Oh god, I'm doing the writing thing

Siffrin || she / they || 27 yo I'm here and I'm tired Sporadic brainrot spawned by w/e I'm interested at the moment

[inkhornism]

I sometimes write which is scattered everywhere. Currently here mostly to write random snippets and see what sticks

Main || Art || Writing ( you're here ) || Masterpost of writing

Disclaimer: while rare, I do write NSFW. Due to Tumblr's funky system, it'll be tagged as spicy content // should you wish to blacklist it

[inkhornism]

FLINS' GENTLEMANLY CONSIDERATION IS APPRECIATED, TRULY, IT'S JUST. He's been teasing poor Illuga for so long, drawing invisible patterns on his skin, lightly nipping here and there and placing kisses just shy of particularly sensitive spots that he swears he's trying to drive him insane on purpose. Don't get him wrong, the attention is devastatingly nice and he feels so so very loved, but it also feels like he's about to burst at any moment if this keeps up any longer.

It takes him a moment to get his limbs to agree with his intentions and when they do, perspective shifts a lot faster than anticipated; hand pushes against a sturdy chest, fae all too willingly leaning back, falling on his back on the bed and dragging the other with him as well.

Illuga shudders once settled again, body stiff and eyes closed tightly. It's far too late to back down now, though, so all he can do is relax his body and let instinct take the lead. Or, at least, that's what he wants to do. He didn't intend to try to take control, but Flins has been torturing him for so long that he couldn't take it anymore. All that teasing and no thought to actually go through with it. 

❝ You are such a cruel person, Sir Fliiiiiinsssss... ❞ end of sentence pitched higher on the smallest of movements. Even still without opening his eyes, he can picture that pale visage, dusted golden eyes reflecting smugness and self-satisfaction.

Amusement dwindles into something softer, gloved hands coming to rub up and down exposed sides. ❝ No need to stress yourself out, Young Master. Take a deep breath in and then exhale it back out. ❞ all the while he continues to trace invisible lines that leave goosebumps in their wake. It does seem to help, though, as he watches his beloved nightingale bend gently, his own hands finding purchase on pristine skin. Slowly, carefully. Illuga rarely puts his wants and needs first, always choosing to help those in need rather than himself.

Another huff, eyes half-opened now; ❝ Truly such a cruel person... Setting me on fire and then continuing to toy with me endlessly, stocking the flame higher and higher while you yourself seem wholly unbothered. You must take so much joy in my suffering. ❞

At some point, Illuga started rocking his hips. Not quite yet in a rhythm, but enough to get some of the friction back, for rosiness to flush his entire face and the tips of his ears and shoulders once more. Vivid blues tinted red hide once more behind heavy eyelids, pink thin lips part to allow melodic sighs to drop from them akin to honey. Sweetly, intoxicating. They tremble once a certain bundle of nerves is so much as lightly brushed, teeth buried in them. Not enough to stop him, but rather further encourage him.

When he picks up speed is when he truly relaxes. No longer is he stiff and awkward, all too conscious of how ridiculously he must be acting in such a hot and bothered state. After all, isn't this all Flins' fault anyway? For getting him so worked up akin to a balloon inflated to its limit. Sooner or later, he was going to pop exactly like one too. The tears at the corners of his eyes have also gathered once more. He feels so so good, but also so so guilty. He's being selfish, he knows this. He also knows that this is something he wants for certain, wants his fleeting useless life to have a spark for once, wants to be one in another's just as badly. And maybe he won't be much more than a blip in an immortal's long life, but selfishly he's content knowing that he did exist in.

❝ I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...❞ though he's not sure what exactly he's apologizing for. Maybe for his selfish desires. Maybe for burdening the solitary Lightkeeper with so much without being asked. A particularly sharp thrust draws a breathless gasp out of him before he continues between heartbreaking sobs; ❝ I love you so much, Kyryll... ❞

From below, Flins can't do much other than watch as the young squad leader works on getting comfortable and then ramping it up; the way he refuses to leave crescent moons on his skin, the way he shifts ever so slightly with each move, the way he shudders and whines under his breath as if being any louder would make him lesser. It took a lot more teasing than he thought it would, but it was all worth it in the end. To see beloved nightingale drowning in pleasure, expression morphing into unrestrained delight is such a rare occurrence. Image that fae is going to burn into his memories for years ( centuries ) to come along with the trill that accompanies it.

❝ If anybody is cruel here, it has to be you, my dear Illuga. ❞ whisper punctuated by that same ghost of a smile always accompanying so much love and adoration held for his lover. Truly, Illuga is beyond cruel to make an ancient heart turned to stone beat so hard and fast again, to invite hope once more where only phantoms of the past linger anymore. His kindness will be the death of him before anything else can get to him, Flins thinks. Such a tragedy is underserved, but such is the fate of those who give and give and give without waiting for anything in return.

[inkhornism]

❝ I SHOULD HAVE EXPECTED SHENANIGANS WHEN THE WIND KEPT GIGGLING IN MY EARS ON THE WAY HERE. ❞ breath exhaled not as annoyance, but rather mere amusement. It's been a while since Dahlia's walked all the way to the Thousand Winds Temple, never mind climbed the steep steps and settled himself in such a spot just to have a perfect view of this lancer bullying the local robotic wildlife. And the eye of the storm that wandered into the arena and he just casually shot out of the sky with his spear. It dawned on him on the way here that Venti purposefully sent him to deal with... this guy.

At hearing he's got an audience now, Lohen's head immediately snaps up. Squinting, he takes notice of the figure now sauntering downwards, greeting it with an exaggerated bow. ❝ Oh? Should I have known you'd come to watch, I would have waited so you'd see more than just the end. Well, regardless of that, what do I owe this visit to? ❞

Now face to face, having observed the ease of movement and the peculiar noises the other's weapon made upon coming to rest at his side, Dahlia can understand why his dearest friend ushered him out the gate so hurriedly. The Vice Captain could truly use his help! It wouldn't do to abandon one of the wind's many children, cast to the wayside only because he's quirky, would it? A little trip and nothing else, lend a helping hand eventually, see that whatever trouble he got into only affected the other party and that he's fine for the most part. 

( Lord Barbatos, where have you found such person to take under your wing? Seriously. )

The sooner they return, the sooner he can get his hands on a drink or two and so; ❝ No need for such formalities! A little wind sprite whispered to me that you decided to venture off while everybody else remained in the city to celebrate the success of the expedition to Nod-Krai. It was wondering whether something ailed you, that is all. ❞ though, by the looks of it, the only ones troubled now lie in a pile of scraps, the outer shell that held a mini hurricane previously and what looks like the bones and staffs of various 'churls. Right. Even with overhearing Varka and Aether talking about him, it still feels surreal to actually witness the carnage. 

❝ Quite chatty this wind sprite friend of yours. And nosy. Curiosity killed the cat, you know? It would do well to keep its nose out of business that doesn't concern it. ❞ each word paired by dark abyss taking holy light in in return. A smirk begins to curl lips upwards, voice smooth and soft as he leans in. ❝ Or is that, perhaps, you hope to wrangle a confession out of me, Deacon Dahlia? I, Lohen the Vice Captain of the Fifth Squad, plead guilty to the slaughter of all that wandered willingly inside this abandoned arena. ❞

Ah. That was a lot easier if not for the fact that it wasn't his intention in the slightest. Still, a twist in his plans that doesn't entirely derail them. It doesn't look like Lohen is planning to resist going back with him, merely banter with him, play with him and see if there's any reason to stick around or wander off again.

❝ Truly bold words spoken there. Perhaps I'll consider looking the other way if you make good on your earlier offer -- allow me to tag along a little longer and see your performance from beginning to end. ❞ after all, he's always enjoyed being in the thick of the action. And if he ends up somehow helping Lohen after all? All the better for it.

