken aback by the question. “I mean, I’ve had my share of difficult patients. But I’ve never had to resort to…drastic measures.” He paused for a moment and idly dragged a fingertip over the braid near his left ear. A wince flittered on his face for a moment before his expression smoothed out. “Though…I have seen other medics at the hospital resort to such methods.”

“Oh?” Oracle murmured idly as he leaned forward, as if to get a closer look at Lynus. “You really are such a sweetheart, aren’t you?”

Lynus immediately blushed. “U-um. I don’t know about that,” he stammered.

“Please,” a new voice scoffed. “You are Lagaard’s resident sweetheart.”

The blush remained on Lynus’ cheeks, which seemed to enhance the pout that appeared when his gaze shifted toward the door. “Don’t you gang up on me, too,” he objected.

Isiah turned to look over at the door to see another man with short red hair and glasses. He wore a medical coat similar to Lynus. Though he was taller than Lynus was and appeared rather nonchalant.

“I would do no such thing,” the other man returned. “Derek would get protective of his adopted son, hm?”

It appeared as though Lynus tried to glare at the other man, but it was honestly a simple pout. He certainly didn’t have an intimidating bone in his body, did he?

“Purposely changing the subject; has Derek finished with his preparations of the hospital?” Lynus asked.

“Smooth transition,” the man joked in response before he shook his head. “No, not yet. He’s still fussy about getting it the way he wants.” He then turned to Isiah and looked at him curiously. “And I take it you’re Isiah?”

Isiah nodded. “That’s right.”

“I’m Darrell,” he finally introduced. “I work at the hospital with Derek.”

Aha, the name was familiar. “Ah, yes, he mentioned you, too.” Hard worker, had no tolerance for stupid explorers, more than willing to use unconventional methods to give healing to a patient. Whether they wanted it or not.

“Sounds like him,” Darrell replied with a shake of his head. “He’s such a dad, honestly. Though, he claims he doesn’t have any favourites, Lynus is definitely his favourite son.”

That brought a smile to Lynus’ face and he made no attempt to dispute the claim. In fact, it seemed to make him happy to hear it. He still had a light dusting of pink to his cheeks, though.

“Lynus,” another new voice interjected. “I have that book you wanted.”

Once again, Isiah turned to look over at the door of the office. This time, however, two figures appeared. One with white hair and glasses, about Darrell’s height. And with him was another youth, with orange hair and eyes the same shade of violet of Lynus’, and about the same height.

“Hm?” Lynus made a questioning sound before he brightened with realisation as the man with white hair handed a leather-bound book to him. “Oh, thank you. Yes, this will be useful.”

Lynus opened the book, seemingly prepared to flip through the pages there and then. He soon snapped the book shut, however, and offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry, introductions,” he said as he turned his attention toward Isiah once more. “Isiah, this is Simon and Remedy from Etria. The other medics I told you about. And this is Isiah of the Phaedron guild.”

Isiah turned his gaze toward the other orange-haired medic and arched an eyebrow. “Hm? Remedy?”

“Yes, a medic called Remedy,” Remedy instantly replied, his expression tired and his shoulders slumped forward in a sign of exasperation. “My mother was a psychic. And before you ask; Lynus and I aren’t actually related. We just look similar in appearance.”

Simon chuckled lightly into his hand. “He had been asked that a lot, you could say,” he explained before he turned to Remedy. “Though, to be fair, you two do look like brothers.”

“I guess,” Remedy said as he straightened his posture and sheepishly scared his cheek. “It doesn’t exactly bother me. I guess it’s just a nervous tic at this point.”

“Good, more medics,” Oracle unexpectedly stated as he also turned his attention to the two newcomers. “Have you two had to get violent with a patient?”

Simon gave Oracle a puzzled, yet somehow exasperated look. “That certainly was a random question.”

“And we’ve moved on from that subject,” Lynus quickly chided.

Oracle, however, shook his head, completely dismissing the disapproval. “I haven’t. Well?”

Oracle’s pointed stare was rather…piercing, causing Remedy to shuffle uncomfortably on his feet. “Um, well, I’ve haven’t had that many patients. I’ve mostly been out in the field. They’re pretty compliant there.” He paused with a wince. “Although…”

“Although?” Oracle pressed.

