#but perhaps underestimated how impossible it would be to get her there in the first place

[fideidefenswhore]

the downfall and execution of a tudor queen (2023) / the boleyns: a scandalous family (2021) / the king's pearl: henry viii and his daughter mary (2017), melita thomas / anne boleyn (tv miniseries 2021) / the mirror and the light (2024) / elizabeth (1998)

[chernabogs]

Hello! I rise from my tumblr slumber to humbly ask if you’d be interested in writing for Malleus, based on the prompt ‘I didn’t feel like I’d step into another world, but like it’d stepped into me. I knew I was there and forgot I’d left anything behind.’ from the prompt list you’d reblogged? I am…sensing much Malleus related angst potential here.

Hehe yes... sort of angst, sort of spooky

RUINS

Inc: Malleus, a fisherman, one ghost (maybe?) WC: 3.1k Warnings: Bleak LMAO. Drug use (smoking, alcohol, and tobacco thanks to the fisherman), ocean horror mention, supernatural horror mention. Summary: A boy looking for his mother visits the last place she was before her passing.

“It’ll be a few hours down the path just beyond the tree line. Impossible to miss if you ask me.” The man pauses to chew on his cigar, his dark gaze narrowing, before grabbing for his pint again. “Why’re you interested ‘n that place anyway? Right rotten, it is.” 

The Red Rabbit is a place renowned for information gathering and sharing—so long as you allow the bartender to continue pouring the mead. Malleus’ fingers reach up to brush along the hood of his travelling cloak as he pulls his own pint glass close. He’s used glamour to conceal most of his obvious features. If anyone saw the crown prince sitting in a dingy pub asking for directions, it would most certainly cause a stir. 

“Right rotten, is it?” Malleus raises the pint to his lips and allows the burning liquid to slide down his throat. Fae mead is noxious, only in that it can get you intoxicated in the first few sips—if you’re a human. The man who sits before Malleus has taken more than a few at this rate. “Perhaps it would be best to let me be the judge of that myself.”

His companion snorts before setting his cigar aside. He’s a fisherman; the scent of the ocean lingers on his person, and his hands are calloused from tossing and hauling nets into an ungiving depth. The shores of lands that had once been Briar Nations have been deprived of fish ever since they became isolated. The village’s landscapes, once vibrant, have now become jagged rocks and dead trees. The villagers are no different. “Go where y’want, see what y’wish. So long as yer not on the rob. That’ll get you killed.” 

This is another thing that Malleus has noticed regarding the village and its denizens—people mind their own business. This is uncommon for small villages, where most would be itching to get in everyone’s affairs, and only further emphasizes the economic faults of the borderlands. It unsettles him.

He didn’t come here on a whim. The thought of this journey had sat in his mind ever since he found out the origins of his birth, and the deception under which he was raised. Perhaps this is why when he slipped out of the palace through the servant’s entrance and into the forest late at night, he did not feel threatened by the burning gaze he felt on his back.

His grandmother owed him. This, she seemed to know, and so she let him go without protest. 

Still, the villagers final comment piques Malleus’ attention. “Get me killed, hm? And what could be there to kill me if it’s just a rotten, desolate place?” 

“Dire beasts’ nests are in there. Few of the guys have seen ‘em—big, hungry things lumbering past the stained-glass windows and down the corridors. Lots’ve people who try goin’ there end up goin’ missing instead because they underestimate how vicious a defensive mother can get.” The fisherman picks up his cigar again and chews on the end. “Anyone who’s lived here long enough knows.” 

Malleus’ nails tap against the pint before pushing it aside and setting a coin pouch on the table. The fisherman raises an eyebrow, his beady dark gaze darting from Malleus to the pouch in interest. There’s enough to pay for Malleus’ drink, the fisherman’s drink, and probably tide the man over for the wintertime as well. A saccharine smile pulls on Malleus’ lips—the part of him that isn’t shadowed by the hood he wears over his head. “Take me there yourself, and I’ll give you more.” 

The fisherman chews on his cigar, staring at Malleus as he does. A thoughtful look crosses his face before it ends in him shaking his head. “Fuckin’ rich ‘uns…” 

His grumbling doesn’t stop him from grabbing the pouch and opening it up. He drops a few madol on the table before shoving the rest of the pouch in his pocket and tossing his cigar aside. A foul, hacking sound comes from his lips before he spits on the floor—which Malleus tries politely not to make a face over—and grabs his raincoat. “Come off it, then. I’ll take it the ocean way. It’s a lot faster and safer than tryin’ ta move through the woods. Bad season for that.” 

“Bad season?” Malleus asks as he rises to his feet. The fisherman shuffles past the other patrons in the crowded space before shouldering the door open to step back in the bleak outdoors. He mutters under his breath as he digs around his pockets before pulling out a small container and popping something into his mouth. The pungent smell of chewing tobacco notifies Malleus quickly of what it is. 

“S’breeding season. Everything in those woods is all riled up and starving in their energy. You’d make a fine morsel for somethin’.” The fisherman glances back at him and grimaces. “Tall n’ scrawny.” 

Well, Malleus tries not to take too much offence to that as he follows the fisherman down the path towards the docks. In his transformed appearance, his physique did look different than usual—leaner, less ‘victim of countless years of training.’ 

“Tragic,” is all he sighs instead before adjusting his hood once more. 

_______________

There’s something humbling about sitting on a cramped boat next to a net full of dead fish that you don’t really realize until you experience it. For Malleus, who sits with his knees to his chest and his body leaning as far away from the net as possible, it’s an experience he doesn’t want to go through again. The fisherman seems utterly unbothered as he stands at the end of the boat, looking out at the murky waters beyond while still chewing on the same tobacco lump. The vessel putters slowly with its magic-powered engine into the night. 

“Gotta go at this pace in case we run into rocks below.” The fisherman shouts over his shoulder as he looks down to the waters again. “Or anythin’ else for that matter.” 

“Anything—” Malleus recoils as a slimy fish corpse brushes against his hand. His expression twists and he swats it away. “Eugh. Anything else?” 

“Merfolk, sea creatures, indiscernible entities. Y’know—no man’s land specialties.” The fisherman’s foot kicks against the engine as the boat is guided to swerve around a rock in question. “Merfolk especially have been comin’ up and around these parts. Which is strange, considerin’ they usually mind themselves down in the Coral Sea.” 

“Perhaps they are vacationing.” Malleus prompts. He knows this is a stupid idea as soon as the words leave his lips, and the fisherman’s bark of a laugh reassures him of such. No one is vacationing to these no man lands. 

The two of them fall back into silence as Malleus looks out to the sea. The lamp on their boat hardly cuts through the darkness that shrouds around them, churning and twisting like the waters they drift upon. He can see why stories of sailors going mad in the night are so prevalent in these parts. The world around them, which seems to hold no beginning or end in this moment, is a prime canvas for delusions. 

“Try not to look out too long. Focus on the lamp instead.” The fisherman’s voice draws him once more as the boat sails along a cliffside now. Black stones loom over them in a daunting stance. It’s the same stone that was used to create Black Scale Palace—carved from the body of Briar Nation itself, back when the body still had a lot to give and belonged to his family. He can see faintly where fae-made chips reside and where nature itself has taken course. “It’s a fool's role to try and see out there. You’ll start seein’ shit that isn’t.”  

Malleus sinks back down in the boat with a sigh. The fisherman is weathered enough to have done this for a long time now if his grey hair and sun-wrinkled skin had anything to say. If he can survive to this age, then it’s for a good reason. 

“How much longer?” He asks. The fisherman scratches his chin before stepping off the bow and sitting against the side of the boat. Fish corpses, a fisherman, and the void-like world around him—Malleus is beginning to doubt the journey’s worth. 

“Five minutes, give’r take. Best just get comfortable.” 

Comfort is impossible with the pungent scent around them, but Malleus pulls his cloak tighter regardless and looks back to the lamp. A few insects bump against the glass in a foolish bid to reach the light, and he busies himself by counting how many burn up in their efforts. 

_______________

When they finally arrive, he pays the fisherman enough madol to wait for him at the bottom of the cliffs before beginning the steep ascent up the hills. His mother had an apparent idea that building a palace near the edge of the nation’s lands was a brilliant one. Perhaps in the forgiving summer months the view of the ocean was tranquil and pleasing. Right now, it’s the most loathsome thing in his existence. 

Making it to the top of the cliff offers no reprieve, either. He’s greeted abruptly with an excess of thorns twisting and writhing their way across the earth. Brambles, starving for something, shudder and groan as he inches past them. The only reason they refuse to sink into his supple flesh is perhaps because they can smell the magic of their creator imbued within him. His mother apparently did have brilliant ideas—one of them being to give him a healthy dose of magic before her departure. 

“Gods,” he hisses as he burns away another bramble. The sudden light seems to make the patch shudder and retract with an angry sound. The movement enables Malleus to notice a different aspect of the palace that he neglected—the scent of diurnal fae magic. He can feel it clashing with his mothers in a power-struggle for control, the two essences entwining and biting like starving dogs. The diurnal fae likely wished to keep humans away—Malleus wagers his mother wished for the opposite. 

His lip curls in disgust as he makes his way down the stone path leading to the decrepit white structure beyond. The closer he gets, the more he begins to see the truth in the fisherman’s warnings. Stained glass windows are either blown out or breaking along the palace’s walls. The stones themselves are chipping and beginning to crumble, crushed under the weight of the thorns that still twist and move subtly. The musky scent of animals also begins to appear alongside the earlier magic. This is what draws him to a stop as he reaches the front door. 

It may have been heavily fortified once. Now, it looks as though one door was violently kicked in, lying broken on its hinges and giving just enough room for Malleus to wiggle inside. He nips his finger on a thorn, causing a curse to slip past his lips as he presses his wound to his tongue before his feet finally meet stone again. 

There’s no chuffing of dire beasts from within like the fisherman warned. There’s also no indication of any sort of haunting present, which Malleus has also heard rumours of. 

No. Upon entering Wild Rose Palace for the first time in his life, Malleus is greeted with silence—anticlimactic, and brutally honest. 

“... hm.” He shoves his hood off his head and waves a hand to dispel the transformation glamour he’s been wearing. Once that’s in order, he begins to move down the hall to his right, his eyes narrowing with intent swimming in their green depths. If the layout of this palace is the same as Black Scale, then the throne room is likely down this hall, past a few more turns, and then through another set of double doors—nestled right in the heart of the building. 

As he moves, he does begin to track similarities to his grandmother's home. It didn’t feel like he had stepped into another world—rather, that it had stepped into him. He knows he’s here and yet feels like he forgot he left to arrive. It’s unnerving. His fingers trace along the wall to his left as he passes by suits of armour, portraits either torn up or faded from age, and tapestries that display tales with which he isn’t familiar. His grandmother had tried hard to shield him from a lot of things. This apparently includes censoring literature that may have once existed. 

The brambles continue to part for him as he makes turn, after turn, after turn in the labyrinthian design that was formed in his mother’s mind. His breath hitches a few times in panic when he hears a sound from behind him in the hall, causing his pace to pick up, only to level out again when the sounds fade. It feels as though he’s been walking for eons when another set of doors finally appear. 

Carved of black oak and adorned with two dragons curled on their frame, he reckons that they can only lead to one place as his hands grasps the cold, metal knobs. With a jerking motion, he pulls them open to a cacophony of deafening shrieks, and steps inside. 

_______________

Glass. 

The sight of his body takes him aback for a second as his expression becomes almost comical. The wall behind the throne that sits at the end of the large room is glass, polished and untarnished despite nearly 400 years of neglect. His hands fall from the knobs as he slowly makes his way inside. There are stained glass windows lining the one wall while the other is white stone, which is decorated with brambles crawling to the rafters above. Malleus steps over them deftly, frowning as he does before coming to a stop in the middle of the room. Once he reaches this point, he pauses, before closing his eyes and trying to think. 

He wants to see if he can feel her. Even a slight lingering wisp of her presence would be enough to please him. He wants to know if he can experience what it’s like: a mother’s touch, a mother’s voice. His grandmother had tried hard to shield him from a lot of things, with maternal affection also being one—not that he can blame her. He used to, but experiencing loss first-hand had taught him that not everyone heals the same way. A few remain more fractured than others even in the years after. 

“Mother?” He tries the term on his tongue, tastes it, rolls it over to see what that’s like as well. It’s foreign. His mouth struggles to form it and his voice warbles as his eyes open and he grimaces. Sour and strange—that’s how it tastes. His feet drag him closer to the throne before he kneels upon it to peer at the glass wall. 

It looks like it was covered by fabric once. Scraps of violet remain pooled on the floor, which he passes a sparing glance at before looking up again. He feels like a child as he peers over the thrones edge to his curious reflection. He used to do this with his grandmother when he was little—play on her throne, try to get her attention for even a moment. He’s always been somewhat of a needy child. 

“Mother?” He prompts again. Maybe saying it twice will do something. Instead, the only thing he receives is his own voice echoing back as he looks over his shoulder to the darkened hallways beyond. 

Silence—anticlimactic, and brutally honest. 

His nails dig into the metal of the throne as he slumps down, temporarily dejected. It’s a stupid thing to get dejected over, he reasons to himself. It isn’t like he expected to hear what her voice sounded like anyway. All he has are a few nagging memories of it from his time within his egg. His head turns to the side to look in the glass again. His expression is less curious and more frustrated now as he stares into his own green eyes. 

And then, a flash. 

It’s so subtle that he might have missed it had he not been looking in the glass at the right moment. It makes him sit up straighter as his breath stutters to a pause. There’s nothing for another few seconds before another flash, and another. A few lost green fireflies seem to have found their way into the palace and are now floating by his head in interest. Malleus’ lips crack into a faint smile as his hand goes up to brush against one, which lights up bright before floating just out of reach. 

He can see them in the mirror. The fireflies, the stained glass, the tapestries, the shadow—

Shadow. 

He thinks for a moment—just one, foolish moment—that he can see standing behind him in that glass, something tall, with horns like his own and a flash of green that isn’t a firefly. Malleus twists around rapidly in the throne, his body tense and ready for conflict, only to look upon a room devoid of anything but him and the insects. The silence of all but his own breath is becoming oppressive, weighted, like he’s starting to no longer be welcomed in this place. He hears something low rumble from somewhere else within the palace as he waves a hand to conceal his appearance. 

He rises from the throne, shaken but not put off as he steps down to the stone floor once more. A thought crosses his mind that he can’t help but find amusement in—it’s utterly her. From the stories he’s heard through Lilia, and Baul, and even his grandmother on the odd night, it’s utterly her to give him a fright before vanishing into the ether once more. 

It thrills him. It vindicates him. 

“Thank you, mother.” There’s a dry bit of humour in his tone as he casts one last glance to the throne before turning away. 

Does he feel as though a part of himself is satisfied now? Does he feel whole? He isn’t sure. Perhaps the realization will come to him on the boat ride back to the bleak, miserable village he came from. Perhaps the realization will come to him in his bed, when he’s wrapped in sheets of black silk and staring at the stars beyond. Perhaps the realization will never come at all because it never existed to begin with. 

Anticlimactic, and brutally honest.

[lazywriters-blog]

BAD SON

Warning: DRAMA, forced relationship, just Aqua being the creepy manipulative dork he is, two stalkers playing, sorta friends to enemies? Enemies to menaces. Not really yandere?

Summary: You come to realize your friend had been trying to stab you in the back. Being a skilled stalker works well in these situations.

In all honesty, he couldn't be doing anything wrong. These were just tricks to get her close, to make sure things went his way and he could breathe easy, every once in a while, he deserves it. For everything to succeed, there's hardships first so if he took the time to brace through the storm, he could have the puzzle pieces.

But perhaps, he underestimated how mentally strong one can be, all the things that are supposed to hurt her and get her to ask for help, resulted in a rather odd reaction. She ended up getting stronger, more independent, and more capable than before.

And she didn't come running to him.

He even made sure to offer help, standing there willingly so that she could see him as clearly as day, spoke to her, and reassured her, however, his plans had holes in them.

She did not ask for help. From him. They did not get any closer than they already were. She even avoided him, building invisible walls, and he had to wonder if she knew he controls the situation to his liking and pushes some to fall in place. A manipulator.

Even though her reputation had been torn down and shredded into bits, she smiles. She smiles.

He could have given up, let her be, let her breeze through peacefully but should he admit defeat so early on? He can't, he won't. How long can a person withstand verbal harassment before breaking down? Not forever, he can be her ally, her best friend.

He had to make himself impossible to ignore. He just had to make her come to him.

"Hey." he approached her sitting at her marked bench, and she hadn't noticed him watching her from a distance, did she like to pretend?

"Hi. Is there something wrong?" she replied, shifting over to make space between them.

"No."

"O... Kay? Then, what's up? Did you find the one behind the rumors? You did say you would but you don't need to worry about it." she grinned, looking away to the ground, anything to not make eye contact. Was she secretly ashamed?

"I don't break my promises," he said, crossing his arms as he leaned back, "you didn't make a promise though." she raised her eyebrows, blinking a couple of times before turning away.

"I appreciate it, but I have a hunch on who did it." she swayed her legs back and forth, maintaining her smile, "I'm not too sure yet."

"How do you know?" he asked.

"Oh, you know, just connected the dots, and boom! I found it, but there were only three people who knew about it, my tendency to play around with anyone sure is troublesome but eh what can I do?" she mused, pouting.

"But you know, I realized an interesting clue. No one who could have spread it is any better than me, so I think it's someone I know but haven't quite yet gotten to know them." she looked at him, stretching her smile wider she kept her gaze on him, "But, yeah like I said, I'm not sure, because I can't care about everybody hehe." she quickly turned her face dropping her smile and softly glaring at passengers.

"You know..." she slowly started, "we don't know each other that much, right? Strange, even though we've been friends for months," she stated, sitting up straight she glanced back at him, "the other day, I'm pretty sure I followed you around, and you didn't even notice me." she frowned, quietly waited for the response she had envisioned in her head.

However, he had nothing to say but his face surely indicated some of the things his poker face couldn't hide.

"I even made sure to call out your name, but at last, you didn't even see me." she sighed louder, "Pity really, we could have been best friends." she got up, staring down at his facade.

"I hope you go to hell." she hissed, disgust was written over her face, and no matter what he said, nothing would change in the slightest, she had already walked away and left him behind.

Maybe he isn't as good as he thought himself out to be, he's let pride rust his brain.

Just as he had ruined her reputation, she ruined his, doing plenty to hurt him in the long run, and he didn't like how it stung, how despite being careful, he wasn't careful enough, she could have been the special tool he could use, but she had more personas than one.

How was he going to recover her?

Who told her he was behind the rumors, did she figure it out herself by following him around? Could she still have dirt on him she could use to threaten him with, when had she trailed him? He couldn't have mentioned anything about his final plan.

He couldn't afford another slip-up.

He had to get her on his side.

A fake love confession seemed to be his only chance if she's got more tricks up her sleeves, then he would have to dig deeper to find her darkest secrets. Her weakest points. He couldn't sit back and let anyone give him what he doesn't want.

The next time they had a project together, he'd get her to come, alone. She wasn't anybody special, and he won't let her top him.

