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1 year ago

Spiders and Spirits

Chapter 2

Pairing: Chrollo x Fem OC Tags: Fluff, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Light Angst Chapter Wordcount: 5,267

Aamu journeys to the Continent of Yorbia to study humans, she runs into none other than Chrollo Lucilfer. Is she the Nen exorcist he's been looking for? Is he the monster she's been raised to believe all humans are? Aamu is determined to unravel the mysteries of humanity, but she quickly learns that'll be no easy feat!

Spiders And Spirits

Click here for chapter one!

Author's Note: Hihi lovely reader! If you've made it this far holy moly thank you so much. This story starts during greed island arc, while Chrollo is without his Nen. I'm trying to write as accurate of a portrayal of Chrollo as I can, and I'm planning on trying to keep it at least somewhat faithful to the storyline that already exists. As always I hope you enjoy! o7

Spiders And Spirits

Alone in the woods at a dingy little camp he had time to think. Time to comb over just how everything went so wrong. Had he grown too confident in his abilities? If he had made sure they killed all of the Kurta clan, Uvogin would still be alive. If he hadn't been so focused on stealing Neon's ability, they would've been able to find the chain user sooner. Before he got captured, before he lost his Nen. Chrollo cursed himself for believing that everybody in the Phantom Troupe would be willing to sacrifice him for the greater cause. He knew how Pakunoda felt, and even that some of the others were less than caring of his rules. Now all he could do was wait and hope that he would stumble upon a Nen exorcist. It was all such a mess. He kept asking himself how exactly it all fell apart so quickly. On the outside he was fronting the same stoic nature, but underneath he felt as though his entire being was beginning to rip apart at the seams.

His thoughts were loud, so loud that he almost missed it. The hair raising on the back of his neck and the paranoid feeling that called him to look over his shoulder. He was being watched. As quickly as the onslaught of anxieties had come, they vanished in an instant as he started to deduce who was watching him. He could tell they were hiding behind the trees to his rear. It was clear whoever was watching him was an amateur. They hadn't even tried to hide their presence in the slightest bit. He made no move to indicate that he knew they were watching him. One wrong move and he could find himself facing a Nen user with his bare fists. That's why he had chosen to hide so far out in the woods in the first place. His list of enemies was rather long and if the chain user spread the word that he couldn't use his Nen anymore, people would surely come looking. Very angry people who wanted him dead. This made the task of finding a Nen exorcist that much harder. He couldn't openly parade around looking for one and let the whole world know that Chrollo Lucilfer leader of the Phantom Troupe was defenseless.

He resolved his worries once more, whoever was behind him was making no move to engage. For all he knew it could be a curious child that wandered too far into the woods. He looked around cautiously, and brought his gaze back to the book he forgot he was holding. It was a comic book: The Mighty Sweeping Power Cleaners; definitely meant for somebody younger but it held a special place in his heart. Memories of when he was a child dubbing over the animated show of the comic always came back to him when he read it. Some days he found himself wishing he could go back to those times. Before Sarasa disappeared. Before it all really began to go downhill. Deciding it was pointless to sit here and let his stalker watch him fall apart, he stood from the fallen log he had been sitting on. Making his way over to the small tent and grabbing a bandage, he wrapped it around his forehead underneath his black bangs. The tent was more of a tarp suspended on a rope and staked down at the corners so it formed a small triangular shelter for him to sleep under. He couldn't risk somebody recognizing the cross tattooed on his forehead, he stood out enough in the colorful little town with his black long sleeved shirt, black pants, and black shoes. Several miles south was a road that would lead him to a small seaside town. It was full of fishermen and farmers, so it was unlikely he'd find a Nen exorcist among the people. When he passed through there the first time, the villagers talked of their fear of the woods north. It was why he chose to make his camp so far out in them. Thinking maybe his stalker had something to do with those fears, he made he way to the town. Regardless it was something other than his countless mistakes to focus on .

As he walked down the dirt road to the city he thought about the fortune he had received from Neon, the daughter of Nostrade:

The calendar loses a precious component. The remaining months gather to mourn. The mourners play a melody, While the eleventh moon quietly rises.

The chrysanthemum withers and falls, To lie on the ground beside bloody Scarlet Eyes. But you will remain supreme. Even after losing half your limbs.

East is the direction to go. You will find one who awaits you. Enjoy the interlude. Be patient with your shadow.

It crossed his mind that whoever was watching him earlier in the day could be 'his shadow' that the poem was referring to. The mysterious person followed him up to the road, but stayed out of sight behind the tree line and disappeared as he made his way towards town. It was around noon when he reached the town square, a small market was being held with farmers filling temporary stalls with fresh produce, fishermen with beds of ice displaying their biggest catches, and even jewelers with rings laid out that dazzled in the sunlight. There were a plethora of other stalls set up selling trinkets and whatnot. It was a busy little town, but still a peaceful one. Nearly a complete opposite of Meteor City. He needed dinner but knew any meat would spoil on the walk back to his camp, so he approached a farmer with a slew of vegetables on display. Bright red tomatoes, the longest carrots he'd ever seen, bushy heads of cabbage, anything you would need to make a delicious stew.

“What can I do for ya' son.” Chrollo hid a small smile, even their accents sounded like they belonged in a quaint little town.

“Two carrots, two potatoes, and a tomato, please.” As he had made his way east from York New he was grateful for all the wealth he had accrued over the years. It kept him afloat while he was trying to figure out how he'd get his Nen back.

“There ya' are, have a good one.”

“Say I'm just passing through town, but I heard you guys stay clear of the woods just north. Why is that?”

“Well ya' see those are the lost woods, it's mostly just old folk tales but people have said they've seen strange lights and what not up there,” the older farmer had a drawl to his voice “if you're just passin' by em' don't fret, nothing bigger than a fox is gonna come creeping on ya'.”

“Thank you sir.” People were starting to line up behind him so he paid, grabbed his paper bag of vegetables, and went off to the next stall in search of more information. He spotted a small butcher's stand that was selling broth. As he was cutting across the busy walkway he felt it again. He was being watched. He looked around slowly to his left then right, they must've been behind him again. He decided it was unlikely anybody looking to attack him would follow him to a busy town square, and even if they wanted to they'd be a fool to do so in such a crowded area. He turned around quickly to see who was watching him, but he only caught a glimpse of a brown streak ducking behind a corner. It was now or never to confront this mysterious shadow, so he turned the corner to where they ducked away but there was no sign of them anywhere. Clearly they weren't interested in a confrontation. It relieved him a small bit as this meant they probably weren't here to kill him, but it left him more confused. If not a fight, then what did they want? There was a small chance it could be an admirer of some sorts. It was uncommon but he had heard of people who supported and wished to take after the Phantom Troupe, he'd even heard of some that worshipped them. The thought of that possibility made him wish that they were here to kill him instead. He returned to the butcher's stand selling broth.

“What'll it be for ya',” the butcher had the same quaint accent, but his voice was rougher than the farmers.

“Chicken broth, please.” Chrollo watched as the butcher reached below the counter and brought up a small container of broth.

“500 Jenny.”

Reaching into his pocket for the money, he asked the butcher, “Say I'm from out of town, are the woods up north really haunted?” The butcher chuckled.

“Ain't nothing but foxes and squirrels up there, don't let the wives tales get to your head, boy.” Even though he was nearing his thirties, Chrollo had a boyish face. People often mistook him for being much younger than he really was.

“Thank you sir.” Unfortunately, his search for answers didn't bring up much. On his way out of the town square he noticed a small book store on the corner of the street. One more try for answers couldn't hurt, he needed a new book anyway. The Mighty Sweeping Power Cleaners was sentimental, but he could only read it so many times and it was getting rather depressing. Perusing the cramped book shelves, he didn't see anything that caught his eye. The store was old and the selection of literature looked even older.

“It was that damn strange woman that's been lurking around town for days! The one that couldn't speak! She took off with at least four books and left me 100 Jenny!” It was hard for Chrollo not to eavesdrop on such a loud conversation in a quiet bookstore.

“You said she couldn't speak? What did she look like?”

“She didn't say a word, and when I asked her for the money she looked at me like I was crazy! I couldn't tell what she looked like because she was hiding under a hooded robe. It was brown and she had glasses with ginger hair but that's all I could see!” The book store owner cried out to the small town cop. Taking note of the brown hooded robe mentioned, it was possible that's what he saw when turned around to see his stalker.

“And when did all this happen?”

“Barely even thirty minutes ago! If you weren't standing here asking me all these questions you might be able to catch that damn thief!” Chrollo decided he'd come back another time to question the bookstore worker. He didn't want to mingle with the police, even if it was just a small town cop there was a chance he would recognize him. It was more than likely his stalker was also the book thief, which meant it was a woman tailing him. Unfortunately, the possibility of his shadow being an admirer was becoming more and more likely. He tried to reason with himself that somebody who wanted to kill him would be worse than a stalker that was looking for a chance. However he was unsuccessful in doing so.

By the time he made it back to his camp the sun was setting. He started a fire and dug a small pot from his tent when he noticed it. The Mighty Sweeping Power Cleaners was gone. He was going to give this stalker a reason to hate him if he was ever able to confront her. Maybe once he got his Nen back. He wouldn't kill her, he'd just give her a good reason not go through strangers belongings and certainly not steal their copies of The Mighty Sweeping Power Cleaners. He tried to let it go, but unfortunately he was once again unsuccessful in doing so. Night had fallen and his stew was almost done, when his shadow came to watch him again. Enjoy the interlude. Be patient with your shadow. The more he thought about his fortune and what he knew of his stalker, the more a picture of just who was watching him formed in his head. Whoever this was probably wasn't literate, if the book store worker was right in her being unable to speak. It made sense she'd take the comic book filled with more pictures than words. Did she live out here in the woods? Probably not. Anybody who spent their life surviving in the woods would know how to hide themselves better. Could she be a victim? Maybe she had escaped human trafficking, but if that were the case why wouldn't she seek out refuge in the town. Was she afraid to? The thought struck a chord somewhere in him, as kidnappings and human trafficking had been a serious issue growing up in Meteor City.

He was lost in thought again when he felt it. She was back. He continued preparing his dinner, deciding she wasn't a threat he needed to worry himself over as she again made no moves to approach. He threw in a potato, two of the carrots, and the tomato. A less keen ear would've missed it, but just as the stew came to finishing simmer the sound of a stomach growl just beyond the light of the fire rang out. He didn't have any extra bowls, only enough for himself. Looking around he saw a cup sitting in his tent. As he was filling it up with stew he proposed a trade with his shadow.

“If you give me my book back you can have some.” He would've offered it regardless, knowing all to well the feeling of famine. But why not try and get his comic book back in the process. He waited a few minutes, and when there was no answer he stood up to put the cup by the edge of the fire light near the direction of where the stomach growl came from. As soon as he got close he heard her scamper further back out of sight. Shortly after returning to his fallen log, he saw a slender hand reach out to grab the cup. A moment later and the same hand put an empty cup back. The ingredients had made more than enough for himself so he went and refilled the cup, but this time he placed it closer to the fire. Again after returning to his seat on the log, she inched out behind a tree. A brown hooded robe, ginger hair, and glasses. In the fire light her face looked thin, and he realized her hand wasn't just slender. It was malnourished. It reminded him of Feitan's frame when he was little. He rested his chin in his hand and watched her down another cup of stew. Instead of retreating to the shadows she stayed on the outer most edge of the fire light where it barely reached her.

“Can you understand what I'm saying?” Chrollo spoke calmly, he didn't want to accidentally scare her off. Whoever she was, she needed help. Although he knew her situation must've been unfortunate, he was rather relieved it wasn't an admirer. She looked at him but gave no indication of understanding what he had said. She got up and walked back into the darkness. He walked over to see where she had gone but stopped when he saw the ground. Paw prints. Big ones too. Was she not human? He knew of mythical beasts that lived in the woods, but again she didn't seem like she had any survival skills that a wood dwelling creature would have. He decided not to follow her, he had a feeling she wouldn't be gone long, and he didn't want to chance threatening her.

