#but at least that future - his fate - is no longer certain

[lordcaptains]

:(

:)

[sukioyakio]

The Silent watcher

A/N.:this not my original idea I saw someone else do this I can't find it but it not my idea.And I think I didn’t ate but also taking out my ass on this one but who cares.

Did not proofread this,I’m sorry for the grammar errors.

Sukuna x reader

w/c: 1,124

Your whole life has always felt owned by him,Your life has never felt normal.Following your mother path as a servant.You follow her steps,listen to her words,learning to speak respectful,and memorizing your mothers favorite song by heart.But it ended quick.

And you were there to watched the devil killed your mother right before your eyes for a simple mistake and that all it took for you loss your voice.You could remember the painful begging of your broken mother voice in your head.You could remember how you didn’t say a word but just how your tears ran down your face,there were like quiet fire marking of rolling down your cheeks.

And all you could think of is making it alive and never being attention to yourself and just make it under his radar.

And you did,You were just like any filthy rat he saw in his path.But it didn’t mean that you weren’t going to stop seeing people dying in-front of your eyes while working for him.

At the age of 12 years you saw him ended a simple life for doing a huge mistake on the job.That simple life was your best friend who you always enjoyed being around,the only person who you could talked to.You loved her for being so positive about the future and being able to talk about her dream goal in this nightmare of a place.

‘I always wanted us to be free from this nightmare and we get to travel the world together,and have a happy family and husbands together that will the best’ That was her dream.Sadly she wouldn’t ever get it but at least she was able to be free from this nightmare.But she wouldn’t have been died if you never switched jobs with her.

You never forgot how her face looked like.The puddle of red blood , blood of your best friend surrounding the floor with it mistakes and sin.The crying and begging that followed throughout your head and the hallways.

The pain and guilt that ran through your soul and you finally loss your voice becoming silent.Your fate has already been painted by his sins. You loss the sparkle in your eyes to continue to think about living a normal life.But you still have some sort of hope living a silent life living with shadows of the darkness of this hellhole.

You have watched and seen throughout the years of the many women he had brings along the way.So many deaths that you were sent to clean up.Just for you to go back and deliver him a drink or another plate of food. It disgusted you to no end,to some point of throwing up the whole night just the thought of him being satisfied from the death of others.

Your body started to change,bloom into a more beautiful woman;your body slowly shaped itself showing out your curves and chest.You could hear or sometimes be talked with about your health such as you being quiet or sometimes just being pretty from other maids and servants.

But you still do your job,sometimes doing chores for the younger ones who needed a break from the torturous chores.Even if they said they could do it themselves.

25 years old that year alone would sadly changed your silent life forever.Just by taking care of another concubine who was a bit of a feisty,untamed and bitter woman.You were assigned to taking care of the concubine for the night,to prepare her ready for the lord.Putting on makeup the way lord ryoman likes and normally it would take you rather quickly.

But for this certain concubine it took longer then it would usually take.Usually when doing this it was rather fun hearing things from the concubines.Without the need of having to reply back.

But this woman was the most difficult person to deal with.Calling you names constantly,glaring at you,slapping your hand away from doing your job,Yelling disrespectful things about you and You were this close to losing your temper towards her.

You even wonder how does the lord Sukuna find this woman interested but either way it doesn’t matter.In the end they have sex and afterwards end up wanting more and latching onto him and then they’ll become boring toys to him then killed them off,just to repeat the cycle.The concubine that had last longer then a month always amazed you with how they managed to keep going.

Once you were done with the look,she just look at the mirror and start to say everything foul out her mouth and you tried to calm her down with your words but it ended up with you getting slapped and choking you with hers claws.While yelling at you for making her look ugly in her terms.

You couldn’t breathe,and sound of your gasping for air could be heard throughout the room even outdoors but your eyes were still with the coldness as well as disgust at how utterly awful the concubine was.You whispered towards her “May hell find your cursed sinful body you disgusting Bitch”.Your voice showing anger and hatred towards her and for him as well.

And then suddenly your eyes started to go out but before it turned black the woman instantly disappeared and so was your vision.

There he wasStanding there by the door with his large frame and four arms crossed,the air around him thick with his authority.With his red eyes shinning in the night sky,As he looked at the bloody mess he create.He had killed his concubine and decided to save your soul for some sort of reason.

And That would be the exact day where your silent watching days would be done.

—————

He found you interesting. He found you interesting enough to spare you.Instead of taking your life with that annoying concubine.

The air felt dense in the room. Silence followed, no one knowing what to say. Your body lay there, unconscious and vulnerable. His eyes were like those of a predator. Like the eyes of a snake observing its prey; he was simply biding his time, watching. Analyzing.

He had always seen you,but nothing about you was interesting to him before.You were a good servant,doing whatever your told to do without any hesitation or any words you were rather completely silent.And maybe you being silent made him interested in you.

He slowly took a step closer, his eyes not breaking away from you. His boots lightly echoed against the floor.

Suddenly, he knelt down to get a closer look at your face. His long, black nails gently grazed the side of your cheek, following down your jawline. His fingers were warm against your skin;His ruby eyes staring holes into you.His hand moved down to rest on your neck, feeling your pulse.

‘Your really are just as quiet as you are,huh?”He thought while looking at your bruises.His nails making red marks on your neck,completely unintentional.Before leaving the room and calling uraume to come and clean up the mess and making sure to cleaning you up and putting you back to the dormitory.

“What did the maid say about her?”-he says as a question to himself-“The silent watcher. . . that what they called her,mhmm” he hum to himself as he walks towards his chambers,smirking at the thought of that.

That all I have I hope you liked it. And i think I wanted to make like reader somewhat like a background character.

If you have any suggestions or ideas please share with me in the comments I’ll be more than happy to hear them out.

made by @sukioyakio 2024

Have a great day.Reblogs and likes are always welcome. @mononijikayu @ciggrx @urprettylittlething

part two and part three are out

[gay-dorito-dust]

Jason todd with an s/o who died with him and they see each other again after a few years? Thank youuu!

When thinking of how your reunion with Jason would be like, this wasn’t what you had in mind, then again you didn’t think that your life would’ve been taken so young either until it was.

You both came back…different, vastly unlike the people you once were.

You knew you were supposed to be dead in that empty casket six feet underground like you should’ve been, but you weren’t and neither was Jason as fate had different plans for you both. A fate that ended up with you and Jason splitting up, wanting nothing but the best for the other despite knowing that no one would knew how you felt, especially when it came to being unceremoniously brought back in a body vastly different from the one you died in.

You and Jason never got to experience most things that other people had in your time of being dead. So much so that trying to navigate a fully grown body while trying to, or to cry out in frustration had you feeling more alone and isolated than ever.

You had long accepted that you and Jason were no longer the people you once were, and decided for yourself to try and attempt to lead your life as normal as possible. Whereas Jason was hellbent on getting back at the person who killed you both, while dealing with his own feelings of betrayal upon hearing that that man who took him in, had assumably done nothing during this time; You on the other hand knew that Bruce would’ve at least beat the joker with an inch of his life for certain, but chose to let Jason find out on his own terms.

He was a flurry of emotions and even you didn’t know what to do to calm him down because you weren’t those young kids anymore, you were ghosts brought back to haunt Gotham and remind them of their continuous failures. Life hasn’t changed when you both died and while you weren’t as bothered by it, Jason on the other hand found it hard to grasp that no one did anything to avenge you both, and unfortunately started talking to the gun.

You no longer could reason with him as he didn’t wish to listen to reason in his state at the time. It hurt to leave him as he was your first and possibly only love of your life, but you didn’t wish to see the man you love kill himself for a second time. You honestly didn’t think you’d see him again until you saw Jason’s bulky silhouette outside your window one night and immediately felt nostalgic of the past once again.

‘Jason.’ You said as you opened your window for him to crawl through with a grunt with just how big he was. You would’ve once laughed at this sight, but now you could only stare as your former lover with longing and mourning simultaneously, eyes racking his form and seeing just how much he has changed with scars of all sizes littered him from the neck down.

‘Baby bird.’ He replied softly, which didn’t help in making you grow more upset of the future you could’ve had with Jason had it not been robbed from you. ‘Sorry for dropping in you without warning. Your place was just closer.’ He adds as he sits himself down on your bed and took in the sight of your room, feeling an ache in his own heart when he saw a framed photo of a younger version of yourselves smiling on your desk. Feeling guilty, Jason quickly averted his eyes from the framed photo when he felt a lump in his throat beginning to form.

He couldn’t help but get mad at how unfair this fate was for you specifically, he didn’t care about himself as he was sure this was his fate from the beginning, but you? You deserved everything and so much more than what you were given. You were a big reason as to why he wanted revenge, why he wanted to get even, he did it because he felt that you were done dirty and he wasn’t going to allow for it; However in doing so, he had lost you in the process and he hated himself for it ever since.

‘That’s fine.’ You tell him as you sit down next to him on the bed. ‘I’m just glad that you’re still breathing considering the state I last saw you all.’ You trialed off as the stench of blood, Jason’s blood, that you’ve tried to block from memory came back to greet you in remission of the worst day of your life. You didn’t want to see him that hurt ever again, you couldn’t handle it without fearing that you were loosing him to revenge and violence; However the Jason you saw before you looked like a man who had long since learned a valuable lesson in all this, and was now trying to regain control of his life however he could.

Jason sighed as he too remembered that night he came back to you drenched in his own blood, he remembered the look upon your face and the tears brimming your eyes like it were yesterday. ‘I’m sorry. Im so fucking sorry you had to witness that, I just wanted to-‘

‘Make things right by getting back at those who wronged us. I know.’ You cut Jason off and placed your hand on the back of his, paying close attention to how he seemingly stiffened under your touch before visibly relaxing. ‘But revenge isn’t going to give us our lives back.’

‘Lives that were ripped away from us without reason.’ Jason reminded you with a bitter taste on his tongue.

‘If you did get revenge, what would it do other than remind you that you wasted all that time and energy only for nothing to change with one dead man laid at your feet. What then?’ You snapped, glaring daggers into the man beside you as he looked ahead at the wall in front of him with a distant look in his eye, ‘Will you feel vindicated in what you’ve done or realise that you’ve been reclaiming your life in that time?’ You took a deep breath to calm yourself down and closed your eyes as you felt yourself give into every emotion you swore you wouldn’t return to, you’ve just wanted to move on and live a life while you could.

While yes, you were angry that your life had been snuffed out so short, but you weren’t about to make your second chance at life all about revenge. It wasn’t worth it if it meant loosing valuable time over.

‘So you expected me to do nothing while the man who did this to us lives freely?’ Jason questions as he looks at you with disbelief, the Lazarus pit’s influence glowing within his eyes but you weren’t easily scared off by it, not when you also suffered from the influence of the Lazarus pit every night before bed.

‘Life didn’t halt when we died Jason.’ You remind him as you reached up to hold his face between your hands, stroking his cheeks while smiling at him softly. ‘Nor did it change when we came back the way we did, it continued on. We can harbour hate in our hearts and scream at the sky about unfairness, but we’ll surly loose breath in our lungs before anything is done about our suffering.’ You then rested your forehead against his own as you breathed him in. ‘So why not live while we are given the second chance, no matter how unusual it may be.’ You added barely above a whisper.

Jason knew you were right and as he leans towards your touch, slowly wanting more and more of it while he was here, he felt a weight within his chest lifted. ‘I was doing it for you.’ He tells you. ‘Out of everyone in this shit hole you deserved this fate the least and I couldn’t help but feel hopeless, powerless even when you died in my arms, only to come back vengeful when we were brought back by the Lazarus pit.’ Jason adds as he risked planting a kiss on your nose, making you a little teary eyed. ‘All I ever done was for you and it ultimately pushed you away, I’m sorry.’

You let a few tears slip your eye as you inhaled unevenly, pushing your forehead even more against his, just wanting nothing more than to feel him after being deprived of him for so long. ‘Don’t be sorry Jason, we were both lost and didn’t know how to feel about being brought back to life. It’s not a fate everyone can say they’ve been through like we have,’ you said with a halfhearted laugh. ‘so I don’t blame you for doing what you felt was necessary. I just wanted to live out my second life with you and I would’ve been happy.’ You admitted as Jason pulled you into his arms, holding you so tight as he presses his face into your shoulder to soak his tears that silently fell.

‘I’m sorry.’ He says weakly into your shoulder. ‘I’m so fucking sorry. I would’ve loved to have lived out my second life with you too and I would love to start doing that right away if that’s alright with you.’ He adds as you both wept into each other, holding onto each other for dear life.

‘Of course it’s okay,’ you told him, feeling happier then you’ve ever had in a long while as you were chocking on your own sobs, ‘It’s more then okay by me jay birdie.’ You burrowed yourself further into Jason and stayed like that until you both fell asleep with dried tears staining your cheeks, all the while the city outside your apartment continued on without so much as a care of this heartfelt reunion of lovers.

[starcurtain]

To continue the Aventurine train, it still kinda lives in my head rent-free, it's been touched on a few times that it's very likely his initial plan of using his wealth and status from the IPC to help his people failed before he could try to enact it, but the lines on that are vague at times. Jade's "There are no Avgins on Sigonia" isn't "there are no Avgins" period, and then again when asked by Sunday if he's the last, Aventurine's answer is "perhaps". It kinda leaves me wondering if it's true (though for all we know, it could just be that Aventurine doesn't want to believe he's well and truly the last), if that at all factors into that struggle to find a purpose in life now that he's gotten back more of a will to live. After all, the dead can't contradict you, can't voice their thoughts on your actions or your decisions

I definitely agree this is intentional!

We know that Aventurine himself doesn't actually know the fate of his people. Since he didn't even know until he was a Stoneheart that the Avgin massacre had even been on a level of an "extinction event," he genuinely had no idea at the time of Jade's comment whether what she said was true, and there probably isn't a very reliable way to verify whether every single last Avgin in the universe is gone either.

I think this is part of the reason that Aventurine tells Sunday "Perhaps" instead of "Yes," because he's trying to come across as if he's telling the truth there, and if he says "Yes" to something he would have no demonstrable way to prove, then it would be clear that he's lying while under the Harmony's influence. Saying "Perhaps" let him dodge Sunday's notice, at least until Sunday's later questions.

But you're right, those vague statements leave the door open for the game's writers to take Aventurine's fate in either direction--it could be that he really is the last Avgin, but it could also just as easily be that, in the future, we will see him reunite with a community of Avgins who hid and survived the massacre (or who had gone somewhere else before the massacre).

I also think that there is a certain degree of "unfulfilled promise" to Aventurine's story right now. While it's still sort of in question whether Aventurine is actually-factually blessed by a goddess/aeon, we're supposed to be at least slightly convinced that his luck is indeed supernatural. Which means that his status as a "chosen one" should also, at least theoretically, be true. Therefore, I think we probably haven't seen the last of the idea of Aventurine being the one who will "lead the Avgin to prosperity again." Whether this means literally saving some remnants of the Avgin clan discovered later or just managing to get their revenge on Oswaldo Schneider, who knows, but I think we probably haven't seen the last of this idea in the story.

Regarding affecting Aventurine's will to live... Hmm, maybe! I definitely do think his actual suicidal behavior was linked at least in part to finding out that the Avgin had been wiped out. Prior to this moment, although we see him gambling with his life (like against the IPC), his goal is explicitly to win in those cases, and his bets are made to improve his situation and work towards his goal to help the Avgin. After that, he no longer has a goal to work toward, and we're immediately hit with words like "meaningless" and having "lost all worth." His bets shift from "improve my situation" to "put myself in as much danger as possible." He was always risky, but the sense of wanting it all to be over definitely only came about after finding out that he'd never be able to save or repay his people and those who helped him.

That said, I'm not sure how much impact the Avgin massacre has on his ultimate decision to stay alive. In Penacony, it's very much a personal revelation that his life has worth in and of itself, separate from his supposed destiny as a blessed chosen one. The mere act of living, even if no one else is left alive to experience that with him, gains meaning.

So I think it's more a realization that, even if nothing else remains--he remains. And that means something. It shouldn't be thrown away. It should be appreciated and treated like a miracle, and he brings the most honor to his people by embracing the years he has left and living the best life he can. (To borrow some FFXIV talk, he realizes he can't squander the legacy they've left him.)

So I think Aventurine's prognosis isn't too bad moving forward. It might be a bit "two steps forward, one step back" for a while, but I think we will see a new sense of purpose and appreciation for life from him in the future, and I think that will mostly be separate from the history of the massacre itself. Of course he will continue to carry on his family's traditions with pride, but I think that his realization is that he, quite literally, cannot remain in the shadow of nihility. He has to embrace living his life for himself if, in the end, he wants to make his family and his people proud.

[lightlycareless]

warnings: none.

Naoya didn’t even wait to be officially dismissed before he was rushing—no, flying his way back home.

Always of a common occurrence for him to behave in such way, especially after spending days, if not weeks, away from the Zen’in estate. After a job well done, all that he cared about was relaxing, not having to worry about annoying teammates, complaining civilians, and the endless paperwork that always ensued, and just let the days pass alongside his family.

Those things were enough of a reward for him to actively look forward to the end the day, but after a special something blessed his life, it’s all he ever thought of.

“You’re back home earlier!” you’d chirp as soon as you felt the familiar strong pair of arms encasing you from behind, just short of leaving your bedroom. Due to the circumstances of this abrupt meeting, one could even say you were fated to meet your husband, and honestly? You were not complaining about it, if anything, you were elated to be given this surprise on an already beautiful day.

“I am” he responds, kissing the top of your head before turning you around, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning down to now kiss your lips once, twice, thri— too many times to count. “I missed my girls far too much, I had to come back.”

You giggle, tip toeing to kiss him back before tightly hugging him.

“Welcome home.” You eventually say. “We missed you too.”

“It was insufferable to be out there away from you” he sighs, taking in your scent and relaxing him.

“I can’t imagine” you respond, knowing that sentiment very well. “But that’s over, and you’re finally home with us…”

“I’m glad I’m home earlier” Naoya admits. “I was going mad if I’m being honest.”

“How’d you manage that? I thought you’d be gone for at least another week...”

