#they would always suffer unless they died for good | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

saetoru · 9 months

Text

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。what if you’re someone i just want around (i’m falling again)

synopsis. somewhere along the line, you started to hate suguru—that doesn’t mean you stopped loving him too

— word count. 9.5k (i am in misery)

— contents. post canon! au — fix it! (we all need a good fix it fic with suguru don't lie), this fic was started before recent manga chapters so the higher ups are still alive—just go with it ok :,), geto survives + lives free of kenjaku, exes to lovers, kind of redemption i suppose, mentions of blood, injuries, and weight loss (geto), mentions of canon character deaths (nanako, mimiko, nanami), mentions of wanting to raise children with geto and have a family, no gendered terms but reader has a personality and actual thoughts and feelings, references to the hunger games (you have movie night lol), BFF satoru (he is babie), there is a kiss y’all !! (scandalous i know :O)

— notes. i started this fic back in march and i had trouble with it and put it on pause for a while. i’m very glad i finished it in the end. i always like fix it! fics and this is self-indulgent and idk if ppl will read it bc it’s sfw but it’s ok if they don’t, i loved writing it. thank you koi for beta-reading this whole bad boy. mwah <333

the day suguru is declared a free man is actually the day he signs away his freedom for good.

you say nothing, but you know it’s the truth. satoru fights tooth and nail to plead suguru’s case—you think it’s perhaps a little too desperate for it to be in the best interest of suguru and not himself. but satoru has suffered enough, and admittedly—although you deny it—a small part of you does not want to lose suguru twice. you watch as satoru argues that suguru has already died once—surely he can’t die again? and losing control of his body and mind is paying for his crimes enough, is it not? he argues that there are no ideals left for a man like geto suguru to chase after losing himself to every principle he had left.

and then satoru wins.

you expect it, but it doesn’t make it any easier. you watch numbly as suguru is assigned under your watch. you should be happy. you love suguru—you never stopped. but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s not a free man, and now he drags your freedom with his. you’ll never break away from him, never cut through the ropes that tie your hands behind your back and bind you to him—and then you wonder for a moment, unsure if it’s selfish or selfless or some cruel in-between to think this way, if geto suguru was better off dead.

whether that’s for your sake, or his, you’re not sure.

and yes, he’s let off alive, and sure, there’s no real punishment for all he’s done, but you know deep down he’s as chained and shackled as he’s ever been. he’s not allowed to leave the house unless you or satoru are there to chaperone, and it’s never to be anywhere near non-sorcerers. he’s not to live in a place of his own until the higher up’s deem him trustworthy. he has to ask you to buy the things he wants from the grocery store. he can’t even step outside for a smoke unless you’re aware.

for a long time, he doesn’t speak much—can hardly muster a barely audible mornin’ back when you force a smile and greet him cheerily for breakfast. slowly, it turns into half-snarky conversations that get cut short by one of you leaving the room. finally, you’re civil—maybe even friendly. you’re not so sure where you stand with him as of now.

it’s not the same suguru you remember falling in love with, it’s not even close to the version of the man you fell for all those years ago. it’s hard having him here—some days you’re angry and want to throw him out, to scream at him for haunting you again just when you think you’ve moved on from the horrors of your past. some days you want to cry and cling to him, bury your face into his neck and thank him for being here again, for finding his way back to you. and some days you wish you never met him at all, that this would all be easier if it didn’t exist in the first place.

he’s not the same geto suguru you loved, but somehow, because life is as bitter as it is ruthless, you fall in love with this version just as hard no matter how much you deny it.

“i made your favorite,” you smile gently, placing a neat plate of french toast with freshly cut strawberries on the side. you even take great care to get the syrup-to-powdered sugar ratio he likes right, but he doesn’t make a move to reach for the plate. instead, suguru sits at the table stiffly, like he has to be here or there are consequences for that too. it almost makes you sad—even here, he’s not free.

“thanks,” he says quietly, “but i’m not hungry.”

“you said that last night, suguru,” you sigh, “and at lunch. and at breakfast. and at dinner the night before—”

“i’ll eat it later,” he cuts you off, playing with the ends of his hair.

it’s a lot shorter now. it’s you who finds his body battered and bruised after the smoke clears. he’s almost unrecognizable, not the same charming and perfect suguru you’re used to seeing. not the same silkened strands and smooth skin, not the same muscled and toned body, not the same chiseled jaw and soft cheeks. instead, he’s a shell of himself. his hair is matted in knots, his body is almost frail, and you notice the sunken hollows of his cheeks and dark undereyes as you lift him from the rubble a little too easily. but his body is his own—that much you can tell from the way the stitches have disappeared.

it takes shoko a long time to nurse him back to health—it takes even longer for him to open his eyes.

you waited day and night by his side, hand over his as he breathed slowly, unconscious and unsuspecting. it would be so easy, you think one night, it would be so easy to kill him and forget and move on.

you’ve already grieved him once before. you’ve felt and conquered the pain of loving geto suguru and losing him first to himself and then to death. but love is as selfish as it is selfless, and it’s under your mercy that you let him live—yet it’s under your cowardice that you keep him close.

“you have to gain back the weight you lost, suguru,” you sigh, “you’re w—”

“weak?” he finishes for you, eyeing you for a second and then grinning. it’s unsettling, a grin that makes your skin crawl and your heart stop for a moment before he’s reaching for the fork and stabbing into his toast. “is that what you wanted to say? that i’m weak?”

“suguru, you know that’s not how i meant—”

“you’re not wrong,” he hums, chewing on the first bite as he speaks, “i suppose i am pretty weak right now, huh? couldn’t even kill you in your sleep if i tried could i?”

your throat is dry as you shrug, “i suppose not,” you whisper.

“ah,” he grins again, “but that doesn’t stop you from locking your door every night, does it?”

suguru is still healing. his body is weak, and sometimes, he leans against the wall as he walks. his arm is healed—you’re not entirely sure how, but you catch him rolling the shoulder out every now and then like it’s sore and stiff. he’s lost a lot of weight—part of it is from being bedridden for as long as he was, injured and half alive, and part of it is from barely eating—save for the few bites you force into him. you never thought there’d be a day when you could say this—but the odds of you beating suguru in hand-to-hand combat are high, and the reality is an everlasting reminder that he is not who you fell for.

you swallow, letting out a shaky breath as he watches you closely, diligently cutting another bite from the french toast sitting on his plate as he stares you down like he can see past your soul. you don’t know what’s scarier—that suguru can still practically see yours, or that you’re unsure he even has one anymore.

“you tried coming in?” you ask, unsure what else to say. he merely shrugs, takes another bite, and sets his fork down.

“thought i’d check on you,” he pops a strawberry half into his mouth as he speaks.

“is that what it really was?” you raise a brow, “or was i right to lock the door?”

you’re not sure why you lock the door at night. maybe it’s because you don’t trust him, or maybe it’s because you don’t want him near you just yet. you’re not sure. you’re not sure how satoru can go back to his cheery self, how he can step through your door and boom a loud yo, suguru! before settling beside suguru on the couch with his feet on the coffee table as he rambles away. maybe it’s not real—maybe it’s satoru desperately pretending that if he tries hard enough, things can go back to how they were.

but you don’t know how he still has the energy to try, and you don’t know if you have it in you to try anymore yourself.

you and suguru stare each other down like that for a bit, the tension rising with every silent second that passes. you’re sure he doesn’t want to be here as much as you don’t want him around—but you’re also sure he’s glad it’s here with you as much as you’re glad it’s with no one else.

“you tell me,” he smirks after a bit, the hint of amusement making your fists clench. how dare he have the audacity to look at you like that in your own home? like he has the upper hand over you without trying? “what do you think i was there for?”

“i think you should stay in your room, suguru,” you say carefully, “i bought a new bed just for that room.”

“how sweet of you,” he hums. he sips the tea before him—it’s cold by now, but it’s just how he likes it, rose with one sugar. “you must have been excited to have me.”

“hardly,” you mumble bitterly—you can’t help it. you want him to feel hurt, even just a little. you want him to know that just because he’s back, it doesn’t mean you’ve waited all this time for him to be. liar, a part of you says, you’ve always waited for him, haven’t you? but suguru doesn’t seem phased—he doesn’t even blink.

“then tell me, why am i here?” suguru asks, his tone is as casual as ever.

i wish i knew, you want to say. i wish i knew but i don’t.

“because satoru asked you to be,” is all you can say.

he nods, pushing back his plate and standing up, offering you that same grin. “you’re right,” he hums, “that’s exactly why i’m here.”

it hits you why his smile is so unsettling once he leaves—it’s almost genuine, like he’s still loved you all this time. impossible, you tell yourself. suguru stopped loving you a long time ago. and you need to stop trying to figure out why.

————————————————

even despite telling yourself you don’t care what suguru thinks, a small part of you needs to prove to him you’re not scared of him. that you don’t fear for your own safety in your home, and that him being here is not some form of him haunting you. you don’t care. he shouldn’t get the luxury of thinking you care. he can come in and watch you sleep like the creep he is if he wants—you couldn’t bother to give it a second thought.

the first night you take a chance and leave the door unlocked, suguru slips into bed beside you. it wakes you up instantly, and before you can question it, his head tucks into your neck, and his hand grasps your shirt tightly. you notice the panting almost instantly—and then you realize, it must be a nightmare.

you fall into old habits, even after all these years, defaulting to care for him like it’s second nature.

“you’re safe, suguru,” is what you settle for saying after a moment of contemplation. it’s all you can really think to say, so you brush your lips over the top of his head as you murmur, “you’re safe,” over and over again.

as difficult as it is to have suguru around, as painful and cruel and aggravating as it is to be reminded of his distant existence even as he’s two doors down, this part feels natural. it’s almost like you’re back in jujutsu high, waking up to him sneaking into your room as he presses his weight over your body and wakes you with soft kisses along your face.

except this time, he’s not annoyingly demanding cuddles or telling you about his weird dream, he’s not stealing your blanket and demanding you play with his hair. this time, it’s not the same suguru—and this time, it’s not jujutsu high.

it’s your room. the one you got on the other side of town to leave the sorcery world behind, somehow still stuck right in the center of it no matter where you go. and yet, just like all those years ago, your legs tangle, and your arms wrap him up, and you murmur, “you’re safe,” while he catches his breath.

“but they’re not,” he mutters in between labored pants, making you pause.

and then you remember.

faintly, you recall the blonde and black hair from a distance, you remember bitterly wondering what’d it be like watching suguru fathering children of your own as you came to the reality that it would never happen. sometimes, you wonder if you hate nanako and mimiko for existing, for living as the dreams you never got to live through with suguru.

it’s selfish—to hate two children because they are what you do not have.

but then you feel something wet hit your neck, and then you wish they were okay—for his sake. and just for a moment, you’re selfless again.

“they’re not safe,” he mutters, making you sigh.

“they are,” you whisper, hesitating for a moment before letting your fingers slip into his hair. you scratch gently at his scalp, feeling his body melt into yours almost instantly—like it’s a response that’s natural to him. “they’re not suffering. not anymore.”

“is that supposed to make me feel better?” he scoffs. you shrug, letting your cheek press against the top of his head as you sigh.

“it helps me feel better,” you say softly, “‘s just how you learn to cope.”

it’s an understanding you both silently come to. loss on both sides. bloodshed on either ground. defeat no matter which ideal you take. to love is to bear the pain of mortality—it’s a lesson that you never cease to learn until the ends of time itself.

“the jujutsu world is one of suffering,” he grits, sniffling into your neck. you hum, pressing a kiss to his head as your eyes close.

“every world is one of suffering, suguru, you can’t erase them all. the sooner you realize that, the easier you’ll find peace.”

you fall into a slumber after that, faintly aware of the way he shuffles closer to you, faintly aware of the soft kiss pressed to your skin as sleep takes over your body and drifts you out of consciousness.

when you wake up the next morning, suguru is gone, and the door is closed. the blanket is tucked up to your chin, and your neck still tingles from last night.

————————————————

“get up,” you throw a pillow at suguru, waking him up with a start as he sits up. his hair is tousled and messy from sleep—it’s now long enough that he can put it in a bun without strands slipping from the bottom anymore. you chuckle as he glares at you, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he groans.

“the fuck was that for?” he grunts, holding the blanket up to cover his exposed chest.

it’s funny that he does that, in a way. it’s not as though you haven’t seen his chest…and then some too. it’s not like you haven’t torn his shirt off to stanch the flow of blood from his injuries before or feel the bare skin with your palm under the pale moonlight as the lingering scent of sex breezes through the room.

but somehow, even though he doesn’t need to cover his chest around you of all people, you’re glad that he does. truthfully, it keeps you slightly comforted to know that he’s aware you’re still technically strangers—no matter how well-versed you are in each other’s pasts. but you don’t ponder on it too much. instead, you grin, shoving aside the visual of the small glance you caught at his pecs, and you clap your hands to motion him to hurry.

“we are going grocery shopping,” you say casually—as though it’s not something to make him raise a brow in shock.

“me?” he points a finger at himself. you roll your eyes, and he challenges you with another raise of his brow. “aren’t i supposed to stay away from civilians?”

“yes, you,” you nod, pointing back at him, “and satoru has worked overtime to get you granted permission to roam around with me. he says you’re welcome, by the way.”

“tell him to go fuck off.”

“that’s ungrateful,” you say flatly, “his feelings will be hurt.”

“his feelings will find a way to cope,” suguru huffs. “i don’t want to be around…them,” he says bitterly.

you suppose it’s wishful thinking to hope suguru has let go of his past beliefs. perhaps he’s long abandoned the possibility of the vision he once planned on bringing to life, but you can’t say you expected him to revert back to the old suguru who fought alongside you and satoru. you yourself certainly have no intention of returning to the sorcery world after all the events, so you can’t say you’re shocked by the lack of change he seems to show. but then again, you suppose suguru has changed. whether he sees it or not.

he stays here and doesn’t put up a fight to leave even though he can now that he’s healed. he eats lunch when you tell him and even washes the dishes. sometimes, when you come home a bit late, dinner is even ready on the table as he sits and stares at you expectantly. his plate is empty like yours—like he’s been waiting for you even though he doesn’t need to. you suppose you can see he’s changed in the way he doesn’t scoff at the tv channels you surf through, he silently sits on the opposite end of the couch now and watches with you, and perhaps if you’re lucky, you’ll hear a light chuckle or a quiet sigh as the scenes roll on the screen.

you suppose this suguru is a step closer to your suguru every day he spends with you, but you don’t know if any suguru is what you need right now. perhaps that name should’ve been buried away as a distant memory, perhaps it should’ve only been something you unlock once every year on his death anniversary—when satoru clambers through your door drunk and unsteady as he clutches the hand that killed his best friend, only to share pancakes with you in the morning and pretend like you don’t notice the dried tears on his cheeks while he acts like he doesn’t catch the way your hand shakes as you cut into your breakfast.

but suguru is here now. whether it’s as geto, one half of the strongest duo in jujutsu high, whether it’s as suguru, the love of your life and the sole reason you exist, or whether it’s as geto suguru, the curse user and mass murderer who haunts your past, present, and everything in between.

so you simply sigh, grab the pillow again, and hit the top of his head before walking over to the door as you call over your shoulder, “i’m gonna wait for you by the door in fifteen minutes. be ready or face the consequences..”

“no thanks. don’t wanna,” suguru grumbles petulantly, frowning at you as you stick your tongue at him, smirking as if you’ve just played your ace.

“too bad,” you sing before swinging the door shut.

he’s at the door in exactly fifteen minutes, like he waited until the last possible second to join you as a move of spite. but you simply gesture him out the door and lock up, taking your sweet time as he stands there with an annoyed face. you stare at the doorknob once you’re done, taking a deep breath before turning to him with your best smile.

“let’s go,” you hum.

“after you,” he mutters.

—

he grimaces as soon as he sees the people going about their business, clearly unhappy with the idea of being around non-sorcerers, but one sharp glare from you has him sighing and trekking along. the grocery store, admittedly, is not as bad as suguru thinks—in fact, there are lots of things he doesn’t realize he misses until he watches you grab a shopping cart.

suddenly, he sees shadows. the silhouette of your figure climbing into the cart, the angry wave of satoru’s hands as he claims it's his turn to be pushed around, the figure of shoko pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation from the back—and then, he sees the dark shadow of baggy pants and a small bun. it’s him. suguru watches himself almost in slow motion through the remnants of his imagination as he gently shoves satoru out of the way and reaches to poke the tip of your nose before he pushes the cart with you in it.

it’s a happy memory—and it’s gone all too soon.

as soon as he blinks, the shadows have disappeared—instead, it’s you waving a hand in his face, concern written on your features as you call his name.

“suguru? hey, hello? are you with me?”

he exhales, pulled from his trance as he gently grabs your wrist from in front of his face and sets it down as he nods, “yeah, i’m fine. just thinking,” he mumbles.

for a second, you hesitate, like you almost mean to say something. but in the end, you only nod before turning to grab the shopping cart. but he stops you—grabs the handle and turns to you with a small smile on his face, making you raise a brow as he gently moves you away.

“what are you—”

“get in,” he grins, making you stare at him in bewilderment.

“what?”

“just get in,” he sighs, “you love it when you get to sit in the cart.”

“i’m not a teenager anymore—”

“get in, will you?” he groans, “always so damn difficult.”

“hey,” you pout, glaring at him with your hands planted at your hips, “that’s rude.” it’s cute. suguru stares at you with amusement in his eyes and a soft look on his face that you don’t think you’ve really seen in years.

“humor me,” he hums, “just get in, okay?”

so you do.

with a huff and a grumble under your breath, you fight back a smile and climb into the damn cart just like old times. you swallow and try not to let it get to you when he reaches over and pokes the tip of your nose and pushes the cart around, letting you name off the things you need from your list while he grabs them. and when he sneaks snacks into the pile, you roll your eyes and glare at him in the way you always did—the one that isn’t actually annoyed. fond. happy to let it slide because it’s him.

“we need candy,” you murmur, “that’s the last thing on the list.”

“okay. what kind?” he asks, turning the cart into the candy aisle and smiling softly down at you.

“doesn’t matter, satoru eats anything as long as it’s sweet. he’s more likely to die from sugar than fighting a curse, i think.”

“you buy candy for satoru?” he asks, making you shrug as you reach over and grab a few bags of candy off the shelves, setting them down beside you.

“he comes over a lot so i learned to keep stuff stocked up for him. you know how he gets when he’s hungry.”

suguru feels something he hasn’t felt since he was a teenager. jealousy—specifically of satoru.

suguru is not foolish. he knows as soon as he meets gojo satoru that of the two, one of them is stronger and it’s definitely not himself. for the longest time, he’s okay with that, okay being the strongest only when alongside satoru—until he’s not. and even if suguru always had a bit more attention in the romance department than satoru, in his head he’s always known that perhaps satoru can keep you safer, more well off, maybe even happier. with smooth smiles and eyes as welcoming as an oasis, gojo satoru would never leave you in the dark pit of misery as suguru once had.

something about the thought of you and satoru keeping each other company through the lonely years, filling that empty spot suguru left behind, sharing moments over candy and empty wrappers makes suguru wonder for a moment if perhaps he’d be happier if he stayed. maybe he could have worn a heartfelt smile in a world that carves them off the faces of sorcerers with bloody knives as long as you were there to wipe the blood.

but before he can dwell on it, you snatch one more bag—this time of his favorite candy, placing it into the cart and grinning gently up at him.

“i haven’t bought this one in years,” you admit, “i almost forget how it tastes.”

“me too,” he says quietly.

“well,” you hum, “we’ll have to have some when we’re home.”

home. you say it as though it belongs to him as much as it does you, and then like you always have, without even meaning to, you wash away the dark stains of his jealousy with no trace left behind.

“yeah,” he chuckles, “we—”

“daddy, look! candy!” suguru is cut off by the gentle pitter-patter of two tiny feet running into the aisle, pointing at a bag of candy as a man follows close behind.

his breath hitches.

she’s small, the girl—she has two pigtails with soft strands of blonde hair falling out of the loosely tied bands. it reminds suguru of the first time he perfected tying up nanako’s hair, the soft giggles behind her tiny hand as she twirled in the mirror.

there’s another girl in the man’s arms—dark hair on her head as she curls into her father’s chest and tucks her head into his neck when she sees you and suguru in the aisle. she’s shy, he realizes, like mimiko, and suddenly he remembers the tiny fingers that used to hook into his pants when she got too overwhelmed by the people around her, waiting for suguru to scoop her into his arms.

perhaps in another life, suguru would redo everything differently—he’d be happy with you and satoru and shoko, and nanami and haibara would be there too, well and alive. but no matter what, he’d never redo nanako and mimiko differently. he’d never change a thing about them, not even the way nanako whines too much about small things or the way mimiko never speaks up even when something is clearly bothering her. he’d never change the way he saved them and took them in at the tender age of eighteen, too lost to be a father but choosing to raise them anyway. he’d never change the feeling of pure joy and unbridled pride when they climbed into his bed for the first time, shushing each other so as not to wake him—even though he’d awoken as soon as the door to his room opened.

because he realized that night that yeah, maybe he’d made mistakes in his lifetime, lots of them too. maybe he’d made a bad choice choosing the path he did, or maybe he didn’t. he’s never been completely sure—just that he had to try at least to make his vision for a different world come to life. but one mistake he never made was his girls. one thing he was always sure about was the soft clutch at his pants and the tiny hands reaching for his own.

suguru wouldn’t change anything about nanako and mimiko—except maybe the fact that they aren’t here, gone because of him.

“suguru?” you ask softly, reaching for his hand as he grips the cart tightly and pulling his gaze away from the family in the distance.

he blinks, meets your eyes, and knows that you know. with one glance at your face, he knows you understand. the world is cruel, one filled with suffering, he thinks. but then he remembers what you said, that every world is full of suffering, not just his—that it’s a truth he has to come face to face with.

but it’s hard. it’s hard when this man has his two little girls and suguru does not—it’s hard to watch someone have what he wants with no worries of losing it, all because of people and their own weaknesses. he thinks for a moment that he’s been right all along—that non-sorcerers are too weak for this life, that the jujutsu world has always suffered so they don’t have to.

but then the man speaks up, catching both of your attention.

“your mother used to love those,” he says quietly to his daughter, a pained smile on his face. instantly, you and suguru both seem to understand the weight of that single sentence.

every world has its own pain, suguru realizes. its own cruelties and unfairness, its own way of bringing suffering in its wake as it rips away the things closest to you from your begging fingertips, leaving them cold and empty and numb from the lost weight underneath them.

“let’s go, suguru,” you whisper, “we have everything we came for.”

“yeah,” he whispers back, clearing his throat so his voice doesn’t crack, “let’s go.”

suguru leaves the grocery store with you after you pay, and for a brief moment, he’s unsure. unsure whether he’s grateful to satoru for fighting for him to be able to come and grateful to you for dragging him along, or if he wishes he died along with the rubble, gone before you could find him and turn him into this.

“before you even think about hiding away in your room,” you say, grabbing the bags from the cart as you put it back where it belongs, “you have to help with putting away the groceries.”

“sure,” he says smoothly. he grabs all the heavy bags from your hand, and you make a move to protest that you don’t need him to take the heavier ones, that you’re fine and can handle them like you’ve always handled them.

but he walks off, and finally, you decide to simply follow.

————————————————

satoru likes to come and visit—you’ve started a routine movie night every week (unless he’s away, of course.) it’s fun, but it also means he makes your veins pop because he’s a headache like that—always makes himself right at home and eats your snacks like this is his place and not yours. he helps himself to your already limited candy and puts his sock-clad feet up on the coffee table no matter how many times you tell him not to.

you try sitting with legs as long as these, he always whines, earning a harsh glare from you as you smack at his shins until he ultimately caves and begrudgingly sets his feet down.

but then they always make their way back up to the coffee table, and you’re too busy enjoying his company to care—although you’ll never admit it.

satoru is endearing like that, swallowing the dark clouds from your shoulders whole and eating up your burdens with that side of responsibility that you don’t think you could ever stomach. satoru is just like that, you realize, taking the brunt of the weight and laughing off every concern until you can’t help but not take them seriously yourself.

it’s hard to remember that sometimes you didn’t just lose suguru, the love of your life, that night. everyone lost something. shoko lost someone to smoke with, yaga lost a student to scold, nanami lost a headache to avoid, and satoru?

well…satoru lost what you think might’ve been the only filled void of his miserably empty life.

it’s hard to remember that satoru lost his best friend—the only best friend he’s ever had (although you like to think of yourself as a close contender)—because he’s so good at letting you forget. he brings you ice cream (that he eats half of because it’s only fair he gets a share), and he sits and hogs your couch (that he argues you don’t really need as much space as him on because your legs aren’t as long), and he watches those stupid sitcoms that are dry with boring jokes (that you used to make suguru watch back in the day).

it’s hard to remember that satoru also lost as much as you because he’s so damn good at making you forget about your own loss, you don’t care to think about anyone else’s for a while. just a short while. just until he’s yawning that obnoxiously loud yawn and stretching those awkwardly long limbs of his before he claims he really should go and that being the world’s best teacher requires as many hours of beauty sleep as you can squeeze in.

and then he’s off. and it’s empty again. and just like that, you’re reminded of why he was there in the first place—to fill in that sick and painful void that geto suguru left in you.

it’s gaping, like he tore a chunk of you right out with sharp teeth, like you’re just a piece of meat for him to get his fill of. if suguru really loved you, would you be so easy to let go of? why couldn’t he smile? because you could—god, you could smile just from the sight of him alone, you realize a long time ago. him with his cigarette tucked between his lips, those death sticks as you called them, hung loosely from his mouth as he gives you a lopsided grin.

geto suguru is enough of a reason to smile. the world could crumble at your feet and leave you with nothing but rubble and dirt, and still, suguru is the core of the earth you’re searching for.

so why couldn’t you be the same? what is it you were missing? what about you was just not enough for him like the way he was enough for you?

it dawns on you one night, through bitter tears and shaky sobs, and that sick, twisted, pleading feeling in your gut that begs the wind to carry him back to you—geto suguru has never loved you the way you loved him.

and for that, you can never forgive him, you don’t think.

