#one of the long standing arguments of elder scrolls

[oddlyhale]

I still remember how I helped the Stormcloaks win the war years ago and how I didn't feel happy at all about it. It felt out of place.

Then I help the Imperials win the war and it somehow felt logical. Not the best option, as any situation wouldn't be, but it would help stop the Thalmor from overpowering the Nords. Imperial power just felt like it was more planned and organized, whereas the Stormcloaks was emotional. I understand why it was an emotional cause, but it also felt short-sighted.

I did see people say, "if the Redguards can fight against the Thalmor and win, why can't the Nords?" Truth is, I believe Redguards are far more capable than Nords. They just seem strategic, smarter and think farther ahead, plus better fighters imo. Nords don't fit that bill to me. It could be easy to dominate Nords.

Well, even though this means the Thalmor would lose Skyrim to the Imperials, it would be the better outcome.

[gojos-thot-patrol]

Happy birthday!!!!✨✨✨✨✨✨🌻🌷🌻🌻

Please: Gojo Satoru, stressed, "Well don't just stand there, do something" And "They don't deserve you"

Thanks so much 🤍

aww, thank you so much!!!! (Please ignore this is like 3 days late; lifes been weird lmao)

I was really excited to do this one, I hope you like it!

Now Presenting...

Starring: A very stressed and a little protective, Satoru Gojo

The room was tense, apprehension and fear so thick in the air that at times it felt like trying to breathe in putty. For Satoru, at least. If you were feeling any of the pressure, you were pretty good about hiding it. Absent-mindedly scrolling through social media on your phone, making a point to pay everyone else in the room no mind. Gojo knew you better than that though. He could see that you didn't stop long enough to read any of the posts, and that your finger tapping was far too frantic to be from annoyance alone. 

Finally, the Elders came in. Everyone rose out of respect and habit, and bowed low as they walked through the room. Satoru tried to catch your eye, but you were making the pointed decision to look at only the floor. His hand reached for yours, something to let you know it would be ok, but before he could make it the elders spoke.

"Rest." Gakuganji grumbled, and everyone returned to their seats. 

"I wonder how it feels to get an undeserved standing ovation every time you enter a room.." Satoru mumbled the anxious joke. For the most part, he got glares and side eyes. But, from you, he got a ghost of a smile. And that was his real goal anyway. 

“Y/n L/n, You stand trial today for using a forbidden curse technique,”  The old man said, utterly uninterested. He was just annoyed that his Monday morning tea was being interrupted. “For your crimes you-”

“Wait, What?” You scoffed, “Some fucking trial, you’re sentencing me already?”

“L/n, your crimes are clear and well documented.” Gakuganji sighed, rubbing his temple with two fingers. Your hands twitched with rage.

“Yes, I’m not arguing that I'm innocent, I’m saying my motivation for doing so should be taken into consideration.” you pointed out. Had you broken an ancient rule placed on your family a millennia ago? Yes, undoubtedly. But did you also save thousands of lives in the process? Without question. The special grade you were fighting was going to take out all of Okinawa, and your ‘forbidden’ cursed technique allowed you to exercise the curse before it even had a chance. You were not a criminal. Which is why your treatment since the incident was making your blood boil.

“Honorable as your intentions may have been, it’s no excuse for breaking a precedent that goes all the way back to the Sengoku era. Your execution will be-”

“Execution?!” you snapped. Were they really so caught up in their goddamn traditions they were going to kill you over this?! Satoru was stunned. He felt trapped in a static coffin as he processed the words. Execution? Execution? He saw you getting more and more impassioned in your argument, further digging your grave and pissing off the geezer. And then he felt your nails dig into his forearm, electrifying him back into the moment as his eyes snapped to your desperate stare.

“Don’t just stand there, do something!” You begged. He shook his head, remembering that he was Satoru fucking Gojo, surely he had some weight he could pull to save your life. He stood,

“An execution?” He said, standing up, “That’s just a little extreme don’t you think?” Gakuganji groaned in frustration, wishing for once he could just make this kid go away.

“No Gojo, I don’t. They-”

“Saved millions of lives, right. I’m well aware of the details, old man, you don’t have to explain.” he smiled, “Really, if anything we should be celebrating them. Instead you cowards want them dead? Are you really that scared of something as small as change?” Yoshinobu slammed his fist on the table before him to try and regain control of the situation. He pointed an accusatory finger at your old friend.

“Silence Gojo, I will have no more of this. My decision is final-”

“Oh, mine is too.” Satoru smiled, “If any of you even think about laying a finger on them, You’re going to have to deal with me.” He said darkly. Gojos' threat hung heavy in the air. He didn’t go into details. He didn’t have to. Everyone's eyes nervously flashed from you, to Satoru, to Yoshinobu. Everyone knew the old man had already lost, the question now was what would happen to you.

“Fine.” the head elder said, finally relenting. “But they are hereby banned from using jujutsu sorcery ever again. Any attempt to do so will result in them being labeled a curse user, and executed on sight.” You bristled at the final verdict, but both you and Satoru knew better than to try and test your luck further. At least you had your life. “We are done here.” Gakuganji siad, dismissing the room. You were the first out, followed closely by Satoru.

The two of you had managed to make it to the garden before the tears started to fall. It only made you angrier with yourself. You hated it, you hated crying, you hated how you couldn’t protect yourself during your trial, you hated that they had taken your sorcery away from you. You hated them. 

“Y/n, no-” Satoru muttered, taking you into his arms and pulling you into his chest. You had talked to him before about random hugging, especially when he saw you were in distress, but you were willing to let it slide this time. This time, his warm arms and familiar scent wrapped you in a blanket of comfort. You wrapped your arms around his neck, letting the tears freely fall.

“I know right now it hurts,” He whispered softly, gently petting your hair, “But they’ll be begging you to come back, I know they will.”

“I gave them everything Satoru,” You whimpered, “I gave my life for jujutsu sorcery…”

“I know you did. They don’t deserve you.” Satoru sighed, kissing the top of your head. “And.. I know you probably don’t want to hear this right now, but this might actually be good.”

“How?!” You demanded.

“Because you’re finally free. You can pursue whatever life you want to live without the threat of death constantly looming over you. You’ll never have to endure all of their glares ever again, you can find a place where you’re loved, and cherished, and valued like you deserve to be. You never have to be disrespected again.” He wasn’t wrong, and the thought did bring you some solace. Still, one aspect of jujutsu society tugged at your heart. The one thing you couldn't stand the thought of leaving.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” He laughed. “I’m not going anywhere. No matter what choice you make, I’ll be there. If you’ll let me of course.” You couldn’t help but smile at his promise.

“Of course, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[rachellesedai]

The Lasting Memory

Here is my story for the @inklings-challenge 2023! This was my first time doing the challenge. I had a lot of fun! It got kind of long, but it's finished. So here you go.

Team: Tolkien Genre: Secondary World Fantasy/Time Travel Themes: Burial/Visit the Sick Word Count: 5,621 [PART 1] | 4,467 [PART 2]

―

PART 1

Treasa drew back the midnight blue hood that hid her face and took a step forward. Her limbs trembled, moving automatically as her name was spoken again. “Cleric Treasa Raelle.” The call boomed through the chamber with a slight vibration from the enhancement that sent it to every corner of the great basilica, echoing up to the lofty spires above. Strands of brown hair escaped the braid she had attempted in an effort to bring them to order. She resisted the urge to smooth back the unruly wisps and swallowed, trying to focus on the dais where the High Elder stood instead of the churning in her stomach.

        The only other sound was the swish of her formal robes and the tap of her leather short boots on the floor. Her fellow clerics and the ranked orders of scholars and healers on one side and knights-reverend on the other were as silent as the stone walls, whether from shock or reverence for the solemn occasion, she did not know. Hundreds of eyes followed Treasa as she moved up the marbled walkway. Her position at the rear of the congregation made her journey a long one, and her heart beat louder with every step. She expected someone to step out at any moment and say there had been a mistake and this honor would go to one of the knights-reverend who had fought alongside the First Guardian or a member of the high scholars who had advised him these many years. 

All of Damaria mourned the loss of their great leader. Men and women alike had wept openly when the announcement had been made. Every bit of gray and white material had been snatched up, and overnight, the normally vibrant capital city had been blanketed in somber colors. Muted banners adorned the buildings and every citizen wore a gray scarf or a bit of white ribbon to honor their revered leader’s passing.

The Order of Scholars, which Treasa had joined only seven years ago, had the weighty task of presiding over the First Guardian’s burial ceremonies and, most importantly, establishing his final monument and memorial. The central, and most sacred, element of the memorial was the Lasting Memory. A few minutes of history captured in every detail. The crowning moment of a person’s life, the event that represented the essence of who they were, recorded and displayed as a legacy for the ages. The task of finding and recording this event was the highest honor one could bestow, and for some incomprehensible reason, the First Guardian Peatar Valleth III, High Lord Chancellor, Protector of the Realm, had chosen her, a lowly cleric, to decide how he would be remembered for time immemorial.

―

Treasa clutched the scroll she had been presented by the High Elder, the golden seal of the First Guardian freshly broken. She blinked, a dazed part of her mind wondering if this were a dream she would soon awaken from. After bowing low and formally accepting the duty given her, she had stood still as a statue as the congregation filed past. A few had smiled their congratulations, but most had shook their heads in confusion or disapproval. She had then been unceremoniously hustled out of the main sanctuary and up to the Order’s council chambers.

Elders she only knew by reputation and high scholars in their white robes argued with a group of high-ranking knights and the First Guardian’s son who had burst into the room a few moments ago, his supporters among the Order apparently being very swift in their relaying of information.

Standing at attention in a corner, Treasa tried not to fidget as she listened to their exclamations and arguments insisting she was the worst possible choice for this sacred role.

Snatches of conversation stung, though she could not deny their truth.

“She is only a cleric...”

“… cannot have had enough training.”

“…should have chosen Sir Damerel… ”

“Someone who has at least gone on a recovery mission…”

“My father was not well at the end,” Timon Valleth said, his tone implying pity while his eyes blazed with white hot indignation, “Surely this is a regrettable mistake that can be rectified. I will not leave my family’s honor in the hands of an inexperienced commoner.”

“She is not totally inexperienced.” A voice cut through the commotion and a tall, dark skinned woman with intricate rows of iron gray braids leaned forward, her hands planted firmly on the large wooden table at the center of the room. She looked directly at the High Elder, who sat in his presider’s chair at the head of the room.  

Treasa froze. Scholar Althea Keltris had taught several of her secondary level classes. To say she was demanding was a laughable understatement. The woman seemed to delight in pushing her students to their limits and beyond. She did not suffer fools and would dismantle a student’s project before their eyes rather than allow them to submit something one whit less than what they were capable of. Treasa had withered under her hard gaze more than once and had only barely survived her courses with a passing mark.

“That is beside the point, however,” Keltris continued, “Is it not, Elder Reyes?”

The High Elder sighed, rubbing his brow. “Scholar Keltris is correct. This discussion serves no purpose. What is done cannot be undone.”

“My father cannot have been in his right mind to choose—”

“It is done.” The High Elder rapped the floor with his ornate staff, bringing an end to the murmurs circling the room. “Your father followed the forms to the last detail. His choice was witnessed and sealed. It is final.”

Timon opened his mouth, but a knight with a golden crest indicating a rank of Lord-Commander raised his hand, halting his words.

“Would you bring the First Guardian’s final commands into question? It would be wise to consider they include your official appointment as heir.”

The young lord’s face twisted into an ugly scowl. “But why her?” he demanded, glaring at Scholar Keltris and the High Elder in turn.

“I have no idea,” Keltris replied, “Has anyone thought to ask the girl?”

All eyes turned to Treasa and a hot flush suffused her cheeks. Panic welled up inside her as if she were actually guilty of an inexcusable crime instead of just as bewildered as the rest of them. “I don’t know why,” she rasped, “He never said anything about it.”

“But you did speak to him,” the High Elder said, leaning forward.

Treasa nodded. “I was assigned as his night attendant two or three times a week.”

“And he would just chat with his nurse in the middle of the night,” Timon said, his lip curling.

“He rarely slept,” Treasa stammered, glancing at Scholar Keltris. The details of the First Guardian’s illness had been kept very close. Not receiving any indication of how much to disclose, she went on. “I would read to him, out of The Tales of Damar or The Knights of Lord Haverel mostly. It eased his restlessness. Sometimes he would talk of how the stories reminded him of his youth and would tell me about his own boyhood adventures and such things. It seemed to calm him,” she said, shrinking under the incredulous looks of everyone in the room. “Once or twice he asked me about what part of the kingdom I was from and how my education in the Order was coming along.” She took a deep breath. “We spoke, but not about anything important. He definitely never said anything about choosing me to recover his Lasting Memory.”

Keltris sniffed. “So she was kind to him in his last days. Not the best reason to choose her, but perhaps an understandable one.” She turned to the High Elder. “Cleric Raelle did fairly well in my classes as I recall.”

Treasa’s eyes widened. The words were essentially a glowing recommendation, coming from her.

“I believe, given some time to prepare, she will be able to complete the task creditably.”

Treasa stiffened, as everyone looked her up and down. Some shrugged and several shook their heads in disgust. Timon Valleth crossed his arms in front of his chest, apparently resigned to the state of affairs.

The High Elder nodded. “Very well. Scholar Keltris, you will take the girl in hand and prepare her for her duty. I will appoint someone with experience in recovery missions to assist you.” The last seemed to have been added to appease the grumbling among those still dissatisfied with the situation. He looked at Treasa. “There is not much time, child, a few weeks perhaps until the monument is completed. It would not do to wait much beyond that to install the First Guardian’s Lasting Memory.”

Treasa straightened and responded with the words that had been engrained into her from her first days in the Order. “I am ready.”

         Treasa held it all together, smiling bravely, shoulders back, as one high-ranking official after another poured advice into her ears. She would never be able to remember it all, which was probably a good thing, since not a one of them seemed to agree with another. She nodded again and again, jaw clenched and hands folded respectfully in front of her. Finally, Scholar Keltris announced she needed rest and ushered her away, going with her as far as the door to her tiny, two-room apartment in the west tower.

“Be ready at sunrise,” Keltris said, “I will send someone for you.”

         Treasa nodded once again, unable to form a more coherent response and the scholar gave a satisfied sniff and turned away. Treasa shut the door, leaning against it for a moment, her knees buckling. She stumbled past her desk that also served as a table with its tidy stacks of books and papers. She thrust aside the beaded curtain to her sleeping closet and collapsed onto her narrow bed, not bothering to light the candle standing ready in its alcove.   

            Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears, her breath coming in short gasps as the enormity of what had happened crashed down on her. She balled her fists, willing back tears. This was impossible. It could not be real. The kind, if sometimes garrulous, old man she had spent countless nights caring for over the past several months had never really been the same person as the majestic First Guardian in her head. She had tried to ease his suffering and distract him during the empty hours of innumerable sleepless nights, but never in hopes of gaining a reward or commendation. And this was hardly a reward! Tears leaked out of her eyes. It was a crushing responsibility.

“I can’t do this,” she moaned, looking up at the ceiling, “Why did you ever think I could do this?”

―

        Treasa woke to a crisp winter morning still shrouded in starlit shadows. She rubbed her hands together, massaging cold fingers until they were limber enough to lite a fire in the grate. Pulling a carefully wrapped, day-old honey cake from her basket, she ate the entire thing while water heated over her small fire. Her meticulously ordered routine meant nothing now. She would have to pass the cases she was assisting on to other clerics. At least her notes were clearly ordered, and the recording crystals she had reviewed organized according to relevance to the prosecution’s arguments. She frowned, wondering whom best to give them to as she poured hot water into her cup over a fragrant pouch of tealeaves.

        Treasa took a sip and blinked. It seemed, somewhere in the middle of the night, she had accepted her fate. The task of choosing the First Guardian’s Lasting Memory still terrified her, but she was beginning to think of it as a problem to be worked out instead of an overwhelming impossibility.

Stirring her tea, Treasa pondered her time with the First Guardian. He had talked to her quite a bit as the last few months of the sleeping sickness had taken their toll. The illness did not dull the mind per se, and the First Guardian had been very capable of performing his duties most days. Night was when things became difficult. Sleep was near impossible once the sickness took hold, and a body was not meant to go for such long stretches without it. Anything that kept the First Guardian’s mind occupied during those long, dark hours had helped, and he had loved to tell stories.

Treasa wrapped her hands around her cup to still their trembling. As much as she had enjoyed listening to his varied adventures, his decline had been horrible to watch. While the condition did not pass from person to person, there was no cure. If you did not go mad from the lack of sleep, eventually your body simply gave out. The worst nights had been when sheer exhaustion had taken him, after days awake. He would slip into a delirium and thrash about calling out for his dead wife or attempting to leave his apartments in a daze. Sleeping draughts had no effect and eventually only the highest doses of medicine meant to dull the pain of the dying could calm him. Even then, after a few short hours, he would awake, glassy-eyed and not the least bit refreshed. Understandably, the Elders had not wanted the First Guardian’s condition to become fodder for malicious gossip. Thus, only healers and clerics from the Order had been allowed to care for him.

  Shaking her head, Treasa focused on the conversations they had had. None she could remember seemed to explain his decision. Any one of a hundred more skilled candidates existed. People closer to him, people who were experienced in what it meant to hand down a legacy. The only legacy she’d ever received were her mother’s green eyes and keen mind, and her father’s quiet stubbornness. They had sent her off to the Order chapterhouse with blessings and good wishes the summer she had turned seventeen, but without even a silver mark in her pocket. She was a hard worker, and had advanced steadily in the order, but she was no one special. So why had the First Guardian chosen her?

―

The stone amulet warmed Treasa’s hands. Her eyes traced the intricate carvings along the edge, following their twisting and curling until they turned in on each other and she lost the thread. She blinked and tried staring into the depths of the opalescent jewel imbedded in the center of the pendant. With even breaths, Treasa built an image in her mind, bit by bit, like a puzzle coming together. Low clouds obscured a sky. A cavalry regiment swung around a bend in formation and flanked a contingent of howling Rethans. The leader of the regiment, tall in the saddle, raised his saber. The image crumbled and Treasa held her breath, trying to get it back.

          The tapping of Scholar Keltris’s fingers made her shoulders slump. A cool breeze raised goosebumps on Treasa’s skin. She squeezed her eyes shut, blocking the view of city rooftops and shrouded mountains in the distance. They had moved to the large stone balcony outside Scholar Keltris’s rooms to see if the open feeling and fresh air would help her form the outdoor scene.

“Are you concentrating?” Keltris asked.

          Treasa let out a loud sigh. “It’s no use. I can’t get the picture right.”

          “You’ve done it before, while working with the judges,” Keltris said, her tone brusque, “Several times, if my reports are correct.”

          “They are,” Treasa said, lifting her chin as she looked from the frowning scholar to the dark haired knight-protector, who leaned against one of the elaborate columns supporting the vaulted ceiling above them, “but those were short little jumps back in time to record a crime or verify an alibi. The locations were accessible here in the present or shown to us in great detail by court artists.”

            “It takes no more effort or concentration to go farther back in time,” Sir Damerel said, his tone somehow both instructive and encouraging, “You only need to see the event in enough detail. Do not let the span of years overwhelm you. Simply visualize the moment as if it were happening around you, not on the other side of a door you have to step through, but already existing beneath your feet and within your grasp.”

Treasa bit her lip. “It seems so far away. I don’t know if I’ll be able to…” She waved her hand vaguely. “… do that.”

Damerel straightened. “I have every confidence you will be able to travel to wherever you need to. Simply give yourself a moment to breathe.”

         Treasa cast the knight-protector an appreciative look. She had been intimidated when the High Elder had presented him as her mentor in all things relating to time travel. The few knights she had met working in the courts had been self-important prigs or battle hardened veterans who had little patience for inexperienced clerics.

Thankfully, Sir Adrian Damerel was nothing like that. On first impression, Damerel was the very picture of a Knight Reverend, tall, classically handsome, with the confident but graceful bearing of those dedicated warriors. When he smiled, however, a twinkle shone in his warm brown eyes she had not expected to see in someone with his experience. He could not be many years older than her, but she had heard he had been on more recovery missions for his fellow knights than anyone currently in the Order. In spite of that, Damerel never once hinted he was jealous or resented the fact she had been given an honor he clearly deserved more than she did.

         Scholar Keltris rubbed her forehead. “Perhaps it would be better to put the travel itself aside for a moment. Once you are there, you must be careful to do nothing that would push against the flow of time. The past will tolerate a small pebble it can flow around without changing its course. However, if something you do goes against that inexorable flow, you will be spat out and end up back here.”

         “And much worse for wear,” Damerel interjected with a wry smile, “That way back is painful, to say the least.”

         “I know,” Treasa said, “We did receive some training before going on missions for the Judges.” Holding up a hand, she counted off rules of time travel etiquette on her fingers. “Interact as little as possible. Record only what is needed. Above all, do not try to influence anything. It will end badly.”

         Damerel nodded. “This type of recovery is a little trickier,” he said slowly, “You have to consider perspective and what the recording is meant to convey.”

Treasa frowned.

         Keltris stood, pacing the length of the terrace. “What Sir Damerel is trying to say is you have to frame your recording with an eye to what it is being used for. The reality of war is messy and the death of so many a tragedy. Politicians spend more time bickering over taxes than enacting grand programs to benefit the people. A man’s Lasting Memory is not meant to convey the gritty reality of what he may have had to do in his life, but the spirit of his ideals and what he stood for.”