It had been a couple hours, and he was about to put the fire out for the night when she returned. She stood at the edge of the fire light holding the copy of The Mighty Sweeping Power Cleaners out to him. He slowly got up, trying his best to be as non-threatening as possible as he walked over to take it. Up close he could see the left lense of her glasses had a crack in it. Her eyes were a vibrant blue that almost seemed to glow in the low light. Everything else was covered by the hood and the robe.

“What's your name?” He spoke slowly, maybe she could pick out a word or two. She looked frustrated, like she wanted to speak but she couldn't. After a few stuttered noises, she pointed to herself.

“Aamu.”

“Aamu?” He pointed at her and repeated it. She nodded in agreement. “Chrollo.” He said pointing at himself.

“Ku ro ro.” She repeated. Having only said his name, he could tell she wasn't from anywhere around here. It sounded like her tongue wasn't even accustomed to forming those vowels. There wasn't much else he could do for her at the moment. The fire was dying and the moon was high.

“Goodnight, Aamu.” He turned to his tent and replaced his comic book. He looked behind where she had been standing, and she was gone again.

The next morning she appeared as he was making breakfast. He had set a handful of small basic traps around to catch squirrels, rabbits, and other small critters. Being raised near the forest in Meteor City he knew enough basic survival skills, on top of what he had picked up from books, to be able to survive in a harsh environment. The forest was no harsh environment by any means, the people in town were right. Nothing bigger than a fox lived in these woods. Which was strange considering how large and abundant they were. Aamu stood by the tree line again, not hiding but also not approaching. She was apprehensive. He looked down and realized he had forgotten his hands were still covered in blood from skinning the rabbit he had caught. The animal was already chunks of meat floating in the pot of stew he was making. Just a couple hundred feet away was a small river, so he left the pot to boil and washed his hands off. When he came back she had a thick leather bound book in her hands, and she was a few feet closer to the campfire.

“Ku ro ro,” he looked up at her curiously from his seat on the fallen log. She inched over to him from the other side of the campfire. Keeping herself as concealed as possible with her robe still, she held out her book to show him a map spread across two pages. Immediately he recognized Yorbia, Jappon, Azia, and all the other continents he was familiar with, but there were more. She had drawn the map as though the countries he knew sat in the middle of a lake, with more land surrounding it. She pointed to the ground, and then pointed to the center of the map, and tilted her head as if she were asking a question. He interpreted this as asking where they were on the map, so he took the pencil and made a small dot on the middle of the east coast of Yorbia. She motioned for the pencil back, but before giving it up Chrollo pointed at her, and then pointed to the center of the map while mimicking her same head tilt. She turned the book around and made a small mark on it, flipping it back around to show him. She had marked the west coast of the land he didn't recognize.

“Ixtal.” She said while pointing to the mark she had just made.

“Ixtal?” All he could do was repeat what he assumed was the name of her home back to him. He had never heard of any place named Ixtal before, let alone the land on the map she had designated as her home. He rested his hand in his chin, trying to rationalize the entire situation. For the first time he noticed her robe was imprinted with a design of leaves on its seam. This wasn't just any old dirty robe, it looked to be finely made. Wherever she had come from, wherever Ixtal was, it must've been at least a some what developed civilization. That would explain why she was unable to survive in the woods. He was fully convinced now she also wasn't human. That would explain hiding underneath the robe. Why had she come here? All the way to the east coast of Yorbia, it had to be a difficult journey alone for somebody lacking in survival skills. She would've had to cross two oceans and a continent to end up here. She crouched down and began scribbling on a new page in her book. After a minute or two she turned it around to show an incredibly rough sketch of him. Had Chrollo not been himself, he'd have no idea who it was.

“Ku ro ro” She was pointing at a space left above the rough sketch, and motioning for him to take the pencil. Taking the book from her he could only assume she wanted him to write his name above the portrait.

“Chrollo” He tried to correct her pronunciation. He was unsuccessful.

“Ku roro” Close enough. After taking her book back, Aamu reached into her robe and handed him a tomato. Puzzled once more Chrollo could only squint his eyes in confusion as he looked at her. She was staring at him, and when he gave no other reaction to the tomato she scribbled something in her book. Closing it and placing it back inside her robe, she got up to leave. After a few steps she turned around, and raised her hand without moving it. With that Aamu walked off back into the wilderness. He went over to check the tracks she had left behind, and he confirmed once more that they definitely weren't human.

Unsure of how to spend his day, he knew he needed to be searching for a Nen exorcist. However he thought back to his fortune: East is the direction to go. You will find one who awaits you. Enjoy the interlude. Be patient with your shadow. There was a chance Aamu could be the Nen exorcist he was looking for. It was just a hunch as he hadn't been given any evidence that she even knew what Nen was, but the entire situation surrounding her was so bizarre that if she was a Nen exorcist it would be the most normal thing about it all. He decided he wanted to see how things would unfold with this strange shadow of his, but she didn't show again for the rest of the day.

The next morning, she showed up again at the same time. Just as he was making breakfast. This time she wasn't as hesitant to step towards him, he had remembered to wash his hands promptly after skinning his meal. Still hiding underneath the robe she walked up to where he sat on the log. Book in hand as she offered him a flower. It wasn't anything spectacular, just a small white flower. They littered the forest floor. He took it, once again not understanding what she was trying to communicate. If anything at all. Just as she had done after handing him the tomato, she stared as if expecting a reaction, and when he gave none she began to scribble in her book. She closed the book, crouching down by the log. Fidgeting with the grass she pointed at the campfire where his breakfast was beginning to boil. Chrollo wasn't one to turn away the hungry, but he was curious as to what she had been scribbling in her book. So he filled his only bowl, and offered it to her. As she went to take it he held it back, and pretended like he was writing in the air. It got the message across as Aamu handed her book over without hesitation. He was flipping through the pages as she downed the bowl of squirrel and tomato stew.

The first couple pages looked like a table of contents, after that was the two page spread of the map, followed by a few pages of a language he couldn't read and didn't recognize. He found the portrait of himself and on the page adjacent a small drawing of a tomato with an X next to it and a few lines of the same language. Underneath the tomato was a small drawing of a flower which also had an X next to it again with a few lines of the unrecognizable language. It took him a second, but it began to click in his brain. She was recording his reactions. She was studying him. That's why she was so far away from home, she was more than likely trying to study humans. Putting Aamu's book down he got up and retrieved the comic book from his tent. If she had made the journey this far from home to study them, then she must be smart, and if she was smart then she could learn his language. If he could communicate with her then he wouldn't have to play a game a charades with every interaction. Instead of returning to the log, he crouched down next to her. She was eyeing him cautiously. He opened the comic to the first page and pointed at the words as he read them. He remembered teaching Uvogin how to read, it had been a challenge with him and he already spoke the language. She understood immediately what he was doing, intently watching his finger move across the page. After reading the entire comic book to her, she opened up her journal and began flipping through the pages. That's when he saw something that made him do a double take. It was the next page following his portrait, there was another very roughly drawn sketch of a person. They had a mane of hair, with bushy eyebrows accompanied by even bushier side burns framing a mean face, an incredibly muscular frame with a tank top, shorts, and what he could only imagine was fur on his hips and legs. Uvogin. Chrollo's head was spinning. How? Why? When? He was pouring through every detail in his head, but nothing made sense.

“Who is this?” He pointed at the rough sketch of who he assumed was Uvogin in her journal.

“Oo vo geen” Aamu replied with out any hesitation, confirming his suspicions She handed him the pencil, and pointed at the space above the drawing. He understood what she wanted, and his hand shook a little while he wrote it. Uvogin. All of the anxiety that had plagued Chrollo before Aamu found him came crashing back down on him. Did she have something to do with the chain user? He couldn't make sense of any of it.

“Ku roro,” She pointed towards the tree line as if there was something there, “Oo vo geen.” She stood up and walked over to where she had pointed. All he was could do was stare in a stun locked silence. Aamu looked up, as though she were looking at somebody much taller than her and pointed to where she was looking.

“Oo vo geen.”

Chrollo was now determined to teach her his language as fast as he possibly could. It was the only way he was going to be able to figure any of this out.

They spent the next couple days in the same routine. Aamu would show up when he was making breakfast, Chrollo would either go over the alphabet, the comic book, or general words and introductions. It was difficult to explain what scenarios required which words, so he ended up spending a lot of time drawing in the dirt in an attempt to teach her. Luckily he was right, she was smart and she caught on incredibly fast. Today however he needed to go into town for supplies, and he didn't want Aamu to follow him as there was a chance the police would recognize her. She still hadn't removed her hooded robe, although a few times he had seen soft looking paws stick out from underneath it.

“Kuroro! Hello!” She was excited whenever she greeted him.

“Hello Aamu. I need you to stay here today,” she clearly didn't quite understand what he was saying, “Aamu stay here.” He pointed at her, and then pointed at the ground.

“Staaay, here?” She pointed at herself and then at the ground and back again.

“Yes stay here. I'll come back.”

“Yes! Okay!” As he was leaving she sat on the log going over the comic book.

He was making his way back to the camp when he realized how bad he smelled. That was one of the things he had needed from the town, he forgot to get soap the last time he was there. He took a detour to the river near camp instead of heading straight back. It would be easier than having to tell her to wait again. He was pouring over everything that had happened as he made his way. The most logical explanation for Aamu knowing Uvogin's name and appearance was that it had to be Nen related. Maybe she could see past events? He thought of Neon's ability which allowed her to predict the future. An ability that allowed him to see the past of others could be incredibly useful for him and the Troupe. Did that mean his earlier hypothesis of Aamu being his Nen exorcist was wrong? Or did this mean it was right? Still lost in thought he reached the river and hugged the treeline as he walked, there was a shallow part farther up stream where it would be easier to bathe. The forest was rather dense in some areas, so he didn't see her until he turned to walk down the riverbank to the shallow area. He snapped out of his thoughts as soon as he saw somebody already occupying the place he intended to bathe. Quickly ducking back to the treeline, he was glad that he was a naturally soft stepper as he saw a brown hooded robe hanging from a tree closest to the river.

By no means was he a pervert, Chrollo had always respected the privacy of all the women in the Phantom Troupe. He was a murderer, a thief, a criminal, many things, but never a creep. However he was also an incredibly curious person, and he had the opportunity to see why Aamu had been hiding under the robe this whole time. How could he not take it? Moving with an amount of stealth he rarely ever used, his eyes followed the river bank, to the shallow part, to an undressed Aamu. She was kneeling down in the shallow water with her back to him. Bunny ears the same color as her shoulder length ginger hair. With pale blotches along her shoulders, back, and hips that almost looked like they formed a Rorschach test. Everything below her ginger puff ball tail was covered in the water. She was a rabbit. A human rabbit? Even being as far away as he was, he could still see she how skeletal she looked. He found himself wondering how long she had been starving out here. Fortunately, that was something he accounted for on his supply run and he made sure he got enough food to feed two.


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1 year ago

Spiders and Spirits

Chapter 1

Pairing: Chrollo x Fem OC Tags: Fluff, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Light Angst Chapter Wordcount: 6,092

Aamu journeys to the Continent of Yorbia to study humans, she runs into none other than Chrollo Lucilfer. Is she the Nen exorcist he's been looking for? Is he the monster she's been raised to believe all humans are? Aamu is determined to unravel the mysteries of humanity, but she quickly learns that'll be no easy feat!

Spiders And Spirits

Author's Note: Ahhh hello! This is my first attempt at a fanfic but I've been loving every minute of writing it, I already have the second chapter finished. This first chapter is all context and integrating the main character Aamu into the hxh universe (if any of it sounds familiar it's because I borrowed a lot of it from the League of Legends universe). I hope you enjoy! o7

Spiders And Spirits

Tens of thousands of years ago in a time now forgotten by all but books, there were humans on the Dark Continent. They were a small population that chose to live under a World Tree where the roots dug into a mountain range. They were dust in the wind compared to the world around them, with short lives and frail bodies they possessed no inherent abilities unlike the other magical beasts. With minuscule lives the other creatures of the world payed them no mind unless they were looking for a snack. That was until the humans learned of Nen, the ability to harness ones life aura and turn it into a powerful tool. This would allow them to rise up on the food chain, becoming more than they were. But it would also be their downfall. The existence of humanity had not been long enough to know of the Titans and the dangers of living off the World Tree. Titans were ancient beings, if one didn't know any better they'd compare them to gods. Remnants of their existence lay scattered through out the land, the swords they wielded lay stuck in the Earth, towering next to mountains.