The fun part was, nobody wanted to be partners with him, so by default, pulling some strings to get someone to exchange with him wasn't hard. Since, well, both of them were outcasts at this point.

"Hm... You are one hell of an enemy," she muttered to herself, pushing her face against her palm as she looked outside, "by now, you could have saved yourself, I'm sure people would believe you more than me, but oh well, they sure would be blind then." she giggled.

"I want to meet you after school." he bluntly uttered after ignoring her words, "What a joke, you want to confess to me or something?" she smugly stated, intently side-eyeing him.

"Even if you were sincere about it, you're an actor," she smirked, "you are supposed to fool everyone with your charm and looks, and most of the time, it works." she shrugged.

"Alright, if you insist." he wanted to shut her up anyway, so taking a quick look at their subject teacher, he pulled her face to his and dismissed the shocked face of his classmate when he kissed her. As soon as it began, it ended.

This way, it was sure to spark more gossip. Bring her to him even if she didn't want to.

And it worked, she and he were a thing in the eyes of the people. Even if, she hadn't accepted his confession, he wasn't going to give her a choice. Everything should be going his way.

He's going to make sure she falls in love.

"We should finish this project today." he stopped her by the entrance, grabbing her wrist and making it impossible for her to leave. "I'll come if you want."

"No need," she argued, softly attempting to pull away from him without causing a scene, "It would be better if you let go now. I don't want to report you for sexual harassment and make your career a burning pile of garbage."

"Would they believe you?" he spoke, "I'm the one with connections, not you. So let's make some concessions."

"I don't care, let go! Don't touch me!" she forced her hand out of her grasp and made haste to the exit, and if anyone had paid attention to them, he hopes it makes them think they are closer than anybody else in the whole world. Because the last thing he wanted is for his plans to fail.

She was making it harder for him.

At this rate, he was going to lose her.

With her help, he's sure they can easily overpower his wicked father, he needs this relationship to work. He will make it work.

He will fall in love and so will she.

[xjulixred45x]

This is a crazy drabble request. I love stirring the yandere pot unfortunately. Basically Yan Higuruma and Yan Nanami did something bad to Necro. They destroyed a sentimental item from her days as a necromancer and she was so hurt emotionally they ran to one of the "safe" adults she knew which is Shoko or Kusakabe. She refuses to see them and I am curious how they will handle it and try to get Necro's forgiveness

ANGST TIMEEEEE!!!

Platonic Yandere Nanami/ Higuruma x Necro! Reader: you'll be Back.

She had forced their hand.

It was her fault that this happened, not them.

What else were they supposed to do? When she had done nothing but disrespect them day and night? When she had tried to leave their side when all they wanted was to help her? save her! and yet she had the audacity, the courage to make them see themselves as the bad guys....

is what they both repeated to themselves while their home was in an unusual state of tranquility, whether for better or worse, the house always had some type of noise (laughter, chatter, crying, shouting...) but For some time now the disturbing sensation was replaced by tension.

Both Kento and Higuruma were fighting so hard not to explode at each other, not to let all that repressed anger come out and continue to maintain the calm man façade, but it was extremely difficult without the only thing that normally held them together.

reader.

who had recently fled, and to make matters worse, it seemed that he was constantly changing locations in order to avoid them and not see them (with good reasons that they did not understand) with people whom they had to put up with for the sake of their relationship with their daughter.

But it was already taking its toll on them, they couldn't live like that.

how did they come to this?

They were aware that the nature of their relationship with Reader was not healthy, normal, or even good for any of them, but despite everything they had done to her, Reader returned to them, and they could not live without her. It was a vicious circle.

but it seems that the reader underestimated the nosibity and how far the jealousy of the two psychopaths with whom she shared a roof could go.

It was simply an ancient gadget, given to them by their original parents, perhaps that's why both Kento and Higuruma had some animosity towards it, but they didn't do anything especially questionable...until one day a fight escalated and became especially hectic.

The reader wanted to believe, she really wanted to believe that it hadn't been on purpose, that it had been an honest mistake and that they would apologize to her in some way. but said apology never came, and they acted as if nothing had happened, like when she threw a "tantrum" they ignored her screams, it was exactly the same, but she thought it would be different...

and the only thing she received was a hardened look and a "we are the only family you need, everything else is worthless" from those who had stolen her from said life in the first place..

It was too much...

and deep down Nanami and Higuruma knew it.

They knew that what they had done was wrong, of the damage it caused, that they had to refrain from going after the reader and trying to help her collect the remains of her relic, that they would have liked to have done it another way, but they were so closed to each other that They couldn't even begin to describe that...

and now there was the question of what they would do to get the reader back, there had to be a way, but it would be almost impossible with people like Kusakabe or Shoko around, they couldn't risk losing this opportunity, not again, not now.

They were both sides of the same coin, two opposite extremes, but they couldn't live without it. Without HER.

They need him, they hated each other, she hated them, deep down, they KNEW it.

They knew that the reader would surely be better off with the safe adults who generated so much rejection, they knew that the reader would be a better sorceress than either of them could become if they let her. They knew she had so much potential, a possible life and future ahead of her AND THEY DIDN'T CARE!

No matter how many times they said or convinced themselves that this time would be different, it wasn't, because they would never let her be happy with someone other than them.

They were monsters, but they managed to forget that with the reader. and that was the only thing that mattered.

If others have to suffer, if SHE has to suffer, then so be it. They are going to be selfish. As many times as it takes to be happy, they WILL be selfish.

Until then they would have to find some kind of comfort and guidance in the overwhelming silence of the house, a silence that they themselves brought. while they dreamed of what would be the beautiful melody of a home again.

It was the only thing they had in common after all...

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

I'll try to make some Requests AND indulge in My Hades hyperfaction for now. Ok? Ok

[jomiddlemarch]

Heyy hope you're having a happy and restful end of the year :)

For the Christmas and holiday writing prompts,

13 for darkliina

Thanks!! (Love your darkliina fics so much! They're keeping me sane while I re-read the books and await season 2 of the series)

“You’re impossible,” Alina announced, walking over the settee across from Aleksander and letting herself plop down onto it in a way so graceless even kind Genya would have said was unbecoming of someone of her status. She toed off her finely made shoes and grimaced at her aching feet. She would have done better to wear her First Army issued boots, made to cross a thousand leagues, though Saints knew, it was possible she wouldn’t have fared any better. Aleksander slipped a chased silver marker between the pages of the book he’d been reading and closed it.

“You must tell me what I have done that has left you so defeated, milaya. Or are you exasperated? I can hardly tell,” he said. “First though, have a cake. The kitchens have outdone themselves and it can only sweeten your temper.”

“Not everything can be solved by eating cakes, Sasha. Not everyone wants cakes when they are hungry,” Alina said, admitting to herself that this did seem to be a particularly enticing array.

“Then a cheese bun, you like those and they’ve done something with the spices the envoy from Malabar brought, it’s quite remarkable and there’s plenty of tea. Or I can send for something stronger from the cellars,” Aleksander said.

“If I have a sip of anything hard, I’ll drift off. I’m better off with the tea and the bun,” Alina said, enjoying even more watching Aleksander deftly pour out from the samovar, the steam curling around him the way his shadows did when he was content. She took a bite of the pastry and found his description of the cheese bun was, if anything, an underestimate of the kitchen’s latest achievement.

“So how exactly am I impossible, Alya?” he asked after a few moments, allowing her to finish nearly all of the pastry and lick her fingers, her Imperial Court manners forgotten in a way that pleased them both.

“You’re impossible to buy a gift for,” she said. “You’ve lived too long and traveled too far—”

“I have no need of a gift, milaya,” he said, stopping when she raised her hand in gesture that promised a glittering fall of light if he continued to speak.

“You’re about to tell me I’m gift enough or our life together is,” she said. “Or perhaps that you want for nothing since your shadow has been matched with my sun. Some utter nonsense.”

“I cannot correct you,” he replied. “I would have said all of that and more. That we are beyond giving gifts, you and I, and—”

“You aren’t getting me a gift?” she interrupted. “Then what has David been hiding under about twelve yards of muslin in his workshop, as if I wouldn’t notice something that requires twelve yards of muslin to be concealed, and why have you sent Fedyor to the avenue of merchants just when I would be expected to be practicing with Master Botkin and why does Genya keep smiling at me as if I’m a maid about to be given my first drink of medovudhka? Why is Ivan smiling the same way? It’s terrifying, Sasha.”

“You are quite observant,” he said. “Though I had thought better of Ivan, to reveal anything in his expression—”

“Yes, well, don’t try to distract me. You have clearly gotten me half a dozen gifts, maybe more, and I spent the entire day walking around every stall and shop in Os Alta trying to find something for you.”

“I truly don’t need anything, Alya,” Aleksander said softly. “You, everything we have together, far exceeds any gift I could ever hope for. If you don’t find something, it’s all right—”

“Oh, I found something,” she said. “You thought because I said you were impossible I came home empty-handed?”

“I may have done,” he said. “Shall I wait to see what it is?”

“I should probably tell you now. Hang on, let me just…” she said, rooting around in the inner pocket of her kefta, bringing out a tiny clay cask she offered to him so he could see the stamp of the bee in the curve of the belly.

“It’s snowdrop honey,” she said. “Sankta Elizaveta’s flower.”

“It’s very rare, very precious, milaya,” Aleksander said. “I shall savor it.”

“You don’t have to,” she said. He frowned, confusion evident in his dark eyes, and Alina smiled. “There’s plenty more. I bought the hives.”

“You bought the hives?”

“And, of course, the land they’re on. The valley where the snowdrops grow. It came with a lovely dacha, with a proper pechka. And there’s only one viable approach, so Ivan is satisfied with the security perimeter.”

“Alina, you astonish me,” he said.

“See, you did need a gift. You needed to know you could be astonished, Sashenka,” she said. “I just knew honey was the easiest conduit. It’s really a wonder you have any teeth left in your head the way you are with sweets.”

[weakforarwen]

Merlin Week 2022 Day 2: Favorite Scene

I could talk about my favorite arc (Gwen's rise to Queendom), or my favorite episode (The Once and Future Queen), or my favorite season (honestly, it's a tie between seasons 2 and 3), or even my favorite theme (Gwen vs. Uther and Arthur's growth), but I've nothing left to say. Yet, it's also impossible to say what my favorite scene is.

Is it an Arwen scene? Arwen's first kiss? Arthur looking back at Gwen after saying they couldn't be together in 2.02? "I will always love you"? "They'll see.""I don't care."? Arwen's reunion hug in 4.12? "It's what you do when you love someone."? "I've never loved another."? "Yes, with all my heart."? "Then all is lost.""Then there's still hope."? "I married for love. I love Guinevere. More than I can express."? "Guinevere is wise and strong, and I trust her more than anyone. [...] I would rather not rule at all than rule alone."? "Without her, they're worth nothing to me."? "How can I admit that I think about her all the time. Or that I care about her more than anyone. How can I admit that I don't know what I'll do if any harm comes to her?"? "How is Arthur? [...] When I am gone, will you take care of him for me, Merlin?"? "If I lose her, I lose everything."? The picnic in 3.10? Their kiss in 2.10? Arthur and Gwen looking at each other as Isolde dies in Tristan's arms? "Merlin, if anything should happen to me, look after Gwen. The world may think she is just a servant, dispensable, but she's not dispensable to me." "Right... Good job I'm not very dirty, then." "It's a good job indeed!"? "I don't think I'd ever get used to it." "You don't have to. You've got me."? "You did a good deal more than that. You were equal to any knight of Camelot. I'm proud of you." "Really?" "Really."? "I know you have to go, but..." "I'll be careful." "For me."? "I wasn't going to let anything happen to you."? "Do you remember the first time I kissed you? There. That's the memory I will take with me."? Arthur moving a lock of Gwen's hair in 2.12? "I knew it. I said you'd be alright." "I can remember you talking to me." "You can?" "You stroked my forehead." "I was tending to your fever." "You never lost faith." "I was just talking." "Tell me again what you said?" "I don't remember." "Yes, you do." "No, I don't." "Come on. Something about "the man I am inside." "No, I never said that." "Guinevere..." "I have to get these washed, Sire."? "That thing could've killed you." "And it still might! Sorry, Sire." "No. My pleasure."? "There's no need to call me that." "There is every need, Sire."? "I love Camelot more than I can say, but when I'm there, sometimes I feel I can hardly breathe. Everyone expects so much of me. Being here with you? I can be myself."? "You were right to ask. I rely on your honesty, Guinevere. And I love you for it."? "So Ruadan believed it was his sacred duty to fight my husband."? "I lost Guinevere once before."? "We have wasted an entire day!"? "Maybe so, but you're forgetting one thing, Uncle. Guinevere is with them. We keep going. All night if necessary."? "I love you, Guinevere, more than you can imagine. There isn't anything I would not do for you."? "Only he can reach the part of Gwen that remains true."? "Do you remember when I asked you to marry me? Do you remember what you said? You said, "With all my heart." That's what you said, Guinevere. That was no subterfuge. No trickery."? "I love you. You mean everything to me.".... "Guinevere, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? Is that a yes?" "Oh, sorry! Yes. Yes. Yes."? "All I know, my lord, is that no one would sacrifice more for Camelot or you than Gwen." "And if that were so?" "You must do what your heart tells you, sire." "What if I don't know what that is?" "I think you do."? "Gwen will be found. You will find each other."? "Oh...the world's a strange place, Guinevere. Never underestimate the power of love. I've seen it change many things."

Or, perhaps it's a Gwen scene... Gwen's coronation? "I don't expect someone like you to understand that."? Gwen blacksmithing in 3.12? Gwen starting a fire in 3.07? Gwen standing up for women in Ealdor? All of Gwen in 4.02 and 5.01? "Don't let anyone tell you what to do. You said you are your own man. You have a good heart. Be true to it. Only then will you be the king you want to be."? "I trust you, Arthur. More than Uther. More than any man. Worry is not a wise counsel. Forget everything else. You have to follow what you believe is right."? Gwen's dignity in 3.10 when facing death? Gwen's words to Arthur in 2.07 and 2.02? "Get away from him!"? "No, no, no. We'll never outrun them, you must go on without me! [...] Morgana, go! Please! You must get help!"? "You are everything that is right with this world."? "Do not flatter yourself. I am not your guest! I am your prisoner!"? "Camelot needs knights. Not just Arthur and his kind, but ordinary people like you and me.""Remember me"? "Ask, Merlin. You know I'd grant you anything. I mean, not anything. Obviously, not anything. What is it you want?"? "Oh, it's, don't worry, it's completely gone. I've no desire to kill Arthur." "That's great news. Although, I'm afraid right now he does want to kill you."? "After what happened in the council yesterday, I'll never be able to look Arthur in the face again." "I know, it's embarrassing." "It's more than embarrassing, Merlin! I cannot face him, ever." "Come on, Gwen. It's not that bad. All girls do it, don't they?" "Not in public! And certainly not in front of the man they have feelings for!" "You still have feelings for Arthur." "Not that it matters now, because he will never be able to look at me in the same way again." "Gwen, if Arthur likes you, he likes you. Warts and farts and all." "Merlin, I haven't got any warts." "Then you'll talk to him?"? "Gwen! I've been searching the whole town for you. Arthur's been worried sick." and all of Merlin and Gwen's scenes in 3.07. "But I like that you tried, and that you know when to give up." and Gwen's first scene with Gwaine. "I understand why you can't forgive me. But I never once stopped loving you. Never once."? "Maybe he's right. One day I will be the King of Camelot, and I cannot be a friend to the people as well as their ruler." "That's not true, and you will prove it when you become King. You've a kind heart, Arthur. Don't ever change. Not for anyone." Anytime Gwen used a sword or defended herself in any way was great too, or whenever Angel made one of her brilliant and hilarious faces, like in 3.03 or 4.03. And there are a lot more scenes of Gwen with Merlin, Elyan, Gaius, Morgana that I love.

Maybe an Arthur-centric scene? My personal favorite is "It is destiny, my love. Destiny and chicken". But, also, "Without the people there is no Camelot. We're as much their servant as they are ours."; "Because it's not victory I seek. It is peace."; "This is no way to achieve peace."; "What happened to you Morgana? I thought we were friends."; "Then I'm happy being insane. Surely it's better than being miserable."; "You know me, Merlin. I never listen to you." and all of 1.11; "But to save her dying father, that doesn't make her guilty of creating a plague. One's the act of, of kindness, of love, the other of evil. I don't believe evil's in this girl's heart."; "I'll not stand by and watch my men die when I have the chance to save them. [...] Do not make this a test of wills, Father."; "I cannot think of my pride when our people go hungry. They're all I can think of."; "If laying down my life will spare the people of Camelot, then that is what I must do."; "Look, no matter what adversity we face, we stand for what is right. To betray our beliefs, Merlin, that is what would destroy everything we've strived for. I swear I'm going to rescue my men... or die trying."; I cannot even begin to count all the times Arthur was willing to give his life for his men and his people. I also love the scenes where Arthur puts aside his pride. Like when he let his father win in 3.11. "Is this what you want? To die here, now know you condemn this land to war. Odin, you cannot let it end like this. The blood will never wash off. [...] We have both lost much at the others hand. Let us loose no more, I am offering you the chance to end this. Take it!"; "I made a mistake." "I've looked after you since you were a nurseling, Arthur. You should've known I love you far too much ever to betray you. [...] Contained within this great kingdom is a rich variety of people with a range of different beliefs. I'm not the only one seeking to protect you. There are many more who believe in the world you are trying to create. One day you will learn, Arthur. One day you will understand...just how much they've done for you." That is another personal favorite.

There are also many scenes of Arthur with Merlin and the knights that I love. In 1.02 Arthur trusted Merlin's word over a knight's; in 1.05, he disobeyed Uther to save Merlin; in 4.08 he was so happy to see his men well; what he did for Elyan in 4.10, etc. There are Merlin's scenes too that I love... especially the ones with Gwen, Gwaine and Lancelot. I think they've been giffed already.

If you made it this far, I rest my case.

[camellia-thea]

The asking game for Dove, numbers 2, 14, 19, and 24 For Taralin it's numbers 6 (and more of a how easily could they be convinced to go against their core values, since we all know Taralin's moral compass is shaky at the best of times), 20, 14, and 24

I hope this isn't too many, but i also know how much you like to talk about your blorbos and I want to hear it

<33333333 thank you glorious game master

you and kaz managed to overlap some of your questions, so i'll take different angles so we get different information!

these are a little shorter than normal perhaps, but uh. this definitely still needs a cut.

dove!!

2. What's something about your OC that people wouldn't expect just from looking at them?

dove sits in her kitchen most evenings, the crappy desktop screen flickering ominously with each click of the mouse.

she enters the open-late supermarket near her haven to buy batteries, and the electric doors falter. the checkout dislikes her card, so she pays in cash.

when her desktop shuts down on her for the third time that evening, when the doors fail to open for her at all, when the self checkout refuses her cash as well, she turns her eyes the the ceiling and fights back an inhuman snarl.

fucking lasombra. fucking bane. fucking technology. she can't even answer a phone now. microphones hate her, the crackling static almost impossible to hear over, even if she can convince her button phone answer it.

but--- she used to be so talented. she was good at technology. ask her to crack into someone's laptop? it's already half done. dove was good. better than good, honestly. once.

