#the doomed lovers who are destined to fight but just want a silent night on the beach their hands intertwined &their heads resting together

[chaotic-tired-bastard]

ROZIN (also sokka/suki and yue/sokka my babies)

ROZIN. NOBODY GETS THEM LIKE I DO LITERALLY. I AM SO BIG BRAINED ABOUT THEM AND NOBODY IS ON MY LEVEL. (/hj) I love them literally. They're my beloved blorbos and I love them an unnatural amount. They have an unhealthy amount of space in my brain dedicated to them.

SUKKI!!! One of the few canon ships that I love. They're so sweet together, and Sokka deserves someone who can beat him up and make him look good in drag.

Yukka. Oh my gods. This is such a sad ship. They deserved better but they were doomed from the start :(

[stealinghero]

Oh man I just had a really angsty dream and I'd like to hear your take. I hereby request one writing of Lupin dealing with the loss of someone close to him and his s/o (who has dealt with many major losses in her life) helping him cope, please. As always, you don't have to. Thank you for all the work you do here and happy birthday :) Keep being awesome, friend.

^^” Thank you for the patience!! I am a bit too stressed in my job/life to keep up a daily post routine but when I write I give it my best.

This is a pretty bad thing I wrote and normally I don’t give out many trigger warnings. But this might be a bit too much to read for some people and I want to warn you to read it carefully.

You could see how the burden brought down his shoulders, slowing every single of his steps towards his destination. The bouquet of white lilies almost fell out of his limb fingers and it would be an understatement to say that you were anxious. He had skipped the meals, thinking and wondering if he could have changed anything about the way the world turned. But in the end he had to give up, get dressed and present himself to this cruel world again.

And here he was, thinner than ever, a pale ashen skin tone and sunken wild eyes that searched for a way out of this misery without any hope he would find an exit.

And yet there was something still alive in him. If it was his stubbornness or simply his will to fight, you couldn’t tell. But he sat one foot in front of the other, making his way through the rows of gravestones, followed by you like an eerie herald of doom.

He rather collapsed than go down on his knees and you stayed in the back to give him space and time to grieve. He had lost the man that meant the world to him and you didn’t want to disturb him in saying goodbye.

“Hey Pops.”

His fingers were shaking as he traced the letters engraved on the stone. It had been Jigen’s work in the end to carry the dead man to the next police station so he could get a proper funeral. And it had broken Lupin’s heart that he had to say his farewells like this and not standing beside the coffin himself.

In the end he had needed 2 weeks to be able to at least function. Going through the stages of grief, he was terrible to watch but you had prevailed and stayed by his side. Often it didn’t need more than a touch to send him spinning, shouting, bargaining, crying or simply breaking down, helplessly succumbing to the suffocating anxiety.

Jigen and Goemon were gone. They had enough to do right now with the successors of the Inspector with his former assistant laying not far away from his superior, rotting and hopefully with a peaceful soul watching the life move on from Heaven.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t come earlier.”

His voice was hoarse and rough from screaming his lungs out night after night. After Zenigata had died, the nightmares had come back in a terrifying intensity, leaving your lover in an all-round panic state throughout the whole night. He refused to sleep, collapsing from sheer exhaustion and waking up with a shriek of pure terror pounding on his body and soul a few hours later.

“How is life after death?”

You couldn’t see it now but you had helped him dress, so you knew the bruises and cuts were there. Underneath just a few layers of fabric was the sign that he was still fighting. He tried to catch his breath, to reign in his wild thoughts with pure pain and discipline, bringing him to the brink of another collapse. But to him everything was good enough not to think about what he had lost. He feared loss of control but didn’t realize that he had already lost it in losing his best friend and enemy. He was trying to act like a normal human in living out the worst nightmares on himself.

“Your successor is a real pain in the ass, you know?”

The three had come back to the house, bloody and beaten, and Lupin just had stepped past you and closed the door behind him. Jigen had stopped you from following while Goemon had explained in short words what had happened. You had slept the night in front of his door, listening to the breathless sobs and muffled screams of agony.

“Jigen and Goemon send their regards.”

He had denied any medical help, leaving his wounds inflamed. They were a sign of him losing hope. He had denied food and whatever you had just stuffed down his throat had been vomited out. His body couldn’t take anything heavier than a soup. He had denied simple things and now sported a small stubbly beard with his hair in a messed state. And he had denied himself to you. Every touch had him shivering and crying, arguing with you how he didn’t deserve this, how dirty he was and simply unworthy because he couldn’t save the two policemen.

“I brought flowers but I know you would rather have a beer.”

You watched him get out a can of Zenigata’s favourite brand and open it. Silently he poured it over the gravestone and left the half emptied can next to the grave, lightning a cigarette instead and leaving it with the can.

“Goodbye.”

You didn’t have to see him to know he was crying. With his head hanging and stooped stature he was the shadow of a man. You stepped closer and placed a hand on his head. He leaned on your leg and cried for his lost friend.

It would be a long way back to reality and he would never be the same again. But he had gotten up today, had eaten and had dressed. He even had allowed you to care for his wounds, while his fingers had ghosted over your skin in a silent apology. He would need time and you were ready to wait for him, next to him and with him.

[kainks]

midnight suck. 1

pairing: vamp!jungkook x reader

genre: vampire au, destined lovers au

warnings: scary vampy jungkook, minor character death, slight blood & gore, nothing bad i promise, mentions of stalking, cranky yoongi

words: 4,639

summary: you had seen him drain the life out of someone, there was no way he could leave you alone now.

               “Come on little human, come out and play.”

–> 2 | 3 | 4

Series updates every Saturday at 8PM PST!

Midnight never seemed as dark as it did, that summer night. It was an eerie type of desolation, isolated between buildings of red rust and shadowed eyes that watched your every step. More so, it was the sensation of being completely and utterly alone with your thoughts that ran wild at such a night, where you were free to conjure up any horrifying scenario on your trek home.

You never worked the late shift at Johnny's Pizzeria. For the simple fact that it had previously conflicted with your schedule of classes that used to take up most of your free day, keywords being used to.

It was a satisfying failure to finally admit that you were in fact, a newly found college dropout.

With a heavy heart and even heavier determination, you had left behind a world of anatomy and medicine, for the sweet and freeing bliss of writing. You could only imagine what your classmates must have been saying about you, a pre-med student leaving a successful future for one that was bleak and foggy at best. Yet you couldn’t help the way you longed for late nights, your computer by your side, as you typed until dawn was rising once again.

So yeah, you never worked the late shift at Johnny’s, but since you’d left college for your own dreams, your parents had all but cut you off financially, any help you’d once been lucky to receive was now nonexistent. Adding a few more hours of work was a newfound necessity if you wanted to keep your small, yet cozy one bedroom in the outskirts of town. It wasn’t ideal, but it was home, and you loved it all the same.

Jimin, your shift manager, had been all but pleased to hand over to you the night shift four days out of the week, especially if it meant he could leave earlier to go home and see his boyfriend.

You’d met the guy twice, both at employee parties when Jimin had brought him as a date. Yoongi was considerably hard looking, like he was much older, more wiser to the world than the people around him. It was strange, how reserved and intimidating he was, yet was completely soft when it came to his smaller boyfriend. The couple was so sickeningly sweet, you probably gained a few cavities whenever you saw them together.

The only downside to closing for the night, was the walk home. By the time the doors were securely locked, you were tiredly preparing for your twenty minutes of anxious speed walking back to your place. Your apartment was conveniently located a short distance from your work, which had been a huge benefit when you’d gotten the job at the pizzeria two years ago, except for the fact that the shortcut was through the back alleys of intertwining apartment buildings and small businesses. Though it hadn’t bugged you too much in the beginning, as you had always had the safe haven of daylight to make you feel the smallest bit better, now you were confined within total darkness. The only guiding light you had was the flashlight on your phone, and the flickering dull glow of porch street lamps every block or two.

It was like a scene out of a horror movie if you were being honest. You were sure you’d passed by a few drug deals in the past, yet had pretended to be listening to music, your silent earbuds being your temporary saving grace.

This time though, the walk home felt different. Like impending doom lay just over the horizon, the horizon being overflowing dumpsters and the people sleeping beside them. It was a feeling you couldn’t shake, and it made your steps a little lighter, little quicker.

It wasn’t until you were about ten short minutes from your apartment, that things went terribly wrong. It started with a dull scream that echoed throughout the night like a warning, fright flashing across your face as you heard a loud bang just around the corner you were currently walking towards.

“Please, s-somebody help me!”

The voice was gargled, deep, obviously belonging to a male, and utterly stricken with terror. His pleading seemed to echo in your ears, nothing but deep gasps preluding the plea, the call for help that no one was around to hear. Well, except for you.

“Oh god, no, no!”

Your fingers trembled as they came to clutch at the edge of the brick building, your pulse running wild as you hesitantly went to peak around the corner, careful not to be seen. It was truly bizarre, unreal, what you witnessed then. So much so, that it left your head feeling light, fuzzy as adrenaline coursed through your veins like fire.

A middle aged man, dressed in what looked like a designer suit, was pinned by his throat to the side of a brick building, loafers a good foot from the ground and eyes stricken in horror. What really made this scene all the more insane, was the guy pinning the male to the building, with his hand. You couldn’t see his face, only the back of his head, broad shoulders flexing as he lifted the male further up the building, to which he choked out a terrified scream.

“Please, please!”

What should you do? What you were witnessing, was it even real? The guy pinning the older male to the wall possessed inhuman strength, was crushing the poor man’s windpipe as you sat there contemplating. Should I run? Yet the thought of fleeing, it felt wrong. Not when a man was about to die as you sat back and watched.

“Oh fuck, fuck.” You whispered hastily to yourself, nails digging into brick.

Only after speaking to yourself in a frazzled panic, did the older male flicker his eyes towards you, your own directly in his line of sight, over the shoulder of the guy with inhuman strength. His eyes startled at your presence, most likely thinking you were there to save him, that everything would be okay. His mouth opened faintly, as he was about to call out to you, which was bad. So bad. Then the both of you would end up dead, and fuck who was going to feed your fish if that happened?

