#Stray Rain AU | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kangaracha · 17 days

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CATSKIN for @feelbokkie

prompt felix + twisted fairytale (catskin)

TW for blood, minor character death, mentions of sexual assault, medieval type violence

word count 4444

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When first you meet, it is like two stars colliding - like the sun and the moon dancing around each other in the sky, and love at first sight is a dream for foolish, insipid children and you know that to be true, but...

Maybe in this moment, you forget. Maybe you see his face, warm against the cold ice of the cape that falls over his shoulder, or maybe you watch the soft curve of his mouth as he laughs at something his brother says, standing so subtly apart from the crowd that no one notices they are there. Maybe your eyes meet across the room, sun-warmed brown to striking blue, and time stills and the dance stops and your heart thinks that here and now, nothing else could matter but the taste of his name on your tongue and knowing what his hand would feel like in yours.

But this isn't real. The ballroom is crowded, and he is a familiar face you have never met, and you are a stranger with the moon draped over your shoulders for the night. The band strikes up a dance, a lively rhythm that swings fast and slow, and you are swept into the rush of the current, your feet moving in a pattern that they know from heart. Your hands are still stained with coal; you take every suitor's hand palm-down, hiding the black stains that won't quite scrub from already-dark skin, and you waltz without meaning until pale, slender fingers take yours and hold them tight, tugging you from the dance before you can be passed on to the next partner in line.

"Wha-" you begin, and then you look up into the eyes you've dreamed of for days and months and years and forget what you were going to say at all.

"Sorry," he says, and drops your hand with all the haste you'd expect someone like him to once he looked close enough to see the lie shivering beneath your skin. "I just wanted to know your name, before I lost you in the crowd."

Love at first sight is a story mothers tell to put their children to sleep at night, and you have lost all your senses because in that moment, your mouth opens as if to answer him.

"There you are," a voice says behind you, too sweet to be any you know; and an arm loops through yours, and here is Hyunjin suddenly, jewels dripping from his brow and a fire burning in the back of his eye where only you know what it is for. "It's so like you to wander off. Come on; our friends are looking for us."

"Before you go-" says the mouth you'd seen laughing from across the hall, the prince it belongs to reaching out a hand - but you are already gone sliding away through the crowd that fills his ballroom from wall to wall with more dazzling finery than you've ever seen in your life.

"That was close," Hyunjin breathes in your ear, and there is the voice that you recognise, liquid fire and undertones of dark shadow. "You're supposed to avoid him, you know."

"I know," you mutter and allow yourself to be swept away, all thoughts of love and the sun and the electric feeling that had jumped from his hand to yours swept to the side.

II.

The king likes the ballroom to be full and the people to be colourful, and he likes the crowd to be lively.

The wine flows freely for the last day of the summer, the lords and ladies stripped of their cautious humours and careful tongues. Their laughter is raucous as you slip out into the garden, the sun pulled over your shoulders in lengths of fine silk that cut away the cold wind that bites at your exposed skin. Already, the trees have begun to turn and the grass is wet with the season's rain; you stand in the centre of an autumn scene and watch the leaves flutter and fall, the light of the lanterns glittering from your skirts and the swirl of beading across your breast, woven from the finest gold.

"It's you," says the man beneath the tree; and when he steps out into the light, dressed again in pure white, you forget to pretend that you hadn't seen him, or that you'd simply come out here to breathe in air that wasn't stifled by the laughs of a thousand other people. "I was looking for you, you know."

"Were you?" you ask with the curve of a smile, your tongue loosened by the quiet of the cooling night and the seclusion of the garden. "Or could you just not find someone to dance with?"

You'd seen him earlier, standing at the edge of that floor. Gently turning away the hands of countless maidens in gowns that dripped in jewels under the guise of speaking to his brothers, searching the crowd with his eyes at every moment he thought that eyes weren't watching him. The guilty smile that plays on his face says that he knows exactly what you are thinking of; the step that he takes within your reach says that he isn't going to hide it. "Maybe I was waiting for the right person," he says, and then his cheeks turn pink in embarrassment, his eyes sliding momentarily away from yours.

"You'll waste your entire night if you think like that," you tell him lightly, and then you glance over your shoulder at the doors to the ballroom - to give him a moment to himself, you tell yourself, and pretend that it wasn't because you thought you felt the creep of Hyunjin's watchful gaze over the back of your neck. There is no one at the door though, no one watching through the backs that are turned to the glass. Only he can see you here, the sun standing in the middle of the night's darkness.

"I never got to ask your name the last time I saw you," he says; and with a start that jolts up your spine like electricity, you turn back to him.

"I never got to ask yours either," you say, in lieu of the answer that you cannot give him. Never mind the danger of him recognising you too closely after this night - if he mentioned to Hyunjin the name of a girl he'd met in the garden, if Hyunjin knew what you were doing between the tasks you'd been given...

"Everyone knows mine," he scoffs; not because he thinks so highly of himself, but in the reluctant acceptance of someone who had never known a moment of privacy. "You can't have come to the woodlands knowing so little."

"And what if I didn't?" you question, playing along on this string of a conversation rather than letting him turn it back around to the question he'd really tried to ask. "What if I'd simply come here to enjoy the night, and seen a man across the room that I thought I'd like to know?"

His smile grows wider, his eyes softening. You like the way that smile looks on him. "Then I'd tell you my name is Felix," he tells you. "And I'd probably ask you to dance before we met like this, out here in the garden where no one is looking. And it probably wouldn't be such a scandal if we were seen either."

"That doesn't sound like as much fun though," you say. "Isn't it much more interesting to meet like this, than to have it all planned out?"

"Are you someone that likes trouble?" he asks, head tilted to the side in question; and the words seem cautious, probing, but he draws in closer again anyway, enough that his hand can brush yours in the folds of your dress.

"Maybe I am," you tease, your heart fluttering and jumping around in your chest like a nervous rabbit. "Aren't you?"

"I think I could be," he says, and his hand brushing your chin is followed by his lips brushing yours; and it is only a question, a stepping across boundaries that promises to rescind immediately if you push him away, but love at first sight is a dream and you think maybe, in another life, you might have been a terribly indulgent dreamer.

You kiss him with all the certainty that had driven you to this point, this garden and this night and this man, and his lips are soft and he smiles too much, and his hands are hesitant to wander, but you've already tried hot, heady passion and men who take what they want. Soft is new, and questioning sends a shiver down your spine, and you think this is a better man.

And then you stop because you remember, but you play it off as the toll of the bell startling you from a daydream. "I have to go," you say, which is true, and then, "I hope you find someone to dance with tonight," which is not.

"Will I see you again?" he asks; and it's notable, you think, that he doesn't reach out of try to stop you. That he accepts on face value that you are telling the truth and that, even though his eyes say they want you to stay, his mouth would be rude to ask.

"Maybe," you say, the word drawn out like honey dripping long and slow from your tongue. "If you have another ball."

He laughs, his eyes squeezing closed with the pain of it. When they open again, you make sure you are gone from his sight.

You're pretty sure you dropped something like your heart there in the courtyard, but you don't dare to go and get it back. Not yet.

III.

You're cutting through fine hallways of tapestry and stone from the garden, your basket filled with vegetables and your face streaked in dirt. You aren't supposed to be here - a scullery maid shhould be in the dark spaces between the walls, scurrying up and down steep and spiralling stairs, but you're late and the cook is a stone-faced woman with a tongue made for lashing, and you hadn't thought-

The prince stops to look at you, confusion furrowing in his brow as he stares at your face. Recognition; except that today you are hiding under the brown of the dirt and the mantle of wild fur, cobbled together from the backs of many animals but none so fine as te ermine that lines his coat.

Your heart sinks even as it pounds in alarm at the thought of him finding out what you are and where you've come from. It is a disaster if it happens, surely, but at the same time - maybe you'd tricked yourself into thinking that he remembered you the same way you did him. Or maybe he had tricked you, with the way he'd so quietly given you his name in the garden, the earnesty with which he'd nearly asked you to stay.

"Your highness?" Hyunjin asks at his shoulder, dressed all in his own princely regalia, and Felix turns away. And for a moment you hate Hyunjin, as you slip to the side of the hall where your feet should be, out of the way; because how could he be so beautiful, and so detached and so true to his beliefs that he could play the prince, and you are so suited to fur and treachery that you stand here a maid?

"Sorry," Felix says, to Hyunjin and not to you, and pretends to move on. You can see his eyes flick back again as he leaves though, trying one last time to see past the furs and the dirt, to place where he has seen you before.

You can see Hyunjin's too, piercing when they look directly at you. Warning, that you are overcomplicating things. That this is all about to be a mess, and you are no longer prepared for it.

Your ire rises again. You know what has to happen, and what he will do to facilitate it, and you know your own roll. You know it all has to end. Who is he, to think you can't carry through on a promise? Who is he to doubt you?

IV.

The final coat is made of feathers plucked from the birds of the sea cliffs, tawny brown and ochre and cream. Hidden in the tunnels of the castle, Hyunjin tucks a sprig of samphire into the curl of your hair, picked from the edge of the world before you had left and wrapped carefully in paper made for preserving these kinds of things. A piece of home, brushing up against your ear every time you turn; a signal to those that you have let in the back door that you are a friend, in case you are caught in the havoc.

"What happened to your hands?" he asks as he steps back to look at you, his own lifting your wrists so that he can see the black marks on your fingers.

"There was grease on the gate lock, to stop it sticking," you reply. "It doesn't wash off like blood does."

He drops your hands just as fast as he'd picked them up, his eyes scanning the feathers again. As if it was this coat that you'd worn when you'd taken a knife to the man at the gate, as if he would find evidence of the blood on your hands smeared across the vanes if he only turns you this way and that. Silly of him, really - the edge of the fur coat was the one that bared the stains. The fur was made for the work of the hands. The feathers were only sent as a signal, a draw of the eyes, dropping in the path of your feet as you walk towards the ballroom.

"Stay away from the prince," Hyunjin warns you, his attention turning in the direction of his own path to the party. "He's looking for a particular girl that he saw last time. He'll have eyes everywhere."

"Not on the ground though," you answer, shaking out the coat and watching a feather of mottled brown drift to the floor. You ignore the way that your stomach dips at the mention of a girl. You neglect to mention that the girl he's looking for might be you, and the rouge brushed across your cheeks and the glitter of gold on your eyelids will only draw his eyes.

You should have worn the dirt and hidden in the shadows, but that's not how they had prophesised it. The witches had whispered of a feather coat and a dress made of the sun and a moonlight shawl, and you'd been the one foolish enough to wear them, and no one in those rooms had been able to resist the magic of them, least of all the prince.

"Time to go," Hyunjin says as the bell tolls seven, and with one last look between you, you turn your seperate ways.

You don't know where his heart resides, but you know that yours is in your throat. You hope that he survives the night. You hope that whatever he came here for is worth what it is going to cost.

At the moment the ballroom bursts open, the black soldiers streaming in from every entrance, you are looking at the prince.

You hadn't meant to. You had taken Hyunjin's advice, as much as it grated at you to do it, and you had avoided him, skirting around the edges of the room while he searched in all the wrong places for you, dropping your feathers where the feathers wanted to fall and hiding in crowds of garish colour that sniffed and sneered at your coat of soft brown; but even though you don't wear the sun or the moon, you still orbit around him and him around you when you are in this room, and to stay away from him was-

Impossible, in the moment when you turn and there he is, right on your tail like the hunters following the birds to their nests in the cliffs, willing to jump from the rocks just to collect the eggs that might hide below. Except that he wasn't here to steal from you, or to catch you in his hands and tame you - he only thinks that you are beautiful, or that he could love you if only you gave him a chance.

And then the feathers ruffle and shift in the breeze, and the doors open, and the room fills with the men of the sea, axes and knives glinting in their hands and white teeth snarling within their faces.

Eerie silence falls as the room stutters to a halt, the shiny, red-faced aristocrats turning to stare at the army that have entered their sanctuary. The first one falls by the main entrance, his wine arcing through the air as he tumbles to the ground under the sharp blade of an axe; and then they scream, and they move in every direction, and in the maelstrom of silk and chiffon and eyes of horror you lose sight of the prince.

Slipping across the room is like fighting upstream against a raging river, ducking between bodies and around blades that don't have time to see the samphire behind your ear. You fade away into the one hallway you hadn't marked with a feather, disappearing into the black of the walls and the twisting tunnel down to the kitchens where just moments ago maids had scurried out to deliver the feast, and your heart breaks at the red-suited body that tumbles in on your heels, the eyes of a man in armour of beaten iron that take in your feathers and your face and turn away, back to the bloodbath, but you can't go back. You can't save him.