[inkhornism]

SOMETIMES, ONCE THE DUST SETTLES AND EVERYTHING ELSE IS TAKEN CARE OF, HE FINDS HIMSELF IN QUIET COMPANY THAT SITS AT THE VERY EDGE OF HIS WORLD. Just out of his reach, with no wish to intrude, but at the same time longing so much to feel included, to feel seen. Or, at the very least, acknowledged for existing in this exhausted form while at the same time not being given too much attention in fear that it'll get spooked and run away.

Illuga made that mistake the first time.

When he was first greeted by the heavy thud! of Lohen dropping himself to the ground, he immediately rushed over. Was he hurt? Were there wounds he'd hidden and was only now getting to treating? Were they infected? So many questions already fighting to escape past pearly whites only for the bottomless abyss to stare at him like he'd grown a second head, hurriedly get back up and leave the camp.

On subsequent attempts to understand what's happening, even more mistakes were made. Simply staring at the Vice Captain was enough to make him abscond the moment Illuga looked away, trying to get a step closer got met with another step back and even just trying to call for his attention ended up breaking the illusion and resulted in the usual teasing, all traces of seriousness gone from the moment. No matter what, it seemed Lohen was intent on circling him like one of the many stray cats animals dotting Nod-Krai, watching and trailing from a distance, but never daring get too close.

A compromise appears to be reached at some point when he realises that if he waits patiently, the other will get started on something ( wrapping injuries, tending to his weapon ) and thus be less skittish even though that's not quite the right word for it. Perhaps reversed fits better. This allows Illuga to watch him in silence through curtain of snowy bangs of hair -- that same piercing abyss seemingly so much lonelier and exhausted, expression nearing something akin to a blank canvas, the repetitive motions of polishing the spear's blade useless. Not dissimilar to an ice sculpture that can melt at any moment should he focus too much on it. Nobody ever sees Lohen in the aftermath of these battles, presumably off on his own to work out the excess of the battle high, but. Here is Illuga, trying his hardest to reach out only to find himself putting his hand right into the middle of a black hole, all encompassing, dragging him inside only to spit him back out so cold and mercilessly. No wonder so many of the knights he's come across tend to compare him to a brutal blizzard; icicles hanging from each word, sheer cold in dark eyes, a slippery slope into madness. ( This, too, is vulnerability for frozen phantasm chooses on purpose to sit so close to the burning blaze bright nightingale is. Being allowed to exist inside such a personal bubble. Illuga only wishes he could help more, but suppose he should be happy to be trusted with this much for now. )

[inkhornism]

AWAY FROM COMPANY, THE TWO HAVE FOUND THEIR OWN LITTLE NOOK TO NESTLE INTO. What started as simply needing a breath of fresh air and some long awaited catching up turned into wandering hands tugging clothes, into lips curling into mischievous smiles, words whispered into quickly reddening ears. They haven't seen each other since Vice Captain Lohen got sent back to Mondstadt, there was no time sit down and write letters and then Illuga himself was on his way back together with Varka.

The dusty boxes and barrels surrounding him make the young Ratnik nearly sneeze on a couple of occasions, goosebumps already breaking on his exposed skin. A wooden corner digs into his back even through the heavy coat pooling around his middle, but that's less important when cold eyes stare him down, instinctively making him back away despite having nowhere to go anymore. Then again, even if there was any space left, he's more than sure that the other would continue following him, invading his space, hoarding his attention and filling his senses to the brim; nowhere left to run and he finds himself willingly giving in to the whims presented in front of him. 

Sharp inhale is rewarded with a laugh, knee pressing further with little effort. ❝ Oh? You were looking quite lost in thoughts there for a moment, friend. The way you keep biting your lip has me worried, really. ❞

As if that's what you're truly concerned about. is what Illuga wants to say only to be replaced by a sigh exhaled through the nose. He'd be foolish to give in, to open his mouth when his head is already feeling as if it were made of cotton candy, his thoughts sluggishly connecting to each other enough to follow instructions. 

So, of course, that he does.

❝ N-no, I was just... A-ah... ❞ with the tiniest bit of dignity he can summon, voice trembling no matter how many times he clears his throat in an attempt to offer a better answer. Nothing comes however, other than another whine, that is. Lohen knows well what he's doing, teasing the squad leader who wants nothing more than to empty his mind for a little while.

Before he knows what's going on, he's hoisted up on a nearby crate and he nearly tumbles backwards and off it. Confusion is only brief, his coat now entirely gone and his sweater well on its way over his head. Before he can stop it, Illuga flinches away from touch, grabs the plush hem to bring it back down so dark eyes don't catch sight of all the scars littering his body, pointless as this whole endeavour is. ( Or maybe it's that he likes that Lohen won't give up, but rather sweet talk him into undressing on his own even as his stomach revolts at seeing himself naked. )

❝ Hmm~? Could it be my imagination or are you wearing considerably less layers? Oh my, you've grown so much bolder since we've last talked. ❞ and a pearly white smile as if this doesn't happen regularly when they so happen to run into each other while out and about. A gloved finger traces an invisible line starting from a still clothed hip, up the side, over the ribs and keeps going until it reaches the underside of his chin, tilting it upwards.

By this point, Illuga's on autopilot, knowing what comes next. A kiss that's a battle for dominance which he can never win. His pants magically hang around only one ankle so his other leg can hook around the warmth he's missed so much. And when he sees stars, he knows the noise that's left him must have given them away. Under normal circumstances, he'd be beyond embarrassed, but in the heat of the moment, he thinks he deserves to have something he wants.

❝ You wish to be heard, don't you? You like the thrill of being discovered in such a compromising situation. Dann sing, mein Vögelchen! ❞

That same mouth uttering sweet nothings into his ear previously has now found his neck, just below where that gnarly scar winds up around akin to a collar. It itches and hurts sometimes, Illuga confessed before. Lohen wonders whether it was on purpose as he once again bites and sucks on it in rhythm with every thrust. There will be no choice, but to bundle up if the other doesn't want anybody to see what they were up to in their absence. Not that that means much when the poor thing is going to have to return to the tavern to get his things and sort his lodgings later anyway.

[inkhornism]

WILD HUNT NESTS HAVE BEEN OBSERVED FOR LONG ENOUGH TO NOTICE KEY POINTS NEEDED TO RECOGNIZE A NASCENT ONE. It's why they've been dispatched out here at the edge of their already small world, so far away from civilization that should it erupt prematurely, nobody'd be the wiser before it's too late. As such, they should take care of it before such tragedy strikes by nipping the problem in the bud.

Yet their pace is too slow, their planning too careful. In the time it took them to get ready and on their way to the trouble brewing in crystal cage, its long and restless tendrils have already managed to break through. Barely do the two Ratniki reach their destination that hoarse growls are the only warnings they get for the inevitable battle that is sure to follow; corpses shamble towards them hungrily, cursing them and hungering for their living flesh.

Illuga draws his weapon first. Flins' form is lunging forward in front of him in a shower of Electro sparks.

They are clearly at a disadvantage being that the Wild Hunt has escaped its confines before they could take measures to ensure as little destruction as possible as a consequence of the battle to contain and get rid of it. Though being outnumbered is a common occurrence and they are more than familiar with having each other's backs, it still leaves no room for wrong steps. Ideally, they could call for reinforcements, but that means leaving somebody behind and Illuga refuses to be the one to escape, refuses to allow somebody he cares so much about to fight against hordes of undying corpses no matter how capable Flins is--

❝ Ah...! ❞ the claw only grazes his cheek, swiping up and catching strands of hair to tug free. Were it not for the adrenaline coursing through his body, he's more than sure that he'd feel like his cheek were on fire. The movement that follows is less coordinated than he'd like, trading the pull and push of using his spear properly in favour of batting away the enemy with all his force, watching it stumble unsteadily before diving in for the kill, turning it to dust in an instant.