“I finished some cases faster, that’s all” Naoya kisses the top of your head. “As I said, it’s impossible for me to keep away from my family—It’s either rush to come back or die.”

“Don’t say that” you pout, and he chuckles.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it like that” He kisses you once more.

You always hated the days he’d have to leave for work, specifically for longer missions where their end was unforeseeable for the near future.

Because the nature of his career entailed high risks, you’d always keep a close eye on your phone, quick to reach for it whenever getting a notification, hoping it was Naoya contacting you, praying it wasn’t with any bad news.

But you guess you couldn’t complain much—you knew exactly what kind of lifestyle waited for you when marrying him, and as much as you get to dislike certain aspects of his career, you also love him for it. After all, it’s how you met in the first place, and Naoya absolutely loves his job as a sorcerer too, regardless of the… other things he didn’t like.

So, you were going to support him no matter what, as well as admire his accomplishments which had led him to be considered as one of the best sorcerers in the whole country!

And who wouldn’t to have a man like that as their husband?

“… I know” you sigh “Well… I’m glad you’re back sooner! But that means I didn’t prepare anything for your return—have you eaten? Or do you want to take a bath instead first? Oh, you must be so exhausted—” you being to fret, and Naoya can’t help but chuckle.

“While I have to admit that all of those things sound very, very good right now—but” he gives you a smile, before it turns into a pout, shyly looking away. “…I was hoping to see someone first.”

Quickly understanding what he means, you waste no time to smile back before grabbing his hand and lead him down to your shared room, where his beloved ones were eagerly waiting for their father’s return: the twin baby girls you had welcomed less than a year ago.

An unexpecting blessing indeed—and not because the thought of a family hadn’t crossed your minds. That happened just a few weeks into your marriage, if not prior.

But rather, because your dream of having a big family ended up becoming true right from the very start.

“Twins?” Naoya breathed, checking one too many times the monitor in which doctor displayed your ultrasound, as if trying to decipher the image the man so identified as two babies, or discover it was a prank.

“Yes—twins. And I can see the gender too! It looks like they’re going to be—”

“No!” you gasp, tightly closing your eyes as to avoid seeing anything that might give away their sex, not that you could understand what he saw but… “I want it to be a surprise!”

It was refreshing to see you so excited to have two babies instead of one, in contrast of his worrisome response, undoubtedly terrified for the difficulties this situation will bring, as well as the many doubts that quickly arose.

“What are we going to do with two of them?!” Naoya frets once out of the doctor’s office, with you silently agreeing with him. While it might be wonderful to have two little Naoya’s or two little Y/N’s (perhaps one of each, they hoped) the truth is that this would be far more difficult to overcome, both mentally, and specially physically for you…

“I guess we’ll have to love them” you attempt to reassure him, and he quickly succumbs to the warmth of your words.

Thankfully, the pregnancy was one with little to no difficulties, and the two girls, named Naoko and Naomi, were born as healthy and beautiful as any parent could hope, perfect for all the love they had to give.

Naoya’s eagerness is what rushed him to open the door before you could even grip the handle, swiftly sliding it open and quickly glancing form one side of the room to the other in search of his lovely ones, eventually finding them playing besides the futon, on the playmat Naoya bought them (because he’d never allow his babies to touch the cold, rough floor! What kind of father would he be if he allowed that?!) alongside one of their many, countless toys you told him to not buy because it was growing a bit excessive… only for you to comply when their adorable puppy eyes convinced you otherwise.

The girls, Naomi and Naoko, seem to be completely enthralled by the colorful toys before them at first, unaware of their father’s presence.

One of them, Naomi, had a small frown on her face while carefully analyzing the toy in her hand, as if trying to decipher how something so bright and fun, yet stiff could exist.

While the other, Naoko, spent her time crawling from one side of the playmat to the other, trying to get used to the movement, perhaps even itching to stand and finally take a few steps of her own…

A notion that makes you and Naoya sad, for both know that it’ll only be a matter of time before they manage to stand up by themselves, walk, run—

Next thing you know, they’ll be leaving the house as adults, ready to dive into their new life.

Oh, neither wants them to grow… but at the same time, there was an eagerness to see them become into the wonderful, successful women you knew they’d be. Perhaps one of them, if not both, would follow Naoya’s footsteps and become sorcerers themselves! Or maybe, they’d settle for a completely different career, something a bit more… calm, less dangerous, but equally essential.

Either way, you and Naoya were more than ready to support them in whatever endeavor they were to follow… even if it meant that both wouldn’t be able to dote at them as much as they did now.

Well, if they ever get lonely, they were sure they could have more kids, right…? Or who knows? Maybe they’d be fortunate enough to have grandchildren!

“Bngh ah!” one of the babies eventually babbles when catching a glimpse of their father—a noise that once registered by Naoya, makes all his worries disappear and focus instead on the swift way they crawl towards him, chubby hands eagerly attempting to reach him, effectively showing that they missed him as much as he did them.

“Naoko-chan, Naomi-chan!” Naoya face lightens, scooping them as soon as they reached him and wasting no time to give their soft, round chubby cheeks a big kiss. “How are my lovely girls? Did you miss me?”

Naomi, the most talkative of the two, is quick to babble in such a manner that gives the impression she understood what he was saying. He smiles.

“Ah, I missed you too!” And Naoya takes this opportunity to give them another kiss, one that now makes Naomi and Naoko giggle. “It was horrible out there, you know? I couldn’t wait to get home with mama and you—I hope you two were good girls while I was away, hm?”

Naomi coos in response, fully engaged in conversation with her dada, while Naoko simply stares at him, placing her soft hand over his face before grasping a thread of his hair—she was always enthralled by the duality of its color, and it made you believe that when she’s older, she might want to dye her hair too…

“I know you were” he says. You always loved how responsive he was to her nonsensical babbles, it’s almost as if he understood her! Might be the reason why she was so interactive in the first place, because there was always someone playing along to her tune. “You’re my daughters after all!”

Naomi smiles, relishing the compliment, but Naoko only squirms, having gotten bored from his hair and wanting to return to her crawling journey. Her father kisses her one last time before putting her back on the floor, where she was quick to pick up from where she left off… but even then, Naoko doesn’t stray much far from her father, crawling around him instead.

You watch the whole scene with great awe, for your heart had greatly missed these heartwarming moments, your heart finding some relief in seeing your family reunited and safe once again.

A smile parts your lips as you decide to take a seat by the futon, with your husband joining you soon after, all whilst still holding Naomi in his arms.

“What did my girls do today?” he asks, obviously referring to you, but Naomi wins you to it as she starts to babble, making the two chuckle out of amusement.

The baby stops, giving the two a curious look as if wondering what they were laughing at. Naomi didn’t intend her reaction to be as adorable as it turned out to be, but you and Naoya just couldn’t help laughing again—unfortunately this time, her face deepened into a frown.

“Oh, it’s nothing baby” you reassure her while pinching her cheek—a gesture that at first has her further confused, but when she sees the smile on your face and the innocence of your touch, she can’t help but to give you a bright smile as well before continuing with the conversation.

“Ah, really?” Naoya says, stringing along with his daughter. “And did you have fun at the park?”

You blink. Did he just…?

Guess he does understand her after all.

“Ranta told me” Your husband explains, as if sensing the disturbance in your mind, masking you sigh. You had to admit you were a bit worried there, believing that you were miscalculating your skills as a parent… “Scared you, didn’t I?”

“A bit” you chuckle and Naoya just smiles.

Naomi would continue babbling on, occasionally raising her hands to add a dramatic effect to her retelling, which makes your husband’s heart flutter— in that aspect, she definitely takes after you.

“I’m glad you had fun, love” he responds. “Maybe next time I can join you and your sister.”

She nods earnestly, and Naoya’s heart finally burst out his chest.

“That’s it. I’m retiring from work; I’m never leaving the estate” he darkly promises.

“Naoya!” you gasp “You—I mean, you can but you’ll regret it!”

“How could you tell me that, when I have these beautiful babies at home?!” he cries back, and you must agree with him, if it were the other way around you don’t think you’d be able to leave them behind…

“Life is cold out there, void of any love. I’d rather be here with you, and my daughters, and dote on both till I can’t no more.”

You give him a tight smile, feeling nothing but empathy for him and the countless sacrifices he must make because of his career.

There’s no doubt in your mind that Naoya loves his family very, very much, and would go to great lengths to ensure their safety and happiness. And while you spend every single day appreciating him for it, there’s this lingering sensation on the back of your mind that suggests you should do something more for him—something special to demonstrate to him that he’s appreciated for all he’s done for you and your daughters. Because no one knows more about the efforts he’s put both into his career and family, than you.

It wasn’t much, at least compared to what he’s done you suppose (If Naoya heard you, oh, he’d be quick to tell you otherwise—to him, you’ve done nothing but the best.) but you were proud to have made a place where Naoya feels cherished and protected. Where he can be himself, your husband, and not the heir with unrealistic expectations everyone else burdened him with, sometimes even berated.

And you’d do anything in your power to keep it that way, as well for your daughters.

“When is your next holiday?” you ask, now holding Naoko who has been tugging at your sleeve for the past few seconds, growing jealous of Naomi’s position and wanting to be held too. She wanted to get up herself, and almost did so too! However, her legs were still not used to her weight, so she could barely take a step before almost falling, an incident avoided thanks to your quick reflexes.

“Not until next month, I believe” he responds while squeezing Naomi’s cheeks—he always thought that out of the two, the babies looked the most like you. Of course, judging by how easy it was for him to tease their cheeks, a curse you had unknowingly bestowed on your daughters. “Why?”

“Oh, nothing” you smile, shrugging. “Just something I was wondering…”

Naoya smiles, because after years and years of knowing you, he rightfully assumes you’re planning something—and surprises from you are always well received, so he lets the topic die soon after.

He sighs.

“I’m tired” he says, laying back on the futon and placing Naomi over his chest. Once she’s comfortable, he rests his hand over her back, caressing her softly.

“How was work, outside of exhausting?” you ask, trying to hold Naoko in place for she’d begun to squirm yet again, this time from seeing her sister comfortably laying over their dad. Victim to her adorableness, you quickly succumb to her desires and carefully place her over Naoya’s chest, who quickly accommodates her under his embrace without complaint.

“Awful” Naoya admits. “Everyone always has something to say, something to suggest, but of course, no one ever cares to do what needs to be done. And it forces me to step in and do their job along mine!”

“Bah!” Naomi exclaims, a frown on her face as she tightly clutches his chest, seemingly annoyed by the mistreatment of her father. Naoya laughs.

“I know! Sometimes it feels like I’m the only capable one there” he adds “I’m glad you don’t think the same, it’s hard to always be right, isn’t?”

You giggle.

“Only you understand me, Naomi” he sighs.

“Nah!” It’s Naoko’s time to retort, Naoya raises his eyebrows.

“And you too, of course! How could I forget?” Naoya is quick to apologize, hugging them closer to him. “There’s no one else that understands me better than the two of you, and mama of course. My closest confidants…”

“You don’t need to say that Naoya. I won’t get jealous, you know?” you murmur. “Although… I wouldn’t mind getting some of the attention… I’ve been a good girl too.”

Your husband immediately smirks, knowing very well what you mean by that implication, and honestly? It’s something he’s thought of, constantly, every time he’s away. And it’s the bare minimum he could do for you, after all, worship you as the goddess you are to him.

“I’ll give you all the attention you want soon enough—You’re my favorite girl, after all.” He promises with a wink, and you blush, his words filling you with anticipation.

“Don’t say that in front of the kids…” you murmur, beyond flustered at this point, which makes him chuckle.

“What? It’s not like they don’t know how much I love you” he responds, and you just keep getting warmer. “I love you.”

“I know.” you whisper. “I love you too.”

He smiles.

“I’ll have all day and the day after tomorrow off.” he reveals. “So, for the next few hours, I’m all yours.”

“Really?” you gasp, excitement twinkling in your eyes. This was such wonderful news, exactly what you wanted to happen! “There’s actually so many things I’d like to do.”

“Sure, go ahead” Naoya says, leaning further into the pillow as the weight of his two baby girls resting of his chest beings to soothe him. “What do you have in mind for tomorrow…?”

“Well, I was hoping we could go down to the village” you begin. “I was told by the staff that a market has been set up and I was hoping to check it out. Now that you’re here, I think we can buy some new clothes for our dumplings, hopefully some cute onesies for the upcoming cold weather—Ah, I can’t believe they’re already growing out of their clothes! I don’t want them to grow anymore…”

“Hmm, I know…” he admits with a murmur before sighing. “I’d like to get my hands on some street food for a change too…”

“That’s easy to arrange!” you say with a big grin, already envisioning the great day you’d have with your family. “Haruko-chan told me that a lot of food vendors set up so, you’re going to have many options to choose from! If not, she can always prepare something. Oh, and talking about food… Would you like me to get you something to eat? And maybe afterwards you’d like a bath?—You must be starving, and tired too.”

“Mmhmm…”

“I’ll prepare you both, then” you declare. “I just have to know what you want to eat, if there’s something you’d like in specific, or do you leave that choice to me?”

“Anything… really…” he yawns. “I don’t mind. I’m just… hungry…”

“Are you sure…? You just came back home and I wanted to do something special for you.”

“su…r….”

…

…

…

“Naoya…?” You ask.

…

…

Silence.

“Naoya?” you ask once more, noting that silence between the two only grew. “Naoya”

Too focused on the day you were planning, you failed to acknowledge the way his eyes slowly began to blink, his breath deepening, and his words becoming slurry… until he was finally, asleep.

But perhaps what moved you the most was how your adorable twins were quick to mimic him, resting their faces against his chest as they began to lightly snore.

It was always a feat to get the twins to fall asleep, sometimes an impossible challenge, but when it came to Naoya, it was nothing but a piece of cake—he just had hold them against his chest before they began to relax, slowly drifting away before inevitably succumbing to slumber.

In your defense, there was something comforting about his arms that even you fell victim to them. You’re not even sure if he’s aware of that, or perhaps he is and abuses that hidden power? Either way, you were glad that just as you were able to find peace in his hold, your daughters too. And of course, they would, he’s their father who loves them very, very much.

A smile parts your lips as you glance at the lovely image one last time before deciding to take your phone out and capture the moment with a photo, one that you’d send to Naoya later so both could gush at it.

After taking the picture and putting the phone away, you get this sensation of how comfortable it must be to join them for a nap, but then, the thought of tending to your husband’s return briefly halts you, pushing you into a discussion.

Should you relish this moment as a family, or move on with your duties…?

There was no struggle to endure—it had been so long since the four had been like this, you knew you had to make the most of it.

Thus, you crawl towards your husband’s side, where Naoko was resting, silently to not wake them up, and giving each a soft kiss on the top of their head before laying down, resting your head by his shoulder, and draping your arm over him.

Once comfortable, you glance up to him, the relaxed sight of him warming your heart as you lean to kiss his jaw one last time, before accommodating yourself once again.

Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes.

“Welcome home” you murmur sweetly, and a few moments later, you fall asleep.

Sir—I... I need to write more. Thankfully, I have another one in the works :)

[separatist-apologist]

Long Live

Summary: All archeologist Elain Archeron wants is answers about the past.

Fate is determined to give them to her

MASSIVE thank you @abbadinfluence for having the idea AND allowing me to write - I've had the time of my life, this has been so fun.

And @octobers-veryown for being my personal Rome/Italy consultant- thank you for your knowledge, your time, and most importantly, catching when I used a particularly offensive and/or wrong swear word

For @elucienweekofficial | Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Life moved slower. Elain woke each morning to open windows and her husband gone, already up for the day. She’d become lady of the house which was a whole job in and of itself. Was it wrong to weaponize her knowledge from the future to smooth things over between people? Maybe, but she did it anyway. 

Partly because navigating this new world made Elain nervous. She knew everything in theory, but not in practice—and not in-depth. She made mistakes even children didn’t, which caused gossip about the barbarian the emperor had married. 

She knew men had gone to Lucien to complain, though the results of said conversations were never shared with her. She’d asked once, laying on her stomach as she traced designs over his bare chest.

Lucien had merely flipped her to her back and with a kiss, urged her not to think about it. But she did, nervous that it was going to be his downfall. What had she already changed? Elain spun herself in circles wondering if everything they knew about the Empress was simply her, right now, doing exactly what she’d done. Had she been studying herself?

Elain tried not to think too hard about it lest she drive herself insane.

She threw herself into politics much the way Arina did, the pair like university students all over again as they read works long lost to their present day time. So much of it was fascinating but a lot more was painfully dry. Even Arina couldn’t get through half of it, groaning as she stared upward, bored to tears.

“Just ask Lucien for a sword and we’ll start killing people,” she said with a roll of green eyes. “I don’t think he’d mind.”

“We shouldn’t murder the people who annoy us,” Elain hissed at her friend. Marrying Eris had been a mistake—Arina was becoming far too Romanized far too quickly.

Arina shrugged. “When in Rome, do as the Romans do and kill your rivals.”

“Did Eris give you a knife?” Elain questioned.

Arina grinned. “I’m starting a collection.”

Of course she was. 

For all the stress, though, Elain found she was happy. No longer did she have to wonder what things looked like—the vibrancy of the ancient world astounded her. She could see statues as they were, brightly painted in hues of red and yellow and blue. She could read the literature, could sit in grand atriums while philosophers debated passionately on topics they still discussed two thousand years in the future.

Sometimes she wished she could tell them they were immortalized in these discussions and their writings. That academics still taught their works and students still engaged in the same passionate debates. So many things from Rome still existed in the future, from their sewage systems to the roads they’d built, all the way to the language they used and the influence it would have on European languages. Their myths, their gods—all of it still existed as some faint echo of a past humanity would never return to.

And she wasn’t just witnessing it—Elain was part of it. Her mind couldn’t comprehend all of it. The whys, the hows—if it was magic or some other explanation they were too primitive to understand even two thousand years in the future—it didn’t truly matter in the end. Sometimes she thought she’d wake and find she’d merely dreamt it all up.