And then a gutteral cry echoes down the tunnel, and a body blocks the light that flickers from its entrance, and there he is, your prince. His eyes are scared and his mouth open as he gasps for breath, the little knife he'd used on your countryman held in a white-knuckle grip in front of him as if he thinks he might need it again at any time. Blood splatters the front of his snow-white coat, tarnishing the pearls and sinking into every fibre of the cotton and wool that holds it together.

"It's you," he gasps between breaths, the words reverberating from the stone walls. "I found you."

"You-" you begin to say, but the words are lost in the storm of thoughts that cloud your mind, the race of scenarios that you can imagine coming from this unfateful meeting, this turn in the story that was never anticipated. Every step has been told to you up until now - the coats, and the feathers, and the rush of men into the ballroom that leads to the fall of a kingdom - but no one said a word about this. About him, the prince, the hands that now cup your heart to their chest, and the knives at his back as he stands there, just one step shallow of safety.

You think too much about what has happened and what could happen next, but you don't think at all when you reach out and grab him, dragging him down the tunnel and into the darkness, where only sporadic lanterns burn to guide the way. Around this corner and then that, down a staircase so steep that countless girls have broken their necks tripping on its uneven stones, into the warmth and light of the kitchen, where the smell of the pig roasting over the fire fills the air and the stack of pots waiting for you to wash them later in the night teeters towards the ceiling, stacked in one corner by several pairs of careless hands.

No one is here. They'd timed it deliberately for the arrival of the feast, when the attendants of the ball would all reconvene from the corners of the palace to the ballroom to fill their already ample stomachs. Incidentally, this meant that the kitchen staff were all in attendance too, arranging dishes under the watchful eye of the cook, which meant that when you tried to hide a prince in the kitchen-

"Wait," he says, dragging back against your hold on his arm. "Wait, I know a way out of the castle. I can take you where it's-"

"No," you cut across him before he can finish, and you tug at him again, dragging him step by step towards the maid's quarters. "They're in the hidden tunnels too. There's no way out."

He's so surprised that he forgets to resist you, his body going slack with his jaw and his feet following you across the room. "How do you know that?" he asks.

You don't dare to look back at him as you enter the room you share with the other girls, as you open the little chest-of-drawers that holds everything you brought with you (but not everything you own) and you pull out the clothes you wear day-to-day - grey trousers and a cream shirt slowly staining brown, and the coat of a thousand furs, its edges stained with fresh blood. "Put these on," you order him, shoving them into his arms without looking him in the eye, and then you turn your back.

"I wouldn't punish you for pretending to be from the court," he says to your back as he changes, the white jacket thrown to the dusty floor and then his shirt and breeches. "Or for knowing whatever you know. You saved my life." His boots are too nice to be a servant's, but yours won't fit him; you reach for Alice's old pair while he is busy, set neatly at the foot of her bed, and hand them to him when he is done, picking up the clothes he has discarded instead.

You saved my life too, you should say of the man he had killed, to keep up the illusion, but the lie seems wan in the face of the truth you are going to have to admit to him by the end of the night. You stalk past him instead, headed to the fire with the truth and the lies still sitting sour on your tongue.

The shirt and pants burn easily, the leather of the boots slow to sink between the logs that fuel the flame. You hesitate a moment before throwing the coat in after them, eyeing its precious pearls and hand-woven patterns of leaves and swirls. A silver brooch pinned to the lapel catches your eye; your thumb runs over it, feeling the careful details its maker has pressed together and the chips of diamond that embed its surface.

"That was my mother's," Felix says behind you, a certain grief hidden in the stiffness of his voice. "But you can burn it if you have to."

"I don't have to," you reply, and you work it free of the fabric with delicate and practised fingers. The coat feeds the flame; the brooch pins onto your dress, just above your heart.

"Pretend to be a servant," you say as you turn to look at him. Your hands reach out to fix his coat, to smear the soot from the fireplace into his golden curls and down his cheeks. "I can't keep you alive if you're a prince, but if you're just a boy from the kitchens-"

His hands catch yours as they slip from his face, the ash that clings to your skin staining his as he grips them tight. "Who are you?" he questions. "What have you done?"

Tight-lipped, ashen-faced, you look up into his eyes - pale blue to forest brown, liar to honest truth. "I'm the feathercoat," you say, as if he will understand the words of a fable that people only whisper over the sea cliffs and the raging storms of the ocean. "I'm the one that brings the woodlands to their knees. I'm-"

Your voice chokes in your throat, your fingers growing numb from the force of his grip on your hands. There's a knife still tucked into his waistband - there's a knife behind him, stuck by its tip into the surface of the cutting board. You only have your feathers, and the excuses that stack up in the back of your throat; that the witches told us it would be so, or your land is the only gift my father will accept in place of a marriage to that man, or haven't you seen the way your father encroaches on our cliffs? Haven't you seen the way your farms destroy our hills and valleys and pollute our river? But those are all reasons that blame someone else, and you are the one that stands here, and the grease from the gate stains your fingers, not theirs-

"I loved you," he says, and he lets go of you like he has been burned. "I saw you across the room, and I thought no one could be so beautiful, and you can't even tell me the truth when-"

A shout echoes down the hall you'd escaped from, the rattle of armour and the thunder of heavy boots against the floor. "Wait," you say to him, a hand suspended in the air between you. You're afraid to touch him, when he could reach for that knife - when he deserves to see your blood run, for what you have done - but you can't let him run to his death all the same. "Wait until we live, and then I'll tell you, and then you can kill me. But wait. Take my hand and wait."

He hesitates, his eyes wary like he doesn't believe you, but the man on the stairs shouts again, calling for someone to follow him, and the fear shoots right into his heart and his hand slides into yours, his pulse fast but his fingers cold.

"I don't want to kill you," he says, like a promise you can't believe he will keep. "Just keep me alive, and when the sun comes up, tell me everything. Please. I don't have any reason to kill you if everyone here is already dead."

"I will," you reply, and this is a promise that will be kept, whether or not he reaches for the knife when the light of the dawn comes. "I love you too, you know. I didn't mean to hurt you."

And yet, you have. And yet, the guilt and the feathers eat you alive.

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PERMANANT TAGLIST

@amyyscorner @kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @keepswingin @rylea08 @puppysmileseungmin @thatonedemigodfromseoul

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strayworldau · 2 months

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#stray game #rain world #mod inv #stray world au

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lucafe · 8 months

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౨ৎ — IT’S BEEN RAINING IN MANILA,, HINDI KA BA NILALAMIG? 🐇 “it’s been raining in manila, aren’t you cold?”

dazai, chuuya, and ranpo calling you up on a rainy day ,, warnings : filo au(everything is in english, filo words have translations) gn! reader, really just fluff

dazai,, chuuya,, ranpo

ᯤ𓂃 ࣪ ˖ 𖦹 DAZAI OSAMU ,, ‘so i’ll be waiting in manila kahit di ka na babalik’

dazai,, who’d wait for you at your apartment in manila. it’s raining really hard, he wasnt sure if you’d make it home tonight. he stays on call with you for hours, making sure you have company even though youre stuck, alone, in your car. he feels bad that you have to sleep without him, and so he’ll stay on call until you fall asleep. he cant wait for you to come home. he’ll wait in manila even if you wont be back home for tonight.

so i’ll be waiting in manila, even if you wont come back

ᯤ𓂃 ࣪ ˖ 𖦹 CHUUYA NAKAHARA ,, ‘it’s been raining in manila, hindi ka ba nilalamig?’

chuuya,, who’d call you up to make sure you’re not too cold while he’s gone. he’s away on a mission in pangasinan while youre back home in manila. he knows its pouring over there and wants to make sure youre okay. he does his best to make sure he’ll finish this mission fast. he just wants to come home and make sure youre not too cold. he probably finds a way to buy you lugaw and other hot stuff so you dont get sick or anything. masaya magjowa ng mayaman (its fun to date someone rich)

its been raining in manila, arent you cold?

ᯤ𓂃 ࣪ ˖ 𖦹 RANPO EDOGAWA ,, ‘but if it’s raining in manila hindi kita maririnig’

ranpo,, who calls you up to say thank you when you send snacks to his house on a rainy day. (also to check up on you) even if he cant understand some stuff you say cause of how loud the rain is, he finds comfort in the fact he can still hear your pretty voice on a rainy day. to him, your voice is louder than the rain because it’s all he’ll focus on. he cant wait for the rain to stop so he can come home and eat jollibee for you. oh and,, what a coincidence,, he left his coat at home with you and it just so happened to rain. it’s almost like the left it there so you’ll have something to keep you warm.

but if its raining in manila, i wont be able to hear you

#.ᐟ꩜ — LOLITADAZAI #RAINING IN MANILA - lola amour #filo bsd filo bsd filo bsd #chuuya nakahara x reader #dazai osamu x reader #ranpo edogawa x reader #rainy day #fluff #bungo stray dogs x reader #filipino au

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wintys-ghost · 3 months

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Hey Straying World AU fans I have stuff

notes for each design (if I have any) below cut

Five Pebbles - I don’t have many notes! Other than the fact of me giving into TRIANGLE PEBBLES, he’s mostly the same.

LTTM - OH MY LORD HER DESIGN TOOK SOOO LONG TO FIGURE OUT. Very much worth it though, because I’m very proud of her design! I wanted to lean into more of a sunset motif, especially considering her downfall, so that’s fun. Definitely made me appreciate Moon more

NSH - Eyyyy, it’s the design I’m most excited to share!! I came up with the idea of NSH’s face just being a S C R E E N while making little doodles during lunch. Not only does it hide him from Sentinels more, but I think it’s also a pretty cool design! NSH’s very silly free gremlin personality deserves a free-range screen. Idk if this face design will carry over to my normal Rain World design or not.

Suns: Nothing changed. Sorry. Nothing changed.

UI: FINALLY I FOUND A GOOD DESIGN FOR THIS SILLY AUGHHHHH… I wanted to play into a bunch of different representations of innocence, including a rabbit-ish color scheme (or just cute fuzzy things in general), the little angel wings, and a child’s nightgown. I feel like the designers went all-out for them.

SOS: I wanted to give her desert vibes!! In the future, I might give her more Egyptian motifs to relate to their whole afterlife stuff. Overall, kind of an “I’m tired and she dies super early let’s just slap colors on her” design.

#Rain world iterators #rain world #rain world AU #rain would downpour #Stray #stray AU #straying world AU

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xeymol · 1 year

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Keep seeing people I follow making anthro slugcats so here’s my take on a rainworld au where they’re basically just house cats with their iterator caretakers, I don’t have any digital art rn since I’m at school but I’ll make some when I get home

Btw the random fact I shared about gourmand is actually cannon and I’m genuinely surprised almostno one knows that💀, anyways I’ll make digital doodles sometime later today

(also I’m so sorry for the horrible lighting💀💀💀)

Lil edit: forgot to mention im calling this the house slugs au lol

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xylocope · 2 years

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Stray x Rain World au, anyone?

#My art #Rain world #Stray #stray game #stray spoilers #i dunno what counts as a stray spoiler #Crossover #AU #The nonbinary urge to infodump my ideas on this

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silvfyre-writings · 4 months

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To Paradise (BSD Fanfic)

Welcome to another AU I've been cooking up. Recently, I've been thinking about Wolf's Rain and wanting to watch it again, and then I had the idea of combining it with BSD and therefore, this fic was born!

I hope you enjoy, I had a lot of fun writing this fic, and who can say no to more Fukuzawa and Ranpo content, really? I know I can't!

ANYWAY!! ENJOY!!

Fukuzawa finds the young pup underneath the corpse of his mother; a pile of shivering fur and bone with wounds that are oozing blood onto the snow beneath his limp form. Somehow, the pup is still alive, but by all means, he shouldn’t be. The wounds are deep, and look painful, but the worst wound that the poor pup has suffered from is the loss of his parents. Fukuzawa glances towards the father, face bared in a snarl at the human he’d taken down before meeting his fate, and the mothers face was of a similar look, albeit more protective than anything. But whatever it was that she’d done, it’d worked, for her pup is still alive, although with the current weather, and the pup’s current state, he wouldn’t be for much longer.

Which means that Fukuzawa is left with a choice.

Did he take the pup with him and try to nurse him back to health? Or did he provide a merciful death, and send the poor child to be with his parents in the next life?

