… Would anyone wanna read a thing I wrote for Zeztz that's now largely no longer canon compliant (although if Takahashi thinks he can dissuade me from my Nem and Nox being siblings take, he has another thing coming)? Just bc I still rather like it.
… So here, have a snippet I wrote based on… Well… If you know, you know. I ain't admitting it.
***
“Wait.” He took both Horobi’s hands in his, scooting as close as he comfortably could on the bed, “Just… Give me a second. Let me try something.” The HumaGear blinked at him in bewilderment, but went along with his motions, dutifully closing his eyes when Fuwa tilted forward to press their foreheads together.
Vulcan closed his own eyes, gripping Horobi’s hands tightly as he turned his focus inward. It was difficult—it was designed to control him, not the other way around; and even with the crash course Naki had given him, it was mostly sheer force of will rather than any skill or knowledge on his part. It hurt a little—a small, dull ache somewhere at the back of his skull, but it was nothing compared to the splitting agony Amatsu had subjected him to, and easily ignored in the name of what he was trying to do. It was unnatural, too—but it wasn’t the first time his mind had experienced things the human brain was never meant to; and it was again much less unpleasant than having a whole other person inside it, having his consciousness arbitrarily snatched away with no warning. He had to push it, pouring all the stubbornness he ripped open Progrise Keys with into taking hold of it and making it reach out. It didn’t have to go far, didn’t have to last long, not on the first try, but if he could at least…
He knew when it worked because, just for a moment, his whole mind lit up. It wasn’t like when Naki had been stuck in there—that had been uncomfortably cramped and horrifying. This, he still had space, was still in his own head, had control of himself… But he was, for an instant, acutely aware of every detail and aspect of the HumaGear in front of him on deeper level than he had ever been before. For a moment, he even saw himself through Horobi’s eyes, looking disheveled and slightly grumpy, and he felt the HumaGear’s passing urge to reach out for him in his own chest, felt the welling fondness and affection. Other thoughts and feelings brushed against his, all underscored by a deep, overreaching softness and pure love that wrapped around him like a warm fog.
It was over almost as soon as it began—it was too hard to maintain, and it felt a little bit like a rubber band snapping in his brain when it pulled back, making him wince and pull back slightly.
When he opened his eyes again, Horobi was staring at him with nothing short of wonder, all the uncertainty and sorrow that usually haunted his expressions completely gone. Slowly, a trembling hand reached for his face, and he eagerly leaned his cheek into the palm, keeping his eyes on the HumaGear’s face. “I…” Horobi’s voice was so quiet, he could barely hear it even as close as they were, “I… I felt you…”
Fuwa couldn’t resist smiling slightly. “I bugged Naki until they gave me some pointers,” He admitted. “Well, actually I guess I more bribed them by telling them Yaiba’s favourite restaurant.” The HumaGear kept staring at him without saying anything else, so he reached back, touching his shoulder. “Horobi?”
Horobi blinked at him a few times, still looking at Vulcan like he was seeing the sun for the first time, one hand still absently cupping Fuwa’s face in his palm. “I… I just…”
Vulcan’s smile softened. “I know.” Taking the HumaGear’s wrist with one hand, he leaned forward to use the hand on Horobi’s shoulder to gently push him down to lie on the bed together before pulling close and tucking his face into the crook of the HumaGear’s neck. In moments, both Horobi’s arms wrapped around him in return, and he felt the HumaGear lean into his hair. “I wanted you to know I trust you.” There was a small intake of breath above him, but he didn’t bother looking up, “And… How I actually feel about you.”
A small, very comfortable silence. “… Did you…?” Horobi’s voice was small in a different way than when he tried to shrink himself while talking to Hiden or Izu—this was more emotional, shy.
Fuwa pressed a small kiss to the base of his throat, and felt the very faint shiver that ran through the HumaGear in response. “Yes.” He promised, just as quietly, “I felt you, too.”
Horobi sighed like he was letting out a breath he’d been holding for years, coiling around Fuwa to eliminate even the smallest of spaces between them. After that, neither of them said anything, just held on to each other as tightly as possible for as long as they both stayed awake.
***
I am the only love guard.
(actually there's two of us, but I'm the compulsively talkative one)
This is a piece of a thing I do want to one day finish bc I really like the idea of it.
In the meantime, this is a solid excerpt that doesn't give away too much, and I'm on a Ultra Series kick atm.
***
Jean-Nine banked a perfect one-eighty the instant his brother cried out, and the rest of Ultimate Force Zero followed in a slightly less organised but equally quick manner. Jean-Bot appeared to be caught by some sort of long black tendrils that had latched onto his ankles and wrists and were trying to drag him down.