“you tryin’ to go bug-eyed?” he asks, settling down on the couch next to you, making you snap out of your trance. you shake your head a little, stare back at him for a moment before putting on that look on your face where you roll your eyes and pretend everything is fine.

“no,” you huff, “i’m just thinking.”

“about…?”

“satoru has rarely ever missed a movie night.”

“maybe he’s sick of you,” he shrugs, grinning slyly at you as you narrow your eyes with a glare, “there’s someone here to keep you company now so he’s probably taken his opportunity to run.”

“you’re hardly company,” you scoff, “freeloader.”

“hey,” he defends, shrugging as if it’s not his fault. you suppose it’s not. “i didn’t ask to be rescued. you can’t be high and mighty and petty. ‘s not how that works.”

“says who? you don’t make the rules. i can be graciously kind and a jerk all at once.”

“complexity,” he nods, “i like it.”

“i’m not as complicated as you might think,” you grumble, crossing your arms as you stare at the time. yeah, satoru isn’t making it—which, he told you as much, but he’s strolled in at the last second too many times to count before. you figure today would be the same. “as long as you don’t skip movie nights with me, i’m pretty simple to keep appeased.”

“alright,” he props his feet up on the coffee table—seriously, what is it with asshole men putting their feet on your table? satoru is a terrible influence. “let’s have a movie night.”

“what?” you blink.

“movie night,” he repeats, “you said you don’t like skipping movie night—”

“well, i meant i don’t like satoru skipping movie—”

“well, it was me before satoru, wasn’t it?” he says with a smile. his eyes are closed, crinkled at the corners, but his voice is carefully neutral—like he takes extra care not to let you see any emotion behind it.

but that only means there is an emotion, isn’t there? is he jealous? does he hate the fact that you and satoru have a routine of your own without him? that you don’t need him to continue living your life?

good. he should be. he walked out on you all those years ago. he killed a village. killed his parents. you never even got to meet them—he never even got to take you home and introduce you to them before he ripped away every fantasy you ever had with him.

and now he’s back—he has the audacity to live, to laugh in your face with his existence that yes, geto suguru is here. and he was supposed to be executed, but your stubborn friend didn’t let that happen. he was supposed to be your husband by now with kids and a happy little home, and you were supposed to be his parent’s new addition to their family that they loved so much. but none of that is even close to happening, and it’s suguru’s fault, and the least he can do is show you some regret and maybe feel just the slightest bit bad that you now have to watch shitty movies with his best friend instead of him to feel normal.

ex-best friend? half best friend? you don’t even know—do they still consider each other their best friends? does anyone consider suguru anything? you don’t know what you consider him. but you think the least he can do is act just the slightest bit pathetic after making you feel so pathetic for so long just to even the score.

he should be a stranger. he feels like an old friend. but either is dangerous.

“alright,” you sigh, “let's bring back movie night. don’t fall asleep.”

“i get plenty of sleep nowadays,” he hums, “i have more than enough free time for that now.”

“how lucky of you,” you snort.

—

picking a movie with suguru is difficult. he actually has standards—satoru watches anything so long as he gets snacks, and he can make anything fun to watch with the way he comments from the side like a critic. suguru, on the other hand, actually cares about the quality of a movie, the metrics that make it good.

so you pick the hunger games just to piss him off.

“seriously?” he raises a brow, “this is your pick?”

“yes,” you grin, “i like these movies.”

“of all movies—”

“my house, my rules,” you grin cheekily, “you can pick the movies as soon as you start paying the bills.”

“wow,” he deadpans, “stooping to use my financial status against me? i thought you were better than this.”

“oh suguru,” you sigh dramatically, grabbing a bag of chips from the table, “you don’t know me at all.”

all things considered, you think it’s a rather enjoyable experience. it’s not as fun without satoru’s stupid comments that you pretend to hate, but suguru provides his own commentary that earns a giggle out of you here and there too—although his are not meant to be funny. but that’s the appeal of it, you think.

“she should have picked gale,” he mumbles. you raise a brow.

“peeta was always there for her, did you miss the rain scene?”

“so was gale,” he says smoothly, grabbing a chip from your bag and making you scowl.

“gale killed her sister,” you point out, “and a lot of other people too. he was ruthless. she needed peeta.”

“gale did what he had to do,” suguru mumbles.

suddenly, it doesn’t really feel like you’re discussing the movie anymore. it feels more than that. it feels sickening—the air is heavy, and your throat is dry and god, you just wanted a movie night and not this heaviness as you talk about stuff from the past without actually talking about it.

you blink before turning to your chips, playing around with the bag as you shrug.

“in the end he didn’t get katniss, did he?”

suguru studies you for a moment, stares a little too deep into you that you start to feel the urge to bolt to your room and go to bed.

“guess not,” he says quietly, “guess that’s the one regret he has, huh?”

you think for a second, as suguru stares at your eyes with something you can’t quite read, that you might cry. you might cry and throw that half-empty can of soda in his face for speaking in codes and making you question what he means and remember your past. you might cry because suguru could’ve always gotten you—in fact, he had you.

it’s not fair. nothing is, but you can’t help but dwell on it.

“i’m going to bed. it’s late,” you mumble after a few moments, standing. he only nods, staring at the tv as the credits roll. when you make it to your room and the door shuts behind you, you debate clicking the lock in place.

in the end, you don’t lock the door. suguru climbs into bed with you once more later that night, shaking slightly from his nightmare but calmer than usual. he’s still gone by the time morning comes, and you still never mention it.

it hits you one night that maybe he still has you—maybe you never let him stop having you, no matter what you say.

————————————————

suguru is good at cleaning while you’re away. you have to go out and do adult things like breadwinning and grocery shopping and bill paying. he dusts and cleans and even takes out the trash when you’re home to monitor him as he steps two feet out of your front door. sometimes, because you like to get on his nerves, you accidentally mess up a corner of the house just as he cleans it, laughing as he shoots you an unimpressed look.

“stop getting crumbs on the floor,” he mumbles, “i just vacuumed.”

“you make a good malewife,” you giggle, “vacuuming and everything. how cute.”

“don’t call me that,” he grumbles, sitting down on the couch.

“but you missed a spot,” you point to the crumbs you’ve sprinkled from your fingers as you snack away, making him glare. “failwife.”

“i’m going to divorce you and take everything,” he snaps, making you snort as you put your hands up in surrender.

“you don’t have to, you know,” you murmur, “clean, i mean. i can handle it.”

“i think i should carry my weight around here,” he shrugs, “since you are basically sugar babying me around for now.”

“dangerous curse user to the world, but sugar baby to me,” you tease, pulling a chuckle out of him as he rolls his eyes.

sometimes it’s nice to have his company. suguru is good with banter like that, he’s not annoying like satoru where you run in circles. suguru makes you laugh from your belly, makes the hiccups catch in your throat as you double over. he’s always been like that, always known how to make laughter pour from your lips and trickle down your chin. it’s comforting to know he still knows how. it leaves a small amount of bitterness that he’s still able to make you feel like this.

“by the way, next time you go shopping, take me with you,” he says casually, “i need to buy stuff for my hair. it’s growing.”

“you’ll finally see the sun just for your hair?” you gasp, “who knew that’s all it’d take?”

despite the playfulness in your words, there’s still shock. suguru is willingly stepping foot outside your house. he’s finally choosing to return to life after living like a recluse no matter how many times you and satoru have tried to beg him to get up and go somewhere. the most you can get out of him is a walk around the neighborhood before he goes back to wandering your home and hiding away in his room.

suguru is returning to life, his life, and you can’t help but wonder where that leaves room for you.

“my hair is my charm,” he reasons, “wouldn’t you agree?”

there’s a smirk on his lips when he asks—it’s like he’s seventeen and teasing you again, giving you that unfairly flirty smile that used to make you stutter as a kid. back when you were hopelessly in love. back when it was you, suguru, and the world in your corner. back when you had dreams of your future, practically giggling as you planned it away in a notebook.

suguru was always perfect like that, the kind of guy you could only dream about. he’s always been handsome—he’s always been the center of attention everywhere you went. you used to huff about it, about all the attention he managed to get from walking into a room alone. but then he’d smile, give you that tender look of his as he’d chuckle, and you’d be hopeless again.

he shouldn’t have that effect on you anymore after over a decade. but he does. it’s cruel, the way the universe works. it’s like there’s a magnet that pushes you together no matter how far you try to go, still pulled by gravity straight into his awaiting eyes and devilish smile.

“i cut your hair off once, i can do it again,” you huff. he laughs, it’s good-natured and kind.

“i was a bit heartbroken when i realized it was so short, i have to admit,” he says, “i didn’t look like me.”

“you looked good,” you say quietly, “i think you’d make anything work, to be honest.”

“yeah?” he grins, “any requests? i might consider it if it’s you.”

“oh shut up,” you roll your eyes, “how about shaving your head bald? let's see how much charm you have without all that hair.”

“i could charm you without the hair still, couldn’t i?” he winks.

it’s unfair how he acts like normal. like a few months in your home undoes everything he’s ever committed, all the atrocities he’s caused. the way he flirts with you feels like you’re his again. the way he’s aged and changed feels like you’re meeting someone new. you don’t understand how suguru is so natural with that—with seamlessly falling back into a rhythm with you like nothing has changed at all.

deep down, you know that suguru is just moving on with his life. he’s making the most of what he can. he can’t die, satoru would never let him have a peaceful death after all this. he can’t go back to the way things used to be, whether that’s his sorcery days or his curse user days, and he certainly can’t start over. so he’s making do with what he has—which is very little in reality.

it’s you, your home, and the biweekly visits from satoru and occasionally shoko. so he weaves you seamlessly into his life and treats you with a sense of normalcy you can’t hope to treat him with. maybe it’s because suguru was actually able to move on after he left.

it’s the part you hated him most for. for building a family with new people. for having two girls that he raised as daughters. for finding people to follow him and trust. suguru, after he walked away from everything he ever knew, actually did something with his life—even if it could hardly be considered good.

you? you fell deeper and deeper into a pit of denial until clawing your way back out was too impossible, until you had to leave behind everything you’ve ever known to get away from the remnants of his existence.

it’s easy for him to weave you back into his life because he chose to cut you loose. it feels damn near impossible to let him weave back into yours after he tore himself from the edges and frayed away.

“don’t do that,” you sigh, making him frown.

“do what?”

“you know what, suguru,” you pinch your nose in frustration, “stop acting like things are normal.”

“things are definitely not normal,” he snorts bitterly, “i think needing your approval to take the trash out is not equal to normal.”

“then why are you acting like…” you trail off, unsure.

“like what?” he raises a brow.

“like we never changed,” you slam your hands down on the couch in exasperation.

he stares at you for a minute, blinks once, then twice, and then furrows his brows.

“well, of course we changed,” he mumbles in confusion, “i know that—”

you shouldn’t have said anything. you quickly realize that. suguru is not trying to act like things are normal—he’s trying to be civil, and you’re just a fool. a fool who looks too deeply into everything and assumes what you want to out of things and god, you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of your one and only ex-boyfriend in over a decade who was once dead and somehow came back to the land of the living.

of course, he knows things are not the same. he doesn’t want what you think he does. it’s been years and suguru has moved on—he had already moved on all those years ago, and you’re the only one here that is still focused on the past. and now he knows it too.

you stand before he can finish, nodding as you stare down instead of meeting his eyes, pretending to adjust your clothes.

“right, of course you do,” you nod, “i don’t know why i said that. just ignore me, i’ll be going to my room now. i have…things to do, so i’ll be—”

“hang on,” he frowns, hand grabbing your wrist, “i don’t mean it like that,” he says gently.

fuck geto suguru for being so confusing and fuck him for being nice about it too.

“you can let go, suguru,” you pull at your wrist, “forget what i said, i wasn’t thinking—”

“i still feel the same,” he cuts you off, making your eyes widen, “if that’s what you mean. i never stopped.”

never stopped—that’s almost worse than moving on. how could he have felt the same all those years and still never come back?

“that does not help even a little,” you swallow the lump in your throat. “that makes this so much worse, do you see that?”

“i know,” he sighs, “i’m sor—”

“don’t say you’re sorry,” you grit your teeth, “we both know you’re not.”

“maybe not,” he admits, “i had to try. and that meant leaving—i’m sorry that’s not what you wanted.”

“it’s not!” you turn around, pulling your arm out of his grasp—suguru, for what it’s worth, takes the shove to his chest like a champ. “of course i didn’t want you to leave and kill a bunch of people and have an execution stamped on your forehead and live your life without me.”

“i know—”

“and now you’re back. back! in my house, eating my food and sleeping in my bed for half the night and i just have to act like this is normal. how is any of this normal?”

“it’s not,” he agrees. he’s calm. so calm, it almost makes you mad. why is he so calm? “nothing about anything in our lives is normal. it never was.”

“you ruined my life,” you blink back tears. he smiles sadly, taking a step closer.

“i guess i can take the blame for that,” he nods, hands finding their way to your hips. against your better judgment, you lean half your weight against his body. this is bad, very bad—but it’s also the best thing ever.

being close to suguru feels like the sun’s heat tearing through your skin—it’s warm. it’s pleasant. it leaves you parched and drained with a dry throat. but still, you need it to survive.

“why did you come back?” you ask tiredly. his hand finds the small of your back, rubbing slow circles.

“i don’t know,” he hums, “i didn’t really get a say. maybe i was always meant to, who knows?”

you look at him at that—tilt your head to get a good look at his features. his eyes are more tired, and his cheeks are a bit more sunken in compared to the youthful flesh you remember him with. his hair isn’t as healthy, and his forehead has the slightest traces of pale marks from the scars. but he’s still suguru—and you have always loved suguru, even if he gives you every reason to hate him.

“you make my life unreasonably difficult,” you mutter.

he hums, smiling. “can i?” he asks breathlessly, pleadingly. you stare at his eyes, he stares at your lips. you know what he wants—but fuck, you can’t let him have it so easy.

“can you what?” you ask, raising a brow slowly.

“are you really gonna make me say it?” he grunts, lips almost curled into a pout. it’s cute, the way he looks longingly at your lips—it’s so cute and beautiful and dangerous all at once, just like suguru.

“yes,” you say, “yes i am. i deserve to hear it suguru, after everything you put me through. you…you left me. i wasn’t enough for you. i mourned you. i grieved a body i never even saw. do you know what that does to a person? to lose them not once but two times? the least you could do is tell me what you want,” your voice wavers just a little.

it shakes for the lost time. for the moments you’ll never have. for the memories you lost. for the past that’s tainted. time is cruel like that. but that’s the beauty of it all—the fragility. it’s like sand falling through the cracks of your fingers, every grain slipping from your reach but still soft and soothing against your skin as it falls. everything fades over time, everything starts to hurt one way or another. but it stops. it heals. it starts over. the sand fills the cup of your palms again, warm and delicate and just as beautiful as before it crumbled.

“can i kiss you?” he asks desperately, “please?”

“kissing me is not a temporary thing,” you shake your head, “not anymore. it’s for good. only for good.”

“i want to kiss you for good,” he nods, hands digging into your hips impatiently. you’re close. you’re too far. he can feel you, smell you, hear your unsteady breaths. but it’s not enough. he needs to devour you, taste you on his tongue, and melt you with his touch. “i won’t stop this time,” he promises.

“you better not,” you sniffle, tears blurring your vision. you hated suguru for leaving you. you hated him for coming back to you like this. you never stopped loving him, never will stop loving him—and maybe that’s what love is. when the darkness is worth trekking through for the afterglow of the light. “if you fucking leave me again, you’re dead to me. i don’t care how many times you come back to life. you’re dead to me.”

“okay,” he agrees through a shaky chuckle, “i suppose i deserve that. let me kiss you, yeah?”

“yeah,” you breathe.

he kisses you—years too late, he kisses you. it feels like you’re teenagers again. it feels different and foreign. you know this feeling like the back of your hand. you don’t understand what this sensation is anymore. it’s new. it’s old. it’s perfect. it hurts. suguru is here. he promised not to leave—you don’t know if you believe him, but you’re going to trust that finally, for once, you are enough.

you’re enough to make him happy. to give him a sense of purpose. to keep him swimming when his limbs start to sink.

finally, for once, you’re enough.

“i love you,” he whispers against your mouth, breathing the words into you like he’s offering you the air from his lungs, “i never stopped. i promise.”

“you don’t deserve to hear it from me,” you murmur back, panting against his lips, “not yet.”

“fair enough,” he chuckles, “you sure know how to leave a guy waiting.”

“i learned from the best,” you shoot back.

he grins—suguru smiles, heartfelt and real. life is full of misery, it’s painful, and nothing fucking makes sense. everything is cruel. everything dies no matter how carefully you water the roots. there’s always something, someone, ready to tear it from the earth. but if you keep planting the seeds, suguru will keep watering.

maybe something kind can bloom from that, something big enough for him to hide under the shade when the scorching heat of tragedy becomes too much.

in this world or in the jujutsu world; in this life or in the next. suguru is yours.

“why am i here?” he asks gently, his face digging into your neck. you hold him, cradling the back of his head as you hum.

“because i need you here. will you stay?”

“yes,” he murmurs, “i think i’ll stay.”

hi. i have been working on this since march. its still not how i envisioned it to be originally but that's okay. i had fun writing it and it means a lot to me even tho its kind of. well....cliche LMAO like everything i write. but. i enjoy the cliches okay ?? i do. kxljchskdf hope u guys didn't hate it </3

also the fic banner is …. not the greatest. just ignore it ok

#teepods.writings #fics.#geto x reader #geto x you #geto fluff #geto angst #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk angst #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru angst #geto suguru fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen fluff

6K notes · View notes

icysnails · 5 months

Note

Hello. I was wondering if you could you write a platonic angst story where the reader is Blade's child. I was thinking that because Blade barely spends any time with the reader unless it's during one of their extremely harsh training sessions the reader decides to run away especially after one particularly rough training session where the reader was injured after they accidentally talked back and that night the reader starts packing their stuff but they accidentally left behind their late mother's pendant and Blade found it the next morning. (I hope you're okay with writing this and I wish you a good morning, afternoon or good night ☺️)

Family.

A/n: Hello Anon!! Thank you for your request!! I am so sorry this took so long- school + extracurriculars started so I had way less time to work on writing outside of school (TvT) But this was so much fun to write! I got a little bit carried away and it ended up being a found family type thing with all of the Stellaron Hunters– I tried to focus on Blade being a father figure as much as possible though! I hope you have a fantastic day, and I hope you enjoy!! ૮꒰ ˶• v •˶꒱ა ♡

Warnings: all relationships are platonic, found family trope, betrayal, suicidal ideation (Blade), mentions of death, reader's parents are dead, flashbacks, reader runs away, mention of bullets + broken glass, overthinking, Blade being insecure, reader uses a sword, reader gets injured a couple of times (If i forgot anything, please let me know!!)

Genre: angst, slight fluff

Pairing: father figure!Blade x gn!child!reader (PLATONIC), mother figure!Kafka x gn!child!reader (PLATONIC), sister figure!Silver Wolf x gn!child!reader (PLATONIC)

Word count: 7.3k

Blade is a cruel man.

There is no love in the red pools of his irises, no signs of any humanity. Dark circles adorn the skin just below his merciless stare, eyebrows slightly furrowed in an eternal state of aggravation. It was no wonder enemies cowered at the mere mention of him. He holds nothing back, and if an enemy was unfortunate enough to meet the steely edge of his sword, they were sure to be broken and lifeless by the end of the encounter. Unfortunately, he isn’t much different off of the battlefield either.

Blade is bitter and selfish and cold, to the extreme that even Kafka and Silverwolf are convinced that he has forgotten how to feel.

The thorns of the mara in his veins torment him constantly, the pain never faltering, even after decades. The other Stellaron Hunters had begun to wonder if those thorny, agonizing vines had punctured through his heart as well. It would be understandable, to an extent. After all, he is a man who has experienced endless with suffering and loss, his mind poisoned with grief and the sole desire to die. No more pain, no more fighting, just darkness- the mere thought was enough to drag a bitter smile out of him.

He was used to the dark, used to feeling like an empty vessel.

But why, if he was so familiar with agony, would he impose that same feeling on you as well?

You had always been alone. You were only a toddler when your parents were taken from you, the only proof of their existence being a necklace your mother left with you before she died. You had spent your youngest years void of any parental guidance, hopelessly wandering between foster homes and planets, hoping someone would take you in. You gave that up by age ten, running away from your home planet to travel the galaxy. From that point on, most of your time was spent sneaking onto Starskiffs, hiding in empty cargo compartments on any moving vehicle you could find, and even stealing authorization keys to search occupied space stations, all in search of someone whom you could call family.

But what exactly did the word family mean?

You always thought it was a strange word. It had such a subjective meaning, yet it was talked about so often. You didn’t understand what it meant, and no textbook definition could help you. All your efforts to find its meaning were in vain. And yet, your curiosity haunted you.

With every new destination, the word family buzzed among the crowds constantly. No matter where you had landed yourself, all you could do was spectate. You watched as children laughed and clung to the legs of their guardians, as relatives sobbed in unified grief over flower dressed gravestones, and as teenagers linked arms with each other, growing away from the protective grasps of their parents.

Every planet you traveled to, every dragging, lonely step you took, that sickening, seemingly joyous word that made you feel so isolated was there.

Six months after you had ran away, you went out alone to buy food. It was late at night, and you were preparing to head off to another planet the next day. Luckily, you bumped into a nice shopkeeper earlier who gave you some extra credits because she thought your coat was cool (in reality, she was just worried about you wandering off all alone, but didn't want to pry about your parents' whereabouts). So, you headed out amongst the crowds as you always did, pouch of credits in hand and determination plastered on your face.

But a woman stopped you on the way there and asked why such a young child was wandering around alone at night. She had a little girl with her, who looked no older than you.

She asked you if you had any family she could call to come and get you, with the assumption that you were lost. You couldn't say anything. Instead, you just stared, your wide-eyed gaze pinned on the child that almost mirrored you. Almost. Perhaps if the world were kinder, your eyes could have donned the same innocent, joyful light. One of her hands was encased by her mother’s, while her other hand kindly reached out towards you. A cheerful “hello!” rang through the air as she tried to shake your hand.

You stepped away from her. It was hard to breathe. You had seen all this before. Yet why was it so painful this time?

Internally, you demanded the Aeons to tell you why the truth of your situation had to be rubbed in your face so blatantly. You were alone. You wondered if it might be good to explain that to them, to create some kind of connection with these people, but no words would leave your throat. Your heart felt like it was splintered in two.

You didn’t know how long you stood there staring, but you were sure the devastation tearing you up inside was evident on your face. The woman called out to you one more time, her worry falling on deaf ears as you backed away slowly. You took one more look at the girl before turning on your heel and running as fast as you could, sobs wracking your chest so deeply it hurt.

You hadn’t returned to that planet since then.

You wanted the life that little girl had. You wanted to have a guardian.

But as the years went on, nothing changed. Your travels continued, and you came to terms with the fact that you might never know what family felt like. You made acquaintances as you traveled, friends, even. They never stuck around for long, though. The darkness always swallowed them up one way or another. And with every loss, the painful void in your chest numbed and steeled over a little more.

You thought that your life would always be this way. In truth, you had forgotten that there was any other way to live.

However, that was before a certain group of Stellaron Hunters swept you away from your life of solitude, and recruited you into their dangerous yet thrilling world.

A year later, you found yourself on a sand covered planet. You were on a train, heading to one of the planets' larger cities from a smaller town. There wasn’t any way you walk- it was too hot and the distance was too far. Otherwise, you would have spent your savings on something other than train tickets.

The trip was uneventful and for most of it you just stared blankly out the window, exhaustion and boredom settling in your bones. You were tired from running errands for the previous town's residents- it was onerous but it happened to pay well. Though you were happy to have a break, your mind wasn’t used to the quiet. The barren landscape outside did nothing to help. It was a dry, flat expanse that was dotted only with dead weeds and the scraps of broken automatons. In short, nothing of interest.

Aside from that, all was going well. You had enough credits to last you at least six more train rides and get food and extra supplies, and you had several acquaintances with whom you could stay in the next city. You made a point not to talk about your budgeting skills, as it would usually spur a torrent of questions from whoever you were talking to. You couldn’t blame them though, children your age typically didn’t devote themselves to a life of aimless travel.

The train stopped right on time, and you stepped onto the platform that was crowded with people. As usual, you were met with the sight of teary-eyed relatives hugging each other, children running around and playing, and couples greeting each other. You kept your head down, feeling more inconvenienced than sad. In their excitement, the crowds always seemed to block your path to the other platforms. Besides, they say time heals all wounds, so why would you care, anyway? You awkwardly shoved your way toward a nearby stairwell, grunting as several people bumped into you. Just as your fingers made contact with the stair’s banister, ear shattering sirens echoed throughout the station.