In all honesty, Fukuzawa figures a merciful death would be more kind. Not only is he not equipped to take care of an injured pup, but the world isn’t kind to wolves; humans think them cursed, and hunt them down mercilessly to try and stop their precious world from falling apart even more than it already has. And it’s with that knowledge in mind, that Fukuzawa leans down, fangs bared to rip out the pups throat—a quick death, and although guilt fills him at taking such a young and innocent life, it’s better this way. The pup would only suffer through the ordeal of his injuries and the loss of his family, and growing up in such a heartless world would only be cruel.

But the moment he goes to latch on, the pup opens his eyes, a brilliant green that stares right into Fukuzawa’s soul, a green so full of life even though its glazed with pain, a green that Fukuzawa hasn’t seen in many years, and it’s those green eyes that make him reconsider his decision.

He doesn’t hesitate for long; there’s a cold chill promising more snowfall, and the last thing this pup needs is to be caught in such a cold. So Fukuzawa sighs and grabs the pup by his scruff, lifting him into the air and turning on his tail. There’s nothing he can do for the parents, and as much as he wishes to give them the burial they deserve, it’s them or their pup, and if he were a parent, he knew what he’d choose. He keeps walking, ignoring the whimpers and cries of the pup hanging from his jaws as he seems to realise that something is happening. How much he’s aware of, Fukuzawa doesn’t know, but he truly hopes that he’s made the right decision here.

The first thing that Fukuzawa does upon returning to his den, is curl up in his nest and place the pup into the curve of his stomach, much like a mother would. At least, he thinks that’s what a mother would do—Fukuzawa hasn’t seen another wolf in years, and has been without a pack for even longer, but he does recall faintly what his own mother used to do for him. And considering that immediately, the pup burrows into his fur, chasing the warmth that he’s providing, he thinks he’s right. He knows that he should feed the pup, and take care of his wounds, but both food and herbs are scarce these days, so Fukuzawa doesn’t want to spare any until he’s sure that the pup has a fighting chance.

One night. He tells himself as he begins to clean the pup’s pitch-black fur free of blood. If he survives the night, I’ll take care of him.

And so, Fukuzawa spends the night watching the pup’s chest, refusing to sleep just in case that breathing stops during the night, but his worry is for naught, as the pup’s breathing only grows stronger as the night goes on, almost as if there is someone watching over him and providing the strength that he needs to survive.

When the sun rises, Fukuzawa lets out a yawn, fighting to keep his eyes open as he forces himself to get up and go hunt. He has food of course that he’s kept safe, but the pup needs fresh meat if he is to thrive, and although the woods are almost empty, there is still prey if one knows where to look, and Fukuzawa certainly knows where to look. But before he goes, he tugs the bedding over the sleeping pup to keep him warm while he’s gone, and gives a gentle lick to his ear before he leaves the den and hopes that upon his return, the pup is still there and alive.

Hope is all he has these days.

Fukuzawa returns with the carcass of a rabbit that’s more skin than bone, but it’s fresh, and still has some meat to it, and it’ll simply have to do. He drops the carcass into the middle of the den and moves to pick up the pup, grunting when he jerks awake and flails in Fukuzawa’s jaws until he’s dumped on the floor next to the rabbit, his attention shifting towards the meal. Fukuzawa sits beside the pup and watches, waiting for him to take the first bite, but as time ticks by, he starts to wonder if he’s done something wrong when the pup just stares at the rabbit before turning to look at him with slight confusion.

He nudges the rabbit towards the pup, encouraging, but all he does is sniff at it, that look of confusion growing even stronger, and its then that Fukuzawa realises just how young this pup he’s acquired is, that he’s not old enough to be eating meals without the aid of his parents—a task that now falls to Fukuzawa. The pup whines and tugs at the rabbit, and then looks up at Fukuzawa with those green eyes of his, and that’s all it takes for Fukuzawa to give in. He lets out a sigh before he tears a chunk of flesh from the rabbit, chewing on the meat, and resisting the urge to swallow it himself, until the meat is more mush than anything. It’s gross, and if this is what parenting is supposed to be like, Fukuzawa is glad that he never had pups of his own.

But he pushes that discomfort aside, because it’s not about him, but about the starving pup that is looking up at him with nothing but hunger and hope in his eyes.

Fukuzawa chews a little longer before spitting the meat out onto the ground. And just like that, the pup bends down and begins to eat, the stringy meat of a rabbit now much more suitable to his delicate puppy teeth. Fukuzawa watches, and continues to chew up more meet until the rabbit is nothing but bones, and the pup is yawning where he sits. He remembers then, that the pup is still injured, although the injuries have stopped bleeding by now, and steps away to grab some herbs he has carefully gathered in case of an injury.

Once he has what he needs, Fukuzawa pads back to the pup and curls up around him, dropping the herbs beside him. The pup eyes the plants, and then cringes away, pressing himself into Fukuzawa’s side. So you know what they’re for. Good. Out loud, he says, “Your wounds need proper care. You may have survived the night, but you still have a ways to go.”

The pup whines from beside him, ears flat against his head.

And Fukuzawa thinks in that moment he needs to find out the pups name, already sick of calling him pup. He sighs, and noses the plants to find the ones he needs. “Speaking of surviving, do you have a name?”

Fukuzawa finds what he needs and turns back to see the pup cocking his head at him, eyes bright and knowing, but no words come from him, leading Fukuzawa to believe that he’s even younger than he first thought. But just as he’s residing himself to the fact he’ll need to name the pup, a quiet voice echoes throughout the cave. “… Ranpo.”

There’s a brief pause as Fukuzawa stares, but it doesn’t last long as his face softens. “A good name. Mine is Fukuzawa. Now, sit still and let me get those wounds treated.”

Ranpo doesn’t speak again, but he does crawl out of Fukuzawa’s fur just enough that he can actually get to the wounds now. First he gives Ranpo a thorough lick, cleaning his fur of the dried blood—his wounds must’ve continued to bleed a little while after he’d cleaned him last night; Ranpo tolerates the treatment at least, although his ears remain flat against his head the entire time, but that could just be for what’s coming as well.

Because being treated with herbs is never fun.

They sting, they smell, and they feel gross against your skin, but are necessary in preventing infection.

But any smart wolf will tolerate such things in order to recover.

Which is what Ranpo does when Fukuzawa chews up the first lot of herbs into a pulp to smear on his wounds. His lips curl into a snarl that is more adorable than threatening, but he doesn’t actually snap, so Fukuzawa leaves him be, focusing on his own job instead. He checks each wound as he finds it, seeing how deep it is, and whether it might be showing the beginning signs of infection, but so far, everything is fine. There’s no doubt in his mind that the wounds will scar, but that’s a small price to pay for Ranpo surviving the carnage that he did.

But then he gets to Ranpo’s hindleg, and pauses, because clearly, he spoke too soon. Fukuzawa noses the leg in question, frowning when all he can feel is heat and swollen muscle. The wound on the leg is deep, and a vicious red surrounds it, made even more evident by the missing fur that’d clearly been torn off. Teeth, not claws then. He tried to run and they dragged him back. How cruel…

Fukuzawa, in a rare show of emotion, wants nothing more than to seek out the people that killed Ranpo’s parents and end their own pitiful lives, but he squashes that urge; he has no idea how much distance is between him and them, and leaving Ranpo alone now of all times would just set the pup up for certain death. All he can do right now is make sure that Ranpo survives, and to do that, he needs to kill the infection before it can set and spread.

Ranpo winces as he cleans the wound, and lets out a soft whimper as Fukuzawa applies herbs to it, but doesn’t pull away from his ministrations for which Fukuzawa is grateful. The moment that he’s finished with the herbs, Ranpo returns to curling up against him, pressing his tiny frame into his side as much as possible. Fukuzawa lets out a sigh and gets comfortable, resigned to spending the rest of the day watching over Ranpo as he rested. Once the pup was asleep, he could sneak away and hunt again, but for now, he would just keep watch.

He’s not quite sure what he’s gotten himself into, but something tells him that stumbling across this pup and his dead parents wasn’t a mistake.

For the most part, taking care of Ranpo is simple enough.

Every day, Fukuzawa tracks down what prey he can, and brings it back to the cave, and teaches Ranpo how to eat properly without him needing to chew up the food first. Does he still need to tear it into small pieces for the pup? Yes, but for the most part, Ranpo is capable of eating what Fukuzawa dumps at his feet. He also spends each day tending to Ranpo’s wounds, watching as all of them except for the one on his leg begin to close up, and the fur grows back—albeit patchily. Not that Fukuzawa cares—he has scars of his own—but sometimes he catches Ranpo looking at his reflection in the water that runs through their cave, looking upset, and remembers that younger wolves tended to be rather vain.

Although he was almost certain that such a phase wasn’t supposed to occur in puphood.

However, the wound on Ranpo’s leg was stubborn, refusing to heal as easily as the rest of his injuries had, and although he’d managed to prevent infection from settling in, Ranpo was still unable to put any weight on the leg without it hurting him. Which meant significant damage, which further meant that Ranpo wouldn’t be able to survive in this world on his own, which meant that unless Fukuzawa decided he didn’t have a heart, he was stuck with the pup.

Not that Ranpo seems to mind that of course, always curling up beside Fukuzawa in his nest rather than his own that Fukuzawa had spent a considerable amount of time putting together.

And Fukuzawa tries not to complain too much, because the weather is cold, and Ranpo is still healing, but it’s just a little annoying to be woken up by stray kicks from flailing paws.

The hardest part of taking care of Ranpo is by far, communicating with him.

Fukuzawa isn’t a talkative wolf by nature, even when he had a pack of his own, he never really spoke, but his packmates understood that and learnt how to communicate with him regardless.

But aside from telling Fukuzawa his name, Ranpo hasn’t said a word at all since he arrived, and it’s more than a little frustrating. And concerning.

That’s not to say that Fukuzawa doesn’t try at least; he asks questions and receives shrugs and ear flicks in return, and when he tries to start up casual conversation—something he has no idea how to actually do himself—Ranpo simply doesn’t respond, and Fukuzawa can’t tell if he wants to and actually can’t, or if he just doesn’t want to. And it’s not like Fukuzawa is going to get an answer if he asks to begin with.

It's fine though.

Ranpo seems to understand what it is he’s saying in the first place, so that’s all that matters. Of course, he’d rather Ranpo speak and tell him what he wants, but he’s not going to snap at the pup for not speaking; that would just be cruel.

A whine draws Fukuzawa out of his thoughts, and he blinks to see Ranpo staring up at him, tail wagging excitedly, and… what looks to be some kind of bird in his jaws.

Fukuzawa blinks again. He hasn’t seen a bird in the area since he started living here, especially one as plump as the one Ranpo’s holding. “Where did you find that?”

Ranpo tilts his head to the left of him, and then drops the bird and nudges it closer towards him.

The sight of plump food makes Fukuzawa’s mouth water, but he’s also hesitant to take a bite. It’s not like hasn’t eaten a bird before, because he has. They’re tasty, and the feathers come in handy for bedding and entertaining pups, but he wasn’t wrong when he said it’s been years since he’d last seen a bird. The weather is always poor, and there’s not enough food for them to sustain themselves. If this bird did in fact reside here, then it should’ve been much thinner, not plump. The more he thinks on it, the more his instincts scream at him that something is wrong.

He just doesn’t know what.

Ranpo lets out another whine, starting to look dejected the way he always does when he thinks he’s done something wrong—which he hasn’t—and Fukuzawa’s heart clenches at the sight.

“You did well in finding food.” Fukuzawa praises, and bends to sniff the bird. It smells fine, but he’s still unsure. He just has to hope that Ranpo doesn’t take his coming words personally. “I don’t want you to eat it just yet. I know you worked hard to find it, but birds do not live this far north, so I am concerned.”

Ranpo’s ears flatten against his head, and he starts to look apprehensive, like he knows what’s coming.

“I need you to go to the cave, and hide in that little nook I showed you the other day, okay?” Fukuzawa explains, doing his best to ignore the uneasy look Ranpo is giving him. “Take the bird and hide. I must investigate the area that you found it. Do not leave the nook until I return, Ranpo.”

Ranpo whines and crawls closer, begging in his own, silent way, for Fukuzawa to not to go—to not abandon him.

“I will return.” Fukuzawa reassures before he stands and gives Ranpo a nudge. “I promise I will, so go.”

For a moment, he thinks that Ranpo is going to refuse, but then he picks up the bird and carries it into the cave, and Fukuzawa knows that his words will be listened to. He turns his attention towards the direction where Ranpo had found the bird and just hopes that he’s wrong and that this isn’t some kind of ploy.