One day the Titans, larger than the mountains themselves, came to cut down the world tree that humanity resided under and as for what reason nobody could know or understand. Death and destruction lay in the Titan's wake for not even the strongest of Nen users stood a chance against them. Humanity knew that losing the protection of the World Tree would mean they'd go extinct, their population was small and even with Nen there were much stronger beasts out there. In a last ditch act of desperation, a group pooled the entirety of their life aura and exchanged their humanity for the power to defeat the Titans and thus the Vastayashai'rei were born into existence. No longer mortals but not quite gods, the Vastayashai'rei were powerful beings that brought down the Titans and saved humanity from extinction. Once all had settled and returned to normal, rather than rule humanity as its saviors the Vastayashai'rei chose to live among the humans. From their intermingling came the Vastaya, new magical creatures born from humans and the enlightened mortals. Each descendant of the Vastayashai'rei went on to form their own tribe of Vastayans as no two were exactly the same. For a time all was well, humanity thrived with it's newfound Nen abilities and an era of peace reigned. Unfortunately, as a condition of exchanging their humanity for the ability to defeat the Titans, the Vastayashai'rei slowly disappeared over the millenia until they became nothing more than a bedtime story. Where they went nobody knows and if they still exist is just as much a mystery.

Over time a rift grew between the Vastaya and the Humans. Their natures differed too greatly to co exist without their enlightened ancestors, where Humans wished to conquer and grow the Vastaya wanted only what they needed to live. War broke out between the two races. The Vastaya had the advantage, their Nen was different from the Human's, they were not only able to harness their own life force but the life force of the natural world around them. They were connected to the natural world in a way that Humans were not. This caused Humanity to lose the war against the Vastayan people. They were banished and sent to far away lands where their greed could be contained.

“... And so the Vastayans went on to populate the World Tree, with each tribe choosing their own part of the tree to inhabit. The tribes of the sky took to the branches far above, the land walkers stayed near the base on the mountain ranges, and Earth tribes dug into the roots of the tree below.”

“And what happened next?” a small Vastayan child, among a gathering of them, was enamored by the story.

“Well now we live peacefully with each other and the world around us. Taking only what we need to survive and giving back what we can.” A clock struck noon, and with that story time in the library came to an end.

“Bye Miss Aamu!” A handful of the small humanoid children with animal features said goodbyes as they dashed away to find something else that would hold their attentions until supper. Vastayans were only half human, the other half of them being from the Vastayashai'rei, which manifested in the form of animalistic qualities. The tribes of the sky took on the forms of anything with wings from birds to butterflies. The land walkers having it in their name take on any creature you'd find traversing the earth's surface. With the Earth tribes you'd see qualities of moles, rats, spiders, and anything else burrowing underground. Their animal characteristics weren't just for show either, which is why each tribe chose the best part of the tree to inhabit for their respective qualities.

“Miss Aamu?” the same child that asked what happened next was inquiring her again. Inching closer to where she was sitting

“Yes Ymir?”

“Were the humans really real?”

“Yes of course! These stories aren't fiction, our ancestors were really humans.” Ymir's fluffy ears perked up telling she had another question, she was a chatty one. Aamu imagined this is how Ornn, her father, must have felt raising her. An endless stream of questions to every piece of information given.

“Are they still alive?” Ymir was practically crawling onto her lap now.

“Well unfortunately they may have gone extinct by now. After the tribes came together to banish them, that was the last we ever knew of their existence.” She could tell another question was already en route, “Now run along, I have important studies to return to you can ask more questions at tomorrow's reading.” Ymir slumped off her lap and ran off the way the other children had gone.

Aamu spent most of her day in the Royal Library, she was a scholar, intelligent with a never ending desire for knowledge. The stories she read of extinct races, ancient wars, and the history of the world kept her entertained from dawn to dusk. She triple checked the research papers of other scholarly Vastayans, and on rare occasions even traveled to the other tribes in search of more to learn. The last trive she ventured out to was in the uppermost branches of the World Tree. There were tunnels and stair cases carved from the tree's trunk that allowed most to travel between tribes, although few ever did. She had met with the Strig tribe, a lovely group of humanoid butterfly people. They danced and floated in the air in a way that mimicked flower petals, using their wings that shimmered in the sunlight.

There wasn't a book she hadn't at least skimmed through in that library. To her the castle, Ixtal, was home. Having been carved from the World Tree trunk by the humans, it was a gorgeous palace; the entrance was a wide open court yard embedded into the trunk, with decorative flowers hand carved into every pillar. The floors were lined with stone that fit together to form a large star in the center. From there vast hallways split off into different parts of the castle, one went to the library which was open to the public. Everything from floor to ceiling was decorated with a healthy amount of flora and fauna whether it be imprinted as a design or growing directly on it. The library contained most of the information that the land walker tribes had in their possession. Floor after floor of row after row of books, you could find anything you wanted to know in there. This is where Aamu had learned of humans and how Vastayans were descendants of them. Apart from the library there were upper and lower levels of the castle. The upper levels were where Aamu and Avarosa the Seer stayed, the lower levels were for Ornn the Forgemaster. Together the two of them ruled over the land walker tribes, the sky and earth tribes had their own respective leaders.

The leaders of tribes were more closely related to their Vastayashai'rei ancestors. They were stronger, lived longer, and had much less human in their blood lines. Aamu was by no means a leader of any sort, she didn't have more Vastayashai'rei blood than the average Vastayan. Some days she felt like she had more human blood in her than anything else. She had always had trouble getting along with the other kids growing up, that's why she chose to bury herself in her books.

“My child, Aamu...” She woke, a bit startled but awake. “it is late, you should return to your room.” She had fallen asleep in the library face down in a book. Again. The library was dark and quiet, a small gathering of fireflies had found their way in from the open courtyard. Aamu often felt more at peace here at night in the library than her own room.

“Ah Mother, I'm sorry it won't happen again” She gathered her things, a notebook, books, pencils, her glasses, and started for the hallway.

“Is something wrong Aamu?” She really couldn't hide anything from her, she had earned her title of Seer rightfully so. She turned around to face the leader. Avarosa was a sight to behold, she stood twice as tall as any other Vastayan. A long slender form covered in neatly groomed white fur that glittered as if it were covered in star dust, she looked much like a white doe. She was always wearing the same floor length dress that trailed behind her, nothing short of what a Queen would wear. It was white with small pale pastel accents and even smaller moonstone gems sown into the silky fabric. She wore a a veil at all times, it was made of the same white silky fabric. Atop her head was a crown of antlers just as pale and iridescent as her fur. Grand wouldn't even begin to explain her crown of antlers, no words could truly describe her beauty for that matter.

“Mother I'm not like you and father.” she paused as she tried to gather what she wanted to say, “I know I'm not your true heir, but I do wish to live up to your legacy, your name, you've raised me as your own and I want to be great like you one day. Father is unrivaled in his craftsmanship, you are capable of looking into the future, and I-” she paused once more trying to find the words again. “I sit around and read books all day, dreaming of being worth something to the world.”

“Oh my dear child come here,” Avarosa pulled her from the doorway and into her arms. Aamu couldn't help but tear up. “You are right, you aren't born from Ornn and I, but that doesn't mean you aren't capable of incredible things. Look to your books, the scholars who came before you, they will guide you. If you want to change the world do it in your own way. Don't despise what you love because you think it can't be worth something to the world.” Even her voice was queenly, it was soft and easy to listen to. No matter what room she was in, whatever she said echoed ever so slightly. Aamu sat quietly in the embrace for a moment, letting the words of comfort wash over her worries.

“Thank you mother, goodnight I love you.” Aamu pulled away and left for her room.

“I love you too, my little one.”

She had been turning her mothers words over and over again in her head. Avarosa always had a rather vague way of speaking, but it was comforting nonetheless.

---

“Care for some company?” that was an all too familiar voice.

“Why not.” she replied indifferently.

“You've been sulking around for a couple days now. Is everything alright?” If anybody were to notice her sulking of course it would be Wukong.

“I've been trying to figure out how I'm going to be great.”

“How you're going to be great?” He had a high pitched nasally voice, more than likely because of his squished monkey nose. He was quite literally a monkey. Covered head to toe in brown fur, round ears, and a prehensile tail. This of course wasn't anything of a disadvantage for him, he was a skilled fighter. A naturally nimble build and incredibly dangerous when he was using his Nen. Wukong came from the Shimon tribe, a curious group of monkey-faced people who perferred to live in the forest surrounding the World Tree. Known for their love of fruit and mischief, he and Aamu quickly became friends after she had been taken in by the leaders. Where one fibbed the other followed closely behind. A notorious duo that wreaked havoc on whatever poor adults had been left in charge of them.

“Exactly. Avarosa and Ornn both have titles, even you are a prodigy fighter I'm sure one day they'll call you something cool. Like the Monkey King.” Aamu stifled a laugh knowing that was the lamest title she could have possibly come up with and it made him giggle.

“I would be the best Monkey King in all the land!” He jumped up on the table they were sitting at, back flipping into the air and landing on one hand with grace. The bit of armor he was wearing clanged together.

“Quiet down won't you, we're in the library!” She scolded him knowing full well he was going to react the way he did tothe 'Monkey King' title.

“Oh my apologies you're highness.” He put on a posh accent, threw his red scarf back over his shoulder and bowed as he got off the table. They sat in silence for a moment, Aamu's focus had been stolen by a small spirit making its way across the table. They were tiny little things no bigger than half a foot tall that only Aamu could see. They were all white with little blue spirals on their bellies, although they did vary slightly in size and shape.

“You're capable of such fine tuned Nen control that you can slip past even the best of our guards. And all I can do is talk to little spirits nobody else can see.”

“It's cause' you're not a fighter Aamu.”

“But what if I could be then I could do something important, something worthwhile!” She knew it was wishful thinking, she had been considerably more brain than brawn her whole life. It was in her nature as a Vastayan, she was born delicate. With soft skin covered by patches of even softer thin fur, she had paws instead of feet and the legs of a rabbit. She was built to run away from danger, not fight it. Her two large ginger colored rabbit ears had aided her in mischief as a child, as she was capable of hearing the guards walking down the halls before they were of any real concern. But that was as much 'danger' as she had ever really gotten herself into.

“Avarosa isn't a fighter, and of all the leaders she's probably the weakest in Nen strength. But she makes up for it with her Nen being an incredible tool. You should look at your nen as a tool, not a weapon. I'm an enhancer of course I'm going to be a strong fighter.” Wukong made a good point, Aamu was a manipulator. When she learned of her Nen class she had been rather excited and knew immediately what she wanted to do with it. She developed her ability to control the little spirits around her, sometimes they'd even talk to her in just barely audible whispers. When she chose to make the spirits apart of her ability she hadn't really thought about how useful it would be. In all honesty it had never really been that useful at all, the spirits were small and meek. She knew they were made of life aura, being able to see them wasn't apart of her Nen ability but rather something she was born with as a Vastayan. She wasn't entirely sure what the spirits were, whether they were residuals of life aura that were left behind in death or perhaps they existed in the spirit realm unaffected by the material world. For whatever reason, unless she was manipulating them with Nen, she was the only one who could see them. This made it hard to talk about their existence, and to avoid being labeled a crazy person she would tell people she could conjure them. Aamu had tried manipulating the little white wisps in many different ways, she couldn't combine them to make a bigger one but she could manipulate their shape and to a degree their size. The quantity she could control at the same time depended on the amount of Nen she could use. She often recalled a fond memory of flooding Wukong's room with the tiny things, watching as they latched on to his feet making it a struggle to get to the door. Without Aamu's Nen being used on them they had the consistency of fog, but when she pulled them into the physical world they had the consistency of something goopy that solidified when force was applied. If too much force was applied then they would turn back into mist and they'd disappear from both the spirit realm and the material world.

“You like your books so much why don't you try studying something?” Wukong continued as she had been lost in thought again. He could tell she was thinking hard, all he got for a reply was a hum.

“What if I proved humans still existed?”

“I'm sorry what-”

“What if I went to the lands where they had been banished and proved they still existed?”

“Aamu that sounds like a terrible idea,” but he knew it was too late, he saw the spark in her eye and there was no stopping her now.