         Treasa looked down; the scholar’s words did not sit right with her. She understood the Lasting Memory was meant to be beautiful, but it was also meant to be true and good. The honor of a memorial with a Lasting Memory was mostly reserved for knights and leaders of Damaria, and she was not so naïve as to think all those people were paragons of virtue. She supposed, at times, an appropriate moment for the memorial would be hard to find, but that did not mean she should make things look different from what they were.

“I do not think the First Guardian would want a Lasting Memory that gave a false impression of who he was,” Treasa said, fiddling with the end of her braid.

“What do you think he did want?” Damerel asked, leaning forward.

“I don’t know.” Treasa frowned, her brow furrowing, “He said once the best things he had done were not the grand moments most people thought of, but I don’t know what he meant by that.” She frowned. “How am I supposed to choose one thing, one moment, that sums up everything he was?” She looked down at the amulet in her hand. “And if I think of one, will I even be able to get there?”  

Scholar Keltris threw up her hands. “Being so indecisive will only make things harder, child. Choose a moment and know it is where you want to be, where you need to be. That is more important than visualizing the details. You must have faith in in your decisions and in yourself.” 

“Of course, Scholar Keltris,” Treasa said, bowing her head, “I will try harder.”

Sir Damerel crossed his arms, a speculative look in his eyes. “Do you ride, Cleric Raelle?”

Treasa blinked. “What?” She lifted her chin as he waited for an answer. “Of course I can ride. I grew up in the country.”

“Good. There is nothing like a brisk canter astride a swift horse to clear the mind. We can visit one of the smaller pavilions to the south and try a few practice time jumps. There will be less chance of curious onlookers outside the city.” He turned to Keltris, but she put up a hand.

“I am not spending the afternoon in a saddle. Just make sure you actually work with her while you’re gallivanting around the countryside.”  

Damerel smiled, giving the scholar a courtly bow. “I promise.”

―

Treasa paced up and down the grand hallway. She had spent weeks riding out with Damerel, practicing jumps, and discussing the strategy and finesse needed to get the perfect recording. Scholar Keltris had drilled her on every aspect of Guardian Valleth’s life and gone over every contingency involved in a recovery mission of such importance. Now, she was down to the last day of her extensive preparation and she could no longer put off the one task she was dreading the most.

It was customary to visit the family of the dead before leaving to seek their Lasting Memory, but she had been surprised when Lord Valleth had accepted her request. He had not ceased in his vocal disapproval of his father’s choice. The few times she had seen him in public he had looked down his nose at her when he acknowledged her at all. Treasa took a deep breath and entered Lord Timon Valleth’s suite after a hesitant knock.

“Give me but a moment.” Valleth’s voice drifted in from farther back in the apartment, behind one of the standing screens. Treasa hovered in the doorway. Sir Damerel had said he would accompany her, but he must not have received her note, for he was nowhere to be found, and she did not want to keep the Guardian’s heir waiting. Treasa’s feet sank into a thick wool rug as she crossed the entryway, muting the sound of her boots on the floor. Heavy velvet curtains had been drawn back and tied with golden cords, allowing sunlight to stream into the spacious apartments while a roaring fire chased away the winter chill.

She straightened as Timon sauntered into view.

“Thank you for coming, Cleric Raelle.” Timon acknowledged her brief bow with a nod of his head. “It is so important that we speak before you embark on your sacred mission.”

“I agree,” Treasa said.

Timon wandered over to a group of chairs near the massive fireplace. He paused, idly examining a vase that would probably fetch enough to feed a small family for half a year. Treasa waited while he settled himself in one of the cushioned chairs. He crossed one leg over the other and gazed up at her, pointedly not inviting her to sit. She schooled her features into a neutral expression, refusing to show any reaction to his insulting lack of common courtesy.

“I want my father’s Lasting Memory to be worthy of him. It needs to inspire the people as well as be a constant reminder of their exalted leader and all he accomplished.”

“I fully intend to honor his legacy,” Treasa said, relaxing a little. Perhaps he really just wanted his father to be well remembered. “Are there any specific events you want me to consider?”

“There are. In fact, I have a list.” Timon produced a slip of paper.

Treasa accepted it and scanned the events he had written in a neat script. She nodded, tense muscles beginning to unravel. She might actually be able to satisfy Timon Valleth without compromising what she thought the First Guardian would want in his memorial. If she went to one or two of these moments, surely he would be satisfied. There was no reason to tell him she was probably going to choose at least one of these before he had suggested them.

“Thank you,” Treasa said, “These are good. Is there anything else? Sometimes the family wants to talk about their loved one, who they were to those who knew them best and what was important to them…” she trailed off as Timon’s expression hardened, his mouth twisting into a sardonic smirk.

“I do not think you understand me, cleric. These are not suggestions. These are the events you will go to, and once you have recorded my father’s most glorious moments, you will bring the crystals to me and I will decide which one to use.”

“That’s not how it works,” Treasa interrupted, “I’ll only have one crystal, and while I can go to a handful of events, I am supposed to return with only one recording. Making the decision of which one to use in the Lasting Memory is the whole point of why the First Guardian chose me.”

“It does not matter what he wanted,” Timon snarled, “He isn’t here. This monument needs to reflect the power of my family and remind everyone that I am the First Guardian now and should receive the same respect he did.” Timon was up and out of his chair, crossing the space between them before Treasa could formulate a response. He loomed over her, his soft voice made terrifying by the fire in his eyes. “Do not think this ridiculous choice guarantees your advancement in the Order. If you disgrace my beloved father’s memory, I will make my influence felt.” He was inches away from her, his breath hot on her face.

Treasa backed up a step and blinked as her stomach clenched and her heart pounded like the hoof beats of a wild horse. “I don’t understand,” she gasped, “I only want to honor your father.”

“It is quite simple,” Timon said, “If you mess this up, it will reflect badly on me. So, I am taking steps to avoid that. I will provide you with two additional crystals. That gives you three chances to get this right. You should be thanking me for saving you from embarrassing yourself.”

Treasa shook her head. Words failed her. What he was asking was unprecedented, not illegal exactly, but very disrespectful of the First Guardian’s wishes.

Timon’s eyes narrowed. “Even if you cannot appreciate this gift, remember the position I will hold when you return. You do not want me for an enemy, cleric.” Without waiting for a response, he retrieved a small wooden box from a low table and took out a velvet pouch. He carefully shook out two recording crystals and offered them to Treasa.

“No one outside the Order is supposed to have access to these,” she said accusingly. Treasa snatched the crystals out of Timon’s hands, her sensibilities more offended by his handling of them than his boorish behavior and sinister threats. She held them up to her eyes, automatically checking them for imperfections. They were large, made for longer, more detailed recordings, and they were clear, indicating they had never been used.  

Timon smiled smugly. “Now that you’ve touched them, who would believe that you did not ask me to get them for you because you suffered from anxiety and doubt concerning my father’s frankly unfathomable choice. You simply did not feel capable or up to the task. It will be proof enough that the elders need to choose another for the task.”

Treasa gasped. Only years of training having ingrained a deep respect for the precious crystals kept her from immediately dropping them at Timon’s feet.

Timon straightened. “So, now you can choose to do as I ask or turn in the extra crystals and see who the authorities at the Order believe.”

A knock sounded on the door to the suite and Treasa thrust the crystals deep into the pocket of her coat.

Timon laughed softly. “Enter,” he said in an infuriatingly cheerful voice.

Sir Damerel entered and bowed to Timon. “My sympathies, Lord Valleth. Your father was a great man. I apologize for being late.” He glance over at Treasa. “I meant to accompany Cleric Raelle on her visitation, but I was unavoidably detained.”

“Thank you, Sir Damerel,” Timon said, “Cleric Raelle and I had a very productive conversation. I was touched by her empathy and respect for my feelings.”

Treasa gaped at him, closing her mouth with a snap before turning to look at Damerel. His dark eyes held a look of concern mixed with a bit of confusion. He knew she had been worried about this meeting and rather intimidated by Valleth in general. For a brief instant, she considered showing him the crystals and spilling everything that had happened. But she could imagine Valleth’s feigned surprise and sympathy for her situation and how it was all too much for her.

Damerel was the one person she had let herself confide in. He knew the level of her anxiety and the depths of her fear that she had been the wrong choice. She did not think she could handle seeing pity in his eyes. Even the chance that he could believe Timon and think less of her was too much. She would have to figure something else out, find some other way.

“It went well,” she said, forcing a brightness into her voice she did not feel, “I am sorry you were not able to be here.” That much was true at least. She took a deep breath. “But I think I have everything I need for the recovery mission now.” She turned to Timon. “Thank you for your time, Lord Valleth.” Timon smiled and waved them both out.

Damerel gave her a searching look as soon as the doors were shut, his eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you are all right?”

“I’m fine.” Treasa blinked back tears. “He is insufferable and egotistical, but it’s over and I’m fine.” She smiled up at him, ignoring the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. They walked down the hall side by side and exited the building via the grand entryway.

Once outside a short walk brought them to the familiar Order district with its libraries and lecture halls. Neither spoke. Treasa’s mind raced, trying to find some way to deal with the crystals in her pocket that seemed to weigh more and more by the minute.

The knights’ practice yards were out of sight, but the sound of metal on metal rang out from beyond the jumble of stone buildings that forced the narrow street into twists and turns. Treasa had been to several cities whose roads were laid out on an orderly grid, but she much preferred the meandering paths of the capital with its unexpected cul-de-sacs and ever present scent of damp stone.

In a few short minutes, they approached the west tower where most of the clerics and lower level scholars had their rooms. She twisted the end of her braid, contemplating the collar of Damerel’s jacket. “Would you help me make my final preparations for tomorrow?” she finally said.

“It would be an honor.” Damerel laid a hand on her shoulder. “You have no reason to worry. You are strong and you are ready, worthy of your name.”

Treasa shook her head. “My name?”

A smile quirked at the knight’s lips. “Treasa means ‘strength’ and you have born up under the pressure and scrutiny of your situation with a graceful, quiet strength that I am in awe of. Give me a battle to fight or an enemy to strike down and I will never waver, but the constant doubt and criticism you have endured with determination would send me running for the hills.”

Treasa laughed. “I do not believe you. Your courage would never fail. I am grateful to have had you for a teacher. You have been very patient.” She paused. “We both know you would have been a much better choice. I’m sorry the First Guardian did not see that.” She raised her eyes to his, wishing she had the courage to tell him just how weak she was, how she was actually considering Timon’s suggestion.

            “He chose you for a reason.” Damerel cupped her cheek in his hand. Treasa couldn’t help leaning into the touch. His hand was rough from years of handling weapons and yet as gentle as a brush of silk across her skin. He leaned in, his eyes shining. “You will find the perfect moment to show everyone who the First Guardian was at his core and give him the legacy he wanted. I know you will.”

            Treasa exhaled, her body finally remembering how to breathe. “I hope you are right,” she whispered.

[PART 2]

[skiyoosmi]

– caramel frappucino ch. 27

marga’s notes. AHHH hello my loveliest readers; i cannot believe we have finally reached this end (well, not really the last chap ‘cause we still have two epilogue-like chaps coming up but yeah)… i hope you enjoy this part!! PLUS LISTEN TO THE SONGS CAUSE AHHHHH THE. MOOD. FITS.

♪ CHAPTER THEME ♪

on the train ride home by the paper kites | quiet eyes by axel flóvent

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 “Do I look okay?” you asked, head turning to your cousin who was casually lounging around your room. For the umpteenth time of the day, Tetsurou released an exasperated sigh, looking away from the game he was playing on his mobile phone and glaring at you while lying on your neatly-folded bed.

“That’s what you’ve been asking for the past hour and I keep telling you yes,” he grumbled as he adjusted his body so he now laid on his stomach, continuing to scroll through his phone and at the same time, muttering some stuff about how he hopes you miss the fireworks show. Seconds later, he let out a loud yelp as he felt something hit him right on the back of his head. He scowled in your direction upon noticing the missing pink hairbrush that was previously in your hand, now on the floor.

“You brought me into this situation so don’t curse on me now. This… is your ship sailing,” you gestured to your face that was fancily styled for the night out. You only rolled your eyes when he childishly stuck his tongue out as a reply, going back to fixing whatever still needs to be fixed.

A few more minutes of doing unnecessary things passed before a knock resonated through your apartment’s front door. Tetsurou immediately jumped up from his position on your bed, giggling when he passed by your form before skipping his way downstairs to open the door for your guest.

To say that your heart was beating loud is an understatement – hell, you could almost swear it’s about to burst out of your chest from its pounding. Stop sweating, doofus! You’ll ruin your makeup, you silently screamed at yourself, feeling the dampness slowly beginning to form around your forehead and neck out of extreme anxiety.

“Y/N! Get your butt downstairs. Your date’s already here,” the teasing and boisterous voice of your cousin echoed throughout the apartment, followed by another giggle after a few seconds, probably because Sakusa replied to his rather embarassing comment. Despite not seeing the two, you felt your face flush; it wasn’t like you’re denying that it was a date… it was just unusual to hear especially when your date was someone like Sakusa.

After gathering enough nerves to face them, you took a deep breath and looked at your vanity mirror for the last time, hands smoothing down your red floral yukata for any crease that formed. Soon, you found yourself bashfully standing in front of the two tall men as Sakusa’s eyes shamelessly scanned your figure. Although he himself was wearing a simple navy yukata, you couldn’t fathom what he was thinking seeing as his face was adorned with his usual mask that was, for some reason, black this time.

“You look nice,” he nodded at your direction while you smiled, returning the compliment you have surprisingly received from him; you knew that your face was red as hell right now based on how your cousin was biting his lips to keep himself from laughing.

“Now, go! Enjoy yourselves and remember to make the wish,” he winked, pushing you both out of the door with his hands on your lower backs. You both gave him a glare that he only ignored, waving goodbye as you went on your way.

“I hope he understood what I said about making the wish though.”

“I’m sorry, he really didn’t mean to,” you profusely bowed your head at the man almost twice your age who was glowering at your companion who, in return, remained unbothered. On the ends of the said man’s feet were his spilled strawberry and milk kakigōri which Sakusa, coming from the old man’s words, knocked over when he bumped into him while walking beside the food stalls.

“Young miss, instead of apologizing when it’s not your fault, you should teach your companion how to be respectful to his elders,” he shook his head from side to side in a mocking disappointment, as if to annoy Sakusa further.

“Are you implying that I am disrespectful?” Sakusa countered, hands clenching a little bit as he tried to calm himself down. He doesn’t need a nameless man almost ruining both of your nights right now. Still, his pride didn’t let him let this one go; he couldn’t give this man the satisfaction when he clearly knows to himself that he didn’t bump into him a while ago. If anything, it was the older man who purposely bump into the two of you – probably cause you kind of looked a little too beautiful tonight.

Sure, he won’t deny that he found you pretty right from the moment he met you, one of the main reasons he decided to keep on talking to you and befriending you instead of loathing you for spilling the caramel frappucino on him. For some reason however, the way you styled yourself tonight made you even more gorgeous in his eyes, if that was still possible.

“Just drop it, ‘Omi,” you harshly whispered, fingers grabbing a fold of his yukata and tugging on it to stop him from engaging into an unnecessary fight. In addition to that, you were pretty sure the fireworks show will go off any moment now; you had to find yourselves a decent place where you can watch the much-anticipated event or else you will seriously sulk into a corner until next year’s festival.

“Apologize,” the man ordered but to no avail, Sakusa still stood his ground; even going as far as grabbing your hands with his and pulling you into the opposite direction. From behind you, you could hear a noise of protest and a ‘you little s–‘ before it was cut off. He kept on pulling you despite your arguments about how he should’ve just lowered his pride and said he’s sorry.

“Why would I say sorry when I didn’t do anything? It’s clear as a day that he’s just trying to prolong the conversation so he could take more look of you.”

“W-what…” you stuttered, not really being able to understand what he was trying to say. As if he was able to read your mind, he let out a frustrated sigh after removing his black mask.

“He had this disgusting look that screams he wants to take you out despite him being older by so much. I’m saying it’s because you look too pretty tonight,” the last sentence he told you immediately caused your face to flush a deep red; you were just so thankful it was nighttime or else you wouldn’t be able to live off the embarrassment of being so flustered from a simple compliment.

A few seconds later, it dawned upon you that he brought you to a rather secluded place by the top of the small hill where you still had a good view of what was about to come. Observing the area, you began to think Sakusa also watches the yearly event, judging by how he knew that this kind of secret place existed. People usually crowded by the bridge since it has the widest space and the clearest view which also meant that on this hill, you two were alone together.

He then took out a large piece of clothing that he laid on the ground, sitting cross-legged and patting the space next to him as he gestured for you to sit as well. Following his request, you gently sat down and looked ahead the reflection of the moon by the river.

“Are you feeling alright these days?” you only hummed in reply, too entranced by the night’s beauty. Ten minutes from now, the fireworks will make it even more beautiful.

“I’ve never pestered you about your… situation with Iwaizumi-san, but I felt like I needed to ask how you are,” he explained upon catching your eyes that were filled with wonder and curiosity due to his sudden question. Your mouth formed a small ‘o’ before giving him a small smile.

“I’m really okay, don’t worry. I just feel guilty sometimes, you know? In my mind, there are just some thoughts that pass by… things like I wish I’ve known so I didn’t hurt him that long,” you let out a quiet sigh, folding your arms over your knee and placing your chin on it. The quiet cricket of the night bugs adding more solemnity in the air as you both talked.

“Do you wish to go back to that time? And maybe be in a relationship with him?” you immediately shook your head ‘no.’

“No, no… not that kind of regret. I wouldn’t have agreed to be in a relationship either way. I was too young and too dumb; I know it won’t work out between us. I mean… I just get that feeling that we won’t.”

“Then why do you feel sad?” you mulled over his question, trying to form the right words that will truly explain how you really felt with everything that has happened.

“It’s something like… I wish I’d known so I could’ve rejected him right away? Is that cruel? I mean, maybe if I did that, we wouldn’t have gone through such pain for such a long time, get rid of the false hopes we had for each other. Hell, I don’t even remember anymore what it feels like to be really happy without thinking of such thoughts,” you sadly chuckled before shrugging and leaning back as you saw the people from faraway beginning to take their phones out, signaling that the fireworks show was almost beginning.

You felt Sakusa scoot closer to you; something you didn’t expect since you knew he never liked getting close to another person. You were sure as hell by now that all throughout the night, he was acting really weird; something different compared to his usual demeanor – not that it freaked you out though. If anything, you liked his slight clinginess too much… but you didn’t need him being weirded out so you opted to not saying anything.

“Is that your wish?” he quietly asked, making you jump out of surprise for his sudden closeness. His nimble fingers were on your chin, turning your head so you could look at his eyes that screamed a thousand feelings.

“W-what?” you breathed out, internally cursing because you didn’t even know how many times you’ve stuttered tonight.

“I’ve read somewhere that if you make a wish and… give the person beside you a kiss, it will come true so I’m asking you, is that your wish? To be truly happy,” he whispered, eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips. If this was any other person, you were pretty sure you would’ve slapped the wits out of him due to his statement’s ridiculousness but for some reason, you couldn’t move away from him.

“I… I think so,” you meekly nodded, gulping as he seemed to have no plan on moving at all. You think you can hear the fireworks crackling as it began to light up the sky, booming over the night sky as it tried to get your attention 

“I’ll try my best to make you happy then.”

… but the feeling of soft lips crashing into yours as soon as he said what he wanted to say was enough to leave you distracted. It wasn’t like anything you have imagined before; this – this was full of love, magic and adoration, something you have missed when you often wondered what it felt like to have a kiss. Heartbeats powering the sound of the explosions and sparks as he intertwined his fingers into yours, panting for breath when he released himself from you.

“Y-you.... kissed me... you hate germs... and I missed the fireworks,” you mumbled, feeling rather lightheaded from kissing him too long. He lightly chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning over to give you another peck.

“I think we can let those slide just this once.”

[phoenixyfriend]

"this isn't quite what I expected" Hinata and [whomever you think would be funniest.]

Arranged Marriage Starters

Hmmmmm okay fuck it we’re doing time-travel.

Warning for... very odd attitudes about ‘breeding’ from clan POV. Like... you know what I mean. (The weird fanon eugenics vibes of the Hyuuga do not gel with me, so I’m just going to treat them like purebred cats.)

Also this did NOT end up ‘whatever is funniest,’ holy smokes.

She is seventeen, unsealed, and... perfect.

She is not a perfect warrior, no. She is not even a perfect lady, or a perfect spy. No, the woman from the future is the perfection of a Main Line child unmarred by the inbreeding they are so careful to avoid but so liable to run into.

The examination of her eyes leaves the medic breathless. Her skin is clearer than they think possible--apparently the formation of a village will lead to better nutrition, better hygiene, better hospitals. Her hair is like silk.

She is as perfect as a doll.

“I am not a broodmare,” she says, when the whispers first start. “And I refuse to allow the barbarism of the Caged Bird Seal to continue.”

“Hold your tongue, girl!”

She lifts her head. She watches.

She is far too calm.

“I promised my cousin, as he died on the battlefield, that I would abolish the seal. I keep my promises, Honorable Elder. It is my nindo.”

A porcelain doll with a backbone of steel.

-----

She was born the heir, and for all that she is an intruder to this era, Hinata is still an heir. The current clan head is young, and has no children. With Hinata unsealed and powerful, young and lithe and useful, she is easily slotted into the role of heir. Her blood befits it, supposedly.