Remedy lifted his hands to sheepishly press his index fingers together in front of him. “I hate to admit this, but I’ve had to shoot a couple of them.” He immediately blushed a crimson red and scrambled to explain himself. “It’s medi-bullet! Don’t get any wrong ideas!”

Simon smothered an obvious snort of amusement. “Remedy has some gunner skills. Medi-bullet is a gunner’s skill where it’s basically a tranquilizer dart with medica infused within it,” he explained once again. “Allowing for you to literally shoot a patient.”

Oracle nodded his head in understanding. “Interesting,” he said in a total deadpanned manner as he regarded the white-haired medic. “Have you done such a thing?”

Simon shook his head. “No, fortunately.”

“He has some landsknecht skills, though,” Remedy added quickly.

“Yeah?” Darrell said, perking up in interesting. “I do, too. Used to be a landsknecht myself before changing to medic.”

It was always good to know that his fellow medics had weapons if they needed to defend themselves should the need arise.

“I have a few mace and driveblade skills myself,” Isiah revealed.

Oracle turned his piercing eyes in Isiah’s direction once more. “I don’t know what a driveblade is, but I assume it’s fun.”

Again, Isiah felt his lips twitch into a half-smirk. “Puts the fear of god in others.”

The guy reminded him of Kalan a bit. Kalan was a little bit sassier, though. He couldn’t help but wonder if the two would get along well with all their deadpanned snark, or become rivals. Should be amusing either way.

“Do you have a weapon of choice, Lynus?” Remedy asked.

Lynus immediately appeared uncomfortable by the question. His discomfort wasn’t overly obvious, but he did pale slightly and his hands fidgeted with the buttons on his medical coat. “Um…No, I’m not one for weapons, I’m afraid,” he admitted. “Axel wants to teach me some sword skills, though I’m reluctant. I…I’m just more focused on healing.”

“With such a protective guild and husband, he doesn’t need to use a weapon,” Darrell interjected quickly, somewhat protectively if Isiah was to be honest.

Oracle may have caught onto that, too, as he tilted his head to the side questioningly. He looked at Lynus for a moment before he righted himself. “I take it they can be rather violent?” he asked instead.

Lynus uttered a weak laugh. “Um, they can be…” he muttered.

“Rightfully so,” Darrell added protectively again.

“Hm,” Oracle hummed lightly. “Looking forward to seeing that.”

Isiah fell silent as the other medics speak with Oracle, indulging him in his odd questions. His gaze wandered over toward Lynus and he noted that he didn’t look as uncomfortable as before. His smile was placid, his expression gentle.

And yet there was something…vulnerable about him. Darrell’s protectiveness was blatant. And Isiah got the feeling that he would be willing to turn violent if he needed to. Honestly, Lynus reminded him a bit of Nitish; delicate and gentle, even in the face of adversity.

There was definitely something painful hidden behind Lynus’ outward appearance. Isiah was used to looking out for vulnerable people. He was surrounded by them, after all.

Well…he’d just have to wait to see what happened next. One thing he was fairly sure of, he was going to be fine working with these guys. The next few months should prove interesting.

… … … … …

Lynus leaned back into his chair as he idly rubbed his forehead with his hand. Before him sat two files. One was easy enough to deal with; Zalaph and his bout of bronchitis. The other was quite complicated. Zydon and his curse. He had a fever earlier that morning and his guild were rightfully worried. So, brought him to the clinic and refused anyone but Lynus to inspect him.

The fever was due to the curse. It was feeding off of his aura. So, in order to weaken the curse, Lynus needed to find a way to strengthen Zydon’s aura.

And Lynus knew a little about that.

Lynus felt the approaching aura before he heard the footsteps. He immediately recognised the presence, though he had only known him for about two days. But Nitish’s aura was quite beautiful, peaceful even.

So, while he couldn’t sense anything to worry about in his aura, Lynus placed his hands upon the desk and pushed himself to his feet. And he wandered from his office.

“Nitish? Something wrong?” Lynus asked just as the blond-haired runemaster stepped into the reception of the clinic.

Nitish shook his head and folded his hands delicately in front of him. “Not at all. I’m just taking a stroll to get a sense of my new surroundings.” He paused as he looked around the room. “So, this room is the clinic?”

Lynus nodded as he took a moment to glance around also. Thankfully, both Zydon and Zalaph had been returned to their rooms, under the watchful gazes of their significant others. So, the clinic was empty for the time being.

“Yes. It’s well equipped, thankfully.”