“And even if they've gone extinct surely they left behind ruins or records. I could find them and study them!” She was ecstatic, “Oh I hope they aren't extinct what if I got to bring one back home and-”

“Wait wait wait! Bring one home? Here? Where they were banished from? Aamu this is absurd.”

“But Wu, what if they've changed. What if they aren't the savage beasts that we depict them as in our history books?” Her heart was ablaze at the prospect of new information.

“Hold on for just a minute! First of all, I wouldn't go placing your bets on a savage beast not being a savage beast. I'm just saying whether our history is accurate or not, there's a reason they were banished. Forever.” He continued on but Aamu didn't hear any of it, she was already working on a plan in her head.

---

“Ornn,” Avarosa's voice rang through the forge with the sound of metal working, “I saw it last night, it is time.”

“It's too soon.” His voice wasn't just deep, it was nearly a growl that just barely escaped his lungs.

“I warned you this day would come and now it is upon us. We can't hold her back.” The only reply Avarosa received was the sound of a hammer continuing its battery of the metal that lay before it.

“Ornn, she is going to leave with or without your approval.”

“I am aware.”

“My love, let us send her out in goodwill. She wishes to find meaning in her life through her studies-”

“I should've never given her those books. They would've been more useful as embers.” Ornn felt guilt for having fed into his daughters craving for knowledge so much. If he had known those books would be the reason she left home, he would've burned the whole library down. But it was too late now.

“We can not keep her safe, but we can prepare her. Give her something to take on her journey, something that will aid her.” Avarosa stepped closer to the forgemaster placing a slender hand gently on his shoulder, the inferno had died down. It was as if the he was connected to the forge itself, the fire within him fueled it. Ornn gave no reply, but after a moment of silence the inferno began to blaze again. She had gotten through to him, now it was time to leave him to his craft.

---

“Mother!” Aamu went bounding down the hall to her mothers room. “Mother I've figured it out!” She burst into the room nearly bouncing off the walls with joy.

“Yes my dearest?” She was sitting on her bed, the room was spacious as she was twice the height of the tallest Vastayans.

“I'm going to study humans! The last we ever knew of them was when they were banished ages ago, nobody has ever kept any record of them since, that would mean I would be the first!” She was smiling ear to ear, a complete flip from the sulky mood she'd been in for the past several days. Avarosa loved seeing the fire in her, she wanted nothing more than to fan the flames.

“That's a wonderful idea, however I'm sure you must know it is terribly dangerous.” As much as she loved to see her daughter full of life, she knew this journey would more than likely be the reason she never saw her again. Her future telling had limits as any Nen ability does. She could only see the future of somebody if they were standing right in front of her, and it wasn't just one future. She saw an endless spectrum of possibilities. Each a little different from the last, some more likely than others.

“Well yes if they haven't gone extinct then it would be dangerous, but maybe-” she had no idea what she was trying to say, of course it would be dangerous. Even if she never made any contact with a human, she would be traveling alone to unknown lands with a worlds worth of sea between her and home.

“Maybe that's what you're looking for,” Avarosa had seen so many futures for her daughter, in every one where she stayed safe and protected in the castle, she was unhappy. “My little one I've known this day would come for years. If this is what you wish then I will aid you in your journey.”

“Thank you, mother” Aamu was tearing up again, “I have to go tell father.”

She knew her father wouldn't be as accepting of the idea of her leaving the castle as her mother had been. He wasn't known for being an open minded individual, he was a strong Vastayan rooted in his ways. She made her way down to the lower levels of the castle where the forge was. The wood became charred the lower she went and before long she stood before two towering iron doors. They were hot to the touch, the inferno in there could only be withstood by one person, Ornn himself. This is where he worked tirelessly, on anything from the powerful tools that boosted ones Nen to the most finely cut precious gems. He was capable of producing indestructible weapons with delicate craftsmanship, there was nothing he couldn't do with a hammer. She knocked on the door, it was about as loud as dropping a couple rocks on the ground. But she heard the metal working from within cease and after a few more moments the doors opened. She nervously hopped inside. She wasn't fearful of her father, he was a gentle man with a kind heart but even after being cooled the heat of his forge was intimidating.

“So father,” she paused asking herself how she was going to even being this conversation. Deciding that beating around the bush would do nothing. “I going to go study humans.”

There was a long pause as he looked up from his workbench where he was tanning leather. He was just as tall as Avarosa, but more than tripled her size in muscle. He was covered in sections of thick black fur, and the skin that wasn't covered was just as dark. He looked as though he himself were an ember in a forge responsible for hellfire. A large black bushy beard adorned his face with equally bushy eyebrows. The only hint that he could see through it all was the firey red glow from his eyes. Atop his head were a set of large black horns, they spiraled out to the sides like that of an overgrown ram. The tip of each horn was crackled with a firey red glow the same as his eyes. Ornn the Forgemaster was truly an intimidating sight to see. The stark contrast between Avarosa and Ornn's appearances made her wonder what the leaders of the other tribes looked like.

“Why is that.” His gruff voice had finally broke the silence.

“Well I want to do something great, something that will change the world,” she waited for a response but knew he was waiting for more of an explanation. “and I'm tired of sitting in these walls and reading books all day.”

“So you want an adventure.” He kept his replies short, he never was one for talking much.

“I want more from life father,” she began to lose her composure. “I see everybody around me doing incredible things and I know it's dangerous but I want to do something too! I can't just live my life complacently with knowing I never tried.”

The only reply she received was a low grumble as he went to continue his work. She knew the conversation was over. Quite frankly it had gone better than she expected, there wasn't an outright no just grumbles of disapporval.

---

“Aamu stop-” Wukong chased after her up the stairs to Ixtal's entrance, “Would you please just listen-” She would not. It had been a week since she told her father she wanted to journey to the human lands. Unknowingly fulfilling Avarosa's prophecy, she decided she was going to leave with or without his permission. Wukong had spent the past week tailing her, desperately trying to convince her this would only end horribly.

“Humans are foul beasts they'll skin you alive for your pelt! They'll hunt you down and eat the meat raw from your bones!” He continued his desperate attempts of dissuading her.

“You don't know that. Nobody knows anything about them.” Aamu only felt more steeled in her convictions. She could prove that humans weren't what the history books portrayed them as. After all Vastayans were partially human, surely they wouldn't be horrible savage beasts with nothing but greed and hate in their hearts. The two reached the top of the stairs and immediately noticed the courtyard was devoid of all life, except for Ornn standing in the center of it.

“Uh- I'm gonna let you uh- handle this.” Wukong disappeared in an instant. Ornn rarely left his forge, and when he did it was for an important reason. To see him standing idly in the middle of the courtyard was enough to intimidate even Aamu. Was he going to stop her? If anybody could it would be him. She tried to calm her nerves as she skittishly walked over to greet her him. Before she could get a word out he kneeled down, still towering over her, he held his hand out and opened it. It looked like he was holding a child's toy in his massive calloused hands. It was a thin wand made of pale wood with silver plating along its handle. It came to a fine tipped point and on the other end a beauitful ultramarine gemstone was embedded into the silver surrounding it. A Tear of the Goddess gemstone. These were incredibly rare gems, known to be protective talismans, it was believed that any who possessed one would be blessed with good fortune for as long as they had it. Along the silver handle was an inscription Aamu recognized to be Divine Script. It was a type of inscription that would boost a user's Nen ability considerably. There were a handful of people in the entire world that were capable of producing it as it required an unimaginable amount of Nen and precise attention to detail.

“You are my daughter. I'd give anything to protect you from the horrors of this world. This will help you in your studies. You won't be invincible, but should danger show this will help you escape.” Aamu was at a loss for words, and after a moment of silence took the wand from her father's hand.

“Thank you father, I-” She didn't know what to say, or if there even was anything to say.

“Promise me you'll come home one day.”

“I promise.” She jumped up to hug him, tears forming in her eyes.

---

She began to prepare for her journey and in less than a week she was ready to go. Aamu wanted to strike while the iron was hot, fearing that Wukong's tales of what humans were capable of would waver her confidence. Of all the survival guides she had read, traveling light seemed to be the best option. Being weighed down by unnecessary things could be a death sentence. Regardless of what the books said she would be unable to bring much with her save for the wand, her book, and the clothes on her back. All she had left to do was say her goodbyes. Making her way down the halls, she meandered through the castle. It would be a long while before she ever saw this place again. Upon reaching the courtyard her best friend sat cross legged waiting for her.

“So you're really leaving.” Wukong had never sounded this defeated before, Aamu wondered if he had ever failed to do anything. Maybe being unable to convince her not to go was the first time he was incapable of doing something.

“Don't be so sullen, you know I do plan on coming back. No point in my studies if I never come back to share what I've learned.”

“Aamu promise me you'll stay away from anything dangerous.” Wukong wasn't concerned on whether she had plans to come home or not, he was worried she would die out there. He knew she wasn't a fighter, in his eyes she was fragile and delicate like a flower in spring. There had been several times in their child hood he fought off anything looking to cause harm to her. A snake in the grass, a bully on the playground, even another mythical beast after they ventured a bit too far from the World Tree.

“I promise Wu, I'll stay safe out there,” she grabbed the wand that was tied to her hip. “Look at what father made for me! It has a Tear of the Goddess and Divine Script on it.” It was truly a testament to Ornn's craftsmanship, and it only took him a week to produce.

“Aamu I-” he paused, he knew what he wanted to say but was unsure if it was the right words, “If you don't come home, I'm gonna come find you.” This made her giggle, and a weight set in on his heart. Would this be the last time he heard that sound?

Aamu was in her room rereading as many wilderness survival guides as she could. There was one book in the entire library that had information about the nature of humans. Although the accuracy of said information was questionable, it was at least a start. It said that humans were fond of gifts, especially gifts of food or anything shiny. They were social creatures that lived in packs and relied heavily on hierarchy to maintain peace among themselves. Much like Vastayans strong humans lead the weaker ones, however the stronger humans were much more likely to be aggressive. She had quickly realized that there would be a language barrier, there was no record of any language the humans spoke. All Aamu could find was that they were capable of speaking many different languages. She decided the first step in her study would be to learn their language through observation. Not wanting to place her hope in a human wanting to teach her the language. A small knock on her doorway pulled her from her thoughts.

“My little one, the Waystone is ready,” The Waystone was how Aamu was going to be getting to the human lands, and the reason why she couldn't bring much. It was incredibly difficult to even send one person through, and the more she carried with her the more likely the Waystone would fail. They were originally built by humans to travel far distances quickly and safely. They were also what the Vastayans used to banish them. A select few warriors were sent through the Waystones to destroy the ones that would bring anybody back to Ixtal. Now all but one remained, it was used on special occasions when a Vastayan would commit a crime so vile, they would be banished to join their savage counter parts. It didn't happen often, but it wasn't unheard of in a lifetime.

Aamu gathered her things, really it was just the book and the wand. She was dressed in her best survival gear. It unfortunately wasn't much of survival gear at all, she had never been a fighter or a survivalist. But in the short amount of time she prepared, she was able to find leather guards that covered her ankles to her thighs. A thicker white fur coat, with a white sleeveless wool knit turtleneck underneath. The leather guards came to about her mid thigh, so she opted for a pair of pale blue shorts woven from a breathable fabric. She wasn't sure if the Waystone would drop her in a hot or cold climate so she needed to be dressed for both of them. She knew she would stick out like a sore thumb near humans, she needed a way to hide her rabbit features. She had long ginger colored ears, a puff ball tail the same color, and rabbit feet. Throwing a brown floor length hooded robe over her head, it wasn't perfect it would make due. Making her way to the door where her mother stood, she grabbed her glasses and walked out.

The Waystone resided in Ornn's forge, it had taken him a full day of work to get it running again. The technology was lost with the humans, but he knew how to operate it. On the floor was a stone circle with gems embedded into the outer ring. Three stone pillars came up to meet in the center of the circle creating an archway. Where the pillars met a large gem covered in Divine Script sat on top of it. Only somebody with an immense amount of life aura could activate the device, as the gems had to be overflowing with imbued Nen. Aamu stepped into the center of the stone circle and turned to face her parents. This was the last time she would see them, hopefully not forever.