You quickly shook your head at him, pushing your finger over your lips in a gesture for him to keep quiet. How long was the guy going to keep him pinned like that? You quickly thought. The older male furrowed his eyebrows at you, gasps startling from his mouth as he attempted to breath and you realized you needed to do something quick.

Without thinking, your fight or flight actions kicked in and you stepped around the corner, because you were not about to let some guy die on your watch. As he saw you, despite the lack of color to his face, he look relieved, like you were about to save the day. Were you though?

“Thank god.” You heard him quietly choke out, to himself no doubt.

What you didn’t expect, was for the guy with his hand around the man’s throat, to laugh. It sounded sinister, evil, and chilled you to the bone as you once again froze on the spot, not having made more than three steps in your progress.

“You won’t be thanking him anytime soon.” The voice.

It caused your lungs to freeze, no oxygen being supplied to your shaking form. Never before had the sound of someone speaking, truly petrified you. It was like a clear sign, to turn back and run, to get the hell out of a place you were never supposed to be in the first place.

“I’ll make your trip to hell a lot more painful, as it is, i’m particularly starving tonight.”

You didn’t get a chance to be confused over whatever the hell he meant, because soon the man was being lowered to his feet once again and the guy was ripping into his throat like a ravenous beast.

You gasped then. A mistake on your part, one that would most likely cause you your life.

It was the only appropriate action upon seeing such a kill, the man's eyes rolling back into his head, blood squirting from his throat onto the wall behind him as the guy pushed further into the man’s neck, snarling for more.

It made your stomach turn, nausea curling up on you unwelcomingly. You couldn’t see directly what was happening, but you had a pretty fucking good idea. The man, the one you had tried to save, was having his throat ripped open by a human.

No.

That guy, he couldn’t be human.

The man was suddenly dropped to the wet ground, lifeless limbs scattered around him unnaturally. A large wound was on his throat, blood smeared over his white dress shirt, completely soaking through the fabric. You felt bile rise.

As for the guy, he stepped away from the man, head tilted back as his fingers rose to wipe at his mouth, sucking on them in a manner too seductive, for the situation.

Holy shit, he was licking the guys blood!.

You shook your head, as if not quite believing that you’d just witnessed a man get drained, literally.

The guy chuckled then, head suddenly turning to stare right at you menacingly.

Your eyes widened.

“Aren’t you going to come out and say hello?”

Shit, shit shit shit.

“I heard you arrive five minutes ago, your heartbeat sounds delicious.”

You watched along in horror as he came two steps closer, standing beneath a street lamp and for the first time, you were able to gaze upon the face that would forever haunt your dreams.

He was so young, it’s what you first noticed. Raven locks parted into a messy fringe, dressed completely in black, to which his eyes of crimson red stood out like beacons of hell itself.

That was all the confirmation you needed to let on that he was anything but human, and you found your knees shaking as you saw fresh trickles of blood leak down the corner of his lips in a thin line, dripping from his chin in silent drops.

His jaw was sharp, shoulders broad, legs long, and completely beautiful. Hauntingly so.

“Come on little human, come out and play.”

Your only reaction was to turn around and run for your life, which is exactly what you did. Until your feet were practically numb, eyes constantly looking over your shoulder at the fear of being followed, a lingering threat the entire way home.

Even as you practically threw yourself through your front door, securing the deadbolt into place, you felt anything but safe.

/~/

You woke up the next morning with a pounding heart. Saturday morning, bright and early, you had sat up with fright, fingers grasping bed sheets and a cold sweat dampening your night shirt.

You’d done nothing but dream about fired red eyes and death. The mans lifeless body replaying in your mind on loop, the way he had begged for help, from you, only to die a horrible death in the end.

It was your fault.

You wanted to cry, yet the pure unadulterated fear was holding you back. That and the lingering question that sat heavy on your tongue.

Why were you still alive?

The guy, whatever he was, hadn’t come after you like you’d anticipated. Even knowing that you had witnessed him murder someone in cold blood. He knew you were there the entire time. He’d known, yet had waited until after he had fed, to say something.

It was surreal, the type of thing to happen in movies, not to you. Not in real life.

What even was he?

You already knew, just couldn’t find it in yourself to say, let alone think, the word.

They don’t exist idiot, they don’t. You thought bitterly, pulling your comforter around you tighter, more securely, as if it could help shield you from the unyielding fear in your chest. You were scared, so scared. What if that thing had followed you home, was waiting until nightfall to break in and kill you, suck you dry like he’d done to the poor man?

If he wanted you dead, you’d already be dead.

Somehow, that thought wasn’t as comforting as you had hoped.

“He saw my face.” You spoke to yourself, mind running a million miles a minute.

“He knows what I look like, oh god.”

You weren’t safe. You didn’t want to live in a perpetual state of fear for the rest of your life, in a way, it would have been a heck of a lot better if he’d just killed you then.

But my poor fish.

Glancing out the window to your left, you saw the bleak gray sky, rain drizzling in a quiet murmur through the dirtied glass. The weather closely resembled your overall state at the moment. You couldn’t stay at your apartment. Somehow you just knew that he had followed you, even though you’d practically spent more time looking over your shoulder than forward on your way home.

Your gut instinct was telling you to get the hell out while you still could, which is why you were calling Taehyung within ten seconds, phone pressed closely to your ear, slightly shaking in your weakened grip.

“Hello?”

He sounded tired, voice raspy and barely on the brink of consciousness. Eyeing the clock on your bedside table, you noted with a wince that it was only eight thirty in the morning.

Sorry Tae.

“H-hey, umm.. Sorry I woke you.”

It was as if he sensed the tremor in your voice, noting that something wasn’t right, because he sounded a lot more clear headed and awake as he spoke softly, words more calculated.

“It’s fine ___, what’s up? Are you okay?”

You screamed inwardly.

Hell no.

“Y-yeah I’m fine! I just-” You paused, chewing on your lip thoughtfully. “I was wondering if I could crash at your place for a few days?”

You had absolutely no idea what your reasoning was going to be, you happened to be a terrible liar, and after so many years of friendship, Taehyung had a knack for knowing when you weren’t being completely truthful.

“Of course, you’re always welcome here.” He said as a gentle reminder. “But why? Did something happen?”

Yeah, I saw a guy die and almost joined him myself.

“Uh, no. They’re just doing renovations for a couple days, and it’s going to be um.. noisy.”

You were doomed.

“Hm, alright. Come over whenever today, I’ll be here.”

He didn’t sound convinced, but otherwise didn’t comment on your halfassed excuse, which you were more than grateful for.

“Thanks Tae..” You sighed in relief, chest feeling a little less tight. “I’ll see you later today then.”

“Sure thing.”

The line went dead, and there was no doubt that he’d question you later on, and you’d crumble under his concerned stare that always had a way of making you come clean. But there was no way in hell he’d believe you. Taehyung was open to a lot of shit, but you’d be pushing it if you asked him to believe that you had seen something supernatural.

A vampire.

“Oh my god.” Bringing your hand up to your head, you rubbed your temples gently, trying to will away the headache that was already brimming.

“I’m going to die, I just know it.”

/~/

Taehyung’s house was only a short, fifteen minute uber ride away. Even though you internally cried at the thought of handing over money you really didn’t have, the idea of walking made you want to cry even more.

You were not about to offer yourself up as a free meal to whomever that crazy thing was. He was most likely following you, just waiting for the perfect time to sink his teeth into your delicate flesh and fuck, did that sound painful.

It was around two in the afternoon when you’d arrived at Taehyung’s apartment, knocking on the door with urgency, because standing out in the open was making you more anxious by the second. It was depressing, how paranoid you had become over the course of a few hours.

He lived closer into the city, located where there was more traffic, more shops and entertainment than where you lived. Just a short car ride could bring you into a completely different atmosphere, and you felt just the slightest bit better knowing that there were hardly any dark alleyways around Taehyung’s place for you to die in.

“Hey, you made it!”

He opened the door hastily, blond tufts sticking up every which way and still drowning in oversized Gucci pajamas while cuddling the cutest, angriest, looking puppy under his left arm.

You cooed softly at the small ball of fluff snuggling close into his chest.

“Since when did you get a dog!”

You reached out with two fingers, gently petting the wiggling puppy on the head and you might have squealed over the unyielding cuteness it possessed.

“Since two days ago, come on in. We were just about to eat breakfast!” He spoke more to the dog than you, nuzzling his cheek into the soft fur before delivering a quick kiss to it’s little nose.

You gave him a puzzled look. “Breakfast? It’s two in the afternoon..”

He waved you off, closing the door behind you after stepping through. You kicked off your shoes, and set your bag down next to the hallway closet, before turning to see Taehyung set down the small puppy, it’s little legs quickly scurrying into the kitchen, as if it knew it was time to eat.

“Like I said, breakfast. I’ll whip up some pancakes for you.”

As it was, Taehyung was considerably good at making the fluffiest, sweetest pancakes. But you knew it was really the only thing he could cook decently without catching anything on fire, well that and a mean cup of ramen. Really, neither one of you could cook efficiently, always resorting to take out from regular shops that knew you guys by first and last names no doubt.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d cooked anything, or had anything cooked for you, which is why you practically inhaled three pancakes easily, your stomach feeling satiated as you swallowed back the last bite, lazily sinking down the wooden dining room chair sat across from Taehyung himself.

He eyed you teasingly, smirk resting on his lips, along with a small drop of syrup that he quickly licked away. “Wow, you didn’t waste any time there did you?”

“Shut up, I was hungry. I haven’t eaten anything since my shift yesterday.”

At that, Taehyung’s shoulders perked up, dropping his fork back onto his plate with a loud clang, his eyes widening in remembrance.

“Oh yeah, that reminds me!” he hastily spoke, “Did you hear about that guy that was found dead in your area? It was only like, five minutes from your apartment”

You felt your entire body freeze, veins like ice and heart beating erratically as you let Taehyung’s words run wild through your head. 

Man. Found dead. Five minutes from you place.