Nitish turned his gaze toward Lynus once more and offered him a small smile. “Un. I don’t know if Isiah had told you, but I have a few medic skills myself. As does Varuna.”

“Oh yes, he did,” Lynus said, brightening upon the memory. “Your specialist skills will be grateful beneficial. Though, I hope we won’t need to use the materials here all that often.”

“Yes, me, too,” Nitish immediately replied. His gentle expression soon shifted into that of unease. As if he was struggling with something internally. “Um…can I speak with you for a moment?” he finally asked as his hands fidgeted in front of him.

“Of course,” Lynus immediately replied and motioned toward his office. “Would you like to speak in my office?”

Nitish nodded his head and he followed Lynus into the smaller room. Nitish remained standing as Lynus closed the door behind him. He continued to fidget with his hands for a moment before he nodded to himself.

“Is something bothering you?” Lynus asked as he approached him.

“I don’t know how to begin,” Nitish stated as he stood facing Lynus completely. “But…do you remember the letter than Isiah sent you a little while ago requesting help for an ill guild member?”

Of course, he remembered that letter. How could he not?

“Oh, yes, I certainly remember that,” Lynus replied as his hand subconsciously raised to his chest, over his heart. “I felt the urgency in Isiah’s letter and knew immediately that the situation could soon turn dire.”

A pained expression flickered onto Nitish’s face. “Y-yes, that was true. Well, that patient was-”

“The one called Achyuta?” Lynus gently interrupted.

Nitish nodded his head. “Yes, that’s right. Did you sense something?”

“I sensed the healing of his lungs,” Lynus explained. “Signs of healing leave small imprints, as it were, on the spirit. They’ll heal, along with the scars on his lungs.”

“I see,” Nitish sighed, quite relieved to hear that. He straightened his posture slightly. “I just…wish to thank you, for what you’ve done.”

Lynus tilted his head to the side. “Hm? It was Isiah’s doing, really.”

Nitish smiled softly. “But you helped. You gave us light during those dark times. And I…”

The memories attached to his words were obviously quite distressing. So Lynus stepped forward and placed his hand on Nitish’s arm, gently interrupting him once more.

“It’s ok,” Lynus said. “You don’t need to use any words. I understand.”

“I’ve been wishing to write to you ever since,” Nitish said, becoming quite emotional. “But I don’t know what to say. I still don’t. I don’t know how to ever repay you.”

“You don’t have to,” Lynus interjected before he reached out with his other hand to gently touch Nitish’s other arm. He then looked into his eyes as he spoke in the most reassuring tone he could muster. “Nitish, listen, you’re one of the reasons why I dedicate myself to healing. Kind people like you, like Achyuta and like Roxbury, deserve to live long and healthy lives. That is my goal. For everyone to be free of suffering and to be safe. I don’t need any payment. Knowing how grateful you are is enough. Sincere gratitude is the best payment a healer could ask for.”

Nitish stared at him silently for a moment. Studying him. Studying his aura. Soon, he smiled softly and whispered in an equally gentle tone; “…Thank you.”

Lynus gave his arm a light squeeze. “You’re welcome. Are you feeling better?”

Nitish nodded his head. “Yes, I’m feeling lighter now.”

Lynus smiled in understanding as he released his hold on Nitish’s arms. The runemaster took a half step back to silently compose him. As he did so, Lynus took a moment to inspect his aura out of sheer habit. As he did so, his attention was drawn to Nitish’s left eye once more.

“Um, do you mind if I ask you about your eye?” Lynus asked before he had time to reconsider.

Nitish tilted his head to the side questioningly before realisation set in and he straightened. “Oh. I’m partially blind in this eye. It was the result of head trauma from childhood,” he explained.

“Ah, I see,” Lynus uttered as he raised his hand to gently touch Nitish’s forehead, the other leaning his head forward to allow him to do so. As he inspected Nitish’s eye, a slight frown tugged at his lips. “The scar tissue is quite old. I’m afraid, without major surgery, your sight won’t fully return.”

Nitish was quite curious to hear that. “Really? I never put much thought into it, to be honest. My sight has been like this for years. I’ve grown accustomed to it.”

Lynus lowered his hand to his side and nodded his head. “Honestly, any interference may make your vision worse. Well, since it’s not affecting your quality of life, there’s no need for anything intrusive.”