And that's all an avalanche needs in order to start its mad descent -- a moment of inattention, a wrong step, the pebble that falls downwards and rolls into bigger and bigger trouble. He must have dropped his trusty lantern in the previous altercation, unable to utilise both it and his weapon, and now the Wild Hunt is ganging up on him again without its light to keep it at bay. Even Aedon is nowhere to be seen although a silent plea asks that his little friend is safe. Maybe it flew towards Flins to aid him instead.

( It's too much for us alone to handle. comes a traitorous thought. )

Few things are worse than closing one's eyes during active combat, but there will be enough time to be chastised about it later. For now, as the young squad leader precariously sits on the precipice, lightning snaps him out of his downwards spiral -- Flins has fought his way towards him, widening the area around them so the darkness isn't nearly as suffocating. Its million dead eyes are still trained on them, but for now, it seems that they won't attack again.

Out of the corner of a dull yellow eye, fae studies companion; ❝ It's not like you to freeze in the middle of a fight, Young Master. What kind of example would you set for your subordinates if they saw you like this? ❞ now, playing dirty isn't exactly a tactic he likes employing often, but for both of their sakes, he's going to have to lean into it.

As quickly as they retreated, the waves of hatred and anger move in again, glowing eyes a harsh reminder of all those that have fallen ( that will fall ) in this never-ending nightmare of a life. Their moans grating on the ears in a language only few can decipher anymore, those unlucky few cursed to an existence forever stained by dark whispers. How many times has Illuga bolted upright in bed late at night, sure that the creaking of old, rusted metal was the past coming back with a vengeance? Enough that he's lost count, that's more than sure. This, too, shall be a memory to haunt him in the late hours when he should be getting rest. The best he can do is make sure that he's going to be the only one affected to such degree by this encounter.

❝ Sir Flins, I-- ❞

❝ The quickest way to neutralize a Wild Hunt nest is to destroy its core, no? I shall carve a path for you, Young Master. ❞

A sound plan that Illuga can't argue with, in theory. Risky, but when isn't their profession? As Lightkeepers, they are tasked with carrying the light to the darkest corners of Nod-Krai and making sure that no matter what, tragedies won't be repeated. ( Sometimes he wonders whether his parents would still be here if things weren't so lax back then. Sometimes he wonders if he's going to meet them again were he to fall in battle. )

Reaching the spawning point is tough, but not impossible. Flins, true to his word, fends off anybody who dares to approach too much. The dying growls play on repeat in his mind along with grunts of exhaustion, the strain put on their bodies to keep going building up more and more. It's a battle against time, against fatigue, they can't afford anymore missteps against endless hunger that kills everything with a mere touch, makes a mockery of those who brave its poisonous claws, who give their lives in order for others to have a brighter future where they don't have to fear that one day the world will be plunged in eternal darkness.

Illuga wasn't meant to be happy. After all, how else is he meant to take everything that's happened all his life? His mother gave her life for him to survive that Wild Hunt attack all those years ago, he's watched numerous colleagues leave on missions only to never come back and even now. Even now. At long last, he breaks the core that keeps allowing these monsters to spill out, turns around to join his friend in battle once more. Whatever hopeful feeling was beginning to bud in his heart that they may yet be able to turn the tides is dashed in seconds at the sight of darkness ( familiar this time, a black coat with far too many belts and loops in its design ) filling his vision, hair burning with Hell's fire, uneven wings not quite touching his back for there are no visible tears from where they must have sprouted. Belatedly, he realises that the state of his companion is far worse than his own, realises that the reason it's been so quiet is because it's only the two of them left.

Bloody rivulets stain deathly pale visage and if he weren't sure that the other's still breathing, shallow as it may be, he would have thought he joined the ranks of the mobs endlessly threatening their day to day lives. Terror has rooted him to the spot once more, every bit of knowledge drilled into him useless right now. He knows that he should treat whatever wounds he can as soon as possible and then get proper help once they make it back to Piramida. He also knows that wounds this severe have already been infected and that Flins may be eccentric and not entirely human, but he's not impervious to permanent damage either. Worst of all, he knows that look on the fae's face and the fact that he's going to ask for something absurd.

❝ We are going back right this instant, Sir Flins. ❞ and with that, he's already tugging on a bloodied arm to get them going, to stop wasting time. The sooner they get back, the sooner the doctor can take over and Illuga can give his report on the situation.

It's less that he follows after the younger Ratnik and more that he's half-dragged, half-carried away. Nevertheless, he tries to keep up with him even if his entire body feels like it's being ripped apart. Getting into the wagon is agony and the moment he sits down, he immediately slumps in his seat. ❝ I have, but one request if you would be so kind. ❞

Despite it all, Illuga complies because he wasn't going to refuse anything asked of him to begin with. He shifts in his spot to get more comfortable and then allows him to shift his weight onto him. Once in position, a hand comes up to thread fingers through still burning yet cold hair. The long blue strands have always fascinated him, truth be told. The way the colour appears to shift on its own as if it were alive, the way it never seem to knot, the strange texture. There are times he's wondered what Flins would look like if he tried to style it differently for once.

By the time the wagon reaches Piramida, it's only Illuga who emerges from its metal confines. He's carrying a beautiful, ornate lamp in one hand and an equally intriguing spear in his other. When he looks Starshyna Nikita in the eyes to give a summary of what happened, his own reflect nothing, but bottomless grief. Nobody asks for more details than he gives, but they can all surmise what goes unsaid -- one of their comrades has fallen and thus was another life snuffed.

To become a Ratnik means to abandon one's happiness. There may come a time in which their profession won't be needed anymore, but far too many fall in the line of duty too soon to even begin to grasp the gradual change. It's a story as old as time itself. Thus did I vow -- our bones and blood we shall use as fuel, we shall make life greater than death.

[inkhornism]

IT'S NOT THE FIRST TIME IT HAPPENS, OH NO. Azure living flame is more than familiar with the gentle tickling of fragile flower petals in his throat followed promptly by the taste of burnt hopes and sweet feelings. No, the most peculiar thing about the situation at hand is that it's been literal decades since he's last been through this, through blue dripping down pale lips and staining equally nigh see-through skin. Dusted golden eyes blink one, twice, but the exhausted figure staring back in the pond's clear surface doesn't change. Oh my, this certainly wasn't on his agenda today -- between meeting Illuga later in the day to exchange documents and updates, patrols and other work, he's not sure where to fit this in his schedule. Many passing fancies have planted themselves in fae heart, but he's learnt to uproot them with so much care. Or so he thinks. He doesn't mind them not returning his affections, but...

The young squad leader smiles at him so brightly, so cheerfully, as if Flins hung the sun in the sky in spite of his nocturnal habits. He talks so animatedly even when he gets angry, scolding reckless behaviour as he would one of his squad mates, makes him promise to be more careful from now on even if he knows that not much will change. Dear, oh dear, if only he knew how much adoration ancient fae holds for him, for the way he cares so deeply about others, about how deeply he feels for others, about how he gives himself body and soul to his work. Illuga is so much more than his accomplishments, he's a genuinely sincere friend who'll always lend an ear should one be needed.

( The smoke makes it almost impossible to breathe and all he wants is to spit the burning mess of petals clogging his airways. Not now, however. Later, in the privacy only offered by ghosts mourning events long passed. )

❝ Young Master, ❞ he swears his vision distorts briefly though unsure if from unshed tears or something else ❝ you've been staring off into space for some time now. Surely you don't wish to rehydrate before we set off? ❞ to suggest they extend their break would be insulting to the effort shown so far, but Flins worries regardless. Pushing oneself too hard in the beginning won't help anybody in the long run.