Suddenly all the food you’d consumed felt too heavy in your stomach, like it was about to make a reappearance the longer you recalled upon the memories from last night, blood red eyes and crimson drops.

“W-what?” The question came out too softly, and Taehyung took that as you just being surprised over the news. If only he knew.

“Yeah, it was on TV this morning! He was an attorney I think? Anyways, they found him dead in some back alley, totally drained of blood! Can you believe that!” He shook his head, lips turning down into a steady pout.

“I feel bad for him, the guy had a family and everything..” His somber eyes looked up at you. “Make sure and be careful walking home from now on okay? I don’t want to see your face on the news next.”

Neither did you.

“Yeah, i-i’m always careful..”

He nodded. “Good!”

You watched him stand up, grabbing both of your empty plates and walking them to the sink, setting them in there carelessly, the cute little puppy followed at his feet with every step, having already eaten his breakfast.

“Oh! I forgot to tell you, I invited Jimin over for dinner tonight, which means he’s probably gonna bring Yoongi. We’ll all probably watch a movie or something, you’re free to join of course!”

Of course. Taehyung had been the one to help get you your job at the pizzeria in the first place, because his childhood friend Jimin happened to be one of the managers there and had been looking for adequate employees, ones that had both brains and skill. You always found it a little odd, working under your best friends, best guy friend. Jimin and you weren’t close, about as close as co-workers could get, and you found it a little disheartening to find out that he’d be showing up tonight, with his stoic boyfriend who never cracked a smile at anyone other than the small, sunset haired boy himself.

Never the less, you were the one imposing on Taehyung, so you put on your best smile and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, sure, sounds great.”

Taehyung gave you a please grin, grateful that you were open to the idea of hanging out with all of them, despite knowing how you would probably feel awkward and the slightest bit uncomfortable. He sent you a silent thank you, and poured himself another cup of coffee.

“Awesome! We’re totally renting a horror film tonight, what do you think… zombies or vampires?”

You choked on your glass of apple juice.

/~/

Seven rolled around way too soon, your alarm ringing dully into the guest bedroom. It was already dark out, the faint glow of city lights peeking through the mesh curtains of the curved window. The small, but comfortable bed, creaked as you rolled onto your back, sighing out to no one but yourself as you swiped your phone back into silence.

Jimin would be there with his boyfriend anytime, and you were feeling anything but social. In fact, you felt completely on edge, like something horrible was about to happen, and you were just a waiting participant with no voice in the matter. You had laid down for a nap two hours ago, because really, you had slept like complete shit the night before.

You were thankful that this time you didn’t have terrifying nightmares, which was probably due to the fact that you weren’t alone in the apartment. Taehyung was there with you, which meant you’d be fine, right?

He’d probably get eaten right before I did.

You cringed, hands coming to cover your face as you groaned. “Ugh!” You kicked your feet against the soft mattress in protest, feeling overwhelmed and scared all at once. You really didn’t like how the sun was no longer out, which meant that whomever had seen you last night, was out again, probably killing another poor person for their sick enjoyment.

The sound of the doorbell interrupted your session of self pity, the loud chime echoing throughout the apartment four times. You faintly heard Taehyung’s heavy footsteps rush down the hallway past your room, rounding the corner and answering the door.

“Hey, just on time!”

“We brought pie and wine!”

“It was Jimin’s idea, not mine.”

“Shut up babe, you spent twenty minutes deciding on apple or peach.”

You heard the faint voices of the three men through the bedroom walls. It was your duty as a friend and employee to make yourself present, at least for a little while. Surely Taehyung couldn’t hate you too much if you swept in for pie and a glass of wine, before running back to the isolation of your temporary bedroom and burdening thoughts.

Maybe two glasses of wine.

Stepping out of bed, you quickly stretched and ran a brush through your hair so you didn’t look completely like shit, before grabbing your phone and leaving the sweet solace of the room.

“..forgot to tell you, ___ is here to crash for a few days..”

“That’s fine! More the merrier, right babe?”

“Mmm, sure.”

You smiled faintly to yourself, mostly at the chipper voice of Jimin and the grumbly, husky drawl of Yoongi. Really they were such a contrast to one another, it was hilarious.

Just as you rounded the corner, you were met with the sight of the three of them standing by the front door, Yoongi leaning casually against the hall closet with his arms crossed, and Jimin showing Taehyung the contents of the pie he’d brought, the warm smell of apple and spices already wafting through the small area and making your mouth water just so.

“Finally, I thought you’d died or something.” Taehyung teased as he glanced up at you, playful gleam to his eyes. You’d noticed that he’d changed his attire, now dressed in a pair of black slacks and an obnoxiously loud print shirt, one that had a busy design of floral and paisley.

Jimin looked up then too, smiling in your direction.

“Hey ___, how are you?”

You waved stiffly, pushing a friendly smile onto your face for show. “Good, great!” You laughed, scratching the back of your neck albeit awkwardly, your motions a little jarred. He didn’t catch on, to which you were pleased, just sent you another beaming smile that only he could possess and was ushering Taehyung into the kitchen with him to help get started on dinner.

“Yoongi, have a seat, you and ___ can talk while we start on dinner.” Taehyung spoke from over his shoulder, two steps behind the shorter male as they walked through the small archway from the living room, into the kitchen.

Then it was silent, and that’s when the awkward atmosphere truly surrounded you in a suffocating tension. You eyed the blond male to your right, still leaning casually against the hall closet, but this time looking straight at you. His eyes were cold, calculating, like he was attempting to decipher every secret you’d ever possessed.

“Umm-”

You never got the chance to finish your sentence, because two heavy knocks were rasped onto Taehyung’s front door then, booming throughout the otherwise quiet air that you and Yoongi shared.. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.

“Was anyone else supposed to show up?”

It was aimed at the older male, still looking at you, but this time the corner of his lips turned up in a grin, one that said ‘i know something you don’t.’

“Yeah, a friend of mine.”

Yet he wasn’t taking the initiative to open the door?

Pursing your lips, you let the smallest breath of air escape,  clearly a little annoyed at his strange behavior. “I uh- I’ll answer it then.. I guess..”

He didn’t say anything as you brushed past him, you could hear the faint voices of Jimin and Taehyung in the kitchen, arguing over what type of cheese to put in the casserole, and you would have laughed if your heart hadn’t started beating erratically for no good reason at all.

Clasping the brass knob of the door in your palm, you twisted it and opened the door with ease. Despite the sky being black, and the stars mostly indistinct, you clearly, so clearly, saw the tall figure stood before you, face just as evident and sharp as you remembered.

Only this time, red blazen eyes were now a soft mocha brown.

“O-oh my... oh my g-” Your voice shook with complete horror.

His teeth glimmered under the blinding porch light, lips tugged into a taunting smirk at your incoherent stuttering, and wild eyes focused directly on you.

“Little human, nice to see you again.”

You screamed.

a/n: more to come!

[celxstialclanarchive]

Of Noble Designs: A Royal Verse Fanfic

@theredpalace @hikaru-mikazuki

Chapter 1: The Shocking Dawn

The continent of Mihen was sprawling with a myriad of nations, kingdoms and a quickly expanding empire. The once small nation of Homura expanded under the reigns of Tajima and his eldest son Madara after internal struggles that lasted several years. In the first years of his reign, Madara moved on from reclaiming his throne to expanding territories with much success, save for the island nation of Uzushio, ruled by his estranged friend’s wife.

At 28, Madara was quite the accomplished ruler. However, not even his military prowess could keep his court from pressuring him to seek out a wife, despite already being father to the fondly nicknamed Spitfire Prince, Musashi. Deeply interested in Yugen’s mystical and fabled fountain, he planned to marry into the Yugenian royal family. However, he and the crown princess quickly realized they were too incompatible. So in an uncharacteristic move, he played matchmaker and arranged for a distant, more lively cousin to be his replacement. Funny enough, it worked.

However, what he did not expect- besides an invitation by the Yamamori royal house to participate in their annual Spring Lantern festival- was to find the perfect bride to make up for it.

Yamamori, despite its name, was more hill country and full of deciduous forests than mountainous. It was still a beautiful country, and Madara only hated that he could not bring Musashi to marvel in it. While the boy didn’t quite enjoy travel, he enjoyed being with his daddy. When entering the court there was very little fanfare, he was greeted by the Second Princess of Yamamori, Duchess of Suzukane, High Priestess Kagura. The official introductions would be much later.

“Hello, princess~” Madara purred as he bowed to the duchess and high priestess of Yamamori. The young emperor looked up with analytical eyes, a cocky yet inviting grin. “I am the emperor of Homura, Uchiha Madara.” There was a pause where she was supposed to fill the silence with her name. Fortunately, though they were outside, they were not in the public eye.

She was contemplating his name, as if they met somewhere before. Likely at his old childhood friend’s wedding, where she was a guest and a friend of the bride. Perhaps as children, trying to survive in a world where they were expected to stay out of adults’ way, but some were also expected to fight like them and against them at far too tender ages. Perhaps as adversaries meant to become eventual lovers. Regardless if it was any of the scenarios he had conjured up and more, the duchess’s silence was starting to verge onto too quiet.

“You have an odd name. That is the name of the man who strikes fear into the hearts of generals and warlords all over the continent? A man named Spot?” . . . What? That had been the reason for her silence? The meaning behind his name? He could feel himself get more and more incensed as her eyebrows furrowed, genuine confusion then a playful demeanor in her expression. “How much did your father hate you, exactly?”

“A lot, but my name had nothing to do with it!” Kagura smiled and shook her head, not taking this as seriously as she probably ought to.

“I see. My name is Kamiya Kagura. It is nice to meet you.” It was Madara’s turn to be silent for almost two minutes, mostly out of a need to be petty. “So your parents named you “divine entertainment”? You were named after a dance?” He could feel the corner of his lips twitch in an amused smirk. “Could your father not come up with a more sophisticated name?” The duchess gave him a matter-of-fact expression, head tilted to the side as she gave him a once-over.