Stars know that they didn’t need any trouble.

Fukuzawa follows Ranpo’s scent trail back the way he’d come, keeping his eyes and his ears open just in case there’s something lurking in the shadows of the trees. He doesn’t think there is, but one doesn’t live as long as he has by making assumptions. The shadows play tricks after all, leading you to believe that nothing is there until it’s too late, and you die. He’s seen many a wolf die in such a manner, the humans hunting them hiding with their weapons behind trees, and their trained mutts that take pleasure in ripping them apart after a long chase.

Shoot the wolf, and chase them until they can run no more.

It’s cruel and barbaric, but it’s simply how life is for their kind, and it doesn’t matter where they hide, or how long they manage to avoid human contact, they will be hunted without mercy.

And it looks like Fukuzawa’s time has run out.

He knows it’s because of Ranpo, that the pup and his family are the reason why there are even humans this far north, and it’s not fair to blame him for it because he’s just a pup, but it’s also the truth. A truth that Fukuzawa will think but never speak of. There’s no need to, not when it’s already happened, and all he can do is simply accept that fact and push on from it. Lingering on it will do nothing but bring both him and Ranpo pain, and it will threaten to shatter the trust that the pup has in him if he starts to blame him, which Fukuzawa doesn’t want.

He pauses for a moment, wondering when he’d begun to care whether Ranpo trusts him or not before shaking his head and continuing on his way. He needs to focus right now, not get lost in his thoughts.

It doesn’t take long for him to reach the clearing where Ranpo had found the bird, and he sits at the edge of it, crouched, as he observes the area. His eyes roam, falling to the bloodstains—far too much for just a simple hunt, which solidifies his theory that it’s some kind of trap, but he’s still not sure what kind of trap it is. Is it poison? Or is something new that the humans have been concocting? It’s hard to tell—at least, until Fukuzawa studies the ground by the pool of blood, and his heart stops.

Fukuzawa dashes into the clearing then, uncaring if there is still someone in the area—he knows there’s not, despite the stench of human in the air—and pauses by the pool of blood, and it’s then that his heart starts to beat again, and beat fast.

Because there are human and mutt footprints following after Ranpo’s trail, the pup’s odd gait an easy trail to follow.

He and the hunting party must’ve passed each other at some point, but Fukuzawa had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed and he wants to bite himself for it.

Because he’s left Ranpo all alone to fall victim to the hunters.

Fukuzawa doesn’t hesitate to run, forcing himself to run faster than he’s ever run before in his life, kicking up snow as he follows the trail. He doesn’t even have to focus on the prints in the snow, the human scent is more than enough for him to track, but even so, he knows where they’re going, and he can only hope that he makes it in time, that he’s not too late.

A memory of the last time he’d been too late crossed his mind, but he forced it away.

He wouldn’t be late this time.

Please be safe. Fukuzawa pleads as he runs, forcing himself to keep going when his legs start to tremble from the exertion. He’s not as young as he used to be and it shows, but he ignores his body telling him to stop and continues to push. Ranpo’s depending on him, waiting for him to return, and Fukuzawa refuses to break the promise he made. But stars does he wish he could stop for a moment to catch his breath.

He can’t though, because now the cave is in sight, surrounded by mutts and their humans, and Fukuzawa lets out a snarl; in the hands of one of the hunters is Ranpo, squirming as they hold him by his scruff, sneering and no doubt admiring their prey. The mutts at their feet are drooling, hoping for a chance to taste Ranpo’s blood, but they know better than to try and take, which gives Fukuzawa a little bit more time to get there, to save the pup he found. He’s not sure why they haven’t just killed Ranpo yet, but he’s not going to think on it—he needs his mind to be clear if he wants to save Ranpo.

Fukuzawa isn’t sure he’ll make it, feeling despaired as the human holds Ranpo out over the mutts, a look of disgust on his face. The mutts crawl closer, but still don’t rise, focused on the meal they are being offered. He knows then that he won’t make it, that he’s going to have to watch Ranpo be torn to shreds, but for some reason he keeps going, a small amount of hope that he will make it, all that keeps him moving.

But then Ranpo’s eyes meet his own—warm green and cold blue—and the sheer relief on Ranpo’s face steels Fukuzawa’s resolve, and he pushes harder.

And then Ranpo does the unexpected.

He speaks.

“Fukuzawa!”

The humans pause as Ranpo howls, and the one holding Ranpo turns in the direction that the pup is looking—their first mistake. It gives Fukuzawa the chance he needs to launch himself, his teeth meeting with the soft flesh of the human’s throat, and the momentum he has is more than enough for him to rip it out, and the human falls to the ground, blood gushing from a fatal wound that they desperately press their hands against in order to extend their life for even a second longer.

Fukuzawa doesn’t stop though, spinning around on his paws, and launching himself again at the next human, and they soon meet the same fate as their companion. He stops then, standing over the corpse, and snarls at Ranpo. “Hide!”

For a second, Ranpo stares at him, eyes widened with an emotion that Fukuzawa is too riled up to place, before he turns tail and flees back into the cave. The mutts notice their prey fleeing and two of their masters dead then, and jump to their paws, most likely with the intention of chasing after Ranpo, but Fukuzawa doesn’t give them the chance to. He throws himself in front of the cave, hackles raised and teeth bared in a snarl. And for a moment, he thinks that maybe that’s enough to intimidate them; he’s much larger than they are, glaring down at them with all the animosity he can conjure up, and the remaining human is looking uneasy at the situation. But then the human finds their resolve and sings out a singular, sharp whistle.

The human signal to launch an attack.

Immediately, the mutts launch towards him, and Fukuzawa meets them halfway, taking one down with a well placed bite, and knocking another away from the fight by throwing the corpse of their friend at them.

That leaves three. Fukuzawa thinks, stepping to the side to avoid a blow that would’ve taken his ear. It’s been a long time since he was last in such a fight, outnumbered and fighting to protect something, but no matter how long it’s been, the instincts are still there, and that’s all Fukuzawa needs.

The mutts snap and snarl, grabbing at his fur and tearing it off—a few times they manage to land a bite or two, but Fukuzawa bites back even harder, and before he knows it, there’s only one left, and that’s when the remaining human thinks to act.

BANG!

A piercing pain shoots through Fukuzawa’s shoulder, but he doesn’t make a sound, changing direction from the mutt to take care of the human who screams and babbles before he’s silenced, meeting his end in the same way as the rest of his companions. Fukuzawa stands there, clutching the human in his jaws as he stares down the last mutt, snarling. His shoulder is throbbing, his legs are shaking, but so long as there’s still one threat there, he will not stop.

He steps closer, and the mutt steps back.

After another minute, the mutt flees, tail between their legs.

Fukuzawa lets him go, dropping the corpse in his mouth before he limps into the cave. There’s no point in chasing them, he won’t catch them, and this far up north, they won’t survive for long. Mutts rely on the humans to keep them fed, and without them, they will die. It’s just a matter of when.

He gets halfway to the nook before his body gives up on him and he collapses, exhaustion and the pain from his wounds catching up to his elderly body. So long as Ranpo is safe, that’s all that matters. He thinks before he calls out, “Ranpo, it’s safe now, you can come out.”

It takes a moment for those green eyes to appear, and Fukuzawa can see the hesitation as Ranpo glances around the cave before he creeps out, keeping low to the ground as he crawls across to where Fukuzawa lays. There’s a new wound in his ear, a tear, from the teeth of one of the mutts, but such a wound is miniscule compared to the expression on Ranpo’s face; fear. It’s awful, to see such fear on a young face, and it makes Fukuzawa’s stomach clench because he’d promised to keep Ranpo safe, and here they were, dealing in the aftermath of an attack on their home, all because of a stupid bird. I should’ve known… Fukuzawa squeezes his eyes shut, sighing. I should’ve known it was a trap. The first thing hunters try to do is lure hungry wolves out with fattened prey. I’ve seen it so often, and yet I fell for it.

Guilt runs rampant throughout him—he’s lived for so long, and learnt so much, yet none of that knowledge had stopped today from happening. Ranpo could’ve been killed—was close to being killed in fact—and even worse, they both could’ve been killed. It just went to show that he was a fool for rescuing Ranpo in the first place, that he thought he could do some good in this dying world still. He should’ve done the mercy kill, he should’ve—

“It’s not your fault.” A quiet voice that could only belong to Ranpo spoke up. The pup refuses to look at Fukuzawa as he continues. “If anything, this is all my fault, I brought the hunters here.”

It’s not your fault either. Fukuzawa wanted to say, but he didn’t. There wasn’t anything he could say, really, but he forced himself to find something. He sighs. “We cannot let the guilt of what happened consume us, otherwise we will never be able to move on and learn from it.”

Ranpo tilts his head. “But isn’t that what you’re doing?”

“It is.” Fukuzawa admits. “But I am also older than you, I have already learnt these lessons. You are still young, and have not yet learnt them.”

“That’s stupid.” Ranpo’s words draw his attention, and he looks to see the pup has his ears flattened against his head, upset. “My parents always said we never stop learning, because we don’t know everything. So this is a lesson to you as well, Fukuzawa.”

Fukuzawa hums, and closes his eyes. He’s too tired to get into such a topic right now, too old to discuss this with a pup who hasn’t even seen his first year yet. But there is something that he wants to say before he rests, something he needs Ranpo to hear before the pup overthinks things. “Regardless of what happened today, you did well, Ranpo. You listened to me, and because of it, you are alive for another day.”

“But…” Ranpo whines and crawls closer, resting his head on Fukuzawa’s uninjured shoulder. “You got hurt protecting me.”

“Such is my job as your guardian. I protect you until you can protect yourself, and it is a role I seek to complete.”

His words are greeted with silence, but Fukuzawa hears Ranpo shuffling around him, and then he feels Ranpo begin to lap at his wounds, cleaning them, much like he’d done for the pup when Fukuzawa had picked him up. It warms Fukuzawa’s heart, easing the guilt he still feels, and it’s just enough for him to let out a content sigh, and drift off to sleep.

Somehow, through the fight, the bird that Ranpo had found had survived, and Fukuzawa was relieved that it did, because it meant that he and Ranpo wouldn’t starve while they healed. The wound in Fukuzawa’s shoulder is minor, but its location makes it hard to walk—meaning that he can’t hunt—and Ranpo’s leg, as healed as it’s going to get, slows him down. But with careful rationing and limited movement, they manage to make the bird last until Fukuzawa’s shoulder mends, which brings them to their next problem.

Their cave.

Hunters rarely operate on their own, and the groups communicate with each other whilst they track down their prey, so it’s only a matter of time before another group comes searching for the ones that Fukuzawa killed. And he’s not sure he’d be able to fend off another attack, no matter how much they prepared. Which means the only thing that he and Ranpo can do is move on and find somewhere else to live, which leads him to his current problem.

Ranpo being stubborn.

“Why are you so sure that they’ll come looking for us, Fukuzawa?” The pup whines as he gnaws on a bone that he’d found whilst out hunting with Fukuzawa.

Fukuzawa studies the pup crouched next to him with a critical eye. Ranpo’s still small for his age—which Fukuzawa still can’t quite figure out—but he’s still grown in the time that he’s been living with Fukuzawa, and it’s helpful to have another set of paws to help catch what food they can find, so he drags Ranpo out with him. He also tries to teach Ranpo how to hunt on these outings, but those often end in failure as Ranpo is still figuring out how to maneuver about on three legs, and Ranpo always gets upset when he fails, so it’s slow progress.

It also makes sense why he’s not keen on moving on, more than aware of his own shortcomings, and wanting to stay and live somewhere that’s familiar to him. Only, it’s not a viable option anymore, as Fukuzawa has tried to explain to him several times over already. And right now. “They always come searching, Ranpo. The humans hate us, and seek our extinction. If we stay here in the place where I killed their companions, then we will both die.”

“But—”

“I know you are comfortable here. So am I. But this place is no longer safe for us.” Fukuzawa continues to say. “You were travelling with your parents, were you not?”

Ranpo turns away from him, but nods.

“And where were you travelling to?”

“To Paradise.” Ranpo says, pushing the bone away with a paw. “Mother and Father used to tell me stories about a place away from humans where wolves could leave their lives peacefully. They wanted me to be able to live such a life, so we went searching for it… and well, you saw how that ended.”

