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milky-aeons · 3 months

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𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐄𝐑

a/n: i wrote this story years ago! and while i was rereading it out of pure boredom, i decided i wanted to breathe some life back into it again. this shall be multi-chaptered! take your time with it, and please read the warnings before you embark, loves!

warnings: class differences, oppression of women, mentions of illness, mentions of death, depression, violence against women, mentions of abuse, mentions of rape, superstitious natures, spoilers, mdni, w.c 7.4k

౨ৎ . . . chapter ONE of CROWNS OF STARDUST

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚜.

— Grace Willows, To Kiss a King.

𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆. Dotted studs of white fire, splattered over a glassy night sky that sometimes bloomed with purples and indigos of rare supernovas, if you were lucky enough to see them.

You could lie here for hours, like this, gazing at the wonders above. Counting as they winked at you from far away, feeling the evening breeze nip at your cheeks and whisper through the field. And above everything; allow yourself to imagine. To think, secretly, what it would be like if everyone thought like the stars did.

They didn't discriminate, stratify, hate or detest. They simply shined brightly, each of them made of that very same material everyone in the world was also made up of; incandescent, special speckles of stardust.

If only they could see that. If there could be some way to force through the social ladders of your society, to break away from the labels placed upon you. Perhaps the world would be a better place if we thought how the stars did — believed that everyone, no matter how rich or poor, was the very same on that fundamental level.

Intertwined within our souls was the stuff of stars that made us no better or worse than the person next.

Perhaps the world would be just as beautiful as a sky on a peaceful, undisturbed night when every person was allowed to shine just as brightly as the stars above. But this stargazer locked that thought up deep within her heart, just like all others that expected too much from her rank, her social label, and staggered to her feet with a heavy sigh.

The Village of Yo, January, 1831

A chipped, wooden horse came down hard against the worn chess board with a force that rattled all the other pieces. Hand-carven, they were fragile and you should have been a little less vigorous. But caught in the grips of victory, you had little room for such caution.

"Checkmate," You smiled giddily, knocking the King piece off the board. "I win."

Your opponent; a willowy old man with lines streaked across his forehead and an impressive beard grumbled with narrowed eyes. Reaching up, he rubbed a hand down his face. "My, lass. I knew one day you'd catch up to me, but I didn't think it'd be this quick."

Still smiling, you reached down to pick up the King from the floor where it'd landed. You brushed off the delicate carvings on the piece with care, hoping you hadn't damaged it any more. A terrible habit of yours it was; becoming too excited about games and strategy. It was bad enough that one of the castles was missing its parapet because you had become angry at a sneaky strategy your teacher had used. And hurtled the poor piece across the room.

But now, you placed it carefully back, it looks as if said teacher has been bested by the student.

"You should take pride," You assured through a grin. "It means you're a great teacher."

"Teachers don't teach to be bested by their students, lass. Maybe it's my eyes. I didn't even see your counterattack in place, at all."

"Ah, I see. Go on, then. Blame your eyesight." Your lip jutted in a playful frown. "God forbid that a woman beats you at anything. What will the village think? You'd be locked up and subject to a shower of rotten fruit."

"[Name]!" The wood whined as he rapped on it three times. Superstitious to an art form, your Grandfather has always been. Which of course, was why you spoke so loosely to him in the first place. Receiving a rise out of him was one of the ways you loved to keep entertained in this small, handwoven cabin typical to that of common folk.

His cheeks tipped rose when he exclaimed, "You mustn't feed the air with talk of such events!"

You, the victorious Chess Champion, stared your Grandfather in the eye. The pair of you didn't reach the third second before a low chuckle escaped the older man. It was hoarse in a way that spoke of his age, an obvious hallmark of his weakening health you didn't think about so much.

He shook his head. "Aye, my Granddaughter has bested me. Are these lungs of mine finally getting to my head?"

Three consecutive knocks rang through the air. This time, it was you who had copied your Grandfather's superstitious habit and tapped the table. "Now who is feeding the air with bad thinking?" You asked him softly.

"Not bad thinking, lass. Pure truth."

"Grandfather." You frowned even more. Talk of your Grandfather's weakening health sent a thousand small stabs through your heart, opened doors to thoughts of an empty cabin without him there. You couldn't bear to entertain anything but the thought that the new medicine you've received would work. No, it had to.

It must.

The man gave another rattling cough, followed by a scowl. "Rather than wasting money on all that fancy apothecary, why not more food? You're an awful liar, [Name]." His eyes similar to your own — that clear tone which rivalled the smoothest of glass — riveted into you. "You believe you hide your stomach growls, but you doubt the hearing of an old man with poor sight."

On instinct, you placed a hand to your stomach, pressing hard. Through the simple dress tied off at the waist, you could feel the tight skin, the lumps of your protruding ribcage. The hunger spasms had drawn your muscles taut, but the pain was tolerable. Grandfather needed the food more than you, after all. He needed to get better.

"It is nothing," You mumbled. "There has been drought throughout the summer. You know that. Food is sparse. I'm young, I'll live."

The older man studied you with a shaky hand stroking over his beard. It was a long moment before he let out a chuckle. "You've got your Mother's selflessness and your Father's poor deceit. Really, what'll I do with you?"

Images of the young couple that birthed you were gone as quickly as they came. It didn't hurt as much to think about them anymore, as you knew they too, existed in the stars that looked down upon you all. [Name] of the Willows family was strong and always kept her backbone in check, but would be lying if you said you were ready to be completely alone. Not after the sudden passing of your parents.

Even if you had to work in a farm trudging through mud picking up weeds and other unpleasantries, you would keep your Grandfather here on this earth. Your only living relative — one you couldn't bear to let go.

It did not help in the slightest that this drought was financially crippling not only the farming community in the village, but the whole Kingdom of Yo as a nation. They were mainly an agrarian province that got most of its income off of produce. Drought of any kind, especially one lasting this long, was bound to cause chaos in every aspect of the Kingdom. And it had — chaos that was quickly balanced by raising taxes in order to stabilize the economy.

An idea offered by the Royal Family of the Yo Palace.

You ground your teeth every time you thought about the monarchs all were meant to bow down to, to marvel and respect. When they were treated like nothing but cattle to be milked of everything they had? The Miyazawa farm you worked on hardly has any money for themselves in this current climate, not concerning your wages, which had been shaved down as of recently. You had no reason to blame them. No, the people you directed such distaste to were the money-laundering aristocrats that stood on top of it all.

If anyone was responsible for your forced fasting in order to afford basic medicines for your Grandfather's health, it was them.

You were unsure about many things in life; marriage, family, food, but if you could count on one thing; it was that you hated the Royal Family. With everything you could possibly gather within you.

"It's a terrible thing you can't get rid of me," You continued with Grandfather's remark, trying to distract yourself from the depravity of it all. You carefully set up another chess game with the delicate, whittled pieces. Your favourite game. "Who would wake you up in the morning, then?"

"The taxman at the door, that's who." He scoffed.

Whatever water you had in your stomach went sour. "The Royals ought to be ashamed of themselves, taxing us like we have it all to give. Do they not know the people they rule over? How we're struggling?"

A sigh filtered through the air. "Don't be quick to blame the Royals for everything, [Name]. Running a Kingdom is not often black and white. If I had to guess, I believe they don't have a choice."

Suddenly very taken aback by your Grandfather's point of view when his very body was wasting away because of the people he was defending, you shot up. Eyes blazing a bright inferno, neck tight. "How could you defend them?"

"I'm not defending them, lass. But it is wise to think before you project." He rounded his own clear eyes on you. "How would you save a Kingdom if it was falling apart?"

You were about to give into that same habit of reacting when worked up and lash out. They tax us silly, uncaring of how many lives they leave in ruins! But before you barely got a word out, there was a loud commotion outside.

An explosion of high, excited chatter that caught both your attention. Cautiously, you left the chessboard and Grandfather's company to venture to the front door and peer outside. What could it possibly be at this early hour? You wondered with a huff, blinking the sunlight from your narrowed eyes. It was midday; the time of lunch, if one was lucky enough, and perhaps quiet work.

Not an entire gaggle of women hurriedly knocking on doors and running around with their skirts gathered up in their fists.

Wary, you almost scowled at the lady who scurried towards you. The lady was too excited to notice, it would seem.

"Oh, darling!" She gushed, taking you by the hands. "Oh, it's amazing! A miracle!"

"What is?"

The lady shook her clasped hands. "You truly don't know? You have not heard?"

I would have not asked if I did, you wished to remark. Women such as these who were nothing but charm and gossip unnerved you the most. But instead, you remembered basic propriety. "Pray tell? For I have not."

"The Royals, my darling! They've smiled down on us and heard our cries! Recruitment, they have just promised, for all young women under forty and unwedded. With a promised wage! They wish to help those in need in these taxing times! Oh, we've been saved. Saved, my darling!"

Your twitching brows knitted. You were having serious trouble understanding what you had just been told. "Pardon, Miss?"

"The day is wonderful, my Darling!" The lady took her hands away from you and twirled happily on the spot. Her cheeks were stained a delicate rose when she stopped. "I'd place my name down quickly with the Registrar, [Name] Willows! Unwedded and in these troubled times, a servant's job will be a blessing to you!"

Servant's job?

The woman was already scurrying off to the nearest house ready to spill the news when it caught up to you. Your mouth parted to draw a shaky, disbelieved breath. No, this can't be. You turned to look at the other houses along this path. Each and every one of them looked busy, some already ushering their daughters out the door so they could place their names down and help the family income.

Hold on a moment, the Castle is suddenly accepting women to become servants for the Court?

In this financial climate?

Such a handful of women who were desperate for income, like you, were currently taking to the streets with hastily wrapped scarves around their heads. It was a sea of excited commoners, close in age and status to you. Some of which, you were close friends to.

The sight of it all made you suddenly take the severity of what was happening seriously and gather your skirts to turn back into the house.

"Grandfather," It was a hurried whisper on your tongue. "Grandfather, where are you?"

The older man was already standing at the small kitchen you shared, his back turned. Unbothered, he never really was one for dramatics when they arose in the society. "Why do you sound like you've seen a ghost, lass?" He asked while pouring a shaky cup of water. "Don't bring any of that societal malarkey into this home."

"No, Grandfather, this is not—this is," You were having trouble getting coherent words out. Because surely, this couldn't be true. "The Castle—they're—?"

"Use words correctly," A small tap on your forehead that made you blink. You hadn't been flicked as such since your teenage years. But it seemed to do the trick — because your were shaken right out of your startled haze. One tight swallow and you were right back in the room.

"The women," You began quickly. "They've come saying that the Castle is looking for new workers. Servant women, able and unwedded. They promise of a wage, Grandfather." Your expression suddenly grew tight. "Do they mean to mock us? First they take away our taxes, now they take any women who are able for a family?"

Silence followed your obvious open question. It made you frown when he stared into the murky water with quiet contemplation.

"Grandfather?" You pressed, now confused.

It was a few more moments of a now heavy silence before he tipped the water down his throat, followed by a rattled cough. "So, what are you waiting for?" He suddenly piqued, irritated. The cup came down heavily onto the kitchen table. "Where is your scarf, your bags, your birth papers? You'll be a fool to think that they will accept just any woman who doesn't get there first!"

Warmth spread quickly from your chest up to the top of your neck. Like a slap to the cheek, the words from your Grandfather were hard and unexpected in their impact. Your hands clasped into shaking fists at your sides.

"What are you saying? Do you honestly believe I would work as a servant woman in their Castle—?"

"Better a servant girl than pulling weeds up in that Miyataza farm you work on."

"Miyazawa farm, Grandfather. It is the Miyazawa family."

"Does it matter, lass? I could bet a Castle job would pay you far more generously than weeding. Servants are treated well. They are fed and warm when they sleep."

The heat was creeping into your cheeks now. How dare he try to send you away? How dare he even think you would consider being sent away?

"I'm not leaving you." Was the hard-line, final statement. You stood straight and taut, daring your Grandfather to wish you away.

Truthfully — due to the mechanisms of this time and the harsh needs of society; you really couldn't stand in the way if Grandfather truly wished to send you to the Castle. Because you were a woman, and he led the house as a man. Misogyny was the only thing a tomboy, unwedded woman like you could not break down with nothing but her soul and stubbornness.

But you could damn well try. Every day, you could try.

"Grandfather," You put every emotion into the soft plea. Begging him to understand that this would rip a hole in your heart. That you would better uproot weeds from a farm with your skirts bunched than polish a lavish Palace hall. Would rather feel the pang in your stomach from days of foodless meals than not see him every morning and night. "Please, don't send me away."

The answer which greeted you was icy and so unlike the man who cared for you. "That's enough, lass. You're going. It's an opportunity not to be missed."

"I don't want to leave you!"

At that, Grandfather glared at you. But it was softer around the edges — the glass of his eyes now a gentle powdery colour. For a spared moment, you were hopeful that guilt had finally swayed him. Even more so when he reached up to pet your hair; an affectionate gesture of his own. You dropped your eyes and leaned into the pat, knowing that the hope would crackle and burn around you. Like everything else in your miserable life you continued to struggle against.

"Servants of the Castle are permitted to return once a month. You won't miss this ol' shack that much, lass. Tending to me and my rotten coughing. Your parents would have wanted it for you," He spoke softly. The gravel of his lung condition made the words a raspy wheeze. "A servant woman of the Palace. You couldn't ask for anything better when we're all drownin' in poverty."

A choked sob was steadily rising in your throat, but you pushed it down and averted your eyes. In a shaky whisper, you attempted one last time, "The Royals are the last people I would ever serve, Grandfather. Even if they promise of a wage."

You could hear it in his chuckle — the knowing grin he always wore. Oftentimes, it reminded you vaguely of your Father.

"Remember, [Name]. If your Kingdom was in ruins, how would you save it?"

The village of the Yo Kingdom was still buzzing with excitement hours after the news was relayed to every single door. Mothers and Grandmothers alike who did not meet the criteria for work waved their younger daughters off, some with cloths up to their mouths to hide the tears. Of elation or despair, you didn't know.

It was with a heavy heart that you packed your things in the small area you and Grandfather shared for sleep; him on the bed while you took to the floor most nights. Not that it ever bothered you. Something about the musty scent of oakwood and the tuft of hay you treated as a pillow stayed with you as you wrapped the scarf around your head. Home, you thought with lines bracketing your frown, this was your home and you were only permitted to return once a month.

Could you truly serve the family you hated so much?

You didn't let the hope in your heart dwindle. Having spent a generous deal of time arguing with Grandfather while getting ready — perhaps the Registrar was no longer there. Maybe a good number of women had beat you to it first and you were too late. With a deep breath did you continue your walk across the small village street — following some stray women as they hurried along the same route. Constantly, you turned around to look at your Grandfather once more. But you had ventured far into the city now — your home was around the bend and well out of eye's view.

If the Gods smile down on you, then perhaps you wouldn't have to leave for too long. The Registrar will be full, and you could return right back to where you wanted to be.

Perking a little, you entertained how you would laugh right in his face when you returned home. Ha! Would you look at that, you senile old man. It just wasn't meant to be! A servant woman is not where the Heavens want me to go! A small giggle rushed through you, lifting your spirits ever so. It seemed more probable now the more you walked; there was a high chance the Palace would not accept any more applicants after the previous sea of women bombarded them.

Yes, you told yourself, that's right. And then I can think of what to make Grandfather for dinner tonight. No more will I have to entertain the thought of aiding that horrid, despicable family—

You rounded the sharp bend, only to feel your stomach plummet to the floor.

Sitting in the middle of the cobblestone pave-way was the table you were desperately hoping would not be. Women flocked around it; an ocean of scarfed heads and chattering voices. If it wasn't for another lady brushing passed you would have stayed there frozen and allowed the small sack to fall through your fingers. The Registrar, you quickly realised with dread, he's still here.

You hadn't been too late, after all.

The Gods continued to hold their frown on you.

"Oi, you!"

You snapped to attention when someone singled you out. A burly man, dressed in robes of blue and pure white with a sword at his hilt. The Palace colours. Everything about his demeanour told you swiftly that he was a Royal Knight.

And this Royal Knight was glaring at you intensely.

"I asked you to move into line!" He thrust a gloved hand to the suddenly startled row of women, whose eyes darted frantically. "You block any woman attempting to come through standing there!"

Survival instincts instructed your body to move on command, knowing full well a Royal Knight was not a man to be trifled with. Especially one twice your size and brandishing a terrifying sword. But because you had a stubbornness that could border dangerous in the wrong situations, you projected a tempered glare his way.

"Forgive me, my Lord." You said through tight teeth.

The Knight bared his own teeth and opened his mouth — obviously, he was unused to common village girls who didn't bend underneath his command. Damned Knights, it was a bitter thought quick in your mind as the Knight brought his hand up, everyone attached to those Royals believed they were above everyone else!

Bracing for a crack to your cheek — like so many others you had witnessed, especially when commoners were loose-lipped with those in high command — your eyes snapped shut. Women shrieked and moved away from the scuffle. Your whole body tensed in expectation.

"Sir Francis!"

It was a strong, steely voice that sliced through the air. Because it was taking too long for the pompous Knight to impact, you risked opening one eye. Then the other when your possible assailant wasn't looking your way any more. What in the world...?

The Knight was staring over to where the table was when you trained your eyes there, following every other woman's gawks, also. Seated at the table and the obvious owner of the words was the man that took the names down of possible servant candidates.

The Registrar.

His grey eyes gleamed impatiently underneath the square glasses he donned, mouth stitched.

"—disrespectful, my Lord." You caught the tail-end of what the Knight was saying. "I was teaching her a lesson."

"A lesson, huh?" The Registrar wondered. If you could believe, it looked like he was displeased with the Knight's actions. Surely not, you shook your head minutely amidst the surprise, it was common knowledge that most Knights mistreated commoners. Slapping women was not the worst they could do.

The Knight nodded stoically.

"Bring her here." The Registrar asked with a quick flick of his wrist. "Quickly. Hindrances will only delay the schedule."

"M-My Lord?"

"Are you wasting my time, Sir Francis?"

"A-Absolutely not!" The Knight exclaimed. Then before you could react, he wrapped a strong hand around your frail arm and roughly hauled you forward. Your habit kicked up again on reflex, hurling every disrespectful word you could at the Knight — even attempting to kick him in the shin. But he was Palace trained and you hadn't eaten in days. Any attack you attempted would have been laughably akin to a toddler's in your state.