Oh they titter, for sure. Hinata is capable of wearing the clothing of the time, but she prefers things in a cut closer to what she arrived in. She spent years building up her confidence to the point where she could bare her arms. She had months with Ino coaching her into taking pride in her muscles, teaching her to be unashamed of her chest. Hinata refuses to let them take that away from her.

They sneer, some of them, but Hinata is not the child she once was. She fought in the Fourth War. She attacked Pein alone. She has fought a Rinnegan and survived, if only because of the man she loved, and she is no longer the kind of girl that is cowed by an elderly fool with a cutting remark.

But she is still an heir, and not a clan head in her own right. There is no affection to hold back Hyuuga Hideki, not as there was with Hiashi or as there would have been with Hanabi. Hideki does not know her, for all that her genealogy lists him as her great-grandfather, and he thinks little of setting her up for a marriage.

“Am I to know the name of my groom?” Hinata asks.

(She does not worry for leaving the clan. They would not waste a Byakugan as clear as hers. They will bring in new, strong blood, for the so-called purity of Hinata’s line is a scant generation from breaking to something ugly, but they will keep her and her groom within the clan. Her children, her eyes, belong to the clan. They dare not let her leave, and to sell her off is anathema.)

“No,” Hideki tells her. “We haven’t decided.”

“I see.”

-----

There’s a pang in her heart, when she looks at the wedding kimono. She’d hoped for love, before. She’d hoped for Naruto’s hand in hers, or if he did not want her, to find and grow a relationship with another. She’d have been able to have her pick of the pack, so to speak.

Perfect, unmarred heiress.

(What a disgusting role, truly.)

Several branch members help her into the layers and layers of formal dress. They comb her hair into too-complex twists and paint her face in ways that feel old and unpleasant.

(Tradition is as tradition does, but to be nearly a century in the past is stifling.)

Hinata is not a broodmare, and she has been clear on such a point, but she is still a valuable piece on the board that the clan has received without expectation. They use her as they use anyone. She is here to battle on the field, if necessary, but she is far more vital in securing an alliance. Principled, they call her. Headstrong for ideals that barely exist yet, ideals that won’t be commonplace for decades yet.

“Silk hiding steel,” one elderly branch woman says, approval in her eyes and on her tongue. “I hope they keep you.”

Hinata never wanted to be clan head, but there is no Hanabi here to take up Neji’s cause and drive it to completion. There are no others willing to dedicate themselves to abolishing this wretched seal, and so it falls to Hinata. She will not fail.

Her groom makes such a thing more than feasible.

-----

The wedding is traditional, rigid, and ultimately successful. Hinata is ‘hitched,’ as Kiba might have said, and she keeps her face pleasantly disinterested for the whole of it. The party afterwards is livelier, but only because of the clan she has tied herself to.

They retire soon enough. The marriage is not complete, after all.

“I don’t suppose the Hyuuga are one of the clans willing to take a person’s word for consummation,” her new husband says.

“There are ways of checking after the fact,” she says. She passes a hand over the wall, and the designs painted into the wood glow faintly. “But for the act itself, we have privacy.”

She is eighteen, almost nineteen. She is newly wedded to a man who is a stranger in all but name, and she plans to change history every bit as much as he does.

He still grimaces. “You are... a bit young.”

“You flatter me,” she says. “But I am of an age to be wed, and so of an age to engage in... more carnal matters.”

This does not soothe him. “If you are to beget a child this young... it’s old enough that you’d avoid the worst of the consequences, but the risk is still there. Your body is still changing, as likely as not.”

She cannot help it. She laughs. “I’ve no need to secure a pregnancy as of yet, Honored Husband. While the contract may have stated we consummate immediately, my own clan’s elders have chosen to look the other way if we take a few years to solidify the alliance with a child.”

He’s less than five years older than her, and walks as though he expects and even asks to carry the weight of the world on his own two shoulders. The relief that breaks across his face is almost childlike in its openness.

“I was not informed,” he says. “I am glad to hear it.”

Hinata ducks her head and smiles. “Your concern for me is appreciated. I have some small medical training of my own, and can prevent a pregnancy with relatively little ease until the village your brother spoke of is formed. They would not want to waste a kunoichi with battlefield experience, after all.”

He nods. He hesitates. He asks, nonetheless, “Are you truly so firm in your belief of such? They said you supported the concept of the village, but to see you speak of it so confidently is a surprise.”

Hinata watches him for a moment, and then stands and moves to the armoire. She has very few things left from the future she cannot return to, but there are two she has kept for this situation.

She returns to her husband with her forehead protector in one hand, a ragged bingo book in the other, and a scroll tucked into her obi.

He looks them over. He turns the pages with a crease in his brow, feels at the woven mesh and linen the metal is riveted to. He looks up and asks, “How many decades?”

“Hideki-sama would have been my grandfather. However, as things stand, that is no longer assured,” she says. “You were some fifty years dead when I was sent back in time.”

“I see,” he says, and looks back down. “There are not many Senju or Uchiha in this booklet. Did they not defect at high rates, or...”

“Both clans were down to a single surviving member by the time I was seventeen,” Hinata tells him. “The Uzumaki down to two.”

“So the village system--”

“Was not at fault,” Hinata says. He looks up sharply, and she smiles. “I can tell you how it all happened, and what can be done to prevent it, but it will not be easy.”

“Such things never are,” he says. He looks back down at the bingo book, frowning. “You choose to help save my clan, after I have married into yours. I expect you hope for some aid in return?”

“Oh, to prevent the destruction the Senju and Uchiha is to prevent the end of the world,” she says. “I would do this even if it wasn’t, but as it stands, there is indeed something I will ask you to help with.”

“Something equal to preventing the end of the world?” he asks, and she thinks he may be trying to add a dash of humor to the heavy conversation. She appreciates the attempt, for all that it fails.

“It is to me,” she says instead, and pulls the scroll from her obi. “You are a fuuinjutsu master, are you not?”

“My sister-in-law is better,” he says. “But yes, I’m nearing such a level.”

Hinata nods. “The history books said as much.”

He eyes her for a moment, brows narrowed, and then unfurls the scroll.

She waits.

It doesn’t take long for him to inhale sharply. “This is barbaric.”

“Yes, I agree,” she says, calm and pleasant. “I’m not supposed to be showing you this. I hope you understand.”

He looks at her. “You want me to change it?”

“Removal first,” she says. “We need a substitute ready when we do so, to prevent at least one angle of argument. A seal that still destroys the eyes at death, but without the... more unpleasant aspects.”

“You want me to help you stage a coup in your own clan.”

“Not a coup. If Hideki is willing to allow for the changes to the seal, then I am uninterested in replacing him. I have no great dreams of leadership, Honored Husband. I simply wish to free my family of their bonds.”

“And to help me save my clan.”

“By saving the world, yes.” She smiles at him. “I’ll save your clan if you save mine?”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I can’t... well. This isn’t quite what I expected.”

“Of that, I’m sure.”

"I agree to your terms,” he says. “Also... while I am like to officially outrank you on the battlefield and in the village that will be, I was under the impression that, within the confines of the Hyuuga compound, you outrank me, and outside of it, we are equals.”

“That is correct.”

“In that regard, please stop addressing me as ‘Honored Husband,’” he says. “It is surprisingly uncomfortable to hear.”

Hinata can’t help but laugh at him again. “Of course. Shall I call you Tobirama-kun instead, then?”

“Am I to address you as ‘Hinata-chan?’” He asks, a tad too dry. “Or simply dear?”

“Darling.”

“Sweetheart.”

“Beloved.”

“I’m not one for pet names.”

“What a shame. I am.”

Yes. She rather thinks this will turn out splendidly. She may not have the true love of her dreams, but this... this will work.

She’ll make sure of it.

[jiminie-and-his-pinky-finger]

- Chapter 1: The Sneezing

⇢ synopsis: In a world where a spell is given to grant a skill, Fern's spell had gone wrong because of a sneeze. Her adventures and what her special power is what forms this story.

⇢ pairing: Soldier!Jimin x OC, Royal!Taehyung x OC (later on)

⇢ tags: angst, fluff, royalty au

⇢ word count: 0.6k

⇢ note: I've been planning and outlining this story idea for a few months now, and I just got back into writing after those few months. I hope this story will go somewhere and... yeah! Enjoy it! And Happy 8th Birthday to BTS! ^~^ 💜

＞◇＜

The sneeze echoed through the empty chamber before the Minister could register it. His long-silvering chestnut hair swayed as he brought up a hand to smooth it back. The sudden action had sent it flying outward, knocking a few scrolls away.

It took him a few moments to notice two things. Firstly, the wand that had fallen out of his hand. He would have to feel around the mounds of books littered all around him to find it. What a bad day to not bring his glasses.

And, more importantly, the sneeze.

Fern sat directly ahead of him, her widened eyes waiting for something to follow.  She hadn’t learned what to do in the case of an interruption. There was never supposed to be one.

She watched as the older man bent down to fix the mess he'd caused. Well, the materialistic one. He didn't seem to be thinking about the chaos he'd thrown over her.

The Minister slowly turned his gaze towards Fern, finally acknowledging her waiting. "I... I'm sorry." He gave her an awkward laugh before turning his eyes back towards the floor. "Give me a minute... please," he went on to mumble.

Fern hadn't gotten to see him after his saying that.

A smaller - although he only looked small because of the way the Elder man's hair stretched yards and yards that it made him appear tall - rounder man tapped a finger against her shoulder and guided her to step out.

The Minister of Spells sat up straight and widened his eyes, conscious of his mistake. He had never sneezed in the middle of an Allotting. Not even one distracted look. Why now?

•••

Fern slowly walked out, her hands fidgeting in front of her. She trudged through a small corridor lined with big, gold-framed portraits of people she didn't recognize. People she would never have a chance of meeting.

She found a spot to sit aside on: the large, marble staircase that faced the greater Library. She plopped down against it, instantly feeling the cool touch of the marble through her light skirts.

"What is Mother going to do about this?"

Fern considered what her mother could do. She could pick an argument with the Minister, the tough woman she is. She could stand by her side and see what would happen.

Worst of all, Fern thought, she could... abandon her and move on. Just like her father. But she shot that thought out of her head as quickly as it came by. Her mother had always been loving, nothing like the man that had left them to fend for themselves.

Her mother showed up a few minutes later.

Fern watched as the round mage scurried off to contact her through the flying-mail service. She wasn't sure what he had mentioned in the letter, but her mother strode into the building with a glare in her eyes. Maybe she knows...

Claudia walked through the grand walnut doors, the heels of her flats clacking and echoing throughout the vestibule. Her eyes softened at the sight of her little girl sitting alone. She made her way over to Fern, handing her a small smile.

"Hey, sweetheart. How are you doing?"

Fern blinked up at her, unsure of why she was being asked the question. The mess that had become of her Allotting spell didn't seem to have any physical effects. "I'm okay. But..."

"I know. And we are going to sort this out." Claudia lightly grasped the girl's tiny hands and told her to grab onto her.

Claudia came straight from work, at the Royal Palace, after taking a walk with the Queen herself. She worked as the personal day caretaker of the Queen of Phoenix and her little son.

She'd luckily spotted the night caretaker after reaching the letter from the Minister's mage. She'd asked the older lady to take over the responsibilities a little earlier today, worried about what might've happened with Fern.

Fern followed her mother back through the corridor and grasped her skirts in a balled fist. She ran beside her as her short legs couldn't keep up.

I guess she chose the first option...

＞◇＜

⇢ ending note: thank you for reading!! oh the amount of anxiety I am having about to click the post button...

[orangeoctopi7]

A Negligible Price

I guess it’s becoming a tradition for me to add another chapter to A Minor Inconvenience every year for @stanuary . I swear I didn’t mean for this to happen. It’s just that the prompt “Sacrifice” got me thinking about this story and where I thought it could go, and then I got writing and I started coming up with ideas for how I could actually put a finish to this story. So yeah, hopefully it won’t be another year before I post chapter 4, but not promises!

Also, first time I’ve had to do this, but:

CONTENT WARNING: DISCUSSION OF SUICIDE/MARTYR COMPLEX AND SUIDICE ADJACENT THEMES.

* * *

Bill rushes to gather himself together again. Now that Sixer and his idiot brother have caught on, he knows they’ll probably be making a move against him soon. The time for lying in wait and keeping a low profile has passed. He’s been getting faster, better at finding the tiny flecks of gold scattered into the dark abyss below. 

Unfortunately that also means that he’s noticed that some missing pieces just never turn up. As an interdimensional being who’s existed in countless dimensions across innumerable timelines, Bill likes to think he knows himself pretty well now. What he’s made of, how much power he’s accumulated, what he’s capable of. And if he had to estimate now, which he does, he’d say he’s been reduced to maybe a third of his power. Roughly two thirds of him are missing. 

What happened to those missing pieces? Were they simply deleted by that memory eraser? Did he leave some of himself behind in that physical form he left to enter Stan’s mind in the Fearamid? Bill can only guess, but really, in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter. What matters is getting out of this moron’s brain and starting again on his path to a universe free of rules.

* * *

Stan recovered from his latest memory lapse quickly, despite the fact that it was the worst one he’d experienced since he sacrificed himself to the memory gun last summer. The experience had clearly put Ford on edge, and as much as he tried to bottle up his emotions and remain calm, Stan could practically feel the panic coming off him in waves. 

They were both relieved when they reached Spitsbergen. There was a hospital in Longyearbyen, where Ford insisted they stop to give Stan a check-up. Stan felt fine, but if it helped ease Ford’s nerves, then he could sit through a check-up.

Explaining Stan’s condition to the doctor was a struggle, considering English was not his strongest language. They definitely got across that Stan was experiencing memory problems, but the doctor seemed to be under the impression it had been caused by an injury to the head in an accident, rather than a purposeful exposure to a memory-erasing device. 

Eventually, Ford had lost his patience and just asked if they could use the CT or MRI machine themselves. The doctor spoke enough English to tell them that the nearest CT or MRI machine was in either Iceland or Russia.

The elder Pines twins left the hospital in low spirits. Ford kicked at little pebbles as they walked down the street.

“There’s a research facility in Ny-Ålesund. Perhaps we could sail up there and commandeer some equipment to rig up our own CT scan…”

“I think it’d be easier to just hop on a plane back to the States at this point.” Stan suggested.

“If we’re going to hop on a plane somewhere, it’ll be to Reykjavik, where we won’t have to pay an arm and a leg for any treatments.”

“Yeah, we’ll just have to wait half a year.” Stan rolled his eyes. “I don’t think they’re gonna take ‘revived demon in my head’ as an urgent need.”

“Probably not…” Ford admitted.

“And you’re sure you didn’t figure anything else out the last time you were pokin’ around in my head?”

Ford grit his teeth. The truth was, he was afraid what would happen if he tried to revisit that memory. The cold flames of the memory eraser had felt so real, even just revisiting it in Stan’s mind, and they seemed to be the trigger of his latest memory lapse. Would they have a similar effect within Ford’s own memory?

“Nothing I’ve been able to make sense of.”

Stan grit his teeth. “So what now? Just leave that jerk in my head?”

Ford sighed. “I want to do some more research into what we’ve learned so far. Perhaps a trip to the library will help me find some insight. But truthfully… I may have been too hasty with punching out Bill, when I encountered him. He’s a liar who can’t be trusted, but he’s also a braggart. If I’d just let him run his mouth a little longer, we may have learned something about what he’s up to.”

* * *

Longyearbyen’s library wasn’t any bigger than the public library in Gravity Falls, and had significantly fewer books relating to Bill and mind magic, but it did at least have access to several library databases that Ford couldn’t typically log into from the Stan’O’War II. (According to Fiddleford, these databases could be hacked into quite easily, but Ford didn’t have the time or the wherewithal to learn how) It would have to do for now. Ford took a seat at a computer, and with a little help from a librarian, he was soon scrolling through peer-reviewed articles from different archeologists and anthropologists and folklore experts and descendants of the Aztecs and Mayans debating who Xolotl was, what his role was in the Aztec religion, how much his lore changed from Pre- and Post- Colombian invasion, and so forth. 

What he’d learned so far was interesting, to say the least. The things that most people agreed upon was that Xolotl was a god of death, fire, and lightning. What caught Ford’s attention was the fact that they were also the god of twins and deformities. He glanced down at his twelve fingers, which rested awkwardly on the small keyboard meant for people with just ten. It seemed odd that Bill would call on this particular death god, when they seemed far more likely to be a patron to Stan and Ford. 

While Ford puzzled over this new information, Stan browsed the library, looking for something to entertain himself while he waited. Unsurprisingly, there weren’t a whole lot of English books in this Norwegian library. Luckily, it wasn’t long before he stumbled upon an extensive comics section. Even though he still couldn’t read most of them, the pictures were at least enough that he got the gist of what was going on.

 European comics were very different from American comics. They featured a lot less costumed superheroes punching bad guys and a lot more weird, quirky characters setting out on adventures and exploring the world. They also seemed to lean more heavily on comedy rather than drama. Stan decided he liked them.

He’d been looking at a story about some rich duck when he noticed he felt odd. He didn’t know how else to explain it other than to say that his brain felt itchy. The more he concentrated on it, the more it faded away, but when he went back to looking at the comic and got absorbed back into the story, it came back.

After almost an hour of the feeling coming and going, Stan decided he was not imagining the sensation. He stuffed a tissue into the comic as a bookmark and got up to see what Ford would have to say about it. Almost as soon as he laid eyes on his brother, a wave of anger washed over him. Just like the itchy brain feeling, it went away almost as soon as he stopped and thought about it, but it had been so strong, that he couldn’t deny it had happened.

“Hey.” Stan tapped his brother on the shoulder as the old researcher skimmed an article about why the Aztecs associated lightning with twins.

“Hmm?” Ford acknowledged him without looking away from the screen.

“Am I forgettin’ to be mad at you about somethin’?”

That got Ford to turn and look at him. “Are you having a memory lapse!?”

“I don’t think so, but just a second ago I looked over at you and I felt really mad all of a sudden. Can’t really think of a reason why, though. I’m just wondering if maybe the other day, when I had the big blank-out, maybe we missed somethin’?”

The old researcher’s face contorted with guilt. “You have ample reason to be mad at me. I didn’t stand up for you when dad kicked you out. I never reached out to you for over ten years. I expected you to drop everything and help me with my problems without any explanation. I refused to thank you for saving my life--”

“Yeah, no, none of that stuff.” Stan shook his head. “I remember all that stuff, and I’ve already forgiven you and junk. Mmmm… did you try to enchant the mop again and not let me remember it?” But even as he joked that the underlying reason must be the latest chapter in a minor argument, he knew that couldn’t be right. The sudden bloom of anger had been much more deep-seated and horrible than that. It had felt like… it had felt like Ford had ruined everything. 

To be fair, there had been a long period of Stan’s life when he had felt like Ford had ruined everything. But Stan was over that now, and this brief brush with anger had felt even more heated than that.

Ford gave him an appraising look. “Were there any other memories or emotions associated with this feeling?”

“Oh yeah, my brain was feelin’ itchy right before that.”

“Have… you been using shampoo?” Ford asked, unsure of what to do with this information.

“Not my scalp, genius, like the actual thinking part of my brain!”

“... I can’t even begin to guess what that means.”

“Ugh, I don’t know how else to describe it, ok? It’s like somethin’ was squirmin’ around in my mind!”

The brothers wore twin expressions of realization as the words left Stan’s mouth. 

“We need to get back to the boat.” Ford stood from the computer desk abruptly.

“Yep.” Stan set the comic he’d been reading down on the desk, not even bothering to remove his improvised bookmark. 

* * *

Bill throws his hands up and roars in frustration. He can’t seem to take control, even when the moron’s mind is zoning out, losing himself in some stupid comic book. He’s already in the mind! He’s been here for months! He knows his way around here. So why isn’t it working? Is it because he never made a deal with this guy? That shouldn’t matter! The last thing they did before the whole memory gun thing was shake hands! 

There's no time to waste complaining, though. Sixer will be poking around here any minute. Bill needs a plan. Before, he'd spent millions of years in the Nightmare Realm planning. Now he's making everything up as he goes.

It's clear that Bill can't just take control of Stan like he'd been counting on. But do the other two know that? He might still be able to use that to his advantage.

If Bill is going to trick these losers and get out of here, he needs to play his opponents right. Luckily, he's got years of experience fighting against Sixer. It's the Big Mackerel that he worries about. 

Before, Bill hadn't paid much attention to Stan. He thought he understood what made the simple con man tick. But then, in the end, he found he didn't understand at all. Even after months of being trapped in his mindscape, Stan is very much still a mystery to Bill.

But there is one thing about Stan that Bill does understand.

He’s willing to sacrifice himself for his family.

* * *

Once they were back aboard the Stan’O’War II, Stan allowed himself to relax, just a little. At least here his surroundings were familiar, and the only person he had to worry about was his own brother.

Under normal circumstances, “the only person he had to worry about” meant he didn’t have to look over his shoulder for law enforcement or old criminals who might recognize Stan from his drifter days. 

Today “the only person he had to worry about” meant the only person he could possibly endanger if Bill was able to take control of him. Ford was the last person Stan wanted to put in danger, but he also had to admit, his brother knew more about the demon than any other living being on the planet. 

Stan may have been able to relax a tiny fraction once they were back aboard their boat, but not Ford. Ford was in full-blown panic mode.