Fukuzawa hums. He’s heard of Paradise before, heard it from other wolves he’s passed by in his own travels, but not for many years. His own family had once told him stories of a mystery land with more than enough food for all the wolves in the world, but for as long as he’d been alive, no one had ever managed to find it. To Fukuzawa, it was a myth, nothing more than a story to give wolves hope and meaning in a world that wanted them dead, but listening to Ranpo’s honest words, it made him wonder if perhaps there was something more to it.

After all, Ranpo is the first wolf pup that Fukuzawa’s seen in years; most wolves these days choose not to mate and bring young into the world, no matter how much they love each other, simply because of how dangerous the world has become for them. And yet… Ranpo’s parents brought him into this world, told him stories of Paradise, and then tried to take him there, which leads him to believe that they knew something that he doesn’t. But since Ranpo’s parents are dead, it’s a little hard to ask them why they did what they did.

“What else did they tell you about Paradise?” Fukuzawa asks, hoping that maybe there’s some hidden information locked within Ranpo’s memories.

Ranpo frowns, thinking deeply.

Fukuzawa waits, understanding that gathering ones thoughts and then finding the right words to explain those thoughts can take time, and that rushing will just lead to broken explanations and arguments. So he waits, and waits, and waits some more, with all the patience that he has, just sitting there, watching Ranpo carefully.

It takes a while for Ranpo to speak, and when he does, his voice is quiet, and uncertain. “I don’t remember much if I’m being honest. Well, I do, but I’m not sure how much is their words and how much is just what my mind thinks I heard, but they used to say that Paradise lies far to the north, at the very edge of the earth.” Ranpo looks up at the cave roof and tilts his head. “They said that only wolves can find it, that if you follow the path of the lunar flowers, you will come across the entrance. Mother could hear the flowers. She said they spoke guiding words, but Father never could and I’ve never seen the flowers before.”

Fukuzawa can’t say he’s ever heard of lunar flowers speaking either, and he’s seen plenty of them over his long life. But the older wolves of his time had once said that there were some that were special in ways that no other wolf could understand. It was entirely possible that Ranpo’s mother had been one such wolf.

“Well.” Fukuzawa says, standing. “I know that there is a human city to the north, but I know not what lies beyond. If you believe that Paradise exists and that it is to the north, then I will make the promise to get you there.”

Ranpo’s ears perk, and he clambers to his paws. “Really? But it could be dangerous…”

Fukuzawa nods. “It could be. But the only reason your parents would have travelled this far north would be if they truly believed there was a better life for you at the end of the journey. And since they are no longer able to, I will protect you in their stead, and get you that life.”

Ranpo doesn’t say anything, but the look of happiness on his face is more than he could ever say.

In hindsight, agreeing to try and find Paradise with Ranpo before teaching the pup to hunt, isn’t the smartest decision he’s ever made. And this far north, with snow as far as the eye can see, you don’t want to miss what could potentially be your last meal. Fukuzawa doesn’t consider himself a cruel wolf, but nothing about his actions were kind either. Ranpo was willing to learn, to try and cater to his wounded leg, but Fukuzawa refused at each and every turn. There was no sugarcoating his words either, which made them sound all the more worse, and the dejected look that Ranpo always gave him before slinking into their makeshift shelter was nothing if not shattering.

But Ranpo was smart, more than capable of understanding why Fukuzawa said what he said, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt to hear.

“Here.” Fukuzawa drops his latest catch, the half-eaten corpse of a deer that he’d stumbled across with just enough meat left for the two of them. He’ll make sure that Ranpo eats most of it though, so that the younger keeps his strength. “Thankfully I didn’t have to go far to find it.”

Ranpo hums, leaning down to tear off a chunk of flesh and chew on it. He makes a face at the taste—carrion is never the nicest of things to eat—but forces himself to keep eating. He doesn’t say anything, not that Fukuzawa expects him to, since there’s no doubt he’s still sulking at being told to stay behind again.

“The snow is starting to calm.” Fukuzawa comments, looking out of their shelter to watch as the snowstorm ravages the area around them, bringing with it a bone-chilling cold, and lack of visibility. “With any luck, the weather should start to warm—well, become a little less cold.”

Another hum.

“Ranpo…” Fukuzawa sighs, his own ears drooping as the pup continues to ignore him. He still regrets his harsh words form earlier. “I didn’t mean to snap this morning.”

“It’s fine.” Ranpo swallows the meat he was eating before resting his head on his paws. His eyes slide towards his leg, stretched out to minimise discomfort. “I understand why, but it still hurts. I want to help.”

Fukuzawa moves to lay beside Ranpo, pressing his own pelt against the pup’s, the black a stark contrast to his own grey fur. “I know, and I promise that I will teach you. Once the snowstorm stops.”

Green eyes flick towards him, looking a little more hopeful. “Really?”

“Really.” Fukuzawa nods. “I forgot that packs teach pups with things like sticks and bones, to help them figure out the basics. We can do it that way.”

Ranpo lets out a content sound, and curls up beside him.

Fukuzawa responds by curling around Ranpo protectively, to keep him warm whilst the storm rages.

They stay at that shelter for a week, practicing hunting and defensive moves that will help Ranpo in the long run, when comes the time for him to step away from Fukuzawa’s protective presence. The pup’s leg, while a weakness, barely hinders him now, and aside from a very prominent limp, one could hardly tell he’d been injured in the first place.

Well, that and the scars, but what wolf didn’t have scars these days.

Regardless, Fukuzawa sends Ranpo out to hunt their dinner, heart pounding the entire time as he worries about everything that could possibly go wrong, but then Ranpo returns, a bird clutched in his jaws and tail wagging so fast it’s a blur.

And Fukuzawa feels nothing but pride in that moment.

The end of the snowstorm reveals the city that Fukuzawa had heard about, and it looks just as daunting as the stories said it did. Tall, colourless buildings, surrounded by walls higher than any living creature could climb. It was clear that the city was designed to keep people out.

Years ago, Fukuzawa might’ve cut through such a city, pretending to be a mutt as he kept his head down and passed through, but not now. Now, the humans had figured out how to identify them—they were a little slow on the uptake, he would admit—which meant that it was basically suicide for any wolf to enter such a place. Of course, as young as he is, Ranpo badgers him about it, asking a million questions about why they couldn’t go through the city, why they couldn’t just hug the wall and go around it, and Fukuzawa has to carefully explain that if they do that, they will be spotted by the humans who guard the walls, and the hunters will be set on them.

Ranpo doesn’t question him after that.

It’s just as Fukuzawa begins to think that they’re in the clear, as they completely pass the city to keep moving north, when he hears shouting behind them. Fukuzawa doesn’t even hesitate to start running, and he’s relieved when Ranpo immediately follows him without him needing to say anything. The only problem he has, is that he needs to control his own pace so that he doesn’t leave Ranpo behind—he’s grown in recent days, meaning he’s now at that awkward size where Fukuzawa can’t just pick him up and run.

He can hear the sounds of barking following after them as the mutts chase him and Ranpo, and Fukuzawa looks about, trying to find a way that they can lose them, and that’s when he sees it; a fence, probably the old boundary line for the city before they built the walls, and he changes direction towards it. “This way, Ranpo!”

Ranpo’s only response is his gasping breaths.

Fukuzawa makes sure that Ranpo is in front of them as they run, only overtaking him at the end to get a head start on digging at the snow. Ranpo joins him a moment later, and soon enough, there’s a hole big enough for the pup to get through, and Fukuzawa shoves him through it before he returns to digging. His ears are turned behind him, listening as the mutts draw closer, and the humans follow, and digs all the more faster.

“Hurry, Fukuzawa!” Ranpo cries out, stepping away from the fence so that Fukuzawa can squeeze through.

It’s a tight squeeze, and Fukuzawa can feel the bottom of the fence snagging on his fur, ripping patches of it out, but he manages to get through, just as the first mutts jaws snap shut right where his tail had been seconds ago. Fukuzawa spins on his heels and snaps back, spooking the mutt that’s trying to crawl through the hole they made. But there’s twice as many mutts as the last hunting group this time, so another one replaces it immediately, and all Fukuzawa can think of is the cave where he’d failed to protect Ranpo. I will not fail again.

Despite the awkwardness of it, Fukuzawa turns and picks Ranpo up by his scruff, ignoring the surprised yelp that follows as he starts running. He’s hoping to find some place to hide before too many of the mutts can get through the fence, hoping that the trees in the distance will provide such a place for them.

It’s then that he hears it. Howling.

Multiple howls.

Seconds later, a pack of wolves appear out of the trees and run towards him and Ranpo. For a second, and only a second, does he think that perhaps they are coming to defend their territory, and that they might just attack him and Ranpo, but no, they small pack runs straight past the two of them, descending on the mutts behind them.

Fukuzawa keeps running.

He only stops once he and Ranpo are in the safety of the trees, and scrambles beneath the roots of a tree. It feels like it’s someone’s den, but in the moment he doesn’t care. He needs to protect Ranpo.

“Fukuzawa, you’re squashing me.” Ranpo whines from where he’s crouched underneath Fukuzawa, squirming.

“Hush, Ranpo, your fur stands out in the snow.” Fukuzawa retorts, eyes focused on the outside. He can hear the sounds of fighting in the distance, but there’s still the possibility that a mutt or a human could slip by and come after them, and this time, Fukuzawa will be ready for them.

He’s not sure how long he sits there, crouched protectively over Ranpo, but the next thing Fukuzawa is aware of, is the face of another wolf peering into the den.

Fukuzawa snarls.

“I found them, Fukuchi. They are hiding in Tachihara’s den.” The wolf calls out to someone that Fukuzawa cannot see, and he flattens his ears, the action catching the attention of the other wolf. “You do not need to worry, we will not hurt you.”

“He’s protecting a pup, Tecchou. I’ve told you before how protective our kind is when it comes to them.” Comes a new, yet somewhat familiar, voice, and Fukuzawa learns why when another face joins Tecchou in peering into the den. “I thought I recognised you as you ran past, old friend.”

“Genichiro.” Fukuzawa breaths out the name, eyes widening. Never would he have thought that he’d ever run into his old puphood friend, especially not this far north. But he also isn’t too surprised; it’s been years since the destruction of their pack, and for the longest time, Fukuzawa had thought the other wolf dead with the rest of them. But seeing his old friend here, alive, was like having one of his biggest regrets lifted off his shoulders.

Because unlike Genichiro, who’d fought to save their pack, Fukuzawa had chosen to run and save himself.

It’s clear that Genichiro is remembering the same event, if the haunted look to his eyes is anything to go by. But his old friend is quick to dismiss it, turning around with an incline of his head. “The hunters are gone now, so it’s safe for you and your pup to come out.”

“’m not a pup…” Ranpo grumbles as Fukuzawa finally rises enough for him to crawl out of the den, and his words have Genichiro laughing.

“If you’re small enough to be carried still, you’re a pup, pup.”

Ranpo snarls, ears flattening, which does nothing but make Genichiro laugh even harder.

Fukuzawa sighs, and gives Ranpo a nudge. “Behave yourself, Ranpo. We owe them for saving our hides.”

“Humans and their mutts are the bane of us all, Fukuzawa.” Genichiro says, all signs of mirth vanishing in an instant. “You owe us nothing.”

“If you want to pay us back, you can hunt. Tecchou keeps eating all the food we come by.” Comes a snappy voice that belongs to a wolf with fur so white, he easily blends in with the snow.

“I do not.” Tecchou grumbles. “You’re just picky, Jouno. You and Tachihara both.”

Jouno rolls his eyes. “Tachihara has never known a day of starvation in his life, no thanks to the humans he squanders disgusting food from—”

“Food that keeps us alive, Jouno—”

“—but at least it’s better than the rotting carcasses you bring back.” Jouno finishes with a snarl.

Fukuzawa watches as the two wolves break into bickering, glancing towards Genichiro who just shrugs in response.

“This is normal.” Genichiro says. “But Jouno is right in that if you do want to pay us back, you can help us find food. As I’m sure you are aware, it’s rather scarce here, and aside from myself and Jouno, the others stick out in this snow.”

Fukuzawa gives a nod, understanding the struggle from his times of teaching Ranpo to hunt. “I just need a moment to rest, and then I can hunt.”

“What about me?” Ranpo pipes up then, bouncing on his paws like he hadn’t just been running for his life. “I can hunt, too!”

Before Fukuzawa can answer the pup, Tecchou steps forward, having stopped arguing with his packmate, and noses at Ranpo’s leg. Fukuzawa doesn’t have time to explain before Tecchou starts to speak. “You should stay and rest that leg. You’re limping.”

Ranpo wilts immediately. “My leg is just like that…”

“Ah, I apologize. I thought you were injured.”