14. How does your OC want to be seen by other characters?

dove likes when eyes pass over her, and catch her with concern before moving on -- it's none of their business, but they doubt her. it's fun. she played the young, overworked and under appreciated secretary, the one who got the job a little too young, with a little too few credentials, and those defenses lingered.

let them underestimate you, little mouse

it's the beast, not him but... well, it isn't wrong.

then destroy them with all you have.

19. How does your OC behave when enraged?

dove has good self control, really, she does. she knows it. she's got a good handle on her beast, a good handle on her hunger, and well, a good handle on herself.

except when she doesn't.

when her control is pushed. when she finally snaps. it's catastrophic in the way it always is, when a kindred's beast is unleashed. violence is too kind a word for what she falls into. a callous ruthlessness that requires perfection and destruction in one.

cruel and bloody.

24. What is an alternative life path your OC might have gone down? How different would their life be if they'd made those decisions?

the sun shines brightly on [REDACTED] as she walks home. she's tired, sure, but in a way that belies productivity. the office is only a few blocks away from her new(!) apartment, and while she said no to the internship (much to her parent's disappointment), but she's studying law, and enjoying it. it's... good. great, even. she's living off campus with someone she might be getting... closer to, and well. she has a plan. she has a stable income, and is close to a second degree (somehow?) with another job lined up for the summer between graduation and beginning her masters.

life... looks good.

----------------------------

taralin!!!

tws, violence, death, and unreality for the first one. number 24 has a pregnancy mention. i think that's it.

6. How easily could your OC be convinced to do something that goes against their moral compass?

it's a knife at kit's throat and a cone of cold at the party that makes taralin freeze.

they're in the sewers.

or... daedalia?

the memory is fuzzy, but taralin is panicked. aisling is already dead, and rhiann and kadana are battered, bleeding. torvold is down as well, but she can see him breathing, so for now, he's fine. gex is--- somewhere, hidden hopefully, but kit is their main concern.

kit-- there's blood beading at his neck, it shines gold, not red. it's-- it's the morrigan. no-- it's haj.

it's haj who holds the knife, and she's saying something about the price magic should be sold at, but it sounds like they're underwater.

taralin calls out--

stop--------

and the world slows.

haj smiles.

and taralin

for kit. for gex. for rhiann. for kadana. for torvold. even for aisling.

makes a deal.

they jerk upright silently, she's crying, she realises. silently.

nyral shuffles himself into her lap. he licks her hand, and snuffles back into sleep.

it wasn't real.

it wasn't real.

14. How does your OC want to be seen by other characters?

taralin likes composure. likes the armor of competence and charisma. he doesn't need the charm, as long as there is a wall of consternation. it's a weapon as strong as any knife, and she's perfected her technique.

she doesn't smile unless it's a threat.

20. Does your OC have a tendency to get jealous? If so, how does this manifest?

something sits lodged in her throat, as she watches aisling and kit be the fire. it's bitter, and only gets bigger as kit grins at the woman. she's--

not everything. she's violent (so are you), she's callous (so are you), she's angry (so are you), she's dangerous.

so are you.

but she's treated with such-- kindness.

it's bitterness that causes taralin to invite sand in the nose along, as much as it's caused by his like of the gnoll. a desperate, subconscious hope that aisling will be caught out, punished, maybe.

in a similar way taralin has been.

the zone of truth still stings.

and really, they were more attached than aisling is now. been with them longer, proved themself.

he'd do anything for them, do they realise? do they know?

but there sits aisling.

gex smiles at her too. smiles at her more than he does at them. they're still mad at him, still furious. and their trust has been shattered, but--

they thought he liked them more than that.

rhiann is wary enough of aisling that it feels-- fine. but she doesn't get it. she doesn't get why taralin feels so-- wrong about it all.

it's... a surprising betrayal.

and they watch aisling, welcomed without a word into their party, and they wonder why they tolerate it. wonder why they stay alongside the woman who almost stabbed a companion. who taralin knows would leave them to die without regret.

the feeling chokes them. it'll explode soon enough. but for now...

they swallow it down.

24. What is an alternative life path your OC might have gone down? How different would their life be if they'd made those decisions?

it's warm.

taralin lies back on a picnic blanket, a hand over her eyes.

"happy birthday, starfire."

his voice makes her smile. "only happy because you're here." she pulls her hand away to gaze at him, his smile, his eyes, his hair. he dips down to kiss her, and she eases into it, before pulling back with tenderness in her gaze.

"i love you." he laughs at that, bright.

"and i love you." another kiss. "but-- i'm starting to burn. so we can move into some shade, or head home and finish our picnic there."

"mmmmm. not much of a picnic if we're inside." he laughs at them, and warmth burns in their chest. gods, they love this man.

"okay, to the tree then, fair maiden."

"maiden today, am i?" it's teasing.

"galant sir?"

"perhaps."

another kiss, and another, and another. eventually, taralin pulls away.

"what happened to shade?"

"you're just so enchanting, love of my life, light of my soul."

she rolls her eyes, and pulls him toward the tree.

they curl at the oak's base, taking shelter in its' shade. the view over the cliffs to the sea is spectacular. the sea glitters, bluer than the sky.

aiden presses a kiss behind her ear. "twenty-eight. how does it feel?"

"perfect." and steals a proper kiss from him.

her hand rests on her stomach, his bracketing it. there isn't movement yet, but they know there's life there.

it's another step. another chapter in their story. and taralin cannot wait to write it.

[mamamittens]

Promises to Keep (Sneak Peek)

I'd like to put more words down before posting on AO3 for this new little fic. Yeah, lol, another pokemon fic. This one Sword/Shield into Scarlet/Violet.

Still workshopping some stuff and I'll hopefully finish a few other stories before posting, but we'll see. I'm terrible at keeping plot bunnies to myself.

Warnings: Pokemon violence against a child, blood, mentions of divorce and infidelity.

Feolette (Ten, Female): pronounced Fee-oh-let

Kladenet (Sixteen, Male): Kla-de-net

Word count: 1,667

Klad smiled as he pitched the tent just outside of Wyndon, certain that he’d be able to see the city itself if he traveled up the steep hill. But it was late and, frankly, they’d traveled quite fast as the reportedly weak blizzard began to pick up. He still had plenty of time to make it to the gym and register for the finals.

Ocara, his steadfast inteleon lingered near the cooking fire, not overly fond of the weather but keeping an eye out anyway. Slick, his low amp toxitricity ambling in the snow in feigned boredom near his sister. Madam, ever watchful hattrene she was, assisting in building a snowman fondly. Tweety preened her feathers with a regal menace only a corviknight could manage as snowflakes dusted her back.

His sister, Feolette, laughed. Bundled in a warm winter coat, bright red against the white snow. Fuzzy hat pulled over her long silvery hair. Tan skin flush from the cold as she sought Madam’s approval—not that she was ever denied by any of his pokemon.

Truth be told, Klad… honestly resented her going with him at first. This was supposed to be his journey. Finally striking out from Postwick to see what he was made of. Not having his ten year old little sister following behind him. But given the frigid ass household they had left behind, he quickly set aside those feelings.

Their mom was trying hard enough to hold it together in the wake of her pending divorce. Klad’s exciting adventure would always be tainted by that—but at least now he’s gotten to share it all with his little Feo. It made the journey less… lonely. Constantly butting heads against Bede and Hop’s internal crisis. Whatever the hell was going on with Hammerlocke. With his sister, Klad had to be mindful of how hard he pushed himself on his journey. Resting often and letting his pokemon explore.

He could honestly say he wouldn’t be half as impressive if it hadn’t been for these unexpected detours. Taking both of their minds off of their dad.

His affair.

Total disconnect that had been growing for years now.

Klad huffed, turning back to his curry. One good meal and bonding before they braved the city and the constant eyes. Settle both of their nerves. And older lady pitched a tent nearby but she had turned in already, offering him her sides she ‘simply couldn’t possibly finish before they went to waste’. Her eyes lingering with fond delight over his little sister.

She knew who they were. Impossible not to given how he’d charged through every last gym with his own little shadow cheering him on. He never let her out of his sight without one of his pokemon to escort her around. Just to be safe, though she always had her rotom phone.

The wind picked up, sending a flurry of snow into his curry as he let it simmer just a little bit longer. The blizzard was mostly to the south of them, but the food would be ready in time for them to turn in for the night, warm and safe in the tent from the natural elements. His team would appreciate the meal before the finals too—

And then heard Feolette scream.

--*--

Gillian huffed, pulling her jacket closer. She’d dragged Cam out here to see if they could get some B-Roll and perhaps catch a few hopeful challengers on the way to Wyndon. But she underestimated how cold it would get as the blizzard rolled in. Still, it provided some lovely scenic shots to set the mood for any interviews. She settled on getting one last shot of the Wyndon glowing in the fading light before calling it a day. The top of the last hill a perfect vantage point.

Cam cursed, tugging on his gloves before steadying the camera on his shoulder and slowly panning across the horizon. Breath puffing out in thick, white clouds as he turned to the path behind them, down the steep slope where a few people slowly made their way to the city and out of the blizzard. A couple of tents visible by their lamplight despite the billowing snow.

“Oh, Gills, I think I see that kid! You know, uh, Kladenet? The one with a little sister traveling with him?” Cam called out softly. “Heh, looks like they’re bunkering down for the night—mmm, curry. Looks good.” He mused distractedly. Gillian smacked his shoulder.

“Then we’ll have to be out here first thing tomorrow to catch them before they get to Wyndon. It’ll be impossible to do an interview in the city with all the hype that kid’s been getting.” Gilliam noted, quite pleased. “That other kid—Champion Leon’s brother, Hop? He should be nearby too. They’ve been pretty close—ah, Miss Marnie too, though interviewing her is out of the question. Piers had her sign exclusives ahead of time.” It was a bit of a bummer, considering how all three—pardon, four—seemed to be close. Kladenet and Hop were understandable. They were practically neighbors. But Miss Marnie was a shock, the girl a bit standoffish and Team Yell… a very good deterrent for unwanted attention.

“Wait… is that?” Cam breathed out in horror. Gillian leaned over to see the preview screen as he looked through the viewfinder.

Her heart stopped as a fucking massive shape cut through the snowy sky. Swooping down with fury and landing right on top of a small, red shape. The camera lens struggling to focus as a child’s scream cut through the twilight sky.

“SHIT! CALL AN AMBULANCE!” Gillian shrieked, trembling as her rotom phone obediently dialed the number.

“Wyndon Emergency line, how may I—”

“A wild corviknight just attacked a kid—just outside of Wyndon. She’s going to need immediate assistance! O-Oh, Arceus—” Gillian watched through the shaking camera lens as the poor girl was given a brief reprieve, the corviknight lifting just enough for her to turn over.

It happened so fast—a feral pokemon cry ringing over the distance as the little girl sobbed, trying to protect herself. A thick, vicious burst of water slamming into the shiny corviknight as a noticeably smaller corviknight shoved it further back with sharp claws. Blood spraying across the snow from dirtied talons. The young man—just a boy aiming to be champion—ran over and pulled the flailing child to his chest. His voice all but lost to the wind, though the tone of worry carried regardless.

“Emergency services are on their way—is the wild pokemon being taken care of?” the alert service worker informed Gillian. Cam wrenched his camera away from the heartbreaking scene and watched as an entire champion-ready team harried the vicious bird pokemon. No escape in sight, nor mercy to be found.

“Y-Yeah… S-She’s sustained some sort of injury, we’re too far away to see what exactly, but she’s definitely losing a lot of blood.” Gillian turned towards the city and saw a specialty craft ambulance flying their way. Desperate, she waved towards them and signaled down the hill.

Trembling and feeling sick, she watched as they loaded the poor girl onto the cab, a lady from the other tent waving the boy away as he retrieved his victorious team and clambered in to join his sister.

All that was left was an overturned pot of curry, a weather safe tent for two, and a smear of blood in the snow. Splashed across the white and making Gillian feel… dirty.

“…Keep the footage for the police report. But only the police report.” Gillian whispered, shivering as Cam wrapped his arm around her shoulder. They both trembled. After a long moment, several adults who happened to be nearby cleaning up the sight for Kladenet’s return, they turned around to return to Wyndon city. Where they promptly gave their eye witness testimony to the chief officer Jenny.

She looked as disturbed as they were.

A shot of the pokemon was carefully edited to remove any trace of the girl, Feolette, and handed to the authorities to look into.

The area was a bit rough, high level pokemon quite common, but never had Gillian seen one go after someone like that. Especially one so big. It had scars all over, grooves deep in it’s steel body.

Unusually aggressive even for corviknights, it would need to be tracked and brought in for research. To ensure this was a quirk of the pokemon—to be so vicious—and not an underlying issue in the area.

“Thank you for bringing this in… as difficult as it must have been to witness it like that. Will you be seeking quotes to report on the incident?” Gillian hesitated.

People needed to know of the danger…

But the idea of breaking the news before even the kid’s parents could hear about it… and it wasn’t like she had any right or relationship to break that before Kladenet could.

“Sort of. I’ll keep the details vague. But people should be on the lookout for that pokemon.” Gillian finally relented. “At the very least, I’ll withhold anything more in depth until after the finals. No one is going to be listening to anything but that… and that poor kid… he doesn’t need people asking about his sister in the middle of his matches.” Gillian sighed, picturing it already. Less reputable reporters would chomp at the bit to have even a clip of him reacting to such questions.

Chief officer Jenny nodded, relieved and approving.

“Good call. Assuming he doesn’t drop out entirely.”

Gillian hadn’t thought about that.

She likely would under the circumstances.

But to come so far… and those pokemon. Yikes.

They’ll probably appreciate the opportunity to vent against strong opponents.

Either way, Gillian wouldn’t blame Kladenet one bit. Just goes to show that even champion-ready trainers need to keep an eye out for danger.

She just hoped it wasn’t the kid’s sister that paid the price for that lesson.

[countlessrealities]

@dynamoprotocol sent: “I’m in love with you.” (Clarissa to Rick) Send "I’m in love with you." to see how my muse reacts

Rick's head was spinning, his mind struggling to catch up with everything that had happened in the last hour. Things had been fine till they hadn't and what had followed had gone downhill so fast that he hadn't had the time to think. He had just acted, instinct, experience and muscle memory taking over. Now that they were safely away from danger, though, it was impossible to ignore the grim what-ifs.

It was dumb luck that they had made it out with just some minor wounds and a few bruised ribs. They could have died, or at least gotten seriously injured. And all for what? Because they had been reckless. Because he had been too full of himself and had underestimated the risks. It was one thing to put himself on the line, but Clarissa...He shouldn't gamble with her life. But wasn't that what he always ended up doing, with whoever he allowed too close?

The woman's voice snapped him out of his hazy thoughts, astonishment quickly replacing the guilt and the hesitance that had started to rise inside his chest. For a moment, he thought that he had heard it wrong or, perhaps, imagined it. After all, he was almost certain that he had a pretty bad concussion.

However, when his wide open eyes landed on Clarissa's face, taking in her expression, those doubts were dispelled. He wasn't mistaken, she had really said it. And now only one question remained. How the fuck was he supposed to react?

"...W-Well, shit," were the first words that tumbled out of his mouth, His voice still thick with incredulity.

Deep down, Rick knew that this was a bad idea. The two of them engaging each other, allowing their walls to fall down, letting themselves get caught in the moment over and over...Their whole, still undefined relationship had been a mistake since the very start. They enabled each other's worst behaviours, they used each other to forget their misery, they dragged each other down instead of helping each other heal.

To sum it up, they were bad for each other, especially while they were both so unstable and deranged, lost.

And yet, that was one of the main reasons why he was so addicted to what they had. His tendency for self-destruction had made him develop a taste for the unhealthy, a craving for the poisons, literal and metaphorical, he could get into his system. And Clarissa was the perfect mix of bliss and mistakes.

But was he selfish enough to allow them to cross that line too, even if it would have probably ended in disaster? The answer was obvious, quick like a reflex.

Yes.

His arms were around her, pulling her close, before he could even realise that he had moved. He tried to be mindful of their injuries, but the need to feel her made him clumsy. No shock of pain in his ribs, though, could have discouraged him from smashing their mouths together in a frenzy.

The kiss was sloppy, devoid of finesse, and Rick's fingers slipped in Clarissa's thick hair, getting stuck in the knots and the clusters of dried much. The angle was uncomfortable too, but he couldn't bring himself to care, just as he didn't give a fuck about the fact that was acting like a man starved nearly to death who had finally got his hands on some food.

"S-Sorry," he mumbled once he had broken away, panting a little. The look on his face, however, told that he wasn't sorry at all. "Tha-That kind of caught me off guard." Understatement of the century. "B-But fuck if I didn't like it. I-I did. Do. An-And I fuckin' like you. A lot."

His lips found hers again, this time in a chaste caress, and then he smirked slyly. "S-So, does that mean that I get to call you m-my girlfriend or something?"