An unhinged, furious wreck; you were thrown before the Registrar's small table. Your hands flew out to brace yourself against the wood so you wouldn't sink to your knees. No man would make you result to your knees; Royal Guard or the King himself.

But your fumble did result in an ink bottle tipping over and spreading a river of black all over the parchment of names.

"Ahh! T-The names!" One voice wailed. Another Royal Guard. His tone quickly became seething when directed your way. "You useless cur! You'll atone for this with a whipping—!"

"There will be no whipping."

Blinking, you shot up to see the face of the Registrar staring you down. Tall and faintly handsome; he had smooth skin of porcelain that threw his grey eyes into sharp focus. A mane of golden hair was kept neatly in a tail at the back of his head — not a piece out of place. You hated how his heavy stare made you gulp. Especially when there was an irritated tick to his jaw.

But then, he sighed. "Fetch me another bottle of ink," He spoke to the Knight over his shoulder. "There should be a Craftsman nearby. You have two minutes."

"My Lord, this behaviour is uncanny. You should not allow her to—!"

"Whipping is a sore waste of time when we have so much women to get through." The Registrar hissed in a tempered whisper that could very well be a chilly breeze. He tossed his eyes back to the Knight, and you noticed the bob of his throat. "Are you attempting to tell me what to do?"

It wasn't a question. It was a careful, dangerous threat.

And the Royal Knight answered him correctly. "N-Never, My Lord!" And with that, he was spun around and off he scurried to find the ink bottle. You noticed the barest droop in the Registrar's tense shoulders, and couldn't help it when the words came tumbling forth;

"You saved me from a beating."

The Registrar slid his eyes to you. You knew you shouldn't have said it — not because it was improper and lacked propriety, because it did. You had no care for that. It was because he was looking at you now as a human would stare at an insect, and you were reminded of why Royal Court Members were people you'd never show gratitude to.

Straightening, you steeled your spine and hardened your glare. "I don't know what I can offer you." You hissed.

The Registrar may appear as if he is looking at a bug, but now his eyebrow raised. An interesting bug, perhaps. "I do hope you don't believe you can become a servant with no etiquette."

"Oh, I don't want to be a servant." You said proudly. "It was my Grandfather who sent me."

"Surely, he does not place the hopes of income on you?" The faintest ribbon of amusement in his tone. You caught it, and grinned.

"Better on me than a useless airhead woman who has no backbone when expected to serve in a Castle of Thieves."

Were you purposely attempting to jeopardise your chances? Perhaps. Your sharp tongue was more to do with the gleam of jest in the Registrar's cool grey eyes. It rubbed your nerves wrongly, how the Royal Workers thought the people they ruled were amusing little rodents; only to give money and anything else material.

"The Castle of Thieves?" He ventured, albeit lowly. It would surely be odd if the Registrar repeated such accusations of his place of work. You couldn't help but be taken aback by his curious manner, but hid it well.

The Registrar leaned back. No longer an insect, you thought as he regarded you with indifference. You had upgraded to a comical animal. The barest smile on his lips gave it away.

"You speak boldly." Was all he offered.

"Someone in this village has to." You countered.

"Speaking boldly in the Palace will result with your skin being littered with scars. Court Members are everything but lenient."

"Well, then that's that settled! I'm just too improper to be a servant woman. Truly, a shame." Secretly elated, you were preparing to turn right around. "I thank you for listening to me, My—"

"Wait."

Your bones and muscles snapped, froze. With an uneasy feeling in your gut that your habit had just upset the Registrar, who commanded the Knights around him, did you hesitantly look over your shoulder. When he said nothing but stared did you hold back a sigh and turn right around.

"Yes, My Lord?" You got out. A beating? Or perhaps you will be forcefully robbed of your innocence? It was unwise to question the extent of punishment a high-standing Official could mete out. But were you sorry? You grit your teeth, never in an aeon of existence.

The Registrar was quiet for a second, only studying you with everything but a livid expression. It not only made you perplexed, it also made you more nervous than what a glare would do. "Do you have your birth papers?"

You blinked. "Pardon?"

"Your birth papers. I expect you have them on you?"

Indeed, but you weren't about to give them up to this man. Although two Royal Knights had suddenly flanked either side of you — attracted by the commotion and why you were taking so long. So, with a jaw locked and eyes daggering into the man before you, did you reach into your sack and produce the heavy parchment.

He took it in his long, nimble fingers. Studied it with eyes downcast under his peculiar frames.

"[Name] Willows. Of childbearing age," He glanced up. "I assume you are unwedded?"

He assumes. You forced the annoyance down into your gut. Right where the other hatred for the Royals and their henchmen resided. "No." The Royal Knights and their weapons made you spit, "My Lord."

You and the grey-eyed Registrar didn't break the stare-off, not even when the Knight came stumbling back with the fresh ink-bottle in hand.

"My Lord!" He yelled breathlessly. "My Lord, I have fetched the ink. Some new parchment too. Courtesy of the Craftsmen Charlisle."

"He has my thanks," The Registrar opened his palm behind so the bottle could be placed there. When it was, did he spread the new parchment out and dip a fine quill in. "[Name] Willows," He said the name like a condemning sentence. The very end to all of your happiness. Your wide eyes tracked each swirl of the quill, every dot and dab. No way —

The Registrar sat up and smiled at you. It was that unnerving half smile. One that set all your nerves alight and spread fire coursing throughout your bloodstream. "Congratulations. Starting today, you shall be a training servant woman. May you enjoy your stay in the Castle of Thieves."

You let every bit of your pride go in the moment of shock. Mouth gaping, eyes widened. Surely there had been a mistake. There was no way the Castle accepted women who didn't keep their thoughts, voices and tongues to themselves. It was a matter of propriety, and in the Castle — propriety was held at the highest value. The Registrar was still studying you when the red cleared from your vision.

"Miss [Name]," He questioned. "Did you hear me correctly? There are others we must see to."

This damn Registrar, your fists clasped at your sides, practically vibrating with rage, this man was messing with you! He had to be!

"You can't be serious." You whispered. "The Castle would never allow it."

"I'm the Registrar. My duty is to choose what women I believe will make the most able servants. And perhaps, dare I say, you've enlightened me. It's true. Women who, as you say, 'have no backbone' will never survive serving under the Prince and King of the Yo Court."

The sentence was sealed in stone. Due to your habit, your humanly need to not be treated as scum by the higher-ups in society had just landed you in your worst nightmare. A job at the Caste, serving under the monarchs you hated the most. Being given a wage made from the taxes these villagers were being squeezed of. And there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.

Already plunged into hell, you figured you may as well go out with a bang while you descended.

"What is your name?" You whispered to him.

His golden brow cocked. "I'm the Registrar."

"You mean to tell me your Mother gifted you with that name?"

A beats silence. The Registrar stayed still, contemplating long enough to deceive you into thinking he would not answer. Of course he wouldn't, pompous Court Official that he was. But after the silence was up, he leaned over the table. This wicked grey-eyed man who had just sealed your fate under lock and key.

"Kunikida Doppo," He said to you. "Secretary to The Throne. I will also be controlling your wages, Miss [Name]. I do hope your time-wasting habit does not carry over to your work."

You met him with a challenging smirk. "My Lord, Kunikida Doppo. How grateful I am to be granted this chance. Of course, I won't waste my time." Then, your voice dipped into a deadly whisper. One that was uncanny to any woman of society. Or any woman who wished to keep alive, period. Yet you, in that moment, couldn't find it in yourself to give a damn. "But I can promise you that I'll do everything to waste yours."

Outside the Throne Room, the Royal Palace of Yo

Court Officials; dressed in their beautiful garments of fine silks and studded gems, waited cautiously outside the Throne Room. The women with fans open in front of their faces to hide their frowns. Frowns, after all, stressed the skin to a point of wrinkles. No woman of the Court should be caught doing such a thing. The men had their hands of the hilt of their swords, swearing under their breaths and chattering in low voices.

"What do they think the Prince will do? If none of us could crack 'em, why do they think a pampered Royal can?"

He was met with violent shushing of another man. This one was a lot older and therefore, not as arrogant. Arrogance in the Palace of Yo got any man killed.

"Idiot!" He hushed. "Don't speak so easily of the Prince! Have you not heard his name in the halls?"

"His name?" The other man wasn't impressed. "'Course I have. It's common knowledge to know our Prince's—"

"No, his nickname. 'Demon Prince' is what the walls call him! You would be wise not to doubt his abilities of cruelty. Especially during interrogation."

The nickname of the Prince, the only Prince of Yo and heir to The Throne, sent violent shivers down each spine in the room. Women recoiled further behind their embellished fans, men cast their faces to the shadows with thin lips. It was all except for the gaudy original man, who had recently only joined the Court and was foolish in his thinking.

"Pwah!" He scoffed. The soft whisper of metal as he took out his sword. "I don't believe for a second that a spoiled Prince could do what actual Guards couldn't do! He was a lapdog his whole life — an only child!" There was an arrogant smile on his face. Perhaps the reason why he didn't notice the heavy sounds of doors opening behind him, or the desperate quiet pleas of the Court Members, was because he was so caught up in his bragging.

Whoosh, his sword sliced lazily through the air and he declared loudly, "I wager I could knock the brat on his behind with just one match!"

"Truly?"

It was a new voice that filtered through the air, stiffening everyone's bones in the hallway. Soft and mellifluous, the tone of the Yo Prince was rumoured to send men to their knees, women shaking with uncontrollable sobs, and government officials to tighten their jaws.

Today, his voice was echoed by the hiccups and tears from inside the Throne Room. The man that every Guard was interrogating without success was resulted to a blubbering, pathetic mess with just ten minutes alone with the First Prince.

The man brandishing the sword swivelled right around.

It wasn't only his voice that could break even the most hardened souls with wicked words. Rumours circled that it was his eyes — the shade of mahogany, of whiskey mixed with deep coffee. They bore into your spirit. Scanned deeply until you were stripped bare of everything you attempted to hide.

There was a sudden clang of metal on the tiles. The Prince didn't even flinch. He continued to stare at the now defenceless man, who was shaking in his boots.

The Prince cocked his head. "Would you be so kind to repeat yourself? I don't think I heard correctly."

Perspiration broke out everywhere along the man's skin. He was shaking so much now that he was sure of collapse. No one in the hallway was surprised, and braced themselves for the fate of the arrogant Court Official. He barely had lasted a week, and proceeded to insult the Prince to his face. Death, or something far worse, was imminent.

"N-N-Nothing—Nothing, My Liege." The shaking man regurgitated the words. Unashamedly, there was a growing patch of wet taking form in his tights. "I-I-I assure you."

The Demon Prince let absolutely nothing change in his expression. Silence befell over them, heavy and thick, coating everyone in a layer of sticky oil. No one dared breathe, blink or even move. Not when an execution was about to be sentenced.

But the Prince did something more than that, and objectively a lot more terrifying.

He smiled.

"Ah, is that so? Forgive me, Guard-san. It appears the interrogation has left me tired~" His eyes blinked once, twice, and the dark coffee was now a bright whiskey. That was the other rumoured thing about the Demon Prince; his usual persona was calm and silly, yet underneath there housed a terrible monster no one should get in the way of.

He turned to another Guard. "Officer-san?"

"Y-Yes!" The older man stood to stoic solute.

"He's a spy of the Ko Kingdom," The Prince said easily, gesturing to the man who was crying on the floor in the Throne Room. No doubt his soul had ben fractured into thousand irreparable pieces. "Was sent to gather information on our economy. Word is spreading quickly that our drought is near crippling. He was due to report back to the Kingdom yesterday," He let out a light, almost playful sigh. "But you see, the man got greedy and enjoyed himself too much in a brothel house last night~! Spilled his entire guts to a lovely whore he was accompanying. What do you say to that, Officer-san?"

The man almost turned green with pressure. "I—I have nothing to offer, only that it was a life threatening mistake on his part, My Liege."

"Ehhh, you think brothels are 'life threatening', Officer-san?"

"T-That is not at all what I was—"

A peal of perfect laughter rang out when the Prince threw his head back. His mass of brown curls fell perfectly over his eyes when he straightened, those eyes decorated with long dark lashed were shut in happy moons. Deceitful, that was the First Prince of Yo, and God love anyone who fell for his blindingly attractive charm.

"My, my, Officer-san. You're like an innocent school-girl! How about we go to a brothel and find a lovely lady to not tell your wife about~?"

"M-My Liege!"

"Come now, don't be nervous. Life if all about new experiences."

"I can assure you that I have—I have—!"

The atmosphere around the hallway was gently eased until the air was at least breathable again. Some brazen women snapped their fans shut now that their lips were upturned into a smile. Many of the men engaged in the Prince's easy banter. It was no small secret that, when he was in the correct mood, that the Prince had his way with people. Those who never touched or saw the other side to him naturally flocked to his presence.

The only remnants of his commanding, terrifying side was the sounds of wails in the Throne Room; a spy who stood no chance against the Prince's careful questions that everyone decided to stay ignorant to.

That and the shaken man who had been on the receiving end of the Prince's stare. The man who stared death right in the face through eyes of the darkest brown, and escaped, but was now resulted to a soiled, sword-less mess. Frozen to the spot, staring at the open Throne Room and unable to escape from the nightmare the Prince has traumatised him into.

"Were you successful?"

The Prince of Yo, nicknamed the 'Demon Prince' by many of those who were unfortunate enough to encounter that side, strolled into the Quarters he was summoned to. This room was laved in gold and expensive jewels, silk bedsheets and grand oil paintings. In those paintings was the man who ruled over the entire Kingdom of Yo. And, the owner of the voice that called to his visitor.

The King of Yo; King Dietrich. He rarely uses his family name, although the house they lived in was brandished with the surname Dazai.

With a sigh, the Prince waved his hand. "The man was like an open book. Too easy to read, I got him to talk within a minute."

The King turned from the window to gaze at his son. His only son, and yet, there was a rift between them that was too cold to be one of family. They were simply King and Prince, and their fondness never extended past those titles.

He raised a brow. "Officer Hijikata told me you were in there for ten minutes."

At that, the Prince smiled. It was a bone-chilling smile, one that sucked the light from his eyes. "There are other things to do to a man's mind when you take away all his secrets."

The King regarded his son for a long moment, through the brown eyes so similar to his. Then, let out the most regal of sighs. "Such an unsightly habit you have, Dazai. You'd be careful not to terrorise the new servants being trained. It's taxing enough that your branded with a nickname."

"Nicknames are commoner games. Do you think they use them to feel power? That brandishing another with labels is how they humanise?"

"There you go again, speaking so unsightly. These manners will slip out to the public."

Dazai Osamu, the Prince of Yo and Heir to the Throne, waltzed lazily over to his Father's desk and picked up a tumbler. It was gorgeously carved out of magnificent glass, intended truly to be a gift for the King.

He poured himself a healthy serving of whiskey and downed it in one go. Alcohol never did much to fill the indescribably gaping hole in his existence, but it made him feel something.

"Then let them. It'll only produce more labels. More ways of pointless humanising," He brought the empty glass to his lips and stared distantly. Through those eyes that broke men down, that instilled fear into those older than him, that yearned for amusement to distract himself from his outlook on life. "It matters not. I don't deserve the title of human, any way."

ྀི. Chapter Notes:

↣ "The Registrar" is a title I gave to Kunikida as he was taking names from the women who were registering to become a servant of the Castle. It's not his official title, however. His official title is The Secretary of the Palace. ↣ A "Secretary" to a Throne is someone who supports many aspects of a monarch's private affairs; such as finances, schedules and correspondence. The main duty of The Secretary is to communicate the monarchs wishes to different areas of Government. Sometimes, a Court Secretary can also be The Secretary of State. ↣ Prince Dazai's nickname; "The Demon Prince of Yo" is a direct play on his nickname "Demon Executive" of the Port Mafia during the Dark Era arc of the anime. And the Fifteen Light Novel arc, I think? I tend to mention these plays throughout the book as I don't want to discredit Asagiri and make it clear what are my ideas an what is parody. ヾ(≧▽≦*)o ↣ Dazai's closing dialogue of; "I don't deserve the title of human, any way" is drawn from both Osamu Dazai's book No Longer Human and his ability in the anime, No Longer Human.

ʚɞ . . . 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

ʚɞ . . . 𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄

#bungou stray dogs fanfiction #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai osamu #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x reader #kunikida doppo #crowns of stardust #headers by astralnymphh #dividers by saradika!#port mafia #armed detective agency #🪄— milky writes

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rist-ix · 10 days

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have you ever thought about publishing your fics with changed names

Oh CONSTANTLY. Who hasn’t had the daydream of like, selling a book and turning into the next JK Rowling (except, you know. NOT like JKR. I’m talking money-wise)

The thing is, that simply does not work with the type of story I’m writing. Most fics I’ve seen turned into books were AUs, with a strong individual premise that was different from the original piece of media. You can take an existing ship, change the names and plonk them in a different setting, and the results will automatically be very distinct from the thing that inspired you, to the point it might as well already be original fiction.

My stuff tends to be very, very tied into the canon Magic Dimension. I'm very good at exploring and fleshing out existing premises, and carving out details from soft systems, be they magical or political. I am TERRIBLE at coming up with those systems myself.

Also! I never have to put in the effort of introducing the characters! You know the characters, you know their dynamic and backstories, I can jump straight into the action and my fic is better for it. If I wanted to file off the serial numbers, I'd have to not only change the setting — which Valtor and Bloom and ValtorAndBloom are very tied into — I'd have to introduce their motivations, their personalities, their histories and relationships to other characters. These fics take place in season 3, there's a lot of stuff that makes them juicy that are ONLY juicy because they’ve been established to you in canon, way earlier. If I had to set everything up myself, the actual story I wrote would lose either a lot of momentum or a lot of impact.

So yes, I do think about that. But I don’t think it’s ever going to happen.

#unfortunately it seems I must live like a peasant #no billion dollar book deal for me. alas #asks

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write-r-die · 10 months

Text

By Tomorrow - Part 13

Masterlist

A/N: Here we go, another chapter! I have the climax and ending of this story all planned out, I just need to figure out how to get there. Don't worry though, this isn't ending any time soon. Thank you all for reading!

Henry was relieved that made it back to the cottage before Sybil did. He wasn’t sure what he would say to her yet, and he would need the headstart preparing the bath for her. It was important to him that he do this for her and do it properly.

Henry had just finished when Sybil swung the door open and yelped in surprise, clutching a hand to her chest. “Oh. Forgive me. I did not think you would be here.” She struggled to regain her breath, her hand still pressed against her chest as if to keep her heart from pounding too hard.