He frantically searched around the storage room for something, anything, that could help protect his brother from Bill. Unfortunately, they hadn’t thought to bring unicorn hair or moonstones on their voyage. He did have titanium, but he wasn’t confident enough in his emergency medical knowledge to perform cranial surgery on his own, and he doubted they’d be able to find a doctor crooked enough to do it for them. Currently, his best idea was to build an updated version of Project Mentem, but that would take time. Time he wasn’t sure Stan had.

“I can re-enter your mindscape and shatter him again.” Ford decided, pulling out the candles again. “That should at least buy you a few days.”

“Ok.” Stan nodded. He’d definitely prefer to know Bill was shattered again, and not moving around in his brain. “But it’s not like he’s doing anything right now.”

“He’s probably trying to get us to lower our guard.” Ford assumed. “I’ll need to tie you up. He usually makes his move while his victim is asleep.”

“If I need to fall asleep for your spell while tied up, we’re gonna be waitin’ a long time.” Stan warned. “I dunno if I could even fall asleep right now if I had the world’s most comfortable bed.”

“Fair point.” Ford nodded. “I may have to drug you.”

“You gotta be kidding me!” It was abundantly clear that Ford was not kidding in the slightest.

“Would you rather be used as his puppet!?” The old researcher shouted. The outburst rang in the air for a few seconds while Ford tried to steady his breathing. “Stan I… I’m sorry, I just--”

“It’s ok.” Stan pulled him into a hug and tried his best to calm his brother down. “I know you’re just scared.”

“I’m not scared for myself.” Ford explained in a small voice. “I’m scared for you. Waking up to find that you’ve hurt someone, it’s-- I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, least of all you--”

“Stanford, look at me. We’re not gonna let that happen. What if we do it while I’m awake, like we did with the memory before?”

Ford nodded meekly. “That… that could work.”

“You can still tie me up if that makes you feel better.”

The old researcher bit his lip. “...It shouldn't be necessary...”

“Ford.”

“...But it probably would ease some of my fears, yes.” he admitted.

“That’s what I thought. I’ll go get the rope.”

Still unwilling to let his brother out of his sight, Ford followed Stan up to the deck while he retrieved said rope. Once they were back below deck, he wrapped Stan tightly in a large blanket before sitting him down on a chair and tying him up, to ensure he was as comfortable as possible while still restricting his movement.

“How do you feel?” Ford asked as he lit the candles.

“Like I’m about to be shipped back to Oregon in the mail.”

“And Bill…?”

“I haven’t felt anything else from him since we left the library.”

The lack of activity should have reassured Ford, but instead it just added to his general unease. At least he was able to compose himself enough to perform the incantation.

Just as last time, after a flash of light, he found himself on the deck of Stan’s mindscape, with Stan himself standing beside him. This time, though, Bill was floating there, waiting for them.

“I KNEW YOU’D BE BACK HERE AFTER I GOT YOUR ATTENTION IN THE LIBRARY!” The demon taunted. “OH, AND LOOK. STANO HERE EVEN MADE A MENTAL CONSTRUCT OF HIMSELF WITHIN HIS OWN MIND JUST SO YOU WOULDN’T HAVE TO FACE ME ALONE! HOW CUTE!” He prodded Stan in the stomach like he was the Pillsbury Doughboy.

“Back off, bucko!” Stan threatened. “We’re here to break your whole face!”

“WHAT, YOU COULDN’T WAIT UNTIL TONIGHT TO DO IT IN YOUR DREAMS LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO?” Bill asked, voice dripping with false innocence. 

“We’re not able to risk the chance of you parading about in Stanley’s body.” Ford growled.

“HA! YOU SHOULD KNOW BETTER THAN ANYONE, FORDSY, I ONLY DO THAT TO STUBBORN KNOW-IT-ALLS WHO WON’T WORK WITH ME WILLINGLY.”

“If you think I’m gonna work with you willingly, then you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought.” Stan grunted.

“HEAR ME OUT, MAC! WE BOTH WANT THE SAME THING HERE! ME, OUT OF YOUR SAD PATHETIC MIND!”

“You can’t leave!?” Ford asked in surprise.

“WHAT, YOU THINK I ENJOY SPENDING TIME IN THIS BOZO’S MIND? YOU THINK I WAS PLOTTING MY REVENGE?”

“Honestly, yes.”

Bill gave a long, mocking laugh. “AHAHAHAHAHA! YOU REALLY THINK I CARE ABOUT A COUPLE OF INSIGNIFICANT FLESH SACKS LIKE YOU?”

“We’re the insignificant flesh sacks who killed you!” Stan reminded him.

“WELL, YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY. THE BEST REVENGE IS LIVING WELL.”

The brothers exchanged a suspicious glance. They highly doubted Bill actually believed that adage.

“BUT I CAN’T EXACTLY LIVE WELL TRAPPED IN YOUR MINDSCAPE. I MIGHT GET BORED AND DECIDE THE BEST REVENGE IS KILLING YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY WITH YOUR OWN HANDS.”

Ah yes, that was more along the lines of what they expected from Bill.

“So you’re saying you’ll just let bygones be bygones if I cooperate with you?” Stan asked skeptically. 

“WE’LL GO OUR SEPARATE WAYS, NEVER TO MEET AGAIN!”

“And what are you planning on doing once you’re free?” Ford asked coldly.

“NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS, SIXER.” The demon waved him off. “NOW ARE YOU GONNA HELP ME OUT OF HERE OR NOT? THE SOONER THE BETTER. YOU TWO AREN’T GETTING ANY FURTHER AWAY FROM THE AVERAGE LIFE EXPECTANCY OF A HUMAN MALE, AND FISH FACE HERE DOESN'T EXACTLY TAKE GOOD CARE OF HIS BODY.”

“Hey!” Stan shouted indignantly.

“Why should Stan’s life expectancy factor into this?” Ford asked.

“HMMM? OH, NO REASON.” Bill said evasively. “I’M JUST, Y’KNOW, IN A HURRY.”

“You’re an immortal, extradimensional being. You’ve been trying to find a way out of the nightmare realm since before multicellular life developed on this planet. If you’re so sure we’re close to the end of our lives, why not wait until we’re out of the way? You must realize we’ll try and stop you from starting Weirdmaggedon again!” Ford reasoned.

“WHO SAID ANYTHING ABOUT STARTING WEIRDMAGGEDON AGAIN?” Bill denied. “AND MAYBE AFTER A BILLION YEARS, I’M TIRED OF WAITING!”

“Unless you aren’t immortal any more.” the old researcher concluded.

“YOU’VE SEEN FOR YOURSELF, FORDSY, EVERY TIME YOU OR YOUR IDIOT BROTHER SHATTER ME, I PULL MYSELF BACK TOGETHER.”

“Immortal in the mind, perhaps. But what happens when the mind you’re occupying finally dies?”

“ALRIGHT, YOU FIGURED IT OUT!” Bill sneered. “I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN A GENIUS LIKE YOU WOULD. YEAH, MY LIFE’S TIED TO THE BIG MACKEREL’S NOW. SO WHAT? YOU GONNA KILL YOUR BROTHER JUST TO GET RID OF ME?”

“Of course not!” Ford barked.

“Hey, I’d be more than happy to take you down with me if it meant making sure you never hurt anyone else ever again!” Stan challenged the demon.

Ford stared at his brother with wide eyes. “Stanley, no!”

“Hey, relax, I’m not talkin’ suicide or anything.” Stan assured him. “But he’s right about one thing. I’m not gonna live forever.”

I’ll only do it if I have to. A stray thought cawed overhead.

Stan cussed under his breath as Ford gaped at him with a mix of alarm and pity.

“I’m not gonna take it back.” Stan insisted after a moment. “If that’s what it comes down to, to keep him from hurtin’ you or the kids, then I’m taking him down with me.”

Ford placed his hands firmly on Stan’s shoulders and looked him straight in the eye with all the intensity he could muster. “We won’t let that happen!” 

Bill laughed at them cruelly. “RIGHT, CUZ YOU’VE HAD SO MUCH SUCCESS STOPPING ME IN THE PAST.”

“I’ll find some other way!” Ford insisted.

“I’M SURE YOU COULD, WITH TIME.” Bill agreed. “BUT I’M GONNA STRANGLE YOU IN YOUR SLEEP BEFORE THEN!”

Not if I strangle myself first! Another one of Stan’s stray thoughts called.

Ford gave his brother a frustrated shake. “No! Stanley, I swear to you, that won’t be necessary!”

“Alright, that’s it. We’re not havin’ this conversation in my brain, where you can hear all my unprocessed thoughts.” Stan decided.

Suddenly, Ford’s form and everything around them flickered and began to fade to white. Stan and Bill were the only ones who remained solid and whole. Stan was waking up? But he’d never been asleep before the spell in the first place!

“Don’t you try any funny business!” Stan pointed an accusing finger at Bill. “I’m coming back to shatter you into a million smaller pieces as soon as I fall asleep tonight!”

[avversiera-writes]

‘till death do us part - chapter 6 [tobirama senju/you]

Chapter 6 - How to Steal a Crown

Summary: Tobirama tries to fix his brother’s shortcomings. 

Words: 3.3k

A/N: THE SCENE THAT I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOREVER TO WRITE IS HEREEEEEEEEEEEEE... I know I am writing like crazy lmaoo but I literally cannot stop because it hurts to stop lmfaoooo so....here ya go. let me know what you think. Two more chapters left until the end!

available on AO3

<< Chapter 1 - Allegiances // Chapter 2 - Union // Chapter 3 - Love Like You // Chapter 4 - Look to the Horizon // Chapter 5 - Return 

Tobirama flips through the village’s financial ledgers, seething with a frustrating anger that he cannot calm. He references the Senju clan’s own books, and he is dismayed to find that the numbers match exactly. This is blatant evidence that money has been liquidated to the Senju accounts, and then used by Hashirama. If this comes into the wrong hands, not only will his brother be ruined, but the rest of his family and he cannot allow that to happen. What is more heartbreaking is that this has been going on for over a year now, and Tobirama was busy running around to attend to his personal life and away from his brother when he was needed by him. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and he lets out a shout of vexation and sends the scrolls and the books and other important parchments to the floor. 

 “I tried to fix it when you were gone,” Hashirama says shamefully, appearing at the door of Tobirama’s new home office. 

Barely moved in his new house, Tobirama chose to use the recluse space as his base to figure out things. His wife is in the hospital, and this house is empty and quiet and devoid of any distractions. It is also bare and undecorated, perfect for not being uncomfortable enough to not take a rest.

Tobirama balls his fists, trying to control himself from lashing out any more. “Is that why you were so eager for me to go away?!” 

 Hashirama’s eyes widened. “No, Tobirama–”

 “Be quiet, elder brother, I am trying to think,” Tobirama cuts him off and he turns around towards the window. 

Tobirama exhales and he whips around. “You have a problem,” he declares in a way that would dissuade any feelings of argument. “Even if you saved our village from Madara’s attack, you advertently cut off its legs. What were you thinking?!” Tobirama shouts. 

 Hashirama’s expression darkens and he crosses his arms. There is no simple explanation for this. 

Tobirama hits the desk, and it breaks in half, the splinters flying up as the desk goes in on itself. “You told me to be happy. To go and enjoy my time with her, while you did this behind my back? You could have told me! I could have done something to fix this!” 

 “It is not your job to fix my problems!” Hashirama bellows. 

 “I am your brother!” Tobirama’s eyes are awash with newfound anger. “You did not trust me enough to confide in me!” 

 “And what? Keep you away from your wife?” Hashirama snaps. 

“She would have understood,” Tobirama replies icily. “She would have understood! She would have let me!” 

 Hashirama steps closer, and the floor beneath his feet begins to crack and new branches of trees creep out. “You take her for granted too much!” 

“Stop changing the subject!” Tobirama screams, and he pushes back with his own chakra, cutting the sprouting forest in half before they reach the roof. 

 “It would have been fine,” Hashirama grits out. 

 “Stop making excuses!” Tobirama bellows, the floor he is standing on becomes a crater. "You should have come to me!" 

Hashirama looks away, and says nothing. The room is thick with their aura and their intense emotions that it is possible it can kill an ordinary shinobi. It is hard to breathe in the room at the moment, and if one dares to relieve their lungs with a sigh, the consequences may be catastrophic. They are walking on eggshells. 

 Tobirama kneads his forehead, unable to say anything else lest he makes matters worse. He cannot bring himself to look at his brother. All his life, he has devoted himself to make sure that Hashirama’s dreams come true because he believed them to be good and that they will change the world. There is no one else like Hashirama, there is no greater shinobi than him. He is hailed as the god of shinobi, for heaven’s sake. 

 So, why did the god of shinobi sink this low? 

 Because above all rules, they are human first, who feel too much and who make many mistakes. 

“Damn it, elder brother,” Tobirama utters solemnly. 

Tobirama takes a deep breath, and he meets his brother’s gaze. “You will attend to your duties as Hokage. Do not say a word about this. We will fix this my way .” 

//

It is late at night, and Tobirama stops short outside of his wife’s hospital room. Something about her injury makes him come to a sickening conclusion: that she has no regard for her life, and takes unnecessary risks. He cannot protect her if she keeps doing this to herself, and he will never admit it, but he needs her to be still and to remain steadfast because he cannot divide himself enough to be there for her and his brother and the village. He is not sure, along with some of his doubts, if he can do it all. He needs to know that she will be fine and he needs to make sure of it. He feels terrible, but he has made it this long. Sometimes, the most terrible things have to be done in order to make sure that the world keeps turning.

 He will never be the husband that she deserves, but what he can do best is protect her. He knows that she has promised to be there for him, but Tobirama also knows that she is not only his wife, but she is also a shinobi with her own beliefs and commitment to duty. In the end, he cannot separate himself completely from his emotions. He does not want to lose her, and that feeling makes his stomach curl in fear. He can face a thousand enemies, but nothing is as daunting as her leaving him too early in life. 

 Tobirama’s hand lingers at the knob, but he cannot make himself turn it. 

He allowed himself one moment of happiness, and he is blinded by his own needs. What kind of a shinobi is he that he forgets for one second what it is he is supposed to do? What kind of brother is he if he cannot devote himself to the village that his brother loves? 

Tobirama stalks off like a storm and he heads back to his new house. It is dark and unwelcoming, but it is what he needs right now. He is the one with solutions, so he will do his part. 

 He lights the lamps to give him light, and he arranges the living room to be his own personal office for now. The furniture that is yet to be used stand and crowd the room like vigilant statues, and Tobirama cannot stand them so he covers them with blankets. Then, he drags his things into the table there and he gets to work. 

 His mind works well when he is alone and under pressure, and it takes all night until daybreak without break to formulate and translate his ideas into something tangible. He drafts letters to be sent to the daimyos asking for a loan, treaties with other small villages with negotiations on trade, and new rules to reform the village so that it generates more income to keep it going. Of course, the shinobi in the village need to partake. 

He lists his ideas on reforming the Chuunin exams: that in the future, the other villages they are allied with should come to their village to take them in goodwill. This will, hopefully, foster peace and encourage trading of services. 

 He also remedies the system and the ranks of shinobi, where each mission has to be strictly assigned to ranks that can handle them, not just because the Hokage deems it appropriate for them.

 He even creates new jobs to be filled in so that it can create another system of checks and balances. Like a group of people to do work in the shadows, and another to keep order in their growing village.

 These will take time, but he has made elaborate steps that need to be taken so that they will work. Especially, in the long run. He cannot base everything on something as unstable as hope.

Without a blink, he works, pushing everything aside, especially his feelings. 

//

Tobirama has not slept for two days, but he feels fine . 

 He is on his brother’s back most of the time, supervising his decisions. He knows that his brother can handle himself as the Hokage, but at the moment, he does not trust anybody but himself. He especially does not trust his brother’s emotional capabilities. More than ever, he needs to be the one to guard his brother’s thoughts, now that Madara is really gone and his brother is the one who killed his friend. 

 Tobirama is not a fool. He cannot turn a blind eye to Hashirama’s fondness towards Madara anymore, and this makes him pull the leash on his brother a little closer. 

 He knows that he is the only one who can do this for his brother. 

 Another incident like that cannot happen in the future. The village cannot afford it. 

He rarely talks to his brother about personal matters these days unless it is about policies or some small issue from the clans. He just wants to avoid a fight, but sometimes, it is unavoidable and the Hokage office is thrown into chaos from their tempers. Tobirama can definitely do better to control the situation, but he also cannot help getting the last word in. Probably because he lacks sleep and everything around him makes him more cranky than normal. 

Hashirama turns his chair towards the Hokage mountain, where his carved face stands, alone and cold. Behind him, Tobirama is shuffling papers. 

 The silence is deafening, but there is nothing they could do about it. 

“This office needs more windows,” Tobirama comments off-handedly. “To get some air and light in.” 

 Hashirama nods, and he catches his brother’s reflection on the window. 

"Is that all?” Hashirama coldly asks. 

 “I’m assigning some people to follow you as your personal guards. You can go anywhere you want, but they report to me.” Tobirama leaves it at that and he hurries out, not giving his brother a chance to reply. 

//

Stepping into his estranged new home, Tobirama did not expect you to be there, and already getting the household ready to be inhabited. You are moving things around by yourself, and pausing to catch your breath. While the physicians have said that your recovery went well, they recommended that you do not partake in strenuous physical activities. 

 “You do know that we will have servants, right?” Tobirama says, and you start, almost dropping the vase you are holding. “They will come next week after I evaluate them.”

 You whirl around and you glare at your husband incredulously. “There’s my husband, who by the way, had to be there to check me out from the hospital. Oh wait, I haven’t even seen him in two days!”

Tobirama blinks, too tired to retort. There are many instances where you do not make it clear whether you’re picking fun or just plain upset at him. 

 “I had hoped my students convinced you to stay longer,” Tobirama begins in a monotone voice. 

 “Why? So you can avoid me some more?” You raise an eyebrow and set down the vase. 

Tobirama carefully watches you as you walk towards him. Your eyes search his face, noting the bags under his eyes and your expression softens. 

“You have not slept,” you comment and Tobirama is mildly surprised. He had hoped to hide it from you. 

 “I had much to do,” Tobirama concludes.

“Since when did you not have much to do?” You try to joke, but the air feels to heavy to lift. You, of all people, understand what is at stake. 

 Slowly, you slip your arms around his waist, and lean your head on his chest. Tobirama stiffens slightly–ever his daub self–but little by little, he melts into you with a sigh. 

 “How can I help?” You murmur. 

 “I don’t think you can,” Tobirama answers, his voice a soothing hum from your ear pressed against his chest. 

 “Sure, I can,” you push a little. You are determined to insert yourself in his ambitions, because it will be easier to share his life with yours. “At least let me be the one to meet the servants.” 

Tobirama is overwhelmed at your willingness to help. A part of him wants to say yes, but he also has his own resolve. 

“No, it is alright,” Tobirama rejects your offer, and he gently pushes you off. 

 “Will you at least tell me what you’re doing?” You hate to bother him, especially when he is tired, but you also hate to watch him immerse himself into his familiar madness without doing anything to help him. 

Tobirama gives you a strict look of not now , and he heads upstairs to his ruined study. 

You press a hand to your forehead to cool off, and you remind yourself that you hallucinated that version of Madara in your dreams. It was not a genjutsu, but it sticks to you like one, in a way that it grips every space of your mind when you are not occupied. 

 You bite your lower lip, and you will away your fears. 

He said that even if Tobirama does the right thing, and he will do what is expected of him, he will still fall. 

 You cannot stop Tobirama from being the person that everybody needs, and he will be, more than ever. Probably more than you feel to need him because he cannot just be nothing . Everybody dies, and you have made your peace with that, but you know that Tobirama’s death cannot be in vain. You have to be there to make sure that he will stay strong. 

 So you just have to stop loving him more than you have to so that you can let him be who he has to be. For your shared vision for Konohagakure. For the future.

 You don’t even know where to start. 

//

Thunder bellows from outside the window, and the rain splashing against your window wakes you. Lighting darts across the dark sky, and you roll to your back, and reach for Tobirama. The side of his bed is cold, and you stare at the dark ceiling, listening to any signs of life in the house. 

 You are completely alone. 

You close your eyes, but a feeling nags at you. 

You jump out of bed and wrap your yukata tightly around your body, and throw on a haori hanging by the changing corner. It is bigger on you, and you realize that it has Tobirama’s distinct sandalwood smell on it. You pause and you run your hands down on it, and then you hurry downstairs. 

 You slide the doors open, but only the rain greets you. Tobirama is nowhere to be found. 

Searching frantically for an umbrella, you ransack your own home until finally, you feel it in the dark. Like a fool, you run out into the rain, not wasting another second. 

 The streets of Konoha at this hour are empty, and the rain makes everything cold and blue. The shadows play at you, taunting and beckoning, and the most of the street lights are doused from the heavy rain. Tobirama could be anywhere, and you are out here, running around with an unused umbrella, completely soaked. Your hair splats on your face, your neck, and water seeps in your mouth everytime you call for Tobirama. 

 The rain runs down your eyes, occasionally blurring your eyesight, and the wind blows, haunting and inimical, making you shiver. Maybe it is tears hindering you from seeing properly. 

  Damn, damn, damn , you curse in your mind. “Damn it, all!” You shout, but you quickly quell your voice, lest you wake the whole damn neighborhood. 

Damn you, Madara , you continue to curse. 