“Yes, that’s true.” Nitish smiled and placed a hand against his heart. “But thank you for taking an interest.”

But Lynus shook his head, his smile turning somewhat sheepish. “No. I’m just really nosy. Doesn’t help that I can see auras. I can see ailments in others they don’t even know about themselves. It’s still rather awkward walking up to someone in an attempt to give them medical advice.”

Nitish laughed into his hand. Good. He was peaceful and relaxed once again. The need to show gratitude must have weighed heavily upon his mind for some time. It was a relief for him to finally get it off of his chest.

Honestly, that only further justified the lengths Lynus had to go to, to find the necessary materials and information. He knew it would go to a good cause.

Nitish tilted his head to the side for a moment before a knowing expression appeared on his face. “Roxbury will likely wish to speak with you, too,” he unexpectedly said.

Lynus tilted his head also, and quickly noted of a growing familiar presence. “Ah,” he uttered as he straightened. “Then I'll tell him exactly what I told you.”

“Thank you,” Nitish said once more as he bowed forward slightly. “Goodnight.”

“I hope you rest well,” Lynus returned, which earned him another small smile from Nitish.

Without another word, Nitish turned and walked to the office door and let himself out. He left the door ajar behind him, however. He was likely to walk past Roxbury on his way to his new room, and was likely to encourage his guild leader to speak with him.

So, Lynus waited. If he could ease the burden of another, then that was what he would do.

A few moments later, Lynus felt Roxbury’s aura approach and his footsteps soon followed. Lynus stepped out of his office as Roxbury paused by the doors of the clinic. There was a sense of hesitancy in his aura, as well as a bit of guilt. As if he was worried about bothering him.

“Hello, Roxbury,” Lynus greeted warmly so not to startle the other man. “Inspecting your new surroundings?”

Roxbury jumped ever so slightly before he turned to grant Lynus a somewhat sheepish look. “Um, yes, you could say that,” he said as he stepped further into the room.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Lynus asked.

Roxbury didn’t immediately reply. He thought to himself for a moment, internally battling within himself to find the right words. “You mentioned something when we first met,” he finally said. “About me doing well.”

Lynus nodded. “You’re wondering how I knew about the injury to your side?”

Roxbury’s hand inched toward his side, where a scar was both physically and spirituality. “It’s not that. It just…I wanted to thank you for your help in easing that wound.”

“It was Isiah who did the work,” Lynus replied with a knowing smile. “I simply gave him the materials and support needed.”

“Yes, I understand that,” Roxbury insisted as his hand rested against his side and a soft, yet distressing expression appeared on his face. “Honestly, it’s not the injury itself that has me seeking to show gratitude. It’s just…”

Lynus might have some idea to what Roxbury was insinuating; he wasn’t just relieved that he was free of his injury. He was relieved because it meant someone close to him wouldn’t go to potentially extreme and dangerous lengths in effort to heal him.

Of course, he wasn’t entirely sure that was the case. But the distress in his presence…he had felt it somewhere before.

“Roxbury, you don’t owe me anything, you know,” Lynus stated in hopes of pulling Roxbury from his obviously painful musings. “And I assume that Isiah feels the same.”

“W-well, I tried to thank him, too,” Roxbury admitted as he idly scratched the back of his neck. He then sighed and shook his head in an exasperated, but somewhat fond manner. “But he won’t have it.”

Lynus had to smile. From what he knew of Isiah, he definitely appeared to be the type to dismiss any displays of gratitude. Not that Lynus could find it within himself to fault him for that. He did the same thing, after all.

“That’s because seeing you alive and well, seeing you with your family and guild is all the gratitude he needs.”

Lynus then stepped forward, and much like he did with Nitish only moments ago, placed a hand upon his arm and offered him a sincere smile. “Roxbury, listen; when a medic chooses a guild and chooses to heal a guildmate, they don’t do so out of obligation. They do it because they genuinely care for the members of their guild. Isiah loves and cares for you all. Even the ones he grumbles about. He did what needed to be done to help you. It’s what he does. What I do. I’m glad that I was able to help support him. But he was the one who healed you. I was simply an avenue he needed to reach his goal.”

Roxbury looked at him wordlessly for a moment, openly stunned by what he said. His expression soon softened and a gentle smile appeared on his lips. “Hah, I see. Honestly, what would we do without medics?”

“That’s something you won’t be finding the answer too anytime soon,” Lynus said as he gave Roxbury’s arm a light squeeze before he stepped away.