Emergency lights flashed on and off in a blinding rhythm, the red glow engraining itself into your mind. Suddenly, pixelated bullets flew towards the ceiling, shattering several of the glass panels. Screams rang out in response, and the previously happy crowd flew into a panic, ducking to avoid the broken glass. However, the glass shards evaporated into more pixels before they could hit the crowd, preventing any damage from being done.

Amidst the swarms of people trying to escape, you cautiously walked closer to the source of the commotion. You really shouldn’t have, but the nagging curiosity in the back of your mind compelled you to do so. And even if it seemed dangerous, there was something off about this incident. After all, if the initiators were out for blood, wouldn’t they have attacked the crowd directly? If whoever caused this wasn't intending to cause harm, they must be looking for something.

As you got closer, you saw three figures: A magenta haired woman with lightless eyes, a pistol in one hand, and a glowing thread of purple silk in the other. She was leaning back against one of the platform’s pillars, watching the whole scene with fake amusement. The second person you saw was a smaller girl decked out in a myriad of purples and blues, her drill style ponytail swaying as she typed up coordinates on a hologram screen. And lastly, you saw a red eyed man with a glare so sharp it made your heart sink. You certainly did not want to be subject to whatever rage he had stored away. From the looks of it, he could kill you in a split second.

For some reason, all three of them seemed familiar. You couldn't quite place it, but you quickly realized, you knew who they were. Their faces were plastered on all of the IPC’s wanted posters, which were scattered on literally every planet you had been to so far. You couldn’t remember their names exactly, but you knew that, together, they were known as the Stellaron Hunters- the universe’s most wanted criminals. You should have recognized them from the pixelated bullets earlier- how could you have been so naive?

You could have tried to run, but it would be futile. You were already out in the open, and they had already seen you.

Your eyes widened in sheer panic as the man dressed in black set his gaze on your shaking form. There was no way you’d survive this encounter. Absolutely zero chance. He stepped toward you but was interrupted by the sound of a clanging of a spear. The station’s security officers surrounded the Stellaron Hunters, demanding that they freeze and turn themselves in immediately.

You covered your ears and ducked as a fight broke out, the Stellaron Hunters throwing themselves into battle. Your eyelids were screwed shut in fear until the sounds of fighting had ceased. When you opened your eyes, you looked up to see that all of the guards had been knocked out, and that the taller woman standing above you, watching you in a way that was eerie, yet... comforting somehow. Even so, your better judgment caused you to back away, frantically scrambling on the hot cement of the platform. The red eyed man yanked you to your feet before you could stand up, and a panicked noise left your throat as he dragged you toward his two companions. you caught a glimpse of his sword that was poised in his other hand, taking note that he was ready to strike if necessary.

“It’s a kid.” He grumbled, still glaring at you.

The tall woman chuckled and took a step forward, observing the way you struggled to get out of her companion’s grasp. You were getting more anxious by the second, she could tell. No matter how strong and collected you acted, you were still just a kid, and you had the minimal strength of one.

“Let them go, Blade. I don’t think they mean any harm.”

Small, scared breaths left your throat as you were released, your shaking legs failing to hold you up. You fell to the ground, staring in shock at all that had occurred. What would have happened if they didn’t let you go? How much danger were you really in, and how the hell were you still alive?

Then, the monotone voice of the grey haired girl met your ears.

“What a waste. Looks like those signals were nothing but a glitch.” She sighed. “There's nothing for us here.”

The scary man who grabbed you- Blade, as the woman called him- looked down at you crumpled form, eyes softening just the tiniest bit. Your fearful gaze met his, and you didn’t dare move. The two other hunters made conversation about their next moves in the background, while Blade narrowed his eyes coldly.

“Why aren’t you running?”

…What?

“Go. Lingering here will only bring you suffering”

Your fearful gaze then turned to one of confusion. It was unclear if his words were meant to be a warning or advice. Either way, it gave you the strength to pull yourself off the ground and attempt to respond, but all that came out of you was a strangled groan. Your body hurt, and everything had happened so fast that your mind was still trying to catch up. It wasn’t that you were trying to make an impression by staying, you just couldn’t bring yourself to run because of the adrenaline coursing through you. You hunched over and placed your hands on your knees to get your bearings. After a few minutes, you finally responded.

“Y- yeah, I… uh…” You hesitated, unsure of what to say. “...I have another train to catch...?”

It came out like a question, which was unintended. It was the truth, but you were so nervous that you would say something wrong and provoke him. Your life may have been spared for the moment, but they could still change their minds, and you didn't want to re-dig your own grave.

The man beside you let out a small sigh before turning his gaze back to his two companions.

“Fine.” He muttered.

A few moments passed with you and Blade sitting in comfortable silence. or, it was comfortable him, at least. He was still and silent, ignoring you entirely. You just kept fidgeting the whole time, unsure if you should stay or run for the hills. It was borderline suffocating. thankfully, the tall woman came over again, ending your misery.

“Well, we’re off.” She said to Blade, prompting him to walk towards the edge of the platform where the smaller girl stood. Before walking off, she turned to you one last time.

“Take it easy, kid.”

Something in your heart screamed at you to speak up. A strange urge began eating away at you, telling you that if you didn’t do something right now you’d regret it for the rest of your life. But do what? What could you do without potentially dying? It was stupid. And dangerous.

But that old feeling of longing, that desire to be a part of something wouldn’t leave you alone. Your desperation to attain a family of your own had been reawakened. Your undying hope, which laid dormant for years, was now ruling your judgment.

Just as they turned to leave, you stumbled forward and cried out.

“Wait!”

All three heads turned towards you.

A purple set of eyes knowingly scanned you as you trembled, a smirk growing on the woman’s face.

You anxiously gripped at your clothing, trying to summon up the courage to put on some kind of brave face for them. Before you think, pleas for them to take you with them were spilling from your throat. You told them that you wanted to see the universe and that if they gave you that opportunity, you’d do whatever you could to assist them. It was a partial lie- exploring the universe did sound fun, but it wasn't what you were truly after. Your true motivations were far too personal to tell them just yet. It felt like a wound had unexpectedly reopened ever since they arrived, and you were sure you’d crumble if you forced yourself to explain.

Luckily, you didn’t have to. You had the strangest feeling that they already knew your story to some extent. Even without the influence of your longing, you couldn’t deny that it was the opportunity of a lifetime. It wasn’t every day that you came across three highly skilled fighters who could quickly travel anywhere they wanted. You could save years worth of credits and injuries if you went with them.

Once you had finished your frantic explanation, you took a breath to calm your pounding heart. The silence you were met with was deafening, which you took to be a bad sign. A deep chuckle reverberated through the elegant woman’s chest as she took a decisive step closer to you. She hummed in amusement, holding her hand out for you to take.

“You may not be crucial to our mission,” she leaned down to your height, voice almost a whisper, “but if that’s what you want, then who are we to disagree?”

You took her hand, heartbeat slowing to a calm pace as you did so.

The days you spent with the Stellaron hunters were some of the most peaceful days you had ever experienced.

You weren’t constantly slinking around trying to find information and resources for your travels, and it was the first time you had slept in a room that had officially been dubbed as your own. You weren't hopping between inns and the homes of your few friends. Even expenses weren't an issue anymore. It felt strange to have time on your hands. Guilt inducing, even.

You didn’t get too caught up in that though, since the confusion and questions plaguing your mind happened to be stronger than your melancholy. It was beyond your understanding how three of the most dangerous criminals in the entire universe could be so kind and willing to take you in. Perhaps it was because you had seen too much. You were a witness to Blade knocking out over ten armed guards. However, they were so powerful that they seemed to be able to get away with anything. Either way, you were a part of their goup, and that's what mattered.

As time went on, you grew closer to the Stellaron Hunters. Especially Kafka, who you learned was much less intimidating in regular life, and Silver Wolf, who was still as deadpan as before, but seemed subtly happier with you around. You also were officially introduced to Blade, and were promised that he wasn't always so brooding. That was hard to believe, though.

Silver Wolf was like a sister to you. She dragged you with her everywhere. She said it was a part of your duties to accompany her on errands, but in reality, she just enjoyed having you with her. Whenever a battle presented itself, she would have you on the sidelines cheering for her as she obliterated enemies in the blink of an eye. It was clear that your support went straight to her ego, but she also secretly wanted to impress you so that you'd view her as some sort of mentor. Silver Wolf wanted to be a reliable guide and friend to you, especially after you had been alone for so long. Thankfully, you didn’t mind spending time with her. In fact, chatting and playing video games with her became one of your favorite ways to kill time. The latter was clearly her passion– after all, her combat techniques were solely revolved around her exceptional hacking skills.

Silver Wolf taught you how to play all her favorite games, staying calm and patient with you when you kept losing. Often, she would discreetly take you out to arcades during your free time, and every time it would be humbling due to your lack of gaming experience. However, losing meant that you had more time to watch her win, which was never boring. In any other situation, you might have been jealous, but it was just so mesmerizing to watch her play. Besides, she gave you all her prizes, so you weren’t going to complain. But what you found to be even more amusing was watching her lose it over the few games she hadn’t mastered yet. Her face would contort into one of sheer disbelief and anger as she held onto the machine tightly, aggressively mashing buttons and mumbling insults. You would always laugh and try to cheer her up in response. It always gave her a huge ego boost, and convinced her to try again, despite still being angry. You never expected to gain such a dear friend when you joined the Steallaron Hunters, and you wouldn’t trade any part of your friendship for the world.

Kafka was another story, though.

At first, Kafka terrified you. She held so much power over the other hunters- well, really over everything, that you were sure she’d destroy you if you stepped out of line. Her empty eyes and ruthless reputation didn’t help either.

Ever since your arrival, Kafka kept a close eye on you. She made sure that you were alright as you settled in, and that you weren’t feeling unsafe or lonely in your new environment. She offered you comfort and advice and cared for you like the mothers you had witnessed on your past journeys.

One night, a month after you had arrived, you hurt your leg on a walk and Kafka was right there to patch you up. She shushed you gently as you tried to protest that you were fine, and dragged you to the nearest chair so you could sit. She took a first aid kit from a nearby cabinet, and began tending to your wound. You winced as rubbing alcohol combined itself with your blood, and you quietly explained that you had been doing this your whole life- that it wasn’t her job to take care of you. Kafka paused and looked at you, eyes showing a rare glint of sadness. She whispered to you that those days were over. You weren’t alone anymore, and you should ask the three of them for help whenever you needed it. You weren’t a burden to them.

Kafka wasn’t sure what the cause of it was, but something in her chest began to ache when she saw you injured. She had never felt fear before. She deemed it impossible before you came along. She had always been known as a ruthless, unshakeable force of danger, who would stop at nothing to achieve her goals. But now, she had to keep you safe. Part of her wanted to berate herself for getting so protective over someone, for willingly weakening herself by caring about you. But you needed safety and a group of loving people to return to. You were just a kid, after all, and even after the short time you had been traveling with them, she had begun to feel like your guardian.

Tears filled your eyes, her words weighing down on your lungs. You couldn’t truly believe her. Not after all you had been through. But even so, Kafka was right in front of you, smiling softly, waiting and willing to take care of you. She wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. It was a foreign feeling, one that scared you more than anything else. But you were safe. You were at home.

So you let yourself cry. Your heart split open, all the bottled up agony from your past finally bursting out. You curled into yourself, the gash on your leg long forgotten. Kafka kneeled before you and gently wrapped her arms around your shaking form. One of her hands carded through your hair, while the other rubbed your back soothingly. Gentle whispers fell from her lips, promising you that she was with you. You were safe.

You weren’t sure how long had passed when you calmed down. Maybe it had been hours. Whatever the truth was, Kafka remained by your side, not pulling back until she was sure you were okay. After you had stopped crying, she leaned back, meeting your sad, exhausted stare. She looked down at your bleeding wound, grabbed a roll of bandages, and cautiously wrapped it around your leg. When she was finished, she smiled and stood up, placing a hand on your shoulder. You matched her smile, assuring her that you were fine.

However, after a moment, Kafka’s comforting smile was replaced with a teasing smirk. Confusion sparked in your eyes and your eyebrows furrowed as if to silently ask what the problem was. She just chuckled and took a seat across from you, crossing her arms over her chest and tilting her head back as though she was assessing you. Her next words not only shocked you but caused your entire being to wilt in annoyance and anxiety.

“I think it’s about time we start training you in combat. If a scrape has you in this much pain, imagine the damage a real battle would do. We can’t have you dying on us, now can we?”

She paused, thinking for a moment before reaching her conclusion.

“Yes… I’ll have you train with Blade. His abilities never disappoint.”

And that was how your ongoing feud with Blade began.

When Kafka decided to pair you up with Blade, you were pissed. However, you knew she was right. If you were falling apart just from accidentally scraping yourself, how were you supposed to handle actual threats? You would be utterly useless in a fight. And if anyone managed to get past the Stellaron Hunters and attempt to harm you, you would be dead on the spot. There wouldn't be a fight, just abrupt darkness, and a very disappointing end to a life such as yours. It would shatter the hearts of Kafka and Silver Wolf, who had already sworn to protect you at any cost. As you got older, the target on your back only became bigger. With the Stellaron Hunters’ reputation becoming more notorious by the day, civilians and authorities alike were bound to find out about you. Self-defense was a necessity.

But Blade never spoke to you. You felt as though you were a nuisance to him. Just another issue to be dealt with, another soul to pester him throughout the day. The way he glared at you made you wonder if you had done something wrong, or if you were imposing by being around. He made you feel out of place. Even after thorough reassurance from Kafka and Silver Wolf that his behavior was entirely normal, you still couldn’t help but worry. It was only after several months had passed that you came to understand that it truly wasn’t you- he was just grumpy. And that began to annoy you. If he wasn’t open to being somewhat nice, then why should you bother? You could glare back just as hard, and ignore him just as easily. If that's what he was getting at, then so be it. However, Kafka was the leader of both of you, and she wanted you to train. Despite your mild hatred of Blade, Kafka already had done so much for you. She only wanted the best for you. You could at least attempt to abide by her wishes.

So you gave in and begrudgingly stated training with Blade.

For a few hours every day, you and Blade would find any open area and he would walk you through different defense techniques. You expected the technical side of it, but you did not expect that you would be sparring right off the bat. On the first day of training, he threw you into your first match and charged at you with the assumption that you had sharp enough reflexes to block him successfully. Obviously, you weren’t at all prepared since you had zero experience with combat. Turns out Kafka really wasn’t kidding when she said Blade knew how to fight.

Lessons carried on like this for weeks. You would return from sparring exhausted and bruised, feeling completely done with everything as you limped to your room to sleep. You felt generally bitter, making it hard for Kafka or Silverwolf to help, and Blade just acted like it wasn’t his problem. The most he did was help you up, and that was only if you put up a good fight. But thankfully, after a while, Blade began to notice how badly the sparring affected you. It wasn’t like you were on the brink of death, but you were still in pain. And given your age, there was no doubt that it was a lot more overwhelming than anticipated. So Blade subtly began to take care of you a little more. It wasn’t much- he mainly just gave you icepacks whenever you needed them and helped you walk, but it was the most he knew how to do. He was clueless when it came to caring for people, especially children.

You were a persistent kid, which Blade found surprising. He thought you would have given up within the first week of training, but you just kept working at it. And while Blade found your stubborn behavior annoying most of the time, it assured him that you had enough courage to fight alongside him and the others. He knew you didn’t like him much, and he knew a part of you blamed him for the injuries you got, which was reasonable. As annoying as you found him, Blade never gave up on you, even when you messed up or got so frustrated that you cried. He never babied you during these moments either. Instead, he would walk you through what went wrong and have you run through the solution until you had it down cold. Even if you were upset, he wanted you to push through it and use your anger to become stronger. You had been fighting your whole life. You had the tenacity and potential to gain the strength that you required. Blade could tell that, even after joining them, you wanted a purpose. You wanted to explore the universe and find your place among the glowing webs of stars. However, the beauty of the galaxy came with dark and unfamiliar territory. If you were to traverse the universe, you had to learn how to handle to darkest parts of it.

Little by little, you improved. You worked as hard as possible until you were able to withstand Blade’s strength and evade his attacks properly. You had a long, long way to go before you could actually defeat opponents, but you could at least hold them off, which was just as important. Despite how grueling Blade’s teaching methods were, you did come to respect him more as your mentor. He looked out for you in his own distant ways and seemed to actually care about you. In truth, Blade had started getting protective over you- not that he would admit it. It wasn’t an overbearing kind of protectiveness- he just wanted you to stay out of trouble. It was nice to pass knowledge onto someone, and protect them from the world's dangers by doing so.

The truth was, even if Blade acted indifferently toward you, he secretly was really proud of you. He admired your kindness, even after all the pain you had been dealt. You kept smiling and picking yourself up, finding your back to the light time and time again. Perhaps that's what made you so different from him. His will to keep fighting was growing fainter by the day.

Even with your differences, you both became closer. Blade kept an eye on you whenever you left the ship, talked with you whenever you got bored, and even helped you whatever chores you had to do. Sure, you were stubborn, but Blade never grew to dislike you. Your relationship felt routine and safe- it held a sense of comfort that felt normal. Blade caught himself questioning if this was what family was meant to feel like. He couldn't remember, but a faint, distant memory assured him that it was. If he could contribute to the familial safety you longed for so much, he would gladly do so.

Was that even possible, though?

Blade had very little experience with love of any kind. Any memories he had of his past friend and family were long gone. His own sense of self was unstable, so how could he provide stability for you? He couldn't bear the thought of causing you pain. Or, there was a chance that he would rub off on you. That you would start to become like him. That prospect was enough to make him feel sick. So he began distancing himself from you in any way he could.

Now, whenever you crossed paths he would treat you especially coldly. Most times he saw you, he walked past you and pretended you didn't exist at all. He was back to being rude and dismissive, even more so than when you first met him.

Instead of encouraging you during training, he would call you weak and pick apart everything you had done wrong. This was not received well by you. After all, you didn’t know if Blade’s behavior was your fault, or if this was just how he truly was. You felt dejected and lonely, even with the support from Kafka and Silver Wolf. Though you loved them immensely, Blade was also someone you cared about, and you didn’t want to lose another parental figure. After weeks of being ignored, hatred replaced any good image you had of him. What used to be a safe, happy friendship soon morphed into an incessant rivalry.

It felt like Blade only wanted to see you unhappy. You imagined that he was secretly gloating over your distress- that you were nothing more than a temporary amusement to him. But you were wrong. So, so very wrong. Blade hated seeing you upset because of him. He was failing you by ignoring your wellbeing. You were just a kid. More importantly, you trusted him.

But it was for your own good, wasn’t it? His past was dark, and perhaps he was too, by nature. He would never forgive himself if he allowed harm to come to you. Even if that meant leaving you behind. No, he would much rather watch you grow up and live happily from afar.

Kafka still wanted you to train though, so Blade couldn’t avoid you entirely. Sparring was the only time he saw you anymore. Your sessions with him were difficult, but not because the material was hard. In fact, it was harder for Blade than you. You would glare at him constantly and show complete indifference to everything, making it nearly impossible to communicate with you. He wasn’t doing much better either- he couldn’t bring himself to say anything to you. It felt like the consequences of his neglect were crawling up his back, ready to snap at him at any moment, and he knew that any day now, you would finally break. Soon, everything would fall apart.

You knew Blade was heartless, but his cruelty was amplified when you trained with him now. He went all out, forcing you to scramble for scraps of knowledge he had previously given you to win. But that wasn’t enough this time. You were too tired, physically and emotionally, to continue. You felt smaller and weaker than you had ever felt before.

Lightning-fast blows struck you from all sides, the scent of bloodstained spider lilies clouding your senses. You weakly pulled your sword out of its sheath and tried to block his attacks, but doing so would knock you off balance from the force of his blows. You fell back on the ground, coughing and clambering to your feet, promptly hurling yourself towards Blade with hopes of hitting him just once. Built-up anger from the last few weeks rushed through your heart, tears of desperation dripping down your cheeks. God, you were tired of this. Blade used to be your friend. You wanted to know what changed, and you wanted that piece of your family back.

In your fury, your reaction time fell short. Blade darted behind you and shoved you to the ground, watching coldly as you crumpled over in defeat. A glint of regret shone in his eyes, but he quickly covered it up by turning his back to you. Once more, you picked yourself up, your throat burning from the lack of a break. It must have been hours since the start of your match, but it might have just felt that way because you were the one getting injured. Never before had Blade fought you this hard. You weren’t prepared, and he knew that. You internally questioned if he was actually trying to make you despise him, albeit sarcastically. It hadn’t occurred to you yet that it might actually be the case. You shakily lifted your head to look at him, angrily mumbling something that Blade couldn’t understand.

Blade took a breath and turned around to face you, blank expression unwavering.

“What was that?” He growled. The world seemed to fall silent as you locked your gaze with his in an act of defiance.

“I said, I hate you!”

You hated that you were crying. You hated feeling weak. You hated what he had put you through.

But you didn’t hate him. Not entirely.

You wanted to hate him fully. You wished you were strong enough to. But even then, as you wiped your tears and walked out, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him. Maybe it was the memories you had of when he felt like family, maybe it was inherent kindness or just plain stupidity. You couldn’t feel hatred. All you felt was dejection. So naturally, you began spiraling.

If Blade didn’t want you around, there was a chance Kafka and Silver Wolf didn’t want you either. If it was possible that they secretly hated you too, you wouldn’t allow yourself to withstand their rejections as well. You might as well just get out of their way, and save yourself the trouble. It was nice feeling happy for a while. But it wasn’t what you were made for. It wasn’t how you were used to living. Perhaps this was a sign that your destiny rested in the familiar arms of solitude, away from the glowing crowds.

That night, when you returned from training, you bid Kafka and Silver Wolf goodnight and began packing your bags. When you were sure everyone had gone to sleep, you took your leave. You slipped out of the ship’s main entrance, the frigid night air numbing the uncertainty in your chest. You started walking, not sure where you were headed. You were out of practice with your usual travel routines, but that wasn’t important. As long as you were away from the Stellaron Hunters, you would be safe. Lonely, but safe. But even with your half hearted reasoning, you still felt a sinking feeling that this wasn’t right. That you might regret this. You shoved it off, cursing at yourself quietly for getting so softhearted. It was time to cut ties. It was for the best.

However, you had made one vital mistake. While preparing to leave, you had purposely left behind any photos or items given to you by Kafka, Silver Wolf, or Blade. In your rush to leave, you accidentally left behind something incredibly important to you: your mother’s necklace.

You took it off and left it on your desk by accident. It was the last existing link between you and your biological parents and you cherished it because of that. So when Kafka found it the next morning, along with your neatly made bed and discarded photos, she knew something was very wrong. Silver Wolf burst into your room shortly after she found them, questioning Kafka about your whereabouts. She had no answer, all she could do was say she hadn’t seen you. Silver Wolf left worried and agitated, grumbling about how they had to find you. As Silver Wolf left, Blade approached your doorway with the intent of finding you for your training session, because at this point you would have been late. Gripping the necklace tightly, Kafka turned to face Blade. She knew there tension had been growing between you and him for the last month. If he was the cause of your absence, she would not let him get away unscathed.

Blade’s expression was serious, but Kafka could see the glint of confusion in his eyes. He seemed entirely clueless, so perhaps interrogating him wouldn't do much.

“There’s no sign of them anywhere on the ship,” she said softly, trying to keep her voice steady. “There’s only this.” Kafka gestured to the thin chain that lay forgotten on your desk. Dread immediately shot through Blade’s heart.

You had left.

And it was all his fault.

He neglected you. You had every right to leave. He was meant to be a guardian to you. It was his job- no, his privilege to keep you safe, and failed to do so. And now you could be anywhere in the galaxy, wandering aimlessly once again. Blade carefully took the necklace, trying to keep his composure as questions and visions of the worst raced through his mind. What if they never found you, or what if you had gotten hurt? What if it was too late, and you were already–

He didn’t allow that thought to finish itself. Catastrophizing would only slow the process of finding you.

But would you even want to come back? Why would you, when you felt unwelcome enough to leave in the first place? And even if, by some miracle, you came back, would you ever trust him again? If you ever granted him forgiveness, would he even deserve it?

This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? That was why he pushed you away- so you would leave him alone. You were gone now, and he had gotten what he wanted. Was he truly so terrible that he would still be unhappy, even after he had achieved his desire?

It wasn't meant to go like this.

You weren't meant to leave them. It was his fault though, so maybe it was best to let you go.

Kafka’s piercing gaze bored into the side of Blade's head as she watched the gears turning inside his head. She took a short breath before heading towards the door. She was scared of losing you, and angry that they hadn’t noticed your absence until now. There was no time for emotions such as anger. You were missing. They had to find you.

Blade stood in the center of your room, now entirely alone. The metal of your necklace dug into his skin as he clutched onto it for dear life, his eyes falling to the pictures on your bed. You seemed so happy before. So did Kafka and Silver Wolf- he was happy too, though he was reluctant to admit it out loud. He had broken the loving family you had brought together. A strange family, but a family nonetheless.

Blade kept staring. He wished he could go out looking for you. Unfortunately, wishes are not reality.