You circle the compound, and finally you find Tobirama’s lone figure walking ahead of you. His shoulders are slumped, a contrast to his usual upright demeanor. He looks defeated, and the darkness of the night covers him like a cape. The sight breaks your heart, and all thoughts of barring your love go down the drain. Maybe you are being selfish, but he is your husband. You promised more than to be his wife. You are his companion in life. He is not just his brother’s keeper, or his students’ teacher. He is not just a future leader. 

You catch up to him, and you curse again, only now noticing that you are bare-feet as your feet slaps against the ground and splashes against the water, and really, it is so idiotic and worthy of getting teased by your husband, but you really did not care at this moment. Your instincts tell you to go to him, and to cover him, even for a few seconds. 

 You open the umbrella on his head, and the rain stops falling on him. You tremble from the cold, and from the pouring rain, but for a moment, he is safe, and this is something you can do for him. You can shield him like this. 

Tobirama halts, and he straightens his head, realizing that no rain is falling on him. He looks up to see an umbrella on his head, and his heart sighs like a strung, mellow chord. He does not cry, but the rain makes up for it. The torrent releases his burdens and rolls off of his shoulders, and when he has carried enough, you are there. All his life, he is always the one looking out for everyone. He gives his service to anyone who will need it, but no one has ever covered him from the rain. No one has taken care of his heart like you have done. 

 No one has taken the time to search for him and trudge through unfavorable paths to get to him. He expects to be the one to fight like that, but he forgets that you are also strong in your own right, and you have such grace that he cannot comprehend. All his life, no one has been this gentle and loving towards him, no questions asked. He knows that you deserve better. 

 And yet, here you are. 

Tobirama turns, and his eyes widen a fraction at the sight of you. You look like a ghost, and he almost laughs because your hair is splayed down like a wet cat, and you are wearing his dark blue overcoat. 

 He expects to find you fuming in vexation, but your gaze is tender and it is hard to meet them. 

Tobirama marvels at you, but then he remembers that it is raining, so he takes you by the arm and pulls you closer and under the umbrella that you held over his head. 

“It is late,” Tobirama states. His eyes flit down to your face, where a few raindrops flow down your cheek.

 “Thank you for informing me, I forgot where our clocks were,” you reply, feeling your teeth chatter a little. 

Tobirama’s eyes go over your forehead, and then he hears your teeth chatter. 

“Let us go home,” Tobirama finally pronounces. His heart feels lighter, now that you are here, but there the current problems do not go away that easily. “I have something to tell you.” 

You note the seriousness in his last sentence, but you can tell that Tobirama is radiating warmth, and you press your shoulder a little closer to his vicinity. You glance at his side profile and note the minuscule smile on his lips, and when he notices you staring, he gives you a questioning look. 

 You let out a little laugh, content to walk beside his footsteps. You cast your worries away, and whatever may come, you two will have each other, despite the difficulties. 

  ‘Till death do us part , you vow, once again.

 To be continued...

Chapter 7 - Make Him King >>

[curlybookwriter0294]

Being a Roommate with a Half-Demon

Chapter One

Summary: All she wanted was a new beginning at her dream city of Tokyo. She didn't think that she'll meet a hot headed hanyo (apparently those exist) & be his roommate. She also didn't think that both of their pasts would collide and haunt them both in ways they even they couldn't imagine. SLOWBURN! AU!

Disclaimer: I own nothing from Inuyasha just the plot Warning: this story will contain mentions of domestic violence throughout the story please don’t read if you are not comfortable with it.

Roommate Wanted

Single male looking for a roommate, rent is $800 a month. Must be okay with me working nights and returning early mornings. Must know how to clean and cook for yourself. Also, you must be okay with me being a half-breed.

Kagome Higurashi leaned back on the chair that she was sitting on, her finger pressing lightly on the mouse pad on her laptop, chewing her lower lip thoughtfully as she reread the Craigslist ad that she had stumbled upon earlier.

The ad was quite interesting to her because she’s been looking for a place of her own for quite sometime now ever since she had moved to her dream city of Tokyo. However, it would’ve been harder on her if she lived by herself so she decided to scroll through this website Craigslist in hopes that someone would post an ad about wanting a roommate. Sure enough, she found an ad within minutes of her search.

“What did he mean by half-breed?” She wondered out loud, wondering why he would put that on his ad. She doesn’t understand what could it mean. She never heard of that term before.

She shrugged her shoulder as she continued to scroll down the roommate ad, trying to find some sort of phone number but instead all she could find was an email that was attached to the bottom of the ad.

Kagome sighed heavily underneath her breath, turning around to look over her shoulder at her medium size hotel room, thinking long and hard about what she should do. She stared at her half unmade bed, her belongings that she managed to get were laying on the foot of the bed. It has only been a couple of months since she started staying at this hotel. Meaning it’s been a couple of months since she had escaped.

Escaped.

The young raven haired woman still feels like she was on edge, wondering each and everyday if he’ll somehow come back and find, forcing her to come back to him, or worse.

Her whole body started to shiver violently at the thought, trying to remind herself over and over that he’s in jail and won’t be able to see the light of day again after what he had put her through. All that mattered now is that she’s safe, she’s alive, she’s in the city of her dreams and was finally starting over for the better.

Kagome closed her mahogany eyes as she took several long deep breath through her nose to calm herself down at the thought of starting over. “Your safe,” she whispered quietly, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. “He’s not here. He’s in jail. You. Are. Safe Kagome.”

She sighed in relief when her shivers had finally settled down and glanced at the ad once more, debating if she should respond to it and send this Inuyasha guy a email.

She knew from the email that was attached to the ad the person’s name was Inuyasha. However, there was no mention of a last name.

Kagome noticed a date that Inuyasha had wanted the person to move in by, smiling when she saw that it’s near the time range for when she starts her new job as a full time medical records specialist at Tokyo University Hospital. She laughed at the fate and about the opportunity that’s sitting in front of her like Kami knew that they were looking out for her.

Her small fingers drummed lightly on the mouse pad, trying to do the math inside her head. The email specifically stated that the person that’s interested should have the first month’s rent. Kagome should have plenty of money that she had stashed away in her savings account. Just enough for the first month’s rent and she’ll be starting her new job soon after!

Again, she strongly believes that Kami’s looking after her.

“Alright,” Kagome muttered, clicking the reply button at the top of the email before she changes her mind. “Let’s do it!” She smiled warmly at the screen, pursing her lip while she typed out a response, hoping that he would respond soon and quick after she had pressed the send button above the screen.

It was the sound of a loud bleeping noise that was coming from a phone that sat laying face down on a small black night stand that awoke a sleeping silver haired hanyo from his sleep.

One of his ears that sit on top of his head flickered at the sound, making one of his golden eyes open up slightly when the annoying sound made that bleeping noise again, telling him that there’s a email that needs to be open.

“Could’ve swore I put that damn thing on fucking silent.” He muttered groggily, reaching over with a clawed hand to grab his phone, wondering who had sent him a email.

He moaned when he had checked the time on the screen and muttered out a few curses underneath his breath when he saw that the time had read 5:30PM, not even close enough for him to be up which would be around eight before his club that open opens at 9:00PM.

He used an elbow to prop himself up on his bed, lifting an eyebrow with interest when the email had caught his eye.

It seems like it was a response to his roommate ad that he had posted from about a week ago from that website Craigslist, a website that his long time friend Miroku had talked to him about one day. You could literally post any type of ad you want. No questions asked.

“Huh, someone’s actually interested?”

He used a clawed finger to click on the email so he could fully read the message, cocking his head to the side which made his long mane of silver hair cascade down over his shoulder.

Hi Inuyasha!

My name is Kagome, and I’m sending out this email in regards to your roommate ad that I saw on Craigslist! I am highly interested in being your roommate! And I can definitely give you the first month’s rent right away! Please respond as soon as you can!!

Inuyasha narrowed his eyes at the email, slightly taken aback that someone’s actually interested in being his roommate after he had read it several times to make sure that he was reading it correctly.

He growled lowly, thinking that it has to be some sort of trick. There’s no way that someone would be willing to live with someone that was a disgusting half breed like him. He made it specifically clear that whoever responds to the ad had to be okay with him being a hanyo and couldn’t believe that someone actually responded.

Again, it had to be a trick.

Inuyasha hummed when he looked back at the email, wondering if this *Kagome* person was a human woman or a demon, frowning when he couldn’t find any description of her in the message. Should he even respond to her?

Inuyasha placed his phone back down on the night stand and stood up from his bed, yawning loudly as he stretched out his arms above his head, making his muscles pop from the tension from sleep. He grabbed a random shirt that was laying randomly on the floor to slip over his head and made his way over towards the kitchen.

“Might as well make some dinner.” He said quietly, turning on the stove and went underneath a cabinet to grab a small pot so that way he could make a quick bowl of ramen noodles.

After his ramen was done cooking, he made his way back to his room and sat down on his bed, using a pair of chopsticks to scoop up his delicious noodles that he loves so much into his mouth.

It took him about eight bites before he finally place the empty bowl on his nightstand, burping after the last noodle went down his throat, sighing when he side glanced at his phone that’s next to the bowl.

It has been a full week since he had made that ad about wanting to find a roommate. Truth to be told, he honestly didn’t think that someone would actually respond to it or even be interested. He was actually going to delete it once he had woken up. However, it could really help him out, especially since the recent events that had happened this past month.

Inuyasha snarled angrily when he thought back of a heated argument that had transpired between him and his elder half brother Sesshomaru. He still couldn’t believe that he had cut him off completely! All because he didn’t want to join him and the stupid corporate lifestyle by working at their dad’s company as Sesshomaru’s right hand man.

Inuyasha had never saw himself working at Taisho’s Inc. He had always dream of having something of his own without his last name being attached to it. Thank Kami he had managed to open up a club using what he had left in savings, thanking Kami again that it’s actually doing quite well despite being a new night scene.

Even so, a roommate could really help him keep his lights on and indoors.

“Damn it,” he huffed out, reaching over to grab his phone and clicked on the email to send out a quick response before turning off his phone completely so he could shower and get dress for the evening, getting mentally prepared for work in hopes for another packed night.

“Thank Kami its fucking Friday.” He said out loud while he was washing off the suds of soap from his body. “Hopefully she’ll actually show up.”

Kagome,

If you are truly interested in being my roommate, I need to meet you before we can make final arrangements. Meet me at Club Tessaiga at 11:00PM. Don’t be late.

~Inuyasha

A/N: Here is chapter one of my story!! I’m mainly going to post it on my A03 and FF account! My user name on both of those are CurlyBookWriter94 :) please let me know you guys think of it :)

[holylulusworld]

Alone again

Summary: Just like Sam before John left you behind for his vendetta. Now you need to cope with the aftermath.

Pairing: former John x Reader, former Sam x Reader, Dean x Reader

Warnings: angst, language, arguments, longing, comforting, fluff, pining, mentions of break-up/cheating

This is the requested sequel to: Let Daddy in

“Why are we here?” Annoyed Sam looks around the motel room. Even after two months, there’s no trace of his father’s whereabouts.

While Dean looks through his father’s notes a noise catches his attention. Raising his fist Dean points toward the door as someone picks the lock.

Sam flattens behind the door while Dean prefers to point his gun toward the intruder’s head only to meet your angry eyes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Dean. Was that you?” Throwing your phone at Dean you enter the room, slamming the door shut behind you.

Scrolling through your messages Dean frowns. Someone sent you a message to come to his room, pretending to be the eldest Winchester.

“Do you have any idea where he went?” Sam’s voice catches you off-guard and you jump slightly as he steps closer to hug you.

“Are you fucking kidding me too, Winchester? Keep your hands to yourself.” Spatting the words, you stand closer to Dean’s side, taking the phone out of his hands.

“I tried to reach John for months, always ended up on his mail-box.” Shrugging you stuff the phone into your pocket.

“Had enough of me too, I guess. Seems to be a family thing.” When you turn to leave you don’t look at Sam, simply pass him by to leave the room.

“Take care, Dean. Don’t get yourself killed by protecting a family giving a shit on you or your feelings.”

“Y/N…wait…” Sam tries to stop you, grabs your arm but you push him away, glaring at the tall hunter.

“Fuck off, Sam. If you believe you can have a short vacation from Stanford and your new girl, you are dead wrong.”

Sam’s eyes round as he realizes you know about Jess. “You know…”

“Yeah, I know Sam.” Huffing you wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket. “I came to Stanford to visit my boyfriend only to hear him say that he loves another woman. She’s pretty, smart and nice. Good choice Sam.”

“Y/N…” When Dean steps closer to place one hand onto your shoulder you shrug. “Is that the reason you and dad?”

Nodding you look at your feet, sniffling again. “I came there, saw the man I love and wanted to jump into his arms, instead he kissed someone else, Dean.”

Looking up at Dean you give him a cracked smile. “Was only an easy lay…for both. Must be me…”

“Sweetheart, don’t say something like that.” While the eldest brother tries to talk to you Sam remains silent. “That’s not true.”

“Not true, Dean?” Laughing you point toward Sam, shaking your head. “I gave him my first time, my first kiss, only to get to know he replaced me not three weeks after he left for Stanford. Must be true love…huh?”

“Sammy?” Confused Dean looks up at his brother, not missing the guilt written all over his face. “That true? Did you cheat on your girlfriend while she was waiting for you to come back?”

“I bet she was with someone else too…” Sam mumbles and Dean slaps his brother’s face.

“She waited for two years, bitch! Two fucking years without anyone holding her, kissing her or making her feel good while you got cozy with Jess?” Panting Dean clenches his jaw as he must watch you walk away.

“Shit…”

“Y/N, please wait for me.” Running after you Dean grabs your arm, making you stop for a moment. “Don’t run off alone. I bet dad will be back soon and you can…”

“Dean…” Swallowing the lump in your throat you pat his cheek, pressing a soft kiss the corner of his mouth. “John and I, we only…”

“I see.” Nervously playing with your shirt you shrug. “I was lonely and there was no one holding me. John is good at making a woman forget she was only available.”

“Wait…you fucked my dad?” Gasping Sam looks at you with an unreadable expression. “He could be your dad!”

“None of your concern, Sam. You didn’t ask me what I did over the last two years while you were banging that blonde girl.” Dean can feel the tension in your body, can see the hurting all over your face as you ball your hands into fists.

“That’s disgusting! Jess was my age! You fucked my dad to pay me back?” Sam is furiously clenching his jaw as you take a step back.

“I wanted to fuck a random douche at a bar that night. I got drunk after I heard the love of my life telling someone else he loves her. What did you expect me to do, Samuel? Wait for you to come back until I am gray and old?” Spatting the words, venom in your voice you hold back the tears.

“Instead you fucked and old and gray man. My father.” Sam won’t budge so you lunge forward to slap his cheek.

“At least he was man enough to touch me, to give me the feeling I am still desirable and not disposable. John helped me not to cry the whole night imagining how you hold that girl in your arms. That she’s all you ever wanted, and you only were with me to have someone to get off…” Sniffling you slap Sam’s hand away when he tries to touch your cheek.

“That’s not true…”

Not meeting Sam’s eyes, you wrap your arms around your body. “Sure.”

“Y/N…”

“No, Samuel. I know I was just available to you.” Lips quivering you blink the tears away. “She’s all I’ll never be. Smart. Pretty and carefree. I wish I could hate her, but I can’t. Jess didn’t even know about me…”

“You talked to her?” Sam’s voice is trembling as he reaches for you once again but this time, Dean steps in, shoving you behind his back.

“That’s enough, Sammy. I think you did a number on Y/N just leave her alone. I can’t believe both of you just dropped her like she means nothing to you.”

Surprised by Dean’s outburst you fall silent. Months ago, he argued with you, using almost the same words as Sam.

“Months ago, you were the same, Dean.” Sniffling you turn your back on the brother. “I was lonely my whole life. As a child of hunters, I always came last. Then they dropped me at Bobby’s. After my parents died I was on my own till John took me in.” Voice cracking you shrug.

“After Sam left I knew it’s only a matter of time that I am all alone again. No one wants to stay with me.”

“Y/N…I was just…” Dean tries but you start walking away, not wanting to hear his apologies.

“Save it, Dean. You’re better off without me, just like Sam, my parents, and John. Don’t waste your time on me…”

Dean didn’t let up till Sam agreed to trace your phone. Now the eldest brother is pacing in front of your motel room, not knowing how to explain why he got mad months ago.

Pressing his ear to your door Dean can hear you sniffle and doesn’t waste more time. Instead of knocking at your door he just picks the lock to sneak into your room.

“I know you don’t want to see me but let me explain, Sweetheart.” Watching you wipe away more tears Dean drops his bag to sit on the bed next to you. “Did you cry about dad again?”

“John and I, that was just physical, okay. We talked things out, decided to part ways before he left. That’s the reason I was surprised he sent me this message.” Handing Dean your phone you show him your last message to John.

“Be careful?”

“John, he said that from now on he will go after the monster killing Mary on his own. He wants you and me to be safe, so he left for good.” Patting Dean’s thigh you shrug.

“I cried as Sam was mean. He left me, didn’t think of giving me an explanation or to apologize for cheating on me.”

“I get it. He said all those things, blamed you for having sex with dad.” Shuddering Dean takes your hand in his. “While he was with Jess.”

“Sam has no right to tell me I am a bad person. John helped me through a rough time. I know he doesn’t love me; I don’t love him either, but I needed him for a while.” Dean is silently listening to what you have to say.

While you tell him about the way you always felt alone, even while being with Sam his elder brother doesn’t take his eyes off your sad face.

“You’re not a bad person.”

“Sometimes I feel like I’ll never be enough for someone. I gave Sam all I had to give.” Huffing you point toward your bags. “It’s not much, I know.”

“Sweetheart, Y/N…” Slinging one arm around your shoulders Dean pecks your cheek. “It’s more than enough. I would’ve been happy to have you in my life or…”

“Dean, don’t lie to make me feel better.” Playing with the seam of your shirt you glance at your friend. He looks flustered. Cheeks flushed, eyes darting between your lips and your eyes he leans closer.

“I don’t want to make you feel better.” Mumbling the words, he brushes his lips over yours. “I mean I want to make you feel better but not out of pity. I got mad at you and dad as I was jealous. I always was…”

“Dean?” Confused you blink a few times as Dean presses his lips gently to yours. Where John was rough and took what he wanted Dean carefully cups your face to deepen the kiss, not wanting to scare you off.

“I always had a thing for you, Y/N.” Clearing his throat Dean swipes his thumb over your lower lip, making you gasp. “But you agreed to the date with Sammy and I kept my mouth shut. While Sam was gone I wanted to make a move, but I thought it’s not fair…”

“Not fair, huh…” Laughing you peck Dean’s lips. “Sometimes I believe Sam left to get rid of me, not to go to Stanford. The last months before he left were…bumpy…”

“I know.” Moving closer Dean wraps his arms around you, smiling as you lean into his touch. “You came to my room, to sleep on the couch so many nights. I was worried, wanted you to sleep with me…”

“Is he here too?”

“In a room far away from yours. I told Sam to stay away, Sweetheart. I set him straight and he will apologize tomorrow, okay.” Nodding you rub your sore eyes. “You tired?”

“Hmmm…a bit. I drove for hours, believing John is in trouble.”

“Let’s sleep a bit and tomorrow…is another day.” While you lie on your pillow, Dean covers your body with a warm blanket. He turns to leave, says his goodbye but you hold out your hand.

“Stay with me?” Sniffling you watch Dean kick his shoes off before he locks the door. He’s crawling onto the bed, wrapping his arms tightly around you.