[kiljoius-writes]

Tag - Chapter Twelve

Ao3 | FFN

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First Chapter

Chapter Twelve

Lightning

Hanabi – 21 Konohamaru – 22

~~~

Despite reaching adulthood, 20 was an uneventful year for Hanabi once the drama around her birthday had subsided. Jun recovered, though with poor vision in one eye and a replaced knee. He was taken off of missions for a few months before being allowed to return, and Hanabi found herself being on her own more often in the field. Eiji had taken herself off the roster during that time to care for Jun, and even if they tried to deny it, Hanabi knew she was officially the third-wheel to their blooming relationship. Or maybe the fourth wheel if one would count Yorimaru, who she ended up spending a lot of time with.

At the same time, Moegi and Udon began jōnin-sensei training and were getting ready to take on their first genin teams soon as graduation at the Academy approached, so she didn’t see them much either. And of course, Konohamaru had essentially disappeared from the village. She knew he was around, she could occasionally feel his chakra around town, but she never saw him. After he completed his training, he had stopped in to say hello to Naruto, and conversely Hanabi as she had been around at the time, but that was the extent of it.

She chose to believe they were still friendly, just distant. It made it easier.

After the news of enemies seeking out Hanabi made it’s way to Hiashi, she was swiftly taken off of all upcoming missions, diplomatic or shinobi based. It almost felt like the ‘moon incident’ all over again, but at least she wasn’t being kept locked down in the compound, perhaps because they knew that would be impossible now. Unfortunately, the intimate details of how and why were being kept from Hanabi, and she found herself in the familiar position of frustration and helplessness. It was her own wellbeing they were talking about, and she wasn’t even allowed to know what was going on.

She knew what it was. It was her eyes. As an unsealed Hyūga that missioned regularly, she was probably an appealing target. It was foolish, she thought, for anyone to think they could take her so easily. Not only was she the heiress and thus an incredibly difficult target in the first place, but she was also capable of defending herself. Perhaps those who were after her underestimated her, thought she was a weak little princess like so many others had mistakenly believed.

It was the only comfort she had, now, to make fun of them in her head, knowing she could keep herself safe.

But it dawned on Hanabi just how lonely she really was, how much she depended on just a few people for company and support. With everyone wrapped up in their own business, she had to come to terms with the fact she really didn’t have much of a purpose.

She thought her purpose was to train, train, train. To become strong, to become clan head, to become a shinobi. There was always something in sight to keep her going. But now, she felt listless.

Hinata noted as much as she sat at their dining room table, staring aimlessly out the window.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hanabi asked with a frown, dropping her eyes back to her sisters.

Boruto and Himawari were busy wrestling with Naruto in the living room while the sisters sat in silence up until that point. Hinata offered a sad smile, “I just mean that you’re here all time, Hanabi. Don’t you want to see your friends?”

Hanabi grimaced. “I can’t visit my sister, nephew and niece?”

“Of course, you know I love having you around.” Hinata nodded. “You just seem bored.”

“Maybe because I am?” Hanabi perked an eyebrow, resting her chin on her palm. “I’m not like you, elder sister. I’m not content with home life, but I’m stuck.”

“Not entirely,” Hinata offered, gesturing outside. “You could volunteer around the village? Take some d-rank missions perhaps?”

“Oh, come on,” Hanabi sighed, rolling her eyes.

“I know Ino always welcomes help in the floral shop, or Kiba with the pups? Tenten might like assistance with setting up her new weapons shop?”

Hanabi paused at the last one. Working with flowers sounded boring and she had some scarring from countless months bathing dozens of pups, but working with weapons could be interesting. “You think she’d let me?”

“I do,” Hinata nodded. “In the meantime, when was the last time you visited elder brother?”

To this, Hanabi gritted her teeth.

Her sister often prodded her to visit the Fourth War memorial site, but it was something she loathed doing. Every time she went there, people were mourning, talking to headstones, just being miserable. And of course they would be, it’s a graveyard after all. But the entire ordeal always sucked the life out of her. As much as she wanted to be the type of person that could feel a connection with those gone by visiting their grave, to offer some sort of closure, it just didn’t work for her. She always felt silly and it never brought her any comfort.

“Why don’t you join me tomorrow?” Hinata pressed and Hanabi shuddered slightly. Going with her sister was the last thing she wanted to do. She always had a way with words that Hanabi never had. Gentle and kind, reminiscing on only the good without looking in the past at the bad. Anytime they visited Neji’s grave together, Hanabi always sat awkwardly to the side while Hinata seemingly had a full-blown conversation with a ghost of the past. It was unsettling for Hanabi. And sad.

“No, but if it’ll get you off my back, I’ll go now, alright?” Hanabi conceded, raising her eyebrows at her sister expectantly. She knew she couldn’t argue this with her when she brought it up. Bringing it up was only a warning that she had better go before she dragged her.

Hinata smiled kindly as she nodded. “I think that sounds like a good idea.”

-

Hanabi scratched at her cheek as she approached the large memorial, the giant Leaf symbol hanging overhead. Tension began weighing her down as she got closer, eyes following a teary older woman as she exited, offering a watery smile her way. She struggled to upturn her lips into a sympathetic smile but feared it looked something like a grimace instead as the woman quickly looked away. With a sigh, she forced her feet forward.

Four different memorial sites seemed a bit gruesome for a village as small as theirs. But she supposed it wasn’t quite as small as she liked to think.

She let her feet carry her to where she knew Neji’s memorial site was, but froze when she saw the unmistakably auburn head of hair in the distance as well as a blue scarf. Konohamaru sat on his knees in front of a headstone, his back to her, dressed in civilian attire—a simple long sleeve and black pants.

Neji did always talk about destiny, didn’t he?

Quietly, she took a few careful steps backwards as she observed him. A man nearby shot her a look, obviously disapproving of her spying, and she couldn’t help but give him the stink eye back before fixing her gaze back on Konohamaru. She struggled to read the tombstone, but didn’t really need to. It was where the Hokage’s and their families were buried, so it had to be a family member. As her vision focused, she made out the name ‘Hitoshi’. She recognized that name from her conversations with Moriko. Konohamaru’s father.

Suddenly, she felt deeply uncomfortable. The stranger giving her the side eye was right, she was being completely inappropriate.

“Young lady—”

“Shh!”

Too late. Konohamaru looked over his shoulder to catch the disturbance, eyes falling on her, and once again, she frozen in place like shadow paralysis jutsu had taken hold.

“Hanabi?”

Way to go.

“Yeah.” She forced out, holding up a hand in a wave. Slowly, she began walking forward, despite her better instincts telling her to turn around and leave now.

“Spying on me?” He asked, and despite the somber environment, still had that good humor in his voice. She shook her head.

“No, sorry,” she replied as she neared him, “just going to visit…”

“Your brother?” he questioned, and it threw her off guard. He shook his head as she tilted hers at him, clarifying, “sorry, your sister talks about him sometimes. Didn’t mean to pry.”

“Oh,” she nodded. It made sense. “It’s alright. Yes, you’re correct.”

It felt wrong how forced this interaction seemed. He pulled himself up to his feet before brushing off his knees. “Want company?”

“Uhm…” she paused, eyes drifting over his shoulder to where the Fourth War’s headstones lay.

He held up his hands before placating, “no worries. I don’t want to intrude.”

She glanced back down at the headstone he had been kneeling in front of and dared to question, “is this your father’s?”

A little smile finally graced his lips and he nodded, looking down as well, “yup, my old man. Had some down time, so I try to come visit. Along with my grandpa, grandma, uncle Asuma.”

She flinched at the list of people. She had to remind herself sometimes that he had lost a lot, too, and was still always smiling. She wondered how he did it.

“Tell ‘em about what’s going on in the village. A lot of people come to talk to my grandpa and uncle Asuma, but I’m pretty sure mom and I are the only ones who visit dad.” She raised her eyebrows at the way he spoke so candidly. It somewhat reminded her of Hinata, but not as depressing.

“Why’s that?” She decided to question, since he seemed so open about it. He looked down at her curiously.

“You’re interested?” He asked, earnestly. She bit her lower lip as she nodded and watched as he got back down on his knees, patting at the ground next to him. Without missing a beat, she kneeled next to him and joined his eyes to look at the tombstone. “Well, as Hokage, grandpa has lots of people who come to pay respects and talk to him sometimes. Uncle Asuma had a lot of students and fellow sensei’s who cared about him, plus Aunt Kurenai and now Mirai, they all visit pretty regularly. But my dad’s not a Sarutobi.” She tilted her head in interest as he spoke. She wondered why she never asked him about this before. “He didn’t come from any known clan, and he didn’t really like to be in the limelight, mom did that. He kind of stuck behind her, like a right-hand man, I guess,” he chuckled, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “he admired grandpa a lot. Always said it was his responsibility to support the village, not be the face of it. A lot of people don’t even know who he is.”

“Really?” She asked, a little shocked, though why would she be? She didn’t know who he was, either. But she figured those who were old enough to remember the third’s reign would at least be familiar.

“Yeah, but he liked it that way. Quiet man, stoic. Kind of like your dad in the stoic regard, I guess.”

“What? And you’re the product of that?” she asked in disbelief, eliciting another chuckle from him.

“Yeah, go figure, right?” He glanced at her, still smiling. “I figure grandpa and Uncle Asuma have plenty of people visiting them. So I try to spend most of my time with dad.”

With that, they sat in silence as Hanabi thought over his words. It was the most she had heard about the man through Konohamaru’s perspective. Of course she had heard all about how heroic and strong and brave he was from Moriko, but hardly heard about him from Konohamaru, except when Moriko would confirm something with him in passing. Still, she wasn’t given the details of how he met his end, and the thought passing through her mind seemed to make its way to Konohamaru, as he asked, “you’re probably wondering how he died, right?”

“That’s not my business,” she replied, quickly and apologetically.

Another chuckle. “It’s not as exciting as you’re probably imagining. An old wound got infected, and it spread before anyone realized. He died in his sleep when I was 6.”

“I’m so sorry…” she whispered, not expecting that. Truly, what a strange thing to stumble on. He waved her away.

“No use feeling sorry,” he said, nonchalantly. She raised her eyebrows at his cool attitude towards it. “How do you feel when people say sorry for your mom?”

She paused before answering, honestly, “irritated.”

“Well, I’m not irritated,” he laughed. “Anyway. I’ll let you go.” He got back to his feet before holding a hand out for her to take, and this time, she did, and when she got to her feet, she didn’t let go. He looked at her with expectant eyebrows.

“I—” she paused, darting her eyes from side to side before looking up at him, “I do want company.”

“Oh,” he replied, surprised, “yeah, I’d be happy to.” He dipped his head down to look at her when she looked over his shoulder, seemingly unwilling to move. He tugged at her hand and then frowned in realization, “you don’t want to go?”

She shook her head. “I don’t like to…I don’t know how to…do what you do.”

“Maybe I can help?” He offered, squeezing her hand gently. Without meeting his eyes, she squeezed back and he seemed to take that as her hint to go forward. Wordlessly, he pulled on her hand to follow behind him and she let him lead her.

At this point, she shouldn’t be shocked at how comfortable she could be with him, despite it all.

When they stopped in front of Neji’s grave, she was a little surprised that he had found it so effortlessly but decided not to question it. Still holding her hand, he guided her to kneel in front of the headstone next to him, and dread crept over her. There was a sunflower sitting in front of the stone, undoubtedly left by Hinata sometime earlier in the week. He seemed to notice her refusal to look at the headstone and, unlike Hinata, didn’t press her to say anything. Instead, they sat in silence for number of minutes, hand in hand.

How do people just talk to thin air as if it was a person?

She blinked at the grass when she heard him clear his throat, then release his hand from hers. “Uhh, hey Neji.”

What is he doing?

“I dunno if you remember me, but me, Moegi, and Udon interviewed you one time about Naruto…you told us what I thought was a random story about Hinata being kidnapped and you and Kiba rescuing her. You got mad when I asked what that had to do with Naruto.” Hanabi’s eyes widened as she listened to him. “But I understand, now.”

He knew older brother?

“Anyway…I’m sure Hinata’s already told you all about Naruto and everything that’s happened, so I won’t bore you.” Finally, Hanabi raised her head, still avoiding the headstone, to look at Konohamaru. He was so at ease with this type of thing. “But your other little sister’s doing great, too.”

“Konohamaru…” Hanabi whispered before biting her lips together.

“Yeah, you are, aren’t you?” He glanced at her before looking back at the headstone with a grin. “She’s a jōnin, just like you.” Finally, she inched her eyes towards the headstone, sucking in a long breath. “Protecting the village, being the best aunt ever, showing off that Hyūga prowess.”

She stared at the headstone.

Neji Hyūga.

“Konohamaru,” she said a little louder now, gritting her teeth. “I’m just…I’m not sure…this doesn’t feel right.”

“No?” he asked honestly, tilting his head at her. She shook her head without tearing her eyes from the headstone. He pondered for a minute before continuing, “if he were here right now, what would you say to him?”

“I’d ask him why he would try to kill my sister.”

Why did you just say that?

At this, Konohamaru seemingly froze now, and she regretted the words spilling out. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“No,” he interrupted before she could backtrack, “don’t apologize. That’s…well, that’s kind of part of it.”

“Part of what?” she questioned, eyebrows furrowing as she looked at him.

“The grieving processes.”

“I’m not grieving,” she retorted, “it’s been almost ten years. I mourned his death long ago.”

“Clearly not, if you’re holding onto that.”

“This was a mistake.”

Before she could get up, Konohamaru grabbed her wrist, forcing her attention to him. “I don’t claim to know anything about the Hyūga outside of you and your sister, Hanabi, but I do know something about loss.” She pursed her lips, unable to respond. “It’s okay to be mad, even if he’s dead.”

“That’s pretty blunt,” she muttered, squinting at him. “And how can it be okay? Elder sister isn’t mad at him.”

“Because she’s made peace with it,” he reasoned, his stern look softening, “it’s not an overnight process and it’s different for everyone.”

“When did you become a therapist?” she asked coldly, pulling her wrist from his. He smiled faintly as he shrugged.

“I just have a lot of experience with this kind of thing, I guess.”

Damn him.

“You’re not your sister,” he continued, gesturing at the headstone. Those words made her eyes widen a bit. It was a sentiment she had heard often enough, but it was always in reference to their differing skill level. His sentiment seemed to be more on their personality, and she couldn’t argue with it. “Just…try talking. Whatever comes to mind, say it out loud.” He glanced around behind him before looking back at her. “There’s no one else here.”

She watched him slowly scoot away from her, as if making space between her and the headstone. Hesitantly, she returned her eyes to the headstone and straightened out her spine, clutching the fabric of her robes on her knees. She racked her brain. She knew what she wanted to say. And Konohamaru insisted. So she just let it out.

“Elder sister may have forgiven you…but I never did…because you never apologized to me.” She paused to take a deep inhale, no longer feeling Konohamaru’s eyes on her. He respectfully turned them to the headstone. “I know that seems selfish, to expect an apology. But I had to watch my sister get beaten nearly to death. The only reason you stopped…” she sucked in a shuddered breath, willing her heart rate to slow. “I know everything. I know I said I wanted to ask why, but I know why. I just wish I knew why you had to take it out on her.”

Her knuckles turned white as she nearly tore the fabric. “But you sacrificed yourself for her…so for that, I will thank you. And she loves you, despite it all. So…I’ll try to forgive you. For her.”

Again, silence fell. The only sound was her slightly shuddered breathing and little wisps of wind against the leaves of the great tree that stood in the center of the memorial. She stared long and hard at the headstone, wishing it would talk back. Wishing she could feel at peace with just this, this little interaction.

Suddenly, she felt a chill go up her spine and a little gasp left her at it. She shook her head, feeling the color leave her face as her skin tingled at the sensation. She snapped her eyes towards Konohamaru who was now looking at her curiously, but still didn’t say anything. With a sigh, she climbed to her feet and turned away. She heard him get up as well. She tensed when she felt him behind her, his arms slowly enveloping her shoulders and his chin resting on her right shoulder.

“Is that why you felt so guilty?” he asked quietly. A vague question, but she knew exactly what he meant.

She closed her eyes, wordlessly dipping her head a bit as she wrapped her arms around her middle.

She wasn’t quite sure how long they stood like that, but it was long enough for her to relax against him and let herself be held, let herself take comfort in the embrace. It wasn’t like the other times. They weren’t dancing, they weren’t kissing, there was nothing inherently romantic about it. It wasn’t him holding her while she broke down in sobs, it wasn’t him carrying her while she was injured. It was silent comfort in its purest form, and it was something she didn’t know she needed.

She knew he would be gone again soon; she knew she couldn’t depend on him for moments like these.

But she chose to indulge, for now.

-

A few weeks later, Hanabi was carefully arranging a small set of swords for display against the glass window into Tenten’s new shop before it opened for the day.

“Oh, I like how you set these up!” Tenten praised from behind, gesturing at a set of three swords, crossed against each other. Hanabi looked over her shoulder and smiled down at her.

“I thought they complimented each other,” she responded, slightly adjusting one to sit a little more stable. Tenten patted her shoulder.

“Thanks for all your help, Hanabi,” the older woman beamed up at her as Hanabi turned to face her, “even though I can’t afford to pay you.”

“I never expected payment,” Hanabi offered with a shrug, “getting to see all these cool weapons you’ve collected is payment enough.”

“Glad someone else appreciates the beauty!” Tenten laughed, strolling to the backroom with Hanabi on her heel. “How about this, though? Hinata said you collect kunai.”

Hanabi glanced over to see Tenten fish out a carboard box filled with smaller, long boxes within. Tenten set it on the front counter and pulled the lids completely open to let her have a look.  Hanabi shook her head, “that’s very kind of you, but I couldn’t. I’d be happy to purchase, though.”

Tenten snickered, “well, I wouldn’t say no to that! How about you get first dibs on what’s in here, then?”

Hanabi bit her lips together as she nodded, working her way through the boxes. She thought of Konohamaru as she examined each one. “Do you have any pairs?”

“A few,” Tenten nodded, pushing some of the boxes aside to reveal some at the bottom that were double the size, “there’s these.”

Hanabi gingerly pulled out a few, opening the lids to look them over. Finally, a pair stood out to her. They looked different from kunai she had seen in the past, looking slender without the usual hilt at the end. One was a deep hue of red, and the other a navy blue. They were lined with a silver edge on each, and their circular hooks at the end were quite small.

“Oh, those are from a little village just south of the land of Iron,” Tenten explained, carefully pulling one from the box. “Lee stumbled on this little old man who had the tiniest stand you’ve ever seen, displaying maybe ten weapons? He bought them for me, but I’m not a huge fan of the design for combat. They’re great looking! Just not my style.”

Hanabi tilted her head as she explained. “Is there anything significant about them?”

“Let’s see…” Tenten pondered, looking up in thought. “If I remember correctly, and that’s a little hard with the spiels Lee can go on, the old man had been crafting his entire life, and dealt primarily in ‘fated pair’ sets as Lee put it, but who knows if that’s what he actually told him. He has a knack for theatrics.” She jittered with laughter as she set it back down. “Maybe if you see him around you could ask.”

“I’ll take them.” Hanabi concluded, pulling out her coin purse. Tenten grinned as she packed up the kunai, wrapping it in parchment.

If she ran into Lee, she would see if he could elaborate. But for now, the description Tenten offered was enough to convince her.