“My mother named me. And I do believe it to be much more sophisticated than one designated for pets.” Madara chuckled, and usually that was a warning that doom was afoot. However, not in this case. With a somewhat mock glare, he responded with a once-over of his own.

“Of course you would, Your Highness. I am weary from my travels, so I must cut this conversation short.” The festival that night was well underway when Madara saw the princess again, yet he was surprised to see her unhappy. A lord from a southern province west of Shiori was accosting her, though she pulled away from his grasp.

“You think I am some ditzy little girl who cannot spot ill intent?”

“Your Highness, I simply-”

“You are a spineless coward who doesn’t seem to have grown out of his boyhood days. Get out of my face.” Splash! The lord in question was drenched when he tried to grab her again as she stormed off. Surprisingly, no one seemed too shocked to see this happen.

“That’s the third guy this year,” one man chuckled, shaking his head. Madara followed shortly after, seeing her walk towards the bridge.

“You know something? Your name is quite sophisticated. You have proven to be quite entertaining to me.” He walked towards her with all the swagger of a predator stalking its next meal. “A woman such as yourself must be quite the prize, with all these men still competing for your hand. And yet you spurn them all. Does your heart yearn for a lost lover?”

“No. I spurn them because it’s just a game to them, nothing more. I have made it clear time and again how unattractive weak men are to me. Perhaps they are doing it to see if I will eventually wear down.” Kagura leaned over the side of the bridge, gazing out into the night sky. “My heart is not a plaything.”

“That is an utter waste of everyone’s time and energy. I agree with you. Weak people are ugly,” Madara murmured, copying her actions. “You live rather modestly for one destined to a comfortable life here. Have you thought of doing more with it? Outside of your duties as the High Priestess, that is.” The paper lanterns below illuminated the river, showing glimpses of fish looking for a late meal and the reflections of the two royals just above the river. Madara watched as a camellia shaped lantern floated between their reflections. This kingdom was so peaceful, its royal family welcoming and sincere. This peace would be uncomfortable for him. He was forged in iron and hardship.

“Mmm, not really. I am happy being as I am. I might not act like a princess all the time, but I can’t imagine myself as anything else.” They sat in silence a little longer as Madara studied the woman before him. She was strange. She spoke in a rather simplistic fashion in more intimate settings and was rather direct about her desires, likes and dislikes.

“Then why not become the bride of one of the most powerful men in the world? You will want for nothing, have however many or few attendants you desire. You will not have to concern yourself with another weak boy pretending to vie for your affections. You will be well respected and envied by women. You deserve a man who will at least respect you as his partner.”

Kagura chuckled humorlessly. “That is... not exactly why I desire strong men, nor is status the motive. Nevertheless... That is merely a fantasy. Not out of the realm of possibility, but still a fantasy, nonetheless.”

“I could make that fantasy reality, if you would let me.”

Kagura, content to watch the paper lanterns float, snapped her head up so quickly her royal kanzashi loosened. Surely, she heard him wrong or he was just joking. They had only known each other less than a day! “I’m sorry, what?” He looks on, serious, as if he were discussing weapons’ schematics. This can’t be happening. He isn’t really suggesting…-

“You think I joke about things like this?” The air was slowly starting to chill, and Kagura could see her breath coming out in puffs of hot air. “Marriage is a serious commitment, Your Highness-- one I do not take lightly. I am not one to be so fickle as to plan to divorce, remarry or behead any wife who does not produce a son. I may not be as devout as you, but I do my best to respect the wishes of the divine.” The priestess was speechless. She had never been proposed to so casually yet so intimately. Not only that, there was almost some kinship in their views, even if his are a bit more draconian in nature. “That is, if you are willing to have me as your husband.” She nearly jumped at the sound of his voice. “Well?” Kagura jumped up, walking away.

“Well, just give me a moment! I’m going back inside.”

“Oh, princess? Castle’s the other way.” Kagura turned the other way quickly, walking off as fast as possible. After she walked inside, Madara felt the weight of his actions creep on him like the night’s chill. Just what was he getting them into?

[veridium]

How did Josie react to finding out Theia was hiding it from her?

(Oh boy, I’m sorry this got so long, there was so much I wanted to include and it just kept snowballing)

It was late when the Inquisitor finally made it to her bedchambers in the Winter Palace. A thousand thoughts and concerns streamed through her mind as she ripped off her formal wear. She could go the rest of her life without being cinched up in that red jacket and unforgiving blue sash. Finally able to breath in nothing but her slacks and chest wrap, she paused for a moment. 

She put her hands on her hips and meandered to the gilded window beside her equally gilded bed. She held her breath and she gazed out aimlessly. 

“When were you going to tell me?” Josephine’s voice was cold, hurtful to hear. The Ambassador had been sitting on the chair by the fireplace, turned away from the door in such a way where her presence wouldn’t be immediately detected. No need, though, Theia already knew she was there. She knew back when she confessed to the Council that Josephine would hunt her down, covered by a face and demeanor of poise and grace so as to not let anyone on that she was upset and betrayed. Perhaps she just wanted to pretend for a moment longer that she was alone. Perhaps a part of her just wanted to keep hiding.

Regardless, she knew this wouldn’t be good. She looked down at the floor and grit her teeth.

“Josephine, please,” she murmured hopelessly.

“’Josephine, please, Josephine, this was beyond you, Josephine, it was better if you did not know. Gah! You are so predictable!” Josephine’s voice grew heated, though she tried not to be the yelling sort, her commitment to such a cause was being thoroughly tested.

Theia looked over her shoulder at her as the Ambassador lept from her seat and began pacing by the fire. 

“You have always done this. When it is magic or the anchor, you turn from me. You made me look like an oblivious fool in front of the Divine and Commander Cullen. You’ve relied upon me to keep this Exalted Council intact while you run off and cause whatever else to go wrong!” Josephine continued, hands animated with her anger.

Theia watched her quietly, a stone-face expression on her face as she tried to keep herself from creating a more bombastic situation than necessary.

“Do you have anything to say to me? You stand there like a boulder against a stiff, unforgiving wind, and you cannot even bear to admit what you did was wrong?” Josephine let a hint of sadness and pain show in her face and tone, Theia’s heart ached at it.

Quietly, Theia turned and faced her, hands still gripping her hips. She bit her lip and got the courage to look her lover directly in the eyes. When she did, a chill went down her spine: Josephine’s gaze was seething, looking for answers. She had never been the destination of her eyes like that before, and it pained her.

“Josephine, I had little options. I was afraid if it became common knowledge it would contaminate efforts for the Exalted Council. I cannot be a powerful force for our cause if people believe me doomed,” she tried to explain herself, but she could already take a guess at Josephine’s retort.

“So, you blind those who are your most-trusted allies so as to debilitate them when you need their support most?” Yep, textbook counter from the Lady Ambassador. 

“No, I. I told who I needed to.”

“Who in the world?”

Theia remained silent, once again looking down at the floor. A moment passed, and then, clarity.

“Dorian.” Josephine growled, turning away and looking towards the bright and ravenous fire. “I am going to kill both of you one day, mark my words,” she cursed under her breath. 

Theia sighed. “He is the only one besides…” she stopped herself from saying his name. The long-gone friend, who longed for an orb long shattered, and whatever else spurned his soul to leave without saying goodbye.

Theia took a breath, releasing him from her mind for a moment. “Dorian didn’t even know what to do, at the end of the line. He couldn’t just stay locked up with me and find out what was wrong. None of us know.”

“So, you thought since you brilliant, talented Inquisition Mages couldn’t, surely no one else could be of use?” Josephine was unrelentingly critical. 

“When I thought it was a lost cause, my mind went to protecting the Inquisition and the Council. I had to make a choice, and I made it. I didn’t want to scare you…” Theia was cut off.

“You certainly did make a choice. And now everything is at stake, and we are underprepared. We have no protocol for if we lose you beyond what we have provisionally agreed upon. The Inquisition will be in even worse jeopardy. Why do you have so little trust for those around you, Theia? After all we have been through, after all that has been sacrificed!?” Josephine’s voice elevated to the line between arguing fervently, and yelling. 

Theia was pinned and squirming under the weight of her choices. A tense silence filled the air before she broke it with a vengeance.

“I don’t know! Okay? I was wrong. I was scared, and I thought I was dying. I still think I’m–” she stopped herself again and turned away harshly, a hand going up in her hair.

Josephine’s chest fluttered with fear. The interweaving of her anger and the terror was overwhelming her, and she was infamously known for not losing her cool. It was scarcely charted territory for her. Meanwhile, Theia knew she was overwhelmed, and instead of fighting it, let it undo her for this one moment. 

Angrily, Theia punched the dresser drawer closest to her, creating a slight crater in the wood grain. That would have been bad enough, if it didn’t start fizzling with electricity from her skin, creating an indentation of static rage. It continued to sizzle and crack for a moment before dissipating; with the lack of contact with her skin, it was nothing more than an elemental outburst.

She kept her back to Josephine, not out of indignance, but out of guilt. She couldn’t bear to look her in the face after what she had done. 

The silence was only disturbed by the crackling of the fire and the forcefulness of Theia’s breathing. 

“Josephine, Maker knows you are as angry as a Wyvern for what I have done. I knew you would be hurt if you ever found out. I’m sorry for making you feel like a fool, like I somehow think you below me, below Mages. The truth is, I…I…” her voice cracked as her throat felt like it was calcifying from the tears bubbling over in her eyes. 

Josephine’s face softened a bit, caught off guard by Theia’s crying sounds as they erupted from her chest. Theia’s cries were deep in her lungs, the cries of a woman with too much to bear. 

“Mi Amor, I–”

“Please.” Theia’s voice called for a pause.

Josephine stopped and looked down at her hands coupled together in front of her. She was still fuming a bit, but now the full reality of what was before them had made itself known. She could lose the woman she’s loved vigorously for years, the woman she’s had to share with the world, share with all its evils and machinations. The woman who always found a way back to her, despite all odds, despite all predictions. It felt like the palace walls were caving in around her: after all those times she never lost her to the great wide unknown, she could lose her with her standing right in front of her eyes.