“If you want me to; I’ll make sure you will never be alone again…”

SPN Forever Tags

@donnaintx, @screechingartisancashbailiff, @fallen-wolf22, @sister-winchesters99, @mogaruke, @the-is13, @helloitsmeamie203, @sandlee44, @strayrosesbloom, @notyourtypicalrose, @thewinchesterco, @marvelfansworld, @hobby27, @gh0stgurl, @flamencodiva, @jay-and-dean@voltage-my2dlove, @spnhollis, @chonisberonica, @wittysunflower, @supernaturalenchanted, @shikshinkwon, @yolobloggers, @hhiggs, @laxe-from-outer-space, @ilovefanfic86, @linki-locks11, @eggingamazinglove, @trumpettay, @fandom-imagines1, @thenamelesschibi, @waywardbaby, @straycuties9, @drakelover78, @stuckys-whore, @zxph-yr, @i-love-superhero, @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt, @deepmuffinspymaker, @katpatrova17, @heyitscam99, @fandom-princess-forevermore, @neii3n, @exo-nova, @cocklesbelli, @echoesofpassion, @lauravic, @shatteredabby, @deanmonandnegansbitch, @sea040561, @lemondropirwin, @lonewolf471, @wronglanemendes, @juniorhuntersam, @helpmeluci, @goodgodimaweirdperson​, @shadowkat-83, @alltimesamantha, @officialmarvelwhore​, @meganywinchester, @miraclesoflove, @lu-sullivan, @maniacproffesor​, @hollymac79​, @kayla-2000, @gracefultrenchcoat494, @babygirls-fav​, @spnwoman​, @amiquette, @alexoloughlinlover32, @geekofmanyforms​, @jessica-marsh09​, @spnficgirl​, @shut-themoonscone​, @thequeenreaders​, @countrygal17a​, @atomicfandombomb​, @kteelou​, @soryuwifeyxx​, @kricketc28​, @defenderrosetyler​, @shortwinchester​, @maybesomedaygayyyy​, @tmiships4life​, @sabascio​, @that-place-called-middle-earth​, @the-broken-angel-13​, @bunnybaby89​, @pandabiiissh​, @maddiedott​, @lilulo-12​, @theoneandonlymelol​, @mblaqgi​, @clawsandshotguns​, @justsomedreaming​, @cassiopeia-barrow​, @its-the-timey-wimey-winchesters​, @mscarter213​, @jo-like-josette​, @mep6811​, @prettydeaneyes​, @rvgrsbrns​, @deanwanddamons​, @certaindeanwinchesterforcastiel​

Dean/Jensen Forever Tags

@spnfamily-j2​, @supernatural-bellawinchester​, @negans-lucille-tblr​, @deans-baby-momma​, @thefaithfulwriter​, @squirrelnotsam​, @roonyxx​, @neerness​, @deansgirl-1968​, @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester​, @butifulsoul125​, @lyinginthegingerlocks​, @20gayneen​, @janicho88​, @woodworthti666​, @thevelvetseries​, @dreaminemz​, @akshi8278​, @midnightsilver16830​, @mrspeacem1nusone​, @ria132love​, @caligraphee​, @the-witch-in-silence​, @justanotherwinchester​, @multisuperfandom​, @jason-todd-squad​, @jadesupernatural​, @psychicforest​, @luciathewinchestergirl​, @magssteenkamp​, @palefiregiver​, @tranquility-or-chaos​, @jxackles​, @michellemxndes​, @addictedtofictionalcharacters​, @gabifernandessn​

[danwhobrowses]

Ghost of Tsushima: Thoughts, Ideas and Hopes for DLC and Sequels

So I recently Platinum’d Ghost of Tsushima, I finished the story last week after 30 entries of livestreams which saw a whopping viewership of at most 2 people including one asshole that decided to spoil the end of Act II before I got there because I was playing stealthy and the way I wanted to play. But then wrapped up the Achievements on my own time. After a bit of stewing I’m ready to talk gush about it, including what I liked, a small bit of stuff I disliked and stuff I would suggest for future DLC and Sequel(s)

Spoilers for the Game, unlike that Commenter on my Stream I will not Spoil you on this, it is truly something you should experience for yourself

Because Good Lord, What A Game. Easily my Game of the Year, which compared to all the big hitter titles released is amazing, I mean Crash Bandicoot could still blow me away and Cyberpunk, Watch Dogs, Godfall, AC Valhalla and Miles Morales in waiting but probably not in this way. It is a magnificent game, one made with fantastic care and beauty, but before I go all out, let’s get the negatives out of the way 出る杭は打たれる。: A Flawed Masterpiece Ghost of Tsushima is brilliant but not without its faults. Most of these faults are admittedly minuscule and fixable, but until they are fixed they remain flaws. The biggest disappointment for me with the game was the lack of Japanese lip syncing. I loved the Japanese track, it also highly appealed to me to hear One Piece’s Roronoa Zoro voice Jin, but you have to kinda avoid looking at the mouths because it doesn’t match up, the models still speak in English and it’s a heavy shame that can kill some immersion. I guess they didn’t have the finances for it, because they could’ve done the lip syncs at the same time as they did the English ones if they had the Japanese track too. Combat for the most part was great, aiming could be wonky at times and Jin’s attacks didn’t carry on to a 1 foot ledge, but my main gripe with combat was the Camera getting in the way. It was adjustable most times, but other times it was not. Doing standoffs in the tall grass was night impossible at the later stages without the knees giving us a tell, one standoff I had was completely obstructed by a tree - I’m not making it up, a tree was literally all I saw for the Standoff. You lose so much health for failing a standoff too, bit harmful in later levels. The remaining issues are probably more personal, I didn’t quite like some of the sword kit designs - the ones with fluffy sleeves and I didn’t really like the armor dye you get for 100%ing the achievements, some weapons seemed to lose their luster in later parts of the game (particularly the half bow and Explosive Arrow, the former was only good for killing the angry doggos and the latter only killed Mongols if near another explosive to stack), that one Masako quest mission where you have to follow and pick off Straw Hats one by one without being seen, but will fail if you pull a triple assassination before the outpost where Masako’s lesbian lover was leading them all to so there’s more Straw Hats to blow my cover! (it wasn’t difficult it just annoyed me that it failed me for killing them all early) and the completionist in me hates that there are empty slots in the arrow and blowgun sections, but they can be worked in what I’ll talk about a bit later down the line, alongside some minor loose threads. Also you killed my horse man!

Your horse will accompany you on your entire journey - Ghost of Tsushima UI Message

Don’t you dare lie to me like that again Sucker Punch! Just because you’re named that doesn’t mean you can live up to it, we already lost one horse at the beach! Had to spend the final act with Not-Sora and Kaze with a hole in my heart never to be filled. But with that dealt with, let’s talk about some things I loved about the game

花は桜木人は武士 :  Living into a Legend With these games it is very easy to fall into the Elder Scrolls prototype of an array fun side quests and exploration and a so-so main story. Ghost of Tsushima though decided to have both the array of side quests and exploration and a great, complex and partly tragic story. There were many times I wanted to get back to the main story but held off because I wanted to be prepared. Long distances didn’t feel too bad to travel when the roads were uncharted either thanks to radiant battles, new settlements, vanity gear and side missions to ease you on the way. Additionally, the characters are for the most part fantastic, I cared for the safety of most of my allies and Jin himself, I wanted the Khan dead in a cerebral villain (albeit one whose final battle fell into cowardice) and I was open to the complexities of Ishikawa and Tomoe. I did feel that Shimura was being a tad ungrateful but I think it was intended for us to be frustrated to the edicts of the Samurai code - my frustration led me so much to deep dive to prove myself justified since the code was subjective and many agreed to aspects of ‘win no matter what’ and ‘do what protects the people the most’. Along with the main quest was paired with the character journeys of our allies as well as the Mythic tales which granted some extra strength and challenges to overcome in order to expand Jin’s arsenal. I particularly liked the observation and killing of leaders to learn new stances, as well as the widely acclaimed Stand-Off and the duels. The Arkhamverse fan in me did appreciate the focused hearing for stealth and that assassination speed could be upgraded. The idea of collecting vanity gear, armour dyes and equipment that are remains of the conflict showed that SP had completely immersed their plot into the world of Tsushima, with a great amount of exploration and nuances nodding to Japanese folklore And Tsushima is certainly stunning, it’s amazing that the PS4 can hold this much when we know how the PS5 is meant to be with ray tracing. The landscapes are beauteous which makes exploration and travel much more fulfilling, as well as the photo mode and the scenic builds to some of the major battles. What’s also wonderful is the calligraphy cutscenes for Mythic Tales and the loading screens, some wonderful artistry. Artistry which is added to by the brilliant uses of Haiku spots, Bamboo Strikes, Lighthouses, Shrines, Altars which you bow to, Fox dens where you can pet the Foxxos and even the Hot Springs for some ‘Man-Butt Action’, each positions that fit to Japanese media in soaking in a moment without killing any pace, especially added to the fact that each one contributes to a purpose. I will admit, I chose wrong at the end, I was thinking more of Shimura (said ungrateful uncle)’s honour rather than what Jin would what, feeling that Shimura would’ve done it himself had Jin not. But seeing the spare ending made me wish I chose that one and it’s something I’ll touch on later. But both endings are fitting and tragic for Jin’s journey from Samurai to the Ghost, being inspired by his allies and his connection to Yuna, there has been conflict throughout regarding the line of protection, honour and vengeance explored through other people’s tales that blend together perfectly with the main plot.  It is pretty political as well with the argument presented by Jin and Shimura’s conflict. Samurai while still romanticised were still shown to be bound to the blind loyalty towards the Shogun and Jito, you did not defy because it inspired others to think freely. Jin became a champion of a people by defending the people rather than listening to the jito - represented by the shogunate - and their stringent ideas that the Samurai who failed on the beach would be able to out-muster the force and brutality of the Mongol invasion regardless of the collateral and yet still call that honour. In the current climate in 2020, that hits a chord a little closer than expected. And the main story certainly has their stellar moments, the ups and downs really hit you - like killing my freaking horse! I had to lose Yuriko, Taka and Sora in a single playthrough. Losing Taka was inevitable, but still heartbreaking because of how much we struggled to save him and how much we want to still be Yuna’s friend, but then the highs just blow you away from the opening act, Ghost Stance, raiding Castle Kaneda and Shimura and the final raid at Port Izumi. Also did I mention that you can pet the Foxxos? Because that’s very important, also NPCs walk at your pace most of the time, which is a fantastic addition. I could probably go deeper but there’s other stuff I want to cover, but understand that the world and the story is wonderful and if you’re a fan of Assassin’s Creed, Arkhamverse and just Japanese culture in general this should tick your boxes. And hopefully there’s more to come.

石の上にも三年 : Strait to DLC The sad thing that happens when a good game is over is the void. Even if its days, having nothing left of the game to play is still a shame, and I know that Legends DLC is announced, but multiplayer involving fighting Oni as mythic legends isn’t my pace, I’m still not done with Jin and I feel like there are things we could still do. There are still 3 conflicts Jin’s story never resolved that could still be resolved now, each as multi-layered quests. The first is this ‘Ghost Army’ mentioned by the wagon guy in Omi, we are not leading this so who is? We may not be able to stop them but we could reduce the amount of people thinking we’re leading them to fight. The second is Daizo, if you don’t know that name it’s because the guy is never seen in the game, you only read about him in the Records of ‘Conversations with the Khan’. This Japanese Monk clearly has a thing for the late Khotun and he feels that the Ghost is being a dishonorable monster, this Khan lover is still at large and a confidant of Khotun, we could link with Norio in a quest to ensure he doesn’t rally or try to spread his appreciation of the Khan to others to try and complete Khotun’s work. The final conflict is one that eats me up: How did the Mongols Know About the Poison? Yuriko died showing me how to make the poisons, made more potent from her own herbal poisons which were crushed down, if she didn’t tell and I didn’t tell, who told? Because the Mongols drank the evidence and we could make a story of an Omi village traitor or even someone from Shimura’s camp leaking the info to the Khan to try and preserve ‘honour’. On top of these loose ends I’d very much like to see our allies again, even if they’re just at their home doing their own thing, as well as some other minor side characters like the Tadayori descendant Kaede, Flame Swordsman Bettomaru (who would’ve both been mighty useful with this Mongol affair beyond their sole missions) and the Yarikawa Archer Daikoku, I also would like to see confirmation on Jin and Yuna - there is clearly something there but that could be just me. What is also just me would be the suggestion of a shrine that can let you redo the Shimura decision, it’s not a too ‘out-there’ thing to do either considering we fought a Tengu. The shrine could be for Omoikane, Kami of wisdom and intelligence or Ame-no-Koyane, the ‘First in Charge of Divine Affairs’ which’d subject the player to a gauntlet of bosses past; Ryuzo, Kotun and Shimura, if the player goes against their initial decision, they will trade their ghost armour dye for the other and get a Charm of Pondering, if they stick to their guns they get both ghost armour dyes and a Charm of Strengthened Stance. In similar vein we could have a master Mythic Tale that stacks the duels of those tales into one for another special attack, weapon or armour. It’s also possible that we could add more duels, some remnants trying to avenge Khotun or even some Samurai sent by the Shogun in promise of becoming Jito. Likewise we can use this to complete the weapons set; for the Half Bow, take the Mongols’ poison arrows (which can be a reward for finding who leaked the poison to them) which can just eat at lesser enemies’ health and take a chunk of stronger enemies’ health before resolving out of it, as well as a sticky arrow that could slow enemies or weaken their armour, or a perfume arrow that can mess with the falcons and angry doggo’s senses. For the Long Bow we could have...okay I’m drawing a blank here but I’m not meant to do all the work XD For the Blowgun at least you could have a Blinding Dart to aid in stealth and a Panic Dart to increase chances of Terrify. We could even have a few more upgrades to our ghost weapons and stance combats, even increase the amount of kills Ghost Stance can yield. In addition to more Fox Dens, Shrines, maybe new resources to bolster upgrades, Sword Kits, Haikus, Banners, Flute Songs, dyes and so on. But I know what you’re thinking, we can’t put that all in Tsushima? We’ve covered the entire island and it’s unlikely that SP would make a fictitious island. And to that I say, I have that covered. In the Tsushima Strait between the island and the mainland there is Iki Island, part of the same prefecture and equally ravaged by the Mongols during the invasion, it’s also the base of pirates which can offer a stop point for a Tomoe reunion or simply travel via Umugi Cove. A small bit of expansion wouldn’t hurt, as long as Iki isn’t planned for something else that is.

能ある鷹は爪を隠す : Hopes for a Sequel Now part of me would be content if this was a one and done, the game shines perfectly on its own. But I would not turn one down. Though many would feel that Jin’s journey is done (I even heard a suggestion of Tomoe, I could see that but not right now, maybe for a third) but not me, there’s still a few glaring issues at hand. For one, the Shogun now wants you dead, new clans are moving in on you and there will probably be a new Jito regardless of the ending choice because of Shimura’s failure, Adachi will also need to look at another clan taking its land. There’s also the vacuum left behind by the clans’ subsidiaries; Nagao particularly but also Adachi’s rival clan Kikuchi, there’s easily possibilities to use canon Sō, Abiru, Shōni and Imagawa, there’s also room for Kikuchi Takefusa, who survived both Mongol invasions  . A sequel could offer some clan territorial tensions in that regard as the people of Tsushima side with the Ghost over the mainland. That conflict is one we have touched on in the end of the first, Jin has fought for his country’s safety so how will he act when his country wants him dead? The first was a story of sacrifice perhaps the next can be a story of maintaining his legend, inspiring the mainland Samurai and even redeeming himself in the eyes of the non-Tsushima natives. It’s also worth remembering that Komoda was the beginning of the invasion, and there was a second invasion 6 years later where Tsushima was attacked once more, the death of non-canon Khotun could spark other higher ups of Kublai’s ranks to avenge or clean up for Khotun, Kublai also had counsel from different nations to understand his enemy so we could have an even more vicious and cerebral enemy be made, or even a group of enemies led by advisors like Liu Kan or Yao Shu, maybe even Marco Polo if we move the time after the first invasion. In terms of gameplay we could also see Jin expand from Tsushima to Iki and maybe some more naval warfare, growing in his equipment (like Caltrops, Kusari-Fundo and Suntetsu) and maybe even his weapon, an Ono, Jitte or a Naginata to rotate with his not-yet-made Katana to combat with Samurai or the army of a Mongol threat, maybe even use the Bo-Hiya for ranged fire archery learned from the Hwacha. And like the Mass Effect games (or Dragon Ball Xenoverse if you wanna pick a franchise that didn’t end in a bitter aftertaste) you could have the option to transfer over some data from the PS4 save to the next one, which’d inevitably be on PS5 at the least - also don’t be surprised if this gets a PS5 remaster too, especially if it does win Game of the Year. What I suggested for DLC could be used here too, if there is a sequel with Jin I really, really hope that SP don’t opt for the route of killing Jin (or Yuna) off for effect, I was nervous about the current game ending with Hara Kiri and I’d rather not have that or a downer of a death for the legendary Ghost (I am a happy endings guy after all). An alternative route to go (other than following Tomoe to the mainland to rip off the Ghost) is to work backwards, call it ‘Ghosts of Tsushima’ working towards a story of a more ancient time, where a thief could become a samurai clan. A clan Sakai or Shimura origin would sell in that way too and avoid the idea that we have to start again from zero but still have the more ‘dishonorable’ stealth tactics.

義は険しい山よりも重く、死は大鳥の羽よりも軽い : Conclusion In the end, this game was worth the wait, worth the delays and worth the price tag. I feel like this will be one of the games I’ll fondly remember when thinking of the PS4, which has truly had a stellar library of awesome games like Spider-Man, God of War, the Crash, Ratchet & Clank and Spyro Remasters, DMCV, Jedi: Fallen Order and more. This truly ticked the boxes for the anime nerd within me and the history buff, even the Haikus spurred the poet in me a little too. If anyone hasn’t played this game, they should, and I hope that Sucker Punch realises that people like me want to see more. If it stands alone so be it, but I’m not ready to leave Jin or Tsushima just yet. いってらっしゃい

[sustraiii]

TEAM ZRCN ARC 3 - CHAPTER 6

Just what is Belleza Rossi planning?

BELLEZA

For the third time in that hour Belleza looked down at her watch, and for the third time in that same hour she frowned.

Lifting her head she looked out of the window in front of her, looking up at the looming shape that was the city of Atlas in the distance ahead. Soon the time would come for plans to come into fruition that had been in motion since she was a little girl. Soon her family would have justice for their wrongs that they had suffered. Atlas wouldn’t fall, but it would be brought to its knees and a just punishment would be exacted.

Belleza looked down at her watch again.

“They should have been here by now.” Belleza grunted, turning around to face her sisters. “You know I wouldn’t be surprised if this is Wisteria’s doing. Keeping us in wait just to spite us.”

“You’d do well to exercise some patience, Belle.” Bianca suggested, barely giving her sister a glance as she flicked a page in the book she was reading. She only looked up to frown disapprovingly when she caught Belleza mocking her silently. “A Sentinel isn’t the easiest object to carry.” “Miho’s lifted heavier than that,” She replied. Miho could have easily carried the two damaged Sentinels back by herself, but Bianca had advised the woman to go alone instead of taking Wisteria and Sparrow with her. 

“I should have gone with her. We’d have been back by now and-”

“I don’t think it's wise for you two to be together right now. Not after what you did.” Bianca told her with a firm tone, sharply shutting a book to emphasise her point. Calantha jumped at the sudden sound, but Belleza was unflinching in challenging her sister's gaze. “Don’t think I’m not unaware of what’s going on here, Belle. I know this all goes back to what you two did on Shizukana.”

“Oh, it goes back further than that and you know it, Bee,” Belleza smiled sweetly at her sister, but her eyes portrayed the darkness behind that smile. “I’m glad to see your mind is still as sharp as ever though - at least we know you haven’t taken a turn as father did.” The smile faded when Belleza turned away at the sound of footsteps in the corridor behind her. “Not yet anyway.”

Finally, an hour after they were scheduled, Miho, Wisteria, and Sparrow had arrived. As Belleza had suspected, Miho was carrying one of the damaged Sentinels over one shoulder, showing no signs of discomfort at carrying the robot. The same could not be said for Wisteria and Sparrow who were visibly struggling to carry the remaining Sentinel between them - more Sparrow than Wisteria. As soon as the robots had been set down, Sparrow turned to speak to her with an alarmingly quick twist.

“Can we talk?” They asked, no, demanded of Belleza. Such was the speed in which they talked that their question was nearly impossible to make out. 

“Later,” Belleza promised, giving the slim individual a knowing look. Sparrow responded with a sharp nod. “Leave us.”

Miho and Sparrow left with no argument, but Wisteria lingered a tad longer, giving her an annoyed glance. “What, no thank you?” She asked.

“And what should I be thanking you for exactly?” Belleza asked, inclining her head to one side as she spoke. “Thank you for delivering the robots you were told to retrieve? Thank you for being late? You should be thankful I’m not questioning you more about what took you so long.”

“You’d struggle too if you had to sneak those things away from the military. It’s not exactly easy to evade them when they’re all swarming the area.”

“And yet I’ve been doing it since before you were born.” A slight embellishment of the truth but it was close enough. Wisteria finally seemed to relent, exiting the room with a shrug. Without turning around, Belleza snapped her fingers and pointed to the less damaged Sentinel, a silent gesture for Calantha to get to work.

Calantha knelt next to the robot with the gaping hole in its chest, staring intently at her modified scroll which she was using to run diagnostics on it. Bianca stood looming over the bullet-riddled Sentinel, a scowl on her features. Belleza came to stand beside her and looked down at the robot herself. There was no point in getting Calantha to try and get anything from it, as much as it pained Belleza to admit it, the robot had suffered too much damage to the head. She kicked it in frustration.

Bianca tutted. “What a waste.” 

Belleza paced over to Calantha. She made a movement to try and take Calantha’s scroll from her but restrained herself when she noted Bianca watching them closely like a mother hen. “How’s it looking?” she asked. “Is it fixable?”

Calantha must have been aware of Belleza’s attempts to snatch up her scroll, or perhaps was recounting the last time her elder sister had been present when she was scanning a robot, as she held her scroll close to her chest for a moment. When she realised she wasn’t in any danger for the moment she moved it away, tapped a few squares on the screen before shaking her head. “I warned you this would happen…” She mumbled quietly.

Belleza gave her a small kick with the tip of her shoe. “Speak up, little lamb. I can’t hear you.” “Belle,” Bianca warned.

Calantha shifted uncomfortably, before pressing on. “If we had enough spare supplies I could maybe make the necessary repairs,” She admitted. “However, we do not, and even if we did, without a proper workbench and equipment I am unable to fix this. We’ll have to dispose of them both.”

Bianca let out a disappointed sigh; Belleza was inclined to follow suit. “Fine,” Belleza grumbled, “I’ll have Miho dispose of them. I trust she’ll find somewhere discreet and out of sight to do so.”

“There’s some saved video footage from when it was attacked if you’d like to see it,” Calantha offered, gesturing to what looked like a still frame on her scroll.

“Play it,” Bianca demanded. “I want to see what happened.”

The three sisters huddled together to watch as the robots’ final battle unfolded. 