And other times she was certain she’d been born here for how natural it all felt to her. At times, Elain forgot everything else but the present—at least until something jolted her out of her bliss. She’d see something that reminded her of Graysen or her sisters or her home and spend the rest of the day wondering if they still thought of her. What they made of her disappearance.

She knew her sisters would be in pain over losing her. Gray would move on, eventually, and Elain genuinely hoped he did so with minor emotional wounds. 

Her sisters would never forgive her if they learned she could have returned and chose not to. Elain was grateful they’d never know. Maybe that made her a coward—she simply couldn’t bring herself to care, especially as time went on. They’d continue their lives without her and maybe they’d all see each other again some day.

But not in this lifetime.

What had once seemed like a terrible decision seemed like the best idea Elain had ever had. Maybe that was all the lead water she was drinking, though. She was happy, and that was all that mattered. She watched other women marry, participating in the ceremonies as the Emperor’s Consort. She was part of festivals and just generally seen in the city with a guard of heavily armed soldiers Lucien made swear to protect her, even at the expense of their own lives.

And she had Arina.

That was enough. 

Her favorite part of every day was when Lucien finished with the things he did to tell her everything, eyes bright as he stripped down to nothing. If he found it strange telling a woman about the political machinations of his empire, Lucien never said. He, instead, treated her like one of his advisors. He asked her advice on how to handle delicate situations both with his patricians and Senators and when trying to adhere to Roman diplomacy.  

And then, once he’d said everything he needed to say, Lucien all but got on his knees and kept her up half the night. He acted like he’d only just discovered sex. Sometimes she felt the same way. 

“Tomorrow I will be unforgivably late,” Lucien told her, hand on his stomach as he tried to catch his breath. 

Elain rolled to her side. “Why?”

Lucien shifted, eyes on the dark ceiling overhead. “I’ll tell you when it’s over.”

She’d heard him say that only once before, and in the aftermath it had been an assassination he claimed to know nothing about. Elain very much doubted that was true, though his hands were clean. Eris likely arranged the entire thing, which seemed to be how things were done between them. Elain often wondered if Lucien truly trusted his older brother, or merely kept him close to prevent a coup. 

She doubted being married to Arina would stifle his political ambitions. 

That was a personal question for Lucien to grapple with. She knew he loved Eris, and figured Eris must love his brother to some degree if he was willing to stand by him even when everything he’d worked so hard for had been ripped out from underneath him. Beron had intended to drag his own son down with him, and never planned for his wife’s illegitimate child to take his own full-blooded son's place.

History said Eris remained loyal until he died, but Elain didn’t know how much of history she and Arina had already rewritten. They’d never know without returning to the future to read the books. She assumed something must have been altered since all records of Helena were gone save for Lucien’s own writings. She was here, though she didn’t dare leave a record other than her mere existence which was immortalized on coins and paintings and whatever doodles Lucien left in the margins of his documents. 

She seemed to recall a half naked one with exaggerated breasts that had been so amusing at university and was now a little mortifying to think about. 

“Should I go to sleep without you?” Elain asked, pulling herself from her endless musings. 

“You can try,” he replied with that handsome, slick smile of his. “I’ll wake you up.”

“You’re a devil,” she said, forgetting he didn’t know that word—Elain quickly attempted to explain, foregoing the religious connotations to avoid getting bogged down with the future of Christianity. While Elain liked listening to Lucien talk politics, he loved hearing about the future. He was interested in the culture of her home, the art, the literature. She’d spent a full week explaining the Real Housewives to him in great detail while he’d listened, rapt and glassy eyed in his enjoyment.

Elain intended to explain Star Wars to him later simply to sketch out a lightsaber and see what he thought about it. She thought Lucien would enjoy that. 

Just enough time had passed that Elain had grown complacent. She’d forgotten everything that happened during Lucien’s reign. She forgot the early years.

She forgot the coup. 

The day passed like any other. She and Arina dressed and ate, talked with the other women living with them currently, and spent the later afternoon in the city buying materials for dresses and some rather pretty flowers likely handpicked by the small child Elain gave the coins to.

They returned home and bathed after eating and Elain intended to turn in for the evening mostly out of boredom. Lucien wasn’t coming back until late, there was limited lighting which made reading difficult, and the heat of the day had taken its toll.

“Where is everyone?” Arina asked, looking around the strangely empty halls.

“Wherever Lucien is, I’m guessing,” Elain replied glumly. Arina wasn’t having it through, brows knit together as she truly looked.

“Everyone? Even the children are gone—”

“To bed—”

“Oh please, there are no bedtimes here. I heard one of those monsters screaming at three in the morning last night.”

Elain, too, paused to listen. “Is anyone here?”

“What day is today?” Arina whispered, gripping Elain’s forearm before Elain could go any further. Heart racing, she only shrugged. 

“I don’t remember,” she admitted. The calendar was different, the days rearranged according to the Julian Calendar. 

“With me,” Arina whispered, turning while clasping Elain’s hand. If anyone watched them, it looked like two women merely wanting to be close. Not panicked, not scared—not yet. They walked as they normally did, eyes straight ahead as though nothing were amiss as they both counted back the days in their head.

When had it happened? The attempted coup that ravaged the city in flame—the assassination attempts, the upheaval? In her joy, Elain had forgotten how rocky the early years of Lucien’s transition were.

She’d forgotten his new wife went missing.

Arina closed them into the bed chamber she shared with Eris, locking it for good measure. “It won’t stop them—but we’ll hear the lock turn.”

“And then what?” Elain demanded as Arina made her way across the room for the collection of knives she’d bragged about. “We should leave.”

“They’ll be waiting to ambush us,” Arina replied coolly. “We have the element of surprise.”

“We’re also just the two of us against a bunch of men with swords,” Elain hissed, watching as Arina shoved a chair against a door. “There is no where to go.”

“Wrong,” Arina said with a relish, pushing against the wall. A little cubby opened, big enough for the two to slip through unnoticed. “You didn’t notice servants coming in and out?”

Elain wasn’t about to admit she was too busy admiring Lucien to notice what anyone else was doing, especially when they were alone in their room. Having given Elain a dagger, the pair slid into the wall just as the knob of their door rattled. They both froze, half hidden in the dark. Elain’s heart raced with fear.

“Where can we go?”

“The countryside,” Arina whispered before pulling Elain in. They still had time, though not enough. Not to mention, the last time they’d tried to flee they’d been caught by highway robbers and Arina had nearly died. Staying in the city was suicide, leaving a death sentence. 

Arina’s grip on Elain’s hand tightened painfully. They only thing they truly had going for them was near prophetic knowledge of the future and, hopefully, a memorized map of the city’s layout.

They burst into the kitchen, a place Elain had never seen and was desperate to snoop around in.

“Not now,” Arina replied, tugging her toward an open door leading to the courtyard. 

It would have been a clean getaway had that guard not been standing there. He was clearly just as surprised to see them as they were to see him. The pin on his armor didn’t belong to Lucien—it was another man's crest, another man's loyalty paid out in copper and gold.

“You ah…” he hesitated, clearly unsure what he should do. “You should go inside.”

“We’re just strolling through the garden,” Elain tried, offering up her most charming smile. “Surely you wouldn’t begrudge us an evening stroll?” His hand went to the hilt of his sword and Elain knew he had no qualms about killing them here. Arina took a step back, eyes wide with fear. 

“Stand down,” Elain whispered, hiding Arina’s dagger in the folds of her skirts. She wasn’t going to die this day—not after everything else.

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry,” that dark haired soldier said. 

It was Arina who struck, slamming her blade so viciously into his throat that blood sprayed everywhere. Elain had never seen rage like that, manifesting in each brutal stab. Channeling her inner Brutus, Arina hacked even when the soldiers knees buckled, brown eyes bulging in death. 

“It’s over,” Elain told her, swallowing bile before she vomited everywhere. Oh, the movies made killing seem so easy. So elegant.

It was horrible. 

“It’s over,” Elain told Arina, pulling at her arm. Arina swung, sharp blade slashing through the air. Her beautiful face was coated in blood, staining the blonde hair now hanging over her shoulders. “He’s dead.”

Arina looked down, expression hardening. “Let's go,” she said, reaching for Elain with trembling fingers. She’d lie and say that killing that man meant nothing, but Elain knew the truth of things. She knew the hardened act Arina put on was just that—an act. Underneath it, she was just as soft as Elain was, and just as scared. 

“Do you think this is why there’s no record—”

“Smetti di parlare,” Arina hissed, holding a hand up to silence Elain entirely. “This is not where you die.”

But Elain wasn’t so sure as several more soldiers poured into the courtyard, unable to see them in the dark and yet clearly looking for them. Arina grabbed Elain, hiding the pair behind the large concrete base of the god Jupiter. Elain counted four of them, which wasn’t horrible, but they were well trained and armed, and they were unlikely to get away with another brutal stabbing before they were killed, too.

“This way,” Elain whispered. She knew the garden like the back of her hand—knew every shortcut, ever tall hedge, and where even the bees were kept should it come to that. They were somehow silent, dodging a chicken that hadn’t been put in the pens that evening. The servants seemed to have vanished, too—had they been told to go. Or did they simply know what was coming? 

Trying not to feel betrayed—and failing miserably—Elain continued on, wishing Lucien would come charging in. She strained her ears for any sound of his thundering voice as he heroically cut down anyone in his way to get her. There was nothing but the shuffling of feet and whispering of soldiers looking for them. Elain could see no way out.

“Look,”Arina whispered, turning Elains head toward vivid orange in the distance.

Rome was burning. 

It was a distraction, terrible as it was. A nightmare for her husband, wherever he was—did he know what was happening at home? Would he come back to empty bedrooms and blood soaked floors? Dead guards and her and Arina missing? She’d never wished for a phone more than she did right then, so she could shoot him a quick text telling him her plan. To tell him she was safe—and to hear he was, too.

There was only a stretch of silence before the screaming began. People flooded out of their burning homes both to escape a truly terrible death and in an attempt to keep the flames from spreading. Arina and Elain both stopped for a moment, half hidden by a copse of olive trees. 

“He’ll crucify Hybern for this,” Arina whispered. 

“If he isn’t slaughtered,” Elain replied, her voice cracking at the thought. Arina tugged, and the two took off again. They could consider the horror of the evening another night. For now, all that mattered was survival.

They weren’t lucky. When a soldier stumbled upon them just as they were headed toward the stone walls, it was Elain who struck first. He hadn’t seen them—was simply patrolling, sword still sheathed. Was it honorable to kill him? That was a question for the philosophers, though Elain did throw up when she pulled her knife out of that man’s throat. 

Arina only grimaced. 

“Do you think it gets better?” her friend asked. “How does Eris do it?”

“He’s a menace,” Elain managed, stepping over the still twitching body. “That was…”

No one ever mentioned the way you could feel the slice of tendon and muscle, the snapping of cartilage and the wet sound a human made when they tried to gasp for air that wouldn’t come.

Elain was sick again right there in the grass. 

“In another life, Eris would have been a techbro,” Arina said, trying to take Elain’s mind off of what she’d just done. “And I would have fist fought him in a parking lot.”

That made Elain laugh. “I think Lucien would have been a politician,” she admitted, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. “I’m not sure I would have voted for him.”

“You’d be such a Jackie though,” Arina told her. “Vogue would have loved you.” It was almost funny. Blood in their hair, hands shaking as they continued their journey through the garden in an attempt to escape Rome with their lives while they made jokes about being in Vogue. 

They were so close to vanishing into the city. Mere steps away when they saw him, coming up the hill on a gray horse. Not Lucien or Eris, or anyone they recognized—but Hybern. He looked rough. Illuminated by orange glow, Elain could see an ugly, purpling bruise on his face. Selfishly, she hoped Lucien had given it to her.

“Arina,” Elain whispered, pulling them both behind the wall.

“No,” Arina hissed, back flat against the stone. “It’s suicide.”

“They think we’re dead,” she reminded Arina. 

“He will kill us,” Arina countered, grabbing Elain’s wrist. “We need to run.”

“There’s nowhere left to go. Rome is burning.”

Arina looked over the wall again before ducking back down, unnoticed as Hybern continued through, flanked by two men wearing wickedly sharp blades. “What do you want to do?”

Elain sighed. “Follow me.”

LUCIEN:

Striding up the steps, Lucien had a sense of deja vu. I’ve been here before, he thought to himself, which—of course he had. Hundreds of times in life, even. But right then, he felt the hand of the gods stopping him. 

Warning him.

“What is it?” Jurian asked, hand already on the sword at his hip. Lucien’s eyes cut to Eris, impassive as always. His brother looked from Lucien to the forum up ahead.

“It’s quiet,” Eris finally said. 

Was that what stopped him? No, he thought, feeling phantom fingers squeeze his shoulder. Minerva was warning him, her presence looming large behind him. It wasn’t just the silence and the lack of bodies milling around—it was her voice whispering against the wind.

Don’t go.

“What do you know?” he demanded as he rounded on Eris. 

Eris raised his palms in defense, eyes narrowed. “If I wanted to see you dead, brother, it certainly wouldn’t be a group effort.”

Their eyes turned toward the Roman Forum again.

“Surround it,” Lucien murmured to Jurian. “No one part of the plot leaves alive.”

Jurian vanished as Lucien took that next step. Eris glanced again. “I have no part in this.”

“I almost wouldn’t blame you if you did,” Lucien replied with a heavy sigh. He understood why so many who’d come before him were so paranoid. He could trust no one, maybe not even his brother. 

Eris turned to Lucien, face blazing. “I won’t pretend I’m not angry. It was supposed to be me, not you,” he hissed, face red with rage. “But it was father, not you, who thwarted my ambition. And I sleep peacefully at night knowing whatever pit in Tartarus he inhabits is made more miserable by the knowledge the bastard son of his wife rules in his stead.”

Lucien took a breath, allowing Eris to add, “I’m with you until the end, brother.”

Lucien wouldn’t pretend he wasn’t afraid as they continued their assent. Even with Juran placing his soldiers strategically, there were simply too many unknowns. He could die here. 

“If I die—”

“You won’t—”

“If I die,” Lucien repeated softly, careful not to let his words carry, “take care of my wife. Swear you will let no harm come to her.”

“I swear,” Eris replied, eyes glittering. “But only because there is no need to uphold it. You will be in her bed this evening while she tends to your minor wounds and praises you for rooting out the conspirators.”

That was a charitable picture of what Elain was likely to do. Lucien knew she was more likely to chew off his ear as she’d done after the games in the Coliseum. Still, that was better than never seeing her again. If he’d known that morning, when he woke up, that he might never see her face again, Lucien would have remained in bed a little longer.

He would have told her he loved her.

Taking a breath, Lucien forced himself into the same place that, nearly two months earlier had been soaked in Beron’s blood. There was a spartan group of senators, led by Hybern. Lucien should have guessed, he supposed—the man wanted war, wanted to push the borders of Rome into territory they couldn’t take. Hybern would fight Neptune himself if he thought it would win him favor and gold. 

He was no better or saner than Nero in that regard. Lucien should have killed him when he first became Emperor. 

“Oh, Hybernius,” Lucien said, adopting the air of a disappointed parent. “Is this what it's come to?”

“You’re weak,” Hybern replied, dark eyes nearly black. “And a bastard from Syria who has no business sitting on the throne.”

Lucien raised his brows. “Challenge me, then.”

Hybern gestured around at the Senators he’d managed to win over, their blades likely hidden beneath their togas. 

“Challenge me like a man,” Luicen replied just as Jurian stepped into the open room, sword in hand. He handed it to Lucien with a grim smile, glancing toward the pair of open double doors. 

“You have a rat in your number,” Jurian lied. 

True fear slithered other Hybern’s features. He’d been so confident of his course of action, so sure things would work out in his favor. Now he’d die on the same marble floor so many others before him had, his reputation tattered. Lucien would get to write history—he’d ensure everyone remembered Hybern as little more than a pathetic traitor intent on undoing the legacy of Rome for his own selfish gains. 

“I’m not going to kill you,” Lucien said, eyes sweeping the room. “I’ll let the birds do that. Your bodies will serve as a reminder to the populace of what happens to traitors of the empire.”

He was going to crucify them. He’d have them beaten and then made into a spectacle, forced to endure the humiliation of the city stares before hung up on the cross. It was, he’d been told, an agonizing death. 

It was what Hybern deserved. 

“Where is your wife, Augustus” Hybern whispered in response. Lucien froze. He wouldn’t dare. Eyes sliding to the windows at the far end of the room, Lucien found he couldn’t see his palace against the blinding brightness of the rapidly setting sun. Beside him, Eris had become taut with rage. 

Lucien’s plans shifted. He’d kill Hybern right here, right now, simply to satisfy his need. The threat against Elain was too far—she was innocent in all this. Lucien advanced, sword unsheathed as Jurian motioned for the Praetorian Guard to swarm in. It was meant to be a bloodbath—and in some ways it was. In the chaos, Lucien lost Hybern. The smell of blood and the flurry of bodies, the unsheathing of weapons—it gave the traitor a chance to slip away.

Lucien and Eris were just behind, Jurian at Lucien’s side.

“Get them to the palace,” Lucien ordered, knowing he ought to go instead. “Get Elain out.” Jurian hesitated—he wasn’t supposed to leave Lucien. 

“Please,” Lucien added, letting some of his fear slip from his otherwise cold countenance. Besides, he knew exactly who he needed for this endeavor. Jurian nodded, branching off as Eris and Lucien stepped into the city.

“You can’t trust him,” Eris hissed. He’d always been able to read Lucien’s mind.

“I apparently can trust no one but you and Jurian,” Lucien replied. “I’ll take men who fight for money over men who fight only for themselves.”

It was night by the time they reached the rather nice home Rhysand had made for himself. Lucien didn’t bother knocking—why should he? Everything Rhysand had was by his grace and mercy, and he could take it all back if he wished. Did the great Thracian General resent it? He had to, Lucien reasoned.

Rhysand looked up from a chair, dressed in a simple chiton and sandals. “Please, come in,” he said dryly.

“I need your sword,” Lucien told him without preamble.

“Why would I accept?” Rhysand countered, clearly bored with the whole spectacle. “I’d like to go to bed.”