“Yakitori!” Glen yelled, and started following Nine back to help—only to come up short when they saw where the tendrils were coming from. “What the hell?!”
A massive, dark sphere, that looked like no planet Zero had ever seen, which seemed to be sucking the very light out of the stars loomed below them, covered in stormy clouds and darkness. The strange threads were dragging Jean-Bot down toward it, in a way that made it seem like the sphere was… Hungry.
“That’s not a planet!” Mirror Knight called from somewhere to Zero’s left. “At least, not one from this system!”
“How did it get here without us noticing?” The Ultraman shouted back as he moved in, trying to simultaneously study the situation for a way to free Jean-Bot.
“Wait! Stay back!” The robot shouted, even as the vines began wrapping around his head. “It’s-” The tendrils crawled higher and clung tighter, the tips actually cutting through Jean-Bot’s exterior—his eyes flickered, then went out from what they could only assume was the vines getting into his mainframe.
“Augh…! Damnit! Hang on, Yakitori!” Glen Fire spiralled around, diving down so that the robot would be out of range of the flames. With his customary shout of ‘Fire,’ he lit up, swinging and blasting at the ugly tendrils. But though they flickered and twisted away from the flames, the vines did not break—and some even split off, chasing after Glen as he sped around them. “Oi, what the hell?”
Jean-Nine was attempting to severe the vines with the full force of his entire arsenal to no avail—in fact, the strange tendrils split again, reaching for him with alarming speed. The robot fired up his boosters to try and dodge, but the wines closed in faster, one catching his wrist.
“Jean-Nine!” Mirror Knight flashed forward, throwing out a hand, sending mirror blasts at the thread wrapping around the second robot’s arm—it cut through, but then the black vines regrew with a vengeance, surging forward and winding all the way up Jean-Nine’s arm, spreading to grab his leg as well. At the same time, just below, the other tendril caught Glen’s ankle, dragging him down into a tangle as well. Though they twisted and scrambled when he covered himself in fire, they held on and even kept growing, starting to cocoon him the same way they were the brothers.
“Glen!” Zero grabbed the Eye Sluggers from his head, snapping them together and throwing them as quickly as possible—but the black tendrils curved out of the way, dodging his attempts to cut them—and when the Eye Sluggers came around again, they even seized it as well, then grew to start reaching for him, even faster than before. He tried to get clear, but the vines still closed in.
“Zero!” Mirror Knight barrelled into him, shoving him away forcefully.
The moment he could, he spun around, looking frantically for his friends—just in time to see Mirror Knight dragged in and enveloped in the dark vines as well. “No!” Panic set in, and he dove after the retreating tendrils trying to take his friends, reaching desperately for Mirror Knight’s swiftly disappearing hand.
Something flickered, off to his right—and then a massive blast of energy hit him from the side, knocking him completely off course sending him careening downward, just missing the vines, towards the sphere below. As he hit the cloud cover, Zero’s consciousness gave out, and everything went dark.
***
I really like the UFZ, they're fun dudes.
In other news… Why did they remove the horizontal line, but the astericks are suddenly huge on the 'regular' text size???
… So I wrote this little thing ages ago, and I might one day continue it, but it's just been sitting in my docs and I rather like it, so… Here?
(the death of the horizontal line continues to haunt me to this day)
***
Things are always more complicated in practice than in theory. Especially something big like saving the world. He knew that.
But it didn’t make it any easier.
Asuka would never say he regrets summoning the Abarangers, or asking them to fight. A whole two worlds are at stake, after all. And they were all well aware from the start that the Evoliens were not going down without a struggle. So he doesn’t regret it, exactly.
But… He’s not always exactly happy about it, either.
Especially not now, sitting up downstairs in the small hours of the night because Sugishita thought the trio’s injuries were too severe to risk transporting them all the way upstairs. When night had finally come, he’d thought about going up to his own room—stood and gazed thoughtfully at the stairwell door for a long time—but then a single look at where his teammates lay, wrapped in bandages and wincing in pain, was all it took to draw him back to their side—like a… A magnet, like with that Trinoid—wedging himself into the corner between the wall and the door, where he could easily see all three of them, even in the dark.
So he was on hand during the first half of the night, when Ryouga called for Mai (sleeping over at a friend’s house after repeated assurances that Ryouga would be alright and traffic had made it impossible to go pick her up that evening) in his sleep, and Ranru woke in a cold sweat and needed water. He let the unconscious AbaRed clutch so tightly to his hand he half feared his bones would break, and sat beside AbareYellow, rubbing her back as she drank, then took the glass back to the counter when she was finished and stayed close until she went back to sleep—then returned to his post in the corner. After those interruptions, things were quiet for a good hour and a half, and he actually fell into a light slumber, head rolling back against the wall.