Blade would not search for you that day. He would be chained to where he stood, fighting with himself internally as time slipped by quietly. You could have died already. And he was just standing there, staring.

No, he would not look for you.

Because the truth cannot be denied, nor masked with excuses- in the end, Blade is a cruel man.

One who cannot be changed by anything.

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #blade x reader #yingxing x reader #blade x reader platonic #kafka x reader #silver wolf x reader #stellaron hunters x reader #gender neutral reader #hsr angst #hsr fluff #blade x you #hsr x you #kafka x you #silver wolf x you #honkai star rail #platonic #angst

783 notes · View notes

alastorsfuckassbob · 3 months

Text

You're Never Fully Dressed-

Alastorxfem!reader

oh boy everyone's favorite! Please I have never written before, I just figured I'd give it a shot it was 1:35 and I was not feeling sleepy so an hour later here it is, its not edited so SORRY ABOUT THAT- all of my friends are normal and would definitely not proof read this hot garbo!

Basic Plot!! Yikes another song fic i know i KNOWW, the reader knew our good pal Al in her life but oopsies he "left" her (he died duh) and now shes taking a sad hot girl bubble bath to reminisce!!

Lyrics are bolded, past events Italics for the most part.

ALSO Please DNI if you're a minor k thanks bye!! You are responsible for your own internet consumption, so here are the warnings! If you don't want to view that ✨dont✨

Warnings include:

-Swearing

-Violence

-Alcohol Use but not abuse! (its hell duh)

-Abusive Relationships

-Slight Innuendo but not a strong one!

-Angst

The fire danced, flitting left and right. It was different than any other fire set in hell, it wasn't meant to hurt anyone or destroy anything. It was just a small flame, melancholically melting the dripping wax down the white lilac scented pillar. Floral scents were hard to come by unless you made them yourself, it was hell after all, its not like theres a flower garden planted on every corner. The candles single wick didn't produce more than a drop of light. It just flickered every now and then, entertaining its own little lonesome sway. Your demeanor softened as you looked at it from the petal filled bath you currently resided in.

Oddly you felt at peace, understood, almost comforted. You had learned to dance the same way it seemed. You caught yourself when you fell, twisting and turning to please an audience. It was a cruel existence. At least the flame looked content in some way, at least it would never know what it was like to contort under the will of another. Yet it was still a light in darkness, shining for no other reason than to survive...All it could ever do was take, even if it didn't want to, fire needs to burn. To burn it must destroy. You sighed sinking deeper into the bubbly water. You didn't want to think about your past. Not anymore. You didn't have to anymore anyway. Life had not been kind to you and that constant displeasure followed you through your death and into the pits of hell. Funny how suffering could follow biting desperately at your heels and the man who was so "desperately" in love with you in life just couldn't find it within himself to stay...God you sounded bitter. To be fair you were. After all he had ruined your life and he didn't even know it...It wasn't that bad was it? You probably would still be in hell regardless, even without his "involvement" or lack of- you had always been a sinner. It wasn't worth it to be upset, not anymore he's most likely dead, you definitely are, whose to say if he'd even wind up down here. You paused a moment, laughing at the silly conclusion overthinking had led you to.. no that fucker is definitely in hell. Sweet as he was up front, he had a dark side that went much deeper than his soft exterior could cover. You closed your eyes..

1923- Central New Orleans

Suddenly it was 1923. The flower lined streets of late spring in New Orleans. His smile never wavering as he dragged you from store to store. As your dear companion, and biggest supporter, he had asked you to assist him at the radio station. Now that you had finished school you would need a job anyway. You'd always had a beautiful voice and a knack for writing. It just made sense. His hand squeezed yours lightly pulling you from your thoughts. In his hands, he held a burgundy day dress and a matching bow.

"Darling, would you try this on for me? I believe it is high time you were rewarded for all of your hard work. I believe you would simply sparkle in this color"

You smile softly at his gentle tone, taking the delicate dress in your hands. You find yourself caught in his eyes. It feels like you two are the only people on the planet

You feel the familiar sensation of tears on your face, you open your eyes again, you hadn't realized you'd started crying.

you let out the shrill scream you didn't know you were holding in. the fluke of champagne you had so tediously been savoring since you began your bath cracked slightly. You downed the rest of the glass, and grabbed the bottle sitting lazily on the floor. You didn't want to think about him or your life anymore...but it consumed you. You had so many more important things to fret about in your..current..environment. Songs to sing, bitches to kill, people to fuck. A grand glorious array of newer shinier problems, and yet you were stuck sulking about the past. You take a deep breath shaking slightly despite the warm vanilla scented water surrounding you. You remove your hand from the water motioning to the shadow hiding behind a vase (of no more than slightly wilted roses). It slinks forward at your beckoning, climbing to the white marble countertop of your vanity, it clicks the worn down knob of your rickety old radio. light jazzy music trickles out and fills the air with lovesick nostalgia you weren't entirely prepared to let in. No matter what he had done...you would always fall back to him. Even if he was nothing more than ill-fated failed fourteen year "endeavor". fourteen years is quite a long time, even if the majority of it was spent more or less platonically. You really did love him. Love doesn't always follow those that leave, you are testimony and truth to that. You let your mind wander guided by the static filled notes of the radio.

Hey, hobo man

Hey, Dapper Dan

You've both got your style

But brother

You're never fully dressed

Without a smile!

Even through the shudder of the static, it really did sound like him. Despite being the "host" of the station. He had his fair share of performances. For such a Hell bound soul he had the voice of an angel.

You close your eyes once again and allow the melody to take you back to an easier time.

1926- New Orleans, Your apartment

You sing along with whatever tune the radio gives you. You're at peace, simply existing for no other reason than to be with your friend.

"Dance with me my little canary, your voice lights a fire within me"

He pulls you in by the waist. His hands splayed across your hips holding them with a gentleness you'd never expected him to hold for you. He leans his head down against the yours and places a chaste kiss on your forehead

"Alastor" you giggle, the sensation tickling you slightly. "You are quite ridiculous"

"Ridiculous?" he feigns hurt. "My darling I am so far from ridiculous the word does not find sense within my ears" he spins you around and into his chest, you roll your eyes ignoring his antics

"Dearest are you aware you are speaking with the future of radio?"

"The future of radio? Please Love, don't jest. The 20s surely have more in store than you" You laugh into his chest and he shockingly laughs with you.

Neither of you know it but you are both so drunk on the sound. To you, his laugh sounds like the swift church bells that used to ring throughout your home town whenever someone got married. It feels familiar and yet like a distant memory. It makes you want to hear it over and over again until your ears stop working, and even then you'd settle in just fine feeling the vibrations of his chest. He sounds like home. To him, your laugh sounds like the rushing creek and smooth algae covered stones resting deep beneath the trees draped in Spanish moss of his mothers cabin in the woods. Just hearing your laugh he can feel the spotted sunlight speckling his freckled face underneath the big willow tree. You sound like home. Everything about you- it felt like home to him. His hands were crafted to hold soft curves of your body. His ears were made to hear your voice and your voice alone. You were purpose, his home. You don't know it, but it is that realization that sparked the idea of marriage into his heart.

That fire was put out not long after.

You at least had those nine years as his friend, three years as his "copain" if you will- and two years as his fiancée...and so many years alone. You only spent 14 years in the company of this man. You had lived before knowing him a good 17 years, and a good long bit after.

Why were you so stuck?

You hum along subconsciously, the objects in your bathroom begin to glow a familiar pink, levitating slightly in the air as you continue to hum. Your ability isn't weak by any means, but for some reason you were. You were nothing in comparison to hells overlords, especially the newest trio of Vs. Your power is so deeply connected to your voice, how can you hold power when it doesn't belong to you anymore? You drift back to the memory of your arrival. Scared, alone, dressed a great deal less than modestly, and equipped with nothing more than a pair of horns, some wings you couldn't quite use yet, and a thin devil like tail. It was only your third hour in hell. You didn't understand the rules. You were playing a twisted game in which you didn't realize you were just another piece of.

Shock can make a person anxious and fear will make them stupid. He was tall and smelled distinctly of cigars, soured whiskey, and something pungently sweet you couldn't name. It burned your nose as you inhaled it. You would become well aquatinted with the smell of lust in the years to come, you just didn't know it yet. It seemed innocent at first, just a simple contract, no different than a job. All you had to do was sing and dance at a club, in exchange for safety. But it was different and it wasn't innocent. He was cruel and yet no different than so many of the men you had dealt with in life. He agreed to your terms of anonymity and thats about it. You had your private life and his life. Valentino never played fair. You didn't know that yet, and now you're hells favorite sinner, a least no one knew it was you. If he had asked you another day later you would have realized you could have probably fended for yourself, with some difficulty anyway. At least you wouldn't have to be in this mess. You wouldn't be fucking six people before noon. You wouldn't be constantly covered in bruises and scars...Maybe you could have found him, Alastor that is. Maybe you could have at least been friends again. Its silly to hope for anything more since your romantic relationship ended...✨the way it did✨

Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But brother

You're never fully dressed

Without a smile!

1931- New Orleans, The river

The two of you sit beside each other in a small wooden row boat. Your hair is tied back with your signature crimson ribbon. He fiddles with the pocket of his jacket. The Louisiana soundscape of crickets, frogs and running water accompanies your conversation. Fireflies light up the air, almost bringing the stars down to your fingertips. With a buzz and a gentle green glow, the small creature lands on your hand. Your smile leaks wonderment and Alastor can hardly contain the love he feels for you.

As a Radio Host, he is quite agile in the way of words, yet something about you has him constantly at a loss. He takes a deep breath, unsure of what to say his voice wavers as he begins to speak.

"y/n, I want to thank you for the effect you've had in my lif-"

"My love look at the stars!" You didn't mean to cut him off, Your arms stretched upwards your face turning to meet his. The stars were so much brighter then they were in the city, it was only natural for you to be excited

"Yes doll, I see them, they're the same as they were last night and many many nights before hand"

You let out an impatient huff

"that doesn't make them any less beautiful." a mischievous glint hides in your eyes "now wouldn't it be so dreadfully terrible if I got bored looking at you just because I've already seen you before?" You fake a yawn and look at him eyes seething with boredom

"It would be so dreadful considering I was about to propose to you"

There is no other word to describe what you felt other than shocked. You had been an item for quite some time, but you never figured he would stick around (and "seal the deal" if you will).

Tears begin to run down your face rambling small words of agreement and love. You had never expected him to..love you that way. He was who he was, a dreadfully popular radio host, and you weren't really anything more than an assistant. People really only listened for him..yet in this moment, he was speaking only for you.

"I love you so dearly my y/n. If life without you exists I do not want to exist through it"

Who cares what they're wearing

On Main Street

Or Saville Row

1934: New Orleans, Alastor's house

The house was empty. He was gone. Fully and truly gone. It had been a year since you'd seen or heard from him and six months since the birth of your son. It didn't feel like your house, it didn't feel like your life anymore. It was all still his. His things still bled into your side of the closet, his last purchase, a book, dust encrusted and unread. The blankets and pillows set on the couch exactly as you both had left them after falling asleep to the rain the night before he left wordlessly. You found yourself sporting one of his shirts more often than your own...until eventually they didn't smell like him anymore. The whole house used to reek of his signature vanilla smell. Theres nothing left here but dust and the crooked board of the desk he insisted he could build himself "just fine".

It's what you wear from ear to ear

And not from head to toe

That matters

1936- New Orleans; ✨that shitty bar you performed at✨

"Get the fuck up you bitch"

You felt his hand tangle in your hair and pull you to your knees. All you could do was groan in pain.

"I'm so sorry it won't happen again I promise"

You mutter almost to yourself. He rolls his eyes shoving you into the counter smashing a glass in the process. Your vision blurs for a second seeing the glass shards decorating your h/c locks in a halo. You feel the blood trickle down your forehead.

"Do you think anyone else would hire you? A whore with nothing to her name and a useless ugly bastard child from god knows who?" You feel angered at his words. Insulting you is one thing, but your child?

But then it sinks in, he's right. The 30s are a sick decade, nothing progressive about them. No one else would hire you. You are lucky to work here..despite it all. You tell yourself anything is better than living on the streets. The mantra doesn't dull the pain but it makes it easier to put up with. You don't have a choice. You have a child to take care of.

"Get rid of him"

you stay silent unsure if you heard him correctly.

"Get rid of the boy. I don't care if you leave him in a box on the street or kill him yourself"

He reaches for a small silver knife under the bar's counter. He places it against your throat.

" y/n..You won't like it if I do it dearest, besides you are saving him the shame of having a mother like you. At least if he's adopted elsewhere he has a chance at a half decent life" he took a deep swig from his un-shattered glass of whiskey, looking at you with such deep distain.

You had never hated anyone the way you hated that man..But he was right. You would never be able to give your baby the best life. It would never get better because you couldn't make it better. So you found a young couple not to far from New Orleans, they took him in, and he got to be happy. he ended up living a successful life. He still is. If nothing else theres that. You know your own misery doesn't automatically allow others to be happier, but at times its what keeps you going.

Your mind is flooded with more and more thoughts. Thousands of little memories pilling themselves on top of you. Who would've thought, even deceased, even owned by Valentino, even trapped in an ever so violent place, the real plight of hell would be your thoughts. You light a cigarette and get out of the tub. You throw on a dark red robe and sit on the vanity's counter to brush your damp hair. The song continues into a jazzy interlude before it reprises again

Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But, brother

You're never fully dressed

You're never dressed

Without a smile

You stretch out your wings in the mirror, looking at your demonic self. No matter how many times you catch yourself in the mirror, even after ten years of this hellish existence. It still strikes you as odd. You look more or less the same. The same hair color and skin tone, although slightly more grey. The tail was just fucking weird no matter how long you had it. The song erupts into the finale distracting you from your thoughts. You begin to sing along with it, smiling softly. It really does sound like him. The same pink glow takes over the room as well as your body, Your eyes begin to glow that same soft pink, your hair floating above your shoulders.

Who cares what they're wearing

On Main Street

Or Saville Row

It's what you wear from ear to ear

And not from head to toe

You're never fully dressed without a smile

The last line comes out much quieter than the rest. A sense of sadness overtakes you once again as you realize how pathetic this whole night turned out. You'd spent the whole night "Simping", as Velvette would say, over a relationship that ended decades ago. Yikes. The static from the radio clicks up a few notches, You cover your ears at the sudden noise. You quickly reach for the dial in order to turn off the device..And then you hear it. You hear him.

"Dearest.." Its almost unintelligible through the static

You think you've finally fucking lost it. Ten years in Hell and you've officially gone "delulu"...another Velvette saying but it feels fitting.

“y/n.”

He called softly, the static in his voice heavy and nearly unreadable.

You almost didn't believe it.

"Y/n" He repeats the static fizzling out leaving his voice raw and almost natural. Fuck this was real. You didn’t respond. You didn’t know how to. You weren't sure if he could even hear you..how he would respond? Would it be worse if he did? It had been an entire decade since you fell, All of this time- he never bothered to contact you. Why now? Why so much later?... Had he forgotten about you? Did he just..die? You cant discern which is worse...that he had left you and your son and lived a long guilt free life...or that he made no attempt to even speak to you in the decade you had inhabited the same existence.

Ok that was all like exposition and shit..considering part two but I AM VERY TIRED RN

#alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #fanfic #god this is kinda ass #tumblr is my shit hole and i will scream whatever I want into the void #lol what even is this #alastor died oops #y/n #y/n fics are my last mental defense before massive decline

286 notes · View notes

life-at-hogwarts · 11 months

Text

Crucio (Ominis x GN! reader) HURT/COMFORT

Pairing: Ominis x reader

Warnings: whump, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, alcohol

Word count: 3.7k

Summary: When you get trapped in Salazar Slytherin’s room of torture, Ominis is forced to relive past trauma. Not being able to bear hearing the sound of your screams he insists on taking your place.

Authors note: This is the first fic I actually finished, hope you enjoy it. Might be a one shot, but I’m thinking about continuing the story.

Finally, Ominis turned around to face you. His expression softened, his mask melting away, revealing the hurricane of emotions he was struggling to hold back.

“Please let me do it. I’d rather take the pain that hear you scream. Believe me, you’ll never forget these kinds of screams. I can’t take hearing you suffer. Please, „ he pleaded. It was an impossible choice, but when you looked at him you knew what to do.

“Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure. Not my first time, remember?”

---

“This is where she died. This is where we’ll die! I shouldn’t have listened to either of you!” Ominis cried out, his voice unusually shrill. While you were searching for comforting things to say, Sebastian, who had been studying the door finally broke his silence. “I’m sorry about your aunt, Ominis. But I know how to get us out of here. It’s going to be difficult,” he murmured absentmindedly. Unlike his friend, the tall brunette did not seem to be bothered by the situation at all, which could only mean he had already come up with a plan.

“What do you mean you know how to get us out of here?” you asked.

“Look around. Tortured faces on the door and ‘Crucio’ etched into the stone. My guess is if we cast the Cruciatus curse the door will open. That’s why Noctua died - she had no one to cast the curse on. Ominis has the most experience with this. He should cast it. You seem to be in Ominis’ favor. Will you ask him about this?”

Knowing how insensitive Sebastian could be, you agreed and carefully approached Ominis, who was still anxiously pacing on the other side of the room. Before you could say anything, he blurted out, “I overheard you and Sebastian, and I won’t do it. The Cruciatus curse is pure torture - I would know.”

“Sebastian told me a little of what happened when you were young. It sounded as if you had no choice,” you replied, hoping he wouldn’t mind his friend sharing this with you. You still vividly remembered how badly he reacted to finding out you knew about the Undercroft. To your surprise, this time he didn’t even mention it. If anything, he seemed glad that he didn’t have to explain it to you himself.

“One always has a choice. I’m as guilty as the worst of my family. Unforgivable curses won’t work unless you really mean them. I had to want to cause pain and for that I shall never forgive myself. That spell is the reason I have no family left,” he exclaimed frantically.

“You’re not a bad person, Ominis. I know you. You are good. What happened was not your fault, do you hear me? You have to forgive yourself.”

Ominis misty grey eyes filled with tears. “Please don’t make me do it. I can’t. I won’t,” he whimpered and covered his ears with his hands, as if to block out a noise only he could hear. “I don’t want to. Please don’t make me.”

Shocked by his reaction you immediately started apologizing. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t even have asked. We will figure out another way, I promise,” you assured him, softly placing your hand on his arm. Seeing him this upset rattled you, and you wanted nothing more than give him a hug, but he pulled away and sat down on the floor, cradling his head and rocking back and forth. Unsure what to do you looked at Sebastian for help. He gestured with his head to come to him. You felt awful leaving Ominis like this but obeyed his bidding.

“I’m guessing that’s a ‘no’ from Ominis. It’s up to us then. I can teach you Crucio or I can cast it on you.”

“You know how to cast Crucio? Why did you have me ask Ominis in the first place? You know how badly that spell messed him up!” you snapped at him, pointing at his friend who clearly was not doing well.

“I’m not sure I do. But I think I can cast it if I have to. It sure is a better option than dying in here,” Sebastian replied calmly. His composure was truly remarkable, and you were glad that at least one of you was keeping a cool head. Now it was your turn to do your part. You had already made the decision.

“Alright. But you must cast it. I could never bring myself to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

Sebastian nodded and you took a deep breath and closed your eyes, trying to brace yourself for what was coming next. When you opened them again the two of you exchanged a solemn look, and he pulled out his wand. Before he could open his mouth, Ominis had crossed the room, moving with the stealth and swiftness of a cat and grabbed Sebastian’s arm, forcing him to lower his wand.

“Cast it on me,” he demanded, his face an impenetrable mask.

“Ominis, no. He’ll cast it on me,” you protested but the blonde ignored you, standing his ground.

“Didn’t know you’re all so eager to be tortured,” Sebastian remarked dryly.

Finally, Ominis turned around to face you. His expression softened, his mask melting away, revealing the hurricane of emotions he was struggling to hold back. “Please let me do it. I’d rather take the pain that hear you scream. Believe me, you’ll never forget these kinds of screams. I can’t take hearing you suffer. Please, „ he pleaded. It was an impossible choice, but when you looked at him you knew what to do.

“Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure. Not my first time, remember?”

You recalled what Sebastian had told you earlier regarding Ominis’ experience with the curse. The thought of his family torturing him as a child, made your blood boil with anger, and now he had to go through it again. Everything inside of you was screaming to take his place but you knew how stubborn he could be. You opened your mouth, ready to argue, but closed it again when you caught Sebastian quietly shaking his head to signal you that you should leave it alone. This way Ominis at least had some control over the situation. The tall brunette took the lead, by pointing his wand and preparing himself to cast the spell.

“Ready?” he asked, looking at Ominis grimly.

“I’m ready.”

Sebastian took a deep breath and his eyes darkened.

“Crucio.”

The second the spell hit him, Ominis groaned and doubled over in pain, his body twitching involuntarily as the curse shot through him in a bolt of cackling red light. The door seemed to feed off his pain, absorbing every single drop of it. You watched with tears in your eyes as he fell to his knees screaming out in agony. Ominis had been right. This was awful. The sounds he made vibrated through your entire body, making the hair on your neck stand up in terror. Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Stop it, Sebastian.” you screamed hysterically, your voice breaking but he shook his head again. The door was not open yet. Not knowing what to do you threw yourself on the floor next to Ominis and took his hand, hoping it would give him some sort of comfort. His screaming had died down to a mere whimpering, which for some reason was even worse. You fought the urge to hold your ears to block out the awful sounds coming from the boy on the ground and held his hand even tighter. At last, the door started to melt away, giving way to the room behind it and Sebastian stopped the spell.

Ominis was on his side, his misty eyes staring into nothingness. “Ominis?” you asked carefully but he didn’t react. Sebastian joined you and kneeled next to his other side, checking on his friend. “I’m sorry. Are you alright?” When this too was met with silence you exchanged a worried look with Sebastian. You had both heard the horror stories of people being driven mad by the curse. “Ominis. Say something.” After another 30 seconds that felt like an eternity, he opened his mouth and whispered, “I’m fine.” Slowly, he sat up and a small sob escaped your lips. He was a mess. His face was wet with tears, his hair disheveled and robes covered in dirt. “Don’t scare us like that,” Sebastian grumbled and roughly patted his friend’s shoulder, before getting up and glancing through the doorway. “You have to see this! We made it. We found Salazar Slytherin’s scriptorium.”

Still in shock, you watched Sebastian disappear into the other room, leaving you alone with Ominis. For a moment, you sat in silence, both trying to process what just happened. “Are you really alright?” you asked, even though you could already guess the answer. He most definitely did not look okay. In fact, you had never seen him in such a state before. He was there but not really present. The confident, sassy Slytherin you had gotten to know and love was gone, his body an empty shell. It was like he was trapped in his own dimension of hell, having to relive the torture he went through as a child. He flinched when your question brought him back to reality, then slowly turned his head to face you, “Not really. You?” “Not really.”

You fell into each other’s arms, desperately holding on to each other, trying to find comfort in the warmth of the embrace. You felt his body relax against yours and leaned into him, even more. A stifled sob escaped his mouth, and he buried his head in your shoulder. Following his example, you let your tears flow freely. The sound of his screams still rang in your ears. The sheer agony in his voice was the worst thing you’ve ever heard, and you couldn’t stop replaying it in your head. You needed him as much as he needed you. His arms wrapped around you, holding on to you as if you were the only thing keeping him from drowning.

You let your fingers run through his hair and pressed your face into his neck, inhaling the sweet scent of his shampoo. Your touch seemed to have a calming effect on him, his breathing slowed down and his grip on you weakened. “You’re okay,” you murmured over and over again, like a mantra, unsure if you were saying this to soothe him or yourself. Slowly, the chaos in your head started to ebb down. It was impossible to tell if you stayed like this for minutes or hours but neither of you was ready to let go. Finally, Ominis tightened his grip on you once more before breaking away.

For a moment you looked at each other in awkward silence, both unsure what to say after the intimate moment you had just shared. “Ominis…” you started but he interrupted you. “I don’t want to talk about it. For now, let’s focus on getting out of here.”

With one swift movement he got up and elegantly offered you his hand. A gentleman as always. Glad, that he seemed to be back to his old self again, you let him help you up. After dusting himself off, he took the lead and walked towards the entrance of the scriptorium, with you following close behind. All of a sudden, your gaze fell on the pile of bones in the corner, and you froze. “What’s wrong?” Ominis asked, his voice full of concern. “Your aunt. Her…remains are right behind you.” “Oh.” You guided his hand towards the spot so that he could see it with his wand, watching his face closely for his reaction but he remained expressionless. Then he quietly asked, “Would you mind giving me a minute alone?” It broke your heart how much pain he had to endure in one single night, and you squeezed his arm reassuringly before stepping through the doorway.

When you entered the scriptorium, you were greeted by Sebastian, who seemed to be completely oblivious to what just happened. “What is taking you guys so long? Come take a look at what I found. Slytherin’s spell book. I have only browsed but it looks promising. I think this could be the key to curing Anne.” His eyes sparkled with excitement when he showed you the old dusty tome with Slytherin’s initials on the front.

“That’s great news Sebastian,” you replied, forcing yourself to give him a smile. Of course, you were happy that there was new hope for curing Anne, but the price for this book had been high and Ominis was the one who had had to pay it. Sebastian didn’t notice and enthusiastically continued talking while he showed you around the scriptorium.