“Would you like to kill some Roman’s before you fall asleep?” Lucien shot back, ignoring how the words felt treasonous. 

“We’ll pay,” Eris added in a bored tone. 

“It better be a lot of gold,” Rhysand grumbled as Eris tossed Hyberns emblem into Rhysand’s outstretched fingers.

“Only men wearing that,” Lucien said. “Kill them however pleases you best. Leave their bodies in the street.”

“Stop or I’ll think you’re propositioning me,” Rhysand said, throwing a wink at the pair. “Try not to die.”

Lucien only nodded as Eris sneered, clearly displeased with the whole thing. They turned to leave him, aware he needed to dress, just in time to see fire erupt in the distance. 

“He wouldn’t,” Eris whispered, his expression sliding into fear. Lucien’s heart raced at the sight, mind terribly empty.

Rome was burning. 

By the time Lucien made his way back to the palace, it was well into the evening. He and Eris had raced down to the sight of the flames, organizing the vigiles from their homes and beds to help citizens douse the flames. He trusted they’d get it under control, diverting the flow from the aqueducts so the water was more abundant where it was necessary.

But it took time—time that caused whole neighborhoods to burn to ash. The rebuilding would be costly and time consuming, especially in the middle of summer. If Hybern wanted to fund a war, burning his own city seemed antithetical to the cause.

To Lucien, it felt as though Hybern had decided to take as much with him to the grave as possible. Lucien wanted to kill him. 

Lucien would kill him.

Drenched in sweat, heart pounding in fear, he made his way into his palace to find the entryway soaked in blood. Eris paused, too, sword held in one hand. They said nothing as they stepped over the bodies of traitors, men who’d sided with Hybern and had come to slaughter innocent women sleeping in their beds.

Had they succeeded?

Neither Lucien nor Eris spoke a word as they made their way over more bodies. Blood seemed to stain the marble walls, seeping into the cracks as it dried. How much of it was Elain’s, he wondered with dread in his heart.

His bedchamber door was wide open, the furniture strewn about. Someone had come looking—and hadn’t found what they were looking for. There was no sign of a struggle, that Elain had been woken by violence and dragged out. Still, Lucien wouldn’t be satisfied until he saw her, dead or alive.

“She’s probably with Arina,” Eris whispered, his voice hoarse. They turned for Eris’s bedchamber, which was far worse than Lucien’s. They’d clearly been in the room at some point and the scene of destruction was violent. Furniture was splintered and ruined, clothes pulled from drawers, windows cracked. A panel in the wall was left open—is that how they’d gotten out? Had they heard the commotion and made a run for it? 

Lucien didn’t need to ask his brother to follow behind him. All he heard was his half panicked breathing as his mind began conjuring the most horrific images imaginable. He saw Elain’s body, broken and bleeding, eyes lifeless and her spirit gone. He could see no scenario in which Elain somehow managed to invade a swarm of well-armed soldiers with her life.

They emerged in the kitchen to a grizzly sight. 

Eris exhaled when he saw that dead body. “Arina,” he murmured as though he were some kind of prophet. How he knew, Lucien didn’t ask. He merely followed into the dark where they found yet another body butchered with the unmistakable politeness that belonged to Elain. He could practically see the apology written into the skin beside the smell of vomit wafting upward from the grass.

“Where are they?” Lucien asked, turning to look toward the glow of the palace. “You don’t think they went into the city?”

Eris crossed his arms over his chest. “How much of the future do you think they know?”

“Too much,” Lucien groaned. They sprinted for the palace, though in truth Elain and Arina could have been anywhere. Was Hybern stupid enough to return here, when fleeing the city, living in exile, and amassing an army to better challenge Lucien would have been the smarter course of action? 

In the end, Lucien and Eris found Arina standing before Hybern and six soldiers, kneeling before him with her eyes cast down. He was delivering some sermon, orating before a woman forced to listen. Lucien wouldn’t have wished it on his worst enemy. 

“Step away,” Eris ordered, ending the long-winded explanation.

“You’re outnumbered,” Hybern said. Who had given him the black eye, Lucien wondered? Was it Arina? Gods above, he hoped so. The humiliation at being bested by a woman would follow him straight to Tartarus. There would be no heroes welcome for Hybern in Elysium. “Its over only for you.”

Lucien’s tongue was stuck to his throat. If Arina was here waiting to die, where was Elain? There was only one explanation—she was already dead, body yet undiscovered. It filled him with an icy hatred he couldn’t quite swallow. 

They couldn’t take all seven without letting Arina die. Eris must have calculated the odds in his heads, too, and come to the same conclusion. Was her death acceptable collateral damage? Could Lucien look his brother in the eyes, could he ask for his support knowing he let his new wife die so they could retain control of the empire?

What would he do if it was Elain?

Lucien felt impulsive and reckless. Maybe he didn’t care. Why should Eris get his wife when Lucien’s was almost certainly dead. The unfairness of the fates to bring her to him, only to cruelly snatch her away.

He took a step forward as Hybern raised his blade for Arina. She looked up, eyes blazing not with defiance, but amusement. 

“No—” Eris halted as a shadow moved just behind Hybern, slipping from behind a curtain. A moment later the sharpened tip of a dagger protruded wholly through Hyberns throat, causing his eyes to bulge with fear. He tried to turn, but Arina was on her feet in a flash, taking advantage of everyone's surprise to add her own dagger to the mix. 

“I warned you,” Arina said. “I told you that you died tonight.”

Elain’s face was pale and splattered with old and new blood. She wasn’t built for war—Lucien’s sword was unsheathed, his mission reaffirmed. Hyberns soldiers never got within an inch of her beautiful face. They met Lucien’s sword swiftly, turning their attention to him and his brother while Elain and Arina continued taunting a dying Hybern as though they were Seers blessed by the gods.

It must have been terrifying final words, though, and for that Lucien was grateful for the pair of them. He’d laugh about it later. Right then, all Lucien cared about was Elain, staring at him with the widest pair of brown eyes.

She laughed when she saw him. Laughed even as tears began to gather in her eyes and laughed some more when her knees gave out and he had to hold her against him. It was nothing like Arina, who began yelling loudly at Eris in that strange language, hands flying while his brother merely nodded his eyes as if he understood a word of it.

Maybe he did. After all, Eris did say, “Watch your tone,” in a soft growl.

“Elain, I…” Lucien felt immense shame as he looked upon her. He’d sworn to keep her safe and failed at the first opportunity to prove he was a man of his word. 

Elain merely threw her arms around his neck, face buried against his blood stained toga. “You’re alive. I was so afraid…so afraid…”

Lucien murmured nothing that was reassuring before Jurian returned with a good half of the Praetorian Guard. The night wasn’t over—but his wife was alive. Ordering soldiers to stand outside her door, the three returned to the city to help with the flames and sweep up the last few remaining dissenters. 

They all met Rhysand’s blade while the Thracian General smiled widely, face upturned toward the inky night sky. He’d never seen the man happier which disturbed him. That was a problem for another day, another time. 

Right then—all Lucien needed was Elain.

He didn’t bother washing himself, still coated in blood when he found her standing in their bed chamber.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, making his way toward her. Lucien meant to cup her face in his hands, but his knees gave way, causing him to once again kneel before this woman. Lucien bowed his head, hair sliding over his neck and if she’d wanted, she could have taken his head from him. Maybe he deserved it.

Elain’s dress rustled as she joined him on the ground, doing what he should have done—taking his face between her hands so he had to look at her.

“It was worth it to be here with you,” she whispered, eyes searching his own. “I have no regrets. Do you?”

“None,” he swore. “You are my empire, Elain. The only fealty I ever swore loyalty to.”

“Then rise, Lucien,” she murmured. Lucien did, taking her hand in his so they came up together. He reached for her then, kissing her fiercely. Elain had defied the very nature of time itself to be here with him, to live in this place. For him. She hadn’t stayed out of duty or some great love of the past, though he suspected it didn’t hurt that she was interested in his home and this place.

“Never again,” he swore, holding his wife close. Mouth pressed to her hair, Lucien repeated his vow. “Never again. 

Two thousand years in the future, historians would examine the events of that July night. Papers would be written, accounts examined, sites dug up. Artists drew their renditions of the Emperor running into the street to put out the fire, of the Thracian Gladiator who fought side-by-side with Romans to quell a would-be coup.

And of the Empress who’d slaughtered the initiator of the plot. Elain understood, now, why there were limited records of Helena—because she was from the future, and couldn’t reveal how much she knew without destroying, perhaps, the very fabric of time.

Lucien wrote very little of her as well, though they did exchange letters that she knew would be mostly lost to time. Her face would be forever etched on coins, her memory preserved in academic works. In that way, she never really left her friends and family, though she doubted they’d ever see it that way.

But for Elain, it was enough. 

[thekingofwinterblog]

The Problem With Yasopp

So like many people I was genuinely surprised by Netflix One Piece, adaption, which turned out the exact opposite of pretty much every single travesty that america has made when adapting Manga and Anime.

It certainly was not without flaws, for one thing it needed to be at least 3-5 episodes longer in order to fix it's pacing issues if it wanted to get all of East Blue into one season, and the fight scenes while very well choreographed, didn't exactly sell me on the superhuman strength of most of these characters.

However, there was one thing that genuinely pissed me off, in large part because the american adapters changed something they didn't like, in order to fit "western sensibilites" and in doing so, completely missing the point, and frankly tragedy of the original context.

That of course, is the character of Usopp's relationship with his parents Yasopp and Banchina, and the rather sad tale of plans going completely arry due to twists of fate.

In the west, the character of Yasopp has been a rather contentious one, for several reasons, but also one that has been a bit altered by the changes from Japanese to English.

Yasopp is critiqued heavily by people who don't like him for abandoning his kid, and his wife to seek adventure on the high seas. Now this is not untrue, but there is a bit of context here that's a bit lost in translation.

And you can really tell that, because the way Netflix portrays Yasopp leaving is the surface level one you might get if you just read Syrup Village arc, and you don't pay any attention at all to the timeline given.

In the neflix series, it's explicitly said that Yasopp left Usopp and his mother while Usopp was still a baby. That is such a common reading, that it's actually what the One Piece Wiki claims happened(Another example of why you should always be critical of Wiki's).

The actual Manga tells a different story.

Yasopp left Syrup village right before Banchina unexpedetly got sick with the disease that ultimatly killed her.

When Usopp is so touchy against Kuro about him badmouting his father, it's not in the context of him idolizing some father he never met, because Usopp and Yasopp knew and loved each other dearly. Usopp's wish to see his dad again isn't some wish to meet the father he only knows through stories, but to reconnect with the dad he loved so much growing up and was sad when he left.

And then of course there is the glory of mistraslation. If you've read this part of the manga, you might rightly be wondering, what sort of woman would be proud of the man who abandoned her to take care of their kid while he sought adventure.

The answer, which the english translation does not give, is a woman who was the one to convince him to go out on that journey in the first place.

Because that is what happened in the orignal manga. It was Banchina, for reasons we don't fully understand or have the context for, eho convinced her husband to go out and seek his dreams.

That's the reason why she is so certain Yasopp will NOT be coming home, but why she is also not bitter about it. She was the one who encouraged Yasopp to go out to sea, while she stayed home and took care of their kid, until he grew old enough to care for himself, and seek the seas himself if he wished.

The story of Yasopp, Usopp and his wife is a genuine tragedy, but not because Yasopp abandoned Usopp before he ever got to know him, but because Usopp's parents made plans for the future, that while not perfect by any stretch, seemed workable enough... only for the entire thing to come crumbling down after Yasopp left due to something as mundane as a random disease.

One can certainly make an argument that this was NOT the best course of action for Yasopp and Banchina to take, but it's not the complete deadbeat dad who abandons his baby trope that the Netflix series portrays it as.

Further hammering in that this was a bit more complicated than that, Yasopp seems to have been one of the very first crew members Shanks tried to recruit, having sought him out not long after Roger died... And Yasopp seems to have flat out rejected him, as he stayed with Banchina for years and years afterwards.

It adds a lot of context to the idea that Banchina was the one who ultimately convinced Yasopp to go out and chase his dreams while she took care of the kid... Because it took years and years for it to ultimately conclude at this course of action. Yasopp would continue to reject Shanks offer to join him for years to instead to take care of his wife and kid, until about a year before Shanks met Luffy, when his wife told him to go.

It's a hell of a lot more nuanced and interesting than what Netflix did, that's for damn sure.

[thatonecrookedsmile]

"There's nothing wrong with dreaming. Wishing for the impossible is just human nature. That's how I got started. Just a pencil and a dream. We all want everything without even having to lift a finger. They say you just have to believe. Belief can make you succeed. Belief can make you rich. Belief can make you powerful. Why with enough belief, you can even cheat death itself. Now that... is a beautiful, and positively silly thought." -Joey Drew.

[OPEN YOUR EYES]

-Line-

-----

I mean, at the end of the day, he wasn't so wrong about that last part.

This one also took a little longer to finish. I wonder why /s.

I usually don't like drawings where I have to create a design for a character I've never drawn before. It ends up making me force myself to come up with ideas and sometimes I end up not liking the design anyway. At least this time? That didn't happen (thank goodness).

At first, I didn't know what to do for this prompt. What I originally conceived was a more "joke" drawing with Joey and Sammy, with Sammy literally drawing the line between him and Joey with a big pencil. No big deal, right? But then the phrase "end of the line" came to mind and then… this happened. Funny. A while back I had an idea for a drawing about Joey's afterlife. The idea was much simpler, from what I remember. And compared to what we have, quite different.

"Death" is what came for Joey, and it's what comes for everyone. What he faces is nothing less than what will determine his fate. It is the very Arbiter itself - the eye that sees all - who decides where souls whose lives are over will go. The heavenly gates in the great beyond? The burning flames in the darkest pit? The void of vast nothingness? Somewhere else beyond? Reveal your soul and the Arbiter will decide. I have a certain guess as to where Joey is going, but I'll leave that up in the air.

Maybe I thought just a little bit too much about a character that I probably won't draw in a long time,but i don't mind giving a little lore even to characters that i don't see using much in the future, you know.

(Also, since I used Joey's audio log from BATIM CH3 in the beginning, did you know that Dave Rivas (Joey's current VA) did his own reading of that audio? He's going to be a guest on the Indie Horror Talk Podcast, and the video they posted teasing Dave's appearance there has him reading this same audio log, only with his Joey voice. So now we have Joey's first audio log in the series voice acted by both his first VA (David Eddings) and his current one. I thought that was cool, you know. I found this out a while back and wanted to talk about it for a sec.)

(Alt. without the text):

[bonny-kookoo]

Yoongi

𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖓𝖑𝖎𝖙 [Like A Secret] Short

Where have you gone? Why did you go? And most importantly- why didn't you take him with you, when you promised to always stay together?

Tags/Warnings: Werewolf AU, Alpha!Yoongi, Omega!Reader, Spin-Off, Angst, hurt no comfort sorry

!!! This is set prior to the main story !!!

Length: 1.5k words

There is no taglist for this fic!

A/N: Kids wake up it's time to cry. Basically I've gotten a lot of asks what Yoongi's problem is in Moonlit- maybe this clears it up a bit.

-> Masterlist

🌘.━━━━━━━━━━.🌕.━━━━━━━━━━━.🌒

"It's cold." Yoongi says, watching your wolf curled up, sleeping, waiting, just like him. Sometimes, in these dreams, it snows. Other times, it raind- just like this time, water drenching the soft coat of the animal laying in the grass. You don't answer, and he doesn't even expect you to anymore. You never do. Or at least- you haven't done that in a long time.

That's how his fated dreams always go, after all. That's what they look like, when your chosen mate isn't there any longer.

He sighs as he walks closer, even though he knows you won't move. It's still better than nothing, your sleeping wolf is much more comfort than what others might get. And yet, it's also a curse- confusing him to no ends, because if your wolf is still there, you can't be dead. So where are you?

Where have you gone?

And why didn't you take him with you?

You promised him, after all. You promised to always stay together. And maybe, in a way, you're keeping that by at least letting him keep those dreams, even if they're empty.

He'll wait for you.

And even if he waits for the rest of his life-

he'll wait.

🌘.━━━━━━━━━━.🌕.━━━━━━━━━━━.🌒

The pale blue moonlight looked beautiful on your skin.

You're from the mountains, where snow is typical and sun is rare. Maybe because you'd outshine it- maybe the sun simply won't show itself because it knows it would not stand a chance against your smile.

He knows he will forever be haunted by it.

"Now you're stuck with me." you'd grinned at him. He'd smiled down at you.

"what a cruel fate." he'd joked, forced a laugh out of you at his typical attitude even despite the clear happiness shown. He'd never admit to anyone how hard he'd fallen for you- your simple presence enough to brighten his day, and offer him comfort like nothing else ever would.

He remembers the traditional festival held during full moon.

He was young, not even leader back then. He didn't know that only two years later, his father would leave the pack entirely alone to work in the cities, no alpha in the pack ready to take on the leading role- leaving it to him, with the support of you, to somehow work it out.

And work out it did- until you left.

Vanished.

He should've been more attentive. He should've listened to you more- but god, there was so much going on around him, so many things changing and happening and weighing him down, that he just couldn't concentrate on your worries as much as he really should have.

He feels horrible for it. He remembers you waking up so many nights, terrified, basically panicking, unable to quite describe the dreams you were forced to live through night after night.

Maybe he never asked either. Why did he never ask?

Omegas aren't that common. Betas make up the majority of werewolves.

There's so many legends and rumors about omegas that it's hard to keep track of what's true and what's not. Some things are clearly fictional- but with others, it's not quite as clear. He remembers how some say omegas can dream in a way that might predict certain future events- and at this point, he grabs after any straw he can.

Maybe you dreamed of something. Of your own demise, maybe?

The night before you left is still heavy in his mind. It weighs him down, has turned into his own nightmare these days, replaying again and again and again and he wishes he could change just a single thing about the event. But he can't.

You had woken up, yet again. But this time, he didn't stir. Didn't move. He knew you were crying-

but he left you alone.

And when he woke up, you weren't there anymore.

Leaving him alone instead.