Theia at last turned to face her again, walking closer, until she was only a few strides away. Her face was quiet, but damp with tears that she let go unchecked. “I want you to know that everything I have done has been with the peripheral fear of losing you. No matter how much pain this causes me, it does not compare to the mere idea of being without you. Protecting you, not as my Diplomat, not as my ally, but as my Love, has been one of the foremost obsessions of my actions. It blinded me to my trust in you. I was wrong. But, it was only out of the deep, entrenched desire I had to fix it so that you would never have to worry.” 

Josephine’s eyes were now the ones welling up with tears as she listened to Theia’s testimony for her reckless actions. She swallowed roughly, trying to choke back the tide from her eyes. 

“You are so foolish,” Josephine breathed, closing her eyes and letting her chin lower in humility. A taste of bittersweet humor in her words.

At that sight, Theia’s hands made their way to Josephine’s face. Softly, she tilted Josephine’s chin back up to where it had been, high and dignified. Her eyes stayed on hers. “My love, there are worse things to be,” she whispered low.

Josephine became hungry for her even more. Anxiously, she grasped Theia’s left hand and kissed her open palm, tears now falling from her ocean-colored eyes.

Theia in turn kissed Josephine’s forehead, before finally having her lips land on Josephine’s. The kiss simmered from sweet to passionate, passionate to tireless. Eventually the inertia compelled Theia to walk backwards towards the bed. Within what felt like a small but consuming moment in time, all of the garments fell to the floor, and for at least another night, their hands were for each other.

[pendragonfics]

Room For Improvement

Paring: Thranduil/Reader

Tags: female reader, set before The Hobbit, Reader is an elf, arranged marriage, strangers to lovers, books, reading, play fighting, swords. 

Summary: Reader is a noble she-elf from Rivendell and after an arranged marriage to the King of Mirkwood, and a year living with the forest elves, Thranduil finds that his wife is not much of a fighter, and takes it upon himself to teach his bride to defend herself, forbid anything happened.

Word Count: 2,535

Current Date: 2017-07-24

Unlike most people who dreamed stories and were doomed never to live amongst the fancies and ploys on the paper, you had the pleasure. As a noble elf from Rivendell, the elder cousin of Arwen, daughter of Lord Elrond, you were destined to become something of yourself. But while your mind was reading stories of adventure to faraway lands and cultures, the story your life had turned into something more…traditional, for your gender. Marriage. The news came to no shock to you, as you were always to be married off, but to whom? Your heart had almost stopped upon hearing the news.

“You are to marry King Thranduil, son of the late King Orophor,” the message-elf of your father had told you. Perhaps it was for the better your own father did not break the news himself, or he would have had a slipper thrown at him.

You had nodded, and thanked the messenger, and moved to the balcony to ruminate over the news. You could almost hear the people you called friends gossiping when they heard the news of your arranged marriage. The King? Of Mirkwood? How inane a match for ________! As if they doubted a scholarly-minded Elf such as yourself could soar that high, to be considered for the man who had lost his father so recently on the battlefield.

Slowly, you moved to the balcony balustrade, and sinking your head upon your hands on the railing, looked out upon the citadel of Rivendell where you lived, lost in the myriad of thoughts that followed the word passed to you. But lost in your thoughts, you did not notice that your cousin, and confidant, the Lady of Rivendell. But to you, she would always be Arwen, whom you had shared the splash pools of the forest with as children.

“What plagues your mind, ________?” Arwen’s voice came to you, and turning, you saw your cousin. Her brush in hand, she worked on her hair, slowly uncoiling the tangles that followed horseback riding. “You look troubled.”

You nod, agreeing with her wording, “I have just been told I am to wed,” you confess, moving to sit beside her on the chaise. She hands you her brush, and taking it in your hands, you take it upon yourself to detangle your cousin’s hair, and the judgements in your mind.

“Is it the news itself that troubles you, or the match made for you?” Arwen asks. She’s always so eloquent, and wise beyond the years she has spent on this world.

You shrug. “I have always known I was to be married off, Arwen,” you remind her softly, your fingers working around a particularly hard knot on her dark mane.

You think back of when you were children, playing in the halls of the palace. While you had stayed focused on your books, sharpening your mind, she had caught sight of Aragorn, and pledged her love and allegiance before your parents had ever thought their children could fall in love, or fall into a tactical place for love to come later. Perhaps because Arwen was promised, the elite who hid away in their council hall had decided you were the next best noble-blooded She-Elf to be wed away to strengthen allies.

“But what of the match? You have not spoken word of it, ________; I know you, and your sharp tongue well. Are you ashamed?” She implores, pushing for the news to be spilt.

You pause at your brushing. Ashamed? No. Perhaps you are too humble, having spent so long by true nobility’s side, to see that you are worthy of this match, this opportunity. You take time to think of a reply, but Arwen beats you to your answer.

“I think you should trust the judgement of our fathers,” she confides to you, “They could have matched you with the youngest son of the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien,” she reminds you. “Have faith in the Ilúvatar.”

You shake your head. “My faith is unwavering, cousin, and I do not doubt the judgement of the gentry who arranged this. I – I am to be married to King Thranduil, of Mirkwood,” you confess, the words overflowing from your mouth like sap from a wounded tree. “Arwen, I will be so far from you, from home,” you whisper.

She turns, facing you on the chaise, her light eyes full of starlight. “And so close to your fate,” she reminds you, and running a hand through her hair, smiles at the lack of knots. “Thank you, ________ … fear not. I will not forget you.”

---

Forgetting one another was not a problem, neither was the marriage. Not a year after the news broke, you were wedded, and lived away in the forest from the Elves you called family. You had come to love your husband, Thranduil, and the people he ruled over in the forest lands where the stars shone so brightly through the blanket of the night. You loved how over time, the king had showed you compassion, and open arms and a larger library than you had ever seen before in your life.

While he was in council meetings to dispel rebels, and consolidate the peace his father had died for, you were away reading as usual, filling your head with the works of the legendary Elves, the long-dead Men, the poetry written down from the faraway Hobbits, reading ballads translated from the Khuzdul of Dwarves. Yes, you appeared when you needed to beside your husband, and yes, you slept when the bed required warming at his side in the sheets, but the library – it called to you loudest.

But on an evening when the stars were bright enough to chart, the moon high, you did not return to the chambers. Instead, you slept at the scholars’ desk, the open parchment smelling so sweetly that it had lulled your mind to slumber. While it was an occurrence that was normal to yourself, having done this many a time in your life, your husband hadn’t known of this practice. It was how you woke to a royal guard calling your name, a hand shaking your shoulder, your husband in the doorway, a relieved look upon his face.

Later that night in your shared chambers, though, it was more of an ordeal. “You mustn’t read past sundown,” Thranduil instructed you, his cold blue eyes fusing a look that could melt steel into your gaze. “And once eaten for the night, return to the chambers.”

“Thranduil,” you scoff, “is that not heavy-handedness?”

He shakes his head, his long hair wavering in the moonlight, turning from your gaze. “It is not, when the kingdom of Mirkwood could have daggers for their new Queen’s heart, waiting. ________, not all are content. You could have been, for all I knew, dead.”

“You thought me dead?” you huff, your eyes wide, “I – I was-am not dead, just reading!” you implore, and stalking to your husband, force him to look you in the eye. “If I am not allowed to fill my mind, it might shrivel up, reduce itself to nothing at all!” You are adamant. “I cannot believe you are so hard-headed upon my only pleasure, Thranduil.”

For a minute, the pair of you are at a stand-still, an impasse. You do not back down; you will not back down on this fight, would never. Whilst over Elves danced and sang, played instruments, had their trades, you had your books, and your hungry mind, devouring everything and anything it could lay its hands on. It was the only thing that kept you sane, in this new land; perhaps, it kept you thinking that you were still and elfling at the bosom of your mother, back in the lands of Rivendell with Arwen not too far away. Slowly, Thranduil nodded, and taking his hand in yours, hummed.

“I would never want to harm your mind, ________, but you must know that there could be threats to us, beyond our control.” He begins, his other hand moving to stroke your cheek slowly, his forehead bowing to touch against your own. “I propose an overture.”

“Yes?” you cock an eyebrow, and clicking your tongue in annoyance, utter, “I am listening, husband mine.”

“You may read as long into the night as you wish to, and for as many a night, too. But there is a clause to this.” Thranduil tells you. “For three hours a day, you will train with the best soldiers and myself, to defend yourself should any attack come unto you.” He instructs.

Silently, you nod. “Starting tomorrow?”

Your husband agrees. “Yes, at midday. Do not tarry, or the library shall be locked to you.”

“Of course,” you huff, unperturbed by his idle threat. At this, you begin to change into your bedclothes, not allowing your eyes to break contact with your husbands as you undress. “But know you are overreacting, Thranduil. I am perfectly capable of keeping myself safe.”

“We shall see,” he replies, and snuffs out the candle by the bedside.

---

The next morning, you rose early, and dressing in clothes made for exercise (an event which certainly was not a favoured pastime of yours), you called a palace servant to aid you in tying your hair up and away for the training. You had woken so early, you did not take breakfast beside your husband in bed, nor watched him wake slowly in the sheets beside you. While he was doing such things, you were finding your way to the armoury, and suiting up for the training.

“My Queen,” A Sindarian soldier saluted upon your entry to the armoury, standing stock-still as a statute as your eyes perused the room full of weaponry and bodily protection, “I knew not of your arrival here,” he added, glancing to the otherwise clean room, except for the stray cobwebs that grew upon the uppermost of the vaulted ceilings.

You nodded at his words, “At ease,” you waved at the soldier to not stay at attention in your presence. “I am required by my husband to start a training session with himself. Would there be any sort of…protection to wear for an elf such as myself?” you ask him.

The soldier’s head bobbed at that. “Yes, my Queen. If you shall wish, I can have it brought to you to be fitted?” He asked.

“Yes, please,” you smile.