❝ No need to worry about me, Sir Flins. ❞, but the response only seems to serve in deflating his companion somehow, further stirring the troubled expression pinching visage framed by silver bangs. Has something happened before their meetup? But to disturb someone as unflappable as the solitary Lightkeeper... No, Illuga's is probably just overthinking it. And yet, something still buzzes at the back of his mind -- he'll have to come back to it later. There's enough work left to do for both of them.

Flins appears to hesitate for a moment before his expression brightens ever so slightly; ❝ Shall we go then? Remaining daylight is scarce so we better make the most out of it. ❞

Even as he allows himself to be lead away, towards the Wild Hunt nest they've been monitoring for weeks now to ascertain how dangerous it is, Illuga can't shake the vague feeling that he's been smelling something burning since they met up -- specifically, vegetation being set on fire despite seeing no signs of such happening. Out here in the wilderness, he can pick up the salty sea breeze that always follows his friend around, wild berries, the krumkake carefully packaged in his bag. Perhaps he's just imagining things, exhaustion getting the better of him. The Frostlamp petals he's hastily shoved in the pockets of his warm coat to hide them aren't helping his turbulent thoughts either.

[inkhornism]

RIDDLE PRIDES HIMSELF IN MANY THINGS: ACADEMIC PROWESS, LEADERSHIP, EQUESTRIAN SKILLS, MAGICAL APTITUDES. Emotional availability, however, is not among these. Oh, surely, he's more than familiar with anger; burning through his veins, conjuring magic in a focal point before it's OFF WITH THEIR HEADS! But for the sleeping figure using his lap as a pillow? He has no words, only periodic confused blinking. Once, twice. Weren't octopi too wary to nap in strange places? And yet, Azul all, but snores softly, occasionally mumbling incoherent thoughts about numbers and money and sales. Hard at work even when dreaming, hmm?

Fingers carefully pinch askew glasses to then fold and set them to the side so as for them to not bend and break. Like this, his fellow housewarden's peaceful face is even less obstructed save for the few strands of hair tickling it. Come to think of it, Riddle has never seen him like this -- calm, not scheming nor rigid with lies, content even. Like some kind of switch has been flipped and the exhaustion washed out all the world's ugliness pressed into him all these years.

Huh. Huh.

Before he knows it, he's already reaching out to move hair away from closed eyes, gingerly, as if afraid. Easy to startle, the other isn't, but even so. Something compels a lighter touch that won't distort visage with unnecessary worry. After all, he'd been given the same courtesy hours before -- uninterrupted rest when they put the spear to charge the first time. 

Forced to work together like this, it dawns on him that maybe they've been too harsh with each other. Too absorbed into what each of them push forward to meet the world with while keeping the cracked pieces close to their chests. Even though he can't say that he won't suspect that usual scheming smirk, he wants to think that their... whatever this is, it doesn't evaporate the moment they get back to Night Raven College.

[inkhornism]

FOG ROLLING THROUGH THE FINAL NIGHT CEMETERY ISN'T ANYTHING NEW. With it comes another wave of ghostly apparitions flickering in and out of existence, the moon's lone ray illuminating some corner of his little island... and the oppressive presence of an energy he knows all too well by now; the Wild Hunt. 

Unlike the dark stare pinning him down, the thousands of phantom hands wrapped around limbs and torso alike are somewhat gentler if tight. Under the scrutiny of a lone, blank eye, Flins is truly an insect caught in Death's sticky web: at its mercy, put on display for it to eat him up just by looking, to shame him for letting his guard down such that he could be put in this situation. But the pallor that greets it back is not the result of fear, not in the slightest. It's fantastical creature cutting right back through the darkness, sharp, dusted twin golden moons glaring back in quiet defiance.

His neck bends, a shiver runs its course unwilling and he flinches. Chaotic whispers begin filling his mind while tainted shadows hold hostage his own against the frozen ground. It's suffocating even as living fire has no need for something like breathing.

For, but a moment he fears Rerir may snap it in a fit of rage, inviting the eternal cold into these weary bones of his. A mercy he's not allowed for his fellow Lightkeepers would surely miss him far too much. Who would they invite to play cards with them on long nights? Who would they wave over when his lingering stare weighs too heavily? They hold him dear even if most of them see him so rarely. Such a baffling occurrence although one he finds endearing himself all the same. So little do they know about him and yet they still welcome him with open arms every time he makes the trip from his little island.

❝ Light... Keeper... ❞ snarl that manages to suppress the cacophony of screams trying to muddle Flins' mind, shadowy hands tightening their hold in return. It still bubbles in an attempt to raise again, but to no avail. ❝ Thief...! ❞

The blooming pain that follows fills his sight with static and even makes his form flicker, his lantern hissing angrily from where it hangs. Veins filled with ice turn warm, turn boiling hot and when Rerir pulls back, his face is stained a deep, wrong colour. Blood drips from his mouth matching the pulsating wound left on near white neck the bite was taken from.

Shivers continue to worm their way under his skin, dark trickles tickling the exposed skin. ❝ Safekeeping. Not a thief. ❞ not that he was going to give it back, but he digresses. It remains safely tucked away in his lantern, shaking angrily at the close proximity.

[inkhornism]

r/AmItheAsshole     4 days ago pixelsh0t

AITA for not clearing up the misunderstanding that I'm not actually dead?

Not the A-hole

Long time lurker, first time poster. My friends seem split on the matter even though it ended up boosting our reach and view count.

For some context, I ( M, mid-20s ) am part of a pretty well-known streaming group. We are split by regions and timezones, but we collaborate with each other pretty often so it's likely we've been on one another's streams at least once or twice either as guests or just passing cameos. Because of this, I tend to stream with about four of them almost daily. All in all, it's a pretty tight-knit group so most of us know what others are up to.

For the majority of the past month, my ( NB, mid-20s ) friend I'll call Lizard has been teasing a new model for his stream. Something about the little dragon he uses not being representative enough of his greatness and thus needing something grander and more imposing and finally managing to commission an artist to bring it to life in his vision. He's been extremely picky about it and complained constantly that nobody ever managed to capture what he wanted the right way. Once he did find somebody, he never shut up about it. But I digress.

The debut was a few days ago and it went even better than expected. Maybe a little too well. His entire reveal hinged on the fact that he's made a pact with 'somebody he works with' to take over their body once they pass away. The day of the debut comes and goes, said debut is a success, but the fans are now spamming his chat: where is [OP]? Turns out that Lizard truly went ahead with his model being inspired by my appearance.

Here's where I might be the asshole. I've been sick on and off for the past two weeks, but it got exponentially worse a few days before the debut so I made a quick and short announcement that I won't be able to stream for the foreseeable future. Nothing unusual, my schedule is inconsistent as is and I'm not on social media a lot. I figured that missing a few streams to take time to recover wasn't a big deal. So I slept through the debut and the commotion that followed. I underestimated how exhausted I was because I ended up sleeping the day away, waking up to eat and take a shower, slept the night through and half of the following day as well. In my daze, checking my phone was the last thing on my mind. I heard the ping go off every so often with new notifications and looked at them to see what the buzz was about, but it completely slipped my mind to respond to any of it. It took Lizard bursting into my room to use my streaming account ( with a short message I formulated ) to tell his audience that I wasn't actually dead for them to calm down.

Lizard: stupid [OP], the joke was funny the first time around! Now people really think I killed you!

So yeah. AITA for not clarifying I was sick and not actually dying?

EDIT: I did end up going to the hospital, but it wasn't anything life threatening. Just a particularly nasty cold. 

⬆️ 34K ⬇️   💬 4.8K   ↪️ Share

ALMIGHTYDRAGONLORD • 4d ago

YOU IDIOT!!! STUPID STUPID STUPID!!!! YTA!!!!