🌘.━━━━━━━━━━.🌕.━━━━━━━━━━━.🌒

"You're so cool, you know that?" you'd said, giggling at him as he'd pulled a shirt over his head to cover himself, having just returned from a playful hunt with other members of the pack present at the new moon festivities.

It's the second one he's spending with you. This year he'll take you with him.

"And you're a creep, not even waiting for me to change." he'd growled back, however with no bite in his tone whatsoever. He knows you can take his tone. You're a lot tougher than you look.

"heh, nothing I haven't seen already." you'd shrugged, jumped down from your little rock before you'd kissed his cheek. "Will you give me something pretty tonight?" you'd asked him, and he'd rolled his eyes.

"I don't have to court you." he'd complained, grumpy as always. "we already fucked."

"Yoongi!" you'd gasped scandalized, had hit him playfully- though he'd laughed at your embarrassment.

You were so cute. Bubbly and almost innocent. He hates how that had faded with time.

Was it his fault?

He should've protected your smile.

"...I'll think of something." he'd admitted, and you had grinned brightly, hugged him to kiss his cheek-

But he'd been quicker, had kissed you deeply, uncaring of anyone seeing you both together.

Back then, he was wild. Untamed. Without worries- nothing but a young werewolf, playing around, enjoying his youth.

Not even five years later, he would be sanded down to nothing but an overly serious young adult, leading a pack he never wanted, living a life forced upon him, without any guidance and without anyone at his side. Barely past his mid-twenties, and yet without any youth to enjoy any longer.

What did he do to deserve this?

He can't think of anything, neither can he find anyone to hate for it.

And maybe that's the worst part of it all.

"Yoongi.. you'll never be able to untie that knot." you'd laughed later that night of the festival under the full moon, the music and people moving on in the background while he'd led you out the woods for privacy.

"good." he'd said, had traced his fingers over the bracelet around your wrist, a single sanded bead of wood and simple leather string. "I don't plan on it." he'd told you- his own wrist wearing the same bracelet.

A symbol of your partnership. Bound to one another, for now and forever.

He wears it to this day, seven years later.

it was meant to last forever, after all.

🌘.━━━━━━━━━━.🌕.━━━━━━━━━━━.🌒

His first decision as an alpha had been, to grant an unfamiliar runaway omega from the woods a home in his pack, despite what everyone else told him.

He saw you in her. He still does, sometimes.

Now she's leaving.

Just like you did.

History repeats itself over and over it seems like, everyone he somehow cares about leaving him alone for one reason or another. It doesn't sting as much this time- mainly because jungkook is a capable young alpha, able to do what he himself couldn't for his own mate back then. This one will listen, this one will stay, protect, and fight.

He didn't.

He would, now.

But he knows himself that there's nothing to forgive when in the end, he would probably do it again anyways.

You're like a phantom limb at this point- gone, but still hurting, mind not comprehending that it can't even hurt without your presence there, three years not enough to heal him. But it does, the remnants of you around him constantly pushing salt into his wounds, never to scar over and at least let him rest.

No.

Because he's dreaming of your wolf again- and again, she's simply sleeping. Waiting.

Just like he does.

This time he's silent as he sits close to her, let's the rain hit his own body as well. he doesn't mind it. You liked the smell of it- before it would rain, and after it did. He himself didn't understand it. Not until you'd explained that it reminded you of him.

'Something that seems like a bad thing- but actually isn't.' you'd said.

if only you knew.

And in this dream too, no one moves. No one returns. No one talks to him.

And maybe that's fine, too. Or is it?

Suddenly, the rain starts to fall stronger than before. The wind stills, but the night darkens- just as the head of your wolf rises, the omega watching something in the distance he can't see. He wants to ask, but he's scared to-

he's terrified.

Especially when your wolf stands up, stretches, forces him to get up too as he walks with her- but she doesn't wait for him.

"no-" he breathes out, realizing what she's doing. She's leaving him.

She's leaving him.

And as he watches the wolf walk through the trees, slowly getting swallowed by the forest surrounding the meadow he dreams of every night, he's left alone. This time, truly so.

You're gone.

And all he can do is fall to his knees, forced to accept that.

[ninapi]

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┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺╚══ Depths of Fate ╝

Premise: Sanemi goes out of his way to take care of a sick young woman who captivated his heart since their first time seeing each other. A love like this wasn't possible for a man like him, or so he thought, fate has many faces and he would end up seeing them all up close.

Word Count: 5708

Note: This was requested by the lovely @yourlocalangie, hope this meets your expectations! 👀❤️

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The demon corps had very strict rules.

Train hard, take care of your own body the same way as you do of your sword, prioritize always saving civilians at all costs.

In normal circumstances this is easy enough, for a pillar though, everything was twice as hard.

Training was more intense, the injuries received during battles worse, deeper, healing wasn’t always as quick, and they had to keep fighting regardless of how bad they were feeling. Missions were harder, longer, more dangerous.

Not everyone could be a pillar, that was certain.

Sanemi had been in an awfully long mission as of recent, new cuts gained for his collection, two in his right arm, one across his back side, one of them getting badly infected as he had rolled on dirt more than once fighting the horde of demons he was sent out to kill.

Overall, the situation wasn’t ideal, he hadn’t slept for days now, eating was a commodity not everyone had among their ranks on severe missions.

This one was particularly tough, a cluster of demons had been eating off children in a secluded village up a mountain, reports had been filed many times, but the corps were always eliminated by them before any could return to the headquarters, hence, a pillar was sent out to deal with the threat. Though, even when they suspected it was more than one demon, finding over ten of them feeding on a young child was unexpected, to say the least.

He managed to kill them all but one, the sneaky little bastard slithered away into some bushes, his shapeshifting nature turning him into a snake-like figure.

The night was long, he lost sight of his target and he knew very well what that meant, if he didn’t catch him by nightfall, someone else would lose their life.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Consumed by an unknown illness, you were taken by your parents to an asylum up ‘the sacred mountain’, the air was pure over there and the accommodations were designed to help those in need of constant medical attention.

As sad as that was, you were very well taken care off. The girls there were all nice to you and even if you were the only young woman among the patients in the facility, you didn’t feel out of place.

As for the illness itself, it was clear to everyone it had to do with your lungs as you would have heavy coughing fits, blood making its way out in the process more than once, though, nobody around knew how to fight it or make you feel better. The fresh air of the mountain did help with your breathing, and even if you were always too tired to get up from your bed, you had good days where you could go out and take in the beautiful scenery, even if it was just for a few minutes.

Today was one of those days, sunset time was approaching, and the breeze seemed delightful from your window.

Gathering all your strength, you managed to pad your way out to the gardens. It was indeed a beautiful day, even though you wished you could do more on a day like this, you were content enough with enjoying such a nice peaceful view.

The elderly had been already taken back inside to the safety of their rooms, so it was just you and nature, sometimes you just needed this, a quiet time to accept fate.

Fate wasn’t really kind to you as you’ve noticed over the years. Majority of your friends were now married, mothers even, yet you had to be locked up a mountain, away from people your age, away from your family and friends. Future looked more than grim for you and just being able to enjoy one more day was enough to be thankful for.

The sun had finally set, a blanket of dark shades of blue mixing up with purples as the twinkling of endless stars graced the horizon. You were about to head back into your room when a strong breeze took you by surprise, your shawl flying away in the distance. Running wasn’t an option for you, even walking took way too much energy out of you, but you had to get it back. Your mother had knit it just for you and honestly your own life could be at risk without it, the warmth emanating from it would always keep you warm at night, without it you probably wouldn’t be here by now.

So you made your way into the forest, wanting to retrieve your lost source of warmth. It was dark, scary. You’ve never wandered this far into the mountain; the foliage was so dense not even the moonlight dared to shine your way.

But there it was, hanging from a branch a bit too tall for your small weak body. Climbing the tree of course was out of the question, so you did your best to look for a fallen branch and try to retrieve it that way.

That was until something hard tackled you to the ground.

“Out of my fucking way, woman! Don’t you see you’re about to be eaten by that beast???” a very wild looking, yet handsome man, remained on top of you, heavy muscle pressing against your own chest, you could feel his ragged breath caressing the span of your face as he looked around in a frantic manner.

“A beast? I didn’t see any beast, sir.”

“Well, that’s because your fucking blind! It was about to bite your ankle, one of his bites and you’d be dead in a second.” panic took over your facial expression, death had always been a friend to you, always waiting to receive you in his cold arms, yet it’s never felt this close before.

Something moved to your side, behind some bushes, alerting the both of you. “Stay down.” you just nodded, hiding behind the tree that still held your favorite garment.

The man used some type of crazy wind technique to lure the pray out of his hidden spot by the bushes, the fight was intense, you couldn’t see clearly, and the sound of the man’s breath kept getting louder, he was tired, that much was clear.

Something grabbed you from behind, making you scream your lungs out. Sanemi was on you in a second, cutting his head off before it was too late. Even if you saw his head fly away, you could still feel the death grip of his claws on your arms, making it even harder for you to breath, another of your attacks coming right your way, blood sputtering out of your mouth alerting the pillar.

“Did he bite you somewhere? Let me see?” he was going around you lifting your garments up without consent, desperately looking for some remnants of a wound. “I don’t see anything, tell me, where does it hurt?” he was holding you now by your shoulders, shaking you as to stop your coughing fit. He was by no means a doctor and you looked awfully weak.

“For fuck sakes woman, stop coughing and talk to me!” he was losing his cool, something rather easy for him these days, yet still pretty aggravating. Since your coughing wouldn’t stop, he went back to check for wounds. There was nothing on your back, he needed to check your chest, see if maybe the demon had injected venom into you near your lungs. But you were still a woman and he, even if everyone thinks of him as a beast with no manners, was still a gentleman.

“I’m going to open this ok? I need to make sure you weren’t bitten.” his tone of voice was softer now, your lack of objection giving him authorization to proceed. He lowered your kimono just enough to check for any signs of blood, doing his best to keep you covered, though, his eyes couldn’t help themselves from wondering into your marvelous looking, round plush assets; his ears turning crimson by the minute.

But the only blood he found was coming from your mouth, could it be possible you were poisoned by the creature? It wouldn’t be surprising, this one was hard to kill, smarter than the majority he’d encountered in the past.

The coughing fit seemingly came to an end, one of your hands reaching for one of his shoulders, doing all you could to keep your body from collapsing. “Don’t worry, sir. This has nothing to do with the beast, I’m sick, you see. This happens every day. I just need to rest for a little while.” Understanding, Sanemi gathered you in his arms, letting your head rest against his muscly chest, ready to leave the forest and take you to a safer place.

“Excuse me, is it too much to ask of you to get the shawl hanging from that tree? I followed it all the way here, that’s what got me caught in this unfortunate situation.” he just nodded, extending one of his hands and grabbing it without exertion, making you gasp in surprise at how easy it was for him to retrieve it.

He draped it over you and carried you back to the asylum, the lights coming from it illuminating your path. Now that the darkness of the forest had been left behind, you could see how handsome the man that saved your life actually was. You noticed how strong he was earlier, but his face was softer than you imagined, his eyelashes the prettiest you’ve ever seen, taking your breath away.

“What?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re staring…”

“Oh, sorry, I just…your eyes are very pretty.” grumbling, messy blushing Sanemi set you down on the porch of what look like one of the rooms, it was the only one with the sliding door open, the only one without the lights on, he assumed it was yours, and he was correct.

“Thank you for saving my life. I didn’t even notice I was in danger, without your help I wouldn’t be-“ a choked sob mixed in with more coughing startled the young man, his hand reaching your back to rub it clumsily. He’s never been good with people, but he remembered one night Genya had caught a bad flu, their mother coming to rub the cough away from his back being one of the only memories he had of the time his brother was still a baby.

It did help, your fit being significantly shorter this time, no blood could be seen this time, thankfully. “Thank you, I’m ok now.” the implications of your statement made him realize his hand was still on your back, making him jump a feet away from you, embarrassed.

“Is it always like this? The coughing I mean?”

“Yeah, don’t worry, it’s not contagious.”

“I wasn’t worrying about that, idiot. What is it that you have? Seems tough.”

“Nobody seems to know what the problem with my lungs is.” he didn’t know what to say to that, for some reason sadness made its way up his chest, he didn’t know this woman, why was he so affected by her condition?

Helpless women were his weakness.

“Well get better alright. I gotta go back now.” you gave him the softest smile he’s seen in his entire life, the stars reflecting on your beautiful large eyes, the moon accentuating the beauty of your features even more. He hadn’t notice until that moment how pretty you actually were, how even if your lips were still all bloodied, your smile was beyond perfect. With a small wave of your shaky hand, you bid him goodbye before sending him his way.

A night to remember for more than one reason.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Sanemi has been back from his endless mission for two days now, he slept for seventeen hours straight after his briefing and was now ready to go back to his training sessions.

Random thoughts of a certain smiling beauty filling his entire day, landing him a blow to the head by his fellow pillar friend.

Iguro was speechless, this had been the third time in a row he managed to hit him, this never happens, Sanemi wasn’t one to let an occurrence like this repeat itself, definitely not in the same day, something was off…

“Can you stop being an idiot and tell me what’s gotten you all distracted? This is very unlike you, it’s not fun in the slightest, I might as well train with a noob recruit, it would give me a better fight.”

“Ugh…” plopping onto the dirt flooring of the snake residence, he sighed, his head hanging low. “I have a lot of things in my head, that’s all…”

“YOU, Shinazugawa Sanemi, the wind pillar, has a lot of things in his head? You gotta be kidding me… who are you???”

“This isn’t fucking funny, ok? I know this is not like me at all, but I don’t know how to deal with it…”

“How to deal with what?” his fellow pillar was now sitting on the ground beside him, his snake companion as curious as he was decided to slither its way to Sanemi’s leg in an intrigued questioning manner.

“The other night, on my previous mission, I met someone, and I guess I’m worried for her well being that’s all…”

“HER well being? I see…” grumbling louder this time, he buried his face on his hands, shielding himself from the questioning gaze of his friend.

“You don’t SEE shit, OK?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. So, you’re worried about her, why don’t you go and check on her? Don’t know what has you this worried but that should at least help you regain your concentration.” he was right, it was as easy as just going up that mountain again, it’s completely normal to check on someone you saved their life recently, right? Yup, totally normal.

Without replying, he just got up, determination shown on his face as he made his way out of the snake residence training grounds.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Saying you were surprised when a tuft of white peeked through your window was an understatement.

Seeing it from the outside was actually quite hilarious.

He’s been sneaking around the property for a good thirty minutes, going from tree to tree, hiding behind planters and luring in shadowy areas looking for the perfect moment to visit.

He could see you from far away, it seemed like you were receiving some sort of treatment, so he didn’t want to interrupt or agitate you even more.

Once the lady nurse in charge left your room and you picked up a book, he deemed it safe enough to make himself known.

“Yo, you busy?” his deep low voice startled you away from your romance novel, his eyes were darting anywhere but your face and the tip of his ears glowed in the sunshine.

“Oh, Hi! I was just reading to pass the time. Did you leave something behind that night, or-?” he just shook his head, suddenly very self-aware of what he’s done.

“I just, well you seemed like you were having a rough time, I was wondering if you were ok, that’s all…” his tough guy demeanor from the other night was nowhere to be seen, he looked nervous, his face flushing darker as time went by, an adorable sight really.

“You’re very considerate, thank you for checking on me. I’m doing just fine, same as always at least.” there it was, the smile that hunts his dreams, all for him to see once more, even when he thought he would never see it again.

“I saw that woman pinching your arm…what was that about?”

“Oh well just routine checkups, they need to make sure I’m not getting worse.” sitting up, you made some space for him to sit, taking him by surprise. He didn’t expect this would take this long, he just wanted to make sure you were fine and go back to his training, not an afternoon tea get-together; yet he followed your lead hoping over your window and sitting by your side.

 “Is it? Getting worse?” his voice was full of sorrow, somehow you could see ghosts of his past reflecting on his beautiful eyes, the eyes of someone who’s lost someone dear.

“Not that I know of.” his features lit up at your words, one of his hands reaching for one of his pockets. “I got some ohagi on my way here… I don’t know if you like it or if you can even eat sweets, but… we can share it if you’d like.” he was grumbling his words out, uncomfortable in his own skin, why was he acting this way? He wouldn’t share his sweets with anyone, not even with his siblings when he was younger.

“I love ohagi!” your excitement filled expression was just so pure, so full of innocence, it made him smile, a rare sight, but a wonderful one.

Sharing sweets and talking about everything and nothing at the same time, hours went by, the moonlight soon filtering through your window.

“Shinazugawa-san, it’s already so late. Are you sure this is fine? Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, killing beasts?” the look of confusion in his face when he saw how dark it was outside made you chuckle. He hadn’t even realized it was this late, you did only due to the need to reach for a candle to continue delighting on his handsome face, otherwise you wouldn’t have either.

“Oh crap, I was supposed to go back to training.” he got up, going out of the window in a matter of seconds. Before he could be out of reach you yelled after him with all your strength, “Will you…ever come again…?”

He just smiled at you before disappearing into the darkness.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When he arrived back at the wind residence, Iguro was waiting for him by the entrance, a cup of tea in one hand, his snake on the other, an annoyed expression displayed just for him to see. “Whatever happened to our training?”

“Ugh, I…was busy.”

Iguro just sighed, getting up to dust his hakama away, “So you don’t wanna tell me about it. Fine, is not like I care about your love life, just don’t leave me hanging like that ever again or I will chop one of your ears off and feed it to Kaburamaru.”

“L-lov- what..” the startled pillar was left on his own, complex thoughts filling his brain. He thought visiting you would put an end to his delirious state, but it did quite the opposite, especially now after hearing Iguro spat nonsense.

It’s not like he was allowed to have a love life, he was the wind pillar, the second strongest among the ranks. His mission was to end with the entire demon race, it wasn’t like he had time to mingle with a sickly girl, even if that girl was the cutest, most interesting one he’s ever met.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Sanemi avoided visiting you for well over a month, it was hard at first, but a few missions were assigned to his division, and he’d been busy over the past weeks, making it easier to ignore. In his last mission though, he got a particularly nasty blow to his head, forcing him to visit the butterfly state.