“I certainly hope so,” Roxbury said in earnest before he straightened his posture slightly and bowed his head in a similar way of Nitish. “Well, I’ll leave you be. Thank you for speaking with me.”

“Not at all.” Lynus’ response was immediate. “Feel free to drop by any time for any reason. Someone is bound to be here.”

Roxbury smiled again. “I’ll remember that. Well, goodnight.”

“I hope you’ll rest well in your new surroundings,” Lynus uttered once more and watched as Roxbury turned and stepped out of the clinic, immediately turning left to head toward his new dorm room to rest.

Lynus was about to return to his office when he sensed another presence. It definitely wasn’t a threatening presence. In fact, it was truly benign. And familiar.

“Hello?” Lynus said questioningly as he stepped out into the hallway.

From the right of the hallway, another figure emerged. Despite the array of golden dancer jewellery he wore, he was surprisingly silent in his movements. He also held a very sheepish expression on his face.

“Sorry if I appear as though I was eavesdropping,” Mahalah said as he approached Lynus. “I was just checking up on everyone.”

Lynus smiled comfortingly. “It's completely fine. I have that habit, too. Much to Axel's chagrin at times.”

Mahalah smiled in return, actually comforted by his words. His expression soon turned curious as he folded his arms across his torso lightly and tilted his head to the side. “You have quite the gift of speaking the right words, at the right time.”

“Hm? Do I?” Lynus asked as he rested his hand against his chest. “I was simply speaking the truth.”

Mahalah’s gentle smile returned. “That's why they're so appreciated.”

Lynus took a moment to study the other man before him. He had a gentle aura of his own. Very humble and warm. Yet, encouraging and understanding. “Roxbury is very important to you, isn’t he?”

“He’s my brother,” Mahalah immediately replied. “We’ve been together since childhood. His home life wasn’t the best. And he carries a lot of unnecessary guilt as a guild leader.”

Lynus felt a light sense of protectiveness appear in his chest. But he brushed it aside for the moment. “He truly has a gentle soul.”

“And a heart of gold,” Mahalah replied immediately again before he sighed and shook his head rather sadly. “That’s why I’m so protective. I need to let go, I know. But still…”

“Now, you don’t need to let go completely,” Lynus interjected before Mahalah could travel further down that thought path. “He still wants you in his life. Roxbury has a big heart. So big that he can share it with many people. Including you.”

For the third time that night, Lynus was stared at with an expression of surprise and curiosity. And like the other times, a soft, sincere smile was soon revealed. “…You’re right. Hah, you really are incredible at giving advice.”

It really was a habit now, wasn’t it?

“Well, my goal is to ensure that everyone lives long, happy lives,” Lynus stated.

“That’s a truly wonderful goal,” Mahalah said, his voice as sincere as his aura. “I’m glad that we agreed to join.”

Lynus nodded his head. “I’m glad, too.”

“I best leave you be,” Mahalah unexpectedly said. “I have a few more guildmates I want to check in on.”

“Of course.”

Lynus stepped to the side to allow Mahalah to move on his way. He knew better than anyone the need to ensure that one’s guildmates were safe and secure in their surroundings. Especially in new surroundings. He couldn’t help but read his presence again and that feeling of protectiveness returned. So, he called out to him.

“Mahalah, I hope you remember to look after yourself, too.”

Mahalah paused in his steps to turn and grant him a curious look. “Hm?”

“I'm a care-taker, just like you,” Lynus explained. “And I have the habit of neglecting my health for the sake of others. Just like you.”

Mahalah was silent. He appeared as though he wanted to refute that, out of sheer habit than anything more. But, instead, he sighed softly. “...I guess I can't deny that, can I?”

Lynus smiled comfortingly once more. “I'm afraid not. No offense to Isiah, but there’s definitely a few members of your guild that I want to mother.”

“I know what you mean,” Mahalah replied around a light chuckle. “They won’t make it easy, but do keep trying. They deserve it.”

“I will certainly try.” Lynus presented his promise by resting his hand over his heart. “Well, it’s getting late. Perhaps you should retire for the night. All those introductions were sure to have tired you out.”

Mahalah nodded his head before he gave Lynus a rather stern look, his hands on his hips. “You should rest, too.”