“Ranpo is still learning to hunt,” Fukuzawa says slowly, picking his words carefully in order to not upset Ranpo, nor the pack that is generously helping them. “It would be a good learning experience for him to see how a pack hunts.”

“He can work with Jouno then.” Genichiro says, ignoring the way the other wolf bristles at his words.

“I don’t need—”

Genichiro narrows his eyes and bares his teeth. “Teach him, Jouno. You two are both different and the same. Do not argue with me.”

“Fine.” Jouno huffs and climbs to his paws. “Come along, pup. Come and learn something.”

Ranpo glances up at Fukuzawa for approval, which he gets in the form of a singular nod, before following after Jouno, grumbling about how he’s not a pup, and that he knows plenty already. After a moment, Tecchou follows, no doubt to curb his packmates short temper, leaving just Fukuzawa and Genichiro alone in the small clearing.

“I never would’ve expected you to have a pup, old friend.” Genichiro comments after several moments of silence.

“I stumbled upon him after his parents were slain by hunters.” Fukuzawa explains, turning to face Genichiro. “I never thought I’d see you leading a pack of your own, Genichiro.”

Genichiro shrugs. “They’re just a bunch of half-wolves who were raised by humans that I happened to meet one day.”

The other wolf’s words have Fukuzawa curious, and he’s tempted to ask, but he also knows better than to pry. It’s been years after all, since he and Genichiro last saw each other, and that bond they once had as pups is nothing more than a single leaf on a tree now.

It’s not his place to know or ask.

The time spent with Genichiro’s pack is short-lived, but very much welcome. It gives Fukuzawa a chance to rest, and for Ranpo to learn new things. Fukuzawa watches him as he hangs around Jouno for the most part—something that surprises everyone else—and marvels at how Ranpo has grown. It’s been only half a year since he rescued the pup from certain death, and although he’s still small, and will probably remain smaller than the average wolf, he’s starting to lose some of those puppy characteristics. His legs grow longer, and his fur sleeker, and even though he’s not Fukuzawa’s actual pup, he’s proud of how Ranpo’s grown.

It has him wondering just how grown Ranpo will be by the time their journey ends.

“So where exactly is it that you’re going?” Genichiro asks, leading Fukuzawa and Ranpo to across his pack’s territory.

It’s just the three of them right now, he and Ranpo having said their goodbyes earlier. Honestly, he’s surprised that Genichiro even offered to escort them, but he welcomes it. It reminds him of his puphood, when they used to walk across their old packs territory together, mindless chatter filling the air—well, chatter on Genichiro’s part. Fukuzawa was always the quiet one between the two of them.

“To Paradise!” Ranpo exclaims limping determinedly ahead of the two of them. He glances back to look at them before he picks up the pace. “My parents were taking me there, but they can’t anymore ‘cause they died, so Fukuzawa is doing it instead.”

“I see…” Fukuzawa can feel Genichiro’s gaze on him, no doubt judging his decision to indulge in what he must think is a pointless dream. But thankfully, he doesn’t say anything about it, other than, “I wish you luck in your travels then, pup.”

“I’m not a pup!”

Genichiro ignores Ranpo, and stops, Fukuzawa following a few seconds after.

“Genichiro?”

“We were taught that Paradise is a myth.” Genichiro begins to say, and inclines his head towards Ranpo. “But he seems to believe wholeheartedly that it exists.”

Fukuzawa hums, understanding what his old friend is getting at. “Ranpo says his parents believed. I’m inclined to believe that they knew something we didn’t. I’m choosing to believe in Ranpo.”

“Well, Fukuzawa, for both your sakes, I hope you find it.”

“Thank you. Good luck with your pack, Genichiro.”

It takes another six months before they find the mountain that Ranpo mentioned, not because of how far it was, but because of the string of bad luck that he and Ranpo suffer from after leaving Genichiro’s pack behind.

First it’s Ranpo getting sick from a piece of poisoned prey. He’d warned Ranpo against catching it, telling him that they could catch something elsewhere, but before he knew it, Ranpo had been chasing down the rabbit, Fukuzawa chasing after him to try and stop him. He knew it was only because Ranpo was hungry—they both were—and fighting against a growling stomach isn’t easy.

Thankfully, Ranpo had only taken a bite before Fukuzawa and grabbed him by the scruff and dragged him away, but one bite was all it took.

Within the hour, Ranpo was vomiting, and after another hour, he was trembling, and all Fukuzawa could do was curl up around the pup to keep him warm, and soothe him with gentle licks when the poison brought pain. For days, Ranpo’s condition was poor, and Fukuzawa only dared leave him to get water—to keep Ranpo hydrated and to help cool the fever that wracked him.

But somehow, Ranpo survives the poison, although it leaves him weak and unsteady for weeks after he fights it off.

Second, Fukuzawa breaks his leg. How? By sticking his paw into a hole chasing down their next meal. The snap is audible, and the pain excruciating, but he gets lucky in that it’s not the worst break in the world, that there’s no bone sticking through skin to cause infection. Mostly it’s inconvenient, because he can’t hunt or fight, which means that those things fall to Ranpo, and while Ranpo is more than capable now, he’s still too young to bear such a responsibility.

It riddles Fukuzawa with guilt.

They manage to find a cave that provides enough protection from the elements for Fukuzawa to rest and recover in, one that won’t be stumbled upon easily by hunters, And while he rests, Ranpo works hard, finding food and herbs to keep them alive whilst his leg heals. It’s a long and boring recovery, but necessary unless they want to make this cave their home. So, Fukuzawa sleeps, and Ranpo hunts, and that’s how things go for the next couple of months.

He makes sure to tell Ranpo how proud he is each and every time, feeling warm inside every time those ears perk up, and his tail starts wagging.

Third, Fukuzawa falls ill this time, but not from poison or an infection. He simply catches an illness because the journey has been harsh, and he is not as young as he used to be. At first, he pushes on, encouraging Ranpo to do the same, telling the pup that he’ll be fine, and that he can rest soon. But by the third day, when they find shelter for the night, Fukuzawa can feel the illness deep in his lungs and realises that he truly needs to stop and rest.

Ranpo watches over him as he tries to keep breathing, stress on his young face. It hurts Fukuzawa to see such a look, so he sends Ranpo out hunting, also giving him the name of a herb that he knows grows up in the north, and helps with breathing. There’s not much else he can do, so with Ranpo out looking, Fukuzawa sleeps.

And sleeps.

After that, his memories fade, and drift together; he can’t quite recall what happened from that first night in the cave to the days that led to his recovery. But he does remember sensations.

Water dripping into his mouth, bringing relief to his always dry mouth.

Warm fur ensconcing his own cold body, a strong heartbeat right by his ear.

And of course, the bitter taste of herbs as they are shoved into his mouth with tiny morsels of chewed up food, his mouth held shut until he swallows.

When Fukuzawa becomes aware of himself again, the sun is rising, and his lungs feel clear, although he feels exhausted, like he’s spent the past week running non-stop from hunters. There is a weight on his back, and a warm body against his own, and it doesn’t take long for him to figure out that it’s Ranpo that’s curled up around him, deep in slumber of his own.

Carefully, Fukuzawa slides out from underneath Ranpo, taking care not to wake him as he lowers the pups head to the floor. Ranpo stiffens, and Fukuzawa freezes, but then he relaxes, not waking, and Fukuzawa can breath easy again. He walks to the edge of the cave, legs wobbling, and sits to watch the sunrise. He tries to recall what had happened, but finds that he can’t, and that concerns him.

The sun has fully crossed the horizon when Fukuzawa hears frantic movements behind him, and a distressed voice calls out. “Fukuzawa?”

Fukuzawa glances over his shoulder. “Over here, Ranpo.”

Just as he finishes speaking, Ranpo collides with him, knocking his breath out of him as the pup crawls as close as possible, whining. The action surprises Fukuzawa, since Ranpo, albeit desperate for affection and attention normally, isn’t normally clingy, and that’s when Fukuzawa realises that whatever had happened, was serious. He leans down and touches his nose to Ranpo’s ear. “I’m here.”

“You almost weren’t.” Comes the quiet voice. And Ranpo’s green eyes flick up towards him. “You got so sick, Fukuzawa.”

Ah, so that’s what happened. Fukuzawa thinks, understanding immediately why Ranpo looks so tired and stressed. He yawns and stretches out until he’s lying on the ground, and Ranpo is quick to curl up beside him, much like he used to when they first met, and Fukuzawa had to fight to keep him alive.

But Ranpo is no longer a pup, having grown up in the year they’ve been together, although he’s still young, which is why he doesn’t hesitate to curl around the other, murmuring quietly, “I’m not going anywhere.”

The mountain is massive, far bigger than any that Fukuzawa has seen before, and he would deem it the same as any other mountain, if it weren’t for all the lunar flowers growing at the base of it, somehow surviving, and thriving, in the snow. Fukuzawa stares at them—it’s been so long since he last saw them—and Ranpo rushes forward, letting out a cry of joy. “We made it!”

Fukuzawa quickly follows after him. “Ranpo, wait! We don’t know the area!”

“But Paradise is so close, Fukuzawa! Can’t you hear the flowers?”

No, I can’t. Fukuzawa wants to say, but he doesn’t. Instead, he moves to stand beside Ranpo, carefully scanning their surroundings to make sure that nothing is going to come out and attack them. That’d be just their luck, that they finally find the mountain they were looking for, and wind up being attacked by hunters or some other predator.

“Fukuzawa?” He turns at hearing his name, and finds Ranpo looking at him, concerned. “Do you think Paradise really exists?”

“You’re doubting yourself now?”

Ranpo lifts his shoulders. “Your friend didn’t seem to believe we’d make it, and we haven’t had a lot of luck—”

Fukuzawa interrupts before Ranpo can fall into a tangent. “It just means that this journey means something.” At least, I think so. “Even if there is nothing here for us, we can simply travel and find somewhere to live our lives.”

For a while, Ranpo is quiet, but then he nods. “Alright. Well, the flowers are telling us to go that way.”

Fukuzawa nods in return and decides to let Ranpo take the lead, stepping back in order to follow the younger wolf. He still doesn’t quite understand this whole hearing the flowers thing, but after all this time, he’s willing to place his trust in Ranpo.

He’s not sure how long they walk for; it feels like hours, but could only be minutes, and at some point, without even realising, they’ve left the snow behind, disappearing into darkness that has a faint glow—lunar flower glow. It’s a beautiful sight that Fukuzawa can’t help but marvel at. The tunnel that Ranpo is leading them through glows purple from the flowers. There aren’t so many as to be obvious that it’s a path, but enough for a wolf to know and follow to see what’s at the end, just as he and Ranpo are currently doing.

As they go deeper into the tunnel, the flowers grow more spread out, and Ranpo slows down until he’s pretty much walking on top of Fukuzawa—he doesn’t fault Ranpo for growing nervous, he too, is a little bit, which is out of the norm for him, but this past year has been out of the norm to begin with, what with rescuing Ranpo, and then promising to get him to Paradise. If you’d asked him when he was younger if this was how he saw his life playing out, he would’ve told you no.

The only sound that Fukuzawa can hear is the sound of his and Ranpo’s pawsteps, a easily recognisable sound due to Ranpo’s lilting gait, but he keeps his ears pricked, listening just in case.

And then the tunnel ends, and—

—and—

It’s Paradise.

Fukuzawa’s mouth drops open, and Ranpo’s eyes grow wide from beside him as they stare across a widespread land that somehow, despite all the snow where they’d just come from, is so green, and full of life. Even from here, Fukuzawa can see food that is plump and not starving, and he honestly cannot believe it. “Paradise existed…” He murmurs.

“My parents were right.” Ranpo says just as quietly, a sad note to his voice, no doubt wishing that his parents could’ve been there with them.

And Fukuzawa wishes that they could’ve as well, if only to see how their pup has grown, but deep down he knows they’re watching over Ranpo, probably even guided him on this journey they’d taken. He turns his head towards Ranpo and gestures towards the green in front of them. “Shall we?”

Ranpo’s tail starts to wag. “To Paradise!”

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd fanfic #edogawa ranpo #fukuzawa yukichi #wolfs rain au #hurt/comfort #angst #fluff #comfort #writing #fanfic

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ferretoats · 6 months

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STRAY RAIN AU [pt.1] | ### | ### | NEXT|

(This is a alternate universe (au) where characters and story elements from Stray are implemented into the world of Rain World.) --- I don't know how many of these I'll make, but I suppose I could call this the first panel? I doubt I'll do something like a traditional comic and maybe more like... almost parallax scenes? I don't know what to call this.