When he arrived, his pillar comrade was tending one of the lesser rank members of the corps, he had an awful coughing fit and that got his attention. “Take this tea twice a day, it will make breathing easier and eventually stop the cough completely.” the young boy took the little bag from her hand, running off as soon as he saw who was waiting to be tended by the door.

“Shinazugawa, that’s a very deep cut you have there. What’s been happening to you lately? I didn’t know you were this weak.” that had to sting for sure, he hated being seen as weak, but he had nothing to say that could help him getting out of this situation, he was acting like a weak low life and he knew it, yet there was nothing he could do to take you out of his head.

“Kocho, is that tea you gave that boy something you could share with me?” ignoring her statement completely, he went straight to business.

“Do you have a cold?” he just shook his head, his face was so serious she didn’t want to mess with him further, “Well I certainly can, but what do you need it for?”

“Someone I know has weak lungs and coughs constantly. Just thought that might help.” she nodded, grabbing a small pouch to dump in it some of her herbal concoctions, “Is it chronic then?”

“I think so.” she added something extra to the mix, measuring a few other ingredients, “I don’t know what this friend of yours has, but chronic coughing it’s usually a bad sign. I will add a few extra things to it just to combat underlying conditions that might be causing this.” A bad sign? You did look pretty weak when he saw you the first time, but never expected your sickness to be that serious.

Shinobu’s interest in the situation grew as his expression turned grim, she’s never seen so many expressions on this man’s face, he’s always angry or…well that’s it really, just angry all the time. “Is this person someone I know? Maybe I could go take a look and give an appropriate dose?” he took the pouch from her hand roughly, his regular frown returning to his face in an instant.

“Not really. Thanks though, I will deliver it right away.” she was certain she lost her mind, even if it was for a quarter of a second, she could swear she saw Shinazugawa Sanemi smile tenderly at the medicine pouch, but of course, that was impossible, she was just probably overworking herself as usual.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The wind pillar was a simple minded man, always knew what to do, how to get out of situations easily, yet this time around he was at a lost for words.

Not only had he been nervous all the way from the butterfly state to your room up that desolated mountain, but you were deliberately ignoring him.

You turned on your side the moment he peeked through your window, a visible pout adoring your rosy lips.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Is this the way to treat someone who goes out of his way to see you?” you just scoffed, pulling your blanket over your head to hide you completely away from his sight.

Without asking for permission, he skipped into your room, sitting by your feet, “(Y/N) stop being a shithead, I brought something for you.” he was poking one of your feet through the soft material of the covers, getting no response whatsoever from you.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me. If you don’t want to see me then I shouldn’t have bothered worrying about your stupid ass, I’ll just go then. Drink the content of the damn pouch I’m going to leave here, it will help you get better…” he was about to get up when one of your hands reached for his wrist, still hidden under your covers. “You’re the one who don’t wanna see me…I waited every day for you to come, for days…weeks even…” your voice was barely above a whisper, sadness lacing your every word.

“I was busy.” scoffing, you let go of his hand, retrieving back to your safe place, though he was faster, grabbing your hand a bit too rough, causing your blanket to fall from your face.

“I was busy ok? I mean it…” you knew he was saying the truth yet it felt like he was hiding something away from you.

“That’s it? You were busy?”

“Well what the fuck were you expecting? Me telling you I can’t get you out of my head? That I’ve been overworking myself past my limits just so I wouldn’t think of your stupid pretty smile or the sound of your laughter? How I have to lie to all the people around me because I can’t possibly tell them what it’s actually going on?” you just blinked at him, twice. “Well I wasn’t expecting to hear that much, but yes, that’s better.” your cute giggles made him blush, realization kicking him on the face.

“I-I was-it was a joke!”

“No it wasn’t. And I’m glad it isn’t…I’ve been the same way…thinking you didn’t want to see me ever again and even trying to come up with a plan to leave this place and find you, but then again all I knew was your name….can’t possibly find someone just with that…” you were the one blushing now, Sanemi’s hand still very attached to your own.

“Such an idiot.” his words were harsh but the soft smile he was giving you made up for it pretty quickly.

“So like I was saying, take this twice a day. I work with this girl who’s a doctor of some sort, very good at what she does. She recommended this to help with your breathing and could eventually get rid of the coughing problem.” he caught you pouting once more, a deep sigh leaving his lips, “What is it now?”

“Is that woman doctor…pretty?” your eyes turned glassy, your quivering pout making him laugh, you were being ridiculous but he was all in for it, “Not as pretty as you.” and that was all it took to break the spell that had you mad at him, chuckles and light bantered could be heard all the way from the garden coming from your room.

He was supposed to stay for just a few minutes and the moon greeted him on his way home once again.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Visiting you became part of his every day, even if he had to miss every other day due to missions or pillar meetings, you knew now of his schedule and he would constantly update it for you in his visits.

Iguro and Shinobu were pleased to see his normal self returning, yet he couldn’t fool them completely.

His sour face was softer lately, his surviving skills were also sharper, no new injuries reported in a while, the change was positive, but very much intriguing.

“Where are you going? Aren’t you staying to train the new guys?”

“Himejima-San is covering for me. I have something to do.” this caused Iguro and Shinobu to exchange knowing glances, they didn’t really get along, but the cause called for backups.

“Oh, so it’s visiting the girlfriend day, I see.”

“The sick girl, I presume?”

“So she’s sick? That’s why he was so worried, makes sense…”

“Can you both fucking stop?” he was trying his best to hide his flushed face, he’s been doing his best to keep this entire thing a secret, why were they suddenly so interested in his personal life?

“I can give her a visit if you’d like. Is my tea working for her? Any other symptoms?” this distracted Sanemi; just what she wanted, “She has a hard time breathing at night so she hasn’t been sleeping well, do you have anything that could help with that.” and that easily, he fell in their trap.

“So your girlfriend has troubles sleeping at night…I see. Does she turn and toss a lot or cries out while she’s asleep?”

“She does, is that also because of her sickness?”

“So you’ve already shared a night together. I see, things were farther along than I suspected…” this snapped him back to reality, noticing Shinobu’s red face trying to contain her laughter while Kaburamaru was blushing hiding behind his master’s hair.

“You damn pieces of shit! You dare trick me with something this serious? I fucking hate you, you two are the worse….” feeling bad for her actions, Shinobu reached the sulking man, placing another small pouch in his hand. “Tell her to add this powder to the last cup of tea of the night, it will help her sleep better.” her smile was one of understanding, the apology being well received.

Iguro wasn’t one to apologize for his antics, yet he could see the distress caused on his friend’s face and hit a bit too close home. Truth is, he’s the only one that hears him out when drunk-crying about Kanroji, he’s the only person he could consider his friend besides Kaburamaru. “I’ll cover you with Himejima-san. Go.” his apology could be heard loud and clear, he felt grateful for having those around him, even when they were all a pain in the ass.

Though, when he arrived at your window, you were nowhere to be seen.

He waited for a good hour until you were carried back into your room by two male nurses. Your condition seemed to have worsen overnight, your face pale, eyes closed. You looked almost like a corpse, sudden images of his half eaten siblings invading his thoughts.

As soon as you were left alone, he made his way into your room, one of his hands cradling your cold face, “(Y/N) baby…” his hushed whispers made you open your eyes, you thought it was all in your head, but he was actually there in front of you. “Nemi…” your voice was so raw, it was heartbreaking.

“What happened? Rough night?” to this you just gave him a tiny nod, your eyes closing on their own, exhausted.

“It’s fine baby, sleep. I brought you some medicine that will help you have a nice rest. Would you like some now?” his gentle caresses and words made you smile. He’s always so rough and bad mouthed, you loved how soft he could get when worried about you.

After taking the meds provided by Shinobu you fell asleep fast, he stayed by your side for as long as he could making sure you had a peaceful rest, you looked so tired and weak, it was a scary thought, but what if the next time he comes visit you, you’re no longer here?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Even when his purpose was to visit you daily without exceptions, doom fell upon the corps.

Muzan’s final battle came a bit too fast, he wasn’t even able to let you know what was going on.

To make it all worse, he ended up so injured that he was unconscious for the longest time.

Waking up after said battle was devastating though, realization of his baby brother’s demise hurt even more than the hundreds of wounds littering his body.

Once it was ok for him to leave the butterfly’s state ward he was in, the first thing he did was climb up the mountain he dreaded so much to climb.

He wanted to see you, with all his heart. But he wouldn’t be able to take it if you weren’t there now, if you had to leave this world all on your own he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself, not after losing his entire family to demon kind, he just couldn’t lose the only ray of hope in his life.

Life can play nasty tricks when you least expect it; you weren’t in your room, panic cursing through his veins. He was about to burst when he heard a familiar laughter, his favorite one, the one he’s been dying to hear since he woke up.

You were watering the plants in the garden, helping one of your nurses. You look way better than he’s ever seen you, relief making his heart calm down a notch.

The moment your eyes met, the hose was discarded as you ran his way, wrapping your arms around his neck as soon as you threw yourself at him, “Nemi! I thought something bad had happened to you…I was so worried…” your face was now buried on his neck, your tears tickling his skin on their way down.

“Something bad did happen…” this made you look up at him, checking for injuries. There were a few new scars present but that was normal for him. “What happened love?”

“Remember I told you about my stupid brother following me around like a puppy?”

“Yeah I remember how happy that made you feel.” your giggles made him smile, he can’t really deceive you, you see through all his bullshit clearly.

“He was killed in my last mission…I…I couldn’t save him….” tears were clouding his vision, your lips reaching over to place a soft kiss to his lips in a comforting manner. “You tried, that’s all that matters. I’m sure he knows it, my love.” his arms came to wrap around you tightly, quiet tears soaking your garments as you rubbed his back lovingly, the same way he did for you the first time you met.

“Thank you for coming back to me in one piece, Nemi.”

“Thanks for waiting for me…and getting better...I was so scared I would be too late...” sharing a kiss like no other before, fate had giving both of you another chance.

Another chance to live, another chance to love and be loved.

Fate was uncertain for the both of you, the mark was still an unknown gray area, he didn’t know how long he had left, and same was for you, your sickness could take you away anytime soon, but thanks to his love and care you were slowly getting better.

Fate had many faces to show him as well, and love was one of them.

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Masterlist

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

The Feral Princess - Part 4

Marvel AU

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Theme: Soulmate AU / Medieval / Fantasy / Soulmate Marks

Summary: Bucky and Steve have known they were soulmates since they were children. Fate bringing a then sickly Steve and the future King together. War takes them apart and throws them back together over and over, in and out of each other lives, arms and beds. But something is missing and throughout, they know they are missing their third and final piece. The kingdom is now Bucky's and Steve's, the latter now a leader and no longer a sickly child. Both are war heroes, with the respect of their country and those that surround it. They are a force to be reconned with, admired and respected within the other royal houses. They could have any maiden or princess they wanted, but they don't want just anyone. They want their soulmate. They want their princess. Even if she is known as The Feral Princess.

Chapter Summary: Bucky starts his journey to fetch the reader.

By the time Bucky arrives at Lionheart you are long gone. Word has spread as to why he’s there and the villagers are in the know.

“She’s long gone!”

“Good luck taming our Tulip.”

“You won’t find your princess here your majesty.”

Bucky wonders if it’s a ploy. If they’re simply saying that and you’re hidden somewhere in the castle. He knows in his heart though that you aren’t. Thinking back to the day he met Steve, he had felt his mark get warmer and warmer until he had found him, squaring up to a bully twice his size, Bucky’s mark burning on his ankle. He wonders then if you’ll have the same temperament. From what he’s heard, you’re probably even more of a handful than Steve. He sighs at the thought. Steve would fight a bully. You would apparently stab them without a second thought.

When he arrives at the first set of gates he finds them heavily armoured, much more so than when he had visited as a child. His horse, usually obedient and sturdy rears up and becomes unsettled. As do those of his travelling companions. Natasha rides forward from their group and stands to his right. She goes to speak but Bucky is quick to stop her.

“Do not ask me again if I am sure Natalia.”

Natasha’s mouth snapped closed. Bucky moved his horse to allow him to knock on the heavy gates, glancing up at the guards of the tower who is clearly ignoring their presence. Before he has chance to knock both the gates begin to open, startling them all.

Bucky leads them through into the Barbican. He discovers it now has another set of gates at the end. Again they are heavily armoured and closed. The gates behind slam shut when the last of Bucky’s knights enters, causing the horses to startle and for them to be plunged into darkness.

The group were experienced, hardy fighters, and it doesn’t take them long to get their horses under control. Each held their reins tightly with one hand, with the other gripping their weapon of choice.

A fizzling sound is heard as the fire torches alight one by one. When the room is lit Bucky notices a hunched over and hooded figure in the corner. Their head is dipped, the hood and shadows making it hard to see their face. The voice that comes from it is deep but well spoken, and a little familiar.

“Purpose of your visit.”

“I come to fetch my soulmate, future wife and queen.”

He can’t be certain but he’s sure the figure is smirking.

“This way it replies.” A hint of amusement in its voice.

The second gates begin to open and daylight streams through. Bucky blinks to help his eyes adjust. He hears Natasha muttering something in their old tongue and he quickly sees why. In the courtyard are lines and lines of soldiers and knights in Lionheart colours. Every single one is almost the same build as Bucky, they are all  battle ready and armed to the teeth. There’s a least a couple of hundred and Bucky knows from battle and rumour there are more somewhere.

It’s eerily quiet as the hooded figure leads them through the courtyard. None of the soldiers or knights move or glance at them. Bucky wonders if some are holding their breath due to the lack of movement.

“You wait here.” The figure says gesturing at Natasha and the others knights, leaving them standing between the lines of Lionheart’s finest. “You, your majesty, this way.”

Bucky unmounts his horse and passes the reigns to Natasha. He glance up the castle walls and sees the lines of archers along the top, each pointing arrows towards them.

He knows he’s never going to hear the last of this from Natasha.

Bucky follows the figure through the stables, past one of its many armouries and through what seems to be the royal boot room. There are riding boots, cloaks and swords of all sizes and he quickly spots a cloak in Loxley green. A spare of yours perhaps?

The figure comes to a stop at a door and pushes it open as it steps inside. Bucky follows.

The first thing he notices is how warm it is, the large open fire roaring and filling the room. In front is an ornately carved wooden chair and desk. The banner of Lionheart hanging above the fire indicating the room is Richard’s.

“Take off your cloak James and make yourself at home.”

The voice was deep and firm. Richard. Bucky turned abruptly expecting to see that the other king had ended behind him but finding only the figure from before. Bucky went to speak but stopped as the figure rose from its hunched over stance and grew in size. It turned away as it untied the cloak, pulling it off and hanging it on a hook on the wall. Bucky recognised the figure, now man, instantly.

Easily over six feet, broad shoulders and a strawberry blonde beard scattered face, hair that met his shoulders but lighter than his beard. Hair that gave likening to a lion.

Richard of Lionheart.

“So, I hear you want our Tulip.”

Meanwhile deep in the forest 100 miles from Loxley.......

"How many times will we be moving? Lionheart, Loxley, now here. Should I unpack or not bother? " Lady Dawn asked, sarcasm filling her tone.

"We have to be one step ahead and I did say you didn't need to come." You quipped back.

"And miss you in a white dress and a veil? Never."

You and Lady Darcy snorted with laughter. Little John approached, having recently joined your travels at your Uncle Robin's request. He cleared his throat to announce himself.

"The traps are set Tulip."

"Thank you John."

"Out of interest, and for plans sake Princess, should I send the men on to scout another location?" John asked enquiringly.

"No John, this will be our last spot. Let him come. Let him find me."

Fancy a cuppa? My Ko-Fi.

TAGLIST

@animegirlgeeky @sebastians-love @mrsevans90 @salvatoremeanssaviour @forgotmenotsexy @thriving-n-jiving @abaker74 @otterlycanadian

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝕋𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕎𝕙𝕠 ℍ𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕊𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕃𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝔽𝕠𝕣 - ℂ𝕙. 𝕍𝕀𝕀𝕀: 𝕀𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℝ𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕊𝕥𝕠𝕡𝕤 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!

Summary: After returning from the hospital, Vincent struggles to move on.

TW: grief, depression, discussion of past child abuse, flashback to a past murder, smut (frot), Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Author's Note: I searched Bill Skarsgård hospital bed last time and this didn't come up but now I search Bill Skarsgård pajamas and it does come up - it's okay. Sigh. Also yes, the rain-related parts in this chapter are a reference to The Crow.

Whether it was a blessing or a curse that he missed his father’s funeral, Vincent hardly knew. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to bear it, to interact with mourners and give eulogies and talk confidently about future plans for the family name. But one way or another, as prescribed by French law, it took place within six days of the Marquis Àlderic’s death, while Vincent was still in a coma. By the time he awoke, let alone recovered, everything that could have been considered any form of closure was already over, and he had missed it. He seemed stuck in that awful moment in the ballroom, unable to move on.

After another two weeks in the hospital, there was an attempt to take him back to the Gramont estate. Physically, he was better. There were some limitations on exercise to prevent overexertion, but no reason for him to be in the hospital any longer. Nonetheless, upon his return, the household politely agreed that the Marquis was still in severe pain. Yes, that was why he remained bedridden, behind locked doors, for the bulk of each day. He was not, for instance, depressed.

But even he couldn’t deny that he was terrified to leave his room, or to be in that house at all. Setting foot outside his bedroom sent him into nervous fits of cold sweat at the sight of the halls where his father had died, and where he had nearly met the same fate. He could not bear to look at any part of his surroundings, and even in his own bedroom, he seemed to stare through the walls in a way that frightened the servants. They were mostly driven out. No one was allowed to see him. No one except Chidi.

Vincent looked up at Chidi from under heaps of blankets. He was silhouetted against the window, while Vincent just lay there and breathed. It was raining heavily, enough to send sheets of water pouring down the glass, obscuring the ground below. Chidi must be watching that ceaseless pattern of raindrops that depressed Vincent even further than usual. He hadn’t managed to get up at all that day, even to get dressed. His eyes were clouded over with tears that he couldn’t dispel or explain. Yet Chidi stayed next to him, weeks and weeks into this mess, and still waited for him to feel better. Was this the behavior of a bodyguard? What were they to one another?