He was awoken by the creak of a chair and a muffled grunt of pain. His eyes fluttered open, and, rolling his head and shoulders to get the stiffness out from sleeping against the wall, looked around. The first thing he noticed was that Yukito’s spot on the floor was empty—searching further, he saw the figure hunched over in the seat by the computer. Softly as he could, Asuka heaved himself to his feet, and made his way toward the young man’s side. AbareBlue was doubled over, clutching his wounds and wincing in the dim light of the screen, in too much pain to notice his teammate’s approach. Given that one of Yukito’s injuries was a giant gash in his leg where the Trinoid—with some sort of bear mouth—had severely bitten him, it must have been tremendous effort and agony to drag himself to the counter in the first place. Glancing at the display, Asuka realised Yukito had been trying to analyse the footage of their failed battle, he presumed to try and find the Trinoid’s weaknesses for next time—but Yukito was in no state to moving about so much.
Unsurprisingly, AbareBlue slumped sideways in the next instant, and would have toppled right to the floor had Asuka not caught him. Holding the young man in his arms, he was suddenly very much aware of how small Yukito really was. He wasn’t actually that much bigger than Ranru—in fact, he might’ve been slightly shorter. At that particular moment, he seemed even smaller, curled up and trembling like a frightened child.
Asuka carefully eased him away from the chair, letting AbareBlue lean into his chest for support as they sank back to the floor, hoping to take the stress off the injured leg. Wrapping his arms as tightly as he dared around Yukito’s shoulders, he patted his back gently. “It’s okay, it’s okay…” He murmured, tucking the young man’s head under his chin. “Don’t push yourself.”
Yukito made a small noise that might have been intended as a laugh, but turned into groan when the motion aggravated his injuries. “Sure…” He mumbled hazily into Asuka’s jacket. “Whatever you say, Tou-san…”
Asuka froze. Sanjyou ‘I don’t have a father’ Yukito had just called him ‘Tou-san.’
On the one hand, AbareBlue was practically in a trance, dazed from his wounds and still half asleep. He certainly wasn’t thinking about his words at all—it could easily be the exhaustion and pain talking. But on the other, his condition also meant that there could be truth to what he said, confessing in a stupor what his nature would never allow him to say normally.
When Yukito shifted slightly in his arms again, he shook himself out of his own amazement and remembered they were sitting on the cold floor of the restaurant several places from the bedroll Sugishita had made up for AbareBlue. Getting up on his knees, he repositioned his arms so he could help Yukito move. “Let’s get you back to bed first…” He whispered, more to himself than Yukito, who made no response that time. Slowly working their way across the ground to avoid worsening AbareBlue’s wounds, he finally got his teammate back to the bed. Laying him down and pulling the blankets back up, he kept one hand on the young man’s shoulder until Yukito stopped weakly trying to rise and was certifiably asleep again. Satisfied with that, at least, Asuka crawled back over to his corner, and assumed the same position—but his mind was far too addled to sleep again himself.
Yukito had called him Tou-san.
***
Like I said, there was supposed to be more to this, but I wrote it like. Seven years ago, heh heh. I don't talk about it much, but Abaranger is a favourite Sentai of mine (well, most of it), and Asuka and Yukito were always my favourites. I loved seeing the former as the team dad, esp w/ the revelations about Yukito's father, and thus, this popped into my brain.
… I have a headache that’s verging on migraine, but listen, I finished.
***
Horobi didn’t know why he had entered the hospital in the first place. It wasn’t that the Ark had expressly forbade him to do so, but had made no secret of her disapproval—there was no point, no purpose to his presence. There was no goal, no benefit, especially not considering how much security he had to evade to get in. And yet…
Vulcan looked… Different in the bed, hooked up to all the different machines, then when he was blustering and shouting. For all he had a large personality, it had been obvious how physically small he was the moment Horobi had laid eyes on him. The human was just so… Odd, how so much… Something fit into so small a body. His gaze seemed to find it’s way to Fuwa Isamu whenever possible, scrutinising every aspect of his being—the way his dark eyes lit up from his emotions, the way his mole would disappear whenever he wrinkled his eyes, how he puffed himself up, turned a whole spectrum of colours, the way his curls were permanently messy. Horobi found himself memorising the human without knowing when he had started, sometimes his hand would twitch forward of its own accord, reaching out towards something he didn’t understand. He’d be working on the Ark’s plan, or attending Jin, when the incomprehensible question of what Vulcan’s hair or skin would feel like would appear unbidden in his mind.
And now this—he’d been on the hospital ground before he realised what he was doing. He should have turned back, but there was something about the pull Fuwa Isamu exerted over him that offered no escape. Once he was within range, he had get there. He had to… Had to… Had to see.