“Aamu, take this with you,” Avarosa held out a ring, it was a polished silver band set with a shimmery opal surrounded by smaller white diamonds. It was stunning and looked priceless to say the least. “Humans take nicely to shiny gifts, save this one for a special human.”

“Thank you mother,” She looked to her parents, she could feel the tears beginning to swell. “I love you, both of you. I promise I'll come back one day.” She looked to her father who was waiting for her to give him the word to send her off. She nodded at him with tears streaming down her plump cheeks. With that the gems in the Waystone began to glow one by one as Nen flowed through them. The last thing she heard was her parents wishing her safe travels as a flash of blinding light filled her vision. By the time the two leaders eyes had readjusted, their daughter was long gone. Avarosa stood unwavering, staring at the now empty Waystone. A deep breath followed by a tear streaking her high cheek bone. Ornn turned to his workbench, and with the stature of a man carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, he picked up his hammer to continue his work.


Tags
1 year ago

Catching his eyes

Denji angst time!!!

Catching His Eyes

The soft light filters in through the nearby window, casting pillars of light onto his soft blonde hair. His expression is surprisingly tranquil as he sleeps, his eyes closed and his mouth hanging open lightly. Although this reveals razor sharp teeth, it seems unthreatening in this morning light. Seeing Denji this peaceful almost makes it worth it. Almost. 

When he came to you in the middle of the night to lament to you about his suffering, you found it almost impossible to turn him away. As always, you would be his comfort when he had nowhere else to turn. You wanted to help him, after all, you knew how hard he always had it. He had once told you that you were similar to his old dog, whom he could share his dreams with. That you would always listen to him. That’s what you wanted to be for him. But it was so damn hard. Afterall, these dreams of his always starred a girl he could never quite get, and one you could never quite be. 

Makima. 

“Makima.” 

As you said it quietly to yourself, even the name felt wrong on your tongue. It felt like poison, a slow working but fatal poison. Perhaps that is what it was to your relationship with the confused boy in front of you. As he slept on your couch, you could almost imagine that her name would never cross his lips again. But of course, you doubted when he actually rose for the morning that it would take more than five minutes for her name to be brought up by the excited boy. Sometimes you wondered if it was actually love in his heart for the red haired woman, or he simply didn’t know how to express his true feelings. Despite all the time he had spent pouring out his heart to you, you still weren’t quite sure.

When had this happened to you? When had you allowed yourself to fall into this confusing chaotic relationship that would never be a relationship? Afterall, Denji was unaware of your feelings. Even if he knew, he was eager for romance so he might accept even with no feelings of reciprocation. The flame in his heart would always burn bright for the girl with the golden eyes. Before Denji, you had never seen Makima in this way. In your brief interactions with her, she had always seemed untouchable, but not unkind. She seemed to still care for her job and the people around her. Yet now, Denji had put a filter over your eyes. Sometimes you could see what he saw, you could see why she was so perfect. Still untouchable, but now she was worthy of adoration, worthy of worship. It was true, you could see why Denji had easily fallen for her. And yet the pain in your heart whenever she came into your gaze remained. 

Perhaps it wasn’t just seeing her. It was seeing him. His expression. His adoration. He was usually so loud, so obnoxious, so uncaring about others’ opinions. Yet around her, he grew silent. Respectful. This was a phenomenon you had never seen Denji experience with anyone else. 

Its not that you wanted that with him. You didn’t want Denji’s worship. Even asking for his love felt too much. Perhaps you just wanted his consideration. Just wanted to be in the running for his affection. 

Sometimes you could imagine it was there. When he came to you late at night, and you would offer him tea made with way too much sugar (just the way he likes it), a piece of toast with his favorite jam, and a patient ear; you could just barely see it. Just hardly there, glimmering below the surface, you could see something. Some emotion in his eyes. You didn’t quite know what it was. You didn’t want to give yourself false hope, but just like him, you liked to dream. 

Afterall, there had to be a reason he came to you. There had to be. Something inside of you refused to accept his reason of “Power would make fun of me” or “No way I’m talking to Topknot, he’s my rival!”. You never considered yourself an egotistical person, but you had to be special. Denji wouldn’t have chosen you otherwise. You were his confidant, a role you took with honor. You would always be there you this strange boy who had wormed his way into your heart. 

Beep! Beep! Beep!

The sound of an alarm startled you from your thoughts, even startling Denji awake as well. As you walked over to click it off, you heard him groan lightly. 

“Ugh, thanks for setting an alarm for me. Aki would be on my ass if I was late again”. 

There it was again. You didn’t think you’d heard him say “thank you” to anyone else but you. And of course, Makima. But that had to mean something, didn’t it? 

“No problem. Do you want some breakfast before you head out?”

 Your eyes dragged over his tired frame. He was still dressed in his public safety uniform, although much more disheveled now. His tie was undone, his shirt was half unbuttoned, and everything he was wearing was wrinkly. If you had more time, you would offer to fix his clothes for him, even going as far as to get out your rarely used iron, sitting forgotten in your closet. However, you knew he was under a time crunch, so his heavily creased clothes would have to do. His eyes, though they looked tired, lit up slightly at the prospect of food. A fleeting thought crossed your mind about how you wished he would look at you like that. How pathetic you are. 

“Hell yeah! But it’ll have to be pretty quick or I won’t have time to get back to Aki’s before work.” He grinned as he spoke though, clearly more excited about breakfast than worried about what Aki would do to him if he was tardy. You turned your back to him, rummaging through your cabinets to find the baked goods you had procured yesterday. Although giving them to Denji would require you to go out again for food sooner than you expected, it would be worth it. Despite the fact he would probably never reciprocate your emotions, you would still always yearn to keep him happy and healthy. You would remain on the sidelines for him, if it meant you could see his delighted smile become a constant. 

As you turned back to him, that very smile was on his face, his eyes aglow with happiness. Even if it wasn’t for you, you’d take it. You knew Denji would continue to come as long as you’d let him, seeking someone to listen to and in turn help him understand his complicated emotions. And you intended to always be there when he looked. You just wished he was looking at you for a different reason. And some part of you, would always wish to be the girl with the red hair and golden eyes. 


Tags
3 months ago

Hello! More headcannons! I am having lots of fun <3 kinda got a bit angsty oops

Anyway!

Have some lightly angsty cod headcanons!

Simon has a love hate relationship with cigarettes. Sure, they help him relax. But he hates them. The smell, the bite they take out of his bank account, how they make his teeth worse. He isn't a self destructive angsty teen anymore. So! He decides to quit. Tries his hardest to do it quietly, but the rest of the team notices quick. He chews a lot of gum because he scoffs at the stupid nicotine patches. Goes cold turkey, because he doesn't do things in half measures. Sure, he was grumpy as hell for the first few months, but after a while he notices how he's struggling less. Doesn't preassure anyone else to quit. Just wasn't for him, he says. He keeps chewing the gum though. Just ate mint and cinnamon when he first quit, but he branched out eventually. Likes watermelon the best now.

Johnny is an artist. It's canon, we all know that. I propose a Johnny who volunteers as a muralist when on leave. Goes around, painting walls anywhere he's asked. Hospitals, subways, schools, homeless shelters, bridges, ect. His family helps send jobs his way. He tells himself that it's just to help out. Just to practice and add to the community, have fun with a different medium. Won't tell himself that its a way to make sure he's remembered for anything besides the things he did while deployed. Does he regret those things? Hell no. But does he need to be more than just a soldier? Hell yes.

Price who doesn't have a life outside of the military. Gaz has his support group, Soap has his hobbies, Simon does...whatever the hell he does. Price has nothing. On the way to becoming everything he thought he needed to be, he forgot to be anyone besides the Captain. He pretends it doesn't bother him. And it doesn't, at least, not in a debilitating way. But it shows in the little things. How he always stays late doing work, checking on the wounded, helping out. Pretends it isn't him avoiding his empty apartment. His empty life outside of the military, his boys.

Gaz goes to therapy at the behest of his mom. He checks it off like it was just another box. He pretends at all the progress he's making, hiding how everytime he goes in he goes into the mindset of an interrogation. Let them know nothing, deflect and distract. Lets the therapist think he's a good patient. Talking about his "regrets", the horrors on the field, the nightmares. He does the actual coping later. Journals, then burns them. No loose ends. Writes down everything. The things on the field, how he doesn't- can't- regret a damn thing. Just that he didn't do better. He's suprised when later, after a mission, he's using the breathing exercises the therapist taught him. Maybe it wasn't all pretend afterall.


Tags
7 months ago
✤ Onepiece Master-list ✤

✤ Onepiece Master-list ✤

Requests are closed sorry, I will open them up soon! <Rules Here> 2/3 (currently working on right now)

・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。

Angst = 🫧 Fluff =❣️ NSFW/SFW =⭐️

Updated 5/2/25 started 9/11/24

I am currently re-vamping my older fics 💔

Mash-ups:

Enclosed (Straw Hatx!GNReader) 🫧❣️

Card DECLINED (MonsterTrio+Lawx!Fem!Reader❣️ |Head-Cannons| (re-writing)

Sub-Tastic? (MonsterTrio+Law,Usopp,Sanji!FemReader) ⭐️❣️ |Head-Cannons|

Roronoa Zoro

A Swordsman’s Love (GN!Reader) ❣️🫧 |One-shot| (re-writing)

Lay Off! (Fem!Reader) ❣️🫧|One-shot|

See-See Fruit (GN!Reader) ❣️🫧 |One-shot| (re-writing)

Sanji

The Menacing Bra (Fem!Reader) ❣️⭐️ |One-shot| (re-writing)

Bitterspicy? (Fem!Reader)❣️|One-shot| (re-writing)

Usopp

Gonzo (Fem!Reader) ❣️🫧 |One-shot|

Talent (GN!Reader) ❣️ |One-Shot|

Monkey D. Luffy

Trafalgar D. Water Law

Death of Pizzaz (Fem!Reader) ❣️⭐️ |One-shot| (re-writing)

Sleepy stalls (!GN!Reader)❣️ |Head-cannons| (re-writing)

Portages D. Ace

As The Day Slips By 🫧❣️|One-Shot|

Complications ❣️|One-Shot|

More Characters to come…


Tags
2 months ago

A/N: Basically Khan this entire fic;

“I AM AT MY FU*KING LIMIT-“

(I am fr putting this man THROUGH IT- /lh /silly)

Anyway- H I. I wrote another Khori fic bc I am incapable of stopping. /lhj

Enjoy ig lol. /lh

-Ruf >:3

Hanging By A Thread

A Murder Drones Khori (Khan x Nori) fan fiction one-shot.

TRIGGER/CRINGE WARNING: light angst, swearing

Khan finally gets home after a long day— a very, very… long day. His first and only priority was to go to his room. Right now, he doesn't have the energy to want to do anything else.

Khan practically instantly drops his smile as soon as he gets into the bedroom. He took a deep breath in, and released a sharp, drawn-out sigh while slumping against the door.

Khan crossed his arms tightly against his midriff. He stared at the ceiling of the small room with his head tilted slightly upwards.

As the empty air of the room became filled only with the sounds of silence, Khan started to go through his memory files to recollect the day. He had nothing else better to do right now, anyway. Why not waste his time some more?

When he was finished with his task, Khan yet again tried to find a distraction to help ignore... less important things.

Khan sighed sharply. He sluggishly stepped over to about towards the middle of the room and sat down defeatedly at the end of the bed.

Khan stayed still.....until he couldn’t. His head started to hurt.

“Fucking hell.. why now..?!” Khan thought.

And just as soon as he thought that things couldn’t get any worse--

{{ LOW BATTERY : YOU DIDN’T SLEEP, IDIOT }}

Khan grumbled. He moved the alert to the side. He ignores it. Like always.

“Ugggghhh…. You frickin’ idiot....” Khan held his face in his hands, noticeably slurring his speech.

First, random body aches, then it turns out that he’s running on low power. No wonder he feels like sh-

Knock, Knock.

The sudden noise made Khan feel like his core nearly jumped out of his chest.

Khan sighed. He stood up and lazily shuffled to the door.

It was revealed that Nori was patiently waiting on the other side. Khan immediately perked up when he saw that it was her.

“Oh-! Uh- Hey, Nori.” Khan said stiffly.