“Does that disappoint you?”

“What? No, of course not. This is your house as much as mine – more so, actually, considering you’re part of the clan by birth. I simply wasn’t expecting you. Expecting you here and, I mean. I thought everyone would be gone at least one night hunting that stag, and you know how easily I get surprised.” Sybil finally ran out of words and concentrated on gnawing the dry skin from her lips and looking anywhere but at her husband. Surely there was more she could say to fill this awful silence.

She’d only come back to retrieve a piece of embroidery she wanted to show to Catherine, but Henry was now directly standing between her and it and she had no clue how she was to get around him, grab the garment, and slip back outside. So she lied.

“You know, I’ve quite forgotten what I came in here for, and you’re clearly preparing for a bath. I’m terribly sorry for interrupting. I’ll go back up to the keep so you –”

Henry said, “I thought we made progress. Getting accustomed to one another. To your life here. Has that been undone now?”

The air seemed to go out of her. “No,” she said unconvincingly. A moment later she added, “It’s something else to get accustomed to.”

It was his turn to eye her. Something was wrong – something more than their disastrous coupling – but he couldn’t guess what it was. “Is something else the matter?”

“No,” she said again.

Henry shut his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to cast off his frustration. “I can’t fix what troubles you unless you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

It took everything in Henry’s power not to slam his head against the wall. “Come closer, then, if nothing is wrong.”

She took a single step in his direction.

For the love of God.

He took another deep breath. “Please come here.”

There. He said it. He said please. And he’d apologized to her after bedding her, too. He could feel his masculinity slipping through his fingers.

He took yet another deep breath and softened his face as she stepped up to him; he meant to set her at ease, not add to her troubles. Then he wordlessly held out the lavender sprigs.

Sybil carefully took them from him.

“Lavender?” she asked softly, staring down at his gift. She hardly noticed that she’d begun crying.

Henry nodded once, keeping his gaze on the dried flowers in her hands because he was too uncomfortable to meet her teary eyes.

“Thank you,” she managed, sniffling. “This is very kind.” She was surprised that he remembered her ever even mentioning lavender, and the fact that he’d actually gone out and gotten her some –

“If you don’t stop crying I’ll toss them in the fire.”

She smiled, her gaze still focused on the blooms; Henry’s throat constricted. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands and grinned up at him. “I will stop crying then.”

This was his apology for hurting her, for making her rush into something she clearly was not ready for, and it was the kindest apology she could have asked for. She had the urge to kiss him as she did whenever she wanted to thank him for something without words. But could she still do that?

He must have seen the trouble in her eyes. His voice was whisper-soft when he spoke. “The bath is for you, too. You alone, I mean. I don’t want you to think I expect anything after what we did. It will be as before: We will do only as much as you’re comfortable with.”

He remained perfectly still as she rocked up on the balls over her feet to kiss his stubble-roughened cheek, and continued to remain still even after she returned to her feet.

She did not have to thank him aloud.

***

Henry took a seat outside the cottage near one of the windows to give Sybil privacy as she bathed. The linen curtain over it was drawn closed of course but he could hear her shuffling about.

She hadn’t mentioned that she was supposed to spend the night with Catherine; honestly, she’d forgotten.

Henry leaned his head back against the wooden wall and had started to doze off when there was a yelp from within.

“Sybil?” Henry called.

She gasped in surprise, slapping her arms over her chest to shield herself despite the fact that she had no idea where his voice was coming from. “Henry?”

“I’m outside by the window,” he explained. “I heard you make a noise; are you all right?”

“Oh. Oh yes I’m fine. I stubbed my toe on the edge of the bathtub.” Suspiciously, she added, “You can’t see me through the window covering can you?”

“I haven’t looked. I just heard you.”

“Right. Yes. Well. Thank you for asking. I’m perfectly all right though. Just clumsy.”

She climbed into the tub and settled herself in the water. She took a deep breath, savoring the smell of the lavender, and sighed contentedly.

“Are you still out there?” she asked after a moment.

“I can go elsewhere if you like,” he replied. “Leave you to yourself.”

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary – unless you would like some time to yourself, that is.”

She could almost hear him shrug. “I’m comfortable where I am.”

“Oh, yes, well, it is a lovely day after all. I’m sure Finn will be out with the horses until sunset. I think his father is with him – I hope so, at least. I know he’s the best rider in the clan, but Finn still worries me a bit. I saw him stand up on the back of a horse last week and I nearly fell over! You don’t do that, do you?”

He nearly smiled at her babbling. At least she was back to acting normally around him. “No, nott since I was very young.”

Sybil was uncharacteristically quiet for a long moment.

“Henry?”

He grunted loudly to be sure she could hear him and know that he was listening.

“When you were young . . . who cared for you?” She wasn’t afraid that he would get angry with her for asking these questions; she just didn’t want to push him to discuss something he didn’t want to, especially when he was being so kind.

“Many people,” he said after a moment.

Arran’s wife, Clara, had adopted a somewhat maternal role. Her first child died a few months before Henry was born, and caring for her nephew was both a heartbreak and a comfort. It was many years before she had another child, but she was blessed with three at once. Any other woman giving birth to three children at once would likely have died, but she was delivered safely by the grace of God.

Her interest in Henry quickly waned once she had sons of her own to attend to. Henry remembered overhearing Clara’s arguments with Arran about his care. Husband and wife were not overly fond of each other in the best of times, and Clara’s rejection of Henry, whom Arran regarded as his son, only drove them further apart.

Clara was tending to her ailing father in the lowlands now, and likely would be for some time. Her brother, a fool by all accounts, would need her help when he eventually took over the clan – assuming their uncle, the dying laird’s younger brother, was not chosen to lead instead.

Clara would stay with her family for as long as she could either way. She was happiest living separately from Arran. He was too good of a man to admit it, but he was relieved she was gone, too.

“Uncle Arran was very interested in my upbringing,” Henry continued. “Uncle Patrick, too, but he was more easily distracted.” There was a long pause. “My grandfather died shortly after my mother. Arran took on the responsibilities of laird, but he still spent an hour with me every day. So I’ve been told.”

Every day, despite the fact that Henry would not have known or cared at that age. Despite Arran’s avalanche of responsibilities, despite his wife’s resentment.

Sybil cleared her throat. Henry’s voice was too low, too thoughtful. She didn’t want him to get trapped in his thoughts. “I like Arran very much,” she said brightly. “He lets me talk for as long as I want.”

A wide smile broke on Henry’s face. “Is that your only criteria for liking someone?”

“Certainly the most important, but not the only one, no.”

“What are the other requirements, then?” he asked, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “I want to be sure I meet all of them.”

“That’s not necessary,” she said. “I already like you.”

It was silent for a moment. Sybil cursed herself for saying something so embarrassing, so stupid; Henry felt as if a weight had been lifted from him. She still liked him, even after their awful coupling.

He would never admit it to himself, but he wanted her to do more than just like him; this was at least a start.

He frowned in thought and asked, “Do you like many people?”

Sybil was unfailingly friendly, but she seemed to have dealt with more than her fair share of unpleasant people in life.

“I don’t like everyone but I don’t dislike anybody, either,” she said. “Except for Elizabeth and Lillian,” she amended. “They’re twins. And I’m not overly fond of Joan, either. Actually, I don’t particularly like any of my sisters now that I think about it, though I haven’t seen Madeleine and Demelza since they were sent to live at the convent years ago, so I can’t be sure if I would like them now but I think I would not. Does that make me an awful person, Henry?”

Henry wracked his brain for what she’d told him about her family but there was so much information she’d dumped on him and so many siblings to keep track of. She had . . . Six sisters? Seven? How was he ever to remember all their names?

“No, I don’t think so,” he replied. “Sisters are difficult, I think.” He wasn’t basing that statement on anything, as the only girl in his family, Catherine, was the best sister to Finn that anyone could possibly be. “What about your brothers?”

She had seven or eight of those, if his math was right. He’d never be able to remember all of their names, either.

“I don’t mind them, more or less. I liked Garrett very much. Royston and Gilard are at terrible ages where all they want to do is wrestle and shout at each other and make the younger girls cry but I hope they’ll outgrow it.” She stopped to breathe. “Your cousins must have been a handful around their age, especially since they’re triplets, but they all seem to have fine heads on their shoulders now. I must get to know them better. Alistair is very quiet and William doesn’t speak English, but I actually think I know Hamish fairly well. I must better acquaint myself with your friends, too.”

“You must?” he repeated dubiously.

“Well I should, shouldn’t I? They’re important to you. The whole clan is. And everyone seems to think that you’ll be laird one day which means I will be lady, and a lady ought to know her people.” She received only silence in response; it unnerved her. “Have I said something wrong?”

Was she being too presumptuous about the laird-and-lady things? Did he not want her getting closer to other people – men, in particular – the way her father did not want his wife or mistresses to?

“No,” Henry finally said. “I’m only thinking.”

She swallowed hard. “What are you thinking about?”

You, he thought. But he didn’t say it aloud.

“You’ve told me about your brothers and sisters,” he said, “what about your parents?”

“Oh. Well my mother seemed very tired all the time.” Sybil’s father said she was naturally weak, and the midwives were surprised she didn’t die in childbirth. “But after Samuel was born she caught a fever and did not recover.

“I like my stepmother though, I think. She doesn’t much like spending time with us children, even the older ones. I think she still misses her first husband, the twins’ natural father.”

It was both very romantic and very sad. Sybil knew she was naive for wanting that same sort of endless love that not even death could blunt, but it meant she would be in pain when it inevitably ended, leaving either her or her partner heartbroken.

“And what about your father?” Henry finally asked.

“What about him?”

Henry was surprised by her tone. It wasn’t rude or sharp, exactly, but it wasn’t as pleasant as usual.

Sybil shivered, her teeth chattering slightly. “Thank you for the bath, Henry. I appreciate it very much – I don’t want you to think that I don’t – but I’m quite cold now and I would like to get out but I don’t want to injure your feelings by doing so.”

“You won’t injure my feelings,” Henry assured her. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“You may come in now,” Sybil said a few minutes later. “I’m decent.”

She was wearing one of her English gowns when he came in, not the plaids that the other clan members wore. “The plaids you gave me are in poor condition at the moment,” she explained, “and these gowns are easier to put on. I needn’t worry about getting the pleats right.”

She smelled lovely and inviting. Her cheeks were pink, her wet hair unbound. She had a blanket pulled around her shoulders like she’d just woken from a nap.

“The bath is still a bit warm,” she said. “I just get cold very easily. Which you already knew. And it seems cruel to make you bathe in freezing water after going to all the trouble of drawing a warm bath for me.” Usually an entire family would bathe in the same water, one after the other, since lugging and heating and filling a tub with water was such an arduous task.

Henry just nodded. He took a step toward the tub.

“I can wait outside like you did,” Sybil said quickly. “Or go up to the keep. Give you your privacy.”

“You don’t need to leave,” Henry said slowly. “I would like it if you would stay and talk with me more.”

Her breaths were shorter now, her lips parted slightly as if to make an excuse. She was afraid to be alone with him while he was undressed. And considering what happened last time she was with a man while he bathed . . .

“I . . .” Her throat was closing fast.

“You’re free to go if you want. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable,” Henry said. “But I would also be happy if you stayed.” He added, “I told you, I don’t expect anything from you.” He was going to court her properly, he’d decided. He would earn his place beside her in bed.

She was still quiet.

He took a deep breath. “Sybil, it doesn’t have to be any time soon, but . . . I would like another chance to take you to bed. To show you what it should be between us. How it will be.”

She didn’t say anything for a long time. She kept her eyes on his chest, not daring to meet his gaze.

“Will you say something?”

“Not anytime soon . . .” she repeated to herself. “Henry, it still frightens me. I think it will for some time. But if you say it will be better, then I believe you.”

And then he broke another one of his rules, because he didn’t know how else to express how much he valued her trust. “Thank you.”

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anncanta · 6 months

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Will Graham: ‘I know who I am’

One of the most interesting things about the Hannibal series is that although it is named after Hannibal Lecter, it is actually the story of Will Graham. This whole film is about him, all the events are tied to him and centered around him. Will is both the main point of meaning and the point of the big bang from which the story is born. As the first season progresses and beyond, it becomes clear that it's not just Hannibal who is in love with Will—the writer and directors also are.

And this is no coincidence. Good storytellers (and all readers) know that a story doesn't need a villain or a conflict, although it's good to have both. A story needs a hero, a main character who is interesting to watch.

And Will is interesting to watch. When I tried to watch this series for the first and second time, I made a mistake—I looked at Hannibal. And, of course, I was disappointed. Because there's nothing to see there. Mads Mikkelsen is wonderful, he is good from any angle and in any pose, but the character of Hannibal ceases to amaze after five minutes. I'll say a terrible thing, but by about the third episode he is perceived as furniture. Everyone, absolutely all the characters beat Hannibal one-handed. The entire Jack Crawford team, from Alana Bloom, to the wonderful pair of forensic scientists Zeller and Price (it's hard to resist the assumption that this is a reference to Webber and Rice) and the beautiful and smart Beverly Katz, is amazing. So are the restless and youthfully cynical Abigail, the buffoonishly sassy Dr. Chilton and Freddie Lounds—a red-haired paparazzi with no brains, but with ambitions. What a delight! And in the middle of it all is Will. It is simply impossible to tear yourself away from him.

He is so smart, warm, lively. So different from any mold, cheerful, talented, kind. Perfectly aware of his limitations and aware that others are unlikely to understand that he understands. Irritated not because the people around him are stupider than him, but because he sees the beauty of the world, which cuts him with its sharpness. Everyone is drawn to him, everyone wants to be friends with him, everyone is literally fighting for his affection and attention. They don't even notice how, by his very existence, he does what Hannibal desperately strives for—conquers people.

The first and third seasons are very clearly contrasted. The first is about Will and, so to speak, shown ‘from Will’. This season is light, breathing, open. The third one is extremely decorative, artificial. It is made up of exquisite and ‘expensive’ parts, like puzzles, which in the end do not fit together into anything. The third season is about Hannibal. It is told through the eyes of a psychopath and about a psychopath. In a certain sense, this season is the most boring, because, moving inside the maniac, we discover that there is nothing there—just gilding on a door that leads nowhere. It is the eternal threshold—like the entrance to the palace of the mind. A chapel, but behind it there is no palace. We don't get there not because we're not allowed to, but because there's emptiness there.

Throughout the series, we see Hannibal trying to become the protagonist of the story. It seems to him that if he pulls the strings, then he controls the lives of others, he weaves fate, weaves webs for others. But he simply sews an eye from the dead, because he himself is internally blind. And he understands this.

There is insight where there is another. This is the only way to go beyond oneself. Hannibal is looking for this way out, habitually tightening the noose on one neck of the other. Until he discovers that he pulled it on himself. And only then does he give up.

Do you know what else is needed to get out and be free?

Free will.

#hannibal #hannibal lecter #will graham #hannibal nbc

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thelightningthatjumpsbetween · 1 year

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Chapter Three

RE8 | Wintersberg | Romance, Slow Burn | Action, Sci-Fi

Sequel of Winters and the Beast, a Resident Evil: Village Story

Table Of Contents

“Are you sure you want to go alone?”

“Hey, I’ve got this. It’s important to make sure we know before this meeting, right? And it’ll only take a minute.. I know how hard it is for you to see her like that..heh…or at all.”

“I will be here if you need anything, simply call.”

—---------

Ethan was standing barefoot in one of the many blooming, cliffside gardens of the Heisenberg estate when Eva’s voice faded. He closed his eyes and passed through the liminal space, which he now understood was simply a gateway to the real layers of the Mutamycete’s realms.

Passing that one thin layer that almost-touched reality meant that he disappeared from where he stood in the garden. Physically, he was now completely within the mold network.

It was a way to travel that he’d gotten more comfortable with in the last few months, if comfortable was the right word. Thanks to Eva, he was beginning to understand the network he was unwillingly a part of.

This–moving, it felt like flipping through pages of a book. Ethan spoke to the ever-present yet startlingly shy choir of whispers that moved around him.

Take me to Miranda’s garden.

The first time he went there, it had been involuntary, nearly a disaster, and Miranda had a hand in his partial appearance. Now that he chose to travel within this world, he could be safer about it. Sort of.

The “garden” was not a real place–it had no counterpart in the outside world–rather, it was one of Miranda’s created spaces. It was a deep lake where hundreds, if not thousands, of bodies floated under a mass of liquid that he wasn’t entirely sure was water. Sometimes it changed to black, and sometimes a bloody, disgustingly deep red. He saw it in his nightmares.

Instead of manifesting under the water, face to face with scores of decaying bodies, Ethan found himself on the rocky shore of the lake. Large stones made a border around the dark water, where gentle waves created lapping sounds.

Willing himself invisible was something he had no problem learning, much to Eva’s delight. In an instant he looked down, seeing the golden shimmer that dissipated like sparks around him. He could not see his own body. Ethan paced along the water’s edge.

He chose this spot simply because Miranda seemed to spend more time here lately. Eva guessed it was to help phase out of ‘memory’ mode, where Miranda had been reliving nearly a decade of her own life with her daughter on a dreamy, ever-repeating loop. Moving into her own created space where she could focus on her “power” meant that she was more interested in that, than her daughter’s life and memory.

To no one’s surprise, really.

The “garden” was something Miranda had created after she touched the mold in the cave, but not much else was known about it. She could quickly sense Eva in these places she’d made, but so far, she had not sensed Ethan. This would be his third time in this miserable place, and he hoped, one of his last. He needed the connection with Miranda’s consciousness to “jump” to the next memory he wanted to see. To see if his, and Eva’s, hunch was correct.

But where was Miranda, dammit? Ethan strode farther out toward the beckoning, murky waterside, his eyes tracing the line of the water’s horizon across the foggy shores.

It felt like a terrible spot to be, void of any other landmarks save the faux-treeline, faded mountain backdrop and the fog itself. The lake was medium sized, but endlessly deep. Still, on the surface, she had nowhere to hide. There was only water, and several rock formations nearby, away from the shore.

He would have to swim to get to them, and he had absolutely zero interest in doing so. On his first venture here Miranda had sat on those stones, and once, seemingly prayed, or spoke to something that Ethan could not see.

As the midnight moon rises on black wings….

Something bubbled, moved. He froze, watching the water, and then nearly ran back toward the tree cover when Miranda’s head emerged from the water. She shook her head as her body rose, moving directly upward.

At first he thought she was floating upward, but he realized as his stomach turned, that tendrils of mycelium were wrapped around her bare legs, pushing her upward from below, and now drifting toward the rocky island.