Apparently, though, that was all he had to do. Upon arriving in Vulcan’s room all he could do was… Stare. The human was completely helpless, kept unconscious by at least one of the machines he was hooked up to, but… Horobi experienced no inclination to finish what he had started. But… There was another sensation, one fat too complicated for him to parse out. It felt like… A little like the way his body reacted to looking at Jin, both when he was happy and when he was hurt, all mixed together, but… Different. Different how he didn’t know, but… Different. Fuwa Isamu looked so… Soft. Fragile. Inviting.
His hand connected with the human’s hair before he realised he had raised it, fingertips skirting over the curls. Once he’d done it, he couldn’t move away, one hand aimlessly combing through Fuwa Isamu’s hair, brushing away from his forehead. There was no purpose to his actions, it did not benefit the Ark in any way, but… He could not seem to make himself stop.
Then his knuckles lightly grazed the skin—in the same amount of time it took him to register the usual warmth and softness, thoughts and images flashed through his mind, uncontrolled and unprompted. Though many were clear, the spectrum was so large that he could not even begin to draw a conclusion—things that were beyond any experience he could ever remember happening, to things that were so… Similar to the data of the Ark that he…
He pulled his hand back, pressing it to his side. Where those his own thoughts? He thought so little that it was hard to tell, but… The things he’d seen himself doing… The impulses…
The air in the room changed, growing colder despite the fact that there was no change in temperature and Vulcan’s body temperature remained the same. All of a sudden, he couldn’t stand to be in the place—the pressure, the uncertainty, the chill… It all pushed him away as much as Fuwa Isamu pulled him in. For a moment, the two conflicting forces threatened to pull him apart—until a familiar presence stepped in, quelling all discord.
It was the Ark’s will that pulled him out of the room and back toward Daybreak, the sun peaking over the horizon to reveal just how long he had stood thoughtlessly in Vulcan’s hospital room, staring at him. There would be pain for this, that much he knew—punishment he naturally deserved for leaving his post on such a needless outing—especially since there was still a mysterious, electrifying sensations running through the hand he had touched Vulcan’s hair with, the pictures still etched into his mind, equal parts confusing, destabilising, interesting, and alluring.
It would need to be a long punishment to make him forget this.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to relax, lay back in the grass, watch clouds passing by. It was a behaviour that was alien to even the most acceptable HumaGear, and for him it was completely unthinkable—until now. Everything was wet from dew, and he would need to wash these clothes afterwards to get out the grass stains, but he didn’t care—so many of his memories were wrapped up in darkness, blurred to the point he couldn’t tell where his mind ended and the Ark’s began, or even completely unattainable that just being out in the sunlight was… Nice.
He felt her presence more than heard her, a familiar, comforting figure moving closer—she was as much a part of him as his own components, so he didn’t even open his eyes when she sat down beside him on the grass, then lay down, pillowing her head on his chest to watch the sky as well, twirling a flower between her fingers. After a while, she began to hum softly—not any particular tune, but one that resonated with his very core, in synchrony, like everything else they did.
For a while, they just lay there while she hummed their song. “… Aibou.”
He saw the flicker of purple in her hair, felt it as her head turned agains his chest to look up at him. “What is it?”
“Play them again.”
In moments, he felt the link establish and let his eyes drift closed. Memories flashed through his mind that he both knew and did not know—though he knew they were his, secreted and protected deep within the coding of his dearest, closest friend, but he could never summon them to his own mind. Many contained Jin as he had once been—his first steps, first words. At least, the first that she had been there for. Others were just peacefulness, similar to what he was experiencing now. Others were less visual—he felt something when she played them, a sense of purpose, a confidence that he been stripped away from him years ago. A hope. A dream.
In time, however, the remembrances faded, and he was lying in the grass again, with the new and yet comforting weight of her head resting against his chest. He felt her shift against him, and then her fingers, the ones not adorned with claws that mimicked Acid Analyse, were brushing his cheek. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
He opened his eyes, hurriedly raising his own hand to his face to find he had begun crying without realising. And yet… It wasn’t exactly unpleasant. “I’m not…” He began, but realised he wasn’t exactly sure what he was. Finally, he settled for “I’m not sad.”
She said nothing, but she didn’t need to. They were so perfectly attuned to each other, neither needed words to understand. She settled back into the same spot, picking up her tune again. Without missing a single beat, they returned to their personal balance.
First time writing for this, and the idea was that it’s set towards the finale so… Excuse some… Wobbly characterisation.