Nori had a calm smile on her face.

“Hey. You alright..?” She asked.

“U-Uh-!! G-Great!! Doing good!” Khan stammered while struggling to keep eye contact.

Nori raised an unamused eyebrow.

“YYYYeahhhhh.... I don't think you’re even sure about that, buddy.” She cracked a cheeky smirk.

Khan blushed. Partially flustered but mostly embarrassed.

If he truly wanted to fool Nori, Khan would have to think of something better than whatever the hell that was.

“You gonna let me in the room now orrrr…?” Nori teased.

“Oh! Uh, y-yeah, s-sorry.” Khan chuckled awkwardly.

Nori stepped past while the door behind her closed.

“Now.” Nori began. “You wanna tell me what’s up with you?”

Khan forced a smile.

“What do you mean? Nothing's up!”

Like always, Nori was not buying anything.

Khan dropped his façade. “Ugh.. f-fine… if you wanna know so badly, I’m not doing very well right now, okay?” He sounded defensive.

Nori tisked. “Mmm-hmm. Exactly what I’m talkin’ about.” She teased.

Khan scoffed.

“Nori, please… I’m not in the mood right now.. just leave me alone.”

Khan turned around with his arms crossed over his chest and walked a few steps away.

A short moment of silence followed.

Nori chuckled softly. She walked up to Khan and hugged him from behind.

“No need to go full-edge on me, big man. You know you don’t have to be ‘ the tough guy ’ around me.” She said.

Khan tried to take a breath in, but instead, it hitched. He put a hand over his mouth.

Well, shit. He did not mean to make that sound…

“And you said you were doing just fine, huh?” Nori said.

Khan blushed. Ashamed, but he paid no attention to Nori’s teasing.

“N-Nori, I-I c-can’t j-just—“

“It’s okay. I don’t mind.” Nori cut Khan off—knowing exactly what he was going to say without even finishing his sentence.

Khan felt the lump form in his throat. He finally gave in and released his tears— not even sobbing, just.. allowing them to flow.

Khan sighed.

“I-I’m sorry I just…I’ve been… really stressed out lately… cause I’m really busy and....”

His voice cracked.

“I’ve been.. feeling so tired… but.... sleep doesn’t feel like it’s helping.. a-anymore.... and.... I-I don’t know what to do....”

Nori lifted her head.

“It sounds like to me that you’re feeling a little burnt out.” She said, “You’ve been focusing on nothing but your work, why not focus on yourself for a little while? You deserve a break. Don't cha think?”

Khan sniffed. “I… I guess so, but… I can’t...”

Nori raised a brow. “Why not?” She asked.

“Cause I… I-I dunno.. I just… It’s important and.... there are people counting on me.. a-and I don’t even have the time for myself.” Khan replied.

“You’re thinking too hard, dummy.” Nori chuckled softly. She gave Khan one last gentle squeeze before pulling away.

“Some days are just harder than others… And that’s okay!” Nori added. She stepped in front of Khan.

“Hows’ about this?” Nori began.

“You take it easy for the rest of the day, and tomorrow you can take the day off.”

Khan flinched. “B-But I-!!”

“No buts!!” Nori interrupted. “Your well-being is more important! Got that..?” Her tone softened a bit on those last two words.

“Okay.” Khan sighed.

“Good.” Nori smiled. “Now would ya stop crying already??!”

Nori wiped underneath Khan’s eyes.

“Sorry, Sorry! I can’t help it sometimes.” Khan chuckled awkwardly.

Nori raised a playful brow and held a slight, cocky smirk on her face.

Fin~


Tags
1 month ago

welcome to my page!

Hi there! I'm Reny.

I've been writing fanfiction for about 12 years now, and my current favorite rarepair to write about is Vi and Sevika from Arcane (although my wife has been known to draw a JayVik drabble or two from me). A lot of my works are 18+ so please proceed with caution!

My lovely wife is my muse, however unfortunately for them (and you, dear reader) I tend to channel my inspiration into gut wrenching angst that borders on body horror. Whoops.

On this blog, we are trans inclusive (as a trans myself), inherently queer, mental-health positive, and pro ship whoever you like. I love interacting with everyone (a comment always begets a comment), and all I ask is that we keep it kind, friendly, and civil.

Without further ado; my Arcane fanfiction masterlist!

Vi x Sevika

Multichapter Fics:

dying to live - 54.6k words, finished, rated E.

desc: Vi loses her father and her future in the span of a few minutes. She's left to pick up the pieces and fit them back together - but nothing will ever be the same. There's a lost relationship with her estranged sister to navigate, a bar to run, and a mysterious regular who seems intent on helping Vi despite her insistence on doing things alone.

cover me in gasoline - 16.5k words, ongoing, rated E.

desc: Rockstar Vi AU. "If her music was a monster, Vi was its teeth. Vi was its claws, sinking into the meat of the world and ripping so she could feed the starving jaws of Zaun. She found solace in the violence of screeching chords and banging rhythms, felt her heartbeat in the bassline beneath the music. She shook with the rage, with the determination, with the dogged desperation of a town being erased by for sale signs and developers with faceless corporations ripping apart their wildlife and planting cement time bombs at their apex."

Series:

without you is how i disappear - 38.2k words, 4 parts, complete.

part one: these terrors gripping my throat - 5.6k words, rated E.

desc: canon divergent. Vi has some old wounds that never healed. Sevika likes to pick at them. They find a way to start healing them together.

“You good?” Sevika asks, and Vi barks out a laugh.

“Oh yeah. Fucking peachy.” She says through grit teeth, then sucks in smoke harder than was necessary to avoid elaborating.

Sevika leans her shoulder against the wall beside Vi, looking down at her, expression unreadable. There was a bruise forming in the shape of Vi’s knuckles on her jaw. Lucky shot. The only real hit Vi had managed to get in.

“There’s some girls at Babette’s who can’t do penetration either,” Sevika offers, and Vi bristles.

part two: as the blood runs down the wall - 10.3k words, rated E.

desc: Vi and Sevika fall into each other.

“You - You’re letting me move in?” Vi can’t help the shock and disbelief in her tone.

Brown eyes roll and glance into the contents of a half empty coffee mug. “Yes. For now. You pull any stupid shit and I’ll have you on your ass.”

“But why?” It comes out of her mouth before she can have a second to think.

They sit in silence for a moment, Vi clutching her bowl of oatmeal like a lifeline, Sevika considering the depths of her coffee cup.

“I owe your old man a solid.” Sevika says finally.

The disappointment that hits Vi startles her. Ah. She understood - debts had to be paid, and a dead man couldn’t exactly call in favors. But the hunted thing in her, the part of her that never seemed to stop bleeding or weeping or howling, cowers from the words. It was just another reminder that Vi was on her own, at the mercy of others until they cast her aside or died or betrayed her. She picks at her oatmeal and wonders which one Sevika would inevitably choose.

part three: as these days watch over time - 9.4k words, rated E.

desc: Vi breaks. Sevika bends. They find a way forward, together.

“It’s therapy and house arrest, or Stillwater. You pick.”

Vi’s eyes narrow. She pulls one foot onto her seat, wraps her arms around her knee and inspects the dried blood beneath her fingernails. Therapy. Like she was some sad Piltie who didn’t get enough sun. “I don’t need some shrink to tell me what to do.” She mutters.

“Well, the Council says you do, so. Pick one.”

Vi’s knee bounces. She bites at a hangnail, the taste of copper sitting heavy on her tongue. Either way, it was a trap. She’d stay here, haunted by newer ghosts and picking apart wounds, or she’d be sent back to be haunted by old ghosts and inevitably get new wounds. She had no doubt everything she said in a shrink’s office would be fed back to Sevika. To Caitlyn. To whoever asked for it.

Then again, they wrote reports on the prisoners in Stillwater, too. She couldn’t imagine how many eyes had been on hers over the last decade.

“Fine,”

part four: so long and goodnight - 12.8k words. Rated E.

desc: Epilogue.

Healing is a long, arduous journey.

Vi had been on it for a few months now. She’d grown out her hair a little, let it fade back to the vibrant pink of her youth. She picked up weight lifting instead of fighting, keeping herself in good enough shape to fight if need be, but not in the constant adrenaline rush that came with actually beating someone to a pulp in front of a crowd. She’d pierced her other nostril. It was a little crooked, but she liked it that way.

Oneshots:

bleed me to death - 9.9k words, rated E.

desc: Vampire Sevika, religious Vi, and a good amount of yearning. Set in the 1800s!

Vi had heard stories about the house on the hill.

She’d been warned of the depravity that lived within. She’d heard whispers about the guests who went, the weary travelers who stopped and never left, the parties that went for hours and the people who went missing afterwards. But most of all, she’d heard about the woman who owned it.

There were rumors about what she was. A witch, maybe. A woman with the proclivity to sleep with the devil in exchange for worldly possessions. A succubus. A monster. A devil in her own right.

my vow to you - 9k words, rated E.

desc: omegaverse, alpha!sevika and omega!vi, a wedding, and a baby.

Sevika was a little old fashioned, so she insists Vi and her wait until after they were married to share a heat or a rut together.

It was fine. This just gave her more time to make sure she could properly take care of her alpha, or properly make her own heat enjoyable for her soon to be mate.

let me find our future under the stars - 6.1k words, rated T.

desc: omegaverse, alpha!sevika and omega!vi, teen romance, girl next door sevika, age appropriate teen angst.

Vi had always been a vibrantly energetic kid. Her parents had put her into sports early as a kid, just to burn off the energy she came home with every day. She was scrappy, too, and could hold her own in a fight. She inherited her alpha father’s temper, and her omega father’s wit, and both of those combined made a deadly combination. Everyone assumed from the day she was born that when she presented, she’d be an alpha.

That was why, when Vi finally presented (late, at sixteen), she was horrified to discover she was not an alpha. She was, in fact, an omega.

doomsday - 6k words, rated M.

desc: zombie apocolypse au, selective mutism vi, one armed sevika.

Putting a bullet through your father’s head long range was one thing. Putting one through your sister’s, while she begged you not to, while the light died from her eyes, was entirely different. Vi stared her sister in the eye, listened to the snapping of bones in a leg hanging onto her body by the threads of torn muscle, as it tried to reconnect itself and her skin flushed hot with a virus that felt more like a wildfire - and she pulled the trigger.

vagus - 1.4k words, rated M.

desc: there were some days Violet wanted to pry open her chest and break her ribs off one by one. Mental health study.

She’d stack her ribs in a pile, wiping the blood on her fingers off on the bone. After, she’d reach into her bared chest and take out her heart. Untangle the veins and arteries that kept it in place, watch it spout blood uselessly. She’d stick her fingers in the valves she swore were clogged, dig around to pick the muscle clean so maybe it would hurt less when it beat.

Tumblr Prompts:

Vi edges Sevika or vice versa please? - 1.3k words, rated E.

amnesia Vi x potentially guilty Sevika - 623 words, rated G.

Unaware touch starved Sevika x (un)surprisingly observant Vi - 1.1k words, rated T.

Vi/Sevika Sickfic - 1k words, rated G.

How about something like Sevika finding out that Vi has chronic pain (in my head it's canon) and taking care of her? - 1.7k words, rated G.

Jayvik:

(I'll be so honest, you JayVik shippers terrify me. Speaking as someone with a wife who is one!)

not really here, just an intrusion - 7.4k words, rated M, ongoing.

desc: A character study in two acts - season one, and then season two.

“Who authorized your research?” He asks, and Jayce’s annoyance slides over his face before he can hide it.

“It was an independent study.”

Those words alone send a thrill through Viktor. He can’t say he isn’t distracted as he collects Jayce from what had essentially been deemed a crime scene. The possibilities that had opened up to him - if an experiment like this could go unnoticed, what else could be done?

This masterpost is ongoing. As always, drop an ask or a prompt in my inbox <3 happy reading!!


Tags
6 years ago

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Hello! I am back! I wrote a completely new Alternate Universe that... I don’t think it’s ever been done before. This is only part one of many.

So this is my baby. I love it dearly. Please enjoy with me.

If you don’t want to read the full thing here, you can find it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18105458

***

Why are there so many songs about rainbows And what’s on the other side — Rainbow Connection

As far as Lance was concerned, there was only one side to a rainbow.