The footage was not as long as Belleza had expected, and only seemed to cover the final seconds before the Sentinel was destroyed. In the video, the red-haired boy from Team ZRCN was protecting his slightly winded leader from a finishing blow, only instead of the Sentinel landing an attack, there was a faint metallic noise before the tip of a flaming blade pierced its chest. Belleza found it interesting that the person to land the blow had not been one of ZRCN, but none other than Helia Vines, who appeared in the final few seconds of the video before it finally cut out.

Belleza could already feel Bianca’s gaze boring into her, no doubt beginning to put more pieces together in that clever little mind of hers. Although Belleza managed to conceal her true feelings on the matter, it was hard to hold off the joy she felt at knowing her plan had worked - Helia had unknowingly taken her bait and ran with it, and now the seeds of doubt and fear had been planted in ZRCN. It would make hunting them down all the more satisfying in the long run.

“Finish up here,” Belleza instructed, emphatically snapping her fingers at the youngest sister. “And then ready yourself, little lamb. You’ll be going on a little mission for us.”

“M-Me?” Calantha stammered.

“She’s not even combat trained!” Bianca protested, staring wide-eyed at Belleza - as though she had made the most ludicrous suggestion.

Belleza silenced her with a wave of the hand. “She doesn’t have to be,” She explained, putting on a fake soothing tone. “Just so long as she can keep our remaining Sentinel in working order before and during a battle she’s fine as she is.”

Calantha gulped at this and Bianca narrowed her eyes. “Just what do you have planned, Belle?”

“All in due time, Bianca,” She said with a smile, “All in due time.”

With those parting words, she left her sisters to finish up their business with the damaged robots, though considering both were ruined beyond repair she couldn’t imagine there would be much left to fiddle with. At the end of the corridor, she found Miho, Wisteria, and Sparrow all waiting for her, no doubt expecting instructions on their next mission. Without saying a word, Belleza gestured for Miho to head back into the room behind her. The big woman gave a curt nod and quietly made her way past her. 

Belleza’s attention then moved to Wisteria. “You may go.” She said with a dry tone, to which Wisteria merely shrugged in response.

“Don’t stray too far,” Belleza advised as Wisteria moved to leave. “We may need you again soon.”

Belleza didn’t even need to tell Sparrow to speak after Wisteria left, they had already jumped to their feet practically as soon as the door had closed behind her. 

“My, my,” Belleza chuckled. “Someone is very keen today. What do you have for me, dear Sparrow?”

“I found your little bug,” Sparrow said with a wink.

“Do you have proof?”

“Of course,” Sparrow nodded, before taking the scroll out to show Belleza the picture they had taken.”Look who’s with her too.”

Belleza’s face lit up when she saw the screen. “Oh, Sparrow, this is delightful. Truly, you have no idea of how happy this makes me.” She put her hand on their shoulder and gave them a small squeeze. “When we return to Olympia you will be rewarded for this.”

Looking back at the scroll, Belleza was keen to take in the picture one last time before she handed it back to Sparrow. Finally, she had photographic proof that Nieve was alive and well in Atlas, and not only that, but that Wisteria knew where she was too. There was no way she could deny it - the purple-haired woman in the picture was so obviously her.

Bianca wouldn’t like it, but with this photograph Belleza had all the justification she needed to see that Wisteria and Nieve were punished. It would have to wait until after they had delivered a little surprise for ZRCN, of course, but the plan could be put into motion at last. It was a long time coming, but Wisteria would finally be brought to heel for wronging Belleza Rossi one too many times.

[needtherapy]

soaring, carried aloft on the wind…continued 12

A story for Xichen and Mingjue, in another time and another place.

The Beifeng, the mighty empire of the north, invaded more than a year ago, moving inexorably south and east.

In order to buy peace, the chief of the Lan clan has given the Beifeng warlord a gift, his second oldest son in marriage. However, when Xichen finds out he makes a plan.

He, too, can give a gift to the Beifeng warlord, and he will not regret it.

Part 1: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 … HOME

It’s on AO3 here if that’s easier to read.

NOTES: Chapters 11 and 13 are explict. This one is not.

For translations of the entirely fictitious Beifeng language, you’ll have to scroll to notes. I’m only going to translate something that’s not clear in the text. Sadly, there’s just not any other good way to do it on Tumblr!

Chapter 12

Xichen feels guilty. Of course he feels guilty. He knows why the soldiers leave at night and return in the morning. He knows what the cavalry troops train to do, what the archers practice for, what Mingjue spends his days planning.

But he is part of the Beifeng now, whether he is content or miserable, and how can he resist being cherished? How can he reject the kindness and affection Mingjue shows him? Or, for that matter, the friendship that Huaisang and Qingyang have offered him. 

His life falls into a routine, and there is solace in knowing what tomorrow will bring.

Most of his days are spent studying Orera with Qingyang and working in the hospital tents. He plays songs of power—Tranquility or Rest—with injured or dying soldiers. It is a gift no one else in the Beifeng encampment has. Using his magic, depleting his gift day after day, makes Xichen feel like maybe he truly can belong here, and he is not just an ornament on a shelf.

Huaisang shows Xichen how Kitingi hunts, mostly for birds smaller than herself, and Xichen begins to grow accustomed to the tiny, fierce munaku, as much one of the Beifeng as Huaisang himself. 

It doesn’t take long before Kitingi begins to ride on Xichen’s shoulder, enjoying his higher vantage, and although her claws puncture holes in his clothes, and he usually has to heal small wounds, he can’t help feeling honored to be chosen. Unlike the other hunting birds, she has no jesses, and she is never hooded. She spends most of her time circling the sky, and he wonders why she never leaves. 

Xichen had thought her name would have significance, but Huaisang’s smile is a little abashed when he holds out her wing so Xichen can see the curving shape of it. 

“Kitingi are a kind of fan,” he says. “They can be weapons,” he adds defensively when Xichen laughs.

“Is your name a kind of fan as well?” Xichen teases, and laughs harder when Huaisang wryly admits that “Aurakat” means “falling leaves.” 

“It’s a metaphor about the inevitability of change,” he explains. “If my mother was trying to send my father a message, it didn’t work. I have a younger brother and sister.”

“I have often thought my name was a message from my mother, too,” Xichen says after a pause. He is always reluctant to casually discuss his family, but it is so hard to resist this extended hand of friendship.

Huaisang’s forehead wrinkles in confusion, but he doesn’t pry, and the not-asking gives Xichen courage to continue.

“My birth name,” Xichen clarifies. “Huan. It means to melt away. Her fears for her first child, I think.” Xichen shrugs. He doesn't truly know, and he wishes, he wishes he could have a chance to ask.

“You have another name? Why do your people have so many names?” 

Huaisang sounds shocked and exasperated, but Xichen knows that Huaisang is perfectly aware of his birth name. It is in their treaty. Regardless of how the Beifeng feel about names, Huaisang has always called Xichen by his formal name or title, a polite gesture Xichen appreciates. He wonders if Mingjue knows his other name too and decides he should tell him. He doesn’t know why it matters. It shouldn’t matter. Xichen isn’t sure if he would even feel comfortable with anyone calling him by his birth name anymore. And yet, it feels like something important he wants Mingjue to know.

Some days, Huaisang and Xichen visit the fighting arena, and despite his protestations, Huaisang is usually willing to spar. He’s no match for Xichen’s swordsmanship, but he is quick, albeit prone to defense. When Xichen asks, Huaisang demonstrates how kitingi fighting fans work in battle, after blushing when he admits he likes using them. Xichen doesn’t know why it would be embarrassing. Kitingi fans have tiny blades set into the spines, nearly invisible but deadly. Because the fans are shorter than a sword, it shifts the fighting style, adding sweeping throws, spins, and swift lunges so unlike the ipira sword fighting most of the Beifeng favor. It is absolutely spectacular to watch, and Huaisang flushes again when he sees Xichen’s admiration. A part of Xichen yearns to learn this beautiful and graceful dance someday, but it makes him wonder—someday the Beifeng army will go home, and when they do, what will happen to him? He has difficulty believing the warlord’s concubine will have the same freedom and respect there as he does here. 

It takes some convincing, but once Huaisang sees that Xichen’s first win over Mingjue wasn’t an aberration, he eventually relents to letting Xichen spar with other Beifeng soldiers in the group melee. It is the only time Xichen ever feels truly challenged in the sparring arena unless Mingjue joins them. In those cases, the bouts nearly always end in Xichen’s tent, no matter which of them wins the fight. Occasionally, they don’t even make it that far, and more than once, Mingjue pulls Xichen into the nearest empty tent.

Xichen suspects he should be embarrassed about how infatuated he is, but he discovers that the lightning that strikes him every time Mingjue touches him doesn’t diminish over time or with familiarity. 

Some days he only sees Mingjue briefly, enough for his fingers to tingle when Mingjue’s hand tightens around his, or his breath to make the smallest hiccup when Mingjue smiles at him.

Some days when he sees Mingjue, he is grim-faced and distracted, uncomfortably reminding Xichen that he is still a commander and this is still an army intent on conquering his country. 

Whatever guilt he feels is largely that he feels less and less guilt every day.

Xichen knows he should feel more compunction about his growing comfort with his new life, but he finds that actually, he prefers to not feel the tight grip of guilt and turmoil constricting his chest at every moment. He hadn’t realized—how could he, when it was all he had ever known—that his life had always been resting on a knife’s edge, watching his father for approval, constructing arguments to pacify the elders, waiting for the next clan skirmish, even carefully protecting his brother. Here, he does not have to be vigilant Lan heir or cautious older brother. He can be only Xichen.

And some days, the days Xichen likes best, are the ones where Mingjue stays after dinner. Sometimes he listens to Xichen play the guqin, sometimes Xichen reads aloud with Mingjue’s head pillowed on his lap, and sometimes Mingjue proves that Huaisang was right: there is no better way to learn a language than in bed.

There are a few things, though, that are easier to learn from Huaisang. Xichen is surprised at how willing Huaisang is to tell him about the Beifeng. In fact, he seems determined that Xichen should understand their politics, their social structures, even their military strategy. Xichen thinks it is mostly because Huaisang is angling for reciprocal information. It’s subtle, but for every question Huaisang answers about the Beifeng, including learning their name for themselves, Ikarahu, he eventually asks of Xichen. 

They talk of matters as complicated as inheritance and succession, as different as religious observance—Huaisang scoffs at the idea of gods, and Xichen tries not to be scandalized—and as inane as wedding customs. The Ikarahu are always wed outdoors, barefoot and unbraided, whereas Xichen’s clan requires only formal negotiations, and weddings are a rare luxury. The only thing they have in common is that both ceremonies—contracts, as Xichen thinks of them—are perfected by physical contact. A kiss, Huaisang insists, although Xichen points out that a handshake is also acceptable contact, and preferable if the parties have never met, as is often the case.

“You’re just not a romantic,” Huaisang complains.

Xichen laughs, but he believes Huaisang is right. He’s never had the luxury to be one.

Huaisang tells Xichen about the Ikarahu king, the ahukau, who turns out to be his and Mingjue’s father. It is a stunning revelation. Xichen knows the treaty. He had memorized every line of the contract he rewrote—a gift for the warlord’s pleasure are words he will never forget. He knows it was never mentioned that the Ikarahu warlord was also the crown prince of Ikara. 

Xichen tries to regain his bearings and reevaluate what this means for his future as he stammers through answers to Huaisang’s questions about how the child emperor rules the clans. Or, as Xichen says with a grimace, doesn’t. The clans either build alliances among themselves or fight among themselves, particularly the smaller ones, which Huaisang thinks is counterproductive. He unabashedly brags that the ahukau rules a united country of tribes along with a council made of randomly selected tribal elders.

“Your country is so barbaric,” he tells Xichen with a grin. 

It is humbling to realize that to Huaisang, it very likely is. The world hasn’t changed, he thinks ruefully. Just the view from where he’s standing.

After one particularly arduous day of healing and a disagreement about the role of women in war, Huaisang introduces Xichen to Ikarahu ale.

“Women are precious,” Xichen argues, sipping the sweet liquor. It’s not as tart as the wine he’s had, and he likes the way it coats his mouth. “They should not be risked in battle.”

Huaisang grunts. “You’ve clearly never tried to tell that to an Ikarahu woman. Women are glorious and should do whatever they want. Sometimes that’s wielding an ipira.” He downs a cup of ale in a single gulp and yells for more. 

Xichen drinks from his cup again, and it suddenly strikes him as extremely funny that an army encampment has taverns.

“Of course it does.” Huaisang looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “Our soldiers have honor and pride, but they aren’t stupid. Alcohol, prompt pay, and warm socks are how you keep an army happy.”

“Don’t you worry about drunken fighting? Or…va...van...” Xichen can’t think of the word. “Property damage?”

“Not significantly,” Huaisang snorts, slamming coins down on the table when someone hands him a fresh bottle. “Ipira’orhew Ikira says no drunken fighting and his word is law. You wouldn’t believe how few of our people are willing to defy him, even drunk. Especially given...well...you’ve seen the consequences.”

“But there are thousands of people here. They can’t all be afraid of him,” Xichen says dreamily, finishing his cup, which Huaisang refills. “He’s sweet.”

Huaisang falls off his stool laughing. “Please, please let me tell him you said that. Let me tell everyone that Zewu-Jun thinks the crown prince is sweet.”

Xichen blushes and drinks to cover his embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to insult him.”

“Oh, you didn’t. Not at all. My father will be delighted. He has despaired of finding Etikuntiga a spouse. ‘He’s so picky,’” Huaisang says in a different, deeper voice, which Xichen assumes must be imitating his father.

Xichen’s face is burning, and he hides it in his hands. “It isn’t like that, and you know it.”

“It is like that, and you know it,” Huaisang retorts. 

“But...what about children? Mustn't your crown prince have children?” 

Huaisang howls with laughter, clutching his sides, and Xichen claps a hand over his mouth. Why can’t he stop saying the wrong thing?

Huaisang tips over to lay sprawled on the ground. “What about them? Pointless, in my opinion, but if you insist, you can always adopt.”

For a moment, Xichen is frozen by the idea of children, not just children as abstract descendants to inherit his position, but children that would be his, children he could tell stories to and teach the guqin to. Children who would know how he loved them, he thinks, and his eyes prick with tears.

Luckily, Huaisang doesn’t notice.

“Xichen, Etikuntiga isn't kipakau because he’s the oldest. We have nakau...well, we did...we do...” He gestures vaguely. “Well anyway, it’s because he’s the best. Not just the best in our family. The best among all the tribes. There was a—what would you call it—a tournament? He won as our father did before him. Leadership must be earned, not only born.”

He burps and takes another drink laying down, spilling some of the alcohol on himself. Xichen laughs, the sound alarmingly close to a giggle, and he clamps his lips shut.

“So yes, my family will be overjoyed that the treaty with the Cloud Recesses was a tremendous success, Ahora'ipa. We could almost go home now.”

He sounds so wistful, Xichen asks without thinking, finishing his cup. “Why don’t you? Why did you come here if you don’t want to stay?”

Huaisang doesn’t answer immediately, but then he raises a hand, beckoning to Xichen. “Come here, Zewu-Jun, and I will tell you a secret.”

Xichen doesn’t know why he obeys, but he does, laying on the ground next to Huaisang. It seems safer here anyway. There is less spinning.

Huaisang scoots over and whispers, “We used to have an older sister, too, Zewu-Jun. She shone like the summer sun, and I loved her. She is lost to us forever. What else should we do?” He blinks, and there are tears welling in his eyes.

“Anati, eina anha eko?” The sudden interjection of Mingjue’s voice sounds exasperated, and both Huaisang and Xichen startle. He kicks the bottom of Huaisang’s boot gently.

“Anakau! Onho outam!” Huaisang sounds delighted to see Mingjue, and he waves cheerfully, his sorrow already forgotten. “Edi eta uni auha oripa with my friend, Xichen!”

Huaisang hisses the word as though he is confessing to a crime, and Xichen wants to protest. He is past his majority and is allowed to drink alcohol if he wants to, and he decides he will, in fact, drink it again; the warm pliancy of his bones pleases him.

“Ingarau ek eko,” Mingjue points out, but he sounds affectionate rather than judgmental. 

“Yes, he is,” Huaisang says, deliberately misunderstanding. “Did you know his name was also Huan? He has too many names, don’t you think?”

Xichen punches Huaisang on the arm, but Huaisang just dissolves into helpless giggles. 

“Why did you tell him that?” Xichen complains. “I was going to tell him. It’s a private name. You don’t just tell people.” 

Mingjue looks at Xichen and raises his eyebrow, but he either doesn’t follow the words or decides not to comment. “Can you walk?”

“Yes,” Xichen says solemnly, staring up at Mingjue. Even from here, he looks pretty, Xichen thinks.

Mingjue waits until he sees Xichen isn’t moving and sighs. He lifts Xichen to a standing position and slowly releases him. Xichen stays upright, so Mingjue crouches down and gracefully pulls Huaisang onto his back with practiced ease. Huaisang wraps his arms around Mingjue’s neck like a baby, and Mingjue hoists his legs.

“Come?” Mingjue asks, beckoning for Xichen to follow him.

Xichen blinks at him. “I can walk.”

“Yes?” Mingjue seems skeptical.

Xichen holds out his hand. “I need help.”

With a grin, Mingjue cocks his elbow and Xichen takes it. It does make walking more tenable, and Xichen leans into Mingjue’s side. He smells like sweat, horses, and cedar trees, and Xichen inhales. He’d never liked the smell of horses before, but now it reminds him of friendship and hard work, callused hands and dimples, soft hair and kisses.

“You are pretty, and you smell nice,” he informs Mingjue, who chuckles, and Huaisang objects.

“Ekos! Do not flirt with my brother while I am in the room.”

“But Huaisang, we’re outside.” And anyway, Xichen thinks this rule is confusing. Hadn’t Huaisang told him it was a good thing that he liked Mingjue?

Huasiang just mumbles “no,” again, and falls asleep.

Mingjue takes Xichen to his tent first, setting Huaisang down on a cushion to help Xichen. He takes off Xichen’s clothes down to his undershirt and pants, unfastens the clip that holds his hair back and touches the ribbon on his forehead, frowning.

“This too?” he asks, and Xichen shakes his head, the motion making his body weave uncontrollably, and he sits down hard on the edge of the bed, grateful he didn’t miss and land on the floor.

“No,” he says, trying to remember why he doesn’t take it off. “It is for...it is for my wedding night. A sacred vow,” he laughs giddily, remembering, and Mingjue furrows his brow.

He starts to ask another question, but shakes his head. “I will ask anati. You sleep.”

Xichen lays down obediently and Mingjue tucks the blankets around him, brushing his lips across Xichen’s forehead.

“Stay?” Xichen asks, catching Mingjue’s hand and kissing the fingertips. 

Mingjue looks very much like he wants to agree, particularly after Xichen touches his lips to the pulse point on his wrist. With a very reluctant sigh, he retrieves his hand.

“No, Xichen,” he says, running his fingers through Xichen’s hair. “You drink much. And Aurakat sleeps.”

Oh. Xichen is disappointed, but of course, Huaisang needs to go back to...wherever it is Huaisang sleeps. Xichen realizes he has no idea if Huaisang has his own tent, or sleeps with a partner—or two. Are they truly friends after all? But then he remembers that Huaisang had told him a secret, and secrets seem like friendship.

“Are we friends?” he asks Mingjue drowsily, and Mingjue shakes his head.

“No, beloved. Ahora'ipa. More.”

More sounds nice, Xichen thinks before he falls asleep. He had never thought to have more.

Translation Notes:

nakau: older siblings (it’s gender neutral, includes both brothers and sisters)

Anati, eina anha eko? = Little brother, what are you doing?

Anakau! Onho outam! Edi eta uni auha oripa with my friend, Xichen! = Elder brother! Join us! I am drinking alcohol with my friend, Xichen!

Ingarau ek eko. = You are drunk.

Ekos! = No!

[strugglingartistno16]

No Matter What

A/N: Hi love, I hope that you’ll enjoy this. And good luck with your exams! 💜

Pairing: None, just some OT7 quality time

Genre: Fluff, fluffier, this... and a pinch of angst oops

Warnings: Jimin and Jin being lil bitches, a bit of fighting, self doubt

Wordcount: 2552

Masterlist

The yellow of the setting sun began to mix with the bright blue of the sky as the last beat echoed through the practice room, slowly getting lost in the heavy panting of the seven men who were tiredly staring at one another through the oblong mirror in front of them.

“All right boys,” The dance instructor called out while clapping his hands with great satisfaction. His gaze wandered around the room, cautiously inspecting each, and every one of them. “You did well today, enjoy your well-deserved free evening. We’re done.”

A fatigued groan escaped from Jimins’ lips as he walked towards his bag, taking the drenched towel from its’ top and wiping his equally wet face with it. His eyes met Namjoons’, who gave him an encouraging smile while continuously arguing with Yoongi about the new song they were currently working on. As his eyes kept on looking around the room, catching a glimpse of Jungkook who asked Hoseok whether his dancing had improved since the last dance practice, he suddenly felt an all too well-known itch in his nose, and before he could stop himself, sneeze after sneeze erupted from his worn out body.

It was a lie if one would say that the others didn’t jump up at the sudden noise that came from the young man. Jin simply stared at him with wide eyes as he counted the seemingly never-ending sneezes on his hand.

“Seven times!” He exclaimed while holding the equivalent amount of his fingers up in the air. “Jiminie, that must be a new record.” Jin laughed while patting the younger ones’ shoulder in playful appreciation.