Setting is that Stacey defected and hit it off w/ the Goldtsuikars, but then decided to be a dumbass and decide it was his ‘responsibility’ to beat his dad and ran off again. Zox realised what was up and offered to go look for him while the others dealt w/ other stuff.
—————
Barashitara wasted no time in twirling his spear out of the way, preparing to fire missiles on his downed son. Stacey scrambled to get up, but couldn’t make his body work fast enough—impact was already less than seconds away, and there was no dodging. Everything went into slow motion as he stared in horror at the impending onslaught before allowing his eyes to drop closed in tired acceptance. Despite himself, he felt wetness in his lashes, though he felt more anger and disappointment in himself than grief.
From somewhere to the side, he heard someone shout his name—a flicker of gold flashed in front of his eyes just before they finished closing.
Wait.
Everything returned to normal speed as his eyes snapped back open—just in time to watch the Twokaiser suit vanish into light in a haze of smoke and dust. Zox stayed upright for a moment like he was floating, bonelessly, in something much thicker than air. His coat and clothes ripped and stained red—some spots were still smouldering and even sparking. For a few, horrifying seconds, he wavered there between them, like a shard of light wedged between two shadows.
Then he crumpled like a piece of golden tissue paper.
“Zox!” A voice, shrill and panicked, shattered the quiet, a dissonant note in the stillness. “Zox! No! No no no no no no no no no…!” Stacey was already doubled over, scrambling over to Twokaiser’s side, seizing fistfuls of his coat in both hands, before it quite clicked that it was his own—it was so raw and piercing.
But maybe if he just screamed loud enough, high enough, Zox would live. He didn’t know when the pirate had begun to mean something to him. He hadn’t realised they were friends.
Zox felt thin and fragile and human in his arms, as if his bones were hollow like a bird’s—especially when he could feel them bending in unnatural ways under his touch. Twokaiser’s eyes were closed when Stacey rolled him over, a small furrow in his eyebrows the only thing betraying the pain he had to be in—or perhaps he was mostly beyond pain, as even a cursory glance of the outward damage done made Stacey’s chest seize. The pirate’s face still managed to hold the traces of a smirk under the cuts and burns, but there was an unnerving amount of blood oozing from the corners of his mouth, and his breathing was little more than a thready wheeze.
One hand fumbled clumsily up to cradle Zox’s cheek, thumb brushing across the sharp crown. At last, Twokaiser’s eyes cracked open, blurry and unfocused—Stacey had to physically turn his head to make eye contact. “Zox!” His voice cracked even over the single syllable, “Zox, say something!” Something, anything, even that annoying song. Maybe even especially that. Something to say that everything was going to be alright.
Instead, when the pirate tried to complete his usual smile, it quickly became a grimace. “You…” The word was a harsh rasp, as if it burned his throat, and more blood bubbled around his lips, “Are a dumbass.”
Stacey blinked around the tears still pouring from his eyes, “What?”
Zox’s lids drooped, but he dragged them back up with what seemed like massive effort. “Running off… By yourself…” A frail attempt at a deep breath that sounded like the air was leaking from somewhere before it reached his mouth, “Tryin’ to… Fight your old man…”
Stacey swallowed a sob as best he could. “It… It’s my responsibility! I-”
Zox tried to snap at him to cut him off, but it turned into a painful wretch that made him spit blood. “St… Stupid.” He barely gasped the word, “You’re… One of us…” A horrid, wet sound as Twokaiser tried to take another deep breath, “… Our… Family…” Stacey felt a soft tap against his chest and realised the pirate had dragged one hand up to bump his bloodied fist weakly against his coat, “We do things… Together… We… Help…”
Stacey let out a small sob, clutching him tighter. “Zox, I-”
“Sh… Shuddup…” The words were slurring, and Zox’s eyes were drifting closed again, “I tol’ you… We’re…”
“Aniki.” The word burst from Stacey without warning or thought, a rush of complicated emotions he didn’t have the time to parse out—but foremost among them was the crushing realisation of what he’d almost had and now had broken again, and single minded desperation to make Twokaiser’s eyes stay open even just a little longer. “Aniki, please.”
That grin was real, for all it was full of blood and lopsided, “Was startin’… To thin… You’d ne’r… Say it…” Zox’s eyes were practically closed, but Stacey felt them on his face, gazing at him in a way no one had in a very long time, “We’d… Ma’… A Goldtsuikar… Of you…” His face went lax, and his hand dropped back onto his chest.
“… Aniki?” Stacey’s throat closed up again, ands he shook the pirate, probably more roughly than he should have, “Aniki!” There was no response—the only movement was Twokaiser’s head lolling limply back and forth against his arm. “Aniki, wake up!”