At least, that was what he had been taught. You see, he’d grown up on the one side of the rainbow - the one with the light and the color and the beautiful arches stretching over the city, as far as the eye could see. He lived in a city with buildings made of crystal, made for light to refract off them and fill the world with color.

The people themselves were bathed in color - dressed in beautifully colored clothes that complimented their rich and luxurious skin tones, hair that caught the beautiful colors of their world and took it as their own. Their eyes were luminous and their smiles bright. It was as though whatever had created them had harnessed the sun and the colors of the rainbow it had made their home to write them into being.

They learned in school about how to take these colors and put them to use; how to harness the power they’d been gifted and use it to better the world around them. Lance had chosen blue. It was the sweetest of the colors, cool and refreshing. They used it on the bodies of water around them, purifying and healing with it. Many citizens who wielded blue became nurses or midwives or caretakers. They were sweet and gentle and curious beings.

This curiosity was both a blessing and a curse. It often got Lance into trouble as a child. When he got older, he sated his curiosities with the vast collection of books in the city library and archives. He also went on excursions past the city lines when it got to be too much, but nobody knew about those. Not even his best friends.

But after he’d read all of the books he could get his hands on, after he’d learned about the same things in a hundred different ways in a hundred different author’s words - Lance got bored again.

It wasn’t until one specific librarian had noticed him sulking in the stacks that he had been given one particular book.

This was the day Lance McClain’s life changed.

***

“You really shouldn’t do this, Lance.” Hunk hisses for the third time that afternoon.

“Yeah, you said that.” Lance rolls his eyes, looking over at the yellow wielder. Hunk was nervously folding Lance’s basket of unattended clean clothes. He tended to fuss when he was anxious.

“I think it’s cool.” Pidge pipes up from where she was lounging on his bed. The green wielder was scrolling through her datapad.

“We don’t even know if what that book said was true - it’s a hundred years old!” Hunk insists. “I’m almost certain that it’s just some elaborate plan to kidnap unsuspecting victims!”

Lance rolls his eyes, packing a water bottle into his backpack and zipping it closed. “And what if it is true?” He challenges. “If it’s true, then there’s a whole other world beyond the borders of our city! I want to see it.”

“Of all things, why did you have to be blue?” Hunk bemoans, folding a shirt a little too aggressively. Pidge snorts.

“I’ll be back before school tomorrow.” Lance huffs. “And remember - I’m sleeping over at your house, Hunk.” He winks. “Bye!”

“Please be careful!” Hunks calls after him as he slides out the window.

“Bring me pictures!” Pidge hollers after him.

Lance grins, slinging his bag over his shoulder and heading toward the setting sun.

***

There are rumors of a place far beyond our borders — a place devoid of light and color and beauty. I have only heard of it twice, in hushed conversations and fearful whispers behind closed doors. Those who know of it call it the Monochrome, or the other side of the Rainbow.

It is said to be a place where the evil are cast out, but there is no evidence of this. I have looked extensively into our justice system, and there is no sign of anyone ever coming close to sending people there. It would be considered inhumane in our leader’s eyes.

Although many people seem to be afraid of it, I have not heard of any threats or worrying behaviour from the Monochrome and its people. As the devout scientist and explorer I claim to be, it is my duty to not only find this place, but learn everything I can about it and its people.

Wish me luck.

— Dr. C. Wimbleton-Smythe, Over the Rainbow

***

As the light faded from the sky, drained from vivid golds and pinks and oranges and replaced with silver and gold and navy of the richest kind, Lance found himself venturing farther from the city than he had ever been before. It was thrilling, but he couldn’t decide if that was a good feeling or not. He knew his mother was going to kill him if she caught wind of what he was doing, but hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

He wasn’t paying much attention to the things around him. Or he didn’t until he realized that the colors of the sky were duller than they had been minutes ago. Upon closer inspection, he realizes that the color around him was fading. Muting itself. He looked down at his own skin, at his own clothes, and felt oddly out of place. He seemed a little too bright, a little too intense for this place.

Lance stops in a clearing in the trees, looking around. The ground drained from a muted green to a dull, drab grey. It bled into the trees, into the sky, into the land that stretched for miles before him. It doesn’t even occur to Lance to take the pictures Pidge wanted.

The color was gone, replaced with shades of grey and blacks and whites. Lance pulls out the journal he’d been given by the library, grinning and leafing through to the bookmark he’d left.

“The Monochrome.” He breathes, his fingers brushing over the yellowing pages.

“What are you doing here?”

The journal snaps shut between Lance’s hands and he jumps, whirling around to look at… a boy.

Well, not exactly a boy, he looked to be about Lance’s age. But that was where the resemblance stopped.

He was shorter than Lance, his arms crossed over his chest and his brow furrowed. His stance was defensive, his lips turned downward in a scowl. He looked angry, but that’s not why Lance found that he couldn’t breathe.

This boy was breathtaking in a way that Lance had never seen before. His skin was pale and unblemished, almost glowing in the dim moonlight. His hair was the color of ink, looping around his face in soft waves that brushed against sharp cheekbones.

Lance couldn’t quite make out the color of his eyes. He guessed they were some form of grey, because they were softer than the rest of his features, however wary and angry they were.

“Uh…” He chokes, after he remembers to breathe. What did he say to someone who looked so different yet also made Lance’s heart thump hard in his chest?

“What,” the boy repeats, stepping closer toward Lance. “Are you doing here?”

“I’m exploring.” Lance declares after he’d gathered his wits about him. “I read about this place in a book - I thought it wasn’t real! But, wow, look- it is! You’re real! Wait till Pidge hears about this, she’s gonna be so psyched! Can I take your picture?”

The Monochrome boy gives him an incredulous look, some of the defensiveness draining from his posture. “Excuse me?”

Lance grins, then extends a hand. “Hi, I’m Lance. I’m a big fan.”

His eyes flick from Lance’s hand to his face, uncertainty flickering across his face. He takes a step forward after a while, reaching forward and taking his hand.

The Monochrome boys touch is… well, normal. Lance wasn’t quite sure what he had been expecting. Cold? Calluses, maybe? Anything but the soft, warm grip that slid into his own, shaking his hand firmly. It’s gone as soon as it had come.

“Uh… Keith. I’m Keith.” He - Keith - says, the wariness giving way to confused curiosity. “What… are you doing here?”

“Exploring.” He says, holding the journal aloft. “So you guys aren’t a myth. There’s more than one of you, right?”

The apprehension is back. Keith edges away, picking at the hem of his shirt. “Why do you wanna know?” He asks, his expression pinched. “You aren’t a spy, are you?”

“What?” He blinks, looking down at his vibrantly colored self. “No! Besides, if I was, I would be the worst spy in the world. I don’t fit in here at all.”

Keith relaxes again, smiling faintly. How Lance — or anyone, for that matter — could have thought these people were cold and threatening was beyond him. Keith had the nicest smile he’d ever seen.

“No,” the Monochrome boy concedes. “I guess you don’t.”

The two of them stand in awkward silence for a moment before Keith clears his throat. “Well. It was nice to meet you, Lance, but I should…”

“Can I come back?” Lance interrupts, blushing faintly. “I mean… I know it’s probably weird I’m here. But nobody knows you exist! Or… I don’t think that anyone does.”

Keith smiles faintly, tilting his head to the side. “Why are you so interested in my people?”

Lance thinks about this a moment, brushing his fingers over the old, leather bound book that had taken him this far and brought him to Keith. He wasn’t quite sure why he’d come, let alone why he was so interested. There was just something about Dr. Wimbleton-Smythe’s genuine curiosity that had resonated with Lance.

He wanted to prove that these people were worth knowing about. Nobody deserved to be a long-forgotten myth. Especially not when they still existed.

So he answers honestly. “I’m not sure yet. But I’d like to find out.”

This makes Keith give him a wide, crooked smile. Lance finds he’d like to document that smile. “Okay.” The Monochrome boy agrees. “You can come back.”

“Thank you.” Lance breathes. “I can’t- thank you. Tomorrow? Here?”

“Tomorrow,” Keith agrees, tucking his ebony hair behind his ear, a hint of that smile tugging at his lips. “Here.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Lance grins. “Bye, Keith.”

“Goodbye, Lance.”

***

I have reached the part where our two worlds collide. The color has faded, like something has sucked the vibrancy away from this stretch of land. At first I thought it may be sick, but upon closer inspection, the foliage seems to be in peak condition.

This is a phenomenon that I have never seen before, and I can only hope to meet someone from this land who may explain it to me. That said, I have decided to stay on the edge of this land, in case these people are as hostile as they have been proclaimed to be.

I am optimistic and hopeful toward the future of my research and adventures.

— Dr. C. Wimbleton-Smythe, Over the Rainbow

***

“Pics or it didn’t happen,” Pidge scoffs the next day at school, leaning back in her seat and munching on her sandwich. It was one of the rare times she wasn’t typing away at her screen.

“I told you,” Lance groans. “I forgot! Plus he didn’t seem like the type who would’ve wanted his picture taken. I was being respectful!”

“It was safe though, right?” Hunk worries, not even blinking when Pidge reaches over and takes a handful of his chips. “He didn’t seem… I dunno, aggressive?”

“What? No! No, he was… Well, I mean, he was worried at first. But he was nice!”

“Did he seriously not have any color?” Pidge leans forward, her hazel eyes intense. “Like - just black and white? Like one of those weird pictures they keep in the museums?”

“Weird… pictures? Museum?” Lance blinks.

Pidge nods, pulling back and giving him a bored look. “Yeah, like the ones nobody goes to anymore? They have this weird section with black and white pictures.”

Weird pictures. Weird black and white pictures. As far as he knew, the cameras here had never been black and white. Maybe… maybe-

“Pidge, I need you to take me to the museum. Right now.”

“Now?” She asks incredulously. “Right now? In the middle of lunch?”

“In the middle of school?” Hunk yelps.

“Yes!” Lance springs out of his chair, packing up his bag haphazardly. “Right now, I have to go!”

“This journal is making you crazy.” Hunk says warily. Pidge only heaves a frustrated sigh, grudgingly packing her own bags. “Fine. But if I fail chemistry, it’s all your fault.”

“I can live with that. Now come on!”

***

The museum desk clerk looked bored out of her mind when she gave them their passes. “The exhibit is that way.” She points, popping her gum and tossing her bright pink hair over her shoulder. “Have a wonderful day.”

“Come on!” Lance walks as fast as he could, his long legs eating up the ground under him and basically leaving his friends behind. Which seemed to be fine with them; they were going to explore other places of the near-empty museum.

Sure enough, the black and white exhibit was tiny, but it was there. And right before the hall, there was a massive portrait and a plaque that read; This Exhibit was Founded by the Research of Doctor Coran Wimbleton-Smythe.

The man was a regal, expressive creature, with wild orange hair and an impressive mustache. He had a wide smile, mirth and wisdom twinkling in his blue eyes. He looked like he had seen the world and found beauty in all of it. Even in the Monochrome.

A thrill runs through Lance. He wanted to be just like Dr. Wimbleton-Smythe.

With a reverent, hopeful breath, Lance walks into the room that had long since been forgotten and looked over.

The walls held big black and white pictures, full of life despite the colorlessness. Coran seemed to be in every single one of them, vibrant still despite the lack of pigment. He had his arm thrown around a beautiful woman in one, his head thrown back in laughter, a drink in one hand. The woman was grinning, staring off just past where the camera was aimed. The plaque on the bottom read Midsummer Festival, circa 20XX.

The next picture was of a family, drawn close together, arms around one another. The mother was cradling a baby. At first glance, they seemed somber, but Lance had seen that expression on Keith, and somehow he knew that these people simply took everything seriously.

The room was filled with similar pictures. There were weddings, celebrations, funerals, or simply people going about their day to day lives. Dr. Wimbleton-Smythe had taken these people and painted them in the same light as the ones from Rainbow City. They weren’t different at all.

***

The people here are more lovely than anyone I have ever seen in even that of my own home. I find their lack of color to be more appealing than that of my own people. Their beauty is not found surface deep, but instead found in the kind way they treat each other and the loyalty that holds their society together.

I have found that the people in my own home, while they may be derived from heavenly color themselves, are vain and condescending toward that which they do not understand. And, as such, I have found that they do not understand the people of Monochrome.