“This room is amazing. I could spend hours and hours rummaging through all of these books.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s with the sour face? Ominis is fine, isn’t he?” he grumpily asked, as he turned around to look for his friend, who was nowhere to be seen.

“No. And neither am I. I want to leave. You got what you came here for.” It wasn’t your way to be so cross with him, but you were still on edge and desperately wanted to get away from this place, that was practically vibrating with dark magic.

Sebastian looked at you with a mixture of confusion and defiance. “You can’t be serious? There is still so much to explore.” You let out a deep sigh and prepared to argue, when Ominis appeared at the foot of the stairs, joining in on the conversation. “I agree. Let’s get out of here.” His voice was calm and authoritative, leaving no room for debate. In one hand, he held his wand, the other was clutching a gigantic vase. You furrowed your brows in confusion before you realized what he had been doing while you and Sebastian had been talking. “Is that…?”

“I am going to take her with me. Give her a proper burial.”

Finally, understanding dawned in Sebastian’s face and he gave in, waiting for you to take the vase from Ominis before gesturing to follow him. The exit was hidden in an eerie looking statue of Salazar Slytherin’s face with a snake coming out of its mouth. Sebastian stepped forward and tapped the snake’s head with his wand, causing the statue to rotate and reveal a platform of sorts. “After you.” A few minutes later, when all of you were back in the Slytherin dungeon, Sebastian spoke up. “About your aunt Ominis -”

“Please, Sebastian. All I want is for you to swear never to engage in anything to do with dark magic ever again. You almost got us all killed tonight, with your stupid obsession with the scriptorium.”

“We are so close to curing Anne. I found Slytherin’s spell book in the scriptorium, and I think I saw something that could be useful….”

Ominis face crumpled with pain and disappointment. His best friend truly did not care about anything other than his search for a cure. He turned away from Sebastian, who was still rambling on about some spell he had found. When he noticed that Ominis wasn’t listening he snapped at him, “Why are you not happy for me? I thought you cared about my sister.”

After a long, tiring night, you’d had enough of his selfish behavior and stepped in.

„I know how important finding a cure for Anne is to you, but right now this is about Ominis. We put him through hell tonight, do you understand that? He has every right to be angry at you. You keep putting yourself before everyone else and completely ignore the wreckage you leave in your path.”

Sebastian glared at you, ready to retaliate. “Why isn’t he angry at you then? After all, you convinced him to go in there.”

“I’m sure he is, and he is right to be. Tonight was a mistake. Now take this and find a place to hide it for tonight. It’s the least you can do. Tomorrow we will decide what to do with it. I’m taking Ominis home.” You handed him the vase with Noctua’s remains and held his angry gaze.

“He can find his own way back to the dorms you know. He’s not helpless.”

“Of course he can. I just don’t want him to be alone right now.”

With that you turned around and demonstratively took Ominis hand, interlocking your fingers with his. “Let’s go.” You felt his surprise, but he went along with it and didn’t pull away. Usually, he hated it when people tried to help him in any sort of way, and you almost expected him to snap at you but tonight he was tame as a kitten, letting you lead him down the corridor, away from a fuming Sebastian. He too seemed to be too tired to argue. The sound of your steps echoed through the empty corridors as you walked in silence. When you stopped in front of the entrance of the Slytherin dorms, you waited for him to take charge and decide whether or not he wanted to invite you into their common room. He didn’t let go of your hand when he spoke the password and the gigantic snake revealed the door. After a few seconds of hesitation, he stepped forward, gently pulling you with him and you followed.

You had been here quite a few times with Sebastian, still the elegance and grandeur of the Slytherin common room never ceased to amaze you. The room was filled with eerie greenish light leaking from the windows showing the depths of the black lake. The only sound was the gentle cackle of wood being devoured by the flames. You followed Ominis, or rather let him guide you, to a sofa right in front of the big windows that faced the water. Only then did he let go of your hand and slumped into the soft pillows. You awkwardly waited a few moments before sitting down yourself. Ominis rubbed his face and sighed wearily, “I don’t need you to stand up for me.”

“I know. I just wanted to make it clear to him how wrong his behavior was tonight. I’m so sorry I dragged you into this. I should have never asked you to show us the entrance. This is my fault.”

“I appreciate that. I have already forgiven you. Everybody makes mistakes.”

You raised an eyebrow, knowing full well that Ominis was usually not one to hold back his anger when someone screwed up. His tongue was as sharp as his wits and not something to be messed with, as you knew from firsthand experience. Tonight, he was oddly calm, it was almost unsettling.

“Yeah, but mine almost got us killed.”

“You know me. I’m a thrill seeker,” he replied dryly, making you snort with laughter. Amused by this, Ominis too started giggling and you laughed even harder. It probably was the adrenaline, but you could not stop laughing, both of you cackling hysterically like maniacs. It took you some time to calm down, but the laughter had helped dissolve some of the stress and you felt a little better.

“Glad you have your sense of humor back. Seriously though, are you going to be okay?” you asked solemnly.

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Of course I worry about you, silly. You have been through a lot tonight.”

“Please don’t. I can’t…I can’t talk about it,” he whispered, and his entire body stiffened. Trying to hide how much this affected him he dug his nails into the palms of his trembling hands and avoided your gaze.

“That’s alright. Just know, if you do need to talk, I’m here for you,” you replied softly and placed a hand on his outstretched leg. By now you understood that physical touch had a calming effect on him. It was odd, since he was a very withdrawn person, not like Sebastian, who was rather touchy and comfortable with physical proximity. Ominis was a proper gentleman, always keeping his distance, never intruding your personal space. Yet tonight he really seemed to need the intimacy of human touch.

“There should be some firewhiskey in the globe behind us, would you mind getting it?”

“Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“I’m inviting you to join me for a nightcap.”

“Well, if you put it like that, how could I resist?” you chuckled and got up.

As promised, when you opened the globe, you found an almost full bottle of firewhiskey. You waved the bottle in the air letting the liquid slosh loudly against the glass, to let him know about your find and returned to the sofa, but it was empty. Ominis had made himself comfortable on the floor in front of it, resting his arms on the seat. Following his example, you sat down next to him on the soft carpet and handed him the bottle. He took a deep swig of the bronze liquid and passed it on to you. You took a small sip and coughed, quickly handing it back to Ominis. After another few sips he broke the silence.

“Why are you so kind to me?”

“Because I care about you. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes.”

Too tired to talk, you reached for his hand, and he took it. The way his fingers wrapped around yours ever so gently felt like the most natural thing in the world and you felt the urge to never let go of his hand again. For a while you sat in silence, quietly passing the whiskey back and forth, then Ominis spoke up again.

“You know why I like to sit here so much?” He paused for a moment to look at you, waiting for you to meet his gaze. For a moment you got lost in the reflection of the lake in his milky grey eyes. “Because I like the way, the water breaks the light. I can see light and shadow, you know? When I watch the lake, the light is dancing.”

“That sounds beautiful. Tell me about it.”

“It dances with the rhythm of the waves. It’s so soothing it’s like listening to a lullaby. Sometimes, when it’s stormy it gets really fast and erratic, it’s like I can see the thunderstorm.”

Slowly but surely the alcohol was taking effect and he was struggling to stay awake. He rested his head on your shoulder and asked, “Can we just sit here and watch them for a while?" already starting to slur his words a little.

“Ominis?”

“Mhm?”

“Never scare me like that again.”

Instead of answering he nestled his face into your neck and sighed. You rested your head on his and listened to his breathing slow down as he started to fall asleep, still not letting go of your hand. You smiled at his cute little snores before you too drifted off to sleep.

679 notes · View notes

nevadancitizen · 17 days

Text

-> YOU'RE OUT OF TOUCH – I'VE BEEN OUTTA TIME

synopsis: you died six months ago, but you've come back to haunt johnny. not as a ghost, no – as some twisted version of you that johnny still loves. too bad you don't still love johnny, or remember him in any capacity.

word count: 4k

characters: john "soap" mactavish, resurrected! reader

trigger warnings: talk of canon-typical violence, temporal weirdness, hurt + damn near no comfort

notes: first soap fic.. hopefully i've written him well!! also i couldn't resist incorporating madness combat in this somehow lol it's taking over my life (you don't need to know anything about madcom to read this, don't worry). also tumblr user nevadancitizen using the amnesia trope again? it's more likely than you think.

Somewhere in Nevada, a battered body is denied death, so that it may be granted, en masse…

And six months ago, somewhere in Russia, you were killed in action.

It was a single shot through the skull – nice, clean. You didn’t suffer. Despite your killer more than likely being a terrorist (or working for one), they did you right. It was probably unintentional, but they still did you right.

Johnny couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed, even to piss, for weeks after. He was completely numb to almost everything. The world passed by while he stood completely still, laying on his side in your shared bed, spooning a pillow that was rapidly losing your scent.

(He even tried spraying it with your perfume or cologne, but it didn’t work. It was too strong – it didn’t smell like when you wore it.)

Johnny thought all-too-often about what happened after death. He was ready to die, always has been, but he never really thought about what would happen if (or, more accurately, when) you died. He always cast those thoughts away, because he was done losing people. He was done with grief and screaming, pleading to God, and crying so hard he threw up.

But he eventually returned to his job. He eventually put you to rest. He prayed for the first time in damn near two decades that, if there was really an afterlife, that you were in Heaven.

(He just hoped that, whatever Heaven there was, it was good enough for you.)

But again, six months ago, somewhere in Nevada, a battered body was denied death, so that it may be granted, en masse.

It is a land without sun, without warmth unless you could find it in another body. It is a land without rules, without remorse, without regret.

It is a land of violence. It is a land that fits you well.

Despite being dead, you were sewed back together and cursed to live once more. Someone put a gun in your hands and told you, “Listen bozo, I don’t care where you’re from – just shoot!”

Of course, Johnny didn’t know this. How could he? He watched your casket be lowered into the ground. He knew it wasn’t empty – he had to confirm your identity in the morgue.

But he can’t help but feel his stomach drop when Kyle comes rushing into his office, pointing behind him and, in a panting breath, says your name.

Johnny immediately springs up from behind his desk and almost pushes past Kyle to get out the door. He turns down the hallway to the left, where he knows it leads to the hospital ward.

“No, Soap – Soap!” Kyle sprints after him, just barely catching his wrist. “Wrong way, man.”

Johnny stops and, in his stunned state, lets Kyle lead him down the hallway to the right, away from the medbay, away from where you were surely waiting for him, recovering.

Kyle leads him into an elevator, scans his keycard, and presses the button for -3. They’re both uncharacteristically quiet. It just faintly registers in Johnny’s mind that the floor -3 is below the parking garages, past where anyone typically goes.

(Past where anyone can hear screams ripped from tortured throats, really.)

When the elevator doors open, Soap’s greeted by a familiar sight. It’s a grey concrete hallway, with two soldiers on either side, guarding the way in. Doors line the hall, each one steel with a keypad to unlock it.

Gaz leads Soap down the hall and doesn’t stop for a while. Eventually, he stops in front of the last door and takes a deep, almost shuddering, breath.

Gaz inputs the code into the keypad and opens the door, nodding at the inside. “Come on.”

Soap, almost so quick he clips his shoulder on the doorframe, goes into the room. It overlooks an interrogation room, and it’s fit with a double-sided mirror, recording tech, everything.

Soap freezes when he looks into the interrogation room. It – it’s you, but… not you. You’re pacing, and Johnny can only stare. There’s a grey flush to your skin – no, your skin is actually grey – and bandages cover the back of your head, dirty and frayed, like you haven’t changed them in a while.

You’re angry, a far cry from the person Johnny knew you to be. Sure, you could be angry, and Johnny’s seen you angry, but this…

You’re panting as you pace, fists clenching and unclenching as your eyes dart around the room. Soft mutters and expletives leave your mouth as you look around, surely looking for a way to escape.

Johnny just keeps staring. You’re… alive? Yes, you’re not what Johnny remembers you to be, but you’re still alive.

“Fucking – goddamnit!” You bang your fist on the steel table, causing it to rattle. “I don’t have anything to tell you! You’re all cowards –” you turn to the double-sided mirror and point at it “– especially you, Sheriff! Don’t tell me you’re not back there!”

You immediately turn away, your hands coming to clutch at the sides of your head, your fingers digging into the bandages, almost ripping them. “I swear, when I get my hands on you…!”

“We don’t know what to do,” Kyle says softly. He looks over at Soap, his gaze obviously sad and sympathetic. “Do you want to try ‘n talk ‘em? Even if they’re feelin’ a tad… neurotic.”

Johnny can’t rip his gaze from you as you throw a steel chair at the wall, still cursing out someone named Sheriff and his lackeys. The chair bounces off the wall and one of the legs hits your shin, causing you to curse it out, too.

“Yes,” Johnny says quickly, decisively.

Soap shifts on his feet, oddly impatient, as he waits for Kyle to unlock the door to the interrogation room. As soon as he does, Johnny shoulders past him and into the room. He hears a faint click as Gaz closes it behind him.

You immediately whirl on Johnny, your eyes wide and your breath labored.

“You!” You point at Johnny like it’s meant to be some offensive gesture. “What do you want?”

You move closer, and Johnny catches sight of the dogtags hanging from your neck. You were buried with one, and he kept the other. He even gave you one of his own because, on that day, a part of him died with you. But… instead of two, you have four hanging from the metal chain.

You shove your finger in Johnny’s chest, your fingernail digging through the thin fabric of his fatigues. “Answer me!”

Soap immediately takes your wrist and cradles your hand to his chest. “Bonnie, please, calm down.”

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down!” you bark, ripping your hand away from him. “I just lost one of my team and you’re telling me to calm down?!”

“Your team?” Soap echoes.

“Deimos!” you snap. “You – you killed Deimos.”

You take a step back, your fists still clenched and your eyes still angry. “I saw your stupid fucking Engineer murder him. He was dead from the first five bullets, and you know he knew that! But oh, let’s just make sure he’s dead by unloading clip after clip into him.”

You heave a breath, almost growling. “Let’s desecrate his corpse. All because he’s a dissenter. Let’s make it oh-so-hard to bring him back.”

Johnny steps forward, just barely moving his foot, and you jump back like he took out a knife.

He breathes out your name, soft and unbelieving. “Are… is it really you?”

“Of course it’s me!” You turn and rest your hands on the steel table, obviously resisting the urge to bring your fists down against it. “Always has been, always will be. It’s always me.”

Johnny circles around the table and leans down a little, taking in your face. The grey makes you look dirty and unwashed, like you’ve got a layer of dirt on you that you couldn’t wash away.

You look up at him through your eyelashes. “I know you.”

Johnny’s heart leaps into his throat and, for a hopeful moment, thinks that you remember him, that this is all some sort of stupid trick, that you went MIA instead of being KIA, that this is really you. The you Johnny knows, the you Johnny loves. But his heart is crushed beneath your boot when you speak next.

“I know soldiers like you,” you say softly. “Soldiers, produced en masse, told to shoot first and die quietly. We’re both clones, you know? But there’s a difference in what we want.”

You stand up straight, glancing at the double-sided mirror before turning your eyes back to Soap. “You follow orders. When they say jump, you ask how high. But I…” you laugh beneath your breath. “I am fighting for change. Normality. You’re comfortable living in this… this chaos.”

“Bonnie, what are you on about?” Johnny reaches across the table, trying to take your hand. You snatch it away before he even comes close.

Gaz slides into the room, holding a tablet. You whip your head around and glare at him.

His eyebrows lift a little, and he raises the tablet, as if in a defensive manner. “Your tablet. It –”

You snatch it from Gaz’s hands before he can talk again. You set it down on the table and stare at it, waiting.

Johnny can just barely see the interface. The top of the screen reads COMBASIC .9(beta). It looks like some sort of chat room. A few messages pop up in quick succession.

FellowD9: GOTEM FellowD9: YOU WERE RIGHT FellowD9: HE WAS COMPLIANT 2BDamned: Neat FellowD9: CHECK MY SECTOR FellowD9: ANCHOR HIM NOW [user:FellowD9 IS OFFLINE]

The messages seem to relax you, even if Johnny has no idea what they’re talking about. You bring a hand to your forehead and laugh breathlessly, then set to typing.

CrosshairF6: lol hey im still alive CrosshairF6: aahw assholes gave me my tablet idk why CrosshairF6: check my sector & get me back 2BDamned: Getting Deimos right now, I’ll get back to you CrosshairF6: better do it right CrosshairF6: saw his corpse, looks like he ran through traffic [user:2BDamned IS OFFLINE]

Johnny watches as you tuck your tablet back in one of the inner pockets of your jacket, casting a suspicious glance at Gaz, like you expect him to take it back.

Gaz raises his hands and slips back out of the room, leaving you and Johnny.

“So.” You look at Johnny. “Why are you trying to act all buddy-buddy with me?”

“You’re… you were…” Johnny sighs, an overwhelming feeling settling in his chest. “Do you remember… dying?”

“Of course,” you say, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “2B brought me back.”

“2B?” Johnny echoes. “Like, the one you were talkin’ to? 2BDamned?”

“Yeah.” You move and lean back against the wall, crossing your arms over your chest. “He’s all doctor-like, y’know? Brings us back when we need it.”

“And he’s… on your team?” Johnny asks. He feels a deep pang of… something in his chest when the thought of you actually being on another team, separate from him, settles in his mind.

You nod. “Yeah. 2B, Hank, Sanford, Deimos.” You tap the dog tags resting against your chest. “We’re a team. Some of us are on a subteam, but still. We’re a team.”

Johnny blinks hard, shaking the thought from his head. “Do you remember anything before you died?”

“Some, but… not a lot. Just blips of fighting, some soldiers, then Nevada.” You shrug. “2B says that happens sometimes.”

Johnny feels his tense shoulders relax, if only a little. “Any one specific soldier, bonnie?”

“No,” you say. You look away and fiddle with your dogtags. “But I’ve got the dogtag of someone named John.”

“John?” Johnny echoes, his heart picking up in his chest. “John ‘Soap’ MacTavish?”

“Yeah.” Your gaze fixes on him again, immediately suspicious. “How do you know that?”

“That’s me, bonnie.” Johnny laughs breathlessly, moving towards you. He makes sure to stay slow and cautious, just in case. “I’m Johnny. Your Johnny.”

You move along the wall, away from him, just slightly. You seem to bristle a little, and bring your shoulders up a bit. “You’re not mine. I don’t own anyone.”

“Not in the literal sense, bonnie,” Johnny laughs, resisting the urge to trail after you. “I’m yours, romantically.”

You bring yourself off the wall, taking a step back. It’s like you’re repulsed by the idea. “I’ve never been romantically involved with anyone. You think I’ve got time for that?”

It’s like Johnny’s been punched in the gut. Tears well in his eyes and he suddenly feels so fucking sick. His feet almost come out from under him as he stumbles to the door, shaking hands putting in the code before slipping out.

He could take the idea of you maybe not remembering him, sure. He could just re-introduce himself. He could take the idea of you forgetting the time you’ve spent together, because you’d remember, right? But the way you were disgusted by the idea of romance, the vitriol in your voice as you spoke…

Johnny doesn’t like the word ‘relapse’ because he thinks it holds too heavy of a connotation, but that’s the best way to describe what he did for the rest of the day, and into the early hours of tomorrow. He rotted in your shared bed, but instead of feeling numb, he felt his heart being wrenched by your hand, by your words.

He just laid there, looking at his sketchbook – a good one with thick paper. The one you’d gifted him for your six-month anniversary. It’s filled with drawings of you: candid ones, ones where he had you pose (even though you were embarrassed), ones of you and him, together, doing couple-y things.

He could only mourn what was lost, because you seemed to have absolutely no interest in recovering it.

A week passes before you’re able to be let out of your cell. You slowly lost the fire and brimstone that filled your heart as you realized that the 141 really did want to help you. You feel better now that you have a few people by your side, fresh bandages, and a renewed sense of comfort.

(But you forgave yourself for acting like that in the beginning because, in Nevada, no one is nice. Not without an ulterior motive, at least.)

You’re practically on a leash as Ghost leads you throughout the base. He doesn’t talk as he guides you through winding hallways and up an exhaustive amount of flights of stairs.

Eventually, he opens a door labeled ‘ROOF EXIT.’ He tilts his head towards the door.

“Someone waitin’ for you,” Ghost says gruffly. “And…”

He fishes around in his pocket and pulls out a carton of cigarettes. Your cigarettes.

Ghost takes your hand and puts it in your palm. “Don’t set anything on fire.”

You close your fingers around it and nod. “Got it, boss.”

Ghost starts back down the stairs, leaving you and the open door to the roof. You move through it and look around.

Johnny’s sitting, cross-legged, on the concrete roof, facing away from you. It’s dark – obviously, it’s night. You look up and take in the stars, and…

“You have a moon,” you say softly.

Johnny looks back at you, a tentative smile on his face. Like he’s scared to be too hopeful. “Yeah. We do.”

You hum and look at Johnny.

“Do you…” Johnny glances at the floor, then back up at you. “Do you wanna sit with me, bonnie?”

You slowly move over to Johnny and sit by him. You keep a healthy distance, but you’re still closer than you’ve ever been to him before.

“Those fags for sharin’?” Johnny asks, a teasing smile on his face.

You look down at the carton of cigarettes in your hand. You grip them a little tighter, causing the thin carton to crumple a bit. “Sure. Don’t know if you’ll like them, though.”

“Nonsense, bonnie.” Johnny bumps his shoulder against yours. “Let’s give ‘em a go.”

You smile and take out two cigarettes. You hand one over to Johnny. They’re hand-rolled and don’t have a filter, so they look more like joints, but the overwhelming smell of raw tobacco quickly quells that thought.

“Got a light?” you ask.

“‘Course.” Johnny reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small lighter. He lights his own cigarette, then pulls it away with a sputtering cough.

“Steamin’ Jesus, what is that?” He asks in between coughs.

You laugh, hitting your knee as Johnny reels from the taste. “It’s good, yeah?”

“Hell no!” Johnny wipes tears from his eyes and looks over at you. Despite his coughing, a soft smile spreads across his face at the way you’re laughing – loud, unabashed. Just like before.

You swipe Johnny’s lighter from his hand and light your cigarette, the cherry basking your face in a soft, warm glow. “Welcome to Nevada.”

“Let’s see that thing.” Johnny reaches over and takes the carton from your hand.

He turns it over, looking at it. The carton is worn, like it’s been refilled many times. There’s no warning about nicotine being an addictive chemical, just a grey box with a simple brand: G01 Choice. There’s a name scribbled on the back – Deimos, in all capital letters.

“Deimos,” Johnny says aloud. “The man died and you stole his cigs?”

“He’s not dead.” You take the carton back and tuck it into your jacket pocket. “Not anymore. Well, he’s died lotsa times, so I guess he’s an... honorary corpse.”

“An honorary corpse,” Johnny echoes, looking down at the cigarette in his hand. He puts it out on the concrete. “Just like you, yeah?”

You take a drag off your cigarette and blow out the smoke in a single, smooth stream. “Just like me.”

A silence settles as you look up at the moon. You can feel Johnny’s eyes occasionally flitting to you, then back up at the night sky.

“Your dogtags.” Johnny points in your direction. “Whose are they?”

You look down and tug on the metal chain, causing them to clink together. “Mine, yours, and my team’s.”

“Your team?” Johnny asks softly. “You never told me about them.”

“Yeah.” You look over at him. “I’m part of an extraction team. My partners are Sanford and Deimos.”

A pain, almost so real he thought he was actually injured, runs through Johnny when you say partners. The logical side of his brain chides him a few moments later because you obviously meant it in a militaristic sense, not a romantic sense.

“Can I see them?” Johnny asks.

You nod and take off the chain, then hand them to Johnny. He looks at the dogtags – he recognizes his and yours as being standard military dogtags, but Sanford and Deimos’ are much more… odd.

Sanford’s reads SANFORD / MELEE + EXPLOSIVES / G02 (NEG) / RETURN TO FAMILY. Deimos’ reads DEIMOS / FIREARMS + TECH / G02 (POS) / NO FAMILY.

Johnny tilts the dogtags so that you can see them and runs a finger along the lettering. “What do these mean, bonnie?”

You move a bit closer and lean in. “The first lines are their names, obviously. The second is what they’re proficient in. The third is what generation clone they are, and their blood types – there are only two blood types for second generation clones. And the last one is what to do with their bodies if they can’t be revived.”

“Wait, bonnie.” Johnny laughs breathlessly. “Clones?”

“Yeah, clones.” You tilt your head a little to the side. “What, you don’t have cloning technology here?”

“Of course not!” Johnny laughs.

You laugh and bump your shoulder against his. “You people are so primitive.”

Johnny smiles back at you and it’s like nothing is wrong. You both go quiet as you stare at each other until you look away.

“I, uh…” you clear your throat awkwardly. “I’m sorry for being so… abrasive. Earlier, I mean.”

“It’s alright,” Johnny says, almost too quickly.

You scratch your cheek and glance over at Johnny, then away. “But it’s not, is it? I should’ve handled things better.”

“Someone you know died right before we talked.” Johnny reaches over and, cautiously, puts his hand over yours where it rests on your knee. “It’s expected that you don’t act like yourself.”

Your breath hitches, and Johnny squeezes your hand reassuringly in response.