“Save your pleas.” Barashitara rumbled from nearby, snapping Stacey back to the full reality of the situation, and making him look up to find the General standing with his back to them, “Twokaiser is dead. His heart has stopped.”
Stacey stared at his father’s back for a moment, slowly shaking his head before looking back down at Zox, “N… No… No!” Another, even rougher shake, “No! Aniki! Zox!” But even though he shouted his voice raw once more, the pirate did nothing but lay still in his arms. With another loud, ugly sob, Stacey folded forward, burying his face in Twokaiser’s broken chest, clutching the pirate’s body so tightly his knuckles turned white, slowly rocking back and forth.
“Stacey!” His head snapped back up, frantically looking around for the source of his name, blinking through the blur of tears. Fortunately, Yatsude came into view immediately, dropping to the ground beside him. He felt the pull of her hands flying up to grip Zox’s shoulder more than saw them, accompanied by a much softer gasp, “Z… Zox-kun?!”
He couldn’t look her in the eye anymore than he could look back at the stillness in Twokaiser’s face as she gently loosened his hold on the pirate’s body for a better look, so he focused on a nearby bit of rubble instead. “I… I… He’s… It’s my…”
He choked on the words, but Yatsude was already expertly checking Twokaiser’s pulse, and the corner of his eye caught the slump of her shoulders when she found none. “No…” Her hand lifted to slowly stroke the pirate’s soot stained blonde hair, fingers trembling.
“… Pathetic.” Stacey’s head snapped around to look back at Barashitara—had he really forgot his father was here? As soon as he laid eyes on him, however, his anger flared back up; this was Barashitara’s doing, and he was going to pay for it.
His last bits of reason reminded him to be careful in passing Zox’s body to Yatsude, making sure Twokaiser’s head was supported, however pointless it was. Ignoring her worried look, he stumbled to his feet, frantically grabbing his weapon to point it unsteadily at Barashitara. “Sh-shut up!” The shout would have been more effective if the anger weren't blended with grief, his voice cracking over the words like brittle ice, “How… How dare you!” He couldn’t make the Changer hold still, his whole hand weaving back and forth like his arm was made of putty; his legs felt equally weak, trembling just from holding his weight, ready to topple over if he tried to take a step.
Barashitara was quiet for a long moment, so long Stacey almost thought he was being ignored—but then, “… Do you intend to waste Twokaiser’s life?” Stacey blinked, the rage on his face slowly diluting into confusion as he glanced back at the thin body in Yatsude’s arms. Barashitara turned back to standing as a black silhouette in the flames behind him. “Twokaiser sacrificed himself to save your worthless life.” He sneered, “If you try to fight me in that condition, you will certainly die—do you intend to render his death pointless by dying anyway?”
Stacey flinched, eyes widening—his arm started to droop. “Sh… Shut up!” He yelled again, reaching with his other hand to drag his weapon back up, “You… You don’t get to talk! You take everything away from me!” The tears were coming back, but he was well past caring about that, “My mother… My chance at a normal life… And now Zox, too!”
His father snorted loudly, and did not look at him again. “If you wish to die anyway, I will humour you.” The General growled, “But I recommend you take this last chance that Twokaiser has given you.”
Stacey opened his mouth to snap back, clutching his own wrist so tight it hurt, when, “Stacey!” He looked sharply over his shoulder to find Yatsude looking pleadingly at him, “Please!” Her voice was audibly shaking as well, and she was cradling Zox’z corpse as if he were a baby bird, tears in her eyes, too, “He’s horrible but he’s right! You can’t fight him like this!”
“B… But…” Stacey’s eyes dropped back to the still form of Twokaiser, “Zox…”
Freeing one hand, Yatsude reached over and grabbed the hem of his coat. “Wouldn’t want you to throw your life away.” Her words had the iron clad tone of a grandmother who would accept no arguments, “He protected you so you could live!” Her voice broke a little on hte last word, and he saw her bottom lip tremble. “Please,” She pleaded, “We can’t lose you, too.”
He hesitated for another moment—then turned and scrambled back to her, tugging the dead pirate’s arm free to wrap it around his shoulders. Yatsude quickly caught on, doing the same with Zox’s other side; working together, they heaved him up and began to stumble away. Barashitara watched them go for a moment—then let out another short, bitter laugh before turning away to head back himself.
—————
There’s a second part to this that I’ll write eventually, but rn I am super low on energy and my face feels weird. X(
I’m gonna actually holding off on tagging this as Hakuoki atm bc… I dunno. I’m scared of bringing my particular brand of odd to the tag (I say, about an apparently incredibly historically accurate yet fictional dating visual novel about samurai vampires…), but… Here we are.
Look, this is Sunagawa’s fault, if the man weren’t so goddamned good at acting, I wouldn’t be here.