Chidi looked over at him suddenly. “Monsieur, si la pluie s'arrête plus tard, voudriez-vous aller au jardin avec moi? [Sir, if the rain stops later, would you like to go to the garden with me?]”

“Oui. Si la pluie s'arrête. [Yes. If the rain stops.]” But it showed no signs of stopping, and if it had, perhaps he wouldn’t have agreed. Vincent’s voice sounded worryingly quiet and barely alive. He would not at all like to go to the garden. But at least he was a little more alive than usual. He felt some alertness, had the strength even to think about Chidi at all. The presence of mind to feel grateful. And with gratefulness came a deep affection.

He reached out a hand and pulled Chidi into the bed beside him. Chidi offered no resistance, only his full attention. But Vincent wasn’t sure he had anything to say. He just wanted his bodyguard closer. They sat like that a while, enjoying the sight of one another. At last, Chidi broke the silence, perhaps encouraged by Vincent’s willingness to go for a walk. “Si je peux vous demander… voudriez-vous parler de certaines choses, monsieur? [If I may ask…would you like to talk about things, sir?]”

Vincent stiffened immediately. They still had never spoken directly about what happened, or why exactly it had disturbed Vincent so much. But that seemed too obvious for words. Or maybe too horrible. He cleared his throat and blinked, trying to get rid of pesky tears. “Qu'y a-t-il à dire? [What is there to say?]”

“Je ne sais pas. Vous seul le savez. Mais il semble que quelque chose ne vous laisse pas tranquille. [I don’t know. Only you know that. But it seems that something won’t leave you alone.]”

He was right, of course. Vincent wasn’t breathing. For a long while, he considered whether to answer at all. Maybe, if the moment stretched long enough, he’d never need to. But then he found words tumbling out of him. “Peut-être que j’aurais juste aimé que cela ne se passe pas ainsi. C’était si soudain et si horrible tout ce qu’il avait fait juste avant – et puis j’ai raté les funérailles et il est parti. C’est… c’est juste un tel choc, c’est tout. [Maybe I just wish it hadn’t happened this way. It was so sudden, and so awful, everything that he did right before - and then I missed the funeral and he’s just gone. It’s…it’s just such a shock, that’s all.]” That wasn’t remotely all it was. And Chidi seemed to know that because he stayed quiet. “Ce n’est pas que je ne le reverrai jamais. Je n’aimais pas le voir. Je ne l’aimais pas… lui. Mais c'était mon père. C'était la seule personne… qui était toujours soit à mes côtés, soit visiblement absente de moi. Généralement ce dernier. [It’s not that I’ll never see him again. I didn’t like seeing him. I didn’t like…him. But he was my father. He was the one person…who was always either at my side or noticeably absent from me. Usually the latter.]”

He paused. Chidi was just listening – listening perfectly. Encouraged, Vincent went on. “Il y avait ma mère, bien sûr. Et elle… [There was my mother, of course. And she…]” he considered whether to say it. “Eh bien, je l'aimais vraiment. Mais c'était il y a si longtemps. J’ai beaucoup réfléchi, ces dernières semaines, au moment de sa mort. C'est comme si tout se reproduisait... [Well, I really did love her. But that was so long ago. I’ve been thinking a lot, over the past few weeks, about when she died. It’s like everything is happening again…]”

“C'était pareil, n'est-ce pas monsieur ? J'ai entendu dire qu'elle avait été assassinée. [It was similar, right sir? I’ve heard that she was assassinated.]”

“Oui. Empoisonné. J'ai vu mon père exécuter le tueur à gages qui l'avait fait. Une décapitation. [Yes. Poisoned. I watched my father execute the hitman who did it. A beheading.]” He said it very calmly, like it was just an ordinary fact. Everything felt distant.

Chidi exhaled. “Tu n'avais pas quatre ans alors? [Weren’t you four years old then?]”

“…Oui.” He could still see his father looming over a bound man encircled by guards at the top of the palace steps, under a surreally blue sky. His sword arm rising. The wind catching his perfect hair in a ripple that happened to shade his eyes for half a moment, while Vincent wondered what he could be feeling, how it was possible to do what he was doing, what exactly he was doing. But it didn’t matter. It was for his mother, and his father could do anything for her. He was a hero. And then there was a sweeping motion that moved the whole world with it, and ended in a spray of awe-inspiring crimson that he would never forget…

“Cela a dû être effrayant. [That must have been frightening.]” Chidi rested a hand over his shoulder and Vincent wished he wouldn’t. It was making him feel so small, like his whole body was shrinking around the lump in his throat that was suddenly so tight. He had to take a deep breath before speaking again.

“Oui… j'avais peur, mais j'étais tellement fière de lui. Je voulais alors être comme lui. Et il m'a dit qu'un jour, je le serais. Et j'ai essayé de l'être. J'ai essayé tout le temps de lui montrer que je pouvais le faire, de l'impressionner, de… le rendre fier. Et maintenant je n'ai jamais – [Yes…I was scared, but I was so proud of him. I wanted to be just like him then. And he told me that one day, I would be. And I tried to be. I tried all the time, to show him I could do it, impress him, to…to make him proud. And now I never - ]” Fuck. No. Don’t think about that. Everything slipped out of his control into a very dark place and he was sobbing into the pillow again. There was a voice coming to him so very softly, and a soft, powerful haven encircling his torso from above, practically laying on top of him.

“Monsieur. Tu l'as fait. Vous êtes un homme meilleur qu’il ne l’a jamais été, à tous points de vue. Je suis fier de toi. Il aurait dû être fier de toi. Et franchement, il aurait dû t’aimer de toute façon. [Sir. You did it. You are a better man than he ever was, by every measure. I am proud of you. He should have been proud of you. And frankly, he should have loved you either way.]”

That last sentence tore at him, both because he could not believe it and because of its implicit acknowledgement that he really had not been loved. But it tore at him the way that pulling out an arrow tears the flesh. There was something in its wake that was raw and hideously painful, yet not ruined. At long last, when he had stopped shaking with tears, he felt...not better. But maybe capable of being better one day. What a gift that was.

He rolled onto his back under Chidi and hugged him back, tracing his fingers idly over mountains of muscle. His hands were tingling from crying and the world felt purer. “Merci. Tu sais que je ne dirais ça à personne d’autre. Pas une. Tu es... [Thank you. You know I wouldn’t say this to anyone else. Not one. You’re…]” What was Chidi exactly? “Vous êtes un très bon auditeur. [You’re a very good listener,]” he finished, though not quite satisfied with the phrase. He could feel Chidi smile against him at the praise.

“Tout ce que je veux, c'est être bon pour vous, monsieur. [All I want is to be good for you, sir.]” Warmth spread through him from the heart outwards, unkillable even in the face of all else he was feeling. Gratitude, to be here in this bed entwined with this sweet man.

He was suddenly aware of the bed beneath them: this bed where they Vincent had taken him so easily a few weeks ago, so thoughtlessly, just because he could, just because he liked how much Chidi wanted him. The past days had slowly taught him not to balk at his own clinginess. Chidi embraced it, urged it even. Searching his face now, Vincent found only a hunger to please, to comfort, something almost terrifyingly protective. He leaned over Vincent in deep concern and kissed him on the lips.

Vincent’s body stirred in answer, for the first time in weeks, and he shifted under the blankets, feeling suddenly restless with need. Chidi had become accustomed to even the slightest change in Vincent’s breathing, and he noticed immediately. “Vous avez besoin de plaisir après si longtemps de pur malheur, maître. [You need some pleasure after so long in pure unhappiness, master.]” That was another habit Chidi had taken up: calling Vincent master in private every now and then. Even “sir” did not seem adequate to describe what he was feeling, he had explained. It sent a wave of delicious sparks down Vincent’s every nerve each time he said it. It felt obscene, scandalous, yet so right.

His fingers laced through Chidi’s and he braced their hands together. Yes. I need something good to happen. I need to feel you against me. I feel like I’ll die without something to live for. But he was choking on the words. All he managed was, “S'il te plaît. [Please.]”

It was enough. Chidi slid under the blanket with him and pressed a hand slowly up the front of his torso like he was smoothing him, ironing him out right into the bed, and then swept his shirt up over his head. Two hands on the way back down, cupping either side of his ribcage, his waist, his hips, and the pajama pants were swept away too. He unwrapped him, exposing his flesh to the soft clouds of silk on all sides that smelled like the both of them, like sadness and desire, and Vincent reclined in front of him, legs spread, arms trailing up above his head and water still sparkling on his lashes. Eyeing Chidi, watching him, daring him to show what he was made of. To rescue Vincent bodily from the clutches of sorrow.

He was malleable, supple, but by no means submissive. No, every ounce of his limp body demanded to be carried relentlessly towards joy. And Chidi rose to the challenge. He kissed him open mouthed as if to share the air between their lungs. He trailed kissed down his collarbone and buried his bulk of a head into Vincent’s neck as if it was too much even to see him this way. Vincent just ruffled his hair in thanks, and sighed, and cuddled their whole bodies together. Their cocks lay warm against each other, pulse to pulse, driving them to move, hump, press closer, thrust harder. Chidi’s wide hips seemed to swallow his own. He arched his back affectionately up into Chidi’s chest and bit his lip, trying not to moan. He squirmed desperately. Just a little more and he would feel good, feel adored, the pain would go away…

Chidi rose up and pinned his hands above his head, suddenly bold. “Maître. Je ne veux pas que tu t'inquiètes de quoi que ce soit. Ne retenez rien. Ne bouge pas. C'est mon travail. Dis-moi juste quoi faire. [Master. I don’t want you to worry about anything. Don’t hold anything back. Don’t move. That’s my job. Just tell me what to do.]”

The first sound he made was a moan torn straight from his soul that made Chidi’s cock twitch against him. And then, blushing fiercely, “…Plus rapide. Grince-moi. Chevauche moi. Je – putain. Je veux sentir même tes os contre les miens. […Faster. Grind on me. Ride me. I – fuck. I want to feel even your bones against mine.]”

A gorgeous, crooked, obliging smile. “Oui, Maître.”

And then the world faded. There was only the hot, urgent, ecstatic hollow of heat where a tautness was slowly building, clenched between his hips. Every time he needed more, Vincent cried out in a soft, breathless whine and Chidi responded until vigorous, steady thrusts were driving him right into the mattress and making him see stars. He felt dizzy from gasping. Chidi kissed him again. “Respirez pour moi, maître. [Breathe for me, master.]”

“Ah… pour toi, n'importe quoi. [Ah…for you, anything.]” He didn’t mean that. Did he? Well, he would have to decide another time. For now, that wonderfully taut thing at the base of his stomach was finally on the point of snapping, and he was incapable of thought or speech while it burst out and overwhelmed even the soul-deep misery for half an instant.

In the next second, that misery was back, but Chidi was still with him, kissing his cheeks, holding him, spilling over him in a sweetness that followed his own – never far behind him. There was the sorrow, yes, but there was the joy beside it.

Panting, Chidi looked up at the window. “La pluie s'est calm��e pour l'instant, monsieur. [The rain has cleared up for now, sir.]”

“Allons marcher. [Let’s go walking.]”

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[veiledaura]

Crowfeather's Greed (Evil AU)

In this parallel world, Crowfeather's life doesn't diverge until much later. It remains identical until the fateful moment when Breezepelt tries to kill Lionblaze.

This time, Crowfeather isn't fast enough. He fails to save his Thunderclan son. Disgusted at Breezepelt, he heavily scars him and chases him away. He shouts that he should consider himself exiled. However, after a while, Breezepelt limps back to Windclan camp. He knows Crowfeather has no authority to banish him and pleads his case to Onestar.

The leader is unsure, as Lionblaze wasn't a Windclan warrior, but he was their ally at the time. However, Breezepelt's fate is already sealed. Jayfeather is enraged by his brother's death and marches to the trial. He reveals Breezepelt's attack on the Moonpool. Even Onestar can't make excuses for that and turns the traitor away.

Nightcloud is unable to handle all this. The mates get into the worst argument they ever had. Nightcloud blames Crowfeather for their son's downfall. Meanwhile, Crowfeather hates that she downplays Lionblaze's murder. The two get into a skirmish and need to be separated. After they calm down, Nightcloud declares they are no longer mates and that he is dead to her.

Crowfeather becomes more isolated than ever. All his loved ones were either dead or estranged. Even Leafpool, who had the most sympathy for him, didn't know what to say anymore. In the depth of his despair, Crowfeather fell into his old ways. He rebounded. He latched on. Perhaps he could fix the hole in his heart if he found a new love.

Like Crowfeather, Gorsetail had lost two kits in the Great Battle and despised Breezepelt. They bonded over their grief and hatred, creating a broken union. Eventually, Gorsetail revealed her own forbidden romance, and she understood Crowfeather's struggle. Nightcloud was in disbelief. She didn't expect him to hit this new low. How could Crowfeather love his son's harshest critic?

Nightcloud admitted Windclan didn't feel like home anymore with Crowfeather around. She said it in a way; she hoped the grey tom would volunteer to leave Windclan instead of her. When he didn't pick up on it, she admitted she was tempted to join Breezepelt as a rogue. Crowfeather snapped, "Well, go then," as he intended to have a future with Gorsetail. Heartbroken, Nightcloud left that same day.

Crowfeather buried his regret and numbly refocused on Gorsetail. In their whirlwind of emotions, they quickly ended up with a pregnancy. Crowfeather pushed it mainly because he wanted a "do-over." Soon, their two daughters were born. Mottlekit was a grey and cream tortoiseshell, and Whiskkit was a plain white she-cat.

Crowfeather wanted to avoid a repeat of Breezepelt, so he went to the opposite extreme. He got involved in every aspect of his kits' lives and ensured they stayed on the right track. He ended up becoming a perfectionist. He would demand his kits' sleep at certain times and stop any games he considered a "waste of time." He said he was proud of them and only doing it for their benefit. His daughters got confused at the inconsistency between his loving words and harsh actions.

As for their mother, Crowfeather's relationship with her was becoming stagnant. They got together because of their shared grief, but once those emotions subsided, there was nothing left. When Gorsetail wanted to go on exciting adventures, Crowfeather wanted to stay home. Their personalities simply weren't compatible. If they weren't discussing their daughters, there would be awkward silence. Gorsetail kept asking for breaks, but she never officially broke it off. Crowfeather seemed eager for the relationship to work and promised it could improve.

Around the same time, Crowfeather was eying up the deputy position due to Onestar's advancing age. If he couldn't land the role, he hoped one of his daughters could fulfil his ambitions. At the very least, he wanted Mottlekit and Whiskkit to be model warriors. They would be the finest hunters, fighters and mentors. So Crowfeather wanted to give them a head start. As soon as they turned six moons, Crowfeather secretly gave them extra training. He said they couldn't tell anyone else, as he was giving them an unfair advantage. He taught them moves that were too advanced for their age.

Whiskpaw was naturally shy but became worse under her father's pressure. Soon, she admitted that she didn't want the training at all. Crowfeather accused her of cowardice and ended up getting angrier. In the past, he had rare moments where he was too physical with Breezepaw. With his temper worse than ever, Crowfeather constantly cuffed Whiskpaw's ear and snarled at her.

Mottlepaw had ambitions similar to Crowfeather's and could thrive under his expectations. She closely listened to his advice and even improved upon it. Mottlepaw showed more talent than Crowfeather, and he didn't know how to teach her more. Unlike her father, she wasn't impulsive. She was cold and calculating. She could make a step-by-step plan about becoming deputy. Mottlepaw swore off a mate and kits until her later years.

When Mottlepaw discovers Crowfeather's forbidden romances, she calls him an embarrassment and says he is undeserving of the deputy role. He wasn't the cat he portrayed himself to be. Mottlepaw and Whiskpaw begin ditching their father's training sessions. When Crowfeather convinces them to come occasionally, he is rougher than ever to make up for lost time. He accidentally ends up splitting Whiskpaw's ear.

Whiskpaw had a panic attack and refused to leave the apprentice's den. Mottlepaw wanted to tell everyone in camp about their illegal training. However, Whiskpaw begged her sister not to do it. She was too scared to rock the boat and potentially deprive Crowfeather of the deputy position. Instead, she said she forgave Crowfeather. Whiskpaw becomes a Medicine Cat to get away from the training.

Moons passed, and Crowfeather remained estranged from his daughters. Gorsetail never knew about their training, so she didn't understand the distance. She assumed Crowfeather was too damaged by his past and that asking him to act as a normal father was too much. The sisters earned their full names of Whisknose and Mottlesky.

During this time, the Clans were fighting the Kin. Onestar's secret was finally revealed, and he sacrificed himself to kill Darktail. Harestar became leader and Crowfeather's dreams became true. He was appointed deputy, even if his daughters knew he didn't deserve it. For once, his life was looking bright.

However, it was short-lived. After the Kin's defeat, Skyclan made their grand return. Crowfeather hadn't seen them in person, but his clanmates relaid alarming news. Breezepelt and Nightcloud had been spotted among Skyclan's ranks. They must have stumbled upon the fifth Clan as rogues. In their desperation, the pair had put aside their judgement of kittypets.

Crowfeather was terrified of Breezepelt discovering his new family and what he could do to them. He decided he would be proactive and take matters into his own hands. He already didn't like the idea of Skyclan moving to the Lake. However, Breezepelt pushed his stance from neutral to hostile. As deputy, he convinced Harestar that Skyclan should return to the gorge. Windclan and Shadowclan allied together to drive the fifth Clan out.

Mottlesky was chosen to be on the battle patrol. Crowfeather remained at her side to act as her bodyguard. As Breezepelt defended Skyclan camp, he spotted Crowfeather and a strange she-cat. He saw their similarities and wondered if it was his daughter. Breezepelt charged at his father and demanded to know the truth. The black tom wasn't looking at Mottlesky, but his close proximity and general anger were enough. Crowfeather registered him as a threat. Having flashbacks of the attacks on Lionblaze and Jayfeather, he sprang at his wayward son.

