#you could even push it a little and do like. the dishonored theme in the style of deus ex. even though deus ex is from 2000

[wjbs-aus]

If Doom (1993) was made now, I bet the soundtrack would sound like ULTRAKILL's.

[katsukikitten]

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, mentions of animal harm, sexual themes, god/fantasy au for BNHAREM this badboi is 8k so enjoy~

The sound of a wind chime echoes across the small field just outside your home. The breeze carries the smell of summer bloomed blossoms and with it the threat of rain as it comes from down the mountain. 

A soft brown creature catches your eye as your mother picks flowers and berries for the festival. 

“Bunbun!” You exclaim, pointing as you tug on your mother’s tattered kimono, she responds with a soft hmm. Her eyes still focused on the wide range of flowers although her vision blurs. 

But at least you weren’t picked for this festival, no it would be many years before you would be in the running. Your mother’s only wish was for you to be unfavorable. Mother is so engrossed that she does not see you slip away, slowly following the bunny into the forest. 

Soon the soft brown creature begins to hop, faster and faster as you giggle running full speed ahead. Not noticing how the trees thicken or how dark eyes seem to peer through the trees, their mawls salivating with unsated hunger. With gnashing teeth they stalk ever closer all the while you rush to catch the creature just for it to jump high into the air. Nose diving straight for the ground, you copy its actions but the bunny is faster than you. Slipping into the burrow with ease as you fall face first into dirt and rocks. 

“O..ow. Momma!” You sniffle, turning around for some much needed motherly love, but instead of your mother hunched over collecting boring things in her basket you are met with a dense forest. The setting sun washes over the trees giving the thick pines and maples a ghoulish red hue.  Suddenly you are hyper aware of the sounds around you, a stick snaps in the brush. Your head turns as if you were a startled deer, eyes wide, heart racing as you strain to hear over the rushing blood in your ears. Dark figures move in the long shadows and haunting laughs echo around you. Beady eyes shine in the darkness causing a small whimper to leave your lips. Acting on instinct you rush to your feet, running through the woods. Briers snatch at your small ankles, leaving angry red lines in their wake, wanting nothing more than to make you a child of the forest.

“MOOOM!” You shout, panting as they force you further into the mountain, you take a quick left when one jumps from the right causing you to trip over a branch falling into a small clearing, faintly you hear the rush of a spring.

Scuffling rouses a sleepy garnet haired man who lounges in a steaming hot spring, that’s sprinkled with fallen petals of mountain flowers. He thinks to dismiss it until a scream cuts through the serenity of the pines. Whatever animal it is, it sounds small and this stirs something in the mountainous man. Sadly this was the circle of life, he reminds himself as he sinks deeper into the burning hot spring. 

“MOMMA HELP PWEESE!!” You scream, trying to get up but this time you are entangled in a briar patch, thorn and vine twisting around your tender skin. It seems the wicked green plant will have its wish. 

All the while the shadows stalk closer, their bright beady eyes blown wide as their jaws unhinge for their meal. They get on their haunches to launch themselves at you until something causes them to freeze. The trees shake around you while the Earth rumbles as if there were a thunder storm beneath the rich dirt. 

“Hello little flower. Are you lost?” You whip your head towards the sound. Lip quivering as you stare up at a tall, built man. But it was his eyes that stood out the most. 

His glistening rubies glow as fading sunlight catches his hair, emphasizing that the strands are a red so deep one could mistake it as black. Your eyes play tricks on you as the air seems charged and yet calm, giving him a surreal aura. He stands tall, half relaxed as one arm is lazily hanging from his dark rose kimono while the rest of his sculpted body is exposed to the slowly cooling air. You weigh your options as best you can before you scramble to your savior. Clinging to his leg as your tears begin to stain his kimono. 

He breathes in deeply and before he can speak the dark figures vanish, melting into the shadows that stretch in the last winking light of the Sun. He crouches down to you, pushing hair past your face. 

“Don’t cry little flower. Here.” A beautiful flower crown appears in his hands. The  white petals with contrasting amethyst stripes down the center seem to have their own shimmering bio-luminescence making it feel other worldly as he places it atop your head. He chooses the dietes flower for its symbolism and rarity, unknowingly sealing your fate. 

“Is that better, little one?” You nod in response, sniffling softly as he scoops you up walking you until he can just see what must be your home through the thick trees. He watches what he assumes your mother to panic, as the village shouts what must be your name. 

“You’ll have to walk the rest of the way okay little flower?” He sets you down gently before you give a big nod. Cold bare feet crunching the leaves against the forest floor. 

You come into the clearing of your home, the sea of yellows, pinks and reds winking in the stark light of the moon. 

“Momma…” You call softly, the world stops turning on its axis before she rushes to you, pulling you into her arms before her eyes are filled with overflowing fear. Fat droplets leave her long lashes as she snatches the crown away, but it is too late. It has been seen by all. 

“Oh she is favored by the Gods.” Someone comments. 

“If she grows into anything like her mother she will be the best choice to appease the Mountain God!" 

"Let us mark this day and the family name so we may remember 16 years from now." 

They continue to gossip as your mother squeezes you tight enough that it hurts. Her mind racing as she carries you inside, she tucks you in without a word of a scolding. Coaxing you to drink some lavender tea that pulls you into a deep sleep beneath the symphony of crickets and the like.

You do not hear your mother return and if you do, you guess she is doing her nightly routine. Fluffing your blankets and making sure your futon is warm enough but what you weren’t expecting was the cold bite of a blade pressing into the flesh above your left eyebrow.  

"Mom…Momma’s sorry baby.” She chokes on her sobs as she pulls the cool metal hard and deep, crying so loud she can barely hear your scream.  

But that was how long ago? Almost two decades? You toss a rock into your reflection, distorting your marred face as your childhood flashes before your eyes. 

You remember there was shouting, lots of shouting of how you are now “unfavorable” “dishonorable” “an abomination” the next day and from then it’s a blur of insults and isolation. Nothing but the wind in your hair, the creaking of the trees and a dream of glistening rubies kept you alive, desperate to return to the last time you were happy. Although you were unsure of who you saw in the mountain that fated night, a part of you could guess. It had to be the Spirit of the Mountain, Kirishima. Because who else actually looked like the painted scrolls that littered the village and shrines? In your opinion they had his image all wrong. 

He does not scowl or wear a grimace, no his smile is sharp toothed and bright. You sigh, wondering if you will ever bump into him again. 

An inhuman scream tears through the serenity of the babbling brook causing a chill to run through your spine. If you had to guess it was most likely a fox or wolf finally catching up to its meal. 

“They must eat too…” You murmur to yourself, drawing your knees to your chest. The wind rustles the leaves overhead giving you sharp visions of beady black eyes from the past. 

“Don’t let it get away!” A shout from your left before the animal comes scurrying through the brush, running smack into your lap. It is a small fox, its tail missing and in its wake a crude weeping cut. Your vision blurs red as you take off your top layer of kimono, wrapping the poor thing in the brown fabric. 

The culprits come into view, the village elder’s son holds the tail while his favorite goon holds the knife. Red falls to the Earth in nauseating droplets. 

“Well well well, looks like we found something else we can carve up huh?” The goon asks with a smile, “Just keep quiet freak." 

The elder’s son is hesitant, something odd grows in his eyes and chest. Suddenly the tail feels a lot heavier than what it was moments ago, especially so under the weight of your single gaze. Your left eye although clouded over seems to stare straight into his soul. Can you see the desperation he has? Worst yet can you see how tainted he is? 

"Oi Kenji” The goon nudges him, clearly only hanging around the future heir for his influence and with it a hope of immunity to terrorize as he pleases. 

The motion brings him back to the present while a plan begins to form in his head. Would anyone believe the dishonorable, disowned freak over him? Could he do things to you that no matter how loud you screamed the truth it would fall on deaf ears? 

His cruel smile is an answer in of itself as he takes a step towards you, it wouldn’t be hard to make you his. You take a step back, mindful of the sun’s position and your surroundings. They both creep nearer as you hold the shaking animal to you, you turn on your heel rushing through the woods. They were fast and well trained however no one knew these woods like you did. 

It was as if you knew of every fallen leaf or broken branch as you rushed through the deep green leaves. Dodging low branches that they hit face first, holes they tripped in and even a dead deer carcass that you bound in a single leap. You hear a crash and one of them gag as your feet urge you forward, looking over your shoulder. 

That is until your run into something so solid you fall right onto your ass, the small animal gives a whimper on your lap. 

“I could have sworn…” The sound of rushing water swallows up the rest of your thought as you look up to what you’ve run into. Wholly expecting a tree stood a man, with deep garnet hair and a sharp toothed smile. Immediately your blood turns cold, the air about him seeming other worldly as the forest quiets and slows in his presence. 

“Ah, are you alright?” He asks, extending his hand to you, gingerly you take it. His calloused hand is warm and strong as he lifts you to your feet, ruby eyes staring at the bundle in your hand.

“May I?” Hesitantly you pass the bundle, he frowns at its contents before setting the small fox on the ground, waving his fingers to heal its wound. The fox looks at the healer, seemingly giving him a small bow before rushing back into the safety of the brush. 

“The fox told me what you did. Thank you.” His smile is blinding and dazzling. He offers you a single white flower, the amethyst stripe up the middle causes your stomach to tighten.

“Do you always give out good fortune?” You ask quietly, turning the wild iris over in your hand. He laughs, if he recognizes you he does not show it but you are sure this is the man who gave you an abundance of “good fortune” years ago. Your scar burns from the thought. Your mother did tell you stories of the Gods playing cruel jokes. 

But was Kirishima truly a maleficent God? 

You bit your lower lip. A warm hand cups your chin, a soft smile on his face as he turns your left side to you. 

“Do I know you dear heart?” His voice is soft, eyes half mast almost lazily gazing upon your features. You tuck the iris in your ear and it seems to jog his memory. 

“Little flower!” His voice becomes larger, sharper, as his thumb swipes over the deep fissure on your cheek “What happened?!" 

His touch is comforting but not enough you wish to relive the trauma again. 

"I wish not to speak about it.” Your eyes catch the position of the sun. Gently you step from his soft grip.

“I must return home for dinner before I cause my mother to worry.” You bow formally, presenting the flower “Thank you Kamisama but I cannot accept your blessing." 

You stand like that long enough your back begins to hurt causing a deep fear to flow through your veins.

Was he angry that you dared to reject him? 

Your feet burn with the urge to run but you dismiss it, finally his large fingers grasps at the small stem holding the rarity in his hands. Eyes roving over you, you peek up to check his gaze and while he looks level headed to you, you decide to leave before you find out if he isn’t. 

He stares after you, eyes curious and yet not surprised as to how he could have forgotten about someone as remarkable as you. 

But how could he remember? 

You are nothing more than a mere mortal and you were a child at that. A blip, a hazy day dream even, in his infinite lifetime. 

So what interest would he have in a life so fleeting that should he rouse from a nap he would be meeting your great grandchildren who could remember nothing more about you than your name? 

And yet when he looked at you now, as a full grown woman, something bloomed in his chest. Your scar adding to your mystic beauty, especially after what the fox had told him.  

His ruby eyes return to the flower as he ponders over your question in his head. 

A week or so passes, as you’re sure to avoid the Mountain God. Still fearing he may be angered by your rejection. 

But you cannot stay from the depths of the forest long. Staring down at your reflection in the water you sigh, running your hand through the cool water debating if you will bathe in one of the many hot springs tonight. A scurrying in the bush pulls your attention to the here and now. Muscles rigid as you worry it will be an encounter with the heir and his goon, shimmering orange rushes from the brush easing your mind. 

"Ah hello friend!” You call and the fox stops in its tracks, task or hunt at hand long forgotten, “Did His healing power work?" 

You cannot help the glee in your voice as you see your friendly fox sit near your feet, it swishes its tail and just like that another seems to appear. Wagging like an opposing pendulum beside the other. 

"You have two tails now, oh” You give a sly smile, “Are you here to steal my liver?" 

The kitsune chuckles at your joke, his little laugh echoing in the clearing. The haunting sound brings an odd comfort to you as he tilts his head as if someone is whispering to him. He gives a small nod before approaching, setting something in your lap that his black lips were not holding before. 

A note of sorts and the flower he attempted to offer you earlier. The note reads in glowing golden red hue,

"Let’s start over again. Tea by the blue moon wild flowers at midnight.”

You sigh deeply, placing the card and flower deep in your tattered kimono with the thought of not showing up.  Why would a God want tea with you? You who wears a scarred face and milky white eye. You give the kitsune a soft pat before standing, brushing the dirt from your deep brown kimono. 

You spend the rest of the day as you told your mother you would, picking flowers to both practice arranging and drying for the upcoming festival. There were only a few weeks left and you had done zero practicing as you has promised. Your mother claimed this would help earn your keep with the village but you were sure that was more for her peace of mind than the truth. 

With your basket heavy with the finest of flowers you head towards home, careful to avoid the path you last saw the God on.

And anytime you had thought you caught wind of his intoxicating smell of soft musk, pine and the biting threat of snow you turned on your heel as quickly and quietly as humanly possible, ignoring the gemstone gaze that bore into your back. 

After a small dinner with your mother and hours of twisting flower streams to make crowns of, you finally get the chance to lie down to sleep. 

But sleep doesn’t come, instead you’re wide awake as the moon leaks in the through the small cracks in the walls. Dust dancing on the low light as you sigh as if you were in love. 

Deep, unsatisfied and often. 

The invitation burns in the folds of your kimono and suddenly you are filled with action. Gently you rise, fumbling with your hair as best you can before you mumble curses to yourself. Placing a practice crown on your head and rouging your lips with the remnants of berries before you set out into the darkness. 

Your feet seem to guide you on your own as you weave through the trees. Fireflies lazily floating in the air as crickets scream their symphonies at your feet. Finally you come across the mostly hidden spot.

Hesitantly you step into the clearing, blue moon flowers glitter in the light of the quarter moon as if sprinkled with stardust. Their silver sheen invites you in further as a wind sweeps through the patch. Your eyes rove over as you look for the Mountain God. When your search comes up empty you feel your heart free fall into your stomach. Heated foolishness creeps into your throat and cheeks. 

Why would a God invite a mortal? 

Blinking away hurt tears you turn briskly, stopping yourself from running from the clearing incase he is watching for the sake of his cruel joke. 

That is until a deep voice rings out, vibrating the very bones in your body with a comforting hum.

“Little flower, Are we not having tea?” His tone is innocent and when you turn around with half a mind to fuss you see it. A beautiful hand woven rug that holds a low tea table, atop the dark wood sits finary. Foods, desserts and tea ware that would make the emperor jade green with envy. 

“This is…” You whisper but he reaches his hand towards you, gently guiding you to a plush cushion, his strong hand wrapped steadfast around yours. He waits until you are seated comfortably before he sits close to you. 

Almost too close, his shoulder could easily brush against yours in movement and it does as it takes you an eon to realize what exactly he is doing. 

Preparing the tea. Immediately your stomach flips as shaking hands fumble to stop him, grabbing onto his large hands with a fervor unmatched. A quizzical look before a sly smirk paints his handsome features. 

“A..a..a God should not be serving a m..mortal tea.” You trip over your words feeling self conscious as your palms feel is if they are sweating. Shame radiates through your chest as if a hot rod were shoved through your heart. 

“Then let us not be a God and a mortal.” He smiles, lips curving upward gently as his shining teeth glint in the low light. You should be scared, frightened that you may have insulted him or worse yet earned the infamous Wrath of the Mountain God. 

But you aren’t, if anything you’re on the complete opposite of the spectrum as the breeze shifts his scent closer to you. The forest alive at night, the sharp smell of snow mingling with the gentle fragrance of bloomed flowers. 

Suddenly you feel dizzy and his next words do not help. 

“Let us be more.” Again you feel the comforting hum in your chest, you decide now is a good time to let go of his hands. 

He sets the tea before you, again you are faced with a pitiful reflection. You blow on the green liquid disrupting the steam and with it your image. It is quiet save the sounds of late night summer although it is not uncomfortable silence that passes over the hours between the two of you. It is easy as the two of you sip your tea and for a moment you think you’ve forgotten the sin you’re committing by forgetting who he really is. Occasionally the two of you would share a laugh, his shoulder brushing against yours before he comes closer, close enough your forearms touch as they rest against the table. His skin feels warm and smooth like a rock baking in the sun, his smile dazzling as his face seems to get closer. His finger hooks into your palm, lazily tracing the lines as if they were an old and familiar map. 

“Why do you love the mountain forest so much?” His voice is so close you feel breath fan your cheek. Butterflies take rapid flight in your stomach. 

Was it that obvious? I guess it would be with how much of your life you spent within these thick trees. 

“There is so much to love in this place of solace. Every new clearing brings something of wonder. A waterfall, a field of flowers, a hot spring to soak your aching bones. Even just a small fawn grazing on the seeds the trees and flowers offer is more beauty than I can imagine." 

His fingers stop, leaving an odd tingling sensation causing your nerves to stand on edge. Attempting to reach towards the soft touch once more. Kirishima looks to the moon and how it begins to set. 

"Another day little flower.” He whispers, voice honeyed yet sharp as you find yourself standing on the edge of the woods, staring at your small home. You turn in a full circle and see no sign of the God causing your heart to grow heavy. Gripping at your chest as you make your way back towards your home, you thought maybe he didn’t like your answer. Maybe he read your honesty as a poor attempt of flattery. 

What you don’t know is that he liked your answer a little too much.  

It isn’t long before you find yourself in the same patch of flowers at a questionable hour sitting beside Kamisama himself. You swallow thickly, nails biting into your palm as again he pours your tea. 

Is this right? Would your mother approve?

You were sure she wouldn’t, and not from your lack of manners but seeing the very man she so feared and having tea with him nonetheless.

“Something troubling you my blossom?” Flustered over his familiarity you stammer out a response.

“Just…just thinking.” You offer a shy smile as he returns a wolfish grin, you do not know that he can hear just how fast your heart is beating. 

“Hmmm.” The hum rumbles in your own chest and large bottle flies take flight in your stomach. He brushes some hair out of your face so he can better see it. He smiles softly. 

“I’ve been curious about why you are collecting so many flowers lately.” Rigid beneath his touch you fear you have angered him but it won’t be long before you realize just how infatuated he is with you. 

“A festival for you Kirishima, Kamisama of the Mountain.” He lets his fingers play and twist in your hair. You try not to look away. 

“You’ll be the guest of honor then?” His fingers brush down your heated cheeks. 

Despite the intimacy of both his touch and proximity you give a loud laugh. Eyes looking at a blurred green version of yourself in your cup. 

“No, I’m sure I could never be favored.” At least not by the villagers. 

But you seemed to be favored by the Gods. You swallow thickly, of all the talk and importance of the festivals your mother never let you attend, so you are unsure what happens. 

While you’re left home alone you could hear the loud beats of the drum, their feet hitting against the stone of the square and their joyous singing. 

Sometimes you think you hear a scream. 

But you cannot reflect on it long as a pair of soft lips press against your cheek. Then when you do not move they graze along your jawline before finding their way to your pulse. You give a small gasp and when he gives a small suck you a raspy moan.  He growls against your throat, a sudden heat grows between your legs and you swallow desire whole. 

He feels how tense you have become and eases up from your throat. Guiding you by your chin so you may face him before he steals away your first kiss. 

Not that you would have given it to anyone else. 

The next month is a game of cat and mouse. Both of you eagerly seeking the other out, yet making it seem as if it were a mere accidently. All the while a now three tailed fox smiles knowingly.  It’s a blur of tea, mountain top views over valleys, and deep passionate kissing. 

But this last encounter truly was by pure chance for both parties. 

The pungent smell of sulfur tickles your nose, although this is the least offending spring. Its water a lovely milky blue that you’ve decorated with a few left over flowers heads. You sigh as you sink deeper into the borderline scalding water being sure to soak your aching hands and feet. 

You’re thankful that the rushing water settles here in this cluster of rocks despite the small current that carries it away just a few feet down. A sigh leaves your body, eyes lingering to the light of the full moon before they flutter close. Your guard completely down as you know no one is going to be wandering around these woods. 

It is the night of the festival after all. 

And no one was sure as hell gonna be out looking for you.  

Not even Kamisama as you were sure he would oversee the festival, it was held in his name was it not? 

Sleep threatens to pull you beneath its veil so much so you do not hear the footsteps that approach.  

He steps closer to the spot of his favorite spring and when he sees your head titling back onto the rocks, a fine blush blooms on his cheeks. 

“My little hana?” His voice is soft yet concerned, startling you. The water splashes around as you turn to face him. 

If you were flustered before you’re beyond that now. He has his back to you as he gives your privacy, face slightly turned but his eyes are not overlooking his shoulder. Your eyes widen as they take in His beauty. His hair tied up in a messy bun, winking blacks and deep reds beneath the moonlight. His broad shoulders exposed, eyes trailing down his sculpted back to see his bare buttocks. Strong, thick legs holding up this God of a man.  

Well he was a God wasn’t he? 

“Are you alright, lovely blossom? I didn’t know you’d be here I can come ba…" 

"No. No no!” You interrupt, “I…" 

It’s silent for a moment, lust moves your lips. 

"I wouldn’t mind the company.” Your voice is barely heard over the swirling, rushing water. 

But the smirk on his soft lips tells you that he had heard you.  And he will never forget the invitation. 

He turns to join you, your eyes following down the trail of his abs to his pointed V, you do not allow your eyes to travel further south and force them to his face. His glowing eyes bright, two shining rubies lighting up the night. He sinks into the water across from you, letting his arms spread and rest on the rocks. 

You release the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Sinking into the water as you realize just how exposed you are.  The weight of his gaze is doing something to you. 

He keeps his eyes locked on yours, the heat of the spring makes you a bit dizzy and you’re beginning to wonder if it is his merlot eyes that have you on cloud nine. 

That have you so bold. Bold enough you float yourself beside him, right into the crook of his arm. He gently slides it around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his chest. 

“How was your day my sweet?” His voice is soothing but you’d rather not recount your day or the number of flowers you set just right. 

“Boring. Yours Kirishima?” He smiles as you use his name.

“Same.” He places a chaste kiss to your damp hair line. It leaves you wanting more. 

“A..again please?” He goes to kiss your forehead again but you tilt your face upward. He smiles, putting his hand at the nape of your neck. Leaning in impossibly slow holding your gaze. His look makes you impossibly higher and then his kisses your lips.

It is soft, it is slow, but each movement of his lips become more feverish, more bold. Like a cracked dam after a rain far too heavy, it is going to burst. 

And it does. 

Your mouth openes to him and he slides his tongue between your teeth, swirling and tasting your earthly, mortal form. You moan into the kiss, giving him more entrance, your hands clawing at his hair, his back while his hands follow your curves. Running up and down your sides, pinching at your nipples turning you into putty in his hands.  You do not resist, you would never deny him and you’re sure he would never take. 

He does nothing more than light exploring, commiting your skin to memory. You let out another moan, this one louder than before enticing his primal needs. As his tongue slides over yours his hand snakes to your lower back, pulling you into his lap.  

You feel his harden asset resting close to your throbbing sex. 

Would…would it be okay to bed a God? For a mortal to be touched by hands that can create and destroy in a matter of nanoseconds? 

Suddenly you feel too hot, too flustered, too high as the world spins rapidly on its axis. You push back, gasping for air and immediately his lust is replaced with concern. He sees tears forming in your eyes, signs of some internal battle. 

It reminds him of when he pours you a cup of tea but tenfold. He looks up at you, one hand traces down your spine before his other wipes away your tears. 

“Blossom for me when you’re ready not when I want you, my little flower.” His voice is soft, reassuring, causing you to cry more. His fingers gently trace your scar, follow your spine, and continue to wipe away your tears when needed. 

You nod helplessly, removing yourself from his irresistible lap, he pulls you to cuddle. A soft kiss to your hairline. The moon begins to climb higher in the sky and although your mother will not be home for some time, you still need to beat her home. Maybe he can read minds as he says. 

“Let’s meet later tonight? Our usual time after your mother has returned home?” You nod against his chest, slowly stand. He supports your weight as he holds onto your hand as you ease out of the comforting water. 

You look for your brown kimono but with every second you cannot find it panic seizes your bones. 

“M…my kimono. I…I can’t find it!” You realize you may have misplaced it or worse yet placed it too close to the water. 

Oh Kami did it get washed away? 

“Flower, love. It is fine. I can help.” He snaps his fingers and you’re adorning the most stunning kimono you’ve ever seen. More so than what any painting of any God and Goddess meeting you’ve ever seen.  You twirl in the ombre kimono. It starts out black, like a moonless night at the top before lightening until it is put glowing starlight at your ankles. 

“Its gorgeous. But it is too much." 

"Nothing is too much for you.” He stands, a kimono appears on his body as well, ombre again, black at his shoulders until it is blood red at his ankles. The bottom reminds you of the first time you had seen him when you were little. When he saved your life, a halo of setting sun emphasizing his status. 

“We will meet again?"  You nod and he cannot bring himself to say he is going to the annual meeting of the Gods because if he did, with you wearing this star woven kimono, he would whisk you away with him. 

"Until we meet again." 

With the sound of the window fluttering through the trees you find yourself on the fringes of the woods, just outside your home. 

Gingerly you step into the field of flowers, slowly walking towards your house as you relive the time you most felt alive. 

His lips, his hands, his body pressed against yours.

So caught up in your daydream, in your promise of later tonight, you do not see the eyes lying in wait. 

Those prying eyes take note of your kimono and how it shimmers and shines with an otherworldly glow as you slip into your home. 

It isn’t long before you hear a string of screaming and see a set of lights coming your way, close enough you can make out silhouettes and what the woman is screaming.

"SHE IS UNFAVORED! LOOK AT HER SCAR SHE IS TAINTED BEAUTY!” You realize quickly that is the wails of your mother. 

Frantically you try to strip yourself of your kimono but a large hand strips away the door. Your faces are illuminated from the soft glow by your ankles making it clear to see a set of hard steely eyes with hurt but never regret as they should. 

“Just like I said. A blessed kimono.” Kenji’s voice is as hard as his eyes as his father peers in, he smiles with delight.

“We are surely saved from the drought now. Kenji bring her to the festival." 

"No.” Your voice is small, a foreboding dread feeds your panic as your mother cries, restrained by Kenji’s goons. You step back but he lunges for you, squeezing you so tightly you cannot breath. 

The walk to the center seems like ages as you kick and scream, crying out for Kirishima. 

“Yes call for our God. He will be happy to receive his gift, time is running out.” The elder speaks. You elbow Kenji square in the face, everyone panics as you begin to run. Kenji catches you again.  The moon hands high over head, perfectly in the middle of the sky. 

“There is no time left. Let’s do it now!” Kenji’s goon from before shouts, sending the crowd into a boisterous agreement. 

Kenji withdraws his knife, both of your struggling for power. He leans in close, nose touching yours as the smell of copper and ash cling to his skin. 

“You should have just stayed in your place ugly. Should’ve let me have my way.” He slices at you and for a second time a blade marrs your skin. 

He is supposed to make this quick for you, one quick motion against your throat. Instead he lets the blade sink deeper, carve harder until his is splatter in your life’s nectar. Only you and your mother cry out. The rest of them pray and sing. 

Kenji picks you up and tosses you into the brush of the woods. 

“Have her now Kamisama and bless us with rain!” He speaks as if he is the current elder. Grey eyes cold as they look down at you.  They retreat to their usual planned activities, dragging your lost mother with them to drink to their heart’s content. To make her watch what an honor it was for her child to have been chosen. 

It hurts, Kami it hurts as you drag yourself through the woods. Briars tangle around your quickly growing limp limbs as you pull yourself deeper. 

“Kiri…Kirishima!” Your once loud screams turn into hardly more than whispers. But that shouldn’t matter. He should still hear you shouldn’t he? 

Was this not his domain? He can hear every rustling leaf, every snap of a twig, surely he could hear the pained cries of his lover.

No, no you shouldn’t call yourself that, you were not his lover, you were just favored by him. 

And isn’t that always what you wanted? To be desired? Loved? 

This was a festival for Kirishima himself so why did you think any different? 

And why do you still call out his name? 

Your vision blurs in purplish blues and blacks as you fade in and out, a soft sweet scent is tainted with stinging copper. You cough and more dark liquid sputters from your lips. 

It reminds you of his eyes. 

Kitsune comes into the clearing helping frantically. But you smile as you notice his fourth tail. 

“At least I will not die alone…” You breathe as the fox attempts to lick at your wounds, “Why, why is he so cruel?" 

Fat tears fall down your cheeks and the fox panics further. He opens his mouth, his voice comes out gravely and close to a growl without the animosity.

"Master does not know of this, master would never allow this!” He laps at your blood in a desperate attempt to heal you with what little grace he has been bestowed. 

But it doesn’t matter as your world fades to black. 

Kirishima steps through the portal near the top of the mountain to be met with a horrid sight, not realizing it could be worse than that. Kitsune’s normal Auburn fur is tainted a sticky black substance, Kirishima gets a closer look causing his blood to run cold. 

He appears in the field of flowers, following the trail you left as a wispy form of you stands through your drained body. 

“No.” Quiet before deafening loud, birds and animals flee away from him, “NO!" 

The shades circle the clearing, too afraid to enter but too hungry to leave. 

Kirishima shakily grabs onto your glowing hands, tears fall down your cheeks. 

"I…I…” Tears prick his eyes, rage washes over his features, “Who?" 

Your spirit cannot speak as you are still tethered to your fast cooling body. He follows the direction of your eyes, music and laughing become louder further angering him. A thought occurs to him, he reaches for the small golden chain that is at your spiritual ankle connecting you to your real body, he could keep you here, he could….but before he can break your life’s chain a mist of black appears. 

"You know you cannot do that.” From within the mist comes a man with the head of a raven or a tengu, Kirishima is not sure. All he knows is that he loathes to see Death come too close to the things he loves. 

“But.." 

"Look around you Kirishima-kun. You’ve tried countless times to keep mortals before and what becomes of them? Shades, unwavering, thoughtless hungry shades as I’ve told you. Their spirits are so far corrupted they could never return to the cycle.” Death speaks the truth but it does not stop the anguish that sweeps through his body. 

He cannot allow it just yet. He watches as your golden chain is unhooked, you walk backwards, keeping your eyes on your God as Death guides you. 

“Until we meet again.” It is a whisper on the wind, a rustle in the leaves, a huff of a nearby fawn and babbling of the hot spring. He nods, eyes glued to you as you fade away into the black mist. 

He breathes deeply as he picks you up, cradling your cold body to his hard chest. He walks gingerly with you as if he feared he would wake you, he only had on destination in mind. It does not take long before he is walking towards the center of the small town, houses darkened as the square is full of life. The smell of wine and food waft the cool air. 

This only fuels his intentions. 

He stands on the fringe of the crowd and it only takes a blink or two before the roaring party dies to deafening silence. People falling to their knees, their foreheads pressed into the bloodied bricks. 

“K..Kamisama Kirishima, had we known you would grace…" 

"SILENCE!” His voice shakes the very foundations of the homes, the shingles clinking in the wind. The trees quiver in his presence as the Earth seems to roar beneath his feet. His eyes are hard and dark like raw diamonds as he looks over their merriment shredding them with his gaze alone. The moon above suddenly glows red as if washed over with your blood, illuminating him in an ominous tone. The hue paints the village in eerie light as it fully bares witness to the wrath of the mountain God.  

“Is this how you honor me?” A rhetorical question as he wonders how long this had been going on, the shades most likely and happily, eating the remains before Kirishima could have ever found out. He shakes, unable to reign in his rage. 

“Look at her.” Three words, three words has well over fifty people shivering. Eyes barely coming up to look at the limp woman in his hands, skin already graying. Both eyes now clouded over and lips stained a peculiar red. Their eyes shift to the God they worship, the one they had been giving their most beautiful women too. 

He holds eye contact with each and every one of them for a moment, staring into their black souls with a malice that could maim. He spies your mother, his lip snarls as he thinks of your scar. 

He begins to wonder if this is why she had done it. He finds the elder, the one who wears the fine kimono. One of the few garments that is not tattered, dirtied or sullied red. He grinds his teeth. 

“May you never forget this moment in all of your reincarnations. May you never forget her face and may you always feel an inkling of what I’ve felt.” The people weep, not for their own lives but from the feeling of the God’s heart overflowing in them despite him never shedding a tear. They do not ask forgiveness. 

They cannot ask for forgiveness. Just as he sealed your fate all those years ago, he is sealing theirs now. With a stomp of his foot the Earth rumbles, slowly opening up into a jagged mawl. People scream as they reach for one another, grasping onto nothing. Only your mother waits for death silently. Her own tears streaming down her face as she etches into her last moments the sight of her failure. Of you taken from the world too soon. 

The village is swallowed whole and now that it is over, he is still unhappy. The void in his cheat is far deeper than the Earthy chasm before him. He cries out in anguish pulling you impossibly closer. A fissure runs through the ground, deep and fast through the next village and the one after that.

In a loud puff of smoke a man appears beside the mountain God, he pulls down his black hood and his hair shines gold in the moonlight. His eyes like molten lava gleam with destructive glee. The Earth threatens to crumble beneath the new God’s feet, the dark chasm glows a bright hot red in his presence. 

“No one ever strikes your ire.” His voice is dark yet excited, “And never enough to summon me. Need some pointers from the God of Destruction himself shitty hair?”

“Bakugou, I…” The mountainous man’s voice cracks, causing his friend’s brow to furrow. Bakugou takes in the sight of you withered in hands through ghastly means. Of the decimation and the level of it. Reaching over to another village and possibly the next two. This level of destruction would get the Mountain God into a lot of trouble but it was evident he did not care. Bakugou gives his back to the sight and finally speaks, lying a warm hand on his friend’s broad shoulder.

“If anyone asks, I destroyed the villages.” Molten eyes watch tears fall onto you and the ground beneath his friend’s feet. The golden haired man sighs, gently taking you from the arms of his friend who tries to desperately hold on to what is left of you. 

“It’s alright, it’s okay.” A rare comfort from his companion, he takes your small frame and turns. He is going to gently lie you in the cooling Earth. A destruction God destroys in order for something new to be created. He plans to give his only friend a blessed grave for you so he can visit until, what Bakugou hopes but heavily doubts, Kirishima forgets. 

“W..wait. wait. She needs…” His voice shatters as with shaking fingers he creates the very thing he had intended for you to have. Good fortune in the shape of deities or wild irises, circling one another to be a stunning crown. Instead of white they glow gold as he sets it atop your crown. Kirishima squeezes your limp hand a final time before letting you go. Bakugou breathes deeply as he works, pulling the ground back together with sheer force as the lava recedes. He does so until the two shelves barely meet, a rich bed of soil lies before his feet. Gently he lies you in the bed of dirt. 

“Ashes to ashes.” Your body ignites from within, glowing in a golden flame until there is nothing left but dust on the wind and the golden flower crown. Bakugou pulls the dirt over your remains.

Kirishima falls to his knees, pressing his hand into the Earth, fearful he will forget a mortal like you, a mere blip in his infinite lifetime. The ground beneath him bursts and blooms in great color. All deep reds, golden yellows and blinding whites for miles. 

“I will always love you my little flower." 

×

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The summer breeze feels warm as it rouses the scent of rain and the sound of chimes. You close your eyes and day dream of something long forgotten, of stories retold from an old book of legend you never read. Nervousness thrums through your veins as you stand beside your ash blonde friend, patiently waiting for the third party to arrive. The impatient man growls beside you as he spots someone he recognizes behind you. 

"Oi shitty hair hurry up! Iris and I have been waiting here all damn morning!” Bakugou shouts, using your hero name. You turn to see your new patrol partner for future missions. The sun illuminates behind him, almost giving him a heavenly glow and you realize that there is something odd about the man who approaches you. His long flowing garnet hair is unruly in the wind, shining a red so deep in hue you first mistake it for black. His smile is sharp toothed and easy, causing a swarm of butterflies to take flight in your stomach. With your heart hammering out of your chest you cannot shake the feeling that something seems off about him. It is both other worldly and familiar, you feel as if his name sits on the tip of your tongue. A shiver runs down your spine as his glowing ruby eyes drink you in.  He sees a faint mark traveling through your left eye as if it were a fading scar, maybe it was something you could not shake from a past long forgotten. His heart hammers in his chest as he speaks, your reaction to his next words will tell him what he needs to know. 

“Hello my little flower, it seems we meet again.”

[sunnymusingsao3]

director's commentary: haunt me, then? :3c

Behind the Scenes: Fanfic Edition

Edit Post-Writing: Buckle up, friends, this got LONG (so sorry slkdjf)

So you, Crow, were there when we discussed the idea to haunt me, then, so I'll try and keep this about stuff that you may not have seen! However, before I do that, a quick tl;dr for those who did not see us hollering about this idea lol:

It happened right after we got the Rise of the Titans teaser trailer, back when we still knew so little about the movie itself. In the teaser, we saw Bellroc and their cool fire titan, and that spawned a whole myriad of ideas-- some earnest speculation, others just forming from the metaphorical playground because they were fun. One such idea that, if I remember correctly, was somewhere in between "wouldn't this hurt?" and "oh god what if it actually did happen?" was born, in order to explain why Skrael wasn't present in the teaser. Crow suggested the truly heartbreaking (compliment) idea that someone had to be sacrificed in order to raise the volcanic titan, and oh boy did that one gain legs.

So, moving on, I got permission from Crow to write this fic because the idea was just so good, and also because I was really in the mood to write something in the vein of horror, with romantic themes undercutting it. I was very enticed by the idea of monstrous love, and the different forms it can take, as well as the idea of loving someone so much that when it comes time to sacrifice them, you do it, because you know that not doing it would feel too much like coddling them. You have a mission that you both would lay down your lives for; to not allow your lover the chance to do so, when it is necessary, would feel like dishonor-- it would be an insult.

So this was the thesis of the fic, as it were; the central idea behind all of the themes and imagery that I wanted to explore.

Now on to some things that, to my memory, were not told to anyone as I was writing!

I toyed a LOT with the idea of Skrael figuring them out before they actually sacrificed him; I ended up landing on "he's suspicious, but doesn't stop them"

The reasons he has for not stopping them are: 1. It's his job 2. He was always prepared for the possibility that only one of them would end up making it to the new world 3. He wants to see if they did their research; was this an impulse decision, or are they really sure about this?

By the time they stop him from grabbing his staff, he is sure that it's not an impulse decision; that was his last reservation-- because if he can get his staff, he can fight back. But if they ensured that he couldn't even fight back, then it meant that they'd prepared for even the least likely outcome. It's not that he doesn't believe they know what they're doing, but it reassures him to know that they are taking extra measures to stay safe, and to make sure their plans come to fruition

In the final act, where they lean him over the volcano's lip, it's a much calmer version of what I'd initially had in mind, but I liked it better because the slow inevitability was more compelling to me. It felt like a natural progression. And if I wanted drama, it could come after, when the grief actually hits Bellroc, so there was less harm in delaying some of that higher emotion for a little bit later in the fic

The more dramatic version, however, was Skrael beginning to fall, and him grabbing their arm on instinct. It was a good image, the idea of him dangling openly, held only by a hand that he knows now is going to let go, but it also felt too much like Skrael didn't know what was happening beforehand, which didn't feel like the right character choice for him. He admits to being unfamiliar with the ritual they're about to perform, but the pieces rather start to add up, and he's always been good at reading Bellroc.

Speaking of that ritual, I imagined that he is less familiar with this one because it's one born of fire magic, and he just simply does not possess the necessary understanding of that magic to make it-- in his mind-- worth his while to read the spellbook it's in. He's surely dabbled in reading about fire magic a little, because it's smart to at least have some level of understanding when you live with a fire mage, but it's more like he was reading the Fire Magic 101 textbooks, while Bellroc was about to submit their PhD dissertation.

However, though he is less familiar with the ritual in the fic, I also like to think that he has a similar one in his own practice. He hasn't needed to use it, but he knows it, however distantly. I think it would involve a much, much slower death for his sacrifice, leaving them exposed to the ice and the elements, to slowly wear the person away. This would be why, if the Order were given the choice between Bellroc's ritual and his, Skrael would always push to be the sacrifice in theirs, because he does not think he could be steadfast enough to last the length of their death. With his death in theirs, he knows it would be quick, and they'd have little chance of changing their mind, but with them in his, he'd have to wait hours to days, and he just doesn't think he could subject them to that.

It's linked in the fic itself, so this is known, but the song that inspired this was The Horror of Our Love by Ludo. However, the other songs I primarily listened to for this were Eternally Yours by Motionless in White, Brutus by The Buttress, and a slowed version of Teeth by 5 Seconds of Summer (blood warning). These helped set the mood, and then in between them, I wrote to darker classical music playlists on Youtube!

The quote at the end was almost the one from Black Panther, between W'Kabi and Okoye: "Would you kill me, my love?" "For Wakanda? Without question."

I went with the Wuthering Heights one, however, because it felt more appropriate to Bellroc's grief, and since that grief was focused on less in the fic than the sacrifice parts, I wanted to highlight it a little more

This was also an idea I talked about with Crow, but I wanted to share it here, too, since idk if it'll ever gain proper legs, but I really like the idea of, after this, Bellroc becoming the new North Wind, as well as the Keeper of the Flame, because I don't think you can truly get rid of the North Wind. But, perhaps the "powers that be" (whether that's something sentient or not) see that they've only really got two options left for who they could make the new North Wind, and, well, Bellroc's got his staff already, and they're right there when he dies, so maybe they just kinda... pop that magic right in there

It's a very AU idea though lol, so I'm not sure if there's enough grounded basis for it

However, if I ever did write it, I also really like the alternate idea of... the best way I can describe it is Greeling in FMA:B? Body sharing, basically, and Skrael being a whisper in the back of their head. When they want the North Wind to "take over" as it were, they don't change their form or anything, but suddenly, they grow very, very cold, and they can no longer perform fire magic, but ice magic, instead

I just think it would be neat to see the North Wind and the Keeper of the Flame as one person, whether it's only one soul in the body, or two!

This is one of like, three fics I've considered making a podfic for!

I think that's about everything I can think of off the top of my head, but if there's anything else you or someone else would like to ask about, please feel free to come into the inbox again! <3

[parismemes]

SENTENCE STARTERS FROM RED VS. BLUE SEASON 15

“you touch my baked beans, i put dog shit in your pillowcase.” “every other person in this miserable place is literal garbage.” “books on tape? what's the appeal of that? don't the pages get stuck together?” “when in doubt use a confusing acronym. military types love acronyms.” “FML. that stands for fu--” “i’ll bend down and kiss your boots, how’s that?” “i wanna know every step you take and how much shit gets stuck on your shoes and in-between your teeth.” “you know, i think i'll probably move to LA, but that's like what everyone does. i mean, what do you think?” “i’m gonna skin your cat for this.” “i’m actually thinking of adopting a stage name.” “i’m gonna smash cut your empty skull against that rock if you don’t shut the fuck up!” “i wanted to call it desert titties, but that shit was taken.” “ah, there goes the bechdel test.” “you should interview the illuminati!” “real talk here: i'll be your genie in a bottle, i'll do whatever you want, but after i grant you your three wishes, you gotta do something for me, whaddaya say?” “my ceaseless existence is an eternal torment!” “next time he calls you please, just, let it go to voicemail. don't transfer to me. okay?” “i can’t even hear myself think in this blizzard of idiocy!” “did you attempt to witness any other particular individuals in the general vicinity of the area in which the crime scene was alleged?” “i just wanna be included!” “funny, the vultures usually show up after the slaughter.” “you’re a little bit crazy, aren’t you? i like that.” “consequences... don't always take the shape we expect them to, do they? they're funny like that.” “...are we still married?” “people are quick to jump to conclusions. they see something, or hear something, and fit it into a preconceived emotional box.” “please don’t make me regret what i’m about to tell you.” “whoa, hold up--i just realized how much i don’t care.” “SUCK IT, NEWTON!” “we said we wouldn’t talk about that!” “help me be the best at being lazy.” “it was a simple mishap with my vanilla-satin scented candles!” “why is he naked?” “HOW DO YOU BURN DOWN A WATER PARK, ___?!” “we’re definitely not just saying that because she could kill us.” “for far too long our people have been oppressed, crushed, under the weight of ourselves! if we don't start standing up to our mortal foe gravity, by god, who will?” “we’ve never needed intelligence before!” “why doesn’t anybody die and stay dead?” “oh, cool! foreshadowing.” “who wants a poisoned pumpkin frappuccino?” “i quit. i’m not going. i’m staying here.” “you’ve always been selfish, but this is bullshit!” “you know, i liked them better when they were funny.” “it’s a bop-it.” “sleep. means. death!” “i know ___ said we should split up, but i was thinking maybe we split up together, you know, because it's scary!” “you talk about ___ a lot.” “this is a big city. so many places for snakes to hide. they could be everywhere all around us. watching us... licking their snake lips...” “jesus, doesn’t anybody speak esperanto?” “err is not a word.” “why do you look alone?” “why don't you tell us what's going on, and we can decide whether to kill you or not?” “looks like we've got quite the sticky mess on our hands!” “oh, i know all about sausage parties! uh, wait, that came out wrong.” “when I least expect it: whambo! you pry open my mind prison and suck out my brain beans!” “i realize now that i’ve just spilled all my brain beans.” “we're just a bunch of dumb rejects hurling ourselves against impossible odds.” “i’m only saying something because i’ve been used enough times in my life already.” “nice! super awesome of you guys! that was sarcastic.” “don’t care. just help me with my dramatic exit.” “that's a great idea! i was just about to suggest it.” “i always say a marine without a code is like a car without a road.” “i always say the best defense is a really tall fence.” “i always say a good soldier is like a rollin’ boulder.” “i always say a mantra a day keeps death at bay.” “i've grown soft around these uncultured philistines.” “goddamn, i can’t believe i have to hear this shit in stereo now.” “you two look cozy.” “i didn’t realize you two were close.” “you’re being too hard on yourself. you’ve changed over the years, i’ve seen it myself.” “i've grown from being a dishonorable killing machine to an honorable killing machine. that's quite the journey.” “i changed my mind. you are evil.” “you don’t have to destroy the past to have a future.” “strategizing can wait until breakfast, at least.” “i killed them. i MURDERED them. i set my vengeance free upon them and it felt so good!” “are we gonna do some snooping around?” “have you ever considered a life in showbusiness?” “try harder, fuckface!” “can we please just bury the hatchet and focus on what's important?” “your mother’s lasagna is mediocre!” “if you guys had to get shot somewhere in your body, where would you do it?” “i can't hear you because some idiot shot my ear off!” “this whole situation is garbage enough to begin with, but... at least we're in it together.” “no plan survives first contact with the enemy.” “the only thing that would make this better is some music.” “we were pawns in their game. but the thing that I love about chess is that sometimes pawns kill kings.” “no, actually, i was raised by wolves. in the forest.” “sometimes i feel like people barely acknowledge my presence.” “something weird might be going on around here.” “anyone who's acting that squeaky clean must have some deep dark secrets.” “ha! gotcha! that's exactly the kind of things bad guys say!” “they used us, they destroyed our lives, and they haven't been made to pay for what they've done.” “you obviously love the sound of your own voice, so why don't you use it to tell its where the fuck our friends are?” “i’m going to kill you so hard, you’ll wish you were dead.” “we fought alongside each other for fucking years. how can you just turn your backs on us like this?” “you don't get to give orders if you're on the bad guys' side!” “now I have gonorrhea and a dead friend.” “stop. touching. my face.” “buckets! oodles! oodles of noodles and toaster strudels! tiempo de mucho. mucho de tiempo!" “yeah, well, i don't remember you being anything but a huge dick, but here you are being cool, so people change.” “yippee-ki-yay, motherfuckers!” “but.. i never got to say goodbye. or thank you for being my friend.” “i'm gonna need a week at the chiropractor when we get out of here.” “is it possible to hallucinate with your ears?” “i’m not here to kill you.” “uh-oh spaghetti-o’s.” “fuck me! fuck all of this!” “you should totally kill me if it strikes your fancy! no pressure!” “the world's best swordsman doesn't fear the second best. He fears the worst, because he can't predict what the idiot will do.” “i can't imagine us doing anything but making this all worse.” “shit, dude! you’re the best we’ve got!” “i like pushing small children down wells.” “can we please settle on a consistent denomination? are we using cardinal directions or are we using clock positions?” “i'm so sneaky. they don't even know what's happening. you can't even see me right now, ___. you're so confused.” “shut up and help me punch this fucking tank!” “as far as days to die go, it's a little overcast. so let's check our corners and make these bastards pay!” “let's light the fires and kick the tires!” “let’s dance with these monkeys and give ‘em what for!” “let's put the pedal to the metal and the rubber to the road!” “let’s get jiggy with it!” “let’s shoot this monkey full of heroin and put it on youtube! actually, let's not do that, it sounds completely horrible.” “let’s teach these midgets how to tango!” “honor, schmonor.” “scout's honor! except I was never a scout because I'm afraid of badges.” “why are we here?” “we don't know why we're here. it's still one of life's great mysteries, isn't it?” “i’m sorry i tried to kill you, it wasn’t personal!” “you'll be stuck between a rock and the frying pan.” “if i said that i would weep for them, would it make you feel any better?” “best friends should be able to say goodbye.” “i think you are cool. like, super awesome, amazing, cool and... i, i always felt like really awesome too, when we were hanging out together.” “i know with my other friends--who, even if you add them all up together aren't really cool as you--i know we're all gonna be okay.” “if you kill me, you'll just perpetuate this never-ending cycle of revenge and retaliation!” “he asked us to deliver an important message to you all. but then he just sang the ducktales theme song and fell back to sleep.” “you know i’ll never forget this, right? i mean, PTSD is forever, isn’t it?” “it’s not the sum of your parts that makes you who you are.” “these people have shown me that real heroes are not born, they're forged. a friend told me once that there's no fate but what you make. and i think he's right.” “alright, well, i'm just gonna try to forget that ever happened and never bring it up again.”

[ofxwordsxandxletters]

Christmas Cheer

Series: Naruto

Setting: College!AU

Pairing; Sakura/Hinata

Rating: G

After an accident lands Sakura on bed rest and crutches, Hinata makes it her job to cheer her partner up. 

Author’s note: A commissioned piece for @wombatking​! So the pairing and plot are by request and the characters borrowed and adapted for this AU. Hopefully, it gives you some warm fluffy feelings this holiday season! 

*~*~*~*

Christmas Cheer The goal was in sight and this was her moment. Last game of an almost perfect season and she wanted to finish strong. Sakura had never been one to back down from a challenge, even one she’d set for herself so she barrels for the goal desire in mind. Movement out of the corner of her eye warns that things might get tricky and she leaves it up to fate as she sends the ball hurtling towards the goal seconds before there is a collision and a blinding pain shoots up her leg as she takes a tumble. The breath is knocked from her and as she lays there dazed and in pain, she can’t help but hope that the goal was good.  Watching from the stands, Sakura’s girlfriend, Hinata, is horrified at the sight of her partner hitting the ground and rises immediately so she can make her way down. As she makes her way through the throng, all she can repeat in her head is how much this could not be a career-ending injury. Soccer was Sakura’s whole world and that would devastated her to not be able to play. But she knows that regardless of all of that, she has no plans that aren’t helping her through whatever this turns out to be. And thankfully, it turns out to be a clean break. However, the doctor is adamant about Sakura staying off her foot as much as possible. Absolutely no long distance trips for at least a month if not more especially if she wants to it to heal right.  “Does he honestly expect me to cancel my trip home for Christmas?”  “Sakura,” Hinata says softly, “You know he wants you to get back to what you love doing. And I know you do, too. So maybe it’s for the best. I can decorate the dorm and we can celebrate together here.” “My parents are going to be super-bummed you realize.”  “I know. But look at it this way; at least for one holiday you won’t have to deal with Naruto.”  At that, Sakura cannot help laughing softly. “I suppose there is a plus for that. Sure your folks will be okay with you declining their invitation, too?”  “They’re just going to have to be. Besides, it’s not like it isn’t tense every year and I end up at your house within a day or two, anyway.” “Your father is still not close to being okay with things is he?”  Hinata sighs as she pushes the wheelchair. “He wanted...different things for me, that’s all. He’ll come around eventually. It’s just a matter of waiting him out.”  “Still, I think he’s a total narcissistic dick for having problems with how you want to live your life. You want to help people. That’s admirable. And as for me...well, I’m definitely a catch so he should be glad his daughter has such discerning tastes.”  Hinata giggles at her words as she guides the wheelchair into the elevator. “I suppose you are right in some ways. But my mother is hopeful that by the time I graduate he’ll have accepted it.” “Well, even if he doesn’t, you know my family adores you.”  “I do and I’m very grateful to them. So you won’t be the only one who will be missing them this Christmas but I do think it important to listen to the doctor’s orders.”  “Suppose that is what I get for dating a med student.” *~*~*~*~ Hinata helps Sakura settle into her bed and gives her the privacy to call her folks deciding that she might as well let her own know she wasn’t coming this year, either. She was sure her father would be less than understanding, he never was, but her mother would be. It’s with this hope that she makes the call and waits. Three rings and would come, “Hinata, I didn’t think we’d hear from you until you were ready to leave.”  She closes her eyes and steadies herself. “Mom, there’s been an accident and Sakura has to stay off her feet. I need to stay here and look after her.”  There’s a long pause before her mother answers, “You know your father won’t approve of this. However, I know how important it is to you to take care of her. You enjoy your holidays and don’t you worry about us. If he wants to get grumpy then I’ll point out that there would be dishonor to not take care of someone who is hurt when they need it. Give Sakura my love and the hopes for  a speedy recovery.”  “Thanks, mom, I love you.”  “And I you. We’ll talk soon.”  It was always easier to talk to her mom than her dad and she was glad he wasn’t the one who answered. Stern and aloof, he was terrifying even now and Hinata had trouble making herself heard. Even distance made it hard because she could hear the rife disappointment in his tone and just envision him before her. Pushing that thought away, she decides that a list is in order of how to make the dorm apartment more festive for  the two of them. She certainly knew shopping would be a must because she has every intention of making this a fantastic holiday season for her girlfriend no matter that they had to stay here on campus.  At least they would be alone as their other two roommates Ino and Tenten had already left on vacation. Ino and Sakura had a childhood rivalry and no doubt the blond would have made her feel quite bad about her injury for the whole time otherwise. Hinata would have no doubt intervened but she didn’t think Sakura needed the added stress as it was.  She’s mulling over the list when she hears, “Hinata!” and makes her way for her room. “Done with your call?” she asks.  “Yeah. Surprisingly they were pretty no-nonsense about me doing as the doctor ordered so long as we agree to facetime with them on Christmas. They are, as always, so proud of you and send their loves. They also said they’d send a fruitcake back with Naruto.”  “I suppose we can see if it actually arrives or not,” Hinata says hiding a grin.  “Knowing Naruto? We’ll probably have to thank them and tell them it was delicious and not really know the truth.” That makes Hinata giggle before remarking, “Well, we all know how much he loves to eat.”  “So should they. So hopefully they’ll send him with his own and he can eat that. How’d your talk go?”  “I spoke with my mom. She’s going to handle my father, which is probably for the best.”  “Yeah, no doubt. Sorry that you have to…”  “No, none of that,” she interrupts gently, “I am going to look after you. Besides, it’s always so uncomfortable anyway so I honestly consider it a relief to have a reason not to go.” “I just know that you love them despite how slow your father is coming around on things.”  “I know. But they will be fine without me.”  “Still…”  She leans close before lightly kissing her cheek. “None of that. Now, what do you want to do? We’re going to make this place festive.”  Sakura smiles at that. “You are sweet for all of this. But honestly, you don’t have to go all out on my account.”  “It’s not a problem. Besides, I know you love this holiday and so do I.”  “Well, I won’t say no to decorating...but only if you agree to help decorate this ugly white cast  first. I don’t like it all that much.”  Hinata smiles. “I’ll put some decorations but I will leave space for our friends to sign it because you know they’ll want to when they find out.”  "Suppose that is unavoidable," Sakura sighs, "but until that time, let's make it at least a little festive,?" "Of course," Hinata readily agrees. It's not too long before she has the tools she needs and she settles next to Sakura. "Let me know if at any time it becomes too much, okay?" "Don't worry, I'll let you know," Sakura promises. It's with this in mind that Hinata starts to work. She inks.and then paints a couple of holiday-themed items over the white cast. At the end, Sakura marvels at the snowman, reindeer, present, Christmas tree, and of course, a jolly Santa Claus. "Are you sure you shouldn't have wanted to major in art?" "It's more a hobby than a passion," her girlfriend replies as she cleans up and puts away the items. "Still, you're quite good." "Thank you. It'll take some time to dry so try not to jostle it too badly." “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on moving much, promise.” She gifts her with a soft smile before adding, “If I don’t say it enough; I’m so glad that I have you in my life. You bring such sunlight to my world.”  Hinata smiles before leaning and kissing her cheek. “I think those are the painkillers finally kicking in. You should rest while you can. I’m going to go out and get a few things for the apartment.” “I assure you it’s not,” she murmurs before yawning, “Okay, maybe a little. But the sentiment is still honest.” “I know,” comes the response, “but rest. I’ll be back and when you wake up it’ll look fantastic in your room.” “‘M lucky that you go through all this trouble.” As she leaves, Hinata murmurs, “It’s never any trouble for you. Promise.”

[vee-angel]

Non-consent Nancy (part 1, repost)

(Part of the Pervert Pentet Series)

Chapter 1, parts 1 and 2

WARNING: This story focuses on a lesbian black woman who fetishizes rape, misogyny, racism, and abuse. As such, there will be copious amounts of offensive language and themes, including the sexualization of victims. The story is fiction, and nothing written here should be taken as an endorsement for any of these view or activities. In fact, I wholeheartedly condemn nearly everything the main character thinks and does in this story. I believe that consent is a central tenet of morality, and violations of it are only acceptable in the context of fiction.

***

Introduction:

Nancy had grown up in a conservative, affluent neighborhood. Being one of the only black girls, she became a target for bullies and bigots at an early age. The fact that she dressed and acted like a lesbian before she even fully realized her sexual orientation certainly didn’t do her any favors.

Her mother worked hard to give her a better life than she’d had; as such, she could be a bit dismissive of her problems. When she was little, and informed her that she was being bullied at school, she simply suggested that she try to turn her abusers into friends. Taking her suggestion to heart, from that point on, Nancy always responded to cruelty with kindness. She want out of her way to accommodate bullies, to show them more kindness than she showed anyone else.

In middle school, she pressed her mother to tell her about her birth-father. After a long conversation, her mother finally admitted that Nancy had been conceived through rape by a man her mother had never met. She reasoned then, that her mother had virtually nothing to do with actually creating her. Her father was the one who took the initiative that resulted in her existence. Therefore, every moment of her life, every instant of joy or pleasure she took from being alive, she owed to a rapist. Her gratitude and affinity for rapists and abusers began to reach a level that bordered on worship, with those who defied them being, in her eyes, akin to heretics.

When she reached high-school, her views became even more extreme. She had internalized her affinity for sadists so much that she began to hate victims that tried to fight back. She felt as though they were dishonoring the blessing they had been given. When her best friend, Janet tearfully confessed that she’d been date-raped by a boy she had a crush on, Nancy insisted that she not tell anyone, convincing her that she must have enjoyed it and that she should call the boy and apologize for being such an ungrateful brat. She was proud of herself for facilitating the three-month abusive relationship that followed. Even prouder that she thought to secretly ask the boy out herself, allowing him to cheat on her best friend, as was his right and her honor.

Nancy loved how creative the young man was. He often had Nancy come over right before a date with Janet so he could fuck her and have Janet unknowingly suck her best friends cunt juice off of his cock. He liked to ask Janet for particularly humiliating naked pictures which Nancy insisted it was her duty as a good girlfriend to send him. She often assisted Janet with these photoshoots, helping her write humiliating words on her body, making sure she spread her ass far enough to make her holes clearly visible, ensuring that her tongue really was making contact with the inside of the toilet.

Their friendship ended after the boy mentioned to Nancy that her friend refused anal, and fought vigorously when he tried to force her. Nancy was appalled at learning of her friend’s refusal, insisting that she would help; that night, they stripped her naked and Nancy held her down and covered her mouth while the boy raped her ass. It’s no wonder she thrashed about so much, her barely-lubricated asshole was bleeding pretty badly by the end. Nancy made her apologize for ruining the boys sheets and made her give him money from her purse to replace them.

Janet didn’t talk to Nancy after that, which annoyed the budding rape-enthusiast. That left Nancy with the problem of how to distribute her former friends humiliating pictures as punishment for her ingratitude. Certainly she couldn’t allow the boy to be blamed for sharing them with their classmates. Hell, she would have happily lied under oath to ensure he didn’t suffer the consequences of taking what was his.

Eventually a solution became apparent. There was another girl in her school who always rejected the advances of the boys, a nerdy type who talked back when people made fun of her. Nancy eventually figured out that this girl was a dyke as well. She had no problem with dykes, per se, she was one herself. She had a problem with bitches who thought they were too good to be a plaything for cruel men. So she hatched a plan.

She pretended to befriend the dyke, and eventually the two of them became lovers. A few weeks later she broke up with her very publicly at school, making sure to loudly announce how bad her pussy tasted and claiming she was breaking up with her because she couldn’t stand the girl’