“I will. Once I finish something in my office.” Mahalah’s eyes narrowed at that and Lynus had to smother a laugh of his own. “Yes, really. I promise,” he said as he raised his hands in a pacifying manner. “Just a few more minutes.”

Mahalah laughed lightly once more, honestly amused by his response. “Alright. Just this once,” he joked in response before his gaze softened, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

With another graceful nod, Mahalah turned and continued on his way. Out of sheer habit, Lynus watched until he could no longer see him, though he could still sense his aura. It was lighter now. More relaxed and comfortable.

He was glad.

Lynus turned to wander back into his office when another presence pulled him to a stop. His brow furrowed as he glanced down the hallway where Mahalah had disappeared in. Not a moment later another figure was seen.

“Villard?” Lynus questioned, somewhat surprised to see the elderly war magus roaming about. But perhaps he, too, was simply making a lap around the Sanctuary out of habit.

“Ah, Lynus,” Villard greeted in response. “Had a few visitors, I see.”

“Yes, I've had a steady stream of them lately,” Lynus answered politely. His interest was piqued when Villard came to a stop before him. “And what can I do for you, Villard?”

Villard folded his arms into the sleeves of his cloak. “I have a request.”

“Yes?”

“I want you to accompany me to Iroys when we land.”

Lynus was taken aback by that. “Oh?”

Villard nodded his head again, but sharply this time. “Yes. You see, Roux, a good friend of mine, has a grandson who is very ill. It's not your conventional type of illness, either.” He paused for a moment as he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “He was taken at a young age and forced to endure years of putting his health at risk for the selfishness of another. It has taken a great toll on him.”

Lynus felt a wave of nausea wash over him but he pushed it back. “I see.” He swallowed thickly. “You wish for me to meet him?”

“Yes.” Yet another sharp nod from Villard. “If you have any insight, it would be greatly appreciated.”

“I understand,” Lynus said as he forced a smile to his lips. “Of course, Axel will likely want to join us.”

Villard huffed out a laugh. “I expected as much. Very well, when we reach Iorys, I’ll escort you both. Until then.”

With nothing more to say, Villard turned and moved back along the hall from where he came. Lynus watched until Villard was no longer within sight before he raised his hand to his chest in an attempt to subdue the pain he felt. A sharp pain to his heart. No, it wasn’t a physical pain. He wasn’t experiencing a heart attack or anything of the sort.

His heart hurt because of memories.

“…the selfishness of another…”

He…

Lynus shook his head and ventured back into his office. Only so he could put his research away for the timebeing. He just needed to be with Axel and his family for the moment. And to tell Axel that they, too, would be visiting Iorys with Villard.

And…he hoped that there was something he could do to help that person.

… … … … …

Maginia’s arrival to Iorys certainly wasn’t unexpected, nor was it unannounced. But it sure did surprise a lot of people when the large behemoth of a machine flew past the city in search for a suitable place to land.

Drayce was thankfully still awake when the flying city rumbled past. He couldn’t imagine what kind of shock and fear he would have felt to awake suddenly to the trembling and shaking of his surroundings. One earthquake was enough for him, thank you very much!

Everyone had already gathered into the dining hall for breakfast, though many members of his guild weren’t all that hungry. They were too nervous to eat. And honestly, Drayce couldn’t blame them.

They were anxious about joining Maginia’s voyage to Lemuria. While they were somewhat interested to see the mysterious island for themselves, they were also rightly nervous. They had niched out a rather suitable life here in Iorys, with an encouraging prince as their supporter, and awesome people to help should they need it.

They were also worried about…a certain member of their guild.

Drayce ventured over to where his grandfather stood by the window, looking out toward the large city of Maginia. “We’ll need to visit Ramus soon, won’t we?”

Roux nodded his head. “Yeah. From what I understand, Princess Persephone will wish to speak with him first. Best let them have their private conversation first.”

“And your friend? Villard?”

“Yeah, he’ll be there, too,” Roux answered, a serious expression on his face. “And, hopefully, that person would be there, too.”

Drayce looked toward the seating area of his guildhouse. To where his brother sat by the fireplace. In his wheelchair. A pillow behind his head as he dozed quietly. His expression free from pain. For a short while at least.

“You think they can help?” Drayce asked softly, his voice hitching in his throat.

“I hope so, my boy,” grandpa replied. “I hope so…”

#Etrian Odyssey #etrian odyssey nexus #fanfiction #gathering of guardians #simon #lynus is precious and lovely