Or maybe I would. Who knows.
Actually, @fluttering-by, bc this is also your fault (affectionate/grateful).
~I’m trying desperately to find a replacement for the horizontal line and failing~
“You lied to me.”
The words aren’t so much angry as hurt, trembling slightly—Miki’s shoulders were taut, but more in the way of nerves, huddling into himself rather than readying for a fight. He hovered by the end of the table, one hand by his side, anxiously pulling at the hems of his sleeves absently, the other fidgeting on the hilt of his sword. He was looking more at his boots than Koudou, an odd appearance on one as tall as he was, with a katana in his sash—and yet, when he felt the doctor’s gaze on him, he looked even further down, biting his lip.
Koudou sighed deeply, straightening up from the table, setting the bottles he was had been looking through aside and wiping his hands off before turning to face the young man. “It wasn’t a lie. It is merely a process.” Miki said nothing in reply, his hands merely tensing even more, teeth sinking further into his lip. He truly was so easy to read.
In a few measured steps, the doctor came level with the young man and reached out, tucking his hand under Miki’s chin gently to tip the young man’s face back up. The very first time they had met, when he had reached out like this, Miki had jerked away with a proud glare—now the young man didn’t move back at all, allowing Koudou to lift his head up to reveal unguarded, confused, and wounded eyes beneath his bangs. The nights spent tending to the Miki’s transition into a Fury, wiping the blood from his mouth when needed had apparently won him over. He had taken miraculously well to the basic kindness, combined with honest praise for being such a successful test—where Miki had once maintained a brash and arrogant veneer, Koudou was now privy to the gaze of an insecure, innocent young man filled with desperate pleading. Underneath the spiky shell, he was such a simple soul, longing for worth and guidance—when dangled before him, he scrambled eagerly for them like an abandoned puppy.
When Koudou smiled at him with practiced warmth, that naive eagerness blossomed, waiting to be reassured. The doctor remained silent for another moment, gaze flickering over Miki’s face for a little longer. “… Have your injuries healed completely?” He didn’t need to feign the concern in the question—the young man was the most successful, responsive specimen he had ever had; losing him would be a significant setback he could not afford.
Miki hesitated for a moment, put off by the change in subject, but eventually nodded slightly, chin bumping against Koudou’s hand. The doctor gave him a quick once over just in case, slowly lowering his arm—although the young man hadn’t been one for deceit even before letting his guard down, it was best to be sure—and was satisfied with the response. There were a few remnant marks from mostly-healed wounds, but no actual damage. Good; what he needed to do today was going to be rather… Invasive, and he preferred that Miki be in full health for the procedure.
The young man’s gaze turned curious. “… Why?”
“Like I said, it’s a process.” He made certain to hold Miki’s wide-eyed gaze the entire time. “Thanks to you, I’ve already found a method of mitigating the energy consumption.”
The young man watched him with more uncertainty than he had before—but not enough for concern. “… What is it?”
The question wasn’t new, either, and he was already giving another smile of studied reassurance before the words had finished leaving Miki’s lips. “There now,” When the young man looked away nervously, Koudou brought his hand back up to hold Miki’s chin once more, gently turning his face back forward. In a last second addition, he brushed his thumb over the young man’s cheek briefly, noting how Miki’s head tilted slightly into the touch, eyes darting back to the doctor’s face, “You trust me, don’t you, Saburo?”
The silence that followed was longer than it had ever been before, but Koudou wasn’t terribly concerned—he could still plainly track every thought that ran through the young man’s head, displayed clearly on his face. There was some hesitation, but nothing strong enough to make him think Miki would refuse. The young man was desperate, both for worth and for the means to avenge his family—a raw, determined, consuming rage fuelled by grief that Koudou easily recognised as kin to his own. They were like spirits, in some ways—enough that he knew Miki would never back down from the promise of a chance to achieve his goal. One of the things besides his uniqueness as a test subject that made the doctor almost… Fond of him.
At last, the conflict in Miki’s eyes dissipated, and the telltale nod came, the young man’s chin tapping against Koudou’s fingers once more. The doctor gave him another soft smile, releasing his face and turning back towards the table. “Put that aside, please.” He instructed, lightly gesturing to Miki’s katana. He heard the sound of cloth and motion behind the sounds of him readying supplies. Turning back with the appropriate cloth and bottle in hand, he was unsurprised to find the young man had obeyed, the sword leaning against the wall. Yet another pleasant trait—finding a cooperative subject was almost as rare as finding one that took to the procedure as well as Miki. “And you should sit down.” He didn’t look up from the precious task of pouring the liquid onto the fabric, but again he heard the rustle of silk as the young man sank down onto the straw mat covering the corner of the room, next to the futon. Another good thing—it would be best to not have to move him too far. He really needed to see about finding a new exam table.