Just as she waved goodbye to Tenten, she turned to find Tadashi approaching. Despite their closer relationship as she grew older, she always felt childish when she saw him coming towards her. It usually meant he was going to escort her back home for one reason or another. With a sigh, she waved to him. “What’s up? Am I late for dinner or something?”

“Your father is requesting you.”

“Oh?” Hanabi inquired, raising her eyebrows. It had been a while since her father had business with her. With a nod, she dutifully followed next to him.

Upon entering her father’s study, she was surprised to see him not at the low table he usually occupied, but at the little nook near a window with tea in hand. He gestured for her to sit across from him and she slowly took a seat. “You seem relaxed.”

“Not quite,” he replied, a lightness in his voice despite it. She had said it before and she’d said it again: becoming a grandfather was likely the best thing to happen to him. It became easier and easier to interact with him. “I’m sending you to the land of Lightning.”

If she had tea in her mouth, she might’ve spit it out. Her eyes went wide. “What?”

“With an entire escort, naturally,” he continued, ignoring her shocked demeanor. “Some of our own, of course, as well as Anbu, for added security.”

“Alright,” she said, slowly processing, “but for what? Isn’t that one of the last places I should be right now?”

He leaned back and finally met her eyes, looking a little surprised himself. The fact she was actually considering her own safety for once was indeed out of character for her, at one point in time. But the years matured her, and she knew better. He tilted his head, “the feudal lord there has invited several clans for his inauguration. I am sending you as the face of the clan. The Leaf-Hyūga treaty with the Cloud has been tightened.”

Hanabi remained silent as she considered this. It has been nearly a year since she had gone on a long-term mission, and for this to be the first seemed strange. But she had to admit, it had been quite a long time since the Cloud had made any suspicious moves, especially since they inaugurated a new Raikage. She nodded. “So I’m assuming the threat against me has decreased?”

“There has been no news for several months now,” he responded before lifting his tea to his lips. He set it back down with a small ‘aah’ sound before continuing, “Lord Hokage and I agree that it is relatively safe, for now. The road you’ll travel is well populated and guarded. The risk is low, especially considering your skill level.”

She was blown away. Her father was complimenting her, even if it was in a roundabout way. Still, she didn’t falter. “When do I leave?”

“One week. The inauguration is in four weeks. Three weeks will be plenty, even at a strolling pace.” She nodded. “You may have someone accompany you, if you choose.”

Hanabi frowned at this. Finally, her father was letting her bring a friend along at the age of 21, but she had no one she could bring. She couldn’t ask Eiji or Jun. Jun still wasn’t in the best shape for a long journey, and Eiji had a hard time being away, especially with her duties as an officer. Moegi and Udon couldn’t leave the village for that amount of time in anticipation of their genin teams. And Konohamaru…

She sighed before shaking her head, “that’s alright. I’ll make do with our clansmen.”

“If you wish,” he nodded as well, getting up from his seat. She followed suit, following behind him as he exited his study. “It’s been a while since we’ve had dinner together, hasn’t it?”

“What?” A dumb question, she quickly corrected herself, “I mean yes.”

“Shall we sit?” He offered as they entered the dining area, and she felt something strange towards her father, something like affection she hadn’t felt in a long time. With a smile, she nodded.

-

Hanabi boredly twirled a kunai around her finger as she walked alongside her clansmen, the first day of their journey coming to a close as they neared a village about halfway between the Leaf and the land of Hot Water. Casually, she activated her byakugan and glanced around, picking out each of the chakra networks that leapt through the trees around her, the Anbu that were escorting them.

She didn’t really feel like they needed Anbu for something like this, but had grown to accept the security. Better safe than sorry, she supposed. She had outgrown the need to constantly prove herself capable of being alone, choosing instead to just go with the flow for many things. Getting out of the village was excitement enough for her, these days.

Then she stopped when a blindingly bright chakra network came into view. Konohamaru’s.

Konohamaru was escorting them? Who decided that?

Before the others could question her, she quickly began walking again, still eyeing his chakra network.

She wondered if perhaps Naruto had requested it, his dear student he trusted so much to protect her. She almost had to laugh at the idea. There were plenty of times he had protected her, sure, but there were plenty of times she had protected him, too.

Still, she felt a little irritated. There she had been, wishing she could take someone with her on her travels like her father had offered, only for the one person she really wanted to come already here. But not really. Anbu stuck to the shadows; they weren’t supposed to interact with those they escorted. They should essentially be invisible to the party they protected, but not to a Hyūga. She wondered if Konohamaru would figure out that she knew he was there.

So that was how she busied herself during her travel, watching him. Every day, she’d sparingly use her byakugan to pick him out and follow his movements. Her clansmen looked at her wearily, but she ignored it. Did it seem inappropriate? Maybe. She could justify that she was just another pair of eyes to look out for danger. But she was just watching him.

Sometimes she’d see him next to another chakra network, probably chatting with another Anbu operative. When they stopped at hotels for the night, she’d find him dutifully outside, guarding. In the middle of the night, if she woke up, she’d scan for him again, finding that someone would take his place and he’d be laying down somewhere outside of the village in a tent. Guess Anbu didn’t get sleeping arrangements. She found comfort in seeking out his chakra network every night.

About a week into travel, she couldn’t find his chakra network. Worry panged at her, but she knew she couldn’t act on it. She was just relieved when it reappeared safe and sound the next day.

“You look joyful today, Lady Hanabi,” one of her clansmen commented as she stared distantly while walking.

She glanced up, deactivating her byakugan before shrugging. “Happy we’re getting close, right?”

“Indeed.” They nodded, and that was the end of that conversation.

She quietly reactivated her byakugan and smiled up towards the trees above when she noticed he was directly above her, though hidden by the cover of the leaves. But she could see him, and she wondered if he knew. She lifted her hand up in a tiny wave before making a peace sign.

-

Konohamaru smirked to himself at her gesture and returned with a far too exaggerated salute down at her, knowing she’d be able to see it with her byakugan.

He knew she knew. Of course she knew.

When Kakashi informed him he would be escorting Hyūga to the land of Lightning, his first question was about Hanabi. Upon learning she would be there, a silly sense of excitement filled him. Despite that fact he knew he couldn’t interact with her, not in his Anbu attire. No, he knew what his job was. Stick to the shadows, protect. But still, he got to be around her, and that wasn’t something he got to do often.

He’d take it.

He caught her looking at him often enough, making it quite clear she was watching him. He was careful to ensure they could never specifically pick him out without the byakugan, but of course, these were Hyūga. They’d see them no matter what. And Hanabi knew him, and he felt a trivial sense of happiness that she knew his chakra network. Others might find it strange, but it made him feel at least a little special.

He did wish he could hop down once in a while and talk to her, keep her company. She looked so incredibly bored the entire trip. At least he had his comrades to chat with during their down time. The Hyūga she was with weren’t very chatty, except about the travel and the events to take place. He noticed she didn’t really engage in conversation with them much, if at all.

Once they were securely in the land of Lightning, his job was to ensure no one in the Cloud would target them. He had to admit, when he was briefed on the mission, he was surprised, much like Hanabi was. He had heard about the reason for Jun’s attack, and whenever he had downtime in the village, his first thought was to check on her, make sure nothing had happened while he was gone. He knew Hinata was on to him after the fourth time he questioned her whereabouts, giving him a light tease that he seemed especially interested in her lately, but still guaranteed him she was perfectly capable of keeping herself safe.

Still, travel to the Cloud seemed risky, but both Kakashi and Hiashi seemed confident in it, so he had to trust their judgement. He was just relieved he could be on the mission this time, to ensure her safety.  He didn’t think she was weak. Far from it, in fact. But it brought him comfort to know he could help keep her safe, know she was safe and sound.

He stood with his back up against the wall of a nearby building, keeping a careful eye on her as the inaugural event proceeded. He trained his eye on the aquamarine pendant around her neck and allowed himself to smile. She did wear it. He ran his fingertips over his breast pocket, wiggling his finger into the side to feel the smooth surface of the ribbon she’d given him. He clasped his hands behind his back again.

It wasn’t often he got to witness things like this, and found himself grateful to not be in her position. It was, indeed, dull. But he found joy in watching her, so at least there was that. The way she discretely rolled her eyes when someone up front said something she deemed cringey. The way she fiddled with the satchel on her hip mindlessly. The way she curled a piece of hair around her finger and tightened it to the point that when it came loose, it retained some of the curl.

Then, once the speech was over and it was time to intermingle, he continued to watch her so flawlessly socialize. He wondered what insults she was coming up with in her head as that fake smile spread across her lips. To him, it was so obviously an act that it was hard to believe any of these people were actually buying it. Then he realized that they were all also probably playing their own roles, and suddenly, the event seemed so much more cold and lifeless.

The day at the cemetery had him thinking far more than he’d like. Hanabi had never been the most warm person so it shouldn’t surprise him that she was so deeply uncomfortable with the idea of visiting loved one’s graves. He found himself at times in the past wondering if he was wasting his time, visiting his father as often as he did, but eventually came to the conclusion that it felt good for him, so it wasn’t a waste of time. He wished he could offer that same comfort to Hanabi.

Her resentment of her cousin also shouldn’t have surprised him. While he wasn’t present for the chūnin exams Naruto and Hinata participated in, he had heard plenty about it. The details weren’t a total mystery to him, but it was the first he had heard that Hanabi resented him. It would be foolish to think that Hanabi felt the same way about Neji as Hinata did. Hinata was the kind of person who could never hold grudges, no matter the wrongs she endured.

Hanabi could certainly hold a grudge, as evidence by her refusal to interact with people from the Academy she deemed unworthy of her time (in other words: kids who picked on her). Naruto recalled with fondness of a time when a child at the park pushed Himawari down, and Hanabi essentially put the fear of the gods in them. Konohamaru could visualize it perfectly despite not being there.

Hanabi resenting Neji made perfect sense, and now it made sense why she had avoided him after the chūnin exams. She felt she had done exactly what Neji had done. Konohamaru didn’t see it as the same, but there was little point in reminding her of that. The fact was that she felt like a monster, and had for quite some time. Defeating him in the chūnin exams to such a degree only confirmed that for her, and now he was feeling guilty about brushing it off like it was nothing.

It was everything to her, and he wished he could shake her out of it.  

He caught her eye when she looked up at him despite the jutsu he had active making him physically invisible. Her gaze lingered until she poked her tongue out and he smirked, that warmth in his chest blooming once more. He wondered if she could pick out individual physical features with the byakugan, like his lips. Maybe he’d ask later when they could interact normally, instead of these cute little secret gestures back and forth.

-

Hanabi mindlessly tossed one end of her obi back and forth over her stomach as she stared up at the ceiling of her hotel room. It was early in the night, but her clansmen insisted on stopping off to get some rest on one of their last days of travel. She didn’t argue, but did wish they could get back to the Leaf sooner rather than later. It had been over a month since she’d seen her nephew and niece, one of the longest stretches of time she’d gone without seeing them. She activated her byakugan to see if she could pick out Konohamaru and let a smile slip when she found him leaning against a wall on top of the roof above her. He wouldn’t be able to see her, but he was probably there because he knew she was in the room below.

In a split decision, she threw her legs over the side of her bed and went to the window to inspect it. She carefully pulled the glass up, pleased to find it opened far enough for her to wiggle through and had no screen. Silently, she ducked under it, seating herself with her back to the outside, then focused chakra in her extremities to attach to the wall. Byakugan still active, she held back a snicker at the fact he didn’t seem to know she was escaping her room. She knew her clansmen would periodically check on her with the byakugan, but figured she had a few minutes to spare.

When she peaked over the edge of the roof, she deactivated her byakugan for just a moment to confirm he was in fact concealing himself. When she reactivated her byakugan, she let a giggle slip at his changed stance, now standing upright as if ready for her.

As she climbed to her feet and stood to her full height, she crossed her arms behind her back and slowly began walking towards him. Still, he didn’t speak, but he had to know she was there for him. Once she was close enough to hear him fidget, she deactivated the byakugan, and he similarly dropped his concealing jutsu, and she finally got to see him in his Anbu uniform.

She almost faltered at the lack of scarf, but knew she shouldn’t. It was basically a trademark style for him, so for him to wear it while attempting to remain faceless just wouldn’t make sense. Still, it seemed wrong. Shamelessly, she raked her eyes over him to get a good look until her eyes fell on the Anbu tattoo on his upper left arm. Cautiously, she reached out to graze her fingers against it and nearly let a laugh escape when he shivered, retracting her hand.

It wasn’t often she got to see his arms, but she unashamedly soaked it in when she could. She turned her eyes up to his Anbu mask, painted with whiskers and apostrophe-like eyebrows, an oval at the top, still concealing his face. With feigned confidence, she reached to pull it up and to the side to rest on the right side of his face, and had to smile at the dumb look on his face, seemingly frozen.

“There you are,” she said, quietly, pulling her hand back to join her other hand behind her back. Her eyes dipped to his Adam’s apple as it bounced when he seemingly swallowed a lump and without realizing it, she had withdrawn her lower lip between her teeth at the action. Ridiculously, she found herself wanting to tip toe up and leave a kiss on it.

Gods, she resented that she really was a fool in love, even after all this time.

Instead, she stepped close enough that their toes were nearly touching before leaning up to press her lips against his. This time, there was no pushing, no gasping, no rough grasps of each other’s wrists or shirts or waists. Besides their lips connecting, just their chests made contact, and she wondered if he could feel her heart thumping against his. When he barely returned the kiss, she pressed a little more assertively and tilted her head, hoping he’d take the hint. Feeling his lip’s part slightly to deepen the kiss, she held back a sigh of contentment.

Knowing her clansmen would be searching for her soon, she begrudgingly pulled away, savoring the way his face always seemed to freeze in that puckered position. As if he didn’t want it to end, like her. When his eyes finally did pop open, he found her with that coy smile she only offered to him, and she resisted the urge to point out that he was staring at her lips. Before he could breathe a word, she tip toed up once more to place a tiny kiss on the point of his nose, then backed away.

“Thanks for protecting me, Hawthorne.”

She saw the laugh he held back as she brought her index and middle fingers to her forehead in a salute before she disappeared, and she hoped she could hold onto that memory for at least a little while.

-

For the rest of the trip, she ignored the curious glances her clansmen threw her at the little skip in her step. Thankfully, she successfully got back into bed before anyone could notice she had slipped out, and she took pride in her sneakiness. She continued to steal glances with her byakugan at Konohamaru until they were about a day away from the Leaf, when he definitively disappeared from their entourage. She figured he must’ve been called off to a different mission, satisfied with their proximity to home.

She was wrong, however, which she discovered upon finding him in the dining room of Hinata and Naruto’s home, the first place she visited after reporting in to her father.

“What a coincidence that you’re both here, today,” Hinata commented as she ushered her into a seat next to Konohamaru, and Hanabi had to wonder if she knew, too.

“Hey, Hanabi,” he offered her a grin, and she couldn’t help but return it, finding her ability to control a blush improving.

“Hello, Konohamaru,” she returned, and before she could continue, she had a tiny bundle of excitement land in her lap.

“Big sister!” Himawari’s tiny voice squeaked as she threw her arms around Hanabi’s neck, and she giggled, pulling the girl into her chest.

“I missed you, Hima,” Hanabi chirped as the girl pulled back to beam at her. She reached a hand up to poke at her nose, causing her to scrunch up the tip and shake her head.

“You were gone a long time!” She pouted with a tiny glare that reminded Hanabi of her own. “You promise to show me how to throw a kunai!”

“I thought Konohamaru might teach you that?” Hanabi asked, glancing over the girl’s head towards him.

He shrugged, “she doesn’t want me to.”

“I want you to!” Himawari huffed, pulling her arms back to cross them. How sweet it was of her little niece to entrust her with the task, thinking back to her own mother and that tiny thread of connection she still held with her through kunai. It would be nice to pass it down this way.

Hanabi poked her tongue out towards Konohamaru once more in mock victory, “at least someone likes me better, huh?”

“Pfft!” Konohamaru waved his hand, turning his head away. “Mirai likes you better now, too! She’s always asking about you.”

“She is?” Hanabi couldn’t contain her smile as she thought back to that drooling little girl who couldn’t pronounce ‘Hokage’.

“Hey! Look at me!” Himawari attempted to snap her fingers in Hanabi’s face, though it was clumsy and made no noise.

“Sorry!” Hanabi conceded, returning to the girl. “How about tomorrow? Come see grandpa and your cousins?”

“Right now?” she responded, hopefully, but fell into a frown when Hanabi shook her head. Directly after, she was whisked up by the bandaged arm of Naruto, throwing her over his shoulder. “Daddy!”

“Give ‘em some space, Hima! They just got here,” he chuckled, winking towards Hanabi before carrying the girl away.

“You promise tomorrow!” Himawari called over her father’s shoulder, to which Hanabi held up two thumbs up in confirmation before her eyes fell back on Konohamaru. The way he looked at her sometimes made her feel flustered, like right now. That toothy grin was gone, just a little close-lipped smile, features soft, eyes warm on hers. It almost made her want to tell him to stop, even though she never wanted him to stop.

“Father is letting Hanabi mission again,” Hinata tore their eyes from one another from behind the counter, a dangerously close to mischievous smile on her mouth.

Konohamaru chuckled quietly, tilting his head, “that right?”

Hanabi returned the smirk, “yep, just got back from a long trip to the Cloud.” She didn’t miss the playful look on his features, so she leaned into their little secret. “It was nice staying in hotels again—the beds always seem softer in them.” He squinted at her and she bit her lip to suppress a laugh. “Anbu don’t get to sleep in hotels, do they? Must be tough on the hard ground every night…”

“Hmm…” he hummed at her as if discontent and she ran her tongue over her teeth, fully enjoying his skeptical look.

Hinata moved the subject forward, “how was the Cloud?”

“Boring,” Hanabi shrugged, turning in her seat to face her sister, but not without stealing a knowing glance towards Konohamaru. “But the new feudal lord was pretty young, so that was interesting.”

“Oh, I heard about that,” Hinata responded with a head tilt. “He’s Konohamaru’s age, isn’t he?”

“A few years older, I think.” Hanabi gave Konohamaru a skewed smile. “He was kind of cute.”

“Don’t let father hear you say that,” she giggled, shaking her head.

The amount of joy she was getting from the shocked look on his face probably indicated she was being cruel, so she reeled it in. “Not really my type, anyway.”

“And what is your type?” Konohamaru leaned his elbows on the table as he fixed his eyes on her.

Hinata hummed. “If I remember correctly, there was always a certain boy she liked to watch when she was younger.”

Hanabi threw her gaze at her sister, lowering her eyes as she felt Konohamaru’s burn into her cheek. “Elder sister.”

“You remember?” Hinata asked innocently without looking up. “He was very loud, a bit of a trouble-maker.”