There is such a deeply rooted fear of the unknown in my people. It closes their minds and hearts, poisoning their reasoning and clouding their judgement. I wish they would only get to know the lovely people in these towns to love them just as dearly as I do.

Dr. C. Wimbleton-Smythe, Over the Rainbow

***

“There’s a museum exhibit with pictures of your people.”

Keith looks up, surprise writ on his face.

They were sitting under a tree, the only one standing on the in-between. Keith had suggested they do it, after Lance had revealed he’d brought snacks and the Monochrome boy had admitted to never having tried the things Lance had brought.

“There is?”

Lance nods, giving him a small smile. “It isn’t very big, but… It’s there. Dr. Wimbleton-Smythe instated it a really long time ago. I guess nobody has bothered to take it down.”

Keith blinks, then tilts his head to the side. “How do you know about him?”

“Oh!” Lance turns, pulling the journal out of his backpack. “The librarian gave this to me after I read all of the books in the library.”

Keith snorts. “You read all of the books in the library?”

Lance smiles sheepishly, turning to hand him the book. “Yeah. I was a pretty hyperactive kid. It was that or get into more trouble than it was worth.”

The Monochrome boy chuckles, shaking his head and looking down at the book. A bit of hair falls into his face, and Lance has the urge to push it away from his face. He’d always been an impulsive boy.

Keith looks up when Lance’s fingers brush over his cheek and ear, his eyes wide and his gaze slightly awed. For a moment, they stare at each other, unable or unwilling to break eye contact.

But then Lance pulls his hand back, a brilliant red blooming over his cheeks. “Sorry.” He says quietly, glancing away from Keith.

He only looks up when a thumb brushes over his cheek. Lance jolts, surprised, and turns to see Keith with that same awed expression. It occurs to him then that Keith had probably never seen color — or at least not color as vivid as this before. So he leans into the boy’s touch, letting him trace over the slowly fading blush.

“Why aren’t you scared of me?” Keith whispers, looking up at Lance, his gaze troubled. Upon closer inspection, Lance realizes that his eyes are a muted purple, like some sort of smoky amethyst.

“Should I be scared?” Lance asks, just as quietly.

He gets a smile and a little shake of the head before Keith is pulling his hand away. Lance wants to pull him back, hold his hand there. But he doesn’t, instead watching as porcelain fingers brush over yellowed pages.

“I can’t read this.” He admits after a moment, looking up at Lance. “I don’t read this language.”

Lance laughs, taking it back. “Do you want me to read it to you?”

His heart flutters when he gets that crooked, happy grin for the second time. “Yes, please.”

***

I have fallen in love.

It isn’t with a woman, or a man, or anyone in between. No, I have fallen in love with this culture and harmony. These people feel like home. It hurts me to think that I have to go back to Rainbow City, but I also feel at peace with my decision.

The people who raised me need to know who these lovely, monochromatic people are. They need to hear from one of their own that these are not people who need to be feared, let alone casted out for the way they were created. I — we — owe it to this beautiful group of people to understand.

I have fallen in love. Irreversibly, irrevocably in love.

— Dr. C. Wimbleton-Smythe, Over the Rainbow

***

The sixth time Lance visits, Keith falls asleep against his chest.

Lance was reading to him, the sun still in the sky. Keith had settled under his arm to see the diagrams and sketches that filled the empty spots in the pages. Somewhere along the way, his eyes had grown heavy and he had fallen asleep against the boy from Rainbow City.

He hadn’t noticed, not at first. But when Keith stopped asking questions or making Lance pause a moment so he could study the sketches, he trailed off and looked down.

The Monochrome boy had his cheek pressed against Lance’s collarbone. His thick eyelashes brushed over his cheekbones, his lips parted as he breathes, soft and even. His hand was curled, his knuckles pressed against his cheek and holding on loosely to the sweatshirt Lance had thrown on.

He was lovely.

Lance could see where the Doctor had been coming from. Then again, he had seen it since the first time he’d bumped into Keith. And to think, before this journal, Lance hadn’t even known that someone as beautiful as the boy on his chest had existed.

He brushes a hand through inky locks, not daring to move an inch in case he disturbed Keith.

And after his foot fell asleep and the chill from the setting sun started to creep from the floor into his bones, Lance realized he might just be a little bit in love.

***

“My mom wants to meet you.”

Lance looks up from divvying out the fruit he’d brought, his eyes wide. “I… Excuse me?”

Keith looks away, rubbing his cheek in a gesture Lance had come to realize meant that Keith was being shy. “She… I’ve been talking about you, and… she wants to meet you.”

“You talk about me?” Lance squeaks, not quite able to compute. Keith talked about him! He could sing praises to the heavens, run a thousand laps around the city fountains, die happy in this exact moment.

And then he realized just what Keith had said, and his elation turns to slight fear.

“Your… mom wants to meet me.” He repeats, after Keith nudges him with a worried call of his name. He must’ve been unresponsive.

“Yes,” the Monochrome boy nods, biting his lip.

“When?” He asks, his voice faint.

“Um…” Keith smiles, shy. “Today? She said I could invite you to dinner. So.. want to come to dinner?”

Lance stares at him, his eyes wide. The silence drags for a long, terrible minute, before Keith pulls away, his face falling. “Unless you don’t want to, that’s okay- I get it. I’m- I’m me, and… that’s okay.”

“No!” Lance reaches over, taking his hands, shaking his head quickly. Oh, heavens, stars almighty, he was an idiot. “No. I’m sorry, I just- you caught me off guard. Of course I want to come to dinner. Thank you for inviting me.”

The Monochrome boy looks down at their hands, then back up at him, his smile hesitant. “Yeah?” He whispers, squeezing Lance’s fingers hopefully.

“Yeah.” Lance whispers back, taking a chance and leaning forward, pressing a soft kiss to this beautiful boy’s flawless forehead.

***

Krolia Kogane was the single most terrifying woman on this side of the border, Lance had come to realize.

He and Keith had made the trek into town, past a few dozen curious faces and polite smiles (he was certain he’d be met with hostile stares and terrified mothers pulling their children away. That’s what Keith would have been greeted with). They’d walked through the town, right to what seemed to be the biggest house in the whole place.

Standing in the doorway was Krolia Kogane, cutting an imposing figure as her son lead a Rainbow City boy up to her and into her house. And now she was sitting across from him at their kitchen table, her gaze inscrutable.

“So,” she starts, and he snaps to attention. “Keith tells me you’ve been visiting him.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Lance replies hastily, then clears his throat and adds, “He’s very nice.”

Krolia gives him the slightest of smiles. One of Keith’s smiles. “He is, isn’t he?” She looks toward the stairs, where Keith had disappeared to get one thing or another. She turns her gaze back to him, then sighs. “I don’t know what you know of our history, Lance, but the Rainbow folk haven’t exactly been the most friendly.”

“Yes, ma’am. I… I know a little of it.” Lance nods solemnly. He hesitates a minute, then lifts his gaze to hers. “I’m sorry.” He says softly. “I don’t want to hurt Keith in any way. I… I really like him.”

Keith’s mother studies him a moment, then smiles and sits back. “You look at him the way my husband used to look at me.”

And again that bright red blooms over his cheeks, warmth settling in his chest. He looks toward the stairs. “I really like him.” He says again.

The three of them spend the evening making traditional dishes and swapping stories. Tonight was the first night Lance heard Keith laugh without restraint and the first night he wanted to pull him close and kiss him.

At the end of the night, he gets that chance. They’re lingering on the border, standing in their perfect little in-between. Keith is stalling, dragging out their goodbyes with soft thank yous and his fingers twined around Lance’s.

When there’s a breath of silence, a moment with their eyes locked and the silence heavy around them, Lance leans forward.

Keith’s lips are soft and gentle, his breath stalling between them as his brain catches up with his body. His arms reach up, wrap around Lance’s neck. Lance puts a hand on the small of his back, pulling him against his chest and kissing him like it was the only thing in the world he wanted to do. Because, in all reality, it was.

They part with the promise to see eachother again the following night. And the one after that. And the one after that.

When Lance leaves, all the colors around him seems dull without Keith by his side.

***

“I think I’m in love with him.” Lance says one afternoon, when all of his friends are hanging out in his room.

Hunk looks up, surprise flickering over his face. Pidge’s typing stops.

“What?” His best friends echo, almost in sync with one another.

“You haven’t even known him that long,” Hunk protests.

“We haven’t even met the guy!” Pidge huffs.

Lance rolls over on his bed, blinking at them. “Do you want to meet him?” He asks.

That night, Lance asks Keith if he wants to meet them.

“Will they like me?” Keith asks, worried as he looks up at Lance. They’re curled up in Keith’s bed, back to their usual reading sessions (or, rather, Keith’s daily naptime before dinner).

“Of course they will.” Lance smiles, smoothing his hair down and kissing his forehead. “I like you. They’re bound to like you — we have similar interests.”

“Okay,” Keith concedes after a moment of long and hard thought, snuggling back in. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

***

It wasn’t going well. Keith was flighty and nervous the moment he saw that there was three of them. He flinched when Lance took his hand, apologizing softly when he sees the concern on the Rainbow Citizens face.

Hunk was anxious as all get out; he had done some research himself, but of course he hadn’t borrowed the journal from Lance. All of the feedback he got painted Keith — sweet, soft, beautiful Keith — out to be a cold hearted monster.

Pidge had her own suspicions. This was displayed after tense introductions when she leaned over to Hunk and murmured, “He looks like a ghost.”

They hadn’t seen it, but Lance had seen his Monochrome boy crumble. He had felt fingers tighten on his own, heard the soft exhale.

“Pidge,” Lance says, aghast. “He can hear you.”

She has the decency to look sheepish. “Sorry.”

After an hour of agonizing small talk and mediating from Lance, he’d given up and told the group he was getting tired and that they should probably head home. But once they’d started off, he hung back.

Keith holds it together for a few minutes after they’re out of sight. But then his lip starts to tremble and his fingers twitch.

“Oh, Keith,” Lance breathes, pulling him against his chest, just in time to catch a weak sob against his shirt.

“I’m sorry.” He gasps wetly. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, no. It isn’t your fault. You haven’t done anything wrong. I forgot… just how much my society has been taught to pretend yours doesn’t exist.”

He feels Keith try to form words, and he feels his heart break when all he comes up with is another sob. So he holds him, until the tears are dried and he can kiss those trembling lips.

“I want to take you to my parents.” He whispers, stroking his cheek, brushing away the tears. Keith looks up at him, smoky eyes wide and dewy. “I want to show the world — my world — just how much I love you.”

“You do?” Keith asks, and smiles.

“I do.” He tilts his head up, pressing his lips against his forehead and lingering there.

“Tomorrow?” Keith whispers.

Lance smiles against his skin and nods. Tomorrow.

***

A life well spent is, in my eyes, one spent devoted to easing the suffering of others. I believe I have had a good life. A wonderful life, even. Though I was unable to change the minds of many people, those who listened made a great difference, and I hope that one day, it may change this world for the better.

My life as I have known is nearly over. My bones are fragile, my health even more so. The rest of my life may be spent in a bed, but I am surrounded by loved ones and filled with happiness.

I hope that you, my dear reader, have gained something from listening to the ramblings of an old man. I hope that your life is filled with as much wonder and beauty as I was able to find. I wish you well, in your studies and your happiness.

Dr. Coran Wimbleton-Smythe, Over the Rainbow

***

The walk through town stops many people, gathers much attention, earns stares and murmurs from people who happened upon them. But Lance walked proudly, Keith at his side. And Keith was glowing, hardly paying attention to the people around him as he took in all of the color with childish wonderment.

“It’s so beautiful,” He had said in hushed tones the moment they entered the city.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Lance had answered.

Now they were stepping into his house, into Lance’s life. With his many brothers and sisters, with his mother cooking dinner at the stove, with the house full of the memories he’d carried with him for his entire life.

“Lance! Where have you been? I need you to come help with dinner, Veronica is-” His mother rounds the corner, then stops, her eyes falling on Keith.

Lance steps forward, Keith’s hand in his. “Mom,” He says, with a voice that promised them both an eternity of tomorrows and an abundance of love. “This is Keith.”


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