She held something in each hand, and blackish-maroon water cascaded down, dripping off her pale form as she gracefully stepped onto a flat stone. Miranda was only forty or fifty feet away. She had been in the midst of transforming, he realized as he stumbled backwards subconsciously. The long blackened claws were now fading into feminine hands, her almost spidery body shrinking to the petite form he was familiar with. She hummed in approval of this and stroked her cheek with one hand, still holding whatever she’d fetched from the murky water.

She was naked. Remembering what lay at the bottom of this lake, Ethan truly thought he might be sick, but he forced himself to watch as she spun on her toes, facing the area she’d just emerged from and raising one of the items in her hand over her head in a triumphant gesture.

It was a heart, he saw with a sinking feeling, and Ethan took respite in the tree trunk he was now backed up to, sagging against the rough bark as though the pine needed to hold him upright. Not only was Miranda wringing the heart’s blood over her head as she’d done with Ethan, but she now spoke something else unintelligible–Romanian, he could tell–and then after her remark, she sank her teeth into the muscle.

It squelched, and he grimaced. Ethan didn’t need to see more, he remembered. She was here, and that was what he needed.

With an exhale, he tried very hard to focus on literally anything other than the image of naked Miranda eating a heart, and he mentally spoke the request linked to the woman’s consciousness.

Show me her memories–where she put the crystals of the people below the water.

The only reason that Eva had known the purpose of this macabre ‘garden’ was thanks to Miranda’s notes, which on this topic had all but vanished over the years. It seemed it was one of her first ‘tasks’ after being infected with the mold. Rendering souls inside the mutamycete unable to move or communicate by drowning them, and then somehow transferring whatever was left of them into a crystal.

As Heisenberg explained it, it was not a death. It was worse; she was creating a network of batteries. Souls to be utilized as power. Her power. These “bodies” were suspended, frozen in a state where only Miranda had access to their energy, while the essence of their humanity–a nuisance that was not needed–was split into a crystal and discarded.

In addition to the mass murder of the village that happened just before Ethan’s arrival, it seemed Miranda had orchestrated a reign of terror on the Mold’s consciousness as well. It was likely one reason that the voices were so timid around her, as well as a reason that Eva hadn’t met a plethora of other people catalogued by the Mold in her time there.

The sound of Miranda’s almost sensual eating of the heart paused and she looked in Ethan’s direction, one eyebrow quirking as though she sensed him.

“Who disturbs me?” she asked sharply, and Ethan raised his eyebrows. Anytime now, voices.

The scene began to shimmer and he knew he would soon leave this stratum, as the edges of his vision darkened.

Miranda couldn’t see him, but she was powerful enough to sense him, and likely the moving, responsive network of the mold as well.

She called a name that Ethan didn’t recognize. Jochen?

Just as the scene darkened and Ethan felt the earth tip away from him, she called another name, and that one he did recognize.

“Mia?”

—---------

Ethan found his feet easily, and stepped into a trail in a moonlit forest. He shivered and heard his heart suddenly, thudding loudly in his chest. It was perhaps due to almost being seen by a naked, blood-soaked heart-eating crazy bitch, but also to the name she’d said. Why would Mia be there?

Ethan nearly fell over a rock when he realized he was walking behind a blond woman. So close that he could reach out and touch her. Despite his original inkling that it was Eva, he realized moments after that this woman was definitely not Eva.

She walked with purpose, and an almost hedonistic feminine gait. She was clad in simple black, but even from the back Ethan could see that it was far more revealing than her “Human” clothing choices.

And she smelled coppery. Like blood.

Miranda.

This was her memory–he was in no danger here, at least not immediately. The mutamycete was simply pulling information from history: in this case, from Miranda directly. The same way it replayed all of the moments from his own life after his body was re-absorbed.

Eva postulated that the Mold tried to replay scenes to better store them, especially ones that it “liked”, but he didn’t know anything about that. The whole idea was creepy. As if the mold watched lives, and had thoughts about what it saw.

He began to walk in step with her. If he’d known Romanian, Ethan might try to speak to the woman, but he only knew grocery store words, how to order beer, and the occasional curse. But from this angle he could see into whatever she was carrying–a basket, full of –oh, fuck, disgusting-dead crows, and among them, a bed of jagged crystals.

So that was how she got rid of the humans, he realized with fresh horror–the parts of them that weren’t useful in her energy network, her “garden”, were bonded with….other physical beings. In this case, it appeared, birds. That would explain the sacrifices.

The crystals were all coated in blood, and her hands were bloody.

Miranda was nearly skipping along the dark path, and Ethan noted that she seemed drunk. His long legs slowed until he was behind her again. To see less was somehow easier.

The only good thing about this situation was that he did recognize where he was walking. He and Eva had made this hike a month ago when they first started unraveling Miranda’s plans, trying to get one step ahead.

On the mountain range that kept the village isolated was Lacul Vrăjitoarelor, or, “Witch’s Lake.” (“Of fucking course that’s its name,” Ethan had spat venomously at the map, which caused Karl to chuckle, and Eva’s eyes to widen at his sour disposition.)

It was not too far of a walk from the village, but Karl had confirmed it was out of the Mutamycete’s reach–the mold did not seem to grow anywhere around it. He had raised a magnetic field around the area, while Eva tried to locate any trace of the mold, but none existed. It was likely past the ‘border’ of the mycelium.

And here was Miranda, with her basket full of bloody crystals.

If their guesses were correct, she was isolating harvested souls to a ghoulish, swampy lake where they could never be recovered or reunited by way of the Megamycete.

The ecstatic woman approached the water’s edge and dipped her feet in, spinning as if dancing in the shallow water. Ethan paused with his hands in his pockets, the look of disgust clear when she paused in her spin, staring at him in shock.

“Alătură-te mie?”

He actually understood that one, but Ethan shook his head slowly. This was the first time she’d seen him, spoken to him in a memory. And if history were anything to go by, the real Miranda could rejoin this ‘memory’ anytime she wanted, as if alerted by her former self of his presence.

“Oh, you speak English,” she said in a heavy accent, and the wide smile that broke across her face was nothing but uncanny. She wore dark makeup and her cleavage was…well, it was there, and then some. Ethan’s eyes widened at her remark. How was she able to know English if this was a memory?

She pressed him. “Don’t I…know you?”

“No,” he said very quickly, and dipped his head toward the basket. “What are you going to do with those?”

“These….sinners?” Her smile was still strong. She was acting…seductive? Was she flirting with him? She gazed toward him with heavy lids and the smile morphed into a grin, then she bit her lip. “Come in with me and see.”

“Isn’t it bad enough that you ripped people away from their bodies,” he countered with a gesture. “Without the insult of taking them away from the network that preserved them?”

“I do know you,” she said in that same heavy, sultry voice that suited her so poorly. Miranda tossed the basket aside, discarding its macabre contents into the stillwater without a single thought. “We were…together.”

“Nope,” he said even more quickly. Well, dammit. If she was going to do anything different before she’d seen him, his chance was gone. “Wrong guy.”

Home, he begged internally. Home, now.

The ground began to wobble, but she stepped out of the water, unbuttoning her bodice thoughtfully as she began to circle Ethan. His cheeks turned red as he reached up toward the necklace. The compass. Ethan gripped it so hard he thought it might shatter.

Home?

She is keeping you there, came the fairy voice, in a hurried whisper. Not the mold. Eva.

Wait there, I will get Karl.

His heart doubled in speed.

“Why are you holding me here?” Ethan said bluntly. “I don’t want–”

“I am?” Miranda looked genuinely befuddled, and even stopped with the undressing. “How curious.”

So, memory-Miranda wasn’t doing it. It was probably “Just had two hearts for brunch” Miranda who was preventing him from leaving. Great. All she had to do now was find him, traipsing along on her memory stratum, and interrogating her about her shitty soul-battery program.

Ethan felt a pulling sensation. In his feet, fingertips. A magnetic field.

“But we were together. I was….someone, for you. I shifted. I remember it.”

“N-nope,” Ethan said as he struggled to stand upright, hand still clenched over the compass. “Wrong guy, I told you.”

“You were exquisite,” she said as if remembering the tastiest dessert of her entire life. Just as Ethan cringed, he felt the pulling sensation turn into vertigo, and the scene, including Miranda, fell away into blackness. Just as he was pulled, another memory entered his mind–blending with Miranda’s, likely.

But it wasn’t the memory of her masquerading as Heisenberg.

It was an intimate encounter between him and Mia. The last night they were together before…Before Chris….

That flickering feeling overtook him. Like flipping through pages of a book.

Ethan again landed on his bare feet, stumbling, and felt a strong hand on his back. His shirt was bunched up, and Ethan realized Karl was holding him by the scruff of his neck as if he were a dog. When Winters abruptly righted himself, he turned and caught the bewildered, wide-eyed gaze of Heisenberg. It immediately turned into a scowl, in which the engineer began gruffly, “Just what in the hell–”

“It was my fault,” Eva interrupted, but Ethan stopped her.

“It was not,” he began, but Karl was already arguing again.

Ethan sighed and blinked in the early morning sun while Heisenberg ranted, “--supposed to just, wait for the next dumbass thing for you to get yourself into, like a goddamn cat in a roomful of rockin’ chairs, I swear to fuckin’--”

“Shall we eat breakfast?” Eva asked in a withering, motherly tone, and Ethan cringed at the memory of the squelching heart. He knew he was probably a light shade of green. Without waiting for either of them, he shrugged away from Karl’s grip and headed toward the dining room.

#fic: the lightning that jumps between #wintersberg #ethan winters #resident evil village #karl heisenberg #heisenwinters #karl x ethan #ethan x karl #mother miranda

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kreizler-pupil · 8 months

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Laszlo Kreizler playlist

This isn't exactly a Laszlo playlist, but more of a set of songs that I associate with the feelings and thoughts I have for him (wheter it's because of the lyrics or the vibes of the song). I also believe some lyrics match with The Alienist world or Laszlo as a character.

It doesn't have a particular order, and some of the songs have to do with the story fanfic I make in my head with him.

What being in love with Laszlo Kreizler feels like

"The heart is simply a muscle." "Then why does mine beat faster whenever I see you?"

🪻Show Me Your Mind - Sunken

🪻Animal - Sir Chloe

🪻Stargirl Interlude - The Weeknd, Lana del Rey

🪻Paris, Texas - SYML, Lana del Rey

🪻La leçon particulière - Francis Lai, Christian Gaubert

🪻Playing Dangerous - Lana del Rey (unreleased)

🪻Teacher's Pet - Melanie Martinez

🪻Bloom For Me - Pearly Drops

🪻Sour Switchblade - Elita

🪻Je te laisserai des mots - Patrick Watson

🪻Sex with a Ghost - Teddy Hyde

🪻Dancing With Your Ghost - Sasha Alex Sloan

🪻Sad Girl - Lana del Rey

🪻(🇦🇷) In a Bar in Buenos Aires - Franz Gordon

🪻Glory Box - Portishead

🪻Pretty When You Cry - Lana del Rey

🪻Dark Beach - Pastel Ghost

🪻We'll Meet Again - Vera Lynn

🪻Put me In A Movie - Lana del Rey

🪻Starstruck (Single Version) - Sorry

🪻The World We Knew (Over And Over) - Frank Sinatra

🪻All I Wanted - Paramore

🪻Damn Those Eyes - Ashley Sienna

🪻Million Dollar Man - Lana Del Rey

🪻Meet Me In The Pale Monlight - Lana Del Rey (unreleased)

🪻New York City - Among Savages

🪻Smooth Operator (Single Version) - Sade

🪻Infinite - Findlay

🪻Dark Side - Ramsey

🪻Way down We Go - KALEO

🪻See You Bleed - Ramsey

🪻Salvatore - Lana Del Rey

🪻Real Boy - Lola Blanc

🪻Distractions - Fabrizio Paterlini

🪻Idea 22 - Gibran Alcocer

🪻Hopelessly Devoted To You - Olivia Newton-John

🪻We'll Meet Again - Frank Sinatra

🪻older - Isabel LaRosa

🪻Time In A Bottle - Jim Croce

🪻I Don't Want To Set The World On Fire - The Ink Spots

🪻Desire - MEG MYERS

🪻Terrible Thing- AG

🪻I Bet on Losing Dogs - Mitski

🪻You Are There - Frank Sinatra

#the alienist #laszlo kreizler #dr laszlo kreizler #playlist #thornekreizler #Spotify

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lanistas · 1 year

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in the sea of lovers (Maura x Eyk, shameless fluff; Maura doesn’t understand why she barely feels anything when Daniel kisses her. So, naturally, when Eyk is washed back into her arms, she wants to test a little theory)

also on ao3

Daniel kisses her. Daniel. Her husband. The father of her child. He kisses her, and she can taste his tears on her lips, as he pours all his love and longing and affection into his touch. Maura kisses him back, and suddenly it’s a racing flood of images that overload her system.

The lights are dimmed, the sheets are soft, and Daniel’s touch is reverent, as he makes love to her on a makeshift bed, caressing her skin and intertwining their fingers.

It’s too much, the intensity of it all, and Maura breaks the kiss. This is not real. This can’t be real.

Because, if those are indeed the memories that got stolen from her, why doesn’t she feel anything? Anything at all?

She should feel like she is a terrible mother, forsaking her son like that. Like she is a disaster of a wife, if she doesn’t remember the man who is sitting in front of her right now, looking at her with so much adoration that Maura should feel guilty, unworthy of such devotion. And yet, she feels… nothing.

This man kisses her and needs her and loves her, and Maura Franklin is empty and tired and even more confused. A stranger in her own body, baffled at the memories that supposedly belong to her.

Maura thinks it’s driving her even closer to madness.

* * *

When the Kerberos emerges from the vortex unscathed, when Maura sees the Prometheus in front of her and spots Eyk right there, not an illusion, still here, still alive - Maura feels like she can finally breathe again.

When Eyk climbs aboard the Kerberos, when she runs to him, and he envelops her in a hug so tight she is melting against him, clinging on to him for dear life - Maura feels like her heart is once again alight and beating, warmth blooming in her chest.

When Eyk asks after Daniel, and Maura has to explain all of the things that she’s discovered on her own (she speaks of husbands and sons, and Eyk’s face falls) - Maura feels her world’s axis shifting, like all of this is somehow inexplicably wrong.

Thinking of Daniel makes her head hurt.

But holding on to Eyk, feeling Eyk’s pulse under her fingertips, keeping him close… this steadies her and brings her peace.

Her anchor in the raging sea of questions and doubts.

Maura doesn’t know what any of this means, but seeing Eyk again drives a little bit of madness away.

* * *

Maura Franklin is a doctor. A scientist. A scholar. She likes figuring out complicated concepts, playing with the unthinkable and unimaginable. And if she has a theory that needs testing? Well, then she will do just that.

This theory of hers thus far has proven to be… well, odd at best, but Maura Franklin is certainly not the type of woman to reject the possibility of the impossible.

She looks at Eyk, who is pacing around his cabin, telling her about the thoughts that passed through his mind while they were apart, and Maura is certain of two things.

One - Eyk’s presence comforts her, and his touch carries familiarity that she’s hardly ever felt with anyone else, even her brother. Two - her memory of Daniel is confusing and distant, as if she is simply watching a creation of Lumière brothers. A story of someone else, but not hers. Never hers. So, Maura thinks, she has a hypothesis in mind, and she has already decided what she has to do.

“Eyk,” she says, interrupting one of his stories. “I have a theory.”

Eyk stops talking and moving around and looks at her. “All right,” he simply nods, waiting for her to continue at her own pace. Maura takes a deep breath.

“I have a theory, and I need you to test it. With me.”

“Of course,” Eyk says, and Maura’s heart quickens, because the man in front of her trusts her so completely, and, to be honest, she is slightly embarrassed to abuse this power now. “What do you need?”

Maura chooses not to explain anything. She simply walks up to him, takes his face into her hands and kisses him.

The stubble on Eyk’s cheeks tickles her palms as she runs her fingers over it, closing her eyes and trying to lose herself completely in the sensation. Maura kisses him, moving her lips against his unresponsive ones, and when Eyk is still shocked after a second or two, still a stone statue unable to answer her desperate plea, Maura feels a hot wave of shame washing over her. How wrong she was. How terribly, terribly wrong. Maura ends the kiss and mumbles an apology, but she doesn’t even get the chance to finish a full sentence before Eyk presses her closer to him and captures her mouth in a kiss that makes her head spin.

She is locked in his embrace, his hands gently pressing on the spot between her shoulder blades, while her own arms find their way up and around his neck, her fingers running through his hair. Eyk groans at the contact, deepens the kiss, and it’s as if both of them are melting, the air around them hot with lust and love.

Eyk’s tongue is in her mouth, and Maura moans when she finally gets a taste of him, and memories come flooding back.

It’s Eyk peppering her face with kisses as Maura laughs and tries to playfully push him away. “I need to finish deciphering this,” she says. “I know,” he answers, “and I don’t care. This can wait”. She smiles, and she laughs, basking in this rare moment of simple human happiness.

It’s Eyk pulling her closer to his chest at night, humming a quiet lullaby, so that she can fall asleep faster. She plants soft kisses on his jawline and succumbs to slumber feeling cherished, adored, and protected.

In every moment, every second, every simulation it’s Eyk, his smell and his voice and his touch bringing her home.

Eyk breaks the kiss when both of them need to stop and take a breath. Still, he doesn’t let go of her, his arms resting on her waist and his forehead pressed to hers.

“It’s you,” Maura whispers, her heart aflutter. “I knew it was you.”

Eyk grins at her and plants a quick kiss on her tingling lips. For a moment they stay silent, breathing each other in, but then Eyk clears his throat, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“Wait. You said you had a theory to test.”

Maura licks her lips and averts her gaze, trying not to smile.

“I did.”

Eyk squints at her, and Maura just stares back, defiant as ever.

“Care to share your findings, miss Franklin?”

“Well,” Maura starts, caressing the back of Eyk’s neck, “I believe the results are still rather inconclusive.”

“Uh-huh,” Eyk fiddles with the fabric of Maura’s blouse, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I suppose we can’t have that, now can we, doctor?”

It’s Maura’s turn to grin at him, as he is leaning down once again.

“No, we definitely can not,” she practically sighs into his mouth before his lips cover hers.

#tv: 1899 #maura franklin #eyk larsen #eyk x maura #my fic #daniel sweetie i love you and i'm sorry but you cannot compete with this level of soulmate-ness

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winxwiki · 8 months

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You thoughts on Miraculous Ladybug? The author of ML did had some comments on Winx as well, not saying bashing it (which ngl he did in some way)...which imo you can't really compare cartoon that was 20+ years old to 8 year old cartoon.

Thomas Astruc should go eat shit, Miraculous is worse than winx simply for taking 8 years to conclude its "FIRST ARC". Iginio Straffi for all his mistakes eats him up. Winx Club had 3 arcs with Bloom's Main Story in the span of 3 years, 3 season and 2 movies (you gotta count magical adventure even if Believix is there). Miraculous did that love square bullshit. Come on.

I tried watching Miraculous and I found it terrible. It's not it being a kid show the problem like some people keep repeating (shut up, kids show can and should be good, I am shutting you in a room forcing you to watch Doremi), it's just badly written and with terrible animation. The characters are unlikable, the jokes were... cringy and the story was just not engaging. The only reason why it gets going is because it has an insane kids fanbase hyping it up and insane adults who are into it for Very Different reasons. Oh and it has a good opening. You need a marketable opening to succeed for sure

Miraculous feels like it's written by an AI to have as much shipping drama and Worst Shoujo Tropes picked by a petty man who doesn't want to make anything meaningful out of them because he's a manchild. Kunihiko Ikuhara hated Tuxedo Kamen and the way female characters were handled in Sailor Moon and if he watched Miraculous he would pull his hair out. Iginio Straffi thinks he's hot shit for inventing magical girls in the west in all his interviews (lol) but I don't see him having beef with randos on social media and I respect him for that.

Having grown up on plenty, pleeeenty of magical girl anime that is episodic with its monster/problem of the day episode (not saying week, anime airs daily in Italy), the way Miraculous does its fillers and builds up the story is laughable. If they had left the anime to Toei instead of cheapening out to 3D it would have been great I am sure.

But as it is, it's bad. And I hate its creator. History isn't being kind already since I see clips and memes mocking Miraculous constantly. While Winx has gone for the worse after s4 onwards, I see people still remembering fondly s1-4 and genuinely appreciating it. No mockery of the sort.

I don't see that for Miraculous.

If you're in need of anything better than Miraculous, look up the Italian wikipedia page for Magical Girl anime that has aired in Italy and has positively influenced W.i.t.c.h., Winx Club and others (it's a LOT)

#reply

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icarusthefoolish · 2 years

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This is very late i am aware and it was my fault because i was dumb and didn't realize my first post was on April 15th....

Anyway even if it is late i still wanted to post this.

This is a small thank you to my mutuals!

(Don't be mad if i forget you i have a terrible memory)

It's crazy to know that i have already spent an entire year on this app, it may not seem like much to most people but for me it is because i thend to get bored of apps really quickly.

I just wanted to thank all of my friends and all of the amazing people i have met on this app, i know im a lot to handle i tend to think badly about my self and i am honestly anoying so i don't know how you put up with me but thank you for doing it.

A few special thanks to , @itsonlydana @forefinn , @sundrop-tetsu , @0yuioy0 @sardonic-the-writer , @luvrgutz , @rainxox0 , @wilczachannn , @wrenqueenisboss @blooming-mushroom , @sunniewrites , @junebug-isunavailable and a bunch of other people for being my friend's.

Also another thanks to each and every follower i have, it means the absolute world to me that 150 of you enjoy the shitty and honestly weird ideas and storys i have.

And one more really really big thank you to @nightmarefox15 , you have honestly been one of the main reasons i smile every day because just talking to you makes me so so so incredibly happy.

I joined Tumblr one year ago today and honestly this has been the best year for me simply because i have made so many incredibly kind friends. I still remember the first month or so that i joined Tumblr, i was terrified to talk to people because everyone i saw was so cool and i felt that everyone was genuinely better then me so i chose to stay by my lonesome and just read different story's. I still followed people but i never interacted with them until i came across a blog called "Watermelon Sugar Writes" i talked to them because i thought their Url was about the Harry Styles song "Watermelon Sugar high" which it wasn't.

Mel was genuinely my very first friend and i can't tell you how thankful i am that i met her, because of her i became friends with my now ex who i don't want anything to do with but because of that i began actually interacting with the people i followed be it on Anon or not.

And due to that i began talking to so many people who are now my friends and i can't say how thankful i am that they put up with me, i know i tend to be weird and annoying but it means so so so much to me that you're still here.

@nightmarefox15 : Definitely one of my first friends and also the person who played my favorite C!Anon. I love you so so so incredibly much and I'm so thankful that i met you and we became Friends. Your one of the main reasons that i start smiling when i wake up because i know that your there to greet me. I'm so thankful that your here and that you love me when i can't love myself. You make me laugh and blush even when i don't feel like it. I met so so so many incredible people because of you.

@sardonic-the-writer : Sar my saviour, honestly I'm so glad that I got to meet you even if it was because you stood up for me because hate Anons were flooding my asks, honestly i remember seeing you reblog the first ask made me scream because i used to always see you on my dash but i was too much of a whimp to follow or interact with you. But I'm so glad that i eventually did because you are genuinely one of the most amazing people i have gotten the pleasure to meet in my time on here.

@junebug-isunavailable : Juneee!! First of all Happy Birthday, second I'm very glad that i get to call you my mutual because you are amazing and incredible and i could kiss you /j. I absolutely adore your art and i also adore you. (Yes I'm aware this is early but shhhh)

@0yuioy0 : JJ, i still remember how we met, it was genuinely so weird but also funny, because i had been following you for a while but i was scared to talk to you because you just seemed so cool, but eventually (i think thanks to Ry) we talked, you sent me an ask and i freaked out. It's still one of my most treasured memories because it's so funny to think about.

@itsonlydana : Dana oh Dana, i don't remember how we met but i do remember how damn excited i was when we figured out that we both lived in Germany (and pretty close to each other) and now when i think of my friends your one of the first people that come to mind because we've gotten so close over the time we've known each other. We are both absolute simps for Foolish and we have a pretty similar taste in music. Ich habe dich wirklich so so so lieb gewonnen und ich könnte mir Tumblr ohne dich nicht vorstellen.

@eighthwvnder : oh wonder, we may not have known each other for very long but it honestly feels like we've known each other for an eternity, we started talking and we basically just clicked. We've had similar experiences with a few things and your genuinely one of the Kindest people I've met. And i have to again thank JJ for that because he got me to get into the Discord group and without him and that group i probably wouldn't have known you existed.

@as-you-should-peasant : Peasant! I am genuinely so thankful that i got the courage to talk to you because you are a genuinely amazing and incredible person. You accepted me with open arms and i couldn't be happier that i get to call you my mutual.

@luvrgutz : Sushi! Or El or whatever other names you use fjfjfj, i am so so so thankful that i got to meet you and i do actually remember how we met, because i was talking to Ry while little and he had to go so he sent me to you and i just remember how scared i was to talk to you because ew new people. But I'm very happy that i did talk to you because i can always come to you for advice. Im so thankful that we reconnected after you dissapered from Tumblr I'm so so so glad that I'm talking to you now.

@rainxox0 Rain my beloved, i don't remember how we met exactly but i do know that you are an absolutely amazing and incredible person and i genuinely love you /p you are absolutely incredible and i don't know what I'd do without you.

@sundrop-tetsu : Amelia my love I'm so so so thankful that i got to meet you through Ry because you've become one of my closest mutuals on here, i love when we interact because you just make me laugh and i couldn't imagine a world without you honestly.

@forefinn Finn, i know we don't talk much anymore but you are still incredibly important to me, i still absolutely adore your storys and i also adore you because you are so kind, i love you a whole whole whole lot Finn and i swear I'm gonna start talking to you more pinky promise!

I know there's so so so many more mutuals who i haven't tagged but i want all of my mutuals to know how incredibly thankful i am that we are friends.

It may seem ridiculous but meeting so many people on here has made my life so much better simply because i have always had a problem with meeting and befriending new people and now knowing that so many people care about me and are glad that they know me just makes me happy because i never had that before. Each and every one of you be it mutual, anon or just follower is so so so important to me.

So thank you to everyone who has put up with me throughout this entire year haha.

Basically what i want to say with this long ass text is thank you for being there for me, i couldn't have asked for better friends on this app. ❤️

Emery/Icarus

#aiko talks #aikos shit posts #Emerys 1 year anniversary

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catchingbigfish · 1 year

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ahead is an informal wip intro for the story i'm going to work on this month! the story contains themes of self-harm, so tread with care if that is a trigger for you.

every so often, i spend 3-4 weeks trapped in a weird cycle of headaches, nightmares, and insomnia. i experience migraines fairly regularly but on occasion they impact my ability to sleep, and when i have headaches and struggle to sleep, i have more nightmares than usual. when i have a lot of nightmares, i don't want to sleep, and my body strains against my efforts to do so; when i don't get enough sleep, i have more migraines. see the tricky cycle?

on a lot of those insomniac nights, i find myself down a wikipedia rabbit hole on a topic i find fascinating. recently, these have included reading the wikipedia page for various professional wrestlers and eras, delving into the topic of video nasties and other banned horror films, and exploring one of my favorite thematic tropes, the doppelganger.

i'm almost guaranteed to love a film in which an actor plays two roles. there is something so deeply unsettling about the idea of a duplicate even though at its core it should be neutral -- there's nothing inherently wrong with a duplicate, yet our bodies reject this idea and claim it's terrible. reading about doppelgangers led me to the topic of bilocation, and its most famous "proven" example, Emilie Sagee.

truthfully, the so-called "evidence" is threadbare; a few different people reported the same story being told to them. still, it's fascinating, right? the concept of a benign classroom teacher who simply has the ability to be in two places at once. yet she was fired from her school because students' parents were unhappy.

so this is what led to the idea which cropped up without warning and bloomed unexpectedly into a fully formed story. i'm usually a relentless plotter -- i like to write to a coherent outline with a fairly well defined path to follow from beginning to end. in this case, though, i know the loose concept of what will happen and i'm going to have to discover it along the way.

here's the vague concept: Emily is a teacher at a boarding school who believes she is already dead. because of this, she identifies more strongly with the dead pieces of her skin which are shed and left behind -- whether naturally, like when our skin cells slough off and become dust, or on purpose, like when she relentlessly picks at her cuticles and shreds the skin there. she tries to collect all of the debris she leaves behind and keeps it safely stored in a pouch in her bag, until one day it goes missing and a second Emily begins traveling around the school. Emily has to ascertain which of these she really is and what to do about the impostor.

current status: out of nowhere i wrote 1k words of an introduction last night, so i guess i'm in the drafting-and-planning-as-i-go stage. i think this will likely be more of a novella than a full-length novel, so i'm aiming for 30k words for the first draft.

#wip: bilocation #elle's

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lunar-wandering · 3 years

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petals for two

finally, here it is. the Shadowpeach non-fatal Hanahaki AU the people have been waiting for.

Word Count: 13k

Read on Ao3

Bajie and Wujing found Wukong kneeling down by the river.

Again.

For the third day in a row.

"...Elder brother?" Wujing asked, watching how Wukong's back and tail stiffened. "Are you...okay?"

"...Just peachy..." Wukong said, but the way he said it was quiet, wheezy, and entirely unconvincing. Bajie quirked an eyebrow.

"Really? Because that's what you've said the last two times now." He said, crossing his arms with a healthy dose of suspicion on his face. "That last fight was pretty bad- y'know it would be pretty unwise of the 'Intelligent Stone Monkey' to be hiding an injury-"

"I said I'm fine!" Wukong snapped, turning around to glare at them with firey red eyes, his fur bristling with anger.

There was a pause, Bajie and Wujing both falling silent as Wukong continued to glare at them-

And then Wukong's hand flew to his mouth, as he turned back around to face the river, his body shaking with muffled coughs. Both Wujing and Bajie rushed to his side, concerned-

Only to freeze as they saw the purple petals slipping through Wukong's fingers, falling into the river and floating downstream. There was a moment of silence, broken only by Wukong's wheezing breaths.

And then they were both kneeling beside him, Wujing rubbing comforting circles on Wukong's back, while Bajie pulled the Monkey King's hand away from his mouth, letting the petals fall freely.

Wukong, surprisingly enough, let them do this, and the three of them quietly watched the petals float away, vanishing as they went around the riverbend.

If Wujing and Bajie noticed the tears running down Wukong's face, they didn't comment on it.

"...I'm sorry." Is what Wujing chose to say, in a soft murmur.

"It's fine, I'm fine." Wukong whispered, for a whisper was all his throat could manage at the time. "I'll be okay."

They all knew he was trying to reassure himself with his words more so than them.

When the three of them returned to their makeshift camp with an apology and a half-baked excuse, Tripitaka barely batted an eye.

Bai Longma, however, stared at a stray petal clinging to Wukong's outfit with a look of knowing.

Miles away, in a cave hidden by shadows, a figure leaned against the cave wall, one hand steadying himself while the other covered the fresh wound to his eye, petals falling out of his mouth as he cursed whoever decided that love could be unrequited.

Hanahaki. The disease of unrequited love.

Or, well, as it was known nowadays, the disease of pining.

Originally, when people were first discovering the disease, they thought it to be only born out of feelings that could never be reciprocated.

As it turns out, that simply wasn't the entire truth.

Overall, about 20% of Hanahaki cases reported end up being due to unrequited love.

The other 80% are due to people who simply, for one reason or another, refuse to confess.

As was recently discovered, about a century or so ago, the one true cure for Hanahaki is to look your beloved in the eyes, and say; "I love you."

As you can imagine, not many people have the courage to do that.

Luckily, the disease has never truly been fatal more than it was a slight hindrance. There even exists some medicines and teas that can reduce the effects of the flowers, although using them comes with its own ballpark of side effects.

Anyways, to make a long story short, MK wasn't surprised to end up meeting someone currently suffering from Hanahaki.

He just hadn't been expecting it to have been the Monkey King.

It hadn't really been obvious at first. Hanahaki will sometimes wither slightly when distanced from whoever the afflicted person has a crush on, but it never really takes much to send the flowers into full bloom again.

MK didn't actually hand out with Wukong a lot, and even when he did, it was only for training, something Mk restlessly focused on in the hopes of getting better at being, well, the Monkey King's successor.

Which was why, when during one of their rare breaks, Wukong froze in shock when MK actually asked him a question (one that, for once, wasn't about training).

"...Monkey King? Do you have any friends?" MK asked.

"Sure I do!" Wukong lied, "Why do you ask?"

"Ah- well-" MK stuttered, staring down at the ground in front of him as he seemed to ponder how to phrase his next sentence. "You just seemed... lonely, I guess."

"Well, I'm not, since I do, in fact, have friends, so. Yeah." Wukong said, crossing his arms as his tail slowly swung back and forth nervously.

"Are your friends from now or before?" MK asked, tilting his head in curiosity. "Actually, did you even have friends before?"

"...Before?"

"Before the Journey to the West." MK elaborated.

"Psh, of course I did!" Wukong said, "Y'know, I was even friends with Demon Bull King back then- you wouldn't believe some of the stories I have about him..."

MK had, in fact, already known about Wukong and Demon Bull King having been friends. Tang had been more than happy to bring that up, multiple times.

But what MK really wanted to know was-

"Was there anybody else?" He asked.

"Of course there was! For example, M-" Wukong started, but very quickly cut himself off, the light in his eyes dulling slightly. MK winced, sensing that he'd somehow stumbled upon a sensitive subject.

Before he could apologize though, Wukong suddenly tensed, before turning and starting to walk away.

"Uh, I'll be right back, I just need to check on the younger monkeys for a moment, okay?" He said. It was an excuse that was easily seen through, but MK couldn't bring himself to mention it.

Similar situations kept happening.

Sometimes it was understandable, like when Wukong would take a second or so to throw a smile back on his face (a smile MK was starting to recognize as fake) whenever MK brought up the subject of the Journey to the West.

Other times, however, it was a little confusing. Like, for example, when after an unspoken kitchen incident, MK had worn a purple jacket to training. (Mei had let him borrow it from her, since his yellow jacket was still in the wash, due to the Kitchen Incident That Shall Not Be Named).

As soon as Wukong had seen the purple jacket, he'd froze, before hastily turning away and running back inside his little house, claiming to have forgotten something.

MK had taken the jacket off and stuffed it into his bag by the time Wukong returned.

It was only after the Macaque fight that things became clear.

They'd been silent, watching the sunrise, and MK had started to doze off, leaning on his mentor's shoulder as he slowly started to fall asleep.

...Only to be jostled back into awareness as Wukong's shoulders shook with barely muffled coughs.

"Are you okay?" MK asked, lifting his head off of Wukong's shoulder and staring at the Monkey King with thinly veiled worry. Wukong leaned away from MK's gaze, a hand still covering his mouth.

He was too busy coughing to give a good response.

"If you broke a rib or something and didn't tell me I'm not going to be very impressed." MK deadpanned. Wukong shook his head 'no' in response, hand still over his mouth despite the fact his coughing fit had already died down. "Well, what is it then?"

MK waited as Wukong seemed to internally debate with himself.

And then the Monkey King slowly removed his hand from his mouth, revealing the petals that he had confined within his palm.

"Oh. Oh!" MK said, realization striking him as the dots connected in his mind. "Oh, you have terrible taste."

"I know..." Wukong groaned, placing his head in his hands, not caring about how this caused some of the petals to stick to his face and fur. MK giggled a little over how silly his mentor looked, Wukong glaring at him and sticking one of the petals onto his successor's cheek in response. MK made a noise of disgust as he wiped the petal off of his face.

Far away from the two of them, Macaque stumbled back into his dojo, nursing a new injury, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, and holding crushed flower petals in his fist.

Well. Wukong could officially say that he'd never been in a situation like this before.

Tangled up and dangling from the Spider Queen's spiderweb, Wukong tried to distract himself from the feeling of being trapped, unable to move.... by doing his best to observe his surroundings.

There... sure were a lot of other demons here. He couldn't figure out if it was good or bad that he didn't recognize most of them.

Wait.

Wukong looked around the room again with narrowed eyes.

Could Spider Queen have also taken-

No.

Wukong couldn't see him anywhere, not to mention that the other monkey had always been concerned with his own safety first and foremost. He'd probably scrambled to get out of town at the first sign of trouble. Wukong wasn't going to find Macaque in here.

He wasn't sure why he'd even looked.

...And there was that warm, tickly feeling in the back of his throat again.

Wukong squirmed, trying to ignore the sensation for as long as possible. He even started humming, his go to method for repressing the petals, but it barely worked, and a small dose of panic started to overtake him. He had no way of covering up the petals that would come, his arms and hands pinned at his sides.

He would not let Spider Queen or the rest of her crew find out about this, not to mention....her.

(If the Lady Bone Demon found out about his Hanahaki... well, she already has enough leverage as it is. Wukong isn't about to hand over any more.)

And then there was Demon Bull King. Wukong wasn't entirely sure how his old friend, (ex-friend, he reminded himself), would react, and honestly he wasn't too keen on finding out.

Still though.

The flowers always win in the end.

Wukong did his best to duck his head into his shoulder, and hoped it would be enough as his chest was wracked with coughs.

The Demon Bull King was many things, but he was not, in fact, stupid.

He had been quick to notice the growing panic on Wukong's face, (really, the monkey hadn't even tried to hide it, either due to being lost in thought or because he thought nobody was paying close enough attention to notice), and had decided to watch and see what the Monkey King would do next.

He hadn't expected Wukong to turn his head to the side, doing his upmost best to silence his coughing fit.

He'd expected the flower petals even less.

"You, of all people, haven't gathered up the strength to confess?" Demon Bull King asked, startling Wukong right out of his coughing fit. "I did not take you to be a coward."

"I take offense to that." Wukong wheezed, a few more petals falling from his mouth as he spoke. "Besides, I remember you taking forever to confess to Princess Iron Fan-"

"I'm not the one who held my words in long enough for them to take root and bloom." Demon Bull King said, "Who is the object your affections anyways?"

"None of your business." Wukong said, once again squirming within the confines of the webs. Demon Bull King raised an eyebrow, before glancing down at the petals now littering the floor. The flowers typically would hint at who the afflicted had a crush on, but Demon Bull King was too far away to be able to tell what flowers the petals belonged to.

If he were to hazard a guess though...

"The Six Eared Macaque?" He asked, proceeding to find great amusement in how Wukong's fur stood on end, panic flashing on his face. "Ah, so I'm right then-"

"Shut up." Wukong hissed, his eyes flashing red. "Seriously, shut up. You can't tell anyone else about this-"

"Tell someone- I see flowers aren't the only nonsense your mouth spits out." Demon Bull King said. The red glow faded slightly from Wukong's eyes, as his expression shifted to confusion, with a small dash of hope.

"You... aren't going to tell anyone?" Wukong asked.

"And loose the precious blackmail material you have graced me with? Of course not!" Demon Bull King laughed, and Wukong sighed, sensing that somehow this would come back to bite him later.

Wukong forced his suitcase shut, trying to ignore the niggling feeling of guilt as MK stared at him, unimpressed. Okay, so maybe 'going on a vacation' wasn't the best excuse to use, but Wukong couldn't afford to waste any time coming up with a better one.

He was ready for MK to be worried about training.

He wasn't ready for Mk to be worried about him.

"...Will you be okay?" MK asked, "I mean, you seem to not want anyone to know about your Hanahaki, but if you're with friends then you'll be surrounded by other people at all times, so-"

"Oh, it'll be fine." Wukong said, waving MK's concerns away. "Besides, if the flowers act up, I'll just rip out my lungs."

"Please do not do that!" MK said, the horrified look on his face making Wukong chuckle.

"Oh, c'mon, it's not that bad." He said, "I've done it before."

"That does not make it better!" MK said, looking like he was about to start ranting, and Wukong took that as his cue that it was time to go.

MK pushed the exit door open, stumbling a little as he rushed into the alley way.

"Ugh- why did you do-.....that......" He said, voice trailing off as he registered that the alley way was empty.

Well. Seemingly empty.

One quick check with his true sight later, (he wasn't going to be falling for any tricks again), and MK was holding a dumpster over his head, revealing the shadow monkey that had been crouched down, hiding behind it. Macaque glanced up, his scarf covering his mouth and his fur bristling in shock as MK set the dumpster off to the side.

"So much for you having been a great warrior, huh?" MK said, crossing his arms and staring down at Macaque with an unimpressed expression.

"Uh- ah, so you figured that out, did you? Maybe you aren't as dense as you look." Macaque said, voice slightly raspy, as he stood up, trying to pretend he wasn't just hiding behind a dumpster-

Only for his scarf to slip down a little, allowing some golden flower petals to fall out. Macaque made quick work of snatching them out of the air, crushing them in his grip as he hid them behind his back, tail swishing nervously, but it was too late.

MK had seen.

"...Oh. Oh!" MK said, feeling torn between screaming in frustration or laughing in amusement over what had just been revealed to him. "Oh, you have terrible taste."

"...I have no idea what you're talking about." Macaque said, sighing and breathing out a few more golden petals as he did so, completely unaware of how much this revelation had shaken MK's already very delicate mental state. "Seriously. I don't even know where you got the idea that I'm in love with someone or something like that, because I'm definitely not."

"I never said anything about you being in love." MK said, starting to lean more towards being amused at this entire situation as Macaque stiffened, his tail stilling. "I just said you had terrible taste- maybe I was implying your whole 'performance' with the shadow play back in the theatre was simply lackluster."

"I take offense to that." Macaque hissed, his shadow growing slightly bigger as his tail once again started to thrash back and forth, this time in anger. MK ignored this obvious attempt at intimidation for another question that was on his mind, a much more pressing one, in his opinion.

"You still haven't answered my question from earlier, why did you do that?" He asked, watching as Macaque took a minute to process the question, having not expected the sudden subject change.

"....Why did I do what- Oh! Why did I break the lantern, you mean?" Macaque said, suddenly avoiding eye contact, his hand twitching like he wanted to grab hold of the edge of his scarf as he chewed on the corner of his lip, nervously rubbing the back of his neck with his other hand. "Well, I was going to do the whole 'watch the hero get tormented by their inner demons and insecurities' thing like all the other villains, but you seem to already be doing that to yourself so- yeah. Didn't want to bother using my own expansive list of abilities when I could just lay back and watch the show you were already putting on for me."

"But I thought you wanted to be center stage, not in the audience. Y'know, because you want to steal the spotlight from Monkey King." MK said, raising an eyebrow as Macaque's hand finally grabbed the edge of his scarf, and he started fiddling with it nervously. "Or well, either that or you want to share a stage with him."

Something must have been brought to the forefront of Macaque's mind when MK said that, as suddenly he was turning away, using his scarf to cover his mouth as he coughed. MK remained standing in front of him, arms crossed, waiting patiently for the shadow monkey's response.

"I- I have no intention of shar- sharing a stage." Macaque eventually wheezed, pulling his scarf back down as he spoke so that he could be heard clearly. MK amusedly noted that he could see some golden petals peeking out from within the confines of the red cloth. "Not now, not before, and not ever."

"Ah, sure, keep telling yourself that." Mk said, staring pointedly at the flower petals.

Macaque flicked him on the forehead.

"Ow!" MK said, recoiling, a hand going to his forehead to try and numb the sting, his eyes closing reflexively as he leaned back. "Why would you do that for-"

MK paused, blinking bewilderedly, as he realized Macaque was no longer in front of him, seemingly having vanished entirely, having used MK's momentary distraction to fade away into the shadows, only a single left behind flower petal revealing that he had ever actually been there.

If MK had used his true sight again then and there, he would've found that Macaque was now resting on top of one of the nearby rooftops.

As it was though, his friends burst through into the alley way, prepped with questions he wasn't ready to answer.

(Later, Macaque would severely regret failing to remember to warn MK of the danger that was approaching him. But that would be later, and now he fully intended on sneaking back into the theatre to retrieve his shadow lantern...)

Life on the ship honestly wasn't all that bad. Sure, MK had lost all of his powers, and there was the ever looming threat of the Lady Bone Demon, but ignoring all of that important stuff?

Life on the ship was actually rather nice.

"You know what? I think I could actually get used to living like this." MK said, leaning against the railing of the ship, letting the wind rustle his hair. Wukong hummed in agreement, sitting on the railing beside his successor.

"...When all this is said and done, we should take a vacation." He said, "A real vacation. Together this time."

"Can I bring my friends with me?" MK wasn't so sure he could handle leaving the others behind after everything that had happened.

"Sure, go right ahead, if that's what you want." Wukong said, shrugging. MK visibly brightened, and an idea struck him.

"Oh- and you could bring your friends along too, you know, the ones I haven't met yet!" He said, and Wukong stiffened.

"....Uh.... about that..." He started, and MK's smile fell, replaced with a mixture of disappointment and concern.

"...You lied about the whole 'having other friends' thing, didn't you." He said, looking his mentor up and down before rolling out another accusation. "You're far lonelier that I thought you were."

"...Immortality isn't all it's cracked up to be, Kid." Wukong said, a sad, half-hearted smile on his face. MK tried to come up with a response, either a joke or maybe some comforting words (how do you even comfort an immortal, who has been through so much and had probably heard everything you could possibly say?)-

Only to be completely distracted as the ship was heavily rocked by something crashing into it. MK's grip tightened around the steel railing, steadying himself as he heard the others rush up to the deck, shouting in confusion. Out of the corner of his eye, MK could see Wukong scramble to keep himself from falling over the side of the ship. (Which MK had to admit was... strange. Wukong had his whole cloud sail thing, he could fly, why would he be concerned about falling off?)

The rocking stopped, the ship steadying itself, and MK could smell smoke. Cautiously and slowly, he turned around, mentally preparing himself for the possibility of an attack, brought about by the Lady Bone Demon or one of her 'followers' (demons, that she had entranced to think that they were getting a good deal out of this, when in reality all she was doing was using them, with the full intent to throw them aside once they had served their purpose).

MK expected the broken bits and pieces of another, smaller ship, some parts still burning (and really, they should deal with those fire before they became a bigger problem. Sandy seemed to be running to get the fire extinguisher, so hopefully there wouldn't be any fire induced explosions today).

What he hadn't been expecting (but in hindsight, really should have been), was to see Red Son, standing in the center of the debris, nervously dusting the dirt off of his jacket, with Macaque laying face down on the deck behind him.

Red Son was having a very long day. Or, well, it had been about three days, really, but that wasn't the point here.

He brushed the remaining ship debris off of himself, making himself more 'presentable' while also purposefully prolonging the amount of time he could go without meeting the questioning gazes of MK and his friends.

Catching sight of the monkey still laying on the ground behind him, he turned and nudged Macaque with his foot.

"You really aren't making a good impression here." Red Son hissed, under his breath, knowing that the other's exceptional hearing meant that he could easily hear him.

"There truthfully isn't a good impression to be made." Macaque said, voice muffled by both the deck and his scarf, as he continued to lay face down, making no move to get up. "Not to mention, I'm feeling a little... singed, at the moment. Not everyone is as fire proof as you are, you- you hot headed fool."

The shadow monkey had, overall, been a great help in escaping from the Lady Bone Demon's dungeons, but Red Son wasn't past the point of kicking him in the side. Hard.

Macaque yelped in pain, curling up a little as though to shield himself, but continued to not even try to get up.

Red Son was unfortunately stopped from kicking the monkey again as he was tapped on the shoulder. Turning around, he found himself face to face with MK and Mei, their expressions completely neutral.

"Ah- Hello, Noodle Boy, Dragon Girl." Red Son said, politely nodding to each of them, trying to ignore his own nervousness (he did not feel like getting thrown off a ship today, thank you very much). MK and Mei said nothing, and Red Son began to wonder for a moment if crashing into their ship twice was somehow crossing a line.

But then both of them smiled, and Red Son braced himself just in time as Mei tackle-hugged him, MK laughing as he watched her do so.

"Wow, you really don't have much luck with vehicles and driving, on the ground or in the air, huh?" MK said, pushing a piece of debris from the miniature ship Red Son had flown in to the side with his foot. "Seriously, it's a wonder you ever managed to pass a driving test with skills like this."

"A driving what?" Red Son asked, immediately regretting it as both MK and Mei fixed him with a look of complete and utter horror.

"Oh heavens." Mei breathed, her grip on Red Son's shoulders growing almost uncomfortably tight. "You entered a race without knowing how to drive."

Too loud.

It was far, far too loud.

Still though, it was much better than being trapped down in the Lady Bone Demon's cold, dark, and desolate dungeons.

Or, at least, that is what Macaque thought to himself, even as he subtly pulled his scarf up over his ears, trying and failing miserably to block out the rumble of the engine, the hiss of the fires from the remains of their ship, the hushed whispers from Tang, Pigsy, and Sandy, and the trio's argument about Red Son's apparently non-existent drivers license.

(If he had known Red Son had never really, truly learned how to drive, Macaque wouldn't have let him pilot their escape ship.

...Albeit, Macaque himself wasn't all that much better, having had no idea as to what over half of the buttons in the ship were actually for.

Still though, he would have at least tried to land a perfect landing, instead of going all out on making sure they, quote, 'crashed in style', like what a certain hot tempered demon did.

Seriously Red Son. What the fuck.)

It took a few more minutes of laying there, trying to block everything out, before he realized that, over the roar of the engines and the trio's arguing, he couldn't hear where Wukong was.

...Was that a good thing or a bad thing?

Macaque stiffened as a warm hand landed on his shoulder, its grip alternating between being soothing soft and threateningly tight.

"...Macaque?" Wukong's voice asked, and Macaque felt the unfortunately all too familiar twinge in both his chest and throat.

Ah. It was definitely a bad thing then.

Wukong pulled his hand back as Macaque abruptly stood up, stumbling away from him and towards the side of the ship. For a moment, Wukong genuinely wondered if Macaque planned to just jump off the ship, despite the fact that they were thousands of miles above ground.

But Macaque simply grabbed hold of the railing, leaning slightly over it, his shoulders shaking.

"What's the matter, are you sea sick already?" Mei asked, noticing Macaque's movement. "Or, wait, would it be air sick? Meh, it's probably the same thing..."

Macaque gave no response other than raising his hand to flip her off, which simply made her cackle like a mad man. Wukong would've walked right on over to him and smacked the shadow monkey for the rude gesture-

That is, if he hadn't been already preoccupied with covering up the petals his concern for the other had caused him to start coughing up.

Unseen by either of them, MK glanced back and forth between the two monkeys, seeing how Wukong tucked the petals into the pocket of his shirt, and spotting a few golden ones fluttering away from Macaque, carried by the wind. MK sighed, ignoring how Mei and Red Son, the two closest to him who had noticed his reaction, looked at him in confusion.

It was going to be a really long trip.

Macaque stirred a bowl full of cake mix, deeply lost in his thoughts.

You see, being stuck in a ship, thousands of miles up in the air, surrounded by people, especially MK and the others, was a very stressful situation to be in. And unlike back at his dojo, Macaque didn't exactly have any training dummies to take said stress out on.

So, he naturally defaulted to another, less violent technique.

Stress baking.

Macaque had waited patiently in the shadows until Pigsy had left the kitchen to join the others up on the deck, and then had promptly taken over the entire room.

...He wasn't sure why he decided to make a chocolate cake though. He had really just been going through the motions, using the first thing he saw or what was directly in front of him, not feeling like putting in the effort to really search for anything else.

Well, at least thus far only MK had stumbled upon him like this, and the Monkey King's successor had been easily chased away by a purple glare and a hissed threat.

'...Although...' Macaque thought, stirring slowing down slightly as he heard footsteps coming down the hallway, approaching him. 'Maybe saying that I was poisoning everything in the kitchen wasn't the best choice of threat.'

He very nearly dropped the bowl when Wukong entered the room.

"So." Wukong said, leaping up onto the counter and sitting down, cross-legged. "Poison, huh?"

Well. He might as well go along with it. No use in changing his excuse now.

"Yep." Macaque said, taking the spoon out of the bowl as he gestured at the room. "I'm so one hundred percent done with all of you, so I have decided to poison all of you. Finally get rid of the noise, have a bit of peace, you know?"

As he said this, he made the mistake of putting the spoon within Wukong's reach.

The Monkey King, spurred by nothing but his own impulsivity, leaned forwards and casually licked the edge of the spoon.

Macaque pulled the utensil back at record breaking speeds (he avoided putting it back into the bowl, he knew far better than to do that) and proceeded to stare at Wukong with the most offended expression he could manage.

Wukong completely ignored it.

"Your 'poison' happens to taste an awful lot like chocolate." He said, taking a glance around the kitchen, noting all the ingredients on the kitchen island, before looking Macaque up and down. "...Stress baking?"

"Poison." Macaque corrected, glaring at the other as he got a new spoon to stir with. "I'm making poison."

"...Poison for yourself, maybe." Wukong said, looking thoughtful, "If I remember right, you can't eat chocolate, can you?"

Macaque didn't bother to grace him with a response, instead turning his back to the other monkey, continuing to mix more ingredients into the bowl. It was blessedly silent for a while, but-

With Wukong sitting right behind him, watching his every move, even stress baking wasn't able to help Macaque relax.

Not to mention the flowers in his chest that were once again begging to make themselves known.

Macaque forced the flurry of emotions and petals back down as much as he could. He flicked an ear, listening behind him.

Wukong was still there. Why was he still there-

Macaque slammed the bowl down on the kitchen island, barely avoiding chipping it, and taking brief pleasure in how he could hear the Wukong's breath catch, before the Monkey King descended into a small coughing fit, probably from surprise at the shadow monkey's sudden movements. Macaque turned back around to face Wukong, crossing his arms over his chest as he did so.

"What do you want from me?" He hissed, his tail swishing back and forth from agitation. Wukong's tail swished too, but Macaque could tell that his was a sign of nervousness.

"Ah, oh nothing." Wukong said, his hands behind his back as his legs swayed back and forth over the counter. "Just making sure you don't actually decide to poison anything."

"If I had poison, you and I both know that I would have used it already." Macaque said, "I don't even think there's anything I could even use as poison on this ship."

"...Point taken." Wukong said, leaning forwards and resting his chin on his right hand.

(He kept his other hand tucked in behind his back. Macaque did pick up on Wukong seemingly acting suspicious, but was far too focused on trying to get the Monkey King out of the kitchen to actually think much of it.

Something that Wukong was extremely grateful for, as it gave him the time to actually hide the crushed flower petals in his palm within one of his pockets.)

"Um, so uh, how do you know if the kid and the others are all okay?" Macaque asked, deciding to try a new tactic of getting Wukong out of the kitchen, hoping that the Monkey King's stupid over-protectiveness would prompt him to leave the room, which would let Macaque finally bake in peace.

"Oh, I left a hair clone with them." Wukong said, and Macaque slumped, his hopes dashed. "...Say, on a different subject, how do you know if it tastes good?"

"Huh?" Macaque asked, befuddled for a moment before remembering the cake bowl on the table behind him. "Oh- the cake? Well, I don't know really, usually I just sell it or something... Not that I really do this often, mind you! This isn't- I don't- I'm- wait. You want to taste test it more, to get free samples, don't you?"

Wukong simply gave a non-commital shrug, but the smirk on his face gave his intentions away. Macaque sighed wearily, before pulling a smaller spoon out of a nearby drawer with his tail, scooping a bit of cake batter into it, and tossing the spoon at Wukong, mentally willing the utensil to hit the Monkey King smack dab on the forehead.

The utensil, unfortunately, did not, in fact, obey Macaque's wills, as Wukong caught it with ease, and started licking the cake batter off of it, his tail wagging happily.

Macaque bit the inside of his cheek, nearly drawing blood as he used the pain to push the flowers in his throat back down, a light blush dusting his cheeks as he realized just how... cute the other looked in the current moment.

...No, nope, absolutely not-

Macaque spun back around, throwing himself entirely into the task of mixing the last of the ingredients together, and doing his upmost best to ignore the monkey sitting behind him.

Wukong's incessant humming was absolutely not helping in any way shape or form.

Things continued on, Macaque making the cake and occasionally tossing a batter covered spoon over his shoulder so that Wukong could taste it.

(Macaque silently told himself that he was doing it in the hopes that Wukong would become satisfied and leave, already-

But, deep down, he knew it was just because he liked seeing the other monkey happy.)

Macaque dumped the cake batter into a pan, setting the now empty mixing bowl off to the side before shoving the pan into the oven, and setting a small timer.

When he looked back over to where he had placed the mixing bowl, fully intent on washing it and proceeding to use it to make some icing, the bowl was gone.

"What the-" He started, looking around bewildered, before realizing what must have happened.

Sure enough, Wukong had the bowl on his lap, and was using a spoon to scrape the remaining cake batter out of it, to eat.

"...It's not like you were gonna use it anymore... right?" Wukong asked, almost looking sheepish as he realized Macaque was staring at him, and he curled around the bowl protectively.

Macaque glared at him, using his magic to make his eyes flash purple and make the room grow slightly darker.

"Get out of my kitchen before I retract my truce card and cash in on punching you in the face." He threatened.

Although the threat didn't hold much weight (Macaque would probably end up breaking his hand punching Wukong before he could ever hope to actually injure the other) Wukong still scrambled to get out of the room, taking the bowl and spoon with him as he went.

As Wukong rushed pass Macaque in his haste to leave, their tails lightly brushed together.

And that was the last straw for Macaque, who, once he was sure the other was gone, hurried to turn on the sink to cover up the sound of his coughing.

'..........Stupid monkey....' Macaque thought, leaning over the sink and watching flour and flowers go down the drain.

MK found Wukong in the hallway, with petals falling out of both the Monkey King's pocket and his mouth. He seemed to be spacing out, lost within his own thoughts.

He was still carrying the mixing bowl.

"...So I take it you didn't confess to Macaque?" MK asked, sounding almost disappointed.

"What- no- why on Earth would I confess?" Wukong asked, snapping out of his reverie. MK merely shrugged in response, but mentally he cursed.

'I was so sure that baking together would settle this whole mess once and for all.' He thought, watching as Wukong balance his bowl in one hand and softly rubbed a spot on his tail with the other. 'I guess it's back to the drawing board...

....Maybe the others would have some ideas?'

"How to get someone with Hanahaki to confess?" Tang asked, setting his book to the side. "MK, you know that's not really a thing you can force, I mean, look at how long it took Pigsy and I-"

"I know, I know, the both of you have told me about your confession, and how long it took to get there, multiple times." MK said, rolling his eyes. "But like, this is worse than you guys, which honestly, before now I didn't think it was possible, but. This has been going on for centuries."

"...I feel like there's a majorly important piece of information I'm missing here." Tang said, leaning forwards with renewed interest. "Who, exactly, has Hanahaki?"

MK paused, debating for a moment on whether or not he should actually tell him.

But, well, it was kind of obvious, and he seriously needed help getting the two of them together, so-

"Monkey King and Macaque." MK said, before adding, for clarification; "Both of them have it. For each other."

"Oh. Oh, that makes so much sense." Tang said, sounding as though pieces of a centuries old puzzle had magically connected right before his eyes. "...I'm sorry though, I can't help you."

"...Oh. Okay, I'll just ask someone else then-"

"However. I am not opposed to starting a betting pool."

"Hanahaki? Why would I know anything about Hanahaki?" Red Son asked, sounding oddly nervous as MK stood in the door way to his room. "...Why are you even asking me about it anyways?"

"Because Monkey King and Macaque have been pining for centuries, even back during the Journey to the West if the stories from Mei's great grandfather are to be believed, and while I've only been witness to a small portion of it, and I guess it's kinda been amusing, I am so done with it, like-" MK waved his hands around in frustration. "Why won't they just confess already?!"

"...I'm....sure they have their reasons." Red Son said, "What... did Mei say, about this, exactly?"

"Oh, she just laughed when I told her about it, and then cemented her place in the betting pool." MK said.

"There's a betting- Noodle Boy, why didn't you start with the betting pool?!"

Red Son had, in fact, already known about Macaque's Hanahaki.

That kind of thing was a little hard to miss when you're locked up in a cell with someone for an extended period of time.

Finding out Wukong also had Hanahaki came as a little bit of a surprise (though, really, now that he knew about it, it was kind of obvious, but as they say, 20/20 hindsight-).

Outside of making bets though, Red Son was mostly content to just sit back and watch the two monkeys stumble around each other. Sure, he did think their inability to confess made them cowards, but.

At least MK was too wrapped up in his frustration over the monkeys drama to notice the fire demon coughing up smoke and petals behind him.

Wukong slowly sneaked into the room, as quietly as he possibly could. Staying low to the ground, he tip toed over to the shelf, cautiously reaching up-

Only for someone to grab a hold of his hand, stopping him from reaching his prize. A nearby lamp flicked on, and Wukong looked up to see Sandy intently staring down at him.

"...Hi." Wukong said, laughing nervously as he slipped his hand out of Sandy's grip. "Um. I totally wasn't sneaking around or anything, I was just... sleep walking?"

"...I see." Sandy said, reaching over and taking one of the tea tins off of the shelf. "In that case, this one right here will do wonders to improve your sleep-"

"Ah, oh, no thank you, it's fine, I can handle it." Wukong said, subtly scanning the shelf of teas, slumping slightly when he couldn't seem to find the one that he wanted. Upon seeing the monkey's dejected face, Sandy sighed.

"Is this what you were looking for?" He asked, pulling a tin of tea out from behind his back. Wukong looked at it in shock.

"How'd you-" He started.

"It was just a lucky guess." Sandy said, setting the tin in Wukong's waiting hands. "Use it sparingly though, I'm running a little low on supplies right now. Oh, and be careful with the side effects, okay? Stop taking it if anything seriously bad starts to happen."

"...Thank you." Wukong said, pocketing the tea tin and turning to leave Sandy's room.

"Oh, one more thing." Sandy said, causing Wukong to pause mid-step. "The next time you try sneaking around in the dark, use a stronger glamour over your eyes. The glow seriously gives you away."

"...Duly noted."

It smelled like smoke.

That was the first thing Macaque noticed as he stepped out of the shadows in the corner of the storage room. Immediately, he tensed up, his fur standing on end. After all, where there was smoke, there was usually fire as well. And although Macaque would never, never admit it... he wasn't exactly the most... fond of fire.

(A capture hero, trapped and unaware.

A burning mountain, the air choked by smoke.

And an abandoned warrior, trying desperately to escape the mountain's flames.)

But... Macaque couldn't hear any of the noises that usually accompanied something burning. Instead all he could hear was someone's slightly irregular heart beat, and their wheezing breaths.

Macaque forced himself to walk forwards, curiosity starting to over power his caution.

He rounded the shelf of boxes just in time to see Red Son cough out more smoke, along with a few burnt petals.

Macaque paused, knowing the other had yet to actually see him, as he pondered what to do next. His hands twitched towards the edge of his scarf, but he kept himself frozen.

On the one hand, he could just turn around and leave before Red Son could even notice him. As was said before, Macaque was truly not very fond of fire, and despite having spent at least two days trapped with the fire demon, Macaque hadn't really gotten over his general...wariness of him.

On the other hand though, now that he'd seen the other demon, Macaque's curiosity was peaked.

...Well, they say curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back, so-

"Who's it for?" Macaque asked, chuckling a little to himself as Red Son startled, finally noticing the other's presence.

"What?" He asked, looking at the shadow monkey in shock and confusion.

"Your Hanahaki." Macaque elaborated, "Who is it for, Mei or MK?"

Red Son remained silent for another moment, blinking in confusion, before the question, along with what was currently happening, seemed to register within his brain, and a furious blush over took his face, a few sparks flying off of him.

(At the sight of said sparks, Macaque took a hesitant step back, glancing around for anything that was possibly flammable.

Red Son was far too wrapped up within his own emotions to notice the monkey's anxiety.)

He sputtered for a moment, struggling and failing to come up with a proper response.

"...Both. It's, It's both of them." He eventually muttered under his breath, avoiding eye contact with Macaque as he shyly rubbed his arm.

"What was that? Sorry, I didn't hear you the first time, could you say that again?" Macaque said, not at all surprised by this new development and instantly deciding that now was the perfect opportunity to mess with the fire demon.

"You damn well did hear me and we both know it." Red Son said, shifting from flustered to angry in the blink of an eye.

...Macaque outright laughed at hm.

"Oh, oh, like you're one to laugh." Red Son said, "I know all about your thing for Monkey King. You're in the same boat as I am, both literally and figuratively."

"...Okay, first of all, we are in an airship, not a boat." Macaque said, leaning 'casually' against a wall of supply boxes. "Secondly- I have literally no idea what you're talking about."

"Why haven't you confessed yet?" Red Son said, moving on with his line of thinking and completely ignoring the shadow monkey's denial.

"Conf- I, I could ask you the exact same question!" Macaque said, caught off guard before pulling himself together and recovering. "Why haven't you confessed?"

"I, am simply waiting for the right time. I'm planning a big romantic gesture, I'll have you know." Red Son said, "You, on the other hand, are simply being a pining idiot."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Macaque denied yet again, a slight growl making it's way into his voice as his eyes flashed purple.

Red Son wasn't impressed.

"Your pitiful attempts at denial and intimidation have little to no effect on me." He said, "Seriously, just admit that you're in love with Monkey King already. Pretty much everyone else already knows about it."

"...I won't say I'm in love."

"Do not start the random musical numbers again, you already did it far too many times when we were trapped together in that cell, and if I have to bear one more minute of it I will not hesitate to toss you overboard."

The tea was bitter.

Very bitter.

Still though, it tasted leagues better than weed killer, which had been a not very well though through experience that Wukong never ever wanted to repeat.

And the tea worked better too, repressing, the flowers better than humming or the previously stated weed killer ever could.

Still though, there was a reason as to why Wukong had never opted to try this method before.

Said reason, of course, being the side effects.

He sighed, staring at how there were now purple flecks within his red eyes. Nothing that his usual glamours couldn't cover, but his magic was dwindling fast. He would have to start cutting a few corners soon if he didn't want to end up completely and utterly powerless, and the glamours concealing his height and eye colour would probably end up having to be the first ones to go.

Other than that though, it was concerning that the eye colour change was happening so soon, not to mention the speed at which it was progressing. A change in eye colour was the most common starting side effect of repressing Hanahaki, after that... things start to tend to become strange and rather unpredictable. The list of side effects caused by repressing Hanahaki was miles long, and was always having new things added to it- the reaction seemed to always depend on the person.

Basically, Wukong had literally no idea of what the side effect would be for him, nor how he could prepare for them.

And, of course, this meant he wouldn't be able to know how to hide them either.

When Wukong woke up the next morning and found that his eyes had already turned fully purple, a faint sense of unease settled itself over him like how a morning mist settles in a forest. He supposed he should've expected this to happen quick, he was repressing thousands of years of pining after all, but still, he hadn't been expecting it to progress this fast....

He felt fine though, nothing different than usual. (He did feel a bit weaker, but that had already been happening before the tea. No, that was something else.) For a moment he wondered if his immortality had made him completely immune to any possible side effects, but immediately shot that idea down, as if that had been the case, his eyes wouldn't have changed colour at all.

Wukong exited his room, throwing his usual glamours back on just in case, and made his way to the ship's kitchen as quietly as possible, he'd awoken a bit earlier than usual this morning, and didn't want to accidentally wake any of the others up.

Warming up the kettle and taking the tea tin out of the pocket (he sadly noted that it was almost empty already), he carefully followed the instructions on the side of the tin, not wanting to mess anything up and risk the tea not working.

A few minutes later, and Wukong sat at the kitchen table, spacing out a little as he slowly sipped his Hanahaki Repressing Tea.

He was starting to almost fall asleep in his chair when Pigsy entered the kitchen.

"Morning." Pigsy greeted, looking Wukong up and down with a mix of worry and suspicion. "You're not usually up this early, is something wrong?"

'No, I'm fine, perfectly fine.' Was what Wukong wanted to say.

Instead though, no sound left his mouth at all.

Oh.

Oh shit.

It wasn't every day that someone say Sun Wukong, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, speechless.

Today, however, seemed to be one of the days where he was.

Pigsy watched as Wukong's mouth clicked shut, panic briefly flashing across his face before being replaced with an easily recognizable nervous smile as the monkey drew his tea cup closer to himself, as though to hide it. Pigsy rolled his eyes, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from Wukong, immediately noticing how the monkey avoided eye contact entirely.

"Experiencing the side effects, huh?" Pigsy asked, "Don't give me that surprised look. Even if Sandy hadn't told me about you taking the tea, you're being rather obvious right now."

Wukong visibly winced at that, sipping his tea again.

"How exactly do you plan to get through the day without being able to talk huh?" Pigsy asked, leaning forwards slightly. "Surely you must have some plan prepared."

Wukong started to shake his head no, to show that he didn't, in fact, have any plan here, but then he paused, looking thoughtful.

A sudden pang ran through Pigsy's mind, and he gripped the sides of his head, looking down at the table as he winced, trying to collect himself, feeling as though he'd been set off balance.

"-an you hear me?" Wukong's voice was faint and echoey, before growing stronger. "Can you hear me? Hello-"

"Yes I can fucking hear you." Pigsy said, looking back up, and proceeding to be almost shocked (but at the same time really not) to find that there were now two Wukong's sitting across from him. The new Wukong was obviously Wukong's golden astral projection form, as it perfectly matched how MK had described it.

Or well, it almost matched perfectly...

"Oh, good." Wukong said, via astral connection, "I wasn't sure this would work, but since it does I can just talk to the others like this-"

"Does this form of yours normally look like.... well, that?" Pigsy asked, interrupting.

"...What?" Wukong took a moment to analyze his astral form.

Unlike MK's description of it being 'Monkey King but in gold, like a shiny pokemon', Wukong currently had three tails, one pink, one red, and one purple. Said colours were also splashed all over his astral body, almost giving him a sunset-like appearance.

"...Huh. That's new." Wukong said, "I guess the side effects go deeper than I thought."

"Is this something we should be more concerned about?" Pigsy asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Oh, no, it's fine. At least, it's far better compared to everything else. Maybe. Probably." Wukong said, the nervous smile on both his real self and his astral self growing slightly bigger.

"...Everything else? Probably?" Pigsy questioned, sitting up straighter with worry.

"...Ah, you weren't meant to hear that part." Wukong said, wincing. "Which I suppose that means it's time for me to go-"

"Hey, wait-" Pigsy started, but didn't manage to get any words out as Wukong abruptly closed the astral connection, before standing up and leaving the room faster than the other could ever hope to follow. Pigsy sighed as he caught the barest glimpse of Wukong's tail going out the door.

That damn monkey was definitely going to need a serious intervention one of these days.

"Monkey King this is an intervention." MK said, crossing his arms as he tried to do his best impersonation of one of Tang's infamous glares. He assumed he failed miserably, given Mei's muffled snickering, but Wukong at least shrunk down sheepishly, so he must've been doing something right.

MK sighed as a pang ran through his head, having expected it- before blinking in shock at the astral image that now stood before him.

"Why do I need an intervention? I'm perfectly fine." Wukong said, both his real self and his astral self smiling nervously- and the three other astral copies of him mimicked the motion. One was pink, one was purple, and one was red. They were each surrounded by a faint golden glow, and were each connected to the main golden astral version of Wukong by their tails.

"You- you are definitely not fine!" MK shouted, still having not recovered from the shock, and wasn't given any more time to try and process what he was seeing as the three bonus Wukong's started speaking.

"Shit." The red one hissed, frustration in his voice. "Fuck." (MK blinks, shocked to hear any version of his mentor swear, and immediately decides to smack Wukong on the arm the next time his mentor tries to reprimand him for swearing.)

"At least he's learning how to read people better, now he won't get tricked as easily." The pink one said, sounding almost....proud?

"I won't be able to trick him anymore either- He's catching on. He's starting to catch on now-" The purple one said, panicked. "I need to lie, lie lie lie-"

"Once again, I don't know what you're talking about." The golden, normal Wukong insisted, seemingly ignorant to the existence of the others.

MK had, of course, set up this intervention to talk about how Wukong tended to repress his emotions, (specifically those concerning a certain shadow monkey), but he definitely hadn't been prepared for... whatever all this is.

"Are you fucking seeing this?" He asked Mei.

"I'm not seeing shit." Mei said, wrapping her arm around MK's shoulder and lightly knocking their heads together, as though doing so would transfer the images that MK was seeing into her own brain.

"Language." All four astral Wukong's said, in perfect unison, and MK reached over and smacked the real Wukong on the arm for his hypocrisy.

The hastily put together intervention steadily went downhill from that point forwards, Mei complaining about not having been let in to the Astral Connection, and Wukong closing said connection the instant that MK had revealed the existence of the astral copies to him. The Monkey King had left the room rather swiftly after that, and MK sighed, for what seemed to be the millionth time since he'd found out about his mentor's Hanahaki.

He would have to do a much better, and much more well put together intervention next time.

Wukong ended up running out of tea the next day.

On the one hand, this was a good thing, as it meant he would only have to wait a day or so for the side effects to finally wear off, and he could go back to actually speaking again.

But on the other hand, this meant that he'd be back to coughing up flowers again, much, much sooner than he would like.

Wukong sighed, leaning against the railing of the ship, watching the sunset. He could probably jump off the ship and find the materials needed to make the tea himself, but without his cloud sail, it would certainly cost him precious time.

Time that he currently absolutely could not waste.

So he resigned himself to what would have to happen, and tried to mentally prepare himself for the flowers that would return within the next twenty four hours.

.....For some reason, he couldn't help but feel like he was being watched....

In his many years of having known Wukong, Macaque had never seen him be quiet.

But he sure was quiet now, leaning against the ship railing, peacefully watching the sun as it dipped below the horizon.

(The fading colours of the sun reflected perfectly off of Wukong's fur, covering the other in golds, red, purples, and pinks, and overall making him look really pre-

No, nope, Macaque absolutely could not think about that right now, if he started coughing up flowers here and now it was sure to be noticed, and he absolutely couldn't have that happen.)

Macaque really wanted to consider the silence a blessing, finally, a break from the seemingly endless amount of chitter-chatter-

But instead, he couldn't help but feel worried.

Sliding back down to hide behind the crate he'd been sitting on before Wukong had come out onto the deck twenty minutes ago, Macaque lightly chewed on the edge of his scarf, thinking.

Option one: he waltzes over there, throws on a Perfect Smile, and asks Wukong what's wrong. Maybe he could even throw in a jab or two, or say it sarcastically in order to hide his very real concern.

Option two: he sneaks past Wukong, reenters the ship, and hides out inside of his room until he feels confident enough that these stupid emotions have passed.

Macaque was just deciding on option two- when the shadows surrounding him shifted.

Glancing up, he found that Wukong was now holding the crate the shadow monkey had been hiding behind over his head, and was staring down at him, unimpressed.

"...Hi?" Macaque said, letting the edge of his scarf fall out of his mouth and glamouring away any sign that he'd been chewing on it in the first place. "Um. Fancy meeting you here?"

If possible, Wukong's unimpressed look deepened.

"I was- I was here first, I'll have you know." Macaque said, hurriedly standing up, brushing non-existent dirt off of his clothes. "I don't really appreciate you encroaching on my personal space."

Wukong's expression did not waver, but he did set the crate down to the side, so at least Macaque no longer had to worry about having it be thrown at him. Still though, Wukong continued to stare, so maybe he wasn't out of the woods yet.

"So uh, what's with the whole silent act, huh?" Macaque asked, trying his best to be nonchalant about it. He hoped the response would be something meaningless, like a silly little bet or something along those lines.

He didn't expect to receive no verbal response at all, with Wukong's expression shifting away from unimpressed to something Macaque immediately identified as nervous.

Which....probably meant that this really was something to be concerned about.

Which probably also meant that asking any more about it would eventually result in some kind of long, emotional talk, which absolutely was not Macaque's forte.

...Well, he'd been planning to go with option number two from the beginning, so-

"Welp, this was a nice talk." Macaque said, "But, unfortunately, I have some other stuff that need to be tended to so.... bye!"

And with that, Macaque awkwardly flashed a peace sign, before falling down into the shadows, reappearing within the comforts of his own room. Deciding that he'd definitely had enough for one day, he crawled into his bed, pulling the covers over his head and trying his best to banish any thoughts of Wukong from his mind as he fell asleep.

He'd tried to sleep.

Really, he'd tried.

But after his third petal coughing fit of the night (courtesy of his brain refusing to forget how beautiful Wukong looked in the light of the sunset), Macaque gave up.

Which was why he was currently sitting on the couch, staring at the shadows on the wall, letting his mind play tricks on himself, making it seem like the darkness was moving.

He startled when he heard the sound of someone walking down the hallway.

Macaque wasn't entirely sure how long he'd been up for, but something told him that it was still far too early for even the early-risers to be up and about.

It was at the exact moment that someone sluggishly entered the room that Macaque remembered his glamours were down, and he tensed, knowing it was far too late and that he was far too tired to throw them on now.

He relaxed ever so slightly once he realized that the one who had entered the room had seen him glamourless multiple times before.

...Still though. What was Wukong doing up so late?

"...Got nightmares? I hope they're all about me." Macaque said, almost instantly cringing at the words coming out of his mouth, wanting to take them back and shove them into whatever sleep deprived corner of his mind they had come from.

Funnily enough though, Wukong didn't react at all, there wasn't even a small twitch of the ear or tilt of the head to even indicate that the other had even heard him.

There was a beat of silence, and Macaque chewed on the edge of his scarf, distracting himself from the awkwardness of it all by focusing on the sounds of the ship at night.

The beeping of the autopilot, the whir of the engines, the quiet sleeping sounds of the others, Wukong's steady, slow heart beat...

His.... slow heart beat...

"Oh" Macaque breathed, his voice partially muffled as he still had part of his scarf in his mouth. "You're sleep walking."

A contradictory mixture of concern and relief flooded through him at this realization. For a moment he just sat there, watching as Wukong continued to sluggishly make his way around the room.

And then Wukong bumped into the edge of the coffee table, and Macaque got up in record time, ready to catch the other if he fell-

Only to pull himself back as Wukong righted himself, still fast asleep. Macaque sighed, sitting back down on the couch. Why had he even been worried? There was literally nothing to worry about here, Wukong was literally invulnerable, he'd be fine. This was fine.

He rescinded that thought when Wukong suddenly turned, slowly but surely making his way towards Macaque. The shadow monkey watched the other's approach warily, stiffening when Wukog clumsily crawled onto the couch beside him.

Macaque stayed as still as possible, practically frozen, and partially hoping Wukong would get back up and sleep walk his way back to his own bed.

That, of course, didn't happen, and Macaque barely bit back a gasp, the edge of his scarf falling from his mouth to rest on his lap, as Wukong's tail found and curled around Macaque's own.

'Okay.' Macaque thought, feeling the flowers surge within his chest, as well as a faint tingling sensation covering most of his body (it had been a while, since he'd had any positive affection). 'Okay. I can handle this.'

And then Wukong leaned against him, his head resting on Macaque's shoulder.

'I can not handle this.'

When Wukong woke up in the early morning, the first thing he noticed was that he was not, in fact, in his bedroom.

'Ah. I slept walked again.' He thought, wincing, slowly pushing himself up. '...At least I didn't collapse in the middle of the hallway or inside of MK's room this time...'

The second thing he noticed was fabric sliding off of him, landing in a pool on the floor.

Leaning over and picking it up, he instantly identified it as Macaque's scarf.

He'd. Been sleeping while curled around Macaque's scarf.....

Almost immediately, he started coughing, purple petals falling from his mouth.

'Well. There goes the last effects of the tea.'

(When Macaque opened his door later on in the after noon, he would find his scarf sitting on the floor in front of him, perfectly folded.

He would find a singular purple petal within it upon unfolding it, but immediately dismiss it as being unimportant.)

"Why is it a forest, why did the engine need to malfunction and land us in a forest." Macaque complained, laying in the shadow of a tree, staring up into the branches as though the tree would give him an answer.

"Hey, it's better than a mountain." Wukong said, setting down a glass of lemonade beside the other monkey, before turning to hand another one off to Tang. (Pigsy had, for reasons unknown, made Wukong act as his waiter for the day. Nobody was quite sure why, and from the way Wukong glared whenever the subject was brought up, they figured it was best not to ask). "Can you hear how MK and the others are doing though, they've been gone for a while..."

"Why don't you just use your cloud to go check on them?" Macaque groaned, but still did what had been asked of him, tilting his head to the side, listening intently. After a moment, he was able to pin point the trio's voices. As for what they were saying....

Macaque smirked.

"They're fine." He said, "Although, they might be another few minutes before they come back."

When the trio came out of the forest wearing flower crowns, Macaque mentally cheered.

(After somebody with Hanahaki confesses, the flowers need somewhere to go. Usually they simply pop out of the ground around the person who has confessed.

It was a popular tradition to make and wear flower crowns using said flowers if your love was reciprocated.)

"Oh, did Red Son finally confess?" Tang asked, "We've been waiting on that for like. Ever."

"Oh heavens- Was I the only one who didn't know?" MK said, hiding his face in his hands.

"Oh no, I don't think Monkey King here knew either." Sandy said, lightly patting Wukong on the head. Wukong had been adorned with a look of utter shock since the trio had returned, but now he finally broke out of his surprise, and before the trio could even think to move, Wukong had grabbed hold of them, lifting them up a little in an excited hug.

"Oh my gosh- I'm so happy for you!" He said, only putting them down as Red Son started struggling. "We've- we've gotta throw a party- Pigsy can we throw a party-"

Macaque rolled his eyes, blocking out the current party planning, going back to staring at the sky through the tree branches.

"...Macaque."

Macaque looked over to see Red Son standing beside him.

"...Yes?" Macaque asked.

"...I'm braver than you are."

"What the fuck does that mean-"

Of course, Wukong had ended up deciding that they couldn't have the party on the ship. For some reason or another, he was utterly convinced that this party had to be big, which, of course, meant that there had to be a large space to hold it in.

...Had the situation been different, he would've brought everyone to Flower Fruit Mountain.

As it was, he found the next best thing.

"How the fuck did you know about my family hide out?" Red Son asked, watched as Wukong knocked three times on the door.

"You forget I was friends with your father, Red Boy." Wukong said, sending Red Son a smirk. "Oh, and watch your language."

The rest of the group stood slightly behind them, some of them prepared to run away if, somehow, this went awry.

Luckily enough, they didn't have to worry. Demon Bull King and Princess Iron Fan took the fact that Red Son was now dating his former enemies surprisingly well, and were fully willing to let them use the base to hold a party.

Wukong, surprisingly enough, ended up being the one to regret the decision to come here, the realization that maybe he had made a mistake hitting when Demon Bull King grabbed him by the back of his scarf, lifting him into the air. Wukong went slack immediately, knowing that struggling would be futile.

"The rest of you can keep sorting things out." Demon Bull King said, "I would like to have a few.... words with the simian."

And with that he turned, walking out of the room and bringing Wukong with him.

Demon Bull King entered a smaller room, reaching and closing the door behind him as he did so. Unceremoniously, he let go of Wukong's scarf and let the monkey drop down to the floor. Wukong let out an 'oof' as he hit the solid concrete.

"Ow." He hissed, glaring up at Demon Bull King. "Ya could have been a little more gentle there, Bull King."

"You can handle it." Demon Bull King said, "Now, onto the real matter of business. You haven't confessed yet, have you."

"What? Oh, is that what this is all about- I mean, I have no idea what you're talking about." Wukong said, laughing nervously. Demon Bull King stared down at him, unimpressed.

"So I'm right, you really still haven't confessed." Demon Bull King sighed, "Really, I expected better from you. Oh well, I suppose it is a good thing that my son is braver than you, not that that's very hard."

"Ouch." Wukong said, slightly jokingly. "You...really aren't pulling back your punches today huh."

"You trapped me under a mountain. I can be permitted to throw a few heavy hits." Demon Bull King said, "As it is though, if you do not confess sooner rather than later, you may miss your chance."

"Huh?"

"Do not make me out to be a fool, Sun Wukong. I can see the way your body grows weaker." Demon Bull King stared pointedly at a scrape Wukong had gotten on his hand when he'd been dropped onto the floor. Wukong, following the other's gaze, hid it behind his back. "You can't hide it from me. A month ago that fall would've been nothing to you. The Lady Bone Demon has affected you more than you're letting on."

"...So what if she has?" Wukong asked, "It's fine, it doesn't really mean anything, my powers will come back to their full strength sooner or later, you know."

"When I carried you, you weighed a little heavier than you used to."

"Hey now, don't go making comments about my weight!" Wukong said, letting the glamour on his eyes drop so that he could give Demon Bull King the red-eyed glare. "Seriously, I don't know what you think you've figured out, but just, drop it, okay?"

"...If that is what you wish." Demon Bull King sighed, opening the door and standing slightly to the side in order to let Wukong through first. "Promise me one thing though, for the sake of our old friendship."

"...Of course."

"Please confess before the time runs out."

"I'll... I'll try."

The party had been great.

In fact, the party had been spectacular.

Which was why, of course, that merely a week after the party, their luck seemingly ran out.

One of the Lady Bone Demon's 'followers' attacked the group during a supply run. Somehow, someway, Wukong and Macaque had managed to draw it away from the others, giving the rest of the group ample time to get the ship loaded and get everyone to a safe place.

Now all the two monkeys had to do was find a way for themselves to escape.

Macaque ducked under a wave of magic, glancing over at Wukong, hoping that the other would have some kind of plan.

He could immediately tell from the look on the other's face that he did not, in fact, have any sort of plan.

Macaque kept dodging as he watched Wukong impulsively take the offensive, sliding under a wave of magic, running up and jumping to kick the demon in the face- Only for the demon to catch him by the foot, spinning him around and tossing him. Wukong's back slammed against the mountain they'd ended up fighting beside, and he fell onto one knee for a moment.

And then he slowly stood back up, his fur messed up. He used his sleeve to wipe some blood away from the corner of his mouth, his eyes burning red and oh-

Oh, that was kinda hot-

Macaque immediately cursed letting himself get distracted, as the flowers grew in his chest, and he stumbled, wheezing as a few golden petals fell out of his mouth.

A wave of magic hit him from behind, knocking him to the ground and sending him skidding over to where Wukong now stood.

"Shit- are you okay?" Wukong asked, keeping one eye on the demon, who simply watched them in slight amusement, as he helped the shadow monkey back to his feet. Macaque glanced between the demon and Wukong, feeling the flowers in both his throat and his mouth.

Fuck, he wouldn't be able to win this fight if he stayed like this, in this state.

...Which only left him one option.

Taking only the barest of seconds to prepare himself, Macaque grabbed a hold of both side of Wukong's face, ignoring the monkey's confused squeak as he made sure their eyes met.

"I love you." Macaque said, a single petal falling out of his mouth.

"...I love you too?" Wukong said, confusion and shock filling his face.

"Wait, what?" Macaque asked, but was given no time to question it as the demon seemingly had enough of waiting, and threw a whip of magic at them, the two monkeys having to separate from each other and leap to different sides in order to avoid the attack. As the dust from the attack settled, Macaque locked eyes with Wukong again, the Monkey King's face coloured with a blush, looking shocked, and Macaque was sure the expression was reflected on his own face.

"You love me too?!" He asked, sliding to the side, to avoid another attack.

"Yes!" Wukong shouted, backflipping out of the way of a burst of flame.

"Then why did you say it as a question?!" Macaque asked, slowly making his way back over to the other monkey while avoiding the demon's attempts to hit him at the same time.

"I don't know, why did you confess in the middle of a fight!?" Wukong asked, mirroring the other monkey's movements.

"It seemed like the best option!" Macaque said, leaping over top of another magic whip, spinning around and finding himself back to back with Wukong. "I- I didn't really think it through."

"And people say that I'm the impulsive one." Wukong muttered, deflecting a beam of magic away from them with his wrist.

"I heard that." Macaque hissed, turning ever so slightly to glare at him.

"I know." Wukong said- before turning and knocking Macaque to the ground, just in time for a blade to go sailing over top of them. "When did he get a scythe?!"

"How should I know?!" Macaque asked- before his ear twitched, and he grabbed Wukong's shoulders, rolling the both of over to the right, swapping their positions as the ground where they had previously been suddenly broke apart, a spike rising out of it. Both of them stared at it in shock, before glancing back at each other.

"Well, there's one thing that I think we both know." Wukong said, as Macaque stood up, pulling Wukong to his feet along with him. They both turned to glare at the demon. "And it's that we're starting to get real sick of this guy."

"...You know, I hear that there's a solar eclipse coming up." Macaque said, and Wukong immediately smirked.

The demon sent another blast of magic, and, still holding hands, the two of them stepped to the side, Macaque even taking things one step further, twirling Wukong as they dodged the blast, before pulling away, giving the Monkey King a small bow before falling down into the shadows. Wukong, smirk still wide on his face, turned to face the demon with a determined look.

Running forwards, swiftly moving left and right to stay out of the way of the demon's attacks, Wukong got himself right up in the demon's face. Jumping, he flipped backwards, hitting the demon in the chin with his foot as he did so, before landing on his feet slightly further back than he'd been before.

The demon rubbed his chin, eyes blazing with anger, and Wukong laughed.

"C'mon, is this the best you can throw at me?" He taunted, practically dancing out of the way of the spikes that shot out of the ground at him. "Surely you can do better than this!"

The demon growled, not seeing the trap for what it was, summoning his scythe and charging forwards. Wukong stayed where he was, smirk still firm in place on his face.

When the blade was almost close enough for Wukong to taste the tang of the metal, the shadows in front of him shifted.

Macaque shot up from the shadows, with a spear made out of the darkness, easily blocking the demon's attack, his eyes glowing purple as he stepped forwards, shadows still trailing and swirling around his feet as he forced the demon to take a step back.

The demon grit his teeth, so focused in trying to keep Macaque advancing any further- that he failed to notice as Wukong slid beside him, his eyes glowing red as he took power away from his glamours and channeled it into making sure this punch was the last one.

The strike hit, and Macaque stepped back, his fur rustled by the wind as the demon was sent flying past him, slamming into the mountain, hard.

The two monkeys stood there for a moment, panting, staring at the demon's prone form.

A minute passed, and that was all it took for the two of them to confirm that the demon was not going to be getting back up.

A sigh of relief left the two of them, Wukong falling down to sit on the ground, while Macaque slumped, leaning against his spear as the two of them took a moment to finally relax.

Only to jump as a field of yellow chrysanthemums and purple, flowering wisterias appeared around them.

The two of them stared around themselves in shock for a moment, Macaque dispelling his spear as he sank down to the ground beside Wukong. A breeze flew by, knocking loose a few petals, mixing yellow and purple together.

"...You know, I can't decide if these flowers are hilariously late or perfectly on time." Macaque said, and Wukong laughed.

"Say, who do you think has more flowers for them?" He asked, and the both of them took a second to think about it, looking out over the field. Wukong abruptly stood up. "Why don't we make some clones to help and find out?"

Macaque laughed, standing up and summoning his own shadow clones as Wukong blew on a few of his hairs, and they went to work, counting flowers.

...In the end, they ended up giving up after the third recount also ended up in a tie.

When the two of them finally returned to the ship, adorn in matching flower crowns, MK took one look at them, a brief expression of shock flickering on his face, before he fell backwards onto the couch, a strangled laugh escaping him.

"Fucking finally!"

#Monkie Kid #shadowpeach #fanfic #my writing #non fatal hanahaki au #this took forever

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