Here it is again but without the big lizard cat in your face:

For context this is supposed to be the intro to the game Stray but translated into Rain World... Eventually there'll be a part 2 which I'll link when I make it.

#rain world #stray game #rw #rw downpour #rainworld downpour #stray 2022 #rw lizard #stray/rainworld crossover #Stray Rain AU #digital art #art

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icangiveitback · 9 months

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The shirt's new, Jet thinks when he comes back from the convenience store. He wonders if the old one is stuffed in the new bag, too, or if their new stray had thrown it away.

Zuko's Life Changing Road Trip With The Freedom Fighters AU

#art tag #zuko #zuko atla #implied jetko #I GUESS #he's there in the #'things are closer then they seem' mirror #zuko's life changing roadtrip with the freedom fighters au #lol #god what a mouthful #jet doesnt notice at first but their new stray's clothes are all expensive.#the shoes the pants the old button up shirt. yeah blood stained and waterlogged but expensive #his hair cut is expensive #jet wonders how such a rich kid ended up stuck in the rain and subsequently stuck in the back seat of his shitty pick up truck

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chimeric-art · 2 years

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There were many nice places to curl up for a nap, but one in particular stood out as her favorite.

Hail belongs to @miss-mossball <3

#it has been a while since I drew smth that gave me big !!!!!!!! soft!!!!!!!! feelings #but am very proud of this one <3 #rain trusts hail very very much #her shadow goes away when she's sleeping n she's very vulnerable when she wakes up #so choosing to curl up with someone for a nap is :> like when a stray cat does it #trust!!!! affection!!!!!! love!!!!!!!!!#hail works so hard n perhaps also needs a nap :x #rain #hail #my art #shadow au

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thestraystarproject · 5 months

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tss eda n raine yep yep :3

#tss post #the stray star #toh au #eda clawthorne #raine whispers

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mothwingedmyths · 2 years

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FJDHGLJKASDHGLHFDGL

WHY

I DO NOT NEED MORE AUS

I WAS THINKING ABOUT WHEN I USED TO DRAW OCS AND STUFF AS POKEMON GYM LEADERS AND THEN MY BRAIN JUST. THREW A WANDERSONG POKEMON AU AT ME

HELP

#wandersong #pokemon #aaaaaaaaa why #how many do i even have now #fifteen i think???#seventeen if you count the wandersong-stray-hollow knight-d&d crossover i randomly made one day and the modern au au #this is not okay #well unfortunately uhhh #raine's wandersong aus #wandersong au #yknow what i'm just gonna go into the details why not #kiwi is the protagonist obviously #miriam is probably their rival?#audrey is the champion #the professor is either eyala or mask (maybe both idk we had SWSH with Sonia and Magnolia so-)#why am i putting so much thought into this aaaaaaa #great now i want to replay all the pokemon games on my switch

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s3thwrit3sstuff · 7 months

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❝ I WANT THE YOU WHO WANTS ME AGAIN ❞

Gojo Satoru x male!reader | angst, unrequited love, arranged marriage, some comfort, in the end, | wc: 4.5 K | not proofread

warnings: death of a parent through sickness (unspecified), cheating (gojo with geto), r! goes through it (lmao), megumi is rooting for r!

masterlist; part 1; part 2; part 3; alternate ending; playlist; au's and what if's

Perhaps at one point in your arranged marriage, you had loved Satoru but that’s all but vanished away when you see how he looked at Geto. Still, you provide comfort to your husband when he seeks you even if his six eyes (and soul) all bear to you that he does not see you. Satoru realizes too late that he cares for you - that he loves you. He despises your empty stare, he wants you back. He desperately wants you back.

authors note: i know i said i was taking a break but writing this made me feel a little bit better — cathartic almost. it's been in the drafts since last year anyways so might as well. (autumn leaves by bts inspired fic)

It seemed as though even the clouds were pitying the sight before it. Grey and darkened, they gathered to block the sun as whispers of doubt combed through the trees surrounding the temple — they reach your ears despite the attempts of your mother. "Now, don't you look handsome". She tucks a stray lock of your hair behind your ear, pursing her lips at the look in your eyes. "(Y/N)". Her hands grasp at your face. The warmth of someone's hands on your cheek jitters your brain awake, and your pupils contract back into focus. "Have you been eating well, darling?" For a moment, your heart squeezes at her kind words. It's been so long since another had asked you that question so sincerely. The tears well but your hair sways as you shake your head, urging your cheeks to form a smile. "I'm alright, mom. Just getting over a cold". She brushes her thumb over your cheek then presses a kiss to your forehead. "My son". You're pulled into an embrace and suddenly you're little again — clinging to her after she had bandaged you up from your training session. Your eyelashes darkened as tears slip past them, hands trembling as you grip her tightly. "My beautiful son". Eventually, the sun sets but the rain continues to pour. The sounds of the raindrops are violent, accompanied by flashes of lightning and thunder it seemed as though the Gods were angry. Angry Gods do little to scare your father. He gazes at you coldly from where your head is laid upon your mother's lap. Defiantly, you avoid meeting his eyes as you relish in the fingers smoothing out your hair. "Your husband will not be pleased with this," your mother's glare is reproachful. "Our son has come to pay us a visit, his husband needn't worry about him," his nostrils flare and he looks as though he's about to go on another rant about image, expectations, manners, servitude. But before he could, the shoji door slides open. It's one of the servant girls, her bow immaculate you could see the swirl pattern of her hair growth. "Gojo Satoru has arrived, Master (L/N)" She's addressing your father, you know because you are now Master Gojo. The air is filled with expectations. The rain does little to muffle it. Pitying her back, you rise from your mother's lap. "Inform my husband I'll be out in a moment" She bows deeper and straightens her composure to slide the door close but freezes as you address her. "Is my husband alone?" When her mouth opens to form the syllables of Geto Suguru your eyes turn to the floor. You're unsure if she's finished her sentence but find very little fucks to give as you silence her with raise of your hand. Wordlessly, she bows and closes the door.

"Ah, husband!" he slings his arm around your shoulder. His weight, his warmth, his presence — too casual it's an insult. You cared little for tradition, scoffing at it sometimes, but the way Satoru displays himself in front of your parents causes you to grit your teeth. Suguru shoes are in the peripheral of your vision, you will your gaze to the side.

Once upon a time, the four of you were friends. Satoru, Suguru, Shoko and you.

Those blue summers and warm winters as first-year sorcerers. Memories so bright and heartfelt others probably only see on movie screens. Then you were betrothed to Gojo Satoru, family stuff, expectations and duty, and everything the both of you roll your eyes at. A part of you had been elated. Blinded by the idea of marrying the boy your heart beats for. Sure, falling in love would have been preferred but despite the arranged marriage, you were thick as thieves. So, in your foolish daydreams, you'd sigh at the idea of you two falling in love. Shoko could only watch as your dreams crumble before you. She tried her best to be some sort of support — shocked when she spotted you smoking her cigarettes after a year into the marriage. "I never noticed the way they look at each other". Your words follow the stream of smoke and Shoko settles next to you with her elbows placed on the railings. "I mean, I knew but I just thought...I just thought he'd look at me the same one day". She is silent as you curl over the railing, shoulders jerking with silent sobs. "How foolish, huh?" She places a hand on your back, saying nothing as you wept.

Suguru greets your parents with more tact than your husband who is smiling ear-to-ear. "How was your mission, Gojo, Geto?" the way their surnames sounded made your jaw ache as you continued locking your jaw. Your husband is squeezing you to his side, like a friend. Satoru feels your shoulders stiffening and he loosens his grip to look down at you but you slip out from under him and hastily walk towards the car. "Young Master —" a servant gasps as he attempts to match your pace, the umbrella he holds barely shielding you as you feel your tears mix with the rain. "(Y/N)!" Suguru calls, catching up to you with his own umbrella and you feel searing guilt stab at your chest. Suguru had never been mean to you — he's been there for you through the years and despite your sudden avoidance of him here he was trying to ensure you remained dry. A clap of thunder muffles your sob, the only mercy the Gods are giving you, and you will yourself to pass Suguru. The car door is slammed shut in Suguru's face and before he can wonder the driver is driving off. He stands in shock, the servant that had been chasing you sharing his expression. Satoru tilts his head, hands in his pockets as he Suguru gives him a look of apprehension once he reaches him. Your parents — his in-laws — are apologizing. More so your mother. Your father's anger is palpable despite his puckering lips. "We'll get you another car, Gojo, Geto" your father calls for his personal driver

Satoru’s eyes — with that bright, heavenly, blue that put the sky to shame — linger on the fading signature of your aura. Suguru’s bangs stick to his forehead due to the rain and the sight of him alone has Satoru tear his gaze away. They land on Suguru who offers a furrow of his brows and so Satoru reaches to wipe the wetness away.

“Hey!” the action is rough, anything but romantic. Suguru feels like a cat being pet too roughly — with their skin stretching back and eyes growing wide — and so he smacks Satoru's hands away.

Friendly. Playful. Banter. Boys being boys.

Your mother squints her eyes nonetheless. She had heard that Satoru had been less than willing to marry. Her husband had thought it was his hubris but bowed until his forehead met the floor of the Gojo clan’s home. Their name was no laughing matter — a strong line of curse users much like the Zenin’s.

But Gojo Satoru was sought after by many the second he turned 16 — the marriage proposals flooded in like a tsunami.

He refused them all. Except the (L/N)'s.

She had thought it was the dowery. Perhaps, even the fact that an alliance would soothe whatever ill tides their clans had once had. Or maybe it really was just a stroke of luck her son got along so well with Satoru while attending Jujutsu High (her husband had enrolled (Y/N) only when he heard whispers of Satoru attending).

But fear gripped her heart as Suguru tugged on Satoru’s ear.

Had he accepted...just so he could remain close to his true love?

“I’m sorry”. You pause the wiping motion, delicately lifting your head as your mother’s cloudy gaze floats aimlessly in the room. You were used to her nonsensical speeches, her random bursts of conversations and weepy apologies. It's been a year since the sickness unexpectedly came over her and you suppose that is what most people do when they’re close to death's door. Confessions of this and that just shooting out in a weak attempt to right old wrongs.

“Nothing to be sorry for, mother”. She places a hand over yours and squeezes. How frail. When has your mother looked so frail?

“Come home, be a (L/N) again”, confusion contorts your face. “Mother, whatever you’ve heard is all unfounded. Rumours. Father has dealt with them”, despite her fragility her fingers squeeze your wrists so tightly it forces your own to release the damp cloth.

“Then say that to me. Look into my eyes and tell me that bastard husband of yours is better than mine, that he’s not off loving another while you rot here”.

Colour bleeds into those lifeless eyes. She feels that same squeeze she felt when she saw Satoru wipe away the rain from Suguru’s skin rather than your tears just a year ago.

Just as quickly as they appear, that dullness returns in your eyes and she reaches to hold your face but you stand.

“Father is cheating on you?”

She’s lost you.

You walk to dip the cloth into the bowl, and your shoulders are too heavy for a 17-year-old boy. Her precious son, so forlorn and withdrawn; humiliated by the society he was in for being inadequate and unworthy.

Perhaps she deserved those titles, sick and bedridden and dying, it was no surprise that her husband is seen courting younger ladies. But not you, not her son.

“He’s no shame, you know your father. His pride comes before all”. It elicits a dry chuckle from you.

Then you suppose Satoru had more in common with your father than you knew.

The Star Plasma vessel incident, you can't believe it's been a year.

A year after that man that killed that Amanai and Kuroi and Satoru.

You remembered dropping to your knees as he admitted it out loud with such an ugly smile, shaking your head in disbelief as anger swelled within you.

Before you could even think, even grieve and rage, Geto had beaten you to it. As you looked at him with his anger so visceral it came off of him in waves you felt your torn heart crumble into pieces. It felt good to dish out that anguish on Fushiguro Toji even if you ended up eating dirt.

“Wasn’t he your husband?” Toji placed his foot on your neck. “Damn, he treats you that badly or something? This freak put up a better fight”, that day you had surprised Toji by smiling with your teeth all bloody.

“He did, didn’t he?” Your laughter bubbles and you choke on your own blood.

Toji knocked you out after a scoff.

That still wouldn’t have killed you as much. The torn pieces of your heart were still salvageable.

But then.

Then.

As Satoru came back. Warm and alive. Bloody but grinning. He did not race to you, he did not even look at you. To his credit, he simply stood there with his arms wide open.