Not too long after, you are fitted into armour that covers your chest and legs, with leather circlets to protect your arms. Unlike the soldiers who wear chainmail, you look the part of somewhat of a novice, wearing training clothes, or perhaps a babe pretending to dress like the hero the firelight stories told of. But unpersuaded, you are ready to try to do your best with your (non-existent) fighting skills.

It was a good thing you woke before your husband; because only now dressed in the armour, he comes into the room, wearing his, looking like the Gods themselves.

“Are you ready?” He asks you.

You nod. “I believe so.”

Together, you walked to the courtyard, where you had once seen the soldiers training before. This day, it was well-lit, warmed by the rays of the summer sun, much like your childhood home. But now was not a time to be nostalgic. You were here to fight for your right to read the way you had always read. And your husband was a seasoned warrior, ready to teach you the ways of the battlefield that he had known since he was an elfling.

The soldier handed you a sword; you had never held a weapon before in your life, save for a bow in a mausoleum you had broken into on a dare as a child. The sword was heavier than any book you had ever held, and taking it in both hands, you held it at your side, pointed away from yourself.

"You need to defend yourself," Thranduil held his sword like it weighed of nothing but air, pointed toward you. Your mind was buzzing, but most of all, wondering how you were to defend yourself if you knew nothing of how it was to be done. "Then, defend."

Taking your sword, you move toward your husband, the blade moved widely as if a staff coming horizontal to his side. It is as sloppy as it is slow, and he defends your attack before you are even done the move. The sword flies from your hand, your wrist smarting from the jerk.

“Do you require me…?” The soldier asked your husband.

Thranduil shook his head. “No. Thank you, Gwaenor.” As you ducked to take sword from the pavement of the courtyard, Thranduil’s sword pointed at your jugular. It was hardly fair, but you opted to not make a remark on it. Your sharp tongue had gotten you into this mess, and it would not get you out of it. “Do you wish to read your books again?” he taunted. “Prove you can defend yourself.

Pushing the sword from your neck, you stand, your blade heavy in your hands. “Taunting, are we?” you narrow your eyes. “Possibly I would be better suited to a different sword, which I could handle with ease? Or maybe, you could decide to not teach me within a day, and expect progress.” At this, you had your sword up, slashed at his own blade.

Thranduil’s eyes were wide at your move, and as he went to parry, you blocked, the sword heavily held across your body to shield his move from touching you. It was just like you had seen the Elves practicing, in Rivendell; almost like a dance. By the time you had moved the sword, Thranduil moved forward, his blade dangerously close to your side. You knew he did not want to harm you, not his Queen, but the people he insisted would harm you would not hold back. Sidestepping, your feet receded from his reach, and by the time he had reacted, the force of your swing disarmed him, and yourself, the swords clattering to the pavement. The swing from your sword did not end there; no – it led to your feet falling over one another, and your body falling onto your husbands.

Together, you fell to the ground, the clanking of his and your armour filling your ears, your chest hitting his, your hair falling onto his face, your faces as close as they could be in the confines of the privacy of the royal bedchambers. Unlike any other times you had seen his face, though, it was flushed red with exertion, his eyes bright and searching yours as to why the pair of you here horizontal upon the pavement.

“________,” he whispered.

You laughed. “Room for improvement?” you asked him.

Thranduil nodded. “Most definitely,” he murmured, his eyes bright and beautiful.

“That’s good,” you smile. Perhaps it was the blood rushing through your brain, or the sight of your husband, the King of Mirkwood, leader of the army, the man behind most of the tactics of the woodland elves beneath your body, you were not sure, but slowly, you leant toward his lips, kissing them softly. “Then we can do this more often.”

[aquitainequeen]

Agape

He opens the way for her at her birth, taking an axe to where she'd swelled and grown. He steps back as she rises up. She sees him first of all in this world where everything comes to her so readily and well. She shouts and brandishes what she knows at once to be weapons and up, up, up she goes, leaving her father behind her on the ground as his flesh knits back together. She will look to him later, but for now all of this goddess's sight is filled up with the one who set her free. * She is his student for a short time, until she has learned all that he has to teach and he then becomes hers. So many thoughts are in that dark head and behind those grey eyes that he could sit and listen to her until forever comes to claim them; and forever is a very long time indeed. They talk most of all about the mortals, of all the things they might do and be. He teaches her to love them in all their brief, burning splendour. She teaches him how he can help them to shine through the ages. * She is by her father's side when he attends the sacrifice, and she smiles upon all the mortals present so that they do not fear her. When she sees the two platters, and him standing there between them, she knows that there is a trick about to happen, that she should say something. She says nothing, and Zeus is true to his nature and picks that which looks most appealing as his share for all time. She doesn't know whether to laugh or frown when she learns they've been tricked into an eternal offering of bones. * While he still goes on with his deceit, it's harder to do it when she never looks away from him throughout his speech. But she will not betray his game, they both know that. The king of the gods predictably chooses the more enticing sacrifice, and he shuts his mouth against a laugh as he pulls aside the glistening fat to show the true offering - the bare bones that are the gods' lot from now on. There is not a sound from any mouths that are open; they and he and she know what this will reap all too well. * The mortals are cold, helpless. She has watched in the warmth and light as they hide in shelters they build against the chill and scratch a small living from the earth. She pities them. They are meant for more than this. Her father laughs at their suffering, when they have done him no wrong. It's disgusting, and it's so wrong. Her siblings and the others do not care. When she meets him and he asks - he does not beg - for her help, she agrees that this must not go on. Yes. She will help him steal from the gods. * He can't bear to let them suffer for his trickery. He sees them shiver in the night as tear at raw meat they have caught with nails and teeth, hardly suited to the task. They dress themselves in un-tanned skins. And he knows that he must right this. He looks at the sun and thinks of all that the chief god's cruelty deprives them of, and the things that they will never do or gain if he does not do this for them. He asks for her aid. She stares at him in heavy knowledge, but still she says yes. * She stands where he had set off from at a run and she watches the light as it grows smaller and smaller, but never quite goes out. She remembers the look of him, his prize concealed within the fennel stalk, eyebrows singed off from the heat of the sun chariot, how he smiled. She doesn't know if he even saw her. She knows that the next time she sees him, he will be at her father's mercy, and her father is seldom merciful. She knows- A world full of thunder, lightning reaching the edges of the sky. He knows. * He'd not thought that anything could be as bright as the sun, or as hot as the piece he broke off it. It didn't burn him, but the heat stays in his fingers. Anyone who sees his face now will know what he's done; not even a Titan can touch the sun and stay the same. The rain makes it hard to see where to tread, but she told him to run until he dropped or he would be caught and that must not be, not while he still has the reed. The lightening shows his path. Run. * All the gods are there when her father charges him with his crimes. They all watch when she tries to reason with him and quell his anger at her friend. All react with righteous shock when her father throws back her words and calls her a whore, inviting the traitor to their sacred home to satisfy her base lust. The mortals will believe that she is his favourite child, but at this moment she looks at the king of the gods and longs to spit in his face. She can do nothing for him now. She turns and walks away. * He is stretched out on the rock with no chance of dignity or shelter and already he can hardly feel his hands and feet as the chains tighten. The sun is in his eyes and even closing them will not help. And yet he knows there must be more to this. He is prudent, but he could never bear to stay silent, whatever it might cost him. This is why, as Hephaestus prepares to depart, he tells him the tyrant is destined to fall as his father fell, and only he knows how to avoid this doom. And he laughs. * The king of the gods fights for something to say when he hears those words. The old prophecy caused the former ruler to turn his teeth against his children, it caused civil war, it caused the death of her mother and now it has returned once more. And the one who knows how to avoid it remains silent. She remembers - how could she forget? - that she is a failure of that prophecy. But Zeus thinks her to be tame, and she continues to let him think this as he roars that he will tear the secret out of that traitor.   * The full horror of seeing and hearing and feeling his skin and muscle tear lasts even as the pain begins and he sees and hears and feels oh how he feels the beak pulling and ripping to find what it wants and there can be no torture greater than this this violation no no no-</b> When the eagle at last retreats with much more than just his liver in its beak, Hermes asks if he will reveal the secret. There is disgust in his voice as the feast begins. His body feels so light now there's less in it. "No." * She cannot refuse the order of the king. Once Hephaestus is done with shaping it she dresses the thing her brother has made in cloth of her own making and teaches it how to practise the crafts she has devised, how to hold the spindle and the distaff, how to judge the warp and the weave. When her task is done, she leaves. She doesn't want to see her fellows fill the thing with cunning and deceit and lies, wretched curiosity and all the things that will unleash the torment and doom of the mortals that they both love. * Hermes tells him during one visit of the creature that his brother has espoused. It - she - is known as Pandora, 'All-gifted', a present from the gods, and Epithemus did not listen. He never listens. The box has been opened by now, and all that he'd hoped to shield his people from has been set loose. And now life will be hard for them, a constant struggle until they leave it behind. Zeus has been satisfied, the gods are great and powerful. But men, and yes, women too, they will be better than the immortals. They will be glorious. * She faces her uncle for the right to the unnamed city. He would have fought her for it, but she tricks the prize away from him. He makes the people a gift of salty water and expects them to be grateful. She smiles at the mortals, and they know not to fear her. She doesn't give them a show; she gives them what they need. The olive tree is theirs, and the city is hers, and her uncle is left deceived and perhaps even ridiculed but unable to fight her cunning ways. Now she knows why he did this. * Hermes no longer comes at all. He has grown sick as even a god can be sick, sick of the torture and his screams and the sight of the eagle feasting, and the unchanged unswerving reply of "No," that he never fails to give. And Zeus is probably sick as well; sick of hearing the same answer again and again, even if he doesn't ever watch the way he's trying to obtain the answer that he wants. Still, he almost longs for the whelp to return again. It's hard to be forgotten when your punishment still goes on. * Tireseus sees her naked while she bathes, and the sight of her divine flesh strikes him blind where he stands. She can't give him back his sight, but she sends the serpents to lick his ears so that he has sight of another kind. Arachne deserved to be brought low but she did not deserve to die. She can spend the rest of her days weaving to live, since she loved it so. Medusa. Her uncle's slut. She desecrated the temple; now no lips will kiss her, no arms will embrace her, her lovers will be a grove of statues. * His skin's grown tough and the sun can't mark it any further. He can ignore the cold of the winds and the pain of his hunger. He doesn't miss the feeling in his hands and feet, and since he has no need to speak and his mouth has long gone dry the rawness of his gullet does not plague him. But he's never prepared against the dual pains, of the eagle's beak plunging through skin and flesh and dragging his insides out, and the feeling of the back of his throat ripping open again as he screams.     * How many years since the punishment began she can no longer recall, and her father summons her to his throne - the throne where he had named her as a whore - and commands her to go to the prisoner and beg the secret from him. All who watch her think, and she knows, that faced with his pupil, his teacher, his friend (his lover?) he will surely give in. "I will not go to him, my lord. You know why I will not." The god king rages and threatens and pleads, she does not care. Again she turns and walks away. * How long into his torture he no longer knows, and Hermes comes to him as he hasn't since the early days. He waits until the eagle's done its work, and then he tells him that Pallas Athena has renounced their ties of friendship. He says that it is Zeus's order that the traitor should know: now even his closest companion has abandoned him. He waits until her brother is gone before he smiles at the tidings. She will not let him give in. She knows how to tell him that he is the better one, always and forever. * Zeus is talking loudly of Heracles. What he's done and what he has yet to do. She only begins to listen when he mentions that he will allow his son, her brother, to free the Titan from his chains and kill his torturer. She still doesn't look at him, but she feels that he's looking at her. So, she smiles for him. The proud god king, the one who has never let himself be refused, has finally given in and admitted defeat. Or perhaps he's learned mercy. Whichever one it is, she's still impressed. And he will be free. * They look at each other when they've finished watching the place where the eagle hit the water and turned it red. The half-mortal has his father's features in him, unnaturally handsome...but he can see the traces of care and pain and waste that mark him, on more than just his face. This one has had a hard life and that hardness will go on after this side quest. And yet he's here, filled with pity and pride and valour and so many things that same life taught him. He's glorious. Oh, it was worth it. * They've not aged but they are older. She's stern and stands with the weight of all her duty, the head of the one she cursed attached to her shield. His voice is harsh with disuse and he hobbles, and there is a dreadful scar at his stomach that will never go away. They come together. They sit and talk of all that has passed since last they met. She has far more to say than he, but they do not care and they do not tire. What's done is done, what's said is said, and they have forever.