Crowfeather reminded Breezepelt of his exile and said he should have never returned. He can't be trusted to not kill again. His son argues he has matured and has a new mate. It falls on deaf ears as Crowfeather slashes his throat. Mottlesky witnessed everything. She doesn't have much sympathy for a murderer, but the level of violence from her father shocked her. She reminds Crowfeather that it wasn't self-defence.

Suddenly, Nightcloud wails out and attacks with a vengeance. Mottlesky and Crowfeather are forced to work together, fending off the grieving mother. Around the battlefield, Windclan realises a father has murdered his own son. Morale plummets, and they soon retreat. As they head back to camp, Crowfeather's clanmates ask if the battle was necessary and if he did it to satisfy his personal grudge.

When Whisknose hears about Breezepelt's murder, she has a breakdown. She yowls that her forgiveness is meaningless and he is simply getting worse. Gorsetail asks what her daughter is talking about, and Whisknose blurts about Crowfeather slicing her ear. At that moment, Gorsetail breaks up with Crowfeather.

Crowfeather suffers the political consequences as well. Harestar says he is too personally motivated and can no longer be deputy. The grey tom can't believe that history is repeating itself. This is the third litter that hates him. He wishes Breezepelt hadn't returned, and perhaps he wouldn't be back at square one.

Crowfeather spends days in his nest in a deep depression. He begins fantasising about his apprentice days, a time when he was still innocent. He wonders what would have happened if Feathertail survived and they settled down. It would have been so much simpler. His grief would have never led him astray and left a trail of estranged kits.

On the fifth night, Featherpelt caught his eyes. She was so much like Feathertail in every way. Her name, her pelt, her personality. She was his former apprentice, too, so the bond was already there. Alright. One more try. If he can find someone else, perhaps it will work out this time.

Crowfeather spent moons obsessively getting closer to Featherpelt. He claimed he was reconnecting with friends since his breakup. Featherpelt somewhat understood and was happy to spend time with her old mentor. Crowfeather bent over backwards for Featherpelt, showering her with compliments and gifts.

Finally, he confessed his love for Featherpelt. The silver she-cat was confused. She admired her mentor, but did she love him? She felt uncomfortable about the age gap. At the same time, he put so much effort into their friendship. She felt guilty if all his efforts were for nothing. She asked Crowfeather to give her time to think about it. Not satisfied, Crowfeather used his influence as the former deputy. He asked a few followers to put "a good word in for him".

These followers pestered Featherpelt, who said she could give him happiness after such a difficult life. She cracked under their harassment and said she would give Crowfeather a chance. The grey tom demanded kits as soon as possible. The silver she-cat reminded him that Whisknose thought she was infertile—or at least, it was too dangerous for her to give birth.

Crowfeather accused Whisknose of lying, as she didn't want her father to move on. Going further, the grey tom pleaded that he "needed her" and "she was his only shot at happiness". Emotionally exhausted from his manipulation, Featherpelt complied.

It didn't end well. Featherpelt died during birth. She had a single kit, a son who looked identical to his father. Whisknose tried to get another queen to adopt the kit, but Crowfeather refused. He declared he would stay in the nursery and take Featherpelt's place. Whisknose was terrified of the look in Crowfeather's eyes, but she couldn't deny a father his child.

That night, Crowfeather sat with his newborn. He bitterly named him Barrenkit. Crowfeather kept jumping from love to hatred for this tiny bundle. This was his son, yet he had taken Featherpelt away from him. It was just another death to add to the pile. Had Starclan cursed him?

Why had his ancestors made Barrenkit look exactly like him? Would the curse be passed onto him? What good was that? What good was any of this? Why was he raising another kitten if he was going to end up ruining their lives? Featherpelt might have fixed Crowfeather, but she was gone now. It was just him and Barrenkit. It was destined to fail.

So, why subject Barrenkit to that? Why subject him to this hopeless world?

Crowfeather snarled. He would not let Barrenkit become like him. He pressed down onto his son's neck.

[sapphicthunderhead]

TMagP 18 Spoilers: Oh my heart. I didn’t expect to be saying “poor Gwen!” this week but… poor Gwen. And Alice is in a bad place too, although Sam doesn’t seem to see the full extent of it yet. As for Celia… damn. All these people’s situations seem to be at least on the precipice of becoming FUBAR.

But at least we got to hear from Georgie! Although, unfortunately, it seems this version of her may be a tad bit unhinged. I hope they don’t take this iteration of her character in the opposite extreme from the one we knew, turning her into a full-on paranoid conspiracy theorist instead of the fearless, goofy, kind, resourceful woman we all know and love. (Speaking of those who love Georgie, I miss Melanie!)

Most crucially from a plot perspective, we’ve just been hit with genuinely shocking information about the extent of the Fears’ power in this world, the ramifications of which I need more time to process. The concept of Fear holding on to a person’s consciousness/soul after death is absolutely horrifying. I was under the impression that certain entities (Vast, Buried, & Lonely in particular) had the ability to eternally preserve a life in order to perpetually torment a victim, because if said victim died of famine, thirst, exhaustion, etc., the entity could no longer feed on their terror.

If that’s not the case, then each fear can function like a victim’s personal, eternal Hell— except you don’t have to “sin,” to be “evil,” to be condemned to this miserable fate. One of the most terrifying aspects of the Magnus Archives, as in the stories of MR James from which Jonny drew inspiration, is that folks don’t have to do a moral wrong or violate a clear warning to incite their supernaturally induced suffering. There have certainly been some notable cases of people bringing shit down on their own heads, as in the case of the criminal who couldn’t just sit back and let Angela kill his adversary for him in Piecemeal (TMA) and the dastardly dickhead finance bro in Futures (TMagP). But these aren’t necessarily the norm.

Also: does the Lonely/Hunger or other entity involved holding on after its prey’s demise indicate that Terminus isn’t strong enough to pry the other Fears’ hands away from their victims in this Universe? Would that in turn imply that a Fearpocalypse in this Universe could be never-ending?

Thinking back, there is potentially some evidence from TMA that set this up, although at the time, I failed to register it. The avatars in general simply refuse to die, so that’s a possible corroborating piece of evidence. Also, a Desolation avatar assigned to keep Agnes fed turns his coworkers’ flesh and fat into candles infused with their Fear; the Fear remains until the candle burns out, and the people who provided the raw materials are definitely deceased.

This is a deeply unnerving turn of events. I feel for everyone in this episode— particularly the deceased, who is somehow still trapped in the Forsaken house they rebuilt inside their mind. RIP.

[livinglouderx3]

SNStober - Day 19 Fantasy AU

It always felt like being woken up from a deep slumber, being dragged away from a timeless space in which Sasuke felt himself floating around constantly each time he wasn’t being “used” for a longer time.

But someone seemed to have found him, or rather – the magical mirror, as he had been called countless times by now. Sasuke didn’t really condemn them, the people who found him rarely knew better- no one really tried to find out more about him. He was known as the magic mirror, a magical object that could guide you and show you certain truths about yourself. So many had searched for him in the past, only to find out things they didn’t really want to know in the end – often even blaming him for what he had shown them. Sasuke found it amusing - them blaming him for their own fate and their own future choices that they would not change even after being faced with the upcoming consequences. It was easier for them to place the guilt onto someone else. At least, he had found it amusing until his last “owner” had wanted to shatter him, to break the mirror into pieces so that he could escape the hex it had placed onto him. But it didn’t work like that.

In fact, this mirror was a prison. People often assumed otherwise; they would think Sasuke had been nothing more than this magical object his whole life. Yet, a long time ago he had been human. One day he had done the same as each one of those people now using him. Sasuke had wanted to know more about his future. Unfortunately, he had turned to a witch, a fortuneteller as they had been called in his time, so that she could tell him. That had been his first mistake. His second one had been his reaction. Not liking what fate had in store for him he had blamed the fortuneteller – framing her as nothing more than a charlatan. In her anger she had cursed him. The irony as she had told him back then with glee in her eyes would be that he should receive the same treatment he had offered her – being blamed, hated for, and cast away just like a tool, his humanity being completely forgotten by others. That was until Sasuke would be able to break this circle, to make someone see past the mirror – to see him, to be better than he once was. Until then, he would be trapped, feeling the same hurt and frustration she had been feeling when he had cast her aside and insulted her.

And this was how he had gotten here. He had stopped counting the years, even counting the owners. Each one of them had been the same. They had searched so long for him only to be disappointed, casting the cursed mirror aside as soon as possible, since it seemed to only show the things they dreaded. The last one had been the worst of them all. Not only did he blame Sasuke, but he had gotten the impression that breaking the mirror would free him from the future it had predicted. Sasuke had been more than panicked. What would happen to him if the mirror he was trapped in would get destroyed? Would he be lost forever? The witch had not told him anything about that.

Luckily, he had been stolen before that lunatic had the chance to destroy him. It had been a common thief, probably not even knowing what he had taken. After that, it had gotten blurry. Sasuke had been stored away, covered by a blanket – never seeing that man again. He wondered what had happened to him. Time had passed, and Sasuke had fallen into his slumber once again, being forgotten by the world around him.

That was until now.

Someone had found him. Sasuke didn’t know if by accident or not. But either way, this one too, will probably come to hate Sasuke. He had long ago given up hope that someone would ever free him. Maybe it would have been better to be broken down into pieces after all.

Ocean blue eyes suddenly came into view, as Sasuke faced him – his new owner - for the first time. Usually, he would always great them with the driest “hello” he could muster, yet right now even Sasuke seemed to be rendered speechless.

For the first time in what seemed like forever he didn’t find his voice but could only stare. Those same blue eyes seemed frozen for a moment, before suddenly, widening as he realized what he was looking at. The man took a hectic step back and more of him came into view. Blonde messy bangs were sticking out in all directions – he was tall, rather tanned, and truly well build as far as Sasuke could tell. Given the mix of surprise and horror on his face one could only assume he had found Sasuke by accident.

Sasuke sighed. He felt bad for the other. It was one thing to show unpleasant things to those who had seeked him out first, but to someone who had not even been looking for him, probably just stumbling over him, it was bound to result in nothing but loathing.

Yet, he couldn’t change it. After all, he was nothing more than a mirror.

“Hello.”, Sasuke eventually spoke up.

That seemed to be even more of a shock for the blonde, his mouth falling slightly open as he kept staring at Sasuke.

“You..,” the other tried to find his words, “…can talk?”

Sasuke fought the urge to roll his eyes as he matter of factly stated the obvious. “Yes. I can talk.”

The blonde blinked dumbly.

Sasuke tried to offer an explanation. “I’m a magical mirror.”

Silence.

The other just kept staring at him. His stance was tense, alarmed as he kept thinking Sasuke’s words over, trying to place the newly acquired information.

There was even more silence, as Sasuke kept waiting for any reaction. He started getting impatient. Was the other one an idiot?

Then, suddenly, something seemed to dawn on the blonde. He furrowed his brows, his initial shock subsiding slowly.

“Do you have a name?”, he asked.

Sasuke froze.

This had been a first, no one had ever even expected him to have a name, let alone ask for it. He had always been nothing more than the “magical mirror” to the people around him.

Those same blues eyes kept looking at him, expecting him to answer.

“Sasuke.” He offered, almost unconsciously. That seemed to shift something between them. The other suddenly relaxed, his features getting softer, even offering a small smile. Sasuke couldn’t look away, almost dumbstruck by the whole situation.

“I’m Naruto.”, the blonde told him. “It’s…”, he seemed to hesitate, thinking something over, “…nice to meet you?” Naruto raised his arm, awkwardly scratching his neck.

Naruto. 

Naruto.

Sasuke blinked at him.

Naruto was the first one to ever ask for his name.

For Naruto he was now Sasuke, instead of the magical mirror.

He suddenly felt something he had not felt ever since being human. He felt warm.

Naruto, huh?

[pe4nutastic]

What was it worth?

[ A kaleidoscope of sickly red lines stretch out across his torso like spiderwork, deliberate and perfectly formed yet undoubtedly denotative that something is horribly wrong if his hunched (and pitiful, pathetic) posture, hand clutching tightly at where a heart would be situated if his physiology permitted it, were any indication.  There’s some odd sense of tightness about his current state which keeps him frozen to the spot, mouth opening and closing as if to say something… only to be swallowed up by a strange continuum of sharpness tingling throughout his body like electricity, hot and relentless, unlike anything he had known before.  He’s utterly paralyzed by this state and unable to act as a result, much less make much sense of what’s happening as his mind slowly begins to unravel like threads in clothing.  And yet something sticks out anyways.  The exact trigger behind it.  One which, even through his best efforts, invades his mind, permeating through every consecutive crack that has appeared within long before manifesting externally.  Something which he had thought to be long since extinguished within his heart.

Despair.  Crushing, unsympathetic, and rending despair.

Something which had always tiptoed around the corners of feigned confidence and ironclad will–the very same will which had enabled for him to fulfill his pre-determined role and associated duties to perfection, as if never tainted by humanity to begin with–but never quite managed to break through until glimmers of faded light.. of a warm memory long since past… had managed to peer through the monochromatic and numb emptiness of his mind.  And even so, it did not come in a big dramatic burst but rather as a quiet resignation.  Of desolation and insatiable emptiness; a hole that could never be filled in his ‘heart’ after her death.  One which, upon receiving a rather severe scolding from his superiors, only grew until he could no longer contain it.  Until he could no longer tolerate it, bursting at the fragile seams of his imperfect mind.  Until he had to do something to rectify his original failure.  Anything to make the incomprehensible pain stop.  Anything to erase this feeling now that it cannot be suppressed as easily.  Anything to be useful again.

Desperation.

And so, he had gone against the orders of his superiors–to return back to the home-planet for reevaluations–and with the future-predicting power of the Apple of Enlightenment, instead constructed a plan to guarantee victory.  One which even fate itself would not be able to distort.  One where he would create the optimal winning conditions and eradicate the blight of humanity for good.  After all, he was just a tool programmed to fulfill military functions until the eternal bend of time itself.  He owed it to the ones which had created him to do at least this much.  To prove that he was useful –that he still had value.  But, it was all for naught.  Feverish delusion at best.  A deranged fantasy.

This ambition and dedication.  Value and purpose.  What was it really worth?

More sickly red cracks spread across his exoskeleton, across his neck and through his face to the left ear, lowered in part shame and part agony.  The Chosen Ones are inching closer and closer to victory.  Advancing in ways he was certain that they could not and closing in fast, just as the Apple of Enlightenment had originally predicted.  Even after everything he had done… they were destined for victory.  His hands curl in, against the pain of movement, into tight balls while his tail–littered with a patchwork of red cracks on its own–sharply taps against the darkened ground within The Place That Time Forgot.  He could not overcome the gears of fate.  It’s over.  

All the sacrifice.  The depths he had sunk to in order to realize his machinations.  The price others had paid for his goal.  What was it really worth?

He went against the will of his species for nothing, choosing to try again rather than returning back to the home-planet to be scrapped as he should have. Another crack, this one thicker cuts to his right ear.  He spent all this time preparing and ‘setting the stage’ for destroying the Chosen Ones for nothing.  Yet another crack, stretching harshly down his back.  He betrayed his own mother for nothing.  And several more cracks, spreading like an infectious disease to his other appendages with a sickening snap, like crushing bones.  The Psion species.  Maria.  No matter what receives his loyalty or efforts, he cannot succeed.  He cannot ‘win’.  Only fail, with no consolation other than the notion that he cannot possibly be–and in fact, should not–hurt because he is a Psion.  An empty shell animated by psionic energies with no will of its own.

All this pain and emptiness.  Desolation and despair.  What is it really worth?  What is It really Worth?  WHAT.  IS.  IT.  REALLY.  WORTH–

The thought is abruptly cut off and erased in an instant, another crack piercing the hollow shell containing his very essence and power albeit this time, etching out a hole through which tendrils of a seething and brightened red start to ooze out like pus out a badly infected wound, feverishly weaving too and through in the still air of the cave and cutting through the darkness with a disturbing glow as its shell promptly shatters with a resounding splinter, jagged pieces falling to the ground with a hollow clatter.  And with that, that overwhelming and suffocating–crushingly so–sense of despair wraps around him like a ghostly hug, one that is tipped with conflicting fragments of a few other emotions.  Emotions and the pain felt which grow in strength, feeding on the last vestiges of his disordered and decaying mind with ravenous vigour as its integrity plummets at a sharp drop from before.

–what had he been talking about again?  He can’t recall.  And as the seconds tick on by, even the inquiry on the matter to himself seems more and more like a distant memory, the corrupted essence gradually gushing out his exoskeleton at an increasingly enthused pace, twisting and churning into contorted impressions of his physical appearance as it does so.

What was it?What was it?What was it?What was it?What was it?What was it?

He can’t remember anything.  It hurts.  Nothing comes through.  It hurts.  Everything seems fragmented and murky, the only clarity coming through in haunting glints of the poisonous concoction of emotions which had come rushing through the moment his will had broke.  It hurts.

Despair.  Hatred.  Regret.  And… something else.  Destroy the pain.

A kind of desolate and chalky dryness.  One that is impossible to remedy.  Hunger without a biological mechanism for it.  Thirst without dehydration.

He’s starving for something.  Desperate for something.  Plagued with a hole (somehow) that cannot be filled.  An empty spot, collapsed in on itself and broken as it may be… stuffed with pain as it may be… remains hollow nonetheless.  

It hurts.  It burns.  Destroy.

His very essence is cloaked in a sensation that is fundamentally unfulfilled.  Lynched with a longing for something.  It hurts.  A deep and passionate desire plucked from the long-since rotten core of his heart.  One which needs to be satiated, but will never be, like lines that can never intersect.  Destroy.

The line is gone.  Parallels do not intersect.  It hurts.

What was it worth?What was it worth?What was it worth?What was it worth?

Another cut.  Another sharp drop in mental integrity and even the remaining vestiges of consciousness, tiny and fragile as they were, are too erased as his corrupted and twisted form fully establishes itself in a nightmarish effigy.  Only one thing remains.

Everything hurts.  Destroy.  Destroy everything. ]