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dr4conicSt4r • 3d ago

This is honestly the funniest thing i've read in a while. NTA

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DiamondInTheRough • 2d ago

I knew you were resting, but I thought you were a goner too 😭 NTA, I think...

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SharknadoParty • 3d ago

you gave us quite the scare! we tuned into the stream while on our outing and then all we could read in the chat was that you died! ESH for either of you not coming clean faster

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FghtrNotALvr • 2d ago

YTA!! u didn't answer any of my texts!! i was worried sick!! :(

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gamenbadvance • 1d ago

NTA imo. I admit, it was an effective way for Lizard to introduce his new model. Idk if to laugh or cry at the coincidence of you dropping off the face of Earth just as he finally got his new appearance sorted

⬆️ 99 ⬇️   •••

SunnySeedling • 2d ago

NTA did no one think to check on you in person???

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ca1x_arts • 2d ago

So that's why your accounts gained popularity recently? Seems a bit excessive. ESH.

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aTRAVELLINGstar • 3d ago

duuuuuuude, you're definitely gonna be on those controversial debuts vids. Good luck to you both lmao

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DevouringMayhem • 3d ago

NTA. i still have to beat you in pvp so don't go dying on me now!!

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NUMEROUNOARATAKI • 1d ago

YTA. not cool bro

⬆️ 111 ⬇️   •••

Kunikuzushi • 4d ago

ESH. You all are incomprehensible idiots. I expect to be paid on time for everything

⬆️ 444 ⬇️   •••

collei_nyanbar • 4d ago

NAH!! You were sick, everyone was worried and Lizard went to check on you even!! It's not your fault people misunderstood :(

⬆️ 488 ⬇️   •••

[inkhornism]

EVERYTHING GOES TERRIBLY WRONG BEFORE HE EVEN HAS THE CHANCE TO REACT. Kinich unleashes Ajaw's power as usual to deal with a bunch of annoying poachers just to watch as he suddenly plummets to the ground in a heap not unlike a hot balloon that's been pierced by something sharp. The loud THUD! noise he makes upon contact with the ground feels surreal. He's not quite bleeding in the normal sense, but it's obvious that something's not right. He's not shrinking back to his 8-bit form either despite the hunter trying to sever the phlogiston flow between them and it's not long before the bracelet on his wrist opens by itself and falls to the ground with such a deafening noise he swears he's still hearing it ring in his ears.

And then Ajaw's just. Gone. Comically very similar to a videogame character dying and ragdolling to the ground, but there's nothing actually funny about this. Only vague, heartbreaking confusion as Kinich stares at the unmoving form of the giant dragon that until merely moments ago was breathing green dendro fire and calling their enemies measly insects.

Now it's just quiet. His wrist feels weirdly light. His chest feels hauntingly empty. Ajaw is gone. The ancient dragon who boasted about taking over his body once he made a fatal mistake and died. He's gone. Kinich will never hear his annoying voice chattering away in his ears, will never have somebody comment on every move he makes, will never hear stories of the long forgotten past. For the second time in his life, he's been freed from the shackles tying him down, but neither this time does he feel any happiness. Just aching loneliness and the pain of the scream that tears itself out of his throat. 

The news spread faster than he thinks they would and once he returns to the Scions of Canopy, they all say the same thing; 'congratulations for outlasting the dragonlord', 'it's a good thing that you're as stubborn as you are', 'who knew that he would go and kick the bucket before you?'. They all want to sound genuine in their wishes, in their relief that one of their most skilled persons from their tribe didn't succumb to an untimely death thus handing over his body to a being most dangerous. But Kinich feels nothing every time praise is thrown his way. Ajaw was annoying, yes, and he'd made the pact recognizing that if he were to get out, it would spell nothing, but disaster, especially as he was the only one to make it to the end of the cave where he'd been buried. But now that he's actually gone...

The silence is suffocating, sucking all he air out of his lungs. The loneliness hits him in the gut worse than any punch he's suffered before. He should be feeling the same gratefulness as the others do, but he can't bring himself to do it. Returning home rewards him with naught, but the echo of his voice. Tending to the garden finds him turning his head back to scold a certain lizard for running off with ripe fruits just for the plants to bend under their weight. He goes to shake the bracelet clumsily clamped on his wrist once more in hopes that a disgruntled Ajaw will pop out of it to screech in his ear about treating royalty like this and wishing for a swift demise, but nothing happens. And so night falls and there's no deep purring for him to fall asleep to. And so the sun rises in the morning and there's no weight on his chest and tiny fists batting at his face to wake him up and demand breakfast.

They all thank him for vanquishing such a great foe all on his own, but the reality is that all he feels is the invisible hand of fate crushing his bonecage in its bitter, unloveable hold. 

He's just... going through the motions for the following days. Sure, the others from his tribe comment on how quiet he's been lately, especially following such a big achievement, but they all chalk it up to Kinich just being his usual self. He's never been talkative, after all. He hadn't made a big fuss about becoming an ancient hero despite the aspirations he started with and it looks like he's not going to do it either about defeating K'uhul Ajaw. They finally, finally, leave him alone and it works well enough because he never sticks by people anyway. Doing commissions day in, day out has been his modus operandi since he was a little boy, only making weekly appearances in the tribe itself to buy or trade his spoils before disappearing once more.

But that's the thing. Kinich has a way of doing things that now has been thrown into chaos permanently.

Swinging between trees forces him to choose when to disengage the hook more carefully since now he can't rely on Ajaw to keep him in the air. The amount of times he's had to save himself mid-fall from great heights makes him wonder if it's even worth it anymore. He'd always thought that he'd die young regardless of what he did -- the Malipo name would backfire on him, he'd slip and fall to his death while trying extreme sports, Ajaw would finally orchestrate his death. But as he floats in the river he's landed in after failing to pull himself back up in time from the plunge he just took, gaze vaguely watching the clouds high above him, his thoughts turn inwards once more. Natlan doesn't need heroes anymore, the Ode of Resurrection has been disrupted, there's no threat of his body wrecking havoc after his passing. Would his soul even end up in the Night Kingdom? Is there anything left to go there? Ajaw's sudden disappearance ripped something more out of him than just his presence. 

Despite having been fully submerged in the freezing water, he finds that his eyes are bone dry. Even if he tries, he can't will himself to shed tears. Because trying would mean admitting that Ajaw is gone and that's just. Not possible. Such a powerful being who's been alive since dragons inhabited Teyvat can't have just been shot down like that. Even as he returns to his empty hut once more in waterlogged clothes, even as the second plate of food goes untouched, even as the juice he prepares exactly how that yellow lizard liked it so much spoils in its cup. He refuses to believe that the one he's made the pact with is just... gone forever. 

[inkhornism]

THIS IS BY FAR THE LEAST COMFORTABLE HE COULD BE GIVEN THE SITUATION AT HAND. Pinned to the ground in the shade of a tree, roots digging into his back mercilessly, while he lies there looking at the setting sun. Wasting the remaining sunlight away on nothing when he could be out and about, chaining commissions with the same easiness he swings between branches. But no. He's stuck on the ground, unable to get up or do much of anything, really.

Heavy…

Comment made in passing led them to taking a break, to fearsome ancient dragon making wild claims, putting those wild claims to the test and…

… promptly conking out. It was kind of hilarious, Kinich has to admit. He's never seen the other pass out so fast. What could he have even been up to to be this exhausted? No idea.

( Does he even need sleep? He always complains about it being too quiet and boring during the night. )

… extremely heavy.

To his surprise, Ajaw is quite the heavy sleeper. Hasn't stirred an inch since complaining the hunter is stiff as a board with muscle save for the one time he grumbled about his human pillow inhaling a little too deeply. Other than that, he's been peacefully napping for at least a few hours, occasionally growling and tensing up before relaxing once more. It's… kind of fascinating, he has to admit. It makes him curious about the things he hasn't considered before. Ajaw may be a constant thorn in his side wishing for his swift demise on the daily, but he's… sort of cute like this. Like an oversized cat of sorts. Moody as one too.