“Trouble-maker, huh?” Konohamaru added, and she finally turned to him to find that he was now giving her a cocky smirk.

He wasn’t going to let her win this one.

“He reminded me a bit of Naruto.” Hinata’s dreamy sigh was unwelcome.

“Anyway,” Hanabi cut in before getting to her feet. She tightened the obi around her waist while glaring at her sister, “I better get going.”

“Me too.” He joined her in the stand, evidently dropping it. “I told my mom I’d pick up dinner.” His eyes flitted over Hanabi. “You…wanna join me?”

“I can’t.” Her voice almost sounded regretful, though she didn’t mean for it to come out that way. “I told Eiji I’d bring dinner to her and Jun.”

“Why don’t you two walk together?” Hinata asked, bouncing her eyes between the two.

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” Hanabi asked, flatly, drawing a giggle from the older sister.

“So snarky.” Konohamaru gave her a playful shove and she rolled her eyes. “Come on, come with me! Jun likes ramen, right?”

“Not really,” Hanabi rubbed her shoulder where he shoved, perking an eyebrow. “But if you feel you need an escort, I’ll walk you.”

“Please do,” he winked down at her and she had to turn her head to conceal the blush she thought she could control.

As she made for the front door, she grumbled, “I’ll be by tomorrow to pick up Hima…”

“Thank you, my sweet sister,” Hinata sang across the way before Hanabi definitively disappeared behind the door.

“I wonder who that little troublemaker you had a crush on is,” he mused as he jogged to catch up with her healthy pace. She shot him a look that he ignored. “Maybe it was Notan? He was always pretty loud.”

“Just shut up, alright?” she snapped, placing her hands on her hips. “I’m Hanabi Hyūga. I don’t have crushes.”

“Oh, right, the heiress,” he teased as he shoved his hands in his pockets, “you just take what you want, don’t you?”

“And the Honorable Grandson doesn’t?” She raised an eyebrow as he turned his attention to her while they walked.

“Not always.” He shrugged, playful smile still present. “Only sometimes. Like…” he trailed his eyes off towards the sky, “like maybe when I’m playing a certain game.”

Her cheeks instantly reddened at the comment.

Tag.

“Think you’re so clever.” She shook her head as they neared Ichiraku’s. “Well, there’s your ramen.” She gestured towards the growing restaurant as she stopped. “Better get it home to mama, right, Kono?”

“You’re feisty today.” She couldn’t help but notice the way he bit his own lip now. She swallowed at the taunt, willing her eyes not to go wide. He leaned in towards her with a somewhat serious expression. “Hopefully you stay that way next week.”

“Next week?” She questioned, but he had already straightened up and turned. “Hey!”

“Can’t stay,” he waved his hand behind him without looking back, “gotta get home to my mama.”

“Oh please!” She snapped, causing a few glances her way, which instantly quieted her. With an eyeroll, she turned on her heel and took off.

Next week?

-

“Another mission?” Hanabi asked curiously when she was resummoned to her father’s study the next day, Himawari rocking on her heels next to her.

“You could call it that,” Hiashi stood to approach the little purple haired girl, swiftly plucking her up to rest on his hip as she squealed. “Hima! You haven’t visited me in ages!”

“Big sis is gonna help me threw kunai!” The girl responded brightly with incorrect syntax, pointing at Hanabi.

“No better person to teach you,” he told her, fondly, and Hanabi had to stop herself from shrinking in. Praise from her father had been so rare in the past, it was tough getting used to it in her adult years. “Why don’t you go with Kō outside while you wait for her?”

“Kō!” Himawari squealed with delight as she was deposited back on the ground, sprinting towards the waiting Hyūga in the doorway with his hand outstretched. “I want to use real kunai!”

“We’ll see about that, little one,” Kō chided gently as he directed her out of the study, closing the door behind him. Hanabi turned back to her father, eyebrow piqued. Hiashi sighed with a smile at the door before facing her.

“We will be attending an event in the Hokage tower next week,” he started, gesturing for her to join her at the table in the corner of the room. Seemed he was becoming accustomed to it in his older years. Hanabi tilted her head curiously, “in celebration of Sarutobi Moriko’s 55th birthday.”

“Oh?” Hanabi asked, trying to push down the surprise in her voice.

Next week, huh?

“Problem?” He asked, tired eyes scanning her face. She shook her head.

“Of course not.” She waved her hands before placing them in her lap. She attempted a joke, “one of the easier missions I’ve had.”

“You believe so?” The older Hyūga raised his eyebrows now, crossing his legs as he leaned over the table. “That it will be easy for you to resist the Honorable Grandson?”

“F-Father?!” She leaned back as if blown away, eyes growing wide at his forwardness. The smile on his lips didn’t seem like it suited him. Was this elder sister’s doing? Damn her!

“Pardon me,” he continued, relaxing his posture, “to engage appropriately with the Honorable Grandson.”

“Of course I can! What is that even supposed to mean?” She immediately launched into defensive mode and felt herself becoming flustered by his mocking smile. That definitely did not suit him.

With a shrug, he picked up his pen and looked down at paperwork. “You would do well to remember your clansmen can see…everything, dear daughter. You’re excused.”

Evidently, she wasn’t as sneaky as she had initially thought.

Without responding, she got up to leave, but not before he recalled her briefly, “next Saturday, at 6 p.m. We will attend together.”

“Okay,” was all she could muster before shutting the door behind her, her face feeling like the color had been drained of it.

-

Because of her father’s words the previous week, Hanabi was determined not to interact with Konohamaru whatsoever at this thing.

Was it too hard of a turn in the opposite direction? Probably.

But she couldn’t keep herself from stealing glances. That couldn’t hurt, could it?

“See something interesting, little sister?”

It could.

“Lay off,” Hanabi muttered under her breath, turning from her sister and choosing to busy herself with the kids. “What do you have there, Boruto?”

The little blond boy looked up with excitement in his eyes as he thrust his fist out, “burger!”

Hanabi wrinkled her nose at the sight. “Where did you get that?”

“Big bro Konomaru gave it to me!” He beamed up at her before lifting it higher. “Wanna try?”

“Konohamaru,” Hinata corrected gently.

Hanabi sighed. Seemed she couldn’t escape him even if she tried. “No, thanks. How did he even get that? There are no burgers here…”

“He snuck it!” Himawari tattled, looking pouty. Hanabi couldn’t keep back an amused smirk. “Where’s my burger?!”

Hanabi clenched her fists when she realized he must be right behind her as Himawari’s eyes travelled over her shoulder.

“Maybe big sis and I can take you for one later?” He offered lightheartedly behind her, but she refused to look back.

“No, I can’t,” she responded instinctively. She heard him shift behind her and she resisted the urge to silently use her byakugan to see what he was up to.

“Too busy for us, huh?” He whispered behind her roguishly and she shoved down the impulse to shiver. Now she wished she could simply walk away from this interaction.

To her relief, he was called away by someone she didn’t recognize, and he excused himself, but not without an outwardly innocent pat on her back as he brushed passed her, using it as an excuse to let his hand linger a hair longer than normal. Hinata raised her eyebrows as she folded her arms, eyeing Hanabi. “You seem tense.”

“Tense? Me? Tense?” Hanabi questioned with feigned ignorance. “Never.”

“Oh Kono! Stop!”

They turned attention to the front of the hall they were located in, finding Konohamaru lifting his mother into what looked like a throne as she doubled over in laughter. Everyone stopped to look.

“Now everyone’s looking!” She gasped, trying to wave him away.

“That’s how it should be!” He returned to the crowd. “To Moriko! First-class kunoichi, former Anbu captain, and incredible mother, wife, and daughter!” A few cheers rung through the hall, including Naruto. “She looks too young to be turning thirty, doesn’t she?”

“Far too young!” Someone added deviously, causing little snickers of laughter from most.

“Oh my goodness!” Moriko covered her face, though it was plastered with a bubbly smile and chitters of laughter escaping.

“To Moriko!” Naruto raised his glass and Hanabi glanced around quickly, trying to find something to lift as well. Hinata held out her glass and Hanabi clutched it as they both raised their hands with the lone drink as the crowd repeated the phrase.

“Oh my, thank you,” she giggled as the crowd died down to resume regular interactions, a few congregating around her to engage. Hanabi smirked as Konohamaru stepped away from his mother after handing her another drink, allowing what seemed to be some old friends to capture her attention, including Hiashi himself.

“He has a way with words, doesn’t he?” Hinata asked next to her.

Instinctively, Hanabi nodded. “Yes, he does.”

She ignored the knowing smile her sister offered.

Despite her intent on avoiding Konohamaru, she couldn’t keep down a little sense of disappointment when he didn’t return. Instead, she found him settling in with Moegi and Udon, and had to shake off that feeling.

In the back of her mind, she knew this would be the most she’d see of him in the foreseeable future. He’d be back to Anbu duties soon enough, and disappear. Her heart told her to go to them, but her mind told her to stay put. So she did.

[notxjustxstories]

Breathless (pt 2)

kinktober day 7: consensual non-consent 18+ only; minors dni

summary: (follow up to day 5) Loki finds the necessary materials to bring Erin to heel.

ship: Erin Reeves (f!oc) x Bucky x Loki

wordcount: 1597

tags/warnings: consensual non-consent, rough sex, doggy style, name calling, slut shaming, edging, threesome (F/M/M)

kinktober 2022 masterlist | erin reeves tag | erin/loki masterlist | erin/bucky masterlist | erin/bucky/loki masterlist

Loki knew exactly where to go for his victim’s request. He’d spotted the frozen soldier while scouting for enemies of SHIELD, hidden away in a basement like a forgotten painting. At first, he’d ignored the man, thinking it would be too much trouble to go about repairing whatever was left of his mind and then rewriting it, but now…

The Soldier was silent when he came out of cryostasis, waiting for a command. He obviously didn’t expect a rush of memories and relief that brought him to his knees instantly. The Soldier looked up at Loki, wide-eyed in disbelief, mouth hanging open with words unable to form.

Loki leaned down, whispering secret, sacred knowledge to him of how the next few days would go, of what his reward would be if they were successful- he had to provide the man with some incentive to betray his entire planet, after all. When he pulled away, he waited patiently for the man’s answer.

A nod was all he needed, and it was all he got.

-

When they arrived back in Puente Antigo, his new pet human was sitting lazily in a rolling chair, staring at her phone. Noticing them, she put the phone down on the table next to her and looked them both over with a discerning eye.

“Are you ready to beg, pet?” Loki asked. He looked from Erin to the Soldier and back again. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to verbally consent now or our new toy’s moral compass will get in the way.

The Soldier spared a glare at Loki, one that was impossible to miss. “Right, the man turned into a weapon might not want to be objectified, my apologies. Our new friend, then.”

Erin got up and walked over to the pair, standing directly in front of the Soldier. While she took a moment to admire his icy blue eyes and shaggy brown hair, Loki moved to take Erin’s seat, eager to watch the confrontation. They ran a quick debrief with each other, ensuring what she had requested of Loki was what the Soldier had been told, before the man finally nodded his assent.

“You’re gonna need to help me get outta this tac-suit, doll, or it’ll turn into a real mood killer,” the Soldier declared.

With the laugh that bubbled up from Erin, one would think she was getting ready for a night out with friends, not preparing to participate in a BDSM scene to save her own life. She helped him out of the suit, lazily tossing aside every weapon she could use against either of them and leaving him in the tank top and soft pants below.

Perhaps Loki had underestimated her. He didn’t think SHIELD left her behind to serve as bait, or they’d have swarmed by now, so what was her agenda? He’d had her sign a magically binding contract before he left to collect their new companion, one that obligated her to tell Thor next time she saw him that she’d begged for Loki’s dick. Had his brother done something so heinously offensive that she wanted to break him as well?

Loki was so wrapped up in his thoughts that it caught him off guard when the Soldier grabbed Erin’s arm and spun her around, bending it back behind her until she let out a cry of pain. His metal hand went to Erin’s neck, squeezing hard enough that Loki knew she would bruise.

“See him?” the Soldier growled, jerking his head towards Loki. “He’s your new master and the only one who can save you now. And he’s not gonna do shit until you beg for his cock.”

Erin whimpered (in pain or lust, Loki couldn’t tell), but she still kept her wits about her enough to kick back at the Soldier’s shin, causing his grip to loosen.

The woman broke free and ran towards the exit, but the Soldier was quick on her heels, his gait allowing him to catch up to her at the door despite only walking. He grabbed the base of her ponytail and pulled, forcing her to the ground and dragging her back kicking and screaming.

Back in front of Loki, the Soldier pushed her forward onto her stomach, and when she tried to get up, he just placed his boot on her back.

“You are making this much harder on yourself than is necessary,” Loki declared, staring down at his captive. “If you had simply begged as you were told, you wouldn’t be in this predicament.” He glanced up, watching as the Soldier removed his pants, then dropped to his knees, letting his metal hand replace his boot on Erin’s back. He ripped the woman’s jeans and panties, ignoring her cries as if they were just static.

The Soldier hoisted her up on her knees and slammed into her, and she cried out in pain, clawing at the tile floor. The Soldier just scoffed and swatted at her ass. “Don’t pretend it hurt that much; you’re soaked,” he growled at her, pulling back until just his tip was in her then slamming back in. “Do you always whore yourself out for strange men? Like taking it on the floor where you work like a slut?” He kept thrusting against her, ignoring her whimpers and tears.

"Please, please stop, just let me go," Erin begged. "I'll do anything, just let me go!"

Loki chuckled, watching as the woman began to tremble. "You know what you have to do," he declared calmly.

The Soldier suddenly removed himself and flipped Erin onto her back, holding her legs in place. A whimper escaped her, and her head fell onto the tile. "Were you about to cum?" he asked, feigning sympathy. "So sorry to hear that."

Satisfied that he'd given her enough time to come down, the Soldier thrust into her again, pulling her hips up and tossing one leg over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.

Erin's cries quickly turned to moans, her objections becoming weaker and weaker as the Soldier circled her clit with his thumb. Then, just as suddenly as before, he stopped.

This time, the scream Erin let out was one of frustration. "Fuck!" she shouted, writhing against the Soldier and hitting one of her fists against his arm.

The Soldier laughed, tightening his grip on Erin's hips to she couldn't provide herself the stimulation she needed. "Don't tell me you're giving up that easy, whore," he taunted. "Only took two times and you haven't even got me off, but you're ready to beg for your master."

A growl escaped Erin, and she looked at the Soldier with darkened eyes. "Let. Me. Go."

The Soldier hummed thoughtfully, his hands slowly moving to Erin's back. "No."

He yanked her up, then let her drop onto his dick, penetrating her deeper than before. He was easily strong enough to control the pace, bouncing her up and down on his dick with the same ease he'd controlled her every step of the way so far.

Loki grinned, watching the strain on the Soldier's face just before he bit into Erin's shoulder, stifling his moan as he came, bringing her to a halt. Erin whined and tried to rock against him of course, but the Soldier yanked her off and turned her to face Loki, both up on their knees, her cunt on full display.

He gave her pussy a light slap (for him) and whispered in her ear, "There's only one way this ends, doll." He slid his fingers up her cunt and started again, an agonizingly slow pace. "You're just a cum-hungry slut who needs relief."

Erin whimpered and nodded her head. "Yes," she cried, leaning her head into the Soldier.

He took her chin in his free hand and turned her to face Loki. "Tell him that."

"Please," Erin whined. "Please, master, please give me relief."

Loki hummed, mimicking the Soldier's earlier acting as he unlaced his pants and removed his dick, finally letting the painfully hard organ free. "And how do you I propose I give you this relief?" he asked, starting to stroke his cock.

"Fuck me, please," she begged. "Fuck me with your cock, fill me, make me yours!"

A laugh escaped Loki at that. "Pet, don't you know? You were already mine." He gave the Soldier a nod, and the man got to his feet, the height difference between him and Erin allowing him to hold her to his chest without letting her feet touch the ground.

The Soldier dropped Erin into Loki's lap, lining them up then pushing her down, impaling her on his cock.

Just like the Soldier, Loki was easily strong enough to set the pace, manipulating Erin's body for his pleasure while she moaned and cried, stuck on the edge of rapture. He let one hand drift down, rubbing her swollen clit and making her lean forward, clutching onto him like her life depended on it.

The Soldier watched with lust in his eyes, then in a move that surprised even Loki, he leaned down, covering Loki's lips with his own.

Erin spasmed around him, wringing his own orgasm from him, and Loki quickly moved his hand from Erin's cunt to the Soldier's arm, holding all three of them together as they came down.

Slowly, the world came back to him, and Loki looked at the clock on the wall. "Well," he breathed, "I think we have time for one more round before our next stop. Are either of you interested?"

Loki couldn't help but smirk at the eagerness his new partners exhibited.

[unhealthyfanobsession]

I can’t believe we’re going to get little mentions of soft, established Nessian in future books... like???? Imagine!!

“Azriel sighed as he entered the office, not because of the news he had to deliver from his latest mission, but because of the sight that greeted him. The sight that always seemed to greet him lately. Feyre and Rhysand were bad enough, but Nesta and Cassian were worse. Because they thought they were being subtle. They thought no one could see Cassian’s thumb just under the back of Nesta’s top, stroking up and down the divet of her spine. They thought that no one marked the way Nesta’s face and posture tightened every time someone mentioned Cassian going on a mission- which was his gods damned job. But she never said anything. Never said no or told him it was too dangerous. Just stiffened in worry. And that quiet intimacy, the silent worry... that was so much worse than overt affection. Because it was something Az could find himself craving, could feel his heart aching for, and that was almost unbearable.”

OR

“We can’t hold Elain back, Nesta.” Feyre sighed “if she wants to do this then...” she trailed off and Nesta clenched her jaw so tightly her teeth almost broke inside of her skull. Rhys cast an eye toward Cassian, but he was already moving toward his mate, one hand outstretched. It had been over a year, but the High Lord’s eyes still nearly popped out of his head every time Nesta relaxed and let Cassian pull her to his side like a sleeping tiger cub. Claws retracted, but never fully out of sight. Cass whispered something low and gruff in her ear and Nesta glared at her mate.

“I hate you”

“You hate me because I’m right.”

“It just happens so rarely that I’m never sure how to react.” Cassian barked a laugh in the same moment Rhys and Feyre did. “That wasn’t a joke” Nesta shrugged.

OR

mor would probably never be friends with Nesta the way that she was with Feyre. They just weren’t... compatible. But even she had to admit that she’d been wrong about her and Cassian. And Mor never admitted to being wrong. But every now and then she’d stumble across them when no one else was around, like right now. Dawn loomed over the river palace and everyone else had long gone to sleep, which meant that Mor was in search of wine. What she found instead was Cassian sitting in front of the fire in an overstuffed armchair, Nesta perched across his thighs with her legs draped over the arm of the chair. One of Cassian’s hands was on her hip, the other holding a mug of tea that Mor knew was Nesta’s. Because Nesta’s hands were busy, twisting themselves through the silken strands of Cassian’s hair, weaving them into tame braids that Mor would have bet money would be impossible to coax those unruly strands into. And Cassian, Lord of Bloodshed, General Commander of Night, the most powerful Illyrian warrior in centuries, was leaning into her touch, eyes closed in perfect contentment, moving only to press a kiss to Nesta’s wrist every time it came close enough. Yes, Mor thought, she’d never been so spectacularly wrong in her very long life.

AND FINALLY:

Gwyn was busy doing everything she could to staunch the flow of blood from Azriel’s side. If it was a normal blade it would never have been a fatal wound, but with ash wood... who knew. She was so focused on her task that she almost didn’t notice Koschei advancing towards them again. Not until Ataraxia’s massive weight gleamed silver in front of her.

“Take one more step towards my brother and sister, and it will be the last thing you ever do.” She growled.

Koschei stilled, a smirk playing on his lips “you do not frighten me, Nesta Archeron. Once, perhaps, but love made you weak as it has so many others.”

Nesta took a step forward, and for all of his grand words, Koschei took one back. “You will not be the first deathless creature to underestimate me and meet their end by this blade.”