[kuriquinn]

Penthesilea [11/?]

Cover & Disclaimer

Chapter Summary: History has a tendency to repeat itself; those who don’t learn that lesson are doomed to endure it over and over

Chapter Beta: None beyond my own two eyes and editing software at the moment

戦国時代 

Sasuke doesn’t approach his brother right away, instead seeking advice from Kakashi about what to do. Although the man feels protective of both Uchiha brothers, he can also see the grander picture in a way Sasuke has not yet learned to.

When Sasuke questions the wisdom in suggesting Sakura’s potential cure, especially in the wake of Shisui’s death, Kakashi sighs

“You know you must inform him of this. And respect whatever he wishes, no matter your own reservations.”

A part of Sasuke wishes Kakashi had told him to keep silent though he isn’t sure if it’s for Itachi’s peace of mind or his own.

It’s another day of weighing his options before Sasuke finally broaches the matter. He enters Itachi’s quarters, expecting him to be sitting in quiet, grief-fuelled reflection, only to stumble upon him putting on his armour.

“What are you doing?” he demands as his brother adjusts his cuirass.

“What I should have been doing all these long months,” Itachi replies neutrally. “Leading my people.”

“You’re supposed to be resting. If you push yourself, you could have another fit and—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Itachi interrupts. “This war will never end. We’re all destined to die anyhow.”

“You think Shisui would be happy about you just giving up just because he died?”

Itachi’s eyes flash in irritation. “Have a care, little brother. I won’t tolerate his name used in the manner you intend.”

“Only because you know he’d tell you not to be a coward.”

“I fail to see how giving up my life to protect our people is cowardly. It’s a far better outcome than wasting away in a bed,” Itachi maintains stubbornly, and then sighs. “I’ve allowed myself to put it off too long.”

The hopelessness in his brother’s voice angers him.

“Put what off?” Sasuke demands. “Your death? If that was your end goal why the hell did you let Sakura and I try to save you these past months?” Itachi is silent, and Sasuke stalks forward, furious. He grabs his brother’s armour and pulls it off; it’s a mark of how weak Itachi is that he doesn’t have the strength to stop him. “You’re not just giving up. You’re too important to this damned peace everyone wants so badly. If you’re not there, what’s the point.”

“Sasuke—”

“We might have a cure,” Sasuke cuts him off before he can think of better phrasing. Itachi stills and raises an expectant eyebrow. “Maybe…but it comes at a cost.”

“These things usually do,” his brother replies dryly, but allows Sasuke to lead him back to his bed to sit. As he helps him remove his armour, Sasuke hurriedly explains what Sakura has found and the technique she is proposing. His brother listens with a neutral expression the entire time, betraying none of his thoughts as Sasuke confesses the caveat of the plan working and Sakura’s true identity. 

“I’ve known who she is all along,” Itachi tells him wearily when he finishes. In happier times, there would be amusement in his voice, but now he simply sounds tired. “She is the most competent healer I’ve ever known—more so even than Tsunade-hime, I suspect. Besides,” He manages a wan smile here, “I said it was impossible to forget eyes like that.”

“And you still allowed her to treat you,” Sasuke says, disbelieving.

“I said before that you have immense trust in her if you were to ask her help. If you trust her, I trust her,” his brother says. “There are good men and women on both sides of this war. Why do you think I’ve tried so hard to end it? And that was long before your feelings for a comely woman entered into it.”

Sasuke jerks in surprise, but Itachi waves a hand in dismissal, frowning only at the effort it takes him.

“As unlikely as it is…you forged bonds with these people,” Itachi says. “That’s both admirable and dangerous. And so, I ask you: if you were to put aside these bonds and think of them simple as that, as people. Not a childhood friend, but the leader of one of our enemy clans—not your lover, but the heir to Senju Tsunade herself—would you still trust them?”

“I…”

“The Senju can play a long game, Sasuke. There’s a reason this war has continued so long,” Itachi tells him. “Both sides are unfailingly adept at carrying out strategies that require years to come to fruition. Generations even. The Uchiha…the Senju…it’s all the same.”

“We aren’t the same Uchiha and Senju that started this,” Sasuke points out.

“Aren’t you?” Itachi challenges. “History has a tendency to repeat itself; those who don’t learn that lesson are doomed to endure it over and over.”

“Repeat what?” Sasuke demands.

“Do you remember the stories Mother used to tell you? Of the Peace That Wasn’t?”

“Hashirama betrayed Madara. Mother said it was a woman they both loved.”

“It was Uzumaki Mito.”

Sasuke feels the air leave his lungs.

“A healer,” Itachi continues, eyes boring into Sasuke’s. “The first to awaken the Byakugō no In. She was Madara’s lover but betrothed to Hashirama—and in the end, she chose duty over love and stood by her husband. She even sealed a demon inside herself to help him defeat his former friend.”

“If you’re suggesting…”

“I’m suggesting nothing. I’m simply offering a caution. If we agree to this and it goes badly…this would be their best opportunity to turn the tide of the war,” his brother points out. “To lure the leaders of their enemy away and destroy them, then win the war on their terms. In our absence, ambitious men like Inabi would take over—”

“But Obito—”

“Obito does not possess the patience required to lead and the remnants of our council are aware of this. If the worst were to happen to us both, they would invoke clan law to elect a different leader. You know Inabi has a talent for winning people to his cause—how long do you think it would take him to oust Obito?”

“He’d have to kill him first. Obito wouldn’t go down without a fight.”

“Exactly. And our people would endure war on the home front as well. It would not be long before the Senju emerged victorious, picking the clan off as they saw fit. And perhaps that’s for the best—this war must end—but too many among the Senju forces hate and revile us. Within generations, anyone of Uchiha blood might find themselves reduced to the status of slave, or even banished from our ancestral lands. At worst, they might wipe us out entirely.” Itachi pauses here, allowing his words to sink in. “And so, little brother, I ask again: even knowing all of this, do you trust these people?”

“Yes.” Sasuke is surprised at how quick his response comes to his lips this time.

“Other than Sakura,” Itachi clarifies. “I know you trust her. Even if you didn’t, she’s a true healer; her duty is to her patient, and I suppose I am protected by that. Out of everyone I can think of, her motives are the most trustworthy. But innocents like her can be turned into pawns by others. Do you trust Uzumaki Naruto?”

Sasuke thinks over everything he has ever known about the other man. The image comes back to him of Naruto standing before him, refusing to fight him because he was respecting his grief.

“Yes,” he says finally.

Itachi studies him for a very long while, and with a maddeningly unreadable expression. Then he nods once.

“Very well,” he says at last. “Sakura will perform this healing technique of hers. I will put my fate in her hands—but I cannot in good conscience put our people’s there as well. Not in the current climate. I imagine you have no intention of staying here—”

“Don’t even suggest it,” Sasuke warns.

“—which means we will need insurance. Someone who can extract you if the worst should happen.” Sasuke makes a noise of protest, but Itachi raises his hand. “There is having complete faith and trust in someone, and there is being practical. When you are the leader, you will understand that.”

“If,” Sasuke corrects, narrowing his eyes. “If I were the leader.”

Itachi smiles a little, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“This is absurd,” Sasuke tells him. “If you told anyone else in the clan about this, they would stop you.”

“Then we won’t tell someone from within the clan,” Itachi replies. “In fact, there is already someone in your confidence who is loyal to the Uchiha and to the idea of peace. And who, if I’m not mistaken, also has a soft-spot for Sakura-chan.”

Sasuke is the one who is quiet this time. He knows that his brother is referring to Kakashi, and while he can’t argue with anything Itachi has said, he can’t help being wary. He suspects there is another reason Itachi wants their former teacher to go with them; that Sasuke can’t figure it out bothers him more than he would like.