“But that’s the thing,” you say. “I’ve seen so many awful things before. People getting shot, stabbed, beaten, Hank tearing people apart with his bare hands. But, Maker…”

You drag a hand down your face, rubbing your jaw. “Deimos is young. So young. He’s only twenty-seven, and he always has a smile like he’s just tied your shoelaces together and is waiting for you to trip. And he’s so smart, even if everyone calls him a bit stupid. Yeah, he’s got a slower reaction time, but that’s what me and Sanford are for, y’know? He…”

You blink hard, trying to will your tears away. A soft, frustrated groan leaves your mouth as you duck your head and put your cigarette to your lips. “Don’t look at me.”

Johnny starts to pull his hand away, but stops when you squeeze his hand. Instead, he squeezes your hand back, averting his gaze.

To Johnny, it again almost feels like nothing ever happened. Like there’s no Russia, no Nevada, nothing besides you and him on this roof, together. But he’s no fool. He knows things have changed – that Nevada has changed you.

You breathe out a shaky plume of cigarette smoke. “I just want to go back.”

“But you’re here now, bonnie,” Johnny says. He tries to ignore the crushing feeling in his chest, tries to keep his composure for you. “Aren’t you glad you’re back?”

“I don’t know this place.” You look over at Johnny, your eyes rimmed with unshed tears. “You keep saying that we’re together, that – that this is my home. But how can this be my home if I don’t remember a thing about it? How can you be my boyfriend if I don’t remember a thing about you?”

Johnny exhales sharply, like he’s just got the wind knocked out of him. “Bonnie, please don’t say that. Please.”

“I know violence, and I know bloodshed,” you say softly. “I know Nevada. This place, this world…” You gesture vaguely with your cigarette still in your hand. “It’s not mine.”

“But there is violence here, there is bloodshed here,” Johnny insists. “Here, we fought together.”

“But I don’t remember us being together, in any capacity!” you snap. You take a breath and try your best to soften your words. “All I remember from before is just flashes. I didn’t remember your face. I just had your dogtag and a weird, empty feeling.”

Johnny sighs and feels tears welling up in his eyes. He can’t tear his gaze away from you.

“You really expected me to trace the bullet and sift through fleeting memories when there was an entire agency playing Pinkertons knocking down our door?” you ask softly. “2B was bandaging my head ‘cause he just finished playing around in my brains and Sanford was shoving a gun in my hands. They pointed me in a direction and told me to shoot. I didn’t have the time to remember you.

“I’m sorry, but I just didn’t.” You squeeze his hand before letting it go.

Johnny immediately scrambles to catch your hand in both of his, holding on desperately. “No, bonnie, please.”

A few tears slip down Johnny’s cheeks as he looks at you. Your face is a mirror of his own, just in greyscale. Your cheeks are stained with tears and your eyes are just beginning to get a bit puffy.

“If you know you’re gonna be leaving again, then just let me hold your hand,” Johnny says softly, his voice wavering. “Just for a few more minutes.”

You nod and, when you blink, a tear rolls down your already-wet cheek. “Okay.”

Johnny slowly moves so that you’re sitting shoulder-to-shoulder to him. He hesitates before resting his head on your shoulder. You smell just like how he remembers, albeit tinged with the acrid tang of G01 Choice cigarette smoke. You’re just as beautiful as the day he lost you.

“Okay.”

77 notes · View notes

y-rhywbeth2 · 4 months

Text

Gods & Clergy: Shar

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

And back to collecting lore on the evil deities! There's... a lot of information on Shar, so honestly this isn't even all of it just most(?) of it. Most of it isn't relevant anyway...

Overview: What if depression was a religion?

Clergy: If you don't have shit like depression and cptsd you're about to, courtesy of the Nightsinger! Society? Burn it all!

Nightcloaks / Nightbringers: Memory wiping. Whips. Making creepy man-shaped things of pure darkness.

Shar: Don't look her in the eye. Wear earplugs when she speaks. Don't let her kiss you. Avoid the talking severed heads and the tentacles... actually, just avoid this ancient eldritch horror altogether.

"Reveal secrets only to fellow members of the faithful. Never follow hope or turn to promises of success. Quench the light of the moon whenever you find it, and hide from it when you cannot prevail. The dark is a time to act, not wait. It is forbidden to strive to better your lot in life or to plan ahead except when directly overseen by the faithful of the Dark Deity. Consorting with the faithful of good deities is a sin except in business dealings or to corrupt them from their beliefs. Obey ranking clergy unless it would result in your own death." "Darkness is your cloak and your spur to action. Strike down the moon and those who serve it, and work against laws and law keepers, rulers and the powerful, by corrupting them and sewing dissension. Weave discord through secrets and rumours and falsehoods, so that all that is now mighty shall in time be swept away, and all that will still remain is in the darkness of Shar. Work in secret when necessary, obey your superiors in the Night Church without question or defiance, and give your life when Shar deems it needful, for you will reap her dark reward." - Shar's Dogma

The interesting thing about Shar, for all her intrinsic hatred of existence, is that she needs people - specifically "she feeds on [people's] suffering." Literally. She eats it. When she consumes their grief and misery, the sudden void of negative emotion causes a temporary surge of euphoria. Due to this relief, many people turn to "Shar's embrace."

Sharrans believe that by following Shar faithfully they will eventually reach an enlightened state beyond all suffering, however all that happens is that they're exposed to suffering and retraumatised again and again until they become resigned to and desensitised to it - their own and others'. Sharrans are much less useful to their goddess if they truly move beyond suffering, and instead the process is simply a cycle of abuse and depression as she farms them for sustenance and power.

As per the teachings: life is inane and existence was a mistake all are cursed to suffer because of Selûne's stupidity. All love withers and dies; you are alone, and always will be. This misery is inherent and inescapable, and it's better to embrace this fact than to hurt yourself by being stupid enough to feel love for others or hope for better.

All rulers and hierarchies are corrupt, according to Sharran doctrine, and everybody should be free to live their lives as they wish free of the laws and "morality" decided for them by others.

Everything that exists deserves to perish, and the right thing to do is to help the entropic process along.

Shar is ever-present, and wanders through the dreams of mortals, prodding at their hidden pains and whispering suggestions to them on how to act upon them. She offers the allure of relief to the poor, the lonely and ostracised, the grieving, the mentally ill... Victims of abuse often turn to her for relief and vengeance. On the every day level, people who need to work or travel at night or in the dark make offerings to her to placate her.

A lay worshipper is referred to as a Dark Follower. Sharrans are forbidden to hope, plan ahead or attempt to improve their miserable lives unless ordered to by the clergy, as part of Shar's design. They must not speak out against a priest, or interrupt any of their rituals and prayers for any reason. Lay worshippers must prove their loyalty and devotion by carrying out one crime or deed under the order of the clergy at least once a year, and try to bring others into the fold. They are strictly forbidden to interact with followers of good aligned deities (so you know stay away from people who follow, like, Selûne, who encourages comforting the lonely and making welcoming spaces for the ostracised; Lliira, who encourages experiencing joy; Lathander, with his thing about optimism and new beginnings... Don't want them hanging out with those people...)

If you have no need of Shar's "aid" then her clergy are at hand to fix that for you.

The members of the Night Church are known collectively as Darshars by outsiders, but they would refer to themselves as Martyrs. They have forfeit their lives to Shar in order to serve her, and know that she will eventually come to claim her due. They're generally under no delusion regarding the fact that their deaths are likely to come sooner rather than later, and Shar's tendency to discard her most powerful, loyal and favoured servants on a whim is well known - for all should experience the loss.

When addressing each other, Darshars address equal and lower ranks as "Brother/Sister/Sibling Night," and their superiors as "Mother/Father Night."

Novices of the faith are called Adepts of the Night. Full priests are Watchers. Hands of Shar have proven themselves in battle, and are placed in charge of several cells. A Darklord or Darklady is a region's senior priest, and sets policy for the church in their area. Nightseers oversee the activities of all Sharrans in a realm (a country). The Flames of Darkness are the highest ranking priests, answering directly to Shar. The standard training of the clergy usually shows, mechanically, through multiclassing as a rogue.

To become a Darshar, each priest much prove themselves by committing some terrible deed or other in Shar's name, after which the goddess will bestow a new name upon them. The nature of the deed and the name is called one's Own Secret.

Unlike lay worshippers, clergy are permitted to seek wealth and power, although it comes with the awareness that these things will not last. "If she uses [powerful individuals] as her tools now, there will come a day when she destroys them utterly, in favor of someone much weaker and very different. For that is the way of Shar. In her words, “Out of the darkness we all come, and to the darkness we all return. Some swifter than others, and many not swiftly enough.”

The senior clergy preach of Shar's "Dark Reward" - the raising of a dead Sharran as undead under the control of the clergy. Typically mindless undead such as zombies and skeletons. If Shar prizes the fallen individual's skills enough then she will actually resurrect them fully, augmented with her power. Such priests are the Shadowed, who have abilities such as turning invisible or into mist. They always bear a mark of Shar's corruption however; their eyes - including the sclera - are pitch black, and they can speak only in hoarse, cold whispers. One of their hands gnarls into a black talon. The rest of her priesthood views them with terror.

Darshars keep their hair long in homage to Shar (whose long hair is iconic). It's usually kept under a black skullcap, but women with naturally dark hair are permitted to forgo the cap because their hair is considered sacred to Shar. Black and purple are worn extensively, as are full body black cloaks and robes.

The black cloaks are called nightcloaks, which are enchanted to enable flight and mute ambient sound when the wearer wills it.

At night, some clergy let their hair down and walk the night, wearing nothing but their nightcloaks and their hair. They leave no barriers between themselves and the darkness that is their goddess.

Some priests wear enchanted wigs, woven into braids that can move and carry things (such as daggers), much like Shar's own hair is said to be animate.

Clerics who disappoint Shar/their superiors are forced to undergo thei penance surrounded by light - "the darkness if for those who deserve it."

Darshars are tasked with making society as miserable to live in as possible, so that more will feel loss and be brought into Shar's Embrace seeking peace. They corrupt the powerful, kill those who can't be corrupted and ferment rebellion, and murder people whose work is improving people's lives. They support thieves guilds and criminal organisations that make civilisation more unsafe and untrustworthy. They do generally avoid war and mass bloodshed, however. Shar requires converts/cattle, and it's hard to do that when they're all dead. Also murdering Selûnites and destroying their bases of worship wherever you can; can't forget that.

When a Darshar commits a murder, they are to ensure that the victim is aware that they died in Shar's name. Provided that this murder isn't being committed to foment strife and chaos by pinning it on somebody else, the Darshar will write Shar's name somewhere nearby with the victim's blood.

They're also to help others avenge slights, and publicise such stories, so that the desperate will turn to the Night Church for justice and vengeance and they do their best to present themselves as the superior option to the god of vengeance, Hoar.

They are to do all of this in utter secrecy, it should never be obvious to others who and what is behind these events. Often Sharran cells will found secret, non-Sharran cabals to do their dirty work for them. Hiring adventurers to commit crimes for them is another way. In order to form these cabals, Sharrans often run secret societies, hedonistic social clubs and false cults. They also maintain ties thieves guilds

Unlike the churches of other evil deities, the Night Church is often outlawed simply because they fundamentally won't stop disrupting society. Occasionally, the church will agree to follow the laws and keep their destruction of people's mental health to manageable, more one-on-one levels, and are allowed to build temples and worship. They have such a temple in Silverymoon, which must begrudgingly co-exist in public with the Selûnites there. Sharran worship is also open in Calaunt, Mulmaster, Scornubel, Sembia and Westgate.

Generally speaking though, the church is happier to remain underground where they can do the work they truly "need" to. The Night Church is explicitly illegal in Waterdeep, Baldur's Gate, Amn, and the entirety of the Dales and Cormyr.

They have a complex hierarchy; they work in cells, and every member has a direct superior they answer to. Multiple cells may be active in the area, and while they may know each other and sometimes lend aid, they don't work together or maintain connections to prevent attempts to crack down on Sharran activity from taking down every cell in the area. Nobody knows the true name of their co-conspirators or their leaders, and many of them die in their attempts to subvert society (getting executed for their crimes is a common way to go).

There are no holy days on the Sharran calendar, except for the Feast of the Moon, which they call the Rising of the Dark. Sharrans gather together for a blood sacrifice, and the lay worshippers are told of the plots and aims they are expected to aid in the coming winter.

The most important daily ritual is Nightfall, held every night. There is a brief payer, sometimes in the form of a ritual dance and sometimes involving a sermon. There is a feast and everybody begins dancing (or joins in, if one already started). If one cannot attend group prayer, then the worshipper must dance alone in Shar's honour, wherever they are. Lay worshippers must also either perform a crime or act of cruelty or report one to the congregation. Nights where the moon is not visible are called the Coming of the Lady and the entire congregation is set to task carrying out acts of vengeance and cruelty in Shar's name.

The Kiss of the Lady is the most important ritual, traditionally declared at the whims of the leading priests in the Temple of Old Night in Calimport (Old Night is the oldest of Shar's temples, built in -373 DR). Shar's worshippers engage in a night-long revel of murder, chaos, horror and cruelty ending in a celebratory feast at daybreak.

Representations of Shar in religious art (typically found in temples) show either a black sphere outlined in magically animated purple flames; or depict her as a smiling human woman with sweeping raven-black hair dressed in swirling black clothes. Her eyes are large, with the irises and sclera being solid purple around black pupils. Her temples are usually built under what appear to be legitimate businesses or private residences.

Those of the clergy chosen by Shar to serve her personally are the Nightcloaks, also called Nightbringers.

They can create supernatural darkness in their surroundings that extinguishes all light

Cause temporary light blindness in others

Erase the memories of the last few minutes from the minds of those around them

Cause nightmares

They can conjure doors made of pure darkness and step through, which makes them seem to have teleported (although they've only turned invisible)

They can cast a veil of illusion magic over their surroundings, making them appear totally different (tailored to whatever the priest wants them to look like)

They are a tiny bit more powerful, physically, while in the darkness, but are a tiny bit weaker when standing in the light of a full moon.

They can wrap darkness around themselves, or another, which fully obscures their features and serves as a minor form of armour (including against magic and psionics). They can see perfectly through the darkness, but effects that require eye-contact can't affect them. If cast on an undead being then they're immune to a cleric's turning ability.

They can create a whip of flickering darkness. The strike of the whip does damage and has the same effect as turning on Undead struck. Contact causes pain so unbearable it may cause seizures. The whip passes through inanimate matter harmlessly, and can't be used to tie people up.

Darkness can be moulded into something vaguely human-shaped under the control of the priest. It levitates in the air and suffocates all sources of light it touches. The priest can vaguely "see" through it if they choose.

They can fire a beam of pure darkness from their outstretched hand, which passes through inanimate matter and non-living beings but causes suffocating cold and pain to the living it strikes. The target it overwhelmed, and struck with a supernatural silencing effect for up to four minutes.

The Lady of Loss is a Neutral Evil deity, and her domain has been in different places over the years. Originally her realm, the Palace of Loss, resided in the Grey Wastes of Hades and later moved into the Plane of Shadow (aka the Shadowfell) where it was known as the Palace of Night. After the Plane of Shadow moved closer to the material world during the Spellplague she moved to the Tower of Night, which was in the Astral Plane. Considering that 5e has mostly reversed all of 4e's changes, she has presumably returned to the Palace situated in either the Shadowfell or the Grey Wastes.

Shar is described as a "deeply twisted and perverse being of endless petty hatred and jealousy. [...] She revels in the concealed, in that which is hidden, never to be revealed."

Shar is omnipresent, she is the darkness and she is everywhere. She is aware of every single person, object and action that takes place in the darkness.

Another deity, Ibrandul god of caverns, the Underdark and other dark places within the earth. She felt that this was encroaching on her turf, and she murdered him for the offense and took his portfolio and his worshippers during the Time of Troubles. Most of his followers were unaware of this, because Shar enjoys deception and simply presented herself to them as Ibrandul. She usually used them to attack Selûne's followers without drawing attention to her main church. (As of the Second Sundering Ibrandul is... probably alive again, but for all anyone knows it's still Shar pretending to be him)

Shar has two avatars:

The first is the Nightsinger: a 12ft tall woman wearing a mask made of the feathers of every type, trailing away into the cowl of her cloak. The cloak becomes increasingly intangible as it merges into the nearby darkness. She is constantly singing softly, even when she speaks, and her song feels hauntingly beautiful - and engenders a feelings of tragedy and grief. She can manifest supernatural darkness in her surroundings at will. Her song drains away memory and experience (in mechanics, she drains character levels and inflict the feeblemind spell). Listening to it may cause one to experience an unearthly chill (which inflicts cold damage) and can even cause listeners to drop dead on the spot. -

As the Dark Dancer Shar stands at 7ft tall, and appears as though the night sky has been moulded into the shape of a human woman. Her skin is jet black and glitters with stars. Her eyes are just as dark, and her gaze is both hypnotic and capable of enchanting those who meet it. If she kisses a mortal she places a magical compulsion on them - if they surrender to it they will become her loyal servant, and if they chose to resist the spell will kill them (this is an active choice for the victim - surrender or die). The spell can only be removed by rewriting reality with a wish spell so that it never happened, and the victim is fully prepared to die for Shar.

Shar's hair is prehensile, and moves at her bidding while ignoring the laws of physics (gravity and the wind are irrelevant). She hisses and speaks softly, never raising her voice, even in anger.

Her lesser manifestations involve tendrils of pitch darkness forming where they shouldn't be able to. They writhe, curl and swirl in constant movement, and a nimbus of glowing purple surrounds them. Sometimes one can see a glowing purple eye at the heart of the dark staring at them, but even when the eye isn't visible one can feel a presence within the darkness watching. In some stories, the darkness that blankets the world is described as Shar's hair falling over it. Presumably these are the individual strands. When a tendril touches one of her followers she can transmit her thoughts into their head - sometimes these are instructions or advice, and sometimes she reaches into their minds and numbs their ability to feel pain. She never heals their physical injuries, only allows them to ignore their suffering until they succeed or collapse/drop dead from the damage.

Her messengers take the form of these tentacles and other, more alien, shadow monsters.

Another fun manifestation Shar enjoys is severed human heads that fly through the darkness at night. They fly silently through the darkness, and Shar sees through their eyes, hears through their ears and occasionally speaks through them.

Shar hates all the other gods (especially her sister, and the sun god Lathander (and Amaunator before him)). She has tolerated an alliance with Myrkul, worked with Cyric to cause chaos, and Talona plays the sycophant to her in the hopes that Shar will help her kill Loviatar one day.

In response to the formation of Mystryl's Weave, during the early days of creation, Shar studied it for a while, eventually creating her own form of it - the Shadow Weave (called the Dark Lady's Weave by her followers). Where the Weave forms the tapestry of reality, the Shadow Weave fills the negative space of nonexistence between the gaps. To utilise her Weave "safely", one must be a follower of Shar or have their patron deity request her permission on their behalf. One deity she works with frequently in "lending" her Weave is the drow god Vhaeraun. One who attempts to use the Shadow Weave without her permission will lose part of themself - and it's already pretty good at having horrible side effects and destroying your sanity. It works well for spells that corrupt, destroy, drain life and smother the senses, but is less useful for effects that create.

Shar hopes to kill Mystra and supplant the original Weave so that she will be the only source of power for mages on Toril. Unlike Mystra, she places no restrictions on its use.

Shar and Selûne were twin halves of the primordial Two-Faced Goddess born shortly after the birth of the universe. There was no time or space, only a void containing themselves, the Overgod Ao, and shadowy beings known as the Shadevari.

Together they created the planetary bodies of the solar system, including the Earthmother, Chauntea.

When Chauntea begged for warmth to nurture life upon her, the Two-Faced goddess experienced conflicting desire for the first time. Selûne was willing to grant the Earthmother her wish, but for Shar, the very concept was a horrifying antithesis to her very being.

The argument between the two spawned the concepts (and gods) of destruction; such as war, disease and death/murder. Eventually, Selûne reached into the Elemental Plane of Fire and drew a portion of it into Realmspace, and fashioned it into the sun - a process that burned her.

Shar's rage doubled, and she began to snuff out every light she could find in the universe, causing Selûne to tear out a part of her own essence and fashion it into a weapon that she threw at Shar in defence of the new-born life of Realmspace. This portion of Selûne passed through Shar and formed itself into the Weave - the goddess Mystryl (who would one day be called Mystra). Mystryl sided with Selûne, and Shar was forced to concede bitter defeat now that she was utterly outnumbered, and swore revenge against all of them.

Shar retreated into the dark to recover, and found allies amongst the Shadevari, who also shared her resentment at having light and life brought into the previously dark and silent universe.

This battle has left Selûne permanently weakened, and her strength waxes and wanes much like the phases of the moon. The two sisters continue their argument - and Shar is boldest when her sister is at her weakest.

#As always with the long posts I hope this is coherent #Honestly I hear evil goddess with prehensile hair made of darkness and I remember Eris from that animated Sinbad film...#shar's relevant enough to give the game's main tag I think #shadowheart #dark justiciar shadowheart #bg3

105 notes · View notes

two-white-butterflies · 5 months

Text

parallel lines | d. targaryen | part three

Description: An ordinary middle school teacher moves to a desolate town with her fiancee. After suffering episodes of vivid nightmares, she realizes that his uncle looks exactly like the man in her dreams.

Pairings: daemon targaryen/reader, aemond targaryen/reader

Trope: Reincarnation

series masterlist |

<previous chapter

"The centre of every poem is this: I have loved you. I have had to deal with that." - Salma Deera.

(HARRENHALL'S CASTLE. 130AC.)

When Alys Rivers was born, there wasn't a word that could properly describe her power. She could coax rain out of clouds, and foresee a million different outcomes - you were the opposite. Yes, you were different than the men of these lands but your powers were scarce it couldn't even promise your own safety.

Alys Rivers was a real witch, more powerful than any mage that has walked this earth. She had the power to destroy everything, but she never lifted a finger against you. You figured that you'd be safe as long as she loved you - she was your sister after all.

The woman that you trail behind.

"I was worried about you - I thought that you'd follow after your husband. I couldn't let you die." she whispered, staring deep into the fire - taking leisurely sips of her wine. "I wanted to die, Alys." you glared at her - memories of last night flooding through your mind.

"You don't really believe that," she says with absolute certainty. What use was living without the man that you loved? "- rain came and we prepared barrels to catch water. Rain is gone and you move on." she turned her head towards you, hidden wisdom in her tone.

"What do you think your husband would've done? If you died last night, and he lived." she mused, already having an answer in mind. "Silence," you gritted your teeth - but it only provoked her.

"He would've married another maiden - perhaps Rhaenyra Targaryen? I've heard stories about his love for her." she antagonized, and you retreated into your bed. "You don't know him, Alys." you breathed, praying that death would come sooner than men.

"I know men like him. My beautiful sister - seduced by that-"

"If you have nothing good to say, you may leave." you placed the blanket over your body. Ignoring her discontent.

yourname_: yeah he's pretty cool, but he's not as cool as me 😎

liked by RhaeTargaryen and 283 others

>comments

aemond_hxghtower: 😨 my reaction to that information 😨

Aegspert: Short 🤣 - yourname_: Says the 5'10 asshole ? ?? ? ? ? ? ? - - Aegspert: @yourname_ it's 5'11*

(ST. JOSEPH THE WORKER'S SCHOOL IN DRAGONSTONE. JANUARY 6, 2023)

"Aemond please please please!" Joffrey pleaded while hanging onto his uncle's hoodie. "Please attend my birthday!" he requested showing the older man his 'puppy eyes'.

"He's not going to stop unless he gets what he wants." Harwin crosses his arms, smiling at the boy who was jumping up and down. Aemond wanted to roll his eyes, Joffrey keeps doing this because he knows that he'll get what he wants, once he does. "Your brother only turns five once," you agreed with his family.

His glare softens - he hated you in his past life, was only interested in you in this life because he enjoyed to torment you. But somehow, along the lines of being your boyfriend - and living with each other, he's found himself falling. He's grown to care for you.

"I don't know how we'll have fun, there'll be other kids there -"

"And there will also be adults." you responded and everyone stared at him for a reply. With a shaky breath, he relents.

"Of course we'll come. We have a lot of time." he smiled down at his nephew, mayhaps it was finally time to put his grievances aside.

Daemon's eyes narrowed hearing his phone ping. He never figured out how to put the thing on silent mode. "Take a left over there, much faster." he commented while pointing the right direction to the Uber Driver. "Apologies, it's my first time in this neighborhood." the driver chuckled and he hums. "There's always a first time for everything," he mumbled - staring at his phone.

yourname_ has requested to follow you.

He closes his eyes - should he accept it? Would you be turned off by the types of things he posted in Instagram? There were a couple selfies and charity foundation posts - the only people who followed him were his closest friends, family and students.

He presses the 'confirm' button.

yourname_ 10:28am i hope that you don't mind the follow request I couldn't find your facebook, I don't have an Iphone for imessage 😰

DaemonTargaryen.phd 10:29am I don't have a facebook. Rhaenyra's kids set up this account ,,, something about me being a luddite 🤣

yourname_ 10:29am ohh i totally get those kids life is lonely without socmed i wanted to thank you for paying for dinner last night rhaenyra returned my share

DaemonTargaryen.phd 10:30am It's nothing, I typically pay for the team dinners. It's not part of the bonus or anything Just my way of saying thanks 👍🏻

yourname_ 10:30am well...thank you anyways !

The driver stops his car in front of Rhaenyra's Bali-Themed Mansion. "We're here," he announces and Daemon silently gives his thanks, exiting the car before another round of conversation was started.