Koschei laughed, shadows pulsing in time with Azriel’s own, even as they were fading. They didn’t have much time. He needed a healer, a real healer. Gwyn pressed her hands harder into Az’s side, thinking that she would rip the skin from her wrist if she could patch it over his own.

Then she saw Nesta smile, felt a change in the wind, and breathed a sigh of relief as Koschei faltered. As the entire grassy expanse beside the lake was flooded with red the colour of watery blood.

Cassian.

No one knew they were here. No one knew about Az’s crazy spying against Rhys’ orders or that Gwyn insisted on following him and Nesta insisted on following her. No one knew, but of course Cassian did. Of course the mating bond must have been screaming at him that the other half of his heart was in danger. The shock and the blast of power was enough to knock Koschei down, enough to distract him.

Lady Death positively beamed in deranged delight at the arrival of her true sword, her mate, her love. “What was that about love being a weakness?”

Those were the last words Koachei the deathless heard before a once mortal girl separated his head from his shoulders with a single swing of her Made sword.

In the end, he put up less resistance than the ribbon.

“I would murder you all for this insane plan if I hadn’t just flown 4 hours to save your sorry asses” Cassian growled.

Nesta only rose on her toes to kiss him, black blood smearing both of their lips. And because Gwyn knew that Cassian’s ability to stay mad at Nesta was nonexistent she felt no qualms interrupting the moment.

“You haven’t saved us all yet.”

Cassian’s face turned grave as they all sunk to their knees before the shadowsinger. He ripped into an inside pocket of his leather jacket and produced a vial that he poured down Azriel’s throat. “From Thesan” he said “it’ll counteract the Ashwood, but he still needs a healer for the wounds.” Cassian cast an eye upward “Day is closer than Night. I’ll take him there and be back in a couple hours.” He lifted his brother easily, throwing up a shield to protect him from the wind “try not to get into a fight with any other true immortals while I’m gone.”

“No promises” Gwyn and Nesta responded in unison.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt 1) NMJ is the son of the concubine, NHS is the son of the legal wife, who had difficulty conceiving because of an old night hunting injury, and picked out a concubine for her husband who was big and strong and healthy as on ox - the strength got passed on, her more even temperament didn't. The legal wife conceived later, with much difficulty and they weren't entirely sure NHS would live at first

ao3

“Are you well?” Nie Mingjue asked Jin Guangyao, his voice stiff, and Jin Guangyao looked at him sidelong, surprised by the question, as well as the fact that Nie Mingjue was talking to him at all.

Normally, he would assume that Nie Mingjue was doing it because Lan Xichen was encouraging him to get along with Jin Guangyao again, but Lan Xichen was in the Cloud Recesses, had been in the Cloud Recesses for quite some time. Officially, he was helping oversee the rebuilding; unofficially he was caring for his brother, who had officially entered seclusion and unofficially was healing from a punishment so grievously terrible that Jin Guangyao was reminded all over again why one could not trust the righteous facades of the wealthy and powerful Great Sects.

Not that he needed much reminding, here in Jinlin Tower…

At any rate, Lan Xichen couldn’t be the reason Nie Mingjue was asking Jin Guangyao about his well-being, and that meant that his stern, grim-faced oldest sworn brother was doing it on his own, for reasons of his own.

Naturally, Jin Guangyao mistrusted that even more.

“Of course, da-ge,” he said with a practiced smile. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” Nie Mingjue said, somehow, impossibly, even stiffer than before. “No, I just – I meant – with Jin Zixuan’s death. It must have made it – hard. Here. For you.”

That was a staggeringly perceptive insight, and the fact that it came from Nie Mingjue, who thought ignoring rumors until they went away was a valid strategy, was something of an uncomfortable surprise. Even Lan Xichen hadn’t really thought of Jin Guangyao in the aftermath of Jin Zixuan’s death and the ensuing calamity, with the Nightless City and Wei Wuxian’s final downfall and everything with Lan Wangji taking away his attention; at best, he’d penned a careless letter belatedly expressing that he was sad that Jin Guangyao hadn’t had more of an opportunity to get to know Jin Zixuan better before his untimely demise.

Not even Su She had said anything, taking Jin Zixuan’s death as an unmitigated good – an obstacle out of their way, and nothing more. Easy enough for him to think as sect leader of his own sect, however small.

Not so easy for Jin Guangyao.

Not so easy when Madame Jin’s dislike of him had turned to full-blown maddened hatred, when his father looked at him like filth on his shoe, when they wouldn’t let him anywhere near Jin Ling as if his mere touch were some sort of toxic poison…

“…thank you,” he said cautiously. “I’ve been doing fine.”

Nie Mingjue jerked his head in a nod. “Avoid the sect elders for a time,” he said, and when Jin Guangyao looked at him, he was staring straight ahead, not looking at him at all. “Be careful with what you eat and drink. Some people don’t like to take chances.”

Was Nie Mingjue – Nie Mingjue – warning him about a possible assassination attempt? The man who had barely consented to using spies during wartime, who thought politics could be conducted through above-board dealings, who thought bribery and blackmail were unacceptable crimes? Him?

The world had truly turned upside down.

“I’ll be careful,” Jin Guangyao said, and found to his embarrassment that his tone had unconsciously softened, revealing the sudden fondness he was feeling for no good reason. He could rationalize it as a deliberate move, because allowing Nie Mingjue to do him a favor and sounding touched about it was a good way to get closer to him, to get back through those iron defenses of his. The problem was that it wasn’t a stratagem, not really, and that was dangerous.

Nie Mingjue nodded again, and Jin Guangyao expected him to move on – he and Nie Mingjue might be sworn brothers, but they didn’t chat – but he didn’t. He lingered, instead, clearly wanting to say something, something he was chewing over and not quite able to spit out.

Unusual, for someone who normally prided himself on being straightforward and direct.

“Is there something else?” Jin Guangyao eventually asked when Nie Mingjue didn’t seem to be actually making any progress towards saying anything.

Nie Mingjue grimaced and took a step – off to the side, to a corner of the path that was a little more secluded than most. Interestingly, he didn’t make the amateur mistake of going for one of the obviously secluded alcoves, which of course had all sorts of hiding-holes for eavesdroppers, but rather ended up in one of the few areas where the architecture created a natural dead space for sound.

Intrigued, Jin Guangyao followed him there.

Once they were there, Nie Mingjue still looked awkward – he was still refusing to look directly at Jin Guangyao, as if they wouldn’t be talking in hushed tones in a secluded corner if he didn’t admit that that was what they were doing – but finally said, “Would it help or hurt if I said anything?”

Jin Guangyao frowned a little, not following. “Said anything?”

“About the inheritance,” Nie Mingjue said, and Jin Guangyao’s eyes widened. “You’re the only recognized son left; you ought to be named heir until Jin Ling is full grown. But that doesn’t mean people will let that happen so easily.”

Jin Guangyao would have been less surprised if Wen Ruohan had spontaneously resurrected himself from the dead and performed a brothel fan dance on the front lawn of Jinlin Tower.

It had not even remotely entered his calculations that Nie Mingjue would be anything but an obstacle to his ambitions for power over the Lanling Jin sect – at best, he had hoped only that Nie Mingjue would be convinced that Jin Zixuan’s death was wholly Wei Wuxian’s fault and not find some way to blame Jin Guangyao for it, and that he wouldn’t immediately suspect that Jin Guangyao of scheming to kill Jin Ling and take the whole thing for himself.

He’d never dreamed that Nie Mingjue might think that he deserved it.

“I’ll support you, of course,” Nie Mingjue said, as if it were obvious, when it was the least obvious thing that had ever happened in Jin Guangyao’s life. “But I’m not actually any good at this sort of thing, you know – playing politics with the internal affairs of other sects. I don’t want to make things worse for you just because I don’t know what the right approach is, especially not here.”

Jin Guangyao stared at him.

Nie Mingjue, not hearing a response, glanced at him and scowled. Lowering his voice still more, he said, “Think on it carefully. Sect Leader Jin hates me personally, but my Nie sect isn’t nothing, not even in Lanling. It’s still more so after the war, after all those battles I won to save the Jin sect’s rotten – that is, after everything I did to help. Even if your father doesn’t like it, he still has to give my sect face, and his sect elders know it. You’re a war hero, and my sworn brother; if a public stand on my part would help make things easier for you…”

“I’ll think on it carefully,” Jin Guangyao assured him, his mind already racing over the possibilities. Nie Mingjue underestimated himself – he wasn’t just a war hero, he was the war hero, the righteous and unyielding war god that had won an impossible war for the rest of them. He was Jin Guangshan’s chief rival for the position of Chief Cultivator and he wasn’t even trying to get the position; he probably wanted nothing more than to go home to Qinghe and sleep for three months and yet practically every single sect leader that Jin Guangshan felt out on the subject invariably dropped his name as the possible alternative. Assuming he was serious, and Nie Mingjue was always serious, his public support would make it extremely tricky for Jin Guangshan to refuse to name Jin Guangyao as the official heir, even if he tried to claim that this was a private matter. The rest of the sect would force him to do it, even against his will.

Moreover, Lan Xichen would follow Nie Mingjue’s lead, or at least could be easily encouraged into doing so. He was so distracted with his brother, if Jin Guangyao went to him and pointed out that Nie Mingjue thought it was a good idea to stand behind him…no, he wouldn’t even need to do that. Everyone knew how much better his relationship with Lan Xichen was in comparison to Nie Mingjue; if Nie Mingjue stood behind him, everyone would assume that Lan Xichen did as well, and then he would have two of the remaining Great Sects backing his right to inherit – even if only in the interim – the seat of power for Lanling Jin, as the only recognized son…

Except, of course, Jin Guangshan had already accounted for that.

Jin Guangyao’s eyes flickered. Perhaps there was a way to test Nie Mingjue’s sincerity.

“There is one issue,” he said, and Nie Mingjue turned his head to look at him directly. “My father has – decided to bring home another son.”

Nie Mingjue stared at him. “Another son?”

“From a minor noble family of commoners –”

“He brought one home now?” Nie Mingjue said, and he sounded angry. He always sounded angry, but this time he sounded angry on Jin Guangyao’s behalf, something he hadn’t been since Langya, since Qinghe, and it thrilled Jin Guangyao’s heart to hear it. He’d always secretly enjoyed having someone as physically and politically strong as Nie Mingjue in his corner, the power of it going to his head; it was even more so now, when he was finally in a position where he could really use it. “That’s a deliberate insult to you, and for what? Some untried boy…”

One who isn’t the son of a prostitute, Jin Guangyao thought, but of course Nie Mingjue wouldn’t think about it that way. He never had, not from the beginning.

“Father is of course within his rights to bring home whoever he wishes, for the best interest of the sect,” he said diplomatically, and Nie Mingjue huffed and rolled his eyes. “Da-ge…”

“It doesn’t change anything,” Nie Mingjue said curtly. “Think on it, and tell me what you want me to do.”

With that he turned away and strode off towards the main hall, a scowl firmly on his face.

Jin Guangyao watched him go, pleased – Nie Mingjue was really too easy to manipulate, if you knew him well enough. He’d keep quiet during the opening ceremony of the conference, but if he was really sincere about standing up for Jin Guangyao’s right to inherit, there would be no way he’d be able to refrain from expressing his views to Jin Guangshan at some point later that evening.

Sure enough, Nie Mingjue seethed throughout most of the complex and beautiful ceremony Jin Guangyao had arranged to show off Lanling Jin’s wealth and strength and taste – all wasted on him, naturally, so Jin Guangyao didn’t take any offense – and through dinner as well, and afterwards found a reason to make his way over to Jin Guangshan. After a few words, they both retreated to one of the receiving rooms.

Jin Guangyao made his excuses very shortly thereafter and slipped away: the receiving rooms, at least, were not dead spaces, and he knew all the ways to listen in there.

By the time he arrived, they were already arguing.

“ – what business of yours?” Jin Guangshan was snarling. “These are my private family matters!”

“He is my sworn brother,” Nie Mingjue said in return, his voice stiff as always. It was interesting to Jin Guangyao that he still didn’t seem happy about admitting that fact; he was still resentful of Jin Guangyao, still suspicious, and yet he supported him regardless, just because he thought it was his right. Ah, the foolishness of good people! “When you refuse to give him face, that becomes my business.”

Jin Guangshan spat, audibly. Jin Guangyao, still carefully moving into a position where he could see as well as hear, hoped he’d aimed it at the floor and not at Nie Mingjue’s face.

“Oh, I’m sure it is,” Jin Guangshan said. “I suppose I really shouldn’t be so surprised to find you supporting him, should I?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nie Mingjue demanded, and Jin Guangyao wondered the same.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Jin Guangshan said. Jin Guangyao had never heard his father sound so cruel – and he had quite a bit to compare it to. “They do say like calls to like, don’t they?”

Jin Guangyao had just finally gotten into view position, which meant he was just in time to see all the blood drain out of Nie Mingjue’s face as if he’d just been stabbed.

“You may have won some merit,” Jin Guangshan said, and he was smirking now. “But they do say blood always tells – or did you think that people would forget that it’s your brother that’s the true-born son, and you merely a concubine’s get?”

He was what?

Nie Mingjue was –

It was impossible. Surely, it was impossible.

And yet Nie Mingjue was not denying Jin Guangshan’s words, was not getting angry at the slander, was standing there stiff-backed and grim-faced –

“I still remember how disappointed your father was when his beautiful, beloved, delicate wife couldn’t get a pregnancy to last the term,” Jin Guangshan said, picking up one of the jars of wine and taking a swig. “He didn’t want to take a concubine at all, thought it’d be disrespectful to his wife, but what could he do? He was the sole heir, with an obligation to continue his lineage…they bought your mother for the breeding, like bringing in a cow for the farmyard bull.”

He laughed.

Nie Mingjue said nothing.

“Healthy, I think he said about her. Healthy and big, good hips for bearing children, good tits to nurse them – that was all he cared about, squeezing a few sons out of her, and she didn’t even manage that. Ran away after the first one, didn’t she? You ever figure out where she went, whether she ended up married to some dumb farmer as illiterate as her, or else lying on her back in a brothel? Dead in a beggar’s grave somewhere, perhaps?”

Nie Mingjue said nothing.

“No, it’s no surprise: of course you’d back the little son of a whore for the position of rightful heir, as if letting him take it would help cover up for the way you stole your own brother’s –”

“Watch your words,” Nie Mingjue said, his heavy voice slicing through the air like a saber.

“Still pretending it wasn’t theft, then?” Jin Guangshan laughed again, pacing the room back and forth, prowling like some sort of beast. “You were supposed to step down when he was ready – you had to swear never to have children, never to marry, all so you could warm the sect leader seat until he was grown up and ready to take it himself. But a weakling wastrel like that, he’s never going to be ready, is he? Very clever of you. I bet your sect elders hadn’t thought of you getting around it like that.”

“You dare –”

“Oh, I dare! And I’d dare more, if you think you can push me around!” Jin Guangshan bared his teeth. “Let me tell you now, Sect Leader Nie, if you dare make a public statement of support for Guangyao, I’ll remind the whole world that you’re no better than him, that you ought to be one of the Nie sect’s servants, not its sect leader –”

“Go ahead.”

Jin Guangshan stopped.

“Go ahead,” Nie Mingjue said again, stepping forward, and Jin Guangyao had never actually seen him purposefully use his height against someone, wield it like a weapon to remind the other party which of them was the more terrifying. “I’ve already had half a dozen public arguments with Huaisang about the fact that he needs to take the role of Sect Leader; everyone in my sect knows that he’s the one who keeps refusing. Do you really think everyone is like you? Scrabbling for every scrap of power you can get, like a rat in the rubbish bin?”

Jin Guangshan took an involuntary step backwards as Nie Mingjue continued to advance.

“When there are those who speak against you, you must do so well that they have no choice but to shut their mouths,” Nie Mingjue said, and it was the very same words he had spoken in encouragement to Jin Guangyao, all those years ago when they had first met. At the time, and thereafter, Jin Guangyao had thought him naïve, of not knowing of which he spoke. “Tell me, Sect Leader Jin, if you go out and spew your poison to your sycophants, do you really think any but the most loyal and brainless will open their mouths to condemn me now? Now, when I’ve just won the cultivation world a war, when I saved Lanling Jin a dozen times or more? Do you really think people will remember my mother instead of my saber?”

“You’d be amazed what people remember,” Jin Guangshan said, even if his voice was weaker, more desperate than it had been before. Less mighty and more pathetic than before, as if Jin Guangyao were suddenly seeing him in a brand new light: seeing him as what he was, as a man who would never looked beyond a person’s birth, no matter what their merits. “In the end, public arguments or not, you were the one who raised Nie Huaisang, now a good-for-nothing, a waste, and you sit in his throne, managing his Nie sect. People will remember that! Your sect will still lose face, be dishonored!”

“Fine. Then I’ll just kill you,” Nie Mingjue said, and Jin Guangshan gaped at him. “Why not? You’re right. To protect my brother’s birthright, I vowed never to have children, never to marry; the only ambitions in my life were to allow Huaisang to live well as he grew older and to avenge my father, and I’ve accomplished both. Even if they execute me for your murder, what’s it to me? What will I have lost?”

Jin Guangshan’s mouth moved open and closed, mute in his shock, and Jin Guangyao couldn’t blame him.

Nie Mingjue’s lips twisted into a sneer of his own.

“For once in your life, Sect Leader Jin, just do the right thing,” he said, sounding tired, and Jin Guangyao felt something loosen inside of him that had gone inexplicably frozen and pained at the idea of Nie Mingjue breaking all those morals and principles he always seemed to hold so dear.

It was strange. Not a day earlier, Jin Guangyao would have sworn that he would’ve liked nothing more than to see Nie Mingjue pushed too far, forced down into the muck and mud that the rest of them trudged their way through, and now that he saw a hint of it, he’d never wanted anything less.

“Name Meng Yao your heir until Jin Ling is grown,” Nie Mingjue continued. “Reap the benefits of the alliance he brings with him and have us all honor you as an elder, if that’s what you want. But playing games like this…I’d say it’s beneath you, but I’d need a shovel to get that deep. So don’t think about it. Just do it. Or I’ll make you.”

He left, Jin Guangshan still gaping after him. It wasn’t long before he finally started moving, throwing around expensive teacups and furnishings and shouting for servants to bring him a drink and a whore, even though it was early; Jin Guangyao returned to the party, knowing there would be nothing more for him to learn, not when his father was in a mood like that.

Later that night, when the party was over and all cleaned up, he went to the quarters assigned for their guests from the Nie sect and was unsurprised to see a light still lit within the one assigned to the sect leader.

He knocked, and a familiar voice beckoned him to enter.

Nie Mingjue was dressed in a sleeping robe, but he was at his desk, writing a letter; he’d clearly been unable to sleep. He looked up when Jin Guangyao entered.

“What?” he asked, short and sharp and rude as always.

These days, Jin Guangyao usually planned out his encounters with Nie Mingjue in advance, hoping to minimize awkwardness and achieve his goals without too much of a scolding. He’d done that at the very beginning of knowing him, only to rapidly give up during his time at Qinghe – Nie Mingjue was both predictable and yet somehow an utter mystery, and it was easier to just go with the flow, adapt to the circumstances, than it was to plan in advance. Only after he’d left did he start planning once again.

He wasn’t planning now.

“Your mother,” he said, and Nie Mingjue barked a laugh, reaching up with a hand to rub at his eyes.

“Did your father tell you?” he asked. “Or did you just listen in?”

Jin Guangyao shrugged, and Nie Mingjue for once did not seem inclined to demand an answer.

“Is it true?” he asked instead, even though he already knew. “That she was…”

Like mine.