Well. Ajaw is an ancient dragon. He's not that different from the saurians of current times. Which means if he reaches just right and scratches there--

The response is instant although by no stretch of imagination what he expected it to be. What noise rumbles deep in draconic chest is no happy thrill, but rather the sound of rumbling mountains. His own body echoes it, embeds it to the core of his own bones, sure to hold this rare opportunity for the rest of his measly life.

Nevertheless, the Almighty Dragonlord K'uhul Ajaw purrs. He's also glaring daggers through barely open eyes, but it looks like he's fighting a losing battle by the way he sinks even more heavily and the intensity of the rumbling grows. Clawed fingers dig into his sides, sure to leave bloodied, thin marks, but he doesn't care. There's a red tinge among green, pixel freckles he can spot before face disappears into chest, golden hair falling just right to hide everything from view.

Hah. Suppose they haven't entirely wasted the evening away after all.

[inkhornism]

VANISHING IN A DAZZLING SHOWER OF GOLD AND TURQUOISE TURNED WHITE AND BLACK WAS SUPPOSED TO BE WHEN THEY'D SEE HIM FOR THE LAST TIME. After all, his plan bore fruit far past what he'd expected, the people who'd end up hating his guts would think him dead and those few, rare that still liked him well enough would be better off not being able to associate with him anymore. It's fine. This world of his has always been lonely, blessed with luck as he's been. Even Nihility's frigid caress felt warm for, but a moment before thrusting him back into the ( not yet ) waking world.

Then he pushed his luck once more appearing on the Trailblazer Stern, excusing himself the moment he'd been found. And he did it again, hitching a ride on the Astral Express itself, all smiles and banter against the confused looks given his way.

The party car is a... choice. He can't say he knows much about what the train was like before its inauguration, but he can say it feels a touch out of place with only about six people permanently onboard. Seven counting the bartending robot, he supposes. A little birdy even told him the Trailblazer's room is above it, recently renovated so he can finally stop sleeping in a box. ( ...? He's not going to question that, everybody has their little quirks. ) He's sure that were Caelus not so busy behind the bar putting to test everything Siobhan taught him, he'd have already dragged Aventurine upstairs to show him his room.

❝ Word goes a familiar rubber duck has been spotted on the Stern. ❞ he all, but purrs the words, enjoying the way reddish-orange gaze drifts in his direction, that perpetually displeased look Ratio gives everybody only slightly budging. Aha, hit the jackpot on the first try.

It's been long apparent that the material the doctor is perusing is of little interest, but it's work that must be done, work that he allegedly can't do anywhere else because it's too noisy. ( He can't possibly be here just to see him despite insisting that they share a booth. ) So he sets the papers down and; ❝ Herta insisted that all avatars follow the same theme. I saw nothing to object to as a late comer so I agreed to it. ❞ why the memento had to be put on a pedestal in the hallway, however, is beyond even him. There are more than enough knicknacks scattered about that seem as random as the Trailblazer's whims. Maybe this, too, was such a spur of the moment whim. The world may never know and he doesn't care to find out either.

❝ Oho? All of you have matching rubber duckies? ❞ accompanied by the most exaggerated pained whine this side of the universe ❝ You wound me, Doc! And here I thought that honour would go to me. ❞ hand on chest to further put emphasis on just how hurt he feels at being left out of the fun.

❝ They are not matching rubber ducks, damn gambler. ❞ it's not quite frustration yet, all too used to peacock trying to rail him up, but a huff still escapes through his nose ❝ You would do better asking Caelus about that ornament. He's the one in charge of the decorations. ❞

❝ Aaaawwww, but that's not fun. You must have brought significant contributions to the project to be commemorated like this. I'd rather hear it from you than him. ❞

❝ I do admit the idea of simulating an entire world and the records of Aeons we have piqued my interest for a number of reasons. Chief among them, how THEY cast THEIR gaze upon mortals and guide -- or force -- them down said paths. Though all the encounters in the simulated universe are, but an instance of an event, they offer a unique look into THEIR inner workings and how we should deal with THEM. That being said, despite Caelus' tremendous help navigating the randomness of such a virtual space, we are no closer to even beginning untangling the information we've acquired so far. I am patiently waiting for some things to get patched up before I can take another look at it so, in the meantime, I came here to take care of the work that's been submitted for me to review. ❞

See? He doesn't care. a tiny voice resounds in Aventurine's mind though he has no time to push it back or continue teasing the good doctor over how fired up he seems all of a sudden. Instead, pink and blue eyes narrow at the sight of the newcomer who more drifts along than walks, trailing behind Welt. The moment they make eye contact, he can feel the way his head fills with too sweet cotton candy, nausea clawing at the back of his throat.

Though the cough coming from across him is meant to snap him back to reality, all Aventurine does is sit straighter. ❝ It is considered rather rude to ask somebody to tell you something only to tune them out halfway through. Have you no manners? ❞

❝ I'm sorry, Doc, it's just that something... peculiar caught my attention. ❞ and it's not long until he spies the same brief discomfort in the other's face. Ratio wasn't under the effects of the power of Harmony like he'd been, but their new companion's weird energy is affecting everybody in some manner.

By all means, Aventurine can just get up and leave. Or make sure their table is occupied enough that it doesn't look like a third person can join them. But he does neither of those, stuck to the spot, glass of alcohol against his lips.

❝ I don't mean to intrude. ❞ and Sunday sounds sincere enough, wings pulled back and down as if dejected. Seeing him boarding the Express is just as much a surprise to the duo as much as seeing the two is to the Halovian. He even looks... remorseful, dare Aventurine think. Sad. Like he's just been shot through the heart and now has to bear through living with a missing organ.

What a joke. What a joke.

They are all uncomfortable, that much is clear. Awkward silence falls all over them, blanketing them stiffly. One, two, three moments pass before the blond sighs and decides to be the one to break the ice lest they remain like this forever.

❝ Last I heard, you were held by the IPC. Nothing about you potentially being allowed to leave just like that, though. ❞

❝ The price of my freedom will certainly be steep. ❞ will be? interesting phrasing ❝ Just being aboard the Astral Express is more than enough for me. Though I have to say the same about you. That blow you endured from the Nihility Emanator... You should have been dead. ❞

He should have died, shouldn't he? Like his people did all those years back. Like all the times he cheated death by the skin of his teeth. Sunday tried his hand at it as well, just as unsuccessful as everything and everybody else.

❝ I should have, you are right. ❞ and a flash of pearly whites that tells Sunday everything he needs to know -- he should leave, now ❝ But I didn't so now I get to make it the doctor's problem. Isn't it great? ❞

Golden gaze finally recognises that the table is occupied by two people although, at the same time, he takes a step back. ❝ I see. I truly didn't intend to interrupt. I'll be taking my leave if that's alright. ❞

It's more than alright. Preferable, even., he wants to say only to quietly watch as the former head of the Oak Family departs. Oh, how he itches for something to burn his throat. Unfortunately, the bar doesn't have anything strong enough for him to make him forget about this interaction, but damn if he won't try anyway.

[inkhornism]

YOU HAVE TO ADMIT THAT EVEN WITH YOUR RELUCTANCE TO TOUCH AND BE TOUCHED ( IN SPITE OF HOW MUCH YOU WANT IT ), YOUR CURIOSITY IS FAR TOO STRONG TO IGNORE ANYMORE. Does it count as a loophole if the one doing the touching is you? And the one being touched is... also you? But not quite you you because despite the fact that this you has gone through a similar ordeal as you, they aren't quite you anymore and you're not them ( yet ever ). No, no, not the moment to get lost in the semantics. It's not like it matters anyway, Loop has already gone and tested their own theories, you're allowed this one moment of selfishness. If they take offence to it then so be it. You'll apologize afterwards. ( Maybe. )

Half-moon eyes stare at you, one eyebrow comically raised as if to ask what you're up to. Many things, really. Some important, some less. Some so annoyingly burning that you have to test them right this instant or you feel like you're going to go crazy. Even more than you have already.