Putting away the closed bottle, he took the soaked cloth in his hand, crossing the room in measured steps to kneel behind the young man’s shoulder. Miki was staring either at the floor or his hands in his lap from lowered lids, biting his lip slightly, still a bit tense. Well, in a fashion, this would help with that. As a forewarning, he reached up and gently smoothed his free hand over the young man’s hair, noting the instinctive start at the sudden touch. Lingering for a moment to be sure Miki was calm, Koudou’s hand drifted to the back of the young man’s head, fingers tangling slightly in his hair for grip. Then he raised his other hand to set the cloth over Miki’s nose and mouth.
The young man stiffened immediately, resisting on impulse, but the doctor’s hand tightened on his hair, pulling Miki against him to keep the cloth over his face. “Shh… It’s alright… It’s alright…” He doubted the words were understood, but that didn’t matter—what was most important was a level tone, “Just breathe… Take deep breaths…” He positioned his arms around the young man to contain him, combing his fingers through the small tangles in Miki’s hair as if to sooth a panicky animal, continuing to murmur softly. The young man continued twisting a bit, hands grasping instinctively at the doctor’s arm, but he managed to maintain enough control to not actually pull hard enough to dislodge the cloth from his face. It took effort—Koudou could feel him trembling, and tears began to well in his eyes, catching in the lashes.
The doctor drew him even closer, folding over him a bit, counting silently as the young man struggled to take slow, heavy breaths. “Do not be afraid, Miki Saburo,” He whispered, smoothing his hand over Miki’s hair in a steady, constant rhythm, in time with each inhale and exhale, “You are my greatest success—I would never cause you unnecessary pain.”
At long last, Miki blearily mumbled something, and his eyes finally closed over the tears brimming in them. The word was muffled by the fabric, and the way his head lolled sideways as his body went fully limp, pressing his face into Koudou’s chest, but… It sounded like ‘aniki.’
Koudou held him for a little longer, running a hand over his hair a few more times, more slowly, until the young man’s breathing levelled out completely. Once he was satisfied Miki was completely under, he slowly unwrapped his arms from around the thin shoulders, tossing the fabric he’d used into the laundry. In the next moment, he guided the unconscious form in his hold over to the futon, cushioning the young man’s head on the pillow carefully, with the same attention he had bequeathed to injured animals in the past.
Under anaesthesia, all the anger and frown lines in Miki’s face smoothed out, easing the weariness that the rage and grief had added to his appearance. The tears that had been partially formed in his eyes were smeared across his cheeks, dripping onto the bedding, leaving small stains in the cloth. When not standing tense like a tightly coiled spring, his body was slender, delicate—all awkward angles and youthful softness.
He looked… He was… So young. He couldn’t be much older than Chizuru—two or three years, at most. Barely more than a boy.
Somebody’s child, whispered a voice in the back of Koudou’s mind, as he watched Miki’s tear streaked face, somebody’s son.
A softness he hadn’t felt in years gathered in his chest as he watched the young man—the boy—sleep. Under the influence of the chemicals, there were no twitches or movement—if not for the languid rise and fall of Miki’s chest and the fact that he wasn’t quite pale enough, he could have passed for a corpse. Another child caught up in a conflict that had been brewing for long before he was born, one that would likely destroy him.
Koudou sighed, closing his eyes for a moment to collect himself. There was no purpose to these lingering emotions—he had no use for them, they served no purpose to his goal. He might not savour using as innocent a soul as Miki, but he didn’t have a choice. Not when the boy was the foremost amongst all his attempts. A pity, yes, but he couldn’t lose so precious a specimen.
Opening his eyes, he took one last deep breath, then reached out to brush the wayward strands of hair away from Miki’s face. He’d wasted enough time—he needed to get to work. He had been able to brew a brand of chloroform that was sufficiently effective on Furies, but it didn’t last forever, and there was much to do. His posture shifting back into professionalism, he leaned further forward to arrange both the boy’s arms straight at his sides before getting to his feet and turning back towards the rest of the lab, to fetch his bag. It was time to get to work.
~I’m trying desperately to find a replacement for the horizontal line and failing~
Yeah, have I mentioned I MISS THE HORIZONTAL LINE BRING IT BACK TUMBLR I SUFFER.
Anyway. I. Uh. I finished a thing.
Bc by the by I love this musical/game/thing now. It has soothed my frustrations so much. I’m gonna now go and listen again bc I’m starting to get kinda salty and it is like the magical ‘Detox the Fire’ button. Or maybe that’s just Sunagawa singing.