Not exactly like, of course. Jin Guangshan wouldn’t have hesitated to call Nie Mingjue the son of a whore directly if he thought he could get away with claiming it was merely fact, and had managed to imply as much nonetheless. Jin Guangyao’s mother’s shame could never be washed away, not in his lifetime; Nie Mingjue’s birth, being merely low, was not the same.

And yet.

“Oh, it’s true,” Nie Mingjue said mirthlessly. “Right down to the fact that they all but bought her based on how fertile she looked, for all that my father later pretended it wasn’t that, and the fact that she ran away.”

Jin Guangyao blinked. If he was playacting, he might have bitten his lip, averted his eyes, and he still considered doing it, but for the moment he was still feeling too off-balance to really commit to it. “Is she – still alive?”

Nie Mingjue shrugged.

“Have you looked for her?”

“I’ve been sect leader for over a decade,” he said, which wasn’t a denial. “If she wanted to find me, she knows where I am.”

That was a good point, Jin Guangyao supposed.

“Was it hard?” he asked, and Nie Mingjue frowned, clearly not understanding the question. “For you, when it was you. Was it hard to convince them to let you inherit?”

Nie Mingjue’s eyes slid half-shut in pained memory. “Yes.”

Jin Guangyao nodded, and went to sit down next to Nie Mingjue, who allowed it, returning to his work. He didn’t say anything.

It was rather atypical for Jin Guangyao – he was always thinking of something to say, when it came to Nie Mingjue, trying to bridge the gap between them with clever words. Perhaps it was only that the gap had shrunk, or had never been as large as he had thought.

After a while, Nie Mingjue said, “You know I wish you were better than you are,” and Jin Guangyao looked at him sidelong. “But in the end, you’re my brother. Isn’t that what matters?”

“Yes,” Jin Guangyao said, and there was that uncalled-for fondness again. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

[teklarn]

𝔂𝓸𝓾'𝓻𝓮 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝔂 𝓫𝓸𝔂𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭 - 𝓴. 𝓫𝓪𝓴𝓾𝓰𝓸𝓾 (𝓹𝓽. 2)

 character(s): katsuki bakugou x gn!reader 

a/n: ok so i just started writing on tumblr and honestly in my opinion for my first time posting smth on this the first part did really well thank u for all the likes :) (told from second pov; e.g you, your) reblogs are greatly appreciated :))

summary: bakugou x gn!reader. they have feelings for one another but have no idea how to express them, however y/n has someone pining for their attention. 

genre: a lil bit angsty 

warnings: cursing, jealousy, mutual pining, slow burn romance, aged-up to third year, love triangle (square?), physical injuries, kirishima gets a little toxic, also shirtless bakugou (awooga), a crap ton of time skips bc i can’t write action scenes for shit, bakugou is a flirt (lowkey but yeah), mentions of blood 

word count: 2112

pt 1 , pt 3

- - - 

kirishima had broken the skin on his lower lip with how hard he was biting it. he stood in the bathroom, rinsing his mouth, ignoring the slight sting the water brought. 

y/n was currently being blasted by bakugou, and they were fighting back. 

jealousy panged in his chest. 

bakugou had never let him know about how he felt about you, however kirishima was sure he felt something for them. you and bakugou were both a jumble of prideful and longing stares towards each other from across every room. the tension was thick enough to slice through. and while kirishima would never make a move in fear of ruining the friendship between him and bakugou, as well as him and y/n, gosh it didn’t stop him from wanting to. 

he’d stood on the side, cheering you on to no end. the sports festival last year, the year before that, training exercises, he was always there. kirishima was always there. 

whenever you needed him, whenever you wanted his company. so what did bakugou have over him? sure, the blond was strong and had bigger goals than kirishima, but why should that matter? 

what did bakugou have? why would you want him more when he was never near you? never made an effort to see you to be there when you asked for help. 

it was popular belief that bakugou was a noisy idiot, but he was actually quite a quiet boy. he didn’t bother to raise his hand in class, however he always knew the answer. he spoke rarely and only made conversation with those he was close with if they were the ones to make the effort to converse with him first. 

jealousy, jealousy, jealousy. kirishima despised it. 

whenever did he begin wanting to beat bakugou at something? 

the cloud of guilt welling up in his chest was going to become unbearable, and soon everything he ever wanted to say was going to come up like word vomit at the worst possible time. 

- 

you swiped at your cheek, brushing off the crumbling dirt. your timing had been off, and their flip backwards had landed you in an awkward position. a vulnerable one. 

honestly, though, it wasn’t like it really mattered. bakugou was a bit transparent himself. he wore a smug look like a golden medal, and held back his power just enough to keep you on your feet. 

his cocky attitude was irritating and it drew you in like a moth drawn to a lamp. 

sweat was beading down your temple. the day was exceptionally hot, the sun beaming down on your back like a proud child. 

you and bakugou had been at it for a while. with anyone else, you would have quit by now. it’s not that you gave up easily. no, not ever. but fights could get boring, especially if you were just smashing away at them with your quirk and they were acting like they could take it. 

perhaps you were being cocky. 

this fight, though. this was interesting. not only because it was bakugou; also because you knew so little about him. 

it was likely he never shared anything important to anyone. he was quite introverted. 

it was interesting for another reason. 

it was hot, bakugou sweats a lot. gosh, he looked delicious without a shirt on. he had a built figure accompanied by strong arms and a broad chest. 

he’d filled out quite nicely the past few years. you hadn’t noticed until now how much he’d grown. 

“don’t get distracted.” 

your eyes snapped up from his chest to his eyes. bakugou became a blur, shooting himself off the ground and flipping once in the air before propelling himself back down. 

before you could do anything, bakugou had you pinned, one leg pinning yours, both his hands wrapped around your wrists. he’d ditched his gauntlets, leaving the metal assistants in the sweltering heat, claiming he wanted to give you an equal fight. 

he panted atop you, hands tightening. 

tokage didn’t bother to leave her dorm today, thank goodness. it had just been the three of you. you, bakugou, and kirishima. 

the red head had suspiciously vanished halfway through the fight, though.

bakugou’s crimson eyes bored into yours. neither of you blinked for a moment. perhaps just a small eternity each of you silently reveled in. 

his erratic breaths slowed, and so did yours, although you stayed the same. unmoving, faces neutral but eyes giving away long-held secrets. 

your ears flushed, and butterflies came rising up uncontrollably. you should have pushed him off. instead you gave him a wicked grin, which earned a look from him and you couldn’t tell if he was confused or annoyed. 

“your big ass forehead is blocking the bright-as-hell sun. stay like this,” you mocked, wrenching your wrists from his grasp and snaking your arms around his neck. 

his cheeks burned red. “w-what?” 

“you heard me.” 

he scoffed, tugging you off his neck and standing. “shut up, shitface. we aren’t even done yet.” he readied himself in a fighting stance once more. 

“i thought you said you wanted to stop when you won?” you brushed yourself off as you stood. 

“i know what i said. you probably weren’t even giving it your all.” 

“’course i was.” you cocked your head. “why wouldn’t i?” 

“you’re strong, damn idiot.” 

you feigned surprise, pressed a hand to your fluttering chest. “the bakugou, dynamight himself, complimenting a humble soul like me? oh, i really must be good, then.” 

“not as good as me.” his face dropped from a smile. bakugou never got enough training no matter how early or late he stayed up, or how many hours on the weekends were spent kicking a bag or sparring with friends. hard workers did all of the work there was a still wondered if they were doing enough. the number one spot wasn’t empty, but it was still reserved for dynamight. 

- 

y/n had collapsed on their bed. kirishima was itching to tell them how he felt, however he was stuck at the doorway. 

they weren’t even dressed for bed, nor were they showered. 

he settled with leaving his friend alone, and shut the door softly to find bakugou standing right behind him. 

kirishima jumped back, closing his eyes in relief. “bakugou. what the heck man?” 

“you’re creepy as shit.” 

“i- what? you were the one staring at me while i-” 

“while you peeped in on y/n?” 

“i wasn’t peeping. i walked them back after the fight and they just collapsed. you were off doing something else and you worked them too hard.” 

it wasn’t a shock that bakugou was still riled up from the duel. this boy had the energy of a mad man. 

when bakugou didn’t say anything, kirishima said once again, “you overworked them.” 

bakugou swat away the comment. “only because they’re not working hard enough.” 

kirishima raised an eyebrow. “they work hard. they’re perfectly fine.” 

“fine?” 

“they’re amazing.”

“i know that, shitty hair. you think i’m blind?” 

“everyone can make improvements at their own pace.” kirishima’s voice dropped. 

“you train with me.” 

“it’s an hour before curfew.” 

bakugou jut a thumb in the direction of the door. “so? maybe you need some more practice, too,” he joked. 

“you’re an ass, bakugou,” kirishima released a breathy chuckle. 

the two wandered off to one of the training grounds. it was open, a wide court where they’d both kicked someone else’s ass. 

the sun was just setting, a new cool breeze coming to fill the spot of the violent sun rays. 

it was routine to fight each other out of nowhere. kirishima was usually quite playful, spewing jokes once in a while and taunting his friend. 

this fight was different. his face was stone-cold. kirishima often took the defensive role, as his quirk didn’t allow him to project any direct attacks to bakugou.

it wasn’t like kirishima was angry at bakugou, but as soon as they started charging towards one another, he couldn’t hold back. his chest tightened, arms hardening and joints becoming strong and stiff. 

with one clean sweep of his arm, bakugou was backing away from kirishima, propelling himself to the edge of the arena with a small blast. he’d always been up for a challenge. kirishima was willing to give him one. 

his sudden competitive demeanor seemed to be egging on bakugou’s. the blond tongued the inside of his cheek, grunting as he shot forth, hair flying wildly. 

swiftly, kirishima dodged, just barely missing a blast. his torso wasn’t hardened, so if he’d dodged any later, his stomach would have been scorched. 

bakugou always took their fights seriously. he knew better than to underestimate the boy who had put together his very own rescue mission. 

kirishima’s opponent stumbled from the momentum. he took his chance and brought a hardened elbow down on bakugou’s back, hearing a satisfying crack. 

bakugou was crushed to the ground with the hit. his face smashed into the sandy ground. he coughed, turning over and spitting dirt to the side. 

it took a moment for him to register what he did, but kirishima was at bakugou’s side within seconds. the sun was nearly gone, a pale blue sky flickering with the first sights of stars. 

it was hard to make it out at first, but not impossible. kirishima saw the blood dripping and smeared just above bakugou’s lip. he groaned, cupping his face in both hands as he sat upright. 

“argh” bakugou gasped. “shit, kirishima. what the hell?” 

“i...i’m sorry dude, i didn’t mean to.” i wanted to, but i didn’t mean to. 

bakugou raised an eyebrow and let a smile seep through his pain. “you’re improving, though.” 

“are you alright?” kirishima traced the small cut on his lip from earlier with the tip of his tongue. 

“i’m fine, i’m fine.” bakugou swatted his hand away. he struggled to get up, refusing kirishima’s help. 

“we should head back before this gets any worse.” 

bakugou kept his large hands hovering under his chin to catch the dripping and occasional chunks of blood.  

although he wanted the duel to continue (it was finally interesting) bakugou wasn’t stubborn enough to keep going. so he nodded, once again denying kirishima’s efforts to help him out. 

- 

you were in the common area, fiddling with a rubik’s cube. it was just you, as everyone else was spending the night among each other. ashido had invited you to her dorm a while ago, but you’d denied, wanting to spend a few more giddy moments to yourself. 

the door rattled, and in came your two friends, one with furrowed brows and the other with blood drenching the front of his shirt. 

bakugou’s head was tilted up in an attempt to stop the blood from flowing down. his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the blood trailing down the back of his throat. 

“oh my gosh,” you gasped out, racing to the bathroom. you came back with sanitary wipes in one hand and tissue in the other. “what happened?” 

“we were training,” kirishima started, taking a few tissues from the box and handing them to his friend, “and i accidentally hit him too hard.” 

“you didn’t hit me that hard. you barely did any damage!” bakugou objected. you approached him, and through his fingers, bakugou peered down at you. 

you asked him with your eyes, and he gave you silent permission to pry his arms away from his face. “are you okay?” 

“i’m just dandy,” he scoffed. 

“dude, i’m really sorry—” 

“shut the hell up kirishima. i don’t want your pity. i swear this is the only time i’ll surrender to you, you asswipe.”

you didn’t laugh, not even a chuckle. “bakugou, you need to see recovery girl.” 

“what the hell? no way. all she’s gonna do is give me one of those shitty slobbery kisses and scold me for being careless.” 

“your nose is broken,” you said gently. 

“so? can’t you fix it?” 

you raised a questioning brow. “you want me to help you?” 

“can you or can you not?” 

“i can try to set it but you’re better off going to recovery girl instead of settling with―” 

“all i need is possible. i don’t want to deal with that old lady’s shit right now.” using the tissues kirishima had stuffed into his hand, he caught the remaining blood dripping down his nose. “let’s go.” 

you were more than unsure. he would end up with a crooked nose if you made any small mistake, but he didn’t think twice as he grabbed your shoulder and led you in the direction of your dorm. 

- 

kirishima wished he hadn’t broken bakugou’s nose. not because he felt bad, though. 

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

An Open Letter to the Global Media by Olena Zelenska (First Lady Of Ukraine) What happened just over a week ago was impossible to believe. Our country was peaceful; our cities, towns, and villages were full of life. On February 24th, we all woke up to the announcement of a Russian invasion. Tanks crossed the Ukrainian border, planes entered our airspace, missile launchers surrounded our cities. Despite assurances from Kremlin-backed propaganda outlets, who call this a "special operation" - it is, in fact, the mass murder of Ukrainian civilians. Perhaps the most terrifying and devastating of this invasion are the child casualties. Eight-year-old Alice who died on the streets of Okhtyrka while her grandfather tried to protect her. Or Polina from Kyiv, who died in the shelling with her parents. 14-year-old Arseniy was hit in the head by wreckage, and could not be saved because an ambulance could not get to him on time because of intense fires. When Russia says that it is 'not waging war against civilians,' I call out the names of these murdered children first. Our women and children now live in bomb shelters and basements. You have most likely all seen these images from Kyiv and Kharkiv metro stations, where people lie on the floors with their children and pets – trapped beneath. These are just consequences of war for some, for Ukrainians it now a horrific reality. In some cities families cannot get out of the bomb shelters for several days in a row because of the indiscriminate and deliberate bombing and shelling of civilian infrastructure. The first newborn of the war, saw the concrete ceiling of the basement, their first breath was the acrid air of the underground, and they were greeted by a community trapped and terrorized. At this point, there are several dozen children who have never known peace in their lives. This war is being waged against the civilian population, and not just through shelling. Some people require intensive care and continuous treatment, which they cannot receive now. How easy is it to inject insulin in the basement? Or to get asthma medication under heavy fire? Not to mention the thousands of cancer patients whose essential access to chemotherapy and radiation treatment have now been indefinitely delayed. Local communities on social media are full of despair. Many people, including the elderly, severely ill and those with disabilities, have been debilitatingly cut off, ending up far from their families and without any support. War against these innocent people is a double crime. Our roads are flooded with refugees. Look into the eyes of these tired women and children who carry with them the pain and heartache of leaving loved ones and life as they knew it behind. The men bringing them to the borders shedding tears to break apart their families, but bravely returning to fight for our freedom. After all, despite all this horror, Ukrainians do not give up. The aggressor, Putin, thought that he would unleash blitzkrieg on Ukraine. But he underestimated our country, our people, and their patriotism. Ukrainians, regardless of political views, native language, beliefs, and nationalities, stand in unparalleled unity. While Kremlin propagandists bragged that Ukrainians would welcome them with flowers as saviors, they have been shunned with Molotov cocktails. I thank the citizens of the attacked cities, who have coordinated to help those in need. Those that keep working - in pharmacies, stores, public transportation, and social services – showing that in Ukraine, life wins. I acknowledge those that have provided humanitarian aid to our citizens and thank you for your continued support. And to our neighbors who have generously opened their borders to provide shelter for our women and children, thank you for keeping them safe, when the aggressor has rendered us unable to do so. To all the people around the world who are rallying to support Ukraine. We see you! We’re here watching and appreciate your support. Ukraine wants peace. But Ukraine will defend its borders. Defend its identity. These it will never yield. In cities where shelling persists, where people find themselves under debris, unable to get out of basements for days, we need safe corridors for humanitarian aid and evacuation of civilians to safety. We need those in power to close our sky! Close the sky, and we will manage the war on the ground ourselves. I appeal to you, dear media: keep showing what is happening here and keep showing the truth. In the information war waged by the Russian Federation, every piece of evidence is crucial. And with this letter, I testify and tell the world: the war in Ukraine is not a war "somewhere out there." This is a war in Europe, close to the EU borders. Ukraine is stopping the force that may aggressively enter your cities tomorrow under the pretext of saving civilians. Last week to me and my people, this would have seemed like an exaggeration, but it is the reality we’re living in today. And we do not know how long it will last. If we don't stop Putin, who threatens to start a nuclear war, there will be no safe place in the world for any of us. We will win. Because of our unity. Unity towards love for Ukraine. Glory to Ukraine!

[twdsunshine]

The Walking Dead Drabbles Masterlist

This is my rebloggable masterlist of all of the prompted drabbles I’ve written for The Walking Dead.  Thank you for taking the time to read them, and I hope you enjoy.  

For my complete Masterlist, please click here.

*****

BANK HOLIDAY DRABBLES 2018 (#1 - #162)

BANK HOLIDAY DRABBLES 2019 (#163 - #285)

FIVE SENTENCE CHALLENGE DRABBLES

FLUFF ALPHABET DRABBLES

MINI DRABBLES

GIF ME ALL THE DRABBLES MASTERLIST

*****

DARYL DIXON

“Keep your eyes on me.” (Daryl x Reader)

“We are not going to steal someone’s dog.” (Daryl x Reader)

“You are my sunshine.” (Daryl x Reader)

“Just breathe, sweetheart.” (Daryl x Reader)

“If I have to tell you again, I won’t be this nice.” (Daryl x Reader)

“Why won’t you let me braid your hair?” (Daryl x Reader)

“I don’t want to be alone again.” (Daryl x Reader)

“Don’t let go.” (Daryl x Reader)

‘Telepatía’ by Kali Uchis (Daryl x Reader)

Meeting the family for the first time. (Daryl x Reader)

“I ain't gonna hurt ya.  Ya gotta calm down, girl.” (Daryl x Reader)

“Look at the stars.  We may be apart, but we will be looking at the same sky.” (Daryl x OFC)

“Stop chuckin’ rocks at me, kid!” (Daryl)

“Give me two weeks, you won’t recognise her.” (Daryl x Reader)

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear about this.  You stay here and rest, I go find your attackers and teach them not to mess with the people I love.  Got it?” (Daryl x Reader)

Helping the reader wash her hair.  (Daryl x Reader)

NEGAN

“Don’t underestimate what a person can do to protect those they care about, sweetheart.” (Negan x Reader)

“Let’s kiss and see where this takes us.” (Negan x Reader)

“Can’t believe you thought that was real.” (Negan x Reader)

“Thanks for nothing, I guess.” (Negan x Reader)

“Just five more minutes.” (Negan x Reader)

“There’s more to the story than you’re telling me.” (Negan x Reader)

“I wouldn't have imagined you would be the one to backstab me.” (Negan x Reader)

RICK GRIMES

‘Enchanted’ by Taylor Swift (Rick x Reader)

“I can’t smile at you, I’m mad.” (Rick x OFC)

“I hate us sometimes.” (Rick x OFC)

“It’s impossible to get rid of me.” (Rick x OFC)

“How long were you standing there?” (Rick x OFC)

Tending to your lover’s wounds, placing a kiss on top of their head, grateful they’re still alive. (Rick x OFC)

When they’re sad and the only thing that brings life back to their eyes is, “But I love you.” (Rick x Reader)

“He’s just a friend.”  “We used to be ‘just friends’ too.” (Rick x Reader)

OTHER

'Only then did he give in to you, kissing you until your skin was sore from the scratch of his beard and leaving you breathless.’ (Beta x Reader)