❝ Stardust? Something on my face? ❞

Come on, just touch them. How hard can it be?

❝ Hello? Earth to stardust?? ❞

Just reach your hand out. The worst that can happen is the Universe decides this is a blindingly stupid idea and corrects it.

❝ Hey---- ❞

Ah. Hmm. Huh.

You're not entirely sure what you expected. They look just as surprised as you feel. Even though they don't have a proper mouth, you can imagine it opening and closing silently before twisting into an unamused frown. Yet they make no move to pull away. Rather, they seem to resign themselves to the situation, head tilting with a quiet exhale through the nose. The pointed spike slides in your hand with the motion, its edges digging into your glove. You kind of wish you were holding it with your bare hands. It doesn't feel warm nor cold and it's light as if made of glass yet durable. Strangely, it also feels like holding strands of hair, soft and thin, unruly, sticking in every direction.

❝ Is your hair still dyed? ❞

❝ ... what. ❞ ( 'What kind of question is that? Why does it matter?' You want to laugh. )

❝ Your hair. The roots have pretty much grown out, but the loops kept resetting them. Nothing visible, of course, but a funny thing to keep going back and forth. ❞

If looks could kill, you'd be dead ten times over just from daring to touch them. Which, fair enough. You'd not have the nicest reaction either to somebody sticking their hand in your hair like this.

❝ Stardust-- ❞ but this time Loop stops themselves with another sigh ❝ It was nearly completely black by the time we reached the House. I would have dyed it again once we beat the King. ❞

Hmm. Funnily, you thought about letting your hair grow out entirely. Isa used to be the one who helped you touch your roots up, always so careful to not touch you more than necessary. The number of times you were ready to doze off midway through the procedure is too high to recall.

Almost completely black again, huh. Not like it matters now. No matter how much you wish you could twirl it around your finger, now it's nothing more than a shard of cold warmth that twinkles ever so slightly in the shade offered by the Favour Tree, edge you trace lost in thoughts. What does it feel like to them? If you haven't been touched in hundreds of loops, they must have gone thousands and then some. Are you the first one to touch them in so long?

❝ Pathetic. ❞

Yeah. It doesn't matter which one of you actually said it, it's right.

( Your hand has found their 'cheek' somehow. It's just as chubby as your own. ... Is it? It's just a jagged line. Hmm. )

❝ If you're done basking in my light, ❞ and here you actually allow yourself a snort as they gently hit your hand away with the back of their own hand ❝ I think you have a sleepover to attend, no? ❞

You kind of want to stay with them, though. Maybe it'll be fine if you use a loop for your own selfishness. You can tell Loop also has further questions.

[inkhornism]

EVEN THE CLOUDS ARE IN THE SAME SHAPES AND SPOTS WHEN YOU WAKE UP. They move lazily to the right to uncover the blinding sun stabbing your remaining eye as if to personally spite you for falling asleep in the middle of the field rather than to the side, in the shade. Well, you hate it too just as much so suppose you are even.

It's time to talk to Mira.

The sleepover idea is cute, one last chance for you all to sleep together, share a tender and intimate moment before the final fight and the eventual split. Bonnie is the one who falls asleep first, exhausted from the day's adventures. Mira and Odile follow next, discussing their plans for the next day. Isa curls up on his side of the bed, whispering to you before eventually falling prey to the land of dreams. You usually are the last one to doze off to the sound of the others' snoring, content to know that you have such precious people in your life.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Mira reaching out towards you as if to grab your hand in hers in her gratefulness to your agreement. She doesn't, freezing so so close after which she drops the idea, smiles at you and leaves.

( You feel bitter bile rising in your throat. )

Two for the sleepover. Three more to go.

One would ( and has ) assume(d) that with the way you skip over to the Favour Tree first thing, your very life depends on it. ( Thanks, no thanks, Loop. ) You skid to a stop before rounding the corner, pat your coat down, straighten your hat and then inhale and exhale slowly. Isa is just a few steps away, ready to greet you, laugh at your pun and then 'let you do your thing at the Favour Tree'. You'd like for him to stick around longer, for you to put your wishes on fallen leaves together, to sit beneath the tree's crown together and enjoy the quiet until the sun goes down.

❝ SIIIIIIFFFF!!!!! ❞ booming voice cuts through your thoughts and you almost jump a meter in the air at its suddenness.

❝ ISSSSAAAAA!!!!! ❞ you respond in kind, smile so wide it looks like it may split your face in half.

Isa brings his hand down towards your shoulder ( like he always does ), brilliant eyes watching you intently only to stop mere centimeters away from your shoulder ( like he always does ) and then return to his side.

( You bite the inside of your cheek to hide your disappointment. )

Three for the sleepover. Two more to go.

Though it's Bonnie who holds your items, Odile is the one managing them and making sure that you always have what you need on you. She's the one restocking at shops and pointing out different objects that may come in handy later on. You still remember when she showed you the star-shaped trinket you wore for a good while before losing it in that one cave. ( Your disappointment had been immeasurable and your day had been ruined. )

Once more, you see her staring at shelves, counting your money, what you need to buy, how much and if you can afford all of it. It's likely you'll find more stuff in the House, but in the event that you don't, it's been a while since it's been frozen, it's good to be prepared.

❝ We are almost done. Tomorrow we defeat the King and everything will return to normal. ❞ Odile says without looking your way, studying the vial in her hand instead. Once she deems it acceptable, she puts it next to the other supplies. ❝ So chin up, kid. You've done well. ❞

You think she's going to reach for another bottle, but her hand changes course towards your head. Your eyes widen and you begin pulling back, stopping when Odile seems to realize her mistake and takes it back.

( Why are you like this? Pathetic. )

Four for the sleepover. One more to go.

Bonnie not looking at you when you approach them isn't anything new. You wish they'd at least glance at you. Maybe make a noise to signal that they know you're there.

Mira's idea has a better ring and you smile at the way they light up. It's unfair for a child such as them to have to go through everything they've been through. Just one more day and it'll be over.

Though Bonnie makes no move to get closer to you, you can see it in their expression. If they were able, they'd step right up to you and drum their hands on the front of your coat. The frown creasing their forehead is a telltale sign of thoughts brewing in their mind that are looking for a way to manifest into reality. It's just a matter of time.

Ultimately, they return their attention to the animals peacefully grazing before them without another word.

( You almost wish they'd kicked you or something. )

Five for the sleepover. Time to gather at the clocktower.

Sometimes you wonder if you should ask to sleep alone. Still in the same room, but in your own corner. Then you wouldn't yearn so much for Isa's warmth right up against your skin.

What silly thoughts swim in your head, Siffrin.

( YOU FEEL AS IF YOU WERE IN A DREAM. WAKE UP, SIFFRIN, YOU HAVE-- )

It's all routine and you hate how you've come to see your interactions with your friends as something to get through as fast as possible to get the ball rolling.

Mira looks so earnest in her request that you can't help, but feel emboldened by it. Before she can finish talking and unlinking her hands to try to grab yours, you wrap your own around hers.

It's clear that neither of you expected such an action and she looks like she wants to question you about it, maybe even apologize even though you acted of your own volition.

You never believed in any kind of gods and especially not those of this world, but you close your eye and breathe slowly nevertheless. You feel her following your breathing and allow yourself a small twitch of the lips.

Isa's hand comes down towards your shoulder again. You know your action window is extremely small so the moment it hovers in the air, you snatch it with your own and settle it on your shoulder.