But then.

Then.

Geto’s the one to race into them.

Ah.

Right.

Shoko was shocked to see you in her smoking spot. She hadn’t even seen you as Satoru was whisked away by the Gojo clan, only spotting Suguru following along. None had wondered where Satoru's husband was; Suguru was always next to him, so there was no void that one could spot.

“Are you alright?”

The darkness in your eyes makes her flinch.

You were dead.

She’s been around enough of death and you were dead.

Your once warm, cheerful, eyes now devoid of anything.

She held you as you cried, not knowing what more she could say to help you.

“Leave me alone”, Satoru is under the covers. He has been for days now.

Grieving.

Grieving Geto.

“Husband”, you coax. It was once a funny joke. The laughter you shared as the both of you exchanged formal titles of your marriage. It hurt to know that it truly was a joke for Satoru - not for you.

Satoru grits his teeth. His eyes were rimmed red, he himself was surprised they weren’t swelled up. His throat was scratchy, his skin uncomfortable and untended from his refusal to get up. His hair was tousled, unkept and disarrayed. It's been a week since Geto's betrayal and Satoru had been laid in your bed, burying himself under the blankets and deeper into the mattress; as if determined to be buried with his sadness and anger.

“Husband," he feels your hands on his shoulder. You know him by his shape alone. If you closed your eyes you could trace the curves that made up Satoru; even if it killed you slowly, your love was a loyal curse.

“Don’t call me that!” he raises in a grand move. The covers flew and his voice was in a yell. His glare was spine-chilling but they faltered as he saw the outfit you were.

“What should I call you then, Satoru?”

He takes you in, frowns deepening at the awful way his name sounds as you call for him. Not like his Suguru; his one and only.

“What the hell are you wearing, (Y/N)?”

He feels awful as you answer: “Funeral garbs. My mother has passed”.

There’s some satisfaction that paints your features as he is rendered speechless.

“What? How?”

“She was sick”. As he sits there with nothing to say you move to kneel in front of him. Your touch shocks him to reality. He pulls his shirt down, hoping you haven’t seen the hickeys Suguru had left on him before he decided to massacre that village.

You had. You’ve seen all of it. The lingering scent of Geto on his clothes, the hair ties on his wrist, the love bites that mottle his pale skin. Satoru may have those six heavenly eyes but he seemed so blind when it came to you.

The way he grimaces each time you’ve said his name now.

“What are you doing?”

“I’ll help you wash up, Gojo”. He’d be an idiot to have not noticed that switch. Guilt is seeded into him. He stops your hands but you move them with a robotic stubbornness.

“Stop — Wait —”

“I know, Gojo.”

Silence drapes the room.

Your hands carefully thumb into his heart and cover the seed of guilt with such care Satoru’s pulse doubles its speed.

“I know you love him. So very much. I know, because when I go to clan meetings, my cousins whisper behind my back of the two of you holding hands and going on dates. When you come back late after a mission to go to Geto’s room. Or when you suddenly have Geto’s marks on you and yours on him”.

“(Y/N) — ”

“But this is my mother, Gojo”.

Your voice wavers just as he clutches your wrists in his hands. Your head hangs as your shoulders jerk up and down, twisting and squirming so you can help Satoru clean and dressed.

You know he was in pain and your heart feels for him. He needs your help. You were willing to strip down so you could wash him, and get back into this disgustingly heavy robe all over again despite how nauseating it was to do it the first time.

Funny. You can’t recall ever being one with Satoru. Your marriage was never consummated — he told you that there was no rush, you were still kids. What did he tell Geto then? Did he tell him that he had never taken you in bed? Was he fervent in his worship of him? Was their love akin to a religion? Did they worship each others temples like devout monks? How funny. The first time you’d get to see him naked and him you would be the day of your mothers funeral.

“She was my mother, Satoru!”

He has never heard you yell before. Satoru is struck by the that revelation.

It’s been a year since he was officially titled your husband and he knew you longer than that. But this was the first time he’s seen you in despair. Heard your yell.

Seen you cry.

“Please, I know he was your one and only but she was my mother. Please, please, don’t let me face this alone, Gojo”

“(Y/N)...”

“Please, Gojo...”

Your wrists slip away from his loosened grip. Crumpling onto the floor, your forehead meets the floor and his feet as your beg.

"(Y/N)". How long had your mother been sick? Why didn't you tell him — or did you? Why couldn't he remember? As his mind races to collect any memory of this past year, your tears that wet his feet water that guilt.

Satoru says nothing as the both of you appear at the funeral. The haughty eyebrows and curled lips sting more when he's there — was it shame? This burning feeling in your chest? Had you said too much to Satoru? Now he was acutely aware of how others looked at you, at your marriage. How awful.

Satoru is not used to this feeling. As a child, the eyes that lingered on him were hungry for the prize of beheading him. That had been more comfortable than this.

This was scrutinizing. They gazed on you with pity, even with his body attempting to shield you, the whispers reach your ears anyways. Have you been doing this all alone? All those clan meetings that you went to alone, the ones he'd excuse himself from saying he had a mission while he spent the day with Suguru to make him eat more and attempt to nurse him back to his side from the Star Plasma vessel incident.

Suguru had wept to him, telling him how terrified he'd been at the thought of Satoru leaving him. Why didn't you come to him? No. Why hadn't he noticed you?

The ride back home was silent. Satoru couldn't believe your father had brought his bride-to-be to the ceremony, you quelled his anger by muttering that your mother had given her blessing for their marriage.

You're staring out the window. Had those bags always been under your eyes? When did your cheeks get so sunken in? Had you...had you lost weight? He ignores the way your fingers twitch as he places his hand over yours. Your skin feels foreign — so does his. He offers a purse of his lips, sliding his hand up your arm and leaning in to embrace you.

But freezes as you pull your hand away.

"Don't force it upon yourself, Gojo". "Husband —" his smile falls as your shoulders tighten, lower lip quivering. "Please don't make me beg again, Gojo."

"What do you think, beloved?" Gojo grins brightly, bouncing his brow up and down. You were seated across from him in some cafe — he had been telling you all about how good the crepes here was a week before. "About...?" He pouts and places his elbows on the table. "My theory?" He watches as you blink, once, twice, then a faux smile climbs on your face. You turn your attention back to the melting ice cream. "Your theory about Okkotsu cursing Rika because of his love for her?" He nods vigorously. "It makes sense, right? His curse technique activating after seeing that brutal sight, it binding Rika to him". "Afterall, love is the most powerful curse", you said. Gojo's animated hand motions pause. He places his hand back onto the table. He reaches for your hand and you squeeze your eyes shut but allow it. He hates this.

Not you — He doesn't hate you. But he hates this.

After your mothers funeral, he looked through pictures. As first year students, all sunny smiles and bright eyed. The smiles got more tame as the four of you aged. His hands slung around Suguru's more tightly — even after they bared matching rings.

Satoru's never seen you smile like that anymore.

He brushes his thumb over your knuckles. Your jaw clenches.

"I love you, my beloved".

"...Thank you, Gojo".

"It's been awhile, Satoru".

No. No, no, no.

Nononononononnonononononononononononono —

Gojo can't take his eyes away from Suguru.

He tries and tries and tries but he can't. Pinned by his onyx gaze alone.

Satoru's ring burns viciously and he curls his fingers into fists.

Meanwhile, your dead-eyed gaze seemed to intensify. Everything is muffled, it felt like you were underwater. It felt like you were 17 years old again.

Abandoned. Unworthy. Unloveable. In love. Always have been. Always will be. In love with a man that was never yours.

"(Y/N), you look pale", Suguru condenscends. At least, that's what it sounds like.

Hah. Was he envious? Did he think that in the years he's been gone, you've filled the void he left? Or did he know that you never did but he was jealous anyways?

Fuck, Satoru thinks. His temples feel taut as his teeth grit together.

Kento steps infront of you and your eyes widen by an inch.

How pathetic, Gojo (Y/N). An underclassmen protecting you from your husbands ex-lover's gaze.

Why couldn't Geto Suguru just die already.

"What are you doing?" Gojo is grieving again. You should be elated but you're not. It feels too cruel. It wasn't your doing, you hadn't had any hand in killing Geto Suguru but a part of you wondered if your inner thoughts had been a wish you put out to the world. Now, Gojo was without Geto and Geto's daughters were without their father.

So you felt guilt anyways.

It was more feasible competing for Satoru's affections when his lover was simply exiled. How could you compete with a ghost?

"I'm praying for him", you replied. Gojo watches as you prepare to do so, kneeled on the floor. His eyes are rimmed with red again and he knows you've heard his cries; so here you are, sacrificing your happiness again for him.

"You don't have to do that, beloved". You say nothing as your eyes are closed in prayer. Satoru kneels behind you, his guilt had 10 years to grow and now it was a willow tree, with its leaves sweeping the lake of tears it grew from. Your eyes flutter open as you feel his head in the junction of your neck and shoulder; he fit so perfectly there, just like you knew he would. He's crying into your shoulder and your hand reaches back to card through the shaved sides of his hair. Your fingers lightly brushing the shell of his ear makes him shudder and he circles your waist to pull you against him. "Don't pity me, Gojo". He says nothing and neither do you.

"Say my name". His voice so close to your ear has you shivering.

"Gojo".

He shakes his head.

"My name, please, please, just say it".

Your heart clenches and as you close your eyes a tear slips past.

"I can't replace him, Gojo". He squeezes you tighter.

"I'm not asking you to replace him. No one can replace Suguru. I don't want them too, I don't want you too; I want you".

"I don't believe you".

He laughs, the slightest brush of his teeth on your skin has your stomach twisting into knots. Your breath trembles and you squirm in his hold, twisting away and getting onto your feet to get away from him. He doesn't allow you to. He blocks your way, shaking his head as he holds your shoulders next.

"I want you, (Y/N). I love you —"

How long have you wanted to hear those words. Your heart wants nothing more than to soar. But your brain knows better. "No, no, no, let me go". He doesn't let you. Satoru wraps his arms around you and your mouth opens to let out yells, fists pounding onto his chest as you try to get away from him.

"I hate you! You fucking bastard! I hate you, I loathe you!"

Satoru holds you firmly agaisnt him. Holding the back of your head preciously as he finally hears your voice raised above that whispering tone. "I hate you! I hate you so much! Why do you keep doing this to me!? I — I just wanted you, Satoru!" Your voice breaks and your sobbing turns into wailing. His heart squeezes, chest physically hurting as you sob and yell.

"I wanted you, Satoru! I just wanted you!" "Why didn't you love me, Satoru!?" Thunder rumbles and as your yells quiet down into hiccups, rain muffles it.

"I'm sorry, (Y/N)". He feels your knees give out and he holds you, making you lean against him for support. "I'm so sorry, my beloved. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, (Y/N)".

When he tucks you in to rest, he isn't surprised Megumi is standing in the doorway with his eyes set into a glare. Satoru wipes your tears away, sweeping some of your hair away before placing a kiss on your forehead. He raises to answer Megumi's burning questions.

"You heard?"

"I'm not deaf".

Megumi has his arms crossed. He was an observant boy. Being raised by both Satoru and you — he notices the overexuberant Satoru's confidence wavering every time you give him smiles that never reach your eyes. Tsumiki even told him once that she finds it sad, how you both seem to be so familiar but foreign to each other.

"But one time I did see (Y/N) get flustered because of Satoru", she told Megumi whilst on their way back from school. He looked ahead, sipping on his drink as a prompt for Tsumiki to continue. "It was during breakfast. (Y/N) woke up a little late because he was traveling around for clan meetings and missions. So he was panicking so much, he burnt our rice and stuff! But then, Satoru walks in and tells him he prepared our bento. He kept it in the fridge. All that was needed to do was heat it up, he helped (Y/N) the entire time and then he just — "

Tsumiki kisses the air with a loud 'mwah!'

"He plants a kiss right on (Y/N)'s forehead. (Y/N) was so flustered he just stared down at the sink. It was cute, he's definitely still in love, they both are!"

Megumi peeks into the room. The sliver of light on your peaceful expression highlights the content curl of your lips despite the swollen eyes you bore.

"...Don't mess up this second chance", Megumi warns. He turns and marches away while Satoru huffs, scratching the back of his head as he sighs. "I wasn't planning to". He really does love you. He does. He loves you, from the ends of your hair to the tip of your fucking toes; he loves —loved, Suguru too. But this is different, you're different. But his love isn't any less or more.

He loves you.

Whatever it takes, he'll make sure you know it until his last breath.

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