(STRONG-TARGARYEN RESIDENCE'S KITCHEN)

Rhaenyra's Bali-Themed Mansion slowly turned into a forest - there were beautiful balloons scattered around the doors, it looked exactly out of a fairytale. "Rhaenyra's husband, Harwin, owns this restaurant chain in the USA. I had no faith in him - but gods did he pull it off." Aemond mumbled, leading you towards the kitchen.

As expected with rich people - their kitchen wasn't exactly the main kitchen. It was a kitchen for decoration purposes, everything looked beautiful in this house. "When you told me that you had a trust fund, I didn't expect that you'd be this -" you stuttered, eyes gazing around the wonderful interior. "Oh no, this is all Harwin." Aemond lied.

He couldn't have you thinking that he could've provided you a better life. There were things that couldn't be bought by money - his happiness was one of those things. "Rhaenyra's husband is cool, he's the kind of person I want to be when I grow up." you whispered and he replied with a small chuckle.

Some things never change.

"Maybe you'll finally start to read that cookbook that my mum bought you?" he teased, hand trailing towards the small of your back. "Or you can cook, and I can keep eating." you responded, he pulls your body closer. "Whatever you say, boss." he agreed.

A man clears his throat from behind the both of you.

"No sex on the countertops, I can't believe that we're having this talk again." Criston Cole rolls his eyes playfully, Aemond smiles. "Criston, it's been a while." he welcomed his father-figure with a warm embrace. Rhaenyra's house used to belong to their father, when Viserys died and Alicent married Criston - they briefly lived in this house. "Too much of a while," the man pats his back.

"Is this her?" he pointed in your direction. "In the flesh," you responded - hugging him tightly.

You've never met the man in person - but via video-call and Aemond's stories, he was a vital figure in his childhood. "You are taller in person." he complimented and you giggled. That was the first time someone called you taller. "You know, the last time I saw Aemond - he was boning his ex-girlfriend on these countertops." Criston chuckled with cadence and Aemond rolled his eyes.

"I do not want to talk about that witch again," Aemond shook his head, his hands finding its place back on your waist. "If you say so," Criston poured himself a glass of seltzer.

"I didn't expect you to be here, I thought that you were teaching that dojo in Manila?" you tilted your head and the man nods. "It's not everyday that Joffrey celebrates his birthday, plus, I thought I'd come to visit -" he winked at Aemond. "It's nice to haunt your mother once in a while." he joked.

"I still can't understand why you agreed on a divorce. You loved her - she adored you. You know how conditional mum's love is." Aemond turned serious for a second. His grip on your waist tightened. "You know what. You should catch up with Helaena, I have to talk to Criston." your boyfriend whispered and you nod.

There were some aspects of his life that didn't require an explaination.

(STRONG-TARGARYEN RESIDENCE'S FOYER)

You saw him again.

Daemon Targaryen - his name brought shivers down your spine. You stalked him a few hours ago - and to your surprise he was on that same train-ride in Italy. It is certainly a small world.

"Oh hey," he greeted with a smile. He held a large gift with both of his hands. "Where do you put this?" he inquired, searching the foyer for a table. "I-I don't know, I didn't bring a gift." you breathed, suddenly conscious of your simple mistake. "Oh no, it's okay - I'm the uncle that brings big gifts. It's my family title," he chuckled, verbally thanking the maid that came to retrieve his gift.

"I normally bring gifts to birthday parties but we were here on short notice," you smiled - leading him towards the living room.

Why did he make you feel electrified?

You stared deep into his eyes, unaware of the jazz music that began to play in the background.

'All roads lead to you, even the ones I took to forget you' - Mahmoud Darwish

"I don't recommend bringing these kids gifts. I detest spoiled brats - these kids are far from it but they have everything. Bring them to a park or buy them ice cream, they'll like it more." he advised.

Your eyebrows merged into each other.

"In that case, what did you buy them?" you inquired, and he smiled. "30 kilos of kinetic sand ... they requested it." his voice brought shivers down your spine. There was something alluring about his voice, he spoke like a great commander - he knows what to say. He tells you what you should do.

Who was this ethereal wisp of a man? Why did he bring so much emotions?

(STRONG-TARGARYEN RESIDENCE'S LIVING ROOM)

A small giggle escaped your mouth.

"What do you think? Should people think with their hearts or their brains?" Rhaenyra inquired, piquing everyone's interest with her simple question. "Everyone should always think with their hearts," Rhaenys begins and Corlys rolls his eyes. "The words of a tender hearted woman." he teased earning a glare from his wife.

He presses a kiss to her hand. "I'm kidding, my love." he whispered.

"I mean as women - we think with our hearts first, then our brains - after that we make a logical decision." Rhaenys adds and Laenor shakes his head. "That would mean that you think with your brain, mother." Laenor argued and Rhaenys shook her head.

"My brain only made a decision between what my heart believed." Rhaenys raised her finger. "I think we should think with our brains. The question itself is the answer. Should people think with their hearts or their brains? What do we use to think? Our brains - is it not?" Daemon questioned the question.

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes.

"You know what I mean, uncle."

"What about you, (Your Name). What do you think?" Corlys turned his head and all of their attention crashed towards you. "Shouldn't you give an opinion first, sir?" you smiled, pouring yourself a glass of soda. "Oh, I don't think I'll have much of an opinion. I agree with whatever my wife thinks about." Corlys chuckles.

"Well - our hypothalamus is the part of the brain that deals with love. When we say 'I love you with all of my heart' we don't actually mean that. What we mean is - I love you with all of the neurons in my hypothalamus. So - we do think with our brains. Daemon is right." you smiled and he patted your back.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the verdict has been handed." Daemon teased the others and the table erupts into laughter. "Nerd," Rhaenys rolls her eyes before you both erupt into laughter.

(STRONG-TARGARYEN RESIDENCE'S KITCHEN)

"On the screen, she looked like Alys. I thought that you found her again, but I know that girl - the comeliest woman in Harrenhal. All the knights used to travel all the way there - just to see her." Criston chuckled, reminiscing the past that he had.

He was much more handsome then, he had muscles, his body was toned - but now he was suffering hypertension and all other human deceases that didn't exist in the past.

"She's still very beautiful."

"I thought that if she and her sister would be reincarnated into this world again - they'd be models or something. Whatever did happen to Alys? I thought you loved her?" Criston inquired, Aemond's heart breaks a little. He's spent 25 years trying to forget Alys Rivers. He tried to forget those cold hands that have ensnared him.

In night, he sees her face in his dreams - eyes with kohl and plum red lips. He misses the woman that he used to love. All that he's loved in Alys, he tries to find inside of you - though your faces were similar, your personalities were as different as sun and moon.

He's grown to love you, yes.

You can never find the same person twice, yes.

But if he were to meet Alys - and she was suddenly different in this life. He'd still love her. He'd still love the different ways he'd fall in love with her. His Green Witch.

"or did you not love her?" Criston's eyes narrowed.

"I did - I do." he corrected himself.

"- but she won't come back. She told me that she'll never have a new body again." he shrugged, walking away from the kitchen - pretending that he wasn't affected at all.

next chapter>>

105 notes · View notes

darthlordcommie · 2 months

Text

Batman's Relationships with the "Batfam"

Alfred: Technically Alfred is his father-figure, but because Alfred actively chose to remain being Bruce's butler, and repressed his own issues, that just kneecapped Bruce's ability to heal, and enabled his worst impulses. Yes, they love each other, dearly. No, they will not communicate this unless they are on the brink of death.

Dick: I know, there's this whole thing with "eldest son". But first, Bruce was only in his early 20s when he took in Dick. And second, Bruce would have been actively avoiding trying to replace Dick's father, similar to Alfred. Their relationship is of close friends, and it isn't until they're both adults, well over a decade later, that either would even consider using familial terms to acknowledge each other. But that friendship is always the first level of their connection.

Barbara: There was hero worship that quickly died once Barbara got to see more of what Bruce is actually like. But there's still mutual respect and friendship, and Barbara is one of the few people Bruce actively listens to the input of.

Jason: Jason was the second Robin, but he was the first child who could accurately be called Bruce's son. When he meets Jason, Bruce is in a more balanced place in his life, he's on the path of healing, and he's willing to take in Jason not because he recognizes someone who's suffered the same way he has, like with Dick, but because he can help him. There's outright familial affection between Bruce and Jason, in ways we don't see with almost any other Batfam character. And then Jason dies, and Bruce's heart is shattered. Every single relationship Bruce has going forward is informed more by Jason's death than his parents'.

Tim: Tim and Bruce are a student and teacher. In many ways, Tim is Bruce's favorite student, but they aren't seeking family in each other, but that doesn't make their relationship any less deep or important to each other.

Cass: While a lot of comics tend to ignore or forget that Bruce outright adopted Cassandra to prove she would always have a home and family, the greatest truth is that Cass is Bruce's successor. Of all the batfam, she is the one who actively says she wants to take Bruce's place one day, and she believes in the cause of Batman stronger than anyone else. She was given a choice between cruelty and compassion, and like Bruce before her, she chose compassion. She's growing and improving, learning both from her own mistakes and from Bruce's, and ultimately, will be a greater hero than Batman before her.

Stephanie: A Mess. Not familial, but definitely a mess. Mostly because Steph's a victim of Batman writing at the time, and it never really got addressed to offer any improvement to her relationship with Bruce.

Damien: Damien is Bruce's son, but their relationship is fraught to say the least. Between being raised by the League, then Bruce being "dead" and Damien being raised/guided by Dick for a good amount of time, there's a lot of love there, but Damien is a victim of Bruce's decades of emotional repression and trauma in ways none of the other Batfam are, and both struggle to communicate, despite trying their best.

Duke, Luke, and Harper: All of these are colleagues at various levels of connection to Bruce. Duke is a younger vigilante just starting out, and Bruce is a grizzled veteran taking him under his wing, but not outright mentoring him the way he did the Robins. There's respect and teaching there, but not in the same way.

Kate Kane: They're cousins. They argue a lot.

#batman #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #dick grayson #jason todd #timothy drake #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #damien wayne #duke thomas #luke fox #harper row #barbara gordon #katherine kane

67 notes · View notes

factual-fantasy · 4 months

Text

26 ASKSKSS💖✨💖✨💖

@lathan-chillyfilm

The other Power-ups work differently to the Fire/Ice flowers..

Any power-ups that transform the bros bodies usually expend energy by just keeping them transformed. And even if the bros don't actively use that power, it'll eventually just drain itself away.

For example, the super shroom. Making Mario grow big and keeping him big consumes power. If he ate a super shroom and just stood there, eventually he would shrink back to normal. Running around. jumping, punching, that activity would make it drain faster though.

Same goes for the Super bell, mini mushroom, mega mushroom, super leaf, double cherry,,, etc. Just keeping the bros transformed consumes power. The fire/ice flowers don't transform the bros though. Mario and Luigi's bodies stay the same, they just become outlets to expel the flowers power. And if they don't use it.. well.. its gonna stay stored up in their bodies. And eventually freeze/burn them to death..

The only odd case when it comes to Power-ups is the 1-Up mushroom. It stores itself in the host's body, and doesn't effect the host or release its power unless it needs too. Mario could touch a 1-Up, and then 15 years later he dies and that's when the 1-Up will release its power. All though those 15 years Mario would have had 0 side effects from having it in his body. Its as if it didn't exist at all..

Its always possible I'll return to them! :00 As we've seen XDD

Hmm,, I haven't really thought too much about them other than the stuff I already talked about in the OG post..

But I was thinking that the imp species could have all these wacky and bizarre shapes at the end of their tails that dont really make sense..? Jevil's tail being this odd T/Y shape is actually rather bland/common. But other than that,, I cant really think of any other developments to their species <:/ Sorry! Thank you for taking interest though! :DD

@mason-gaylord

:DD thank you! I wish the same for you! :]]]

Oh man.. scary is what it looks like.

I can see them all just living on the octopod. Traveling around the ocean in hopes of finding livable waters. All grieving over the loss of their families.. I cant imagine the pain they'd suffer, the hardships they'd face.. and what they'd have to do to survive..

@kaiserdarken

Freddy is his best fweind <:'}

@the-cactus-taco

I have not played it actually.. is it any good? :0 Those Mallow and Geno characters sound neat! :)

(Also there was an OG one??)

Oof, my Gravity Falls era? What an unfortunate time to find me-

None the less I'm happy you stuck around! :DD It means the world to me, thank you so much!! 💖💖

XD I REALLY AM EVERYWHERE-

@rubydraft

WAAAAHHDGGB THANK YOU MUCHCH!!!!! 💖💖😭✨💖😭💖💖

Thank you so much! I'm flattered to hear it! :DD

Grillby did.. :(

@tallchest13-blog

DUUUUDE I HAVE A BIG SWORD TOO!! WE COULD BE BIG SWORD BUDDIES!! >>:0000✨⚔✨

:DD Well thank YOU for leaving me a kind comment! Very much appreciated! :}} 💖

If any of the three Octodads were to experience a hallucination, it would probably be either Natquik or Calico Jack. But since I'm going through a re-write of Natquik's backstory and I don't actually know how traumatizing his re-write will be... I'm gonna say that Calico Jack is most likely to have one.

Although I'm not sure what would cause it.. mayyybe an encounter with a creature in the everglades could remind him of a traumatizing experience he had..? And that panic could result in hallucinations? I actually know very little about how hallucinations work so its hard to say what would exactly trigger one to occur.. <:(

I have plans for them to encounter a lot of Kwazii's monsters in someway. :0

Wow, only my second? Man. I feel like I've done more style updates/redesigns than that. <XD I guess its only two-

(Also I'm glad you like them! :DD Thank you! )

@tanileaf

XD I'm glad you like them and the Queen! Thank you so much! :}}

@pinkbomb08

Well thank YOU for sticking around and sending me a nice message! Merry Christmas and a happy new year to you as well! :}}}

@kautar-21

MERRY LATE CHRISTMAS! :DDD Thank you so much! :}}

Also sorry, I don't take requests! But you just reminded me that I should probably go buy that book-

@flutehammer

Oooo that's interesting :0 I imagine that Barnacles would look like one of the Freddy's. As for the others I'm not sure! :o I know there was a FNAF fan game that had a cat and penguin animatronic though. Five nights at candy's was it.?

(Also thank you! Same to you! :D )

I don't know if its necessarily pain..? More like.. a panic attack maybe?

When they're separated, their systems are flooded with commands to seek out the other. And if they cant find th.em or reach them? Well.. those commands will get overwhelming.

But that doesn't mean that you cant do maintenance on them. My idea was that there's a simple procedure where you take both of them to parts and service, put one aside and put one on the work bench.. and then shut them both down at the same time. Then when the work is done, reactivate both of them and return them to their room. Easy!

As for why they designed them like this? The main idea I had was that having this A.I. meant that they would naturally follow each other around in a way that seemed natural. Fazbear entertainment really wanted their animatronics to seem life like, but they also don't want Fred and Spring to ever separate. They want them to always be in the same room for photo shoots and meet and greets.

This A.I. means that if Spring is talking to a guest and a kid tried to lead Fred by the hand to another room.. Fred would stop at the doorway and redirect himself and the kid back into the room. "Lets play here instead!" "My friends Spring Bonnie is here, lets play here instead!" Meanwhile Springs conversation remains uninterrupted. This in turn makes them seem more life like and also prevents them from seperating.

Its not very strong reasoning but its all I've got to be honest <XDD

Also as for Spring loosing Fred..? It would be impossible for him to function without Fred. If they scrapped one, they'd have to scrap the other..

Oh! No no, not Horrortale Papyrus. This Papyrus is one I made myself! :00

Do you mean help wanted 2? :0 If so I'm not sure yet.. I'm watching Markiplier's playthrough and he hasn't finished the game yet..

Also Sun is still the same old Sun as far as I've seen.. He's not my favorite animatronic personality wise.. <XD But I guess he's alright

@hexyz09

XD tbh with how insane the FNAF lore is getting now? I wouldn't be fazed if they came out with a storyline about falling into a different world through a closet-

@beryl-shade

I've made a couple doodles/drawings of Caine and he doesn't have the wind up hat thing.. But now that you mention it, that kind'a sound like this gals version of Caine :00

#my response #fnaf security breach #super mario bros #undertale #deltarune #seam and jevil #seam deltarune #jevil #octonauts #octodads

96 notes · View notes

topguncortez · 7 months

Note

This may be controversial but I have to speak my mind.

I don’t understand how we as a fandom decided that Jake was more likely the womanizer and f-boy. Bradley was the one who literally sauntered into the Hard Deck wearing a Hawaiian shirt (because he HAD to be different) and aviators (INDOORS) and then proceeded to unplug the juke box and play piano to work the crowd. Jake was just chilling playing pool with his best friend while wearing his cute little uniform.

And YEA Jake teased the other aviators as they came in, but it seemed to be more good natured ribbing than any true intended insults. ROOSTER was the one who took it too far and told Jake that he was gonna get someone killed. You can see the moment Jake’s face switches from light hearted to a defensive mask. :(

If there is a fuck boy in this situation, you can’t tell me it wouldn’t be rooster. He would LIVE off of the attention of women and would use the piano to take home a different girl every night. He probably has issues letting people in because of the loss of his parents and mav, I feel like he wouldn’t be the relationship type unless he finally decided to unpack all of that in therapy (*which is a wonderful thing and I think everyone should go)

no because it’s not controversial. i 100% agree with you anon.

Bradley for sure suffers from only child syndrome and gold-star child syndrome. he’s kinda used to being able to walk into a place and all attention is on him. he’s been able to get away with a lot pulling the “my dad died while in the navy” card (can very much see mav telling him to suck it up. he’s not the only kid who’s lost a parent). i also believe that bradley has a hard time sticking in relationships long term. i think he’s very much a one night maybe a couple nights type of guy.

Jake on the other hand, i think he has some very strong southern values installed in him. Not saying this man is a saint or he hasn’t had his nights where he takes a girl home and returns her calls the next day. But i do think Jake is more of the settle down type of guy. i also think he’s got a lot of respect for all women, not just his mom and sisters, but just women in general. (bradley pretty much just respects carole and phoenix)

now, i’m glad you brought up Bradley’s comment to Jake. Jake was just tryna do some good old fashioned teasing like we saw him do when Phoenix walked in and when Bob was finally noticed. However, it was Rooster who took it too far by mentioning leading someone into an early grave. and you could see everyone’s face change, not just Jake’s. Those words had a deeper meaning than just some rivalry smack talk and Rooster knew it. Now i think, because of that Jake bringing up Goose was warranted.

My fan theory has always been that Jake, Rooster and some girl were in a love triangle, something went wrong and the girl died. And Jake hasn’t ever really dealt with it, just kinda shelved it and moved on, but Rooster hasn’t ever forgotten.

#g mail #hangman #jake seresin #bradley bradshaw #rooster #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin

125 notes · View notes

borathae · 2 months

Text

“Being a sorcerer has always been Hoseok’s dream. So when a well-known and powerful sorceress sends out letters informing the young minds of the city of an upcoming position as her apprentice, Hoseok takes fate into his own hands and applies. The only problem is that learning the arts of magic is reserved for women. He is convinced however that hard work and effort can charm the sorceress’ heart and get him the position.”

Pairing: Magic Student!Hoseok x Magic Student!Reader

Genre: Fantasy!AU, Magic School!AU, s2f2potential lovers!AU, Romance

Warnings: lots of plot, 90% of this is written from Hoseok’s POV, Queendom!Tae being the bestest friend, they’re both so adorable, the students are mean to him at first :(, except for reader heheh she is a sweetheart <3, also idk if this is important but i got inspired by Elden Ring as far as some names are concerned istfg best game <3, this will have a second part where reader’s pov plays a bigger part and the romance is gonna be bigger as well <3, for now this story is very magic & Hobi’s journey to magic centered, but also some romantic tension is present as well hngngn, istfg i love this universe

Wordcount: 6.5k of 24.3k

✴ Part Two of Two ✴

Hoseok returns to the school with new energy. Spending the days with Taehyung truly helped him see the bright side of things again. He knows that he can do it. Hoseok is motivated to find his connection.

Two weeks however pass and Hoseok still fails to find his connection. His fellow students have already managed the second step each and proved their worth, while he still struggled to connect. The motivation of once has long died out again.

It is dinner time, but Hoseok is not in the eating hall.

“Have you seen Hoseok?” Ainar asks you and Ash.

“I haven’t.”

“I haven’t either.”

“Do you believe that he is alright? He looked very sad after class today.”

“I think it really saddens him that he cannot connect to the magic”, Ash says, “poor Hoseok, I truly wish for him to find it.”

“Yes, me too”, Ainar agrees.

“I am most certain that he will. He has to. With the test coming up”, you say.

“What do you think will happen to him if he cannot connect until then?”

Nobody dares to speak, eventhough all of you share the same thought. That if Hoseok fails, it could mean that he will have to pack his belongings and leave this school. A kind heart will only prove one worthy for that long before the missing skill catches up with one. Hoseok might have the kindness a great sorcerer should posses, but if he cannot access the magic, it means that he is simply that. A kind person. Nobody dares to speak these thoughts however because you truly wanted the best for him.

Ainar moved into your room after Becca had to leave. Ash voiced her deep regrets for her behaviour in the beginning and confessed that she was too scared to stand up to Becca in fear of being excluded. Hoseok forgave her and then offered her a piece of chocolate. Ever since then, your little group has been good friends. If you weren’t practicing or studying, you spend many hours laughing and talking in your shared sitting room. You think that Hoseok has the most wonderful laugh and the most thrilling stories to tell. His absence would truly be painful and none of you want his leave.

You agree to take dinner back to your bed chamber so Hoseok wouldn’t have to go to sleep hungry. Tomorrow will be a busy day as you will have potion class with sorceress Zenith and her lectures are always very draining. Hoseok needs to eat something unless he wants to faint.

He isn’t in the shared sitting room and so you knock on your bed chamber.

“Mhm.”

You open the door, Ash and Ainar follow.

“Hoseok? We brought you dinner.”

“I am not hungry.”

Hoseok lies in his bed with the blanket pulled over his head and his back turned to the door.

“You must eat. We have sorceress Zenith tomorrow. You will suffer if you don’t eat something.”

“I am not going to class tomorrow.”

“What? Why?”

“But you love potion class”, Ash says.

“You say it always brings you joy”, Ainar insists.

“I don’t want to.”

You pull the blanket off his head. He whips around and tries to grab for it.

“Don’t. Just leave me be”, he complains.

“We worry for you.”

“Don’t you want to try the food? It is very delicious tonight”, Ainar tries.

Hoseok eyes it, then his friends. They look so worried for him. He gives up with a sigh, sitting up in his bed. He accepts the bowl of fresh fish stew and the piece of white bread with it.

“May we sit down?”

Hoseok nods his head. You sit down on his bed next to him, paying him company like this.

“You will be able to do it”, Ash says.

“Today was just the first day of the week and you still have three moons to prepare for the test. I am very positive that you will manage until then.”

“And if I won’t? We all know what this will mean. That I will lose my spot at this school. What good is a magic student who cannot even connect to his magic?”

You exchange a look with the others. One Hoseok notices. He sags his shoulders in defeat.

“Perhaps I should already pack my belongings and leave, before I embarrass myself.”

“No, don’t speak like this. You will be able to do it. I just know you will”, you insist, reaching out to touch his arm before pulling back again. You have never touched him before. It would be strange to do so now.

Hoseok doesn’t notice it as he is too busy staring sad holes into the wall.

“Please, you must at least try”, Ash insists, “we do not wish to say goodbye to you.”

“Do you truly feel this way?” Hoseok asks.

You each nod your heads.

“Oh”, he lets out and lowers his head. His cheeks feel hot, his heart light in his chest, “I didn’t think that you would”, he confesses, “thank you. I must work hard, so we do not have to say goodbye to each other then.”

“Yes, exactly. If you want to, I can help you tomorrow after class”, you offer.

“Truly?”

You nod your head, “yes truly.”

“Then, I would love this.”

“It is decided then. Now eat your stew. I think that they used the freshest fish tonight. It tastes so wonderful.”

You and Hoseok meet up after late lunch. Ash and Ainar are outside with a few other girls, practicing for the exam. Some others are occupying the library.

“Where should we go? Our chamber?” Hoseok asks.

“No, I have a better idea”, you say and wave him with you, “follow me.”

Hoseok follows you in a quick step, greeting a few students as you pass them by. You also meet Sorceress Ciri on your path.

“Where are you off to?” she asks.

“The caves. We want to practice for the exam”, you tell her.

“Be careful. Especially you”, she addresses Hoseok with it.

“I, I will”, he stutters.

“Good. Some stones may very well only turn out to be stones. Dull, lightless failures.”

Hoseok blinks in shock.

“And some may outshine all others once they’ve reached the light”, you throw back angrily and tug at Hoseok’s sleeve, “come on Hoseok, we are already running late.”

Hoseok stumbles after you with his eyes glued to Sorceress Ciri for as long as possible. The sorceress curls her lips and clicks her tongue, turning her back to him before strutting off with her nose stuck high into the sky.

“Pay her words no mind. She is a bitter old hag.”

Hoseok gasps at your harsh words.

“Forgive me, I grew up with less classes in manners”, you say, “I won’t take back what I said, however.”

Hoseok lets a small smile wash over his lips, “it is alright.”