But his task was to get his brother to agree to Sakura’s procedure, and he has succeeded. He will deal with any other difficulties as they come.

戦国時代

Several days later, under the cover of night, Itachi, Sasuke and Kakashi arrive in one of the neutral border villages. It is a tiny hamlet that has never taken sides in the large conflict if only because there are too few villagers and too few beneficial resources.

Naruto’s messenger—a tiny frog summon with an attitude—said they must travel to the farthest hut in the village. In no time the three of them stand a short distance from the homely structure. Sasuke indicates to the others that he will go first, and heads for the entrance.

A slender woman with long dark hair peeks out from the doorway, eyes widening a little at the sight of him. He suspects he is a disconcerting sight, dressed entirely in black and hand on his hips, but she is expecting him. With a nervous smile, she motions for him to come inside. 

Sasuke exchanges last looks with his brother and mentor, a general agreement to be wary. Trust aside, they are all conditioned to await ambush.

The interior of the hut is dimly lit, and that only within the confines of what seems to be a small tent at the back of the room. A clean room for surgery,  Sasuke realises a moment later when Sakura emerges. She is dressed for surgery in a cap and gown, her hair carefully tucked away beneath her gear. Beside the cloth walls, Naruto is speaking quietly with an older man, who resembles the dark-haired woman enough that Sasuke suspects it’s her father. And then, lurking in the shadows—

Sasuke frowns at the third figure in the room. This man is a stranger with hollow cheeks and dark features and dressed casually but his bearing and the scars on his hands betray him as a warrior.

“Who’s this?” Sasuke demands, suspicious.

 “This is Tenzō Yamato,” Sakura replies in a soothing tone. “He’s a distant relative of Tsunade-shishou, and the only person alive who inherited Hashirama-sama’s Mokuton.”

“I don’t care who he is, I care why he’s here,” Sasuke snaps, nerves making him shorter than usual even with her.

“He is here to protect Naruto if something should happen to me,” Sakura says curtly.

“Did I hear someone say ‘protect’?” Naruto speaks up, sounding annoyed at the idea.

“Don’t be childish,” she retorts.

“And what danger does he need to worry about?” Sasuke challenges, narrowing his eyes at his rival. The blue-eyed man returns the gaze with equal wariness, until Sakura steps between the two.

“You’re not the only ones worried about ambush,” she lectures sternly. “It pays to be prepared.” When he continues to frown at her, she adds in a softer, quieter voice, “You can’t fault us for extra measures. I trust you…and I know Kakashi and Itachi to be good men. But on the off-chance someone overheard your plans to come here? Or ours? What we do tonight is not something to be taken lightly.”

Sasuke growls wordlessly in reply, eyes flitting from Naruto to the stranger in the shadows, but then forcibly relaxes. “Fine. Are you sure this location is secure?”

“I’ve known Teuchi and Ayame since I could barely walk,” Naruto interrupts. “They’re trustworthy.”

He and Sasuke regard each other for a further moment, hard-eyed, and then Sasuke nods.

Sasuke returns to the door and waves a hand through, signalling his brother and Kakashi that all is safe. Or as safe as it can be under these circumstances. As she watches them approach the small hut, Sakura’s forehead wrinkles in consternation over something. She turns to Sasuke.

 “You were supposed to bring someone who could be a match for Itachi. There’s very little chance that Kakashi would be.”

Sasuke gives her an unimpressed look. “You know that’s not why he’s here.”

“I can hope, can’t I?” she returns, face falling a little. Obviously, she expects what he intends, but still hopes to be told differently. In some ways, she is still so innocent.

“You’re a stranger risking your life for my brother,” he tells her. “Is it even a question that I might do the same? Of the two of us, his survival is the most important.”

“Don’t say that,” Sakura snaps, a little harsher than usual. Noticing how Naruto and Yamato glance over, she lowers her voice. “His survival isn’t the only one that’s important.”

“You’re in the minority with that belief,” Sasuke replies as his brother enters the tent.

At once, Itachi’s eyes fly toward Naruto, and the two rival clan leaders size one another up. There is a palpable tension in the air;  Sasuke has the sudden mental image of a crow facing a toad, trying to decide whether to eat it or not.

A beat later, Naruto takes a step forward, and bows into a low saikeirei. There are several surprised intakes of breath around the room—even Sasuke is somewhat caught off-guard, as he wasn’t even aware Naruto knew how to be respectful.

“Uchiha-dono,” he says. “I express my heartfelt sorrow for your friend’s passing. Too many good men have been lost to this war, and I’m sorry his end came at the hands of anyone associated with the Senju or the Uzumaki.”

Itachi remains carefully composed, studying the younger man, and then ducks into a stiff eshaku. “You condolences are appreciated.”

“Please know that my clan and I remain committed to peace,” Naruto goes on, straightening to his full height. “Danzō does not speak for us—or the Senju, however much he believes he does.”

“That discussion is too long for today,” Itachi says quietly. “Although it begs the question. Many a man would expect recompense for the danger you throw yourself into tonight. Tell me, Uzumaki Naruto - is your help tonight conditional on a peace treaty?”

 “No,” Naruto says immediately; his tone sounds almost offended. “This is because you’re Sasuke’s family.”

Itachi raises an eyebrow. “What do you care for my brother?”

“When I was a child, he was the only friend I had,” Naruto says in a firm tone, eyes flitting briefly to Sasuke and then returning to Itachi’s face. “Before I met Sakura, before the war caught up with us and forced us to fight each other. I don’t forget the people to whom I’ve formed bonds.”

Sasuke blinks at this, surprised, while Itachi nods, thoughtful.

“Besides,” Naruto continues with a shrug. “Sakura is important to me, and Sasuke is important to her. And you are important to him.”

“That’s a rather loose set of reasoning to help the enemy.”

“Better than some reasons that people go to war,” Naruto shoots back.

In the corner, Kakashi snorts and even corners of Itachi’s mouth twitch.

“Very well,” Sasuke’s brother says. “Then answer me one last question.”

“Fine,” Naruto juts his chin out as if to dare the leader of the Uchiha to find something he has to hide.

“This is a dangerous medical procedure. Even one that your distant ancestor Uzumaki Mito could not manage. Why are you here to help your medic friend carry it out instead of Senju Tsunade? To my knowledge, you are not learned in the art of medical ninjutsu.”

Naruto and Sakura exchange glances then, and something passes between them. The silence conversation is that of long-time friends, and Sasuke instantly resents it. A beat later, the leader of the Uzumaki tilts his head at Yamato, who appears wary, but slowly nods.

“It’s because I have something Tsunade-baachan doesn’t,” Naruto says at last, utterly serious. “And which Mito didn’t have at the time that she tried the technique.”

Itachi considers him for a long moment, frowning as he weighs these words, and then his eyebrows raise incrementally. “Ah. I see. So that’s why the Mokuton wielder is here.”

Naruto startles and Sasuke shoots his brother a confused look. “What are you talking about?”

“Uzumaki Naruto is a jinchūriki,” Itachi declares quietly. “To the same demon that harnessed by Uzumaki Mito, if I’m not mistaken.”

There is a heavy silence in the room.

Naruto doesn’t speak or move beyond a clench of his jaw, neither confirming nor denying it. Sakura bites her lips, eyes flitting worriedly between her friend and her lover, as if she’s unsure who she ought to be more worried about.

Sasuke is stunned.

He has always suspected that there was something about Naruto, something that allowed an otherwise average warrior to withstand Sasuke’s training and talents. Some secret technique that allowed him to heal from wounds that would have killed lesser men.

But he would never have guessed at a legendary beast residing within his rival. He glances to Sakura, understanding in that moment why she could not tell him the truth. 

“It’s amazing that you could keep this a secret from us,” Kakashi remarks, sounding uncharacteristically surprised. “And a dangerous gamble, if anyone found out.”

“Yes,” Itachi agrees. “If he and the demon are one, his power is potentially unlimited. But considering we have never heard of any of your abilities, and you haven’t used them on the battlefield, I assume this balance yet escapes your grasp.”

“Not to mention Sasuke would be dead several times over,” Kakashi points out, earning a glare from the younger Uchiha.

“Not necessarily,” Itachi says, narrowing his eyes at Naruto. “And you know that too, do you not?” His eyes gleam red, Mangekyō Sharingan spinning in a threat. Yamato makes a move toward him, but a tiny gesture from Sakura stops him. “Without having reached the pinnacle of your power, you still appear before me knowing that you could hand me a key to win the war. You are familiar with the stories of Madara I assume? They say he could command untamed demons with his eyes.”

Sakura flinches, but Naruto steps forward.

“You won’t,” he says, though his fists clench like he’s trying to convince himself of this. “You want a peace that lasts, not one that’s built on an illusion. Besides, this has to be fair. You came here tonight even though I’m sure you suspected it was a trap. And you have a lot to lose if your disease is discovered by your people. So I should have a lot to lose too. We have to be equal.”

It’s the most ridiculous, naïve thinking Sasuke has ever heard of. No warrior he has ever faced would voluntarily handicap himself when meeting with the enemy, and yet the Uzumaki leader has done just that.

Then, to his shock, Itachi gives a short chuckle.

“You are a strange man, Uzumaki Naruto,” he says, sounding coolly amused. “You have a very simple view of the world. I would call it innocent, except I suspect you understand better than most that the world and the people in it are not kind. That you have maintained this…hope in the face of adversity is no small feat. And I can see why my brother trusts you.”

This time it is Naruto who appears surprised, glancing over to Sasuke as if to gauge the truth of this.

“We will proceed,” Itachi declares, and turns to Sakura. “I commit my life to your hands. Whatever plan you have, let us carry it out now.”

“I can do this,” Sakura insists to him. “With Naruto’s help and my training, I’ll succeed where Uzumaki Mito did not.”

Itachi studies her face for a moment and then looks to Sasuke.

“That is my sincerest hope,” he says, and Sasuke wonders if he has imagined the undertone in his brother’s words.

つづく

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