“This is not funny, hyung.” Jimin whined, nervously shrugging off the eldest hand. “I never sneeze this much!”

Yoongi rolled his eyes as he mimicked his action, quickly pulling his shoulders up before letting them fall while scrolling through his phone. “Maybe you caught a cold, it’s not the end of the world.” Raising an eyebrow, he averted his eyes from the device in his hands, cocking his head towards Jimin. “The reservation is on, are you still coming?”

A long-held tradition among the seven members was to visit one of their favorite restaurants in Korea before traveling to another country. And since they would fly out to America in a couple of days to perform at a Talk Show, they had a reservation at the small barbeque place a few streets away.

Now it was Jimins’ turn to repeat after his hyung, rolling his eyes in annoyance as he quickly retorted, “Of course, I’m coming along, hyung. And I am not sick.” He added, putting great emphasis on the ‘not’.

After this, they all headed towards the black vans that were parked in front of the building, already waiting for the seven men. Jimin replayed his brothers’ words in his head one more time, frowning at his suspicion. He wasn’t sick, it was all but impossible for him to have gotten sick just before the big performance. Not that it was unusual for him to have this sort of luck, since it wouldn’t be the first time for him to have to cancel a performance due to his own body giving up on him. But this time would be different, this time it had to be different.

As he tried to shake off the negative thoughts that spread through his head like a wild fire, he quickly jumped into the back of the car, squeezing in between Taehyung and Jungkook who were having a heated discussion about the empty box of cereal that the elder one of them had supposedly finished without the consent of the younger.

Jimin tried to relax in his seat, trying to fully concentrate on his friends. But it wasn’t until they were all seated at the round wooden table in the restaurant and their food sitting in front of them that Jimin noticed how he might not be feeling as well as he wished.

All he did was push his food around his bowl, quietly sitting amongst the other members who happily ate and drank while – inevitably – discussing the upcoming performance, much to Jimins’ dismay. He tried to convince himself that he was feeling fine, but as time passed his eyelids began to feel heavy and it seemed as if he might fall asleep in his chair at any given second.

It probably would have happened if Namjoon suddenly hadn’t put his hand on the younger ones’ shoulder with such a force, that he teared the tired man from his drowsy state in a mere second. Jimin jolted up, almost jumping from his seat as he stared at the second oldest with wide, questioning eyes.

This only made Namjoon more concerned, as he worried about his younger brothers’ well-being. “Is everything alright?” He asked him, trying to hide the concern in his voice with a sheepish smile. “You haven’t eaten anything at all, and you seem to be really exhausted.”

Jimin simply shrugged his hyungs’ comment off while forcing down another bite of his food to soothe his concern. “It’s not like I’m the only one who’s exhausted, dance practice was tough.”

As for now, Namjoon accepted his answer but Jimin knew that he had to pull himself together so he wouldn’t raise any more suspicion.

After another had passed, Hoseok suggested that they should head home, as everyone was too tired to stay up any longer and nobody protested. As soon as they arrived at their dorm, the seven quickly scattered to their rooms, each of them wanting to finally be able to savor their well-deserved privacy and sleep after such a particularly harsh day.

However, as soon as Jimin entered his room, quickly changing into his pajamas and laying down onto his cozy bed, it seemed as if someone had turned a switch, his mind suddenly wide awake as the tiredness from before suddenly vanished into nothingness. In exchange for his sleepiness, his body swapped it for a throbbing head and a dried out, itchy throat.

The temperature in the room must’ve dropped by a couple degrees as the blanked that Jimin tried to bury himself in appeared to be as thin as a sheet of rice paper, his body helplessly shaking from the sudden chilliness. Jimin tossed and turned in his bed, and few groans escaped from his lips before he inevitably sat up in frustration.

What was wrong with him? It wasn’t like he worked any harder than the other members or did anything extraordinarily demanding which now forced his body to a response like that. Angry with himself and his body, Jimin tried to stand up from his bed, grabbing onto a nearby chair as a wave of nausea hit him. Maybe a glass of water would help.

With a new goal in mind, he quietly shuffled into the kitchen, so he wouldn’t wake up any of the sleeping members. His eyes took longer than usual to adjust to the bright lights, but he ignored the sting in his head as he grabbed a mug from one of the cupboards, again not paying any attention the way that his muscles ached under the simple task.  He turned on the faucet and let the water stream into the empty glass, his gaze fixating on the white tiles in front of him.

What if he was sick? Would he still be able to perform at the show? They had a few hours of singing lessons on the next day, that’s where he would find out whether his voice would be too strained to sing. But, of course, it wouldn’t be. It couldn’t be.

“Yah! What are you doing?” The sudden noise tore Jimin from his thoughts, as he turned around in surprise.

“Jin-hyung.” Jimin tiredly mumbled, staring at the eldest in confusion. “I just wanted to –“ He began as he turned back to his glass of water. It was full to the brim, now overflowing and spilling into the sink and onto the sleeve of Jimins’ shirt.

“Enough.” Jin interrupted him, quickly closing off the faucet in annoyance. “What’s going on with you?”

Jimin averted his eyes from the drink, leaving the glass to sit in the sink as he hung his head low. When he didn’t respond, Jin moved towards him, resting the backside of his hand on the younger ones’ forehead.

“You’re burning up.” He softly mumbled, lifting Jimins’ head up to he could catch a glimpse of his face. “Jimin, you’re sick. Go to bed, I’ll make you some soup.”

Furrowing his eyebrows in desperation, Jimin threw his hands up in the air, staring at his friend in anger. “I am not sick! I’m just tired from practice, that’s all.”

“You have a fever. Please, Jimin go to bed.”

Keeping his glaring eyes focused on the eldest, Jimin shook his head in frustration. “I am fine, Jin-hyung. How can you even tell that I’m sick?” Before Jin could answer, Jimin kept on rambling, “See, you can’t! I am not sick and I will go to practice tomorrow and then I’ll come with you to America and perform at the show and –“

“Would you even listen to yourself?” Jin angrily interrupted the worn-out man in front of him. “This is ridiculous! You’re either going back to bed on your own or I swear to god, I’ll single handedly carry you to that stupid room of yours and lock you in there until you finally get it into that thick scull of yours that you, Jimin, are sick.”

Without another word, Jimin stormed past his brother, hastily walking back into his bedroom while throwing himself into his bed. Immediately, his head began to throb once again, and his throat was hurting more than ever after the short argument.

“Unbelievable.” He mumbled to himself, angrily crossing his arms in front of his chest. Suddenly, his body got covered in goosebumps as the chilly air in his room crept into his bones. A long sigh escaped from his lips, as he stared at the numbers on his clock.

It was one in the morning and he was still not able to fall asleep. The tired mans’ eyes began to sting at the thought of him accepting his fate. That he was sick and would not be able to join his fellow band members in America. That they would perform at the Talk Show without him and that he would stay back in Korea, laying in his stupid bed while sulking at the thought of his stupid body giving up on him once again when he needed it the most.

His thoughts were interrupted be the silent creek of his bedroom door opening and Jimin was ready to tell Jin off when two other black-haired men cautiously peeked into the dim room. Taehyung and Jungkook carefully snuck his bedroom, focusing their gaze onto the elder member as they both were holding onto a few blankets.

Taehyung was the first one to speak up, quietly approaching Jimin who stared at them in confusion. “We heard your fight with Jin-hyung.” He mumbled.

“So, we brought you our favorite blankets. Since, you know, you’re sick and stuff.” Jungkook sheepishly continued while taking a seat on the bed.

Jimin was about to protest when the door opened once more and a rather worried looking Hoseok peeked through the open crack. “Hey!” He exclaimed as he looked at his three friends. “You’re having a sleep-over without me?”

Hoseok stepped into the room, a steaming mug in his hands that smelled heavenly, as he took a seat on the other side of Jimins bed. “I brought you a cup of tea with some honey in it. Jin-hyung told me that it would help with the sore throat.” He informed the younger one as he carefully handed him the hot beverage.

“How did he know?” Jimin mumbled as he sniffed at the tea in his hands, cautiously taking a small sip and immediately feeling better at the warm feeling that spread inside of his body.

Hoseok shrugged his shoulders, simply giving Jimin a telling grin. “I guess he just knows. Listen, I overheard your fight.” He began as Taehyung finally took a seat beside Jungkook after he was finished draping the blankets over the sick member. “Jin is still a bit mad, but he’s working on the soup. Much to his dismay Namjoon decided to help him. Yoongi went into town to get you some cough syrup and something against the fever. He insisted on it, since we’re out of anything like that.”

Jimin slowly nodded with his head, taking in Hoseoks’ words and the sight in front of him. Once again, his eyes began to feel watery as he eyed his friends who watched him with worry in theirs. All of them cared so deeply about him, they went out of their way to help him even after such an exhausting day. There was nothing more in this world that Jimin wanted, except for his six brothers to stay by his side for as long as possible.

“Thank you.” He managed to choke out, unable to say more without bursting into tears. “Maybe I am sick.” He finally admitted, but the confession made his shoulders slump and head hang low in frustration. Did this mean that he would not be able to perform?

“That’s totally okay!” Jungkook quickly retorted as he caught onto his friends disappointed body language. “We’ll fix you up in no time.”

“Yeah, don’t worry. The show is still a couple of days away and Jin told me that you might only have a minor cold. Talking of the devil –“ Hoseok chuckled as the door opened and an annoyed looking Jin entered the room with a steaming plate of soup in his hands while a nervous looking Namjoon shortly followed behind. His thumb was bandaged and Jimin was sure that he must’ve messed up in the kitchen, but the thought only made the smile that had appeared on his face turn bigger.

His brothers really did anything to make him better. Even if it meant that they would injure themselves or stay up until one in the morning.

“Here you go.” Jin said, flashing the younger one a warm smile as he placed the hot dish on his bedside table.

Jimin almost wouldn’t have noticed Yoongi, who sneaked into the room, quietly rambling to Namjoon and furiously showing him the various boxes of medicine he had acquired. “I didn’t know which one to buy, so I got all of them. This one says that he has to take it four times a day and it’s supposed to be really effective, but this one tastes like strawberry, so I think it’s going to be better for him.” He explained while Namjoon suspiciously eyed the different boxes.

Jimin let out a small chuckle while letting his gaze wander around the room, before his eyes finally landed on Jin. “Thank you. I’m sorry for my dumb behavior in the kitchen.” He apologized at the oldest, holding his hand out so he would grab it.

Jin quickly took it, giving it a light squeeze before smiling at his brother once again. “It’s alright Jimin. Don’t worry, we’re always going to be there for you, no matter what.”

[theeyethatbinds]

Five things? Oh man...

Five things that make me happy??? What a question 😨😹🤔

Thanks for the lovely, lovely tag @pseudofaux , and all the thoughts that come with it 💞I can’t tell you how loudly I squealed when I scrolled through your post and saw my name at the bottom haha; your posts are always a treat, and even if I’m lax on tagging when I reblog them, please know that you hit me right in the 💘with them every time.

So, forgive formatting errors and the lack of shine; I pretty much never actually make a post, so I guess we’re Utilitarian now 😅

1. All the green directly outside (and inside) my window. I live in the middle of the woods in the middle of nowhere, and my house is completely entrenched in evergreen forest. That, plus my fruit trees are starting to bud and flower, and it’s long-ingrained habit to glance outside my window when I’m at my desk (which is all the time 😂) and to have my corneas seared with the blast of pleased, dignified elders surrounding me 🌲🌲🌲🌳🌿🍁🍂🌱🍃 My gardens have all started rioting with blooms and every time I go outside I feel like a school Principle looking out over her graduating students like “You did it! Yes, I gave you the tools and the guidelines, but you yourself did this! You brought yourself to flower and you look gorgeous doing it. I’m excited to see where you go from here.” 🌷🌼🌻🌺🌹🏵🌸💐 Also, all of my indoor plants are growing like crazy, which is both fun to watch and also mildly concerning in the case of my money tree, because it just keeps getting bigger and omg what am I supposed to do when it finally touches the ceiling 😱 I call that a problem for another day haha.

2. The way my cats settle down for bed 🛌. We have a nightly ritual, my two fur children and I. Whenever it’s time for bed, I’ll get up and turn off the ambient lamp in my living room. As I do so, I’ll say to my boy Tiki “It’s bedtimes! Bedtimes, Tiki! It’s bedtimes!” 😺 and then both him and my orange, long-haired girl Smalls will lead me through my nightly routine, then we’ll head to bed. They’ll let me get settled, then Smalls will chirp 📣 her way to climbing onto my hip (I’m a side sleeper lol) and drape herself over me like a very fluffy pancake, all legs hanging over me. Meanwhile, Tiki will take himself to the pillow at my face and stare 😾, very gently touching my nose with just the tips of his beans, until I lift the blanket so he can climb in and settle behind my knees. This happens every night, nearly without fail, and I’ll wake up in the morning to my feet/legs being pinned between them. And then in the morning, they’ll only get up with me if I tell them both “Good morning ⏰🌞” and rub their ears. Otherwise, well, it’s not morning then, is it? 🌛

3.The official Discord that I’m a member of for Tailor Tales. ...Seems a little weird, right, to be so happy for a Discord for an otome game? Well, weird or not, it’s been a blessing and a helping hand for me, right when I needed it the most. I’ve been out of work since September (for various reasons), and job hunting has definitely not been kind. I was experiencing increasingly extreme self-doubt as time went on with no interest or response to my applications and inquiries, to the point where things had gotten hazardous to my health. My closest friends had left the area for further education and job opportunities, and I had effectively been left behind. I was very alone and desperately lonely with it. One day, I stumbled across an otome game I’d heard good things about but hadn’t tried, and I fell in love immediately. I decided to support the creator on Patreon, and gained access to their Discord. It was hard to talk at first, from months of self-loathing and doubt, but I received one of the warmest responses from an online community I’ve ever had the pleasure of being part of. I found like-minded people who were more than happy to discuss anything and everything that might come to mind, and in the process made some friends that I desperately needed. I can say absolutely, that without the online family I fell into, things would be very dire for me right now indeed. I cannot physically express how grateful and happy I am that I’m able to be myself around them and not feel vilified because of it.

4.The beach, specifically at low tide. When I was a kid, I was alone all the time, because my parents worked very hard and for long hours. So the vast majority of my time was spent at the beach and our local marina, fishing, turning over rocks to see what was under them, swimming in the ocean, and so on. I come from a small town, so while I was alone, I was constantly monitored by the locals while I adventured, and at any point would be glad to talk about my findings. The beach at low tide has a very particular smell; damp, decay, salt, thick mud and eel grass, oyster and clam and barnacle, which all mixes together into a sort of bouillabaisse of life in a water cycle. It’s a smell I’d recognize anywhere, and whenever I drive by the water it always hits deep in my chest, like a deliberately-aimed goosedown pillow.

5. The bi-weekly phone calls from my best friend. He and I have been friends for 20 years, and I love him dearly. We’ve helped each other grow and ‘mature’ (ha), with quips and biting comments and excited gushing and commiseration over the dumbest things. We’ve had so many adventures (read: near-death experiences), witty repartee, arguments... like a Newton’s Cradle of camaraderie. He was there for me when my parents and I had a major falling out when I was a teenager, and I am still humbled that I was who he chose to call when his own family situation came to a semi-violent head a few years later. He’s moved to the other side of the country at the moment, pursuing his Master’s degree and working his tail off while doing it, and I couldn’t be prouder (while also being more than a bit lonely). We talk over Discord a lot, but when he’s able to find time to actually chat, it’s like we’re in the car on the way to Walmart at 2 in the morning again, just because we can. Boy do I miss that idiot.

Well this turned out a little more emotional than I’d planned 🙄😂🥰 But the heart is there, at least. Again, thank you so much for the tag, Pseu! I’d thought I wouldn’t really stand out with my thirst over prime Seteth content (mostly found elsewhere) and also just my general thirst levels 🤣🥵👀💦

I guess I’ll tag a couple people who might need a pick-me-up, and be interested: @towa-no-yume , @toreii No pressure if you choose against! Just sending love 💓 

[descensummichael]

My Heroine (Michael Langdon x Fem!OC)— vii. monsters much bigger than I can control

I’m sorry if this fic is seeming like it’s slow-going, I’m just really trying to set up a decent arc/plot so I don’t end up rushing thru it like I always do when I write (lol) 

Warnings: mentions of religion/god, me jus making shit up as I go??? A lot of this fic in general will probably not follow canon

If you’re new, catch up on the rest of the story here and let me know what you think! xo

She could remember quite clearly when it started happening. While they were small flickers and fragments seeping in at first, they became increasingly harder to ignore or excuse as childhood imagination.

And this utterly terrified her.

Arella was well acquainted with her familial origins and history. Her mother, Elizabeth, made absolutely sure she was, consistently drilling into her young daughter's head how much she despised every last part of it. There was no way Arella would get tangled up in the mess that their predecessors had created and she herself had managed to avoid.

But when the girl's temper got out of control on one occasion, and dinnerware smashed into the walls seemingly on their own, the woman knew that she had some trouble on her hands.

Arella was young; barely six years old at the time of the incident. No witches had ever come to their powers that young, especially not at that level.

On another occasion, she walked into the living room to find her daughter standing on the coffee table, various objects levitating around her as she laughed gleefully. At this point, she became desperate for an explanation. Desperate for anything to explain away the possibility that her absolute pride and joy was becoming everything she hated.

"It has to be something else," Elizabeth insisted, lifting her face from her palms as she spoke with her husband. "There's no way she- she didn't do that. It has to be this house, my mother, the energies-"

So, they moved and prayed to God that their daughter would get over this, whatever this was. It seemed to work until she hit her teens when she started having visions that gripped her consciousness so tightly and viciously that she was having a hard time focusing in school. While she tried her best to suppress what was happening to avoid suspicions from her mother, her grades started to slip.

"I don't know what's wrong with me, okay?" Arella blurted, frustrated with where the conversation was going. "Maybe I am a witch-"

"Stop," her mother interjected, pinching the bridge of her nose. "It's simply not possible, Arella. The lineage was broken."

Arella had descended from extremely powerful witches, and they dated back to the very conception of their class as a whole. Her mother, however, marked the very first break when she never came into power like those before her. Her absolute hatred of the practice— and her family in general— appalled her elders, but when she turned to the guidance of Catholicism to completely renounce her bloodline was when things seemed to come to a screeching halt. Elizabeth never came to be a witch, thus effectively ending her lineage.

Or so she thought.

After their argument, Arella was sent to Catholic school, where her mother hoped her delusions would be washed away and they could put everything behind them. But when Arella was kicked out of school for breaking a girl's arm who she insisted she didn't touch, Elizabeth knew avoidance was no longer an option.

"I'll just go stay with grandma, and I won't be a burden to you anymore," Arella suggested. At that point, anything would be better than living under the pressures of her overbearing parents. She could hardly remember her grandmother, having not seen her since before her first display of magical tendencies, and even then visitations were sporadic due to the overall distrust in the family. Elizabeth had somehow linked her daughter's outburst to the elderly witch's influence and forbade her from being around, and she hadn't been seen since.

Her mother scoffed at this. "I don't even know why you'd even think to suggest that. Your grandmother is an evil woman, and I have spent every second since you were born from keeping you away from that."

"You kept me from who I really am," she shot back, her tone laced with malice. "Don't you think it would have been easier on me if you wouldn't have suppressed everything and gotten me the help I needed when I started showing signs of-"

"Arella Rae Bellion," Elizabeth cut her off, her voice growing louder to match her daughter's. "Enough. Don't chastise me on how I raised you. None of this should have ever happened in the first place."

"Right, so it's my fault now."

"I'm not saying it-" she stopped herself mid-sentence. "Look, I don't know how to deal with this, but you need someone to help you control your powers. You can't just go around breaking people's arms when they inconvenience you."

"She was the one who instigated it by-"

Elizabeth held up her hand, stopping her. "We're going to get you help, okay? Bottom line."

Arella had begun to research who she was on her own and became intimately involved with a group of other young witches. They provided a sort of solace that she was unable to find in her real life. During her chats with them, there had been whisperings of a place, a sanctuary of sorts, for girls just like her. She had never taken the idea of it seriously.

Until now.

"I think I might know of where I can get it," she took a deep breath before continuing. "Have you heard of Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies?"

                                                       ❦❦❦

"New Orleans?" Elizabeth practically choked, exasperated that Arella would even suggest this. "That's hundreds of miles away!"

"Look, they have excellent success rates. Maybe I can finally find a place where I'll fit in-" Arella began. Trying to convince her mother that the distance between them would be worth it was going to be a monumental task, to say the least. Accepting who Arella had become was hard to swallow, and at times downright unbearable to the point where she could barely look at her, but she was still her baby. She nevertheless felt an inherent need to protect her by all means necessary.

"I just... I don't know if being that far away is such a good idea," Elizabeth cut her off, scrolling through the photos of the supposed academy on her daughter's computer.

"I'm eighteen, mother. I can handle it, I promise. I'll get a support system, and you'll have me out of the way. It's a win-win."

Elizabeth sighed, turning her attention from the computer to her daughter, meeting her gaze. "I don't want to be rid of you, Arella. I just-"

"You wish this wasn't me. You wish I wasn't like your mother. You wish-"

"Please, enough," she stopped her. "We'll try it, okay? We'll try it."

Less than two weeks later, Arella was on the long journey to New Orleans, starting the beginning of what would be the rest of her life.