You shiver upon contact and then go completely still. Your skin crawls and you can feel the tension in his hand between letting it sit there and pulling away. He's always been so careful with you, it's heartbreaking.

At last, you smile. And laugh. Stars, you feel like you could melt right through the ground.

Odile isn't exactly affectionate, no, but on occasion, you've seen her ruffle Bonnie's hair. She always makes sure that none of you can see her do so, but you all know.

You're not exactly sure where she intends to put her hand on your head, your wizard hat makes the whole thing a bit awkward. Then again, she's tall enough to reach over you so maybe that's the plan here as well.

You seize your chance by thrusting your head against her hand just as she's reaching out to you and the force and suddenness make the contact feel like something hit you over the head gently. Surprise displays clearly on her face behind her glasses, stiff fingers pressing lightly on the hat.

You nyaa with a snicker, hoping she doesn't catch the way you lean even more into her hand.

Bonnie still looks at you as if wishing violence on you. Or, at least, that's what the intense glare they give you looks like. Unfortunately for both of you, you can't quite kick yourself. Maybe if the universe implodes and two of you meet in a loop. Though by then, you'd have much bigger problems.

This is a conundrum as they don't even want to look at you, much less touch you. You can injure yourself for comedic effect, but you doubt that would make them laugh. Never mind touching you.

Well, nothing to lose. You walk over to them and when they look at you -- you flick their forehead. The look in their eyes changes from annoyance to a startled one before they reach out to flick you ( in the cheek ) in retaliation before they can think better of it.

The flicker of pain that shoots through your face makes your eye widen. Bonnie's mind seems to catch up with what just happened too because they look like they might start crying.

Oh. Oh no. That's not what you wanted.

You massage your cheek and wink at them. ❝ What a cheeky stunt! ❞ and laugh to which they stick their tongue out at you.

Everybody is already asleep and you aren't far from dozing off yourself. Isa's sleeping face stares at you in the darkness, his hand balled against his chest. You will blame drowsiness in the morning, but for now, you gently tug it free and intertwine your fingers together before finally closing your eye as well.

What silly thoughts swim in your head, Siffrin.

[inkhornism]

WITH FRIENDLY CONNECTIONS ESTABLISHED ONCE MORE AND A DORMANT RIVALRY NOW BROUGHT BACK, SEEING THE TWO TEAMS PRACTISE TOGETHER EVERY FEW MONTHS BECOMES THE NORM. Bristled fur and ruffled feathers are a too common sight as the most energetic players of both schools get too into the match they are playing, sending the ball back and forth with such force and excitement one may even think of it as a meteor on fire hurtling through space. It's an atmosphere well-deserved, the scores tight and the sets long, hard won battles celebrated with ( too ) loud yahoo's! before they get right back into it for another round.

Free practice sees a decent drop in attendants, most players deciding they've had enough for the day and that their hunger and tiredness take priority over 'tossing one more' and 'please please please, show me that one move one last time'. Even though some cave in, do whatever is asked of them once more and leave before the ball can hit the ground.

Kuroo's laughter bounces off the walls unmistakably in the wake of the silence that has fallen after the earlier ruckus has died down considerably. A sharp sound of a heavy hand hitting a back ( accompanied by a most likely unintended guh noise and a cough to cover it up ) follows it and then more laughter. Tsukishima's grumbling echoes the gesture as he wiggles to escape the arm slung over his shoulders, hoping that the taller captain loses his balance and falls over. ( No such luck, however. )

To be completely honest, it's still a major surprise to Yamaguchi that his childhood friend agreed to extra practice. Not only that, but that he's involving himself with boys from other teams and actually putting in the effort to play well together even if all they've been doing so far is practise a few blocks before it devolved into teasing. But he's glad for it, more than words can express, no only because the blond is bonding with others, but also because it gives him himself a chance to do the same.

His company is a lot quieter, curtain of golden bangs hiding his face though more than once he's caught him glancing up from his game whenever something happens on the court that results in laughter, a sarcastic quip and the sound of the ball being passed around again. Kenma is the quiet type who stands back and observes before speaking up, but he doesn't mind. Yamaguchi is used to filling in the silence himself or keeping quiet and entertaining himself as needed. So far, he's been keeping a comfortable balance between peeking at the game his friend is playing and watching the others practise their spikes.

❝ Nice kill, Tsukki! ❞ carried through the air by a hand semi-curled next to his mouth. Kenma hmms next to him, cat-like eyes set on Kuroo. He mouths something that seems to get the other to straighten from his slouching position, grin in place. Whatever it is that he's said, the following spike goes down spinning then shoots to the side after making contact with the ground.

❝ Show off. ❞ but the fond smile audible in his voice is nigh palpable. Unlike Kenma, Kuroo enjoys putting on a show, especially if he gets to piss others ( Tsukishima ) off with it, chance that he'll never pass over in a million years. And that's good, all of them need somebody on another team to motivate them to get better, to stand on equal foot, to eventually surpass.

And so late evening slowly creeps into late night, what's meant to be some extra practice becoming a gaggle of boys just having fun. But… it's nice, it really is. All this treating each other constantly like opponents can get extremely tiring very fast.

( And if Yamaguchi leans a little bit more into Kenma's space while Tuskishima and Kuroo have another one of their play fights, well, there's nobody to see them. )

[inkhornism]

THE QUIET NOISE OF FANS IS ALL THAT BREAKS THE SILENCE IN FUTABA’S ROOM BESIDES THE OCCASIONAL HUM. Mindlessly browsing the recordings from when she bugged Leblanc forever ago is more done out of habit, able to easily filter out Sojiro’s voice ( and now Akira’s as well ) unless it changes to reflect something happening in which moment she slows the recording down and listens more carefully. Most of the time nothing happens and she eventually just lets them run their course in the background before moving them to an external storage as to keep her computer light. On and on, each folder gets scanned and moved until she comes across one she hasn’t opened in almost a year at this point, maybe more.

Bugging Goro’s phone was almost too easy. One would have expected that the Detective Prince ( psh, what a title ) would be a lot more careful with something that could contain information he’d rather not leak out. Maybe, in the end, he underestimated her despite knowing what he did once he joined the team if he hadn’t already put two and two together before that. A slight misstep in his oh-so-grand plan to get rid of their Leader and then get revenge before doing gods know what afterwards, she’s been simmering in her negativity regarding him for so long she’s not sure of the details.

( Only that she is. Too aware of what his plan entailed. Far too aware of a lot more things part of her wishes she’d never known. )

Even just opening the folder and seeing the files, she can pinpoint what each of them is about with accuracy – day to day plans, conversations with the Thieves, the plan that he was so sure would work out as well as the… She left the file as it was automatically named, not wanting to bring attention to it, but knowing that she won’t forget its contents either despite the generic name.

The bug hasn’t been active since back then. No new recordings have been made.

She still feels the way her stomach twists into knots.

Yet she can’t bring herself to delete it.

Despite supplying the team with what she heard via the bug, there are plenty of things she’s told only Akira on a hunch that he’d go out and do something stupid ( stupider ) if left to his own devices as he always does whenever the guy is involved. There are plenty more that she’s never told anybody that shook her conviction to never forgive him no matter what for taking her mother away from her so unfairly, for trying to do the same to the glue that kept the team united unlike anything else. It made her falter in her hatred, not enough to consider changing her stance, but enough to shed light at another angle over the whole situation.

While she was already inside a tomb, he was doing nothing, but digging his own grave. But while she managed to reach out, he never had the chance to do it before it was too late.

With a sigh, she reaches to turn the PC off and kicks the ground so the chair spins around. That’s enough deep cleaning for today, not that she has anywhere else to move the files since the last external storage just hit maximum capacity. Time to get a new one. Preferably one with more space.