The caves can be reached through a sturdy door. It is very important not to imagine the caves like one might imagine a typical cave. Dark, wet, cold. The glintstone caves are none of these things. They dig deep and lower into the mountain, but no corner of it is dark. Magic deep in the crystal makes them glow, illuminating the paths and stairs this way. The air is quite comfortable on the skin and leaves no wet sensation behind, carrying magical scents one might describe as sweet while others might take them in as fresh. Tables and chairs are scattered on the bigger areas where students can sit and practice. They are currently empty. And purple clouds of magic dance in the air. A waterfall is rushing in the background, its waters can be used in healing potions.

You and Hoseok choose a table surrounded by glintstone and not far from the door.

“Let me”, Hoseok offers and fixes the chair for you.

“Thank you”, you say with a quick flutter in your heart, “what a surprise.”

“Oh? Oh, forgive me. Force of habit. I am so used to fixing chairs for Taehyung.”

“It is alright. I didn’t mind.”

Hoseok sits down opposite of you, looking around the cave.

“I still cannot believe that something like this truly exists.”

“Yes, me neither”, you agree, “now, are you ready to practice?”

He nods his head vividly.

“Take out your stone.”

Hoseok obeys.

“Show me your process.”

Hoseok obeys. Just like always, he fails to lift the stone.

“As you can see, I am as far as I was on the first day”, he jokes, lifting the corners of your lips into a smile.

“I am most certain that something happened inside you. Something that perhaps needs just a little bit of help?”

“Help?”

“Please do not judge me, but I did some reading”, you say and pull out a carefully written paper, “here. You can have these notes.”

“Truly?” Hoseok accepts them gladly.

“Yes. These are only my theories and I am but a mere beginner as well, so take them with caution. But I was thinking that perhaps your own magic is simply not strong enough to find its connection with you.”

“Not strong enough you say?”

“Yes. Watch me.”

Hoseok follows you with his eyes. You reach to your side and touch the glintstone, making it glow. It feels warm and comfortable and you take this feeling to transfer it into the stone to make it float. Hoseok’s stone floats soon after, the small table follows as well.

Hoseok gasps in awe.

“You see? Perhaps you have to channel the energies in these caves and your magic will be stronger”, you say, lowering the objects again. The glow dies down, as does the warmth in your fingertips, “strong enough so that it can finally find its connection.”

“That was remarkable.”

“Thank you. Try it yourself.”

“Forgive me?” Hoseok gasps with widened eyes, “how should I do such a thing?”

“Simply try. Perhaps you need a little help to connect with your magic. Perhaps you cannot produce enough energy yet and need a strengthening from these stones.”

“So you believe that with a stronger source, I could awaken my magic inside? Like feeding a dying fire more wood?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Perhaps this could work”, Hoseok says and stands up to touch the glintstone just like you did.

It makes soft sounds, soaking the pads of his fingers with coldness. He closes his eyes, focusing on the sensation.

“Try to visualise it”, you whisper.

Hoseok imagines glowing stones and warmth in his fingers. He imagines purple haze all around him and how it soaks his fibres. He imagines his practice stone floating and how much warmer his hands would get.

He imagines, but he fails to truly put it into reality. He opens his eyes. Coldness. No glow. He drops his hand from the stone and sinks down on his chair, burying his face in his hands.

“I tried so hard”, he gets out shakily.

“Try again.”

“No, just give it up. It won’t work.”

“But it has to”, you say and touch the stone. You make it glow, “look! I, I did it for you. Keep this glow alive”, you try.

“How?”

“Touch it and try to keep it alive.”

Hoseok obeys even if his eyes seem hopeless.

“I am counting to three and then you give it life. One, two, three.”

Bright light for but a breath, sudden flickering which weakens the glow more and more until the stone is dark again.

“You did it!”

“I didn’t do anything. I failed”, Hoseok insists and pulls his hands away.

“No, you did something. The stone flickered before it died out. You kept it alive for but a moment.”

“No, I didn’t. It was simply your magic leaving it.”

“No it wasn’t. You did that.”

“Give it up, ___. I am hopeless.”

“No, you are not.”

“Why do you want my success so badly? Why can’t you just let it go?”

“Because I like you”, you blurt out.

Hoseok closes his mouth, gawking at you with widened eyes. His pulse flutters for but a moment.

“And I want your dream to become reality. I want it so very much. Not only for you, but also for my brother. You cannot give up, Hoseok please. You could change the world and make it possible so that dreamers like my brother have a chance as well.”

“But I am just a boy”, Hoseok whispers,

“You are not just a boy. You are Hoseok, you are strong and resilient and a wonderful dreamer.”

“But how should I change the world?”

“By not giving up. By believing in yourself.”

Hoseok lowers his head shyly.

“And if you cannot believe in yourself right now, believe in me and my support for you.”

Hoseok meets your gaze. Honesty, hope, admiration. He can see it in your purple eyes. You speak the truth. You really believe in him.

“Thank you”, he breathes, looking at your lips for but a moment, “for saying this.”

“I meant it. I cannot say goodbye to you, so please do not give up already.”

He smiles shyly, “I won’t.”

You retort his smile, letting your eyes run over his face. He has a birthmark on his lip. You never noticed it until now. Your mother always tells you that birthmarks show up on a person’s body where they were kissed especially much in their past life.

Hoseok lets out a shy laugh, ripping you back to reality. You look away instantly, clearing your throat loudly.

“I uhm”, you begin.

He clears his throat and looks away, turns to touch the glintstone. His cheeks feel hot. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine how his hands warm up as well.

A tickle. At the very tips of his fingers. Hoseok gasps and pulls away instinctively.

“What is it? Did you feel something?”

“No. Yes. I mean, I cannot say. My fingertips tickled.”

“Try again. Oh, this could be it!”

Hoseok touches the stone with both hands and closes his eyes. A tickle. He has to imagine a tickle which becomes warmth.

Nothing happens. He pulls away, shaking his head sadly.

“Try again.”

“I don’t think that your theory works. I am truly sorry.”

“But it has to”, you say and take his hands so you could place them on the stone.

Hoseok gasps quietly, gawking at his hands engulfed in yours. The touch goes so deep. He quite frankly, finds it a little hard to breathe all of a sudden.

You make the stone glow, keeping his hands between yours and the glowing crystal.

“Feel it? How warm it becomes?” you try, squeezing his hands, “how it is tickling your palms?”

You look at his face. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes widened slightly. It is enough to make you realise the situation you currently find yourself in. You are touching him. You crossed the line.

“Forgive me”, you say, pulling away instantly.

Hoseok keeps his hands on the stone, looking at you just as you look at him. You both miss how the stone keeps glowing, just as Hoseok doesn’t take in how warm his hands have become. The eye contact takes all your attention.

“I shouldn’t have taken your hands. Please forgive me.”

Hoseok shakes his head, “there is nothing to forgive.”

He retreats his hands. The stone finally darkens. Neither of you take it in.

“I-”, you begin.

“Young students, why are you still here?”

You never get to finish your sentence as sorceress Zenith interrupts you before you can. You and Hoseok stand up to bow at her.

“Forgive us, sorceress Zenith. We practiced for our exam”, Hoseok says.

“Hard work is honourable, but do not forget your sleep. It is late, young students. You must prepare for the night and I cannot allow you to be here any longer”, she says and waves the big set of keys around she uses to lock the caves overnight.

“We are already leaving. Forgive us”, Hoseok says and hurries away with you by his side.

You wait until you cross a corner before breaking into giggles.

“I cannot believe that we got caught by sorceress Zenith”, you snicker.

“My heart is racing. Did you see how she looked at us?” Hoseok giggles.

“Oh, we are so doomed.”

“No, do not say that. I am already doomed enough”, he chuckles.

“Forgive me, oh forgive me”, you laugh, stumbling from laughing so hard that Hoseok has to hold your sleeve for support.

You stumble into your chamber still laughing about your run in with sorceress Zenith. Ainar and Ash are already in their room.

“Do you mind if I washed myself first?” you ask him.

“Not at all. I might go to the library either way. I must read up on the theory.”

“But what if sorceress Zenith will catch you again?” you tease, stepping closer to him in a playful way.

“Then I will tell her that it was your idea”, Hoseok throws back and gives your shoulder a little poke.

You snicker, moving closer. Hoseok grins, chasing you. Your faces are mere inches away from touching.

Realisation. Hearts flutter.

You break away instantly, looking everywhere but the other person.

“I uhm, I am in the library”, Hoseok stutters.

“I understand, uh, have fun”, you say and leave for the washing chamber.

Hoseok calls your name. You look over your shoulder.

“Yes?”

“I uhm”, he clears his throat, blushing slightly. He shakes his head and looks away coyishly, “forget it. I was rambling.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll be in the library”, Hoseok says and bows deeply, “thank you for helping me.”

“I uh”, you do not get to finish you sentence before he is already gone. What did he want to tell you?

Hoseok attempts to concentrate, but his mind is racing. Thoughts about you and the unexplainable flutters you awoke in him tonight, thoughts about the tickles in his fingertips but also worries about the test and his continuous failures.

The theory you told him sounded so perfect and yet he still failed to find his connection. The good thoughts of you drown out more and more, the longer Hoseok thinks about his failures.

He doesn’t quite know how many hours he spent pondering his dark future and trying to find help in books, but his tired body lets him know that it must have been a few.

The library is dead silent. Hoseok should really be in his chambers already. Not only because the school rules say so, but also because it is way too late to still be awake. But Hoseok couldn’t sleep if he tried. Five moons passed ever since the weekend and he still hasn’t found his connection to magic. Not even practicing in the caves helped him. He feels like a failure. Perhaps Sorceress Ciri was right. Perhaps he is destined to be dull, lightless stone.

“Hoseok?”

He looks at the person having whispered his name.

“Sorceress Selen?” he gasps, scrambling to his feet to bow at her.

“Please stay comfortable”, she tells him and sits down on the chair opposite of him, “what are you still doing up?”

“Please forgive me. I didn’t notice how late it already was. I will go to my chambers right away. I promise it won’t happen again.”

“Sit, Hoseok.”

He follows her orders with a racing heart. He is scared. Will this be the night he is finally told to leave? He fumbles with his fingers nervously, trying to look into the sorceress‘ purple eyes despite his hammering heart.

“You do not seem like yourself lately. Is there something troubling you?” she however asks him with motherly concern in her voice.

Hoseok looks at his lap instantly, feeling his eyes water. It has been too long since someone spoke to him with such maternal worry in their voice. He feels too fragile tonight not to have a reaction to it.

“There is something troubling you, isn’t there?” she gasps upon seeing the tears in his eyes.

He nods his head.

“Talk to me, my young student.”

“I am scared.”

“Scared?”

He nods his head, “scared to fail tomorrow’s test. I am such a failure. I feel unworthy of your teachings. I even fail to do something as simple as lifting a stone with my mind.”

“Do not give up hope yet, my young student.”

“It all feels hopeless”, Hoseok sniffles, “what if I was never meant to learn magic? What if my dream is truly foolish? What if boys are simply not meant to possess magic? Sorcerer Argon was proof enough. I am but a foolish boy with foolish ambitions”, Hoseok says and rubs at his eyes to stop himself from truly crying.

The sorceress Selen studies his sad stature, taking a deep breath. She fixes her dress and straightens up.

“I am going to tell you a story”, she begins.

Hoseok looks at her.

“A story of a powerful sorcerer and how he managed to write history.”

“A sorcerer? There was another sorcerer?” Hoseok gasps.

“Oh yes there was.”

“So it is truly possible for boys to learn magic without losing control?”

“Oh yes it is. There was one sorcerer, who traversed these lands many, many centuries ago and who till this day is spoken about.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. He was a powerful mage, who had incredible magic inside him. He always spoke of creating a spell so grande he will be able to leave this plain and travel to another universe.”

“This is impossible. Nobody could be that powerful. You said so yourself.”

“But he was.”

“No”, he gasps.

“Yes, yes indeed he was, dear Hoseok. Indeed he was. He worked decades on this one spell and he always spoke of leaving this universe and finding another where he will be able to create his own school of magic.”

“For boys and girls?”

“Yes indeed. For boys and girls. He spoke of it in many of his writings. And so he worked on the spell until one day he was gone. His servant had gone to the market for fresh eggs and when he returned, the mage’s office was completely cleaned out. Except for one small letter.”

“What did it say?”

“Dear Bartemo. That was his servant’s name. Dear Bartemo, if you read this letter and I am nowhere to be found, it seems that my spell was finally successful. I took my research with me. However, the estate and all its belongings are yours from this day forward. I am off to teach many young children the arts of magic. With kindest regards, Nilrem.”

“Nilrem”, Hoseok repeats, “I have read this name in scriptures long ago. I never believed this name to be important. Was he ever found? Did he return? What about his research? Is it truly lost?”

“Oh yes, sadly he took it with him. He was never seen in this realm again and Bartemo lived to eighty years of age before a fever took him. He never saw his master again, but he always spoke highly of him.”

“This is truly such a wonderful story. I thank you for telling me. Nilrem. I will remember the name and see it as motivation to grow as a sorcerer”, Hoseok lets out an excited giggle, scrunching his nose, “do you believe that he was successful? That he managed to teach magic to younglings?”

“I like to believe that he was. It is truly a shame that in this realm, it is still so frowned upon for boys to learn magic, so I truly hope that in at least another universe, Nilrem managed to make the world a fairer place.”

“Yes, yes this sounds good”, Hoseok says and nods his head, “oh, I am spilling over with sudden motivation. I need to practice my spells, yes I must. Please if you would excuse me”, he says and jumps up to hurry away.

The sorceress Selen watches him with fond eyes until the library door closes behind him. He is a student she finds herself very fond of already.

“___!” Hoseok calls your name, stumbling through the door.

You lift your head from your pillow, studying his face with sleepy eyes. He looks out of breath.

“Yes?” you croak with your voice heavy from sleep.

“Sorcerer existed in these lands!”

“What do you mean?”

Hoseok jumps onto your bed and touches your arm in excitement, shaking you in your comfortable blanket cocoon. You whine quietly, feeling oh so dizzy.

“I spoke with sorceress Selen in the library and she told me a story of a powerful sorcerer, who wandered these lands thousands of years ago. His name was Nilrem and he was so powerful that he could traverse universes.”

“Universes?” you murmur and yawn loudly, “what do you mean universes?”

“Yes, universes! He went to another universe and was never seen again. Oh ___, boys can learn magic”, Hoseok drops his head into your blanket, hugging you this way, “and they can be powerful without losing control. I can learn magic as well, it is possible.”

You tense up in shock, feeling your heart speed up in your chest. He feels very warm and comfortably heavy on your chest. Oh by Frenya, you wear but a thin sleeping gown and his head is dangerously close to your bosom. Thankfully for your own sanity of heart, Hoseok sits up again. He is too overtaken in excitement to truly realise what he has done and what he did to your poor heart in the process.

“I can learn magic as well, ___”, he says and laughs so brightly his lips form the prettiest of hearts.

“So this means that sorceress Ciri lied today”, you say.

“Yes it was a lie”, Hoseok says and sighs in relief, “I am not a failure.”

“Of course you aren’t”, you say and sit up, covering yourself with the blanket, “I always believed in you. She was very rude and wrong for talking to you like this.”

“I thank you for saying this”, Hoseok gives your upper arm a gentle rub, “I am very happy to have you as my chamber mate.”

“Oh”, you feel your cheeks heat up, lowering your eyes shyly, “I am happy as well”, you whisper.

“Now, you must excuse me. I am in the garden, practicing until I can finally lift a stone”, Hoseok says and jumps out of your bed. He slips into his shoes and gives you a smiley wave goodbye before finally disappearing out of the room.

You touch the spot on your upper arm he rubbed, then the spot on your chest his head rested upon, taking a deep breath to calm down the flutter of your heart.

He is already doing magic. Deep, deep in your chest where you pulse just doesn’t want to slow down.

Hoseok isn’t in his bed when you wake early the next morning. You leave your sleeping chambers. The door to Ainar’s and Ash’s chamber is still closed and right there on the soft seating, Hoseok is sleeping with his mouth wide open. Half of his limbs hang from the edge off the seat, his long hair does as well. His practice glintstone sits on the table. The notes you made for him lie beside it.

For but a second you let him sleep peacefully, letting your eyes wander over him. His body is still dressed in the white clothing of yesterday, his shoes are scattered by the entrance. Your eyes linger but a second on his exposed neck and how the morning sun paints streaks of golden light on his skin.

You had a difficult time falling asleep last night as your mind kept you awake with thoughts of what happened between you and him. Barely anything did if one compares it to truly big happenings, but it meant a lot to you. You touched his hands, you shared playful banter in front of the bathing chamber with him, he hugged you. You never experienced something like this before and you couldn’t quite place the feelings it awakes in your chest.

You lift your eyes upon hearing Ash open her door. She and Ainar leave their room.

“Oh? What happened to him?”

“Practice. I think he practiced all night.”

Hoseok, who wakes up from your voices, sits up. He groans loudly, touching his neck instantly.

“By Frenya, my neck”, he whines, massaging in vividly, “huh?!” he suddenly straightens up, “what time is it? Oh, the test!” he blurts out and jumps up to run out of the room.

“We still have two hours left”, you stop him before he can.

“Oh”, he stops, “really?”

“Yes, enough time for you to wash up. You look rather battered.”

“I feel battered. My neck is going to kill me”, he says and rolls it, groaning as he does.

“Did you sleep here all night?” Ainar asks.

“No. I fell asleep with the sun rising.”

“But it has only been light for an hour.”

“I know”, Hoseok says and yawns.

“Why did you stay up this long? How should you concentrate today?”

“I will make it work”, Hoseok says, furrowing his brows in conviction. He lets his eyes drift to yours, “I have a dream to fulfil.”

A smile graces your face for but a moment, before you feel too shy to keep the eye contact going. Hoseok looks to the side.

“Now if you don’t mind, I would like to wash the day away.”

“Go ahead. I already bathed last night”, Ash assures him, “Ainar and I will be in the eating hall.”

“May I accompany you?” you ask them.

“Of course.”

You leave Hoseok alone in your shared room. He picks up his practice stone and walks to his room to get new clothing so he could get dressed in the bathing chamber.

He meets you and the others in class. Like so very often, you bring breakfast because you knew that he would skip it for the sake of practicing just a little more. He eats it seated by his desk and with his nervous eyes glued to his practice stone. The swell of his eye sacs and the redness of his eyes haven’t gone down yet. He is so visibly tired in fact, that sorceress Selen asks if he was feeling alright once she enters the classroom. Sorceress Ciri is with her as well.

“I simply practiced all night”, he tells her.

“Sleep is important, my young student”, she tells him.

“I know, sorceress Selen. I will get it today.”

She nods in approval, then claps into her hands.

“Very well then, shall we get started with the tests? I am most certain that you all want to get it over with as quickly as possible. Who wants to start?”

Some students lift their hands and so the testing begins.

The test consists of two parts. One based on knowledge and the other on action. Sorceress Ciri asks each student two questions about the history of magic and then sorceress Selen asks two more questions about glintstone magic. The practical part comes last where the students have to lift their practice stone and guide it to a mug on the teacher’s desk where they will have to lower it into the mug carefully.

The other students are asked to be quiet during the testing. Some busy themselves by drawing in their books, while others read up on their notes and others listen to the testing. There are also people like Hoseok and Ash, who use the time to practice. Ash manages to lift her stone, moving it around with swirls of her finger. Soon it is her turn and then it will be your turn and then it will be his turn.

Hoseok gulps nervously and tries to concentrate on practicing. He didn’t manage to lift the stone during his nightly session. He will have to make it work or else he will fail. He knows what he needs to know, he could have answered each question the sorceresses asked his fellow students, but fails at the most crucial part. How will he be able to pass when he cannot put the knowledge into practice?

Ash returns to her seat, looking relieved. You stand up.

“Good luck”, Hoseok tells you, earning himself a sweet smile.

“Thank you.”

Hoseok listens to your testing. The questions are easy and you manage to answer them quickly and coherently. The practical part follows. You move the stone with ease, ending it by painting a circle with it before lowering it into the mug. It brings a chuckle to sorceress Selen’s lips.

“Good job, my young student”, she praises you, “please return to your seat.”

You hurry to it with a relieved grin on your lips. Ash and Ainar praise you instnaly.

“You did so well”, Hoseok says.

“Thank you”, you tell him.

“Hoseok, please come out”, sorceress Ciri tells him.

He takes a deep breath and stands up.

“Good luck. I believe in you”, you tell him.

“Good luck”, Ash says.

“You can do it”, Ainar encourages him.

Hoseok acknowledges them with a nervous smile. He can hear how much quieter the classroom became. Which means a lot, because it was already quiet. Everyone is watching him. He is aware of it. This is it. The moment which will decide if he is worthy of being a sorcerer or not.

Hoseok sits down, sweating buckets from just his palms. At least it feels like it.

“When was the first magic school founded?” sorceress Ciri asks him.

Hoseok has to think for a moment. This wasn’t in the curriculum. He isn’t surprised that she asks him a question like this.

“It depends. If we take the writings of Sorceress Sorn into consideration, it is said that the first school of magic was founded as early as 218 of the second age by a group of dragon worshippers who discovered that glintstone can be harnessed for magic, but her writings are still seen as a rather incomplete source because of the great fires nine hundred years ago. So we use the Book of History written by sorceress Cicil in 1306 of the third age as the guide. In it, it says that the first school of magic was actually founded around two thousand years later than sorceress Sorn says in her writings and that the founders weren’t dragon worshippers, but scholars who studied glintstone for many centuries.”

Sorceress Ciri scrunches her nose in distaste. She didn’t think that he could answer this question. Hoseok lifts his head proudly.

“Very good”, she presses out, “where did the practice of Mending originate from?”

“The Glass Mountains in the school of sorceress Reah.”

“What even is Mending?”

“It is the magic of healing wounds by channelling the energies of the planets and using them to mend what was broken.”

“And why do we channel energies from the planets?”

“Because they are the strongest and purest form to channel. Nothing earthen has touched these energies yet and therefore soiled them. So they can be used to safely close wounds or mend broken bones.”

“And-”

“Thank you, sorceress Ciri”, sorceress Selen interrupts her, “I believe that Hoseok has already answered enough of your questions.”

The sorceress scrunches his nose in distaste.

“Fine”, she says and looks away with an annoyed gleam in her eyes.

Hoseok sends her a victorious look then shifts his eyes to sorceress Selen.

“Now Hoseok. Given how sorceress Ciri has already asked questions about glintstone magic, I believe that it is time for you to show what you have learned.”

Hoseok gulps. Truly, for just a second his heart stopped. He looks at the stone in front of him. This is it. The moment which determines if he is worthy.

“Take your time.”

Hoseok lifts his hands and visualises how the stone floats.

Nothing.

His heart races faster.

He tries harder.

Nothing.

Whispers begin in the classroom.

Hoseok lowers his hands. This is fruitless.

“Silence”, sorceress Selen warns, then speaks to Hoseok in a motherly tone, “try again. I believe in you.”

Hoseok lifts his hands again. He closes his eyes and visualises the stone. He thinks of his dream. Of how he told Taehyung that one day he will move the stars and make flowers grow from his fingers. Of how he promised his mother that one day he will be able to grow her a garden in the cold weathers of the Snow Isles. Of how he stayed up many nights to think about his life as a sorcerer. He thinks of sorceress Ciri and all the other people who so clearly see no future in him, but he also thinks of sorceress Selen and Taehyung and the princess and his chamber mates and how they all believe in him. He thinks of you and your little brother, then imagines all the other young boys who dream a dream which seemed so unreachable to them.

He thinks about how he was once one of these boys until he managed to get a spot at a magical school and how he could be the boy who changes the future for many other dreamers.

He opens his eyes, meeting ecstatic happiness in Sorceress Selen’s eyes and surprised pride in sorceress Ciri’s eyes. He looks at his hands.

The stone is floating.

“Oh! Ah!” he exclaims and almost drops it again.

“Concentration”, sorceress Selen says.

“I-I’m doing it!” he stutters with glassy eyes, “the stone is floating!”

“How wonderful, Hoseok. Now move it.”

“I am! I am moving it! Watch me!” he exclaims and makes the stone move with swirls of his fingers. And as he moves the stone with just his mind, purple soaks the white strands of his hair until even the last inch of his long locks are painted in it.

He drops the stone in the mug, jumping up with a loud yelp of excitement.

“I did it!” he turns to the class, “I moved the stone!”

His fellow students jump up in joy, cheering with him because all they wanted was his success. They run to him, circling him with some even patting his arms in congratulatory happiness.

You are with them as well, crying tears of happiness.

“You did it”, you tell him.

“I did it.”

“And your hair. Look at your hair!”

“My hair?” Hoseok tugs it into his vision, “my hair?! It is purple?!”

“The magic has deemed you worthy”, sorceress Selen says with pearls of tears in the corner of her eyes as well. She truly rooted for her dear student.

„Very impressive, young student“, sorceress Ciri says with an respectful bow of her head.

Hoseok smiles in gratitude, before looking at you and the others.

“Hoseok! You are worthy!” you exclaim and take his hands to squeeze them excitedly, “I told you. I knew that you could do it!” “Worthy? I am worthy”, Hoseok presses out and spills tears as realisation finally sets in, “I am worthy to be a sorcerer. I did it. I am worthy.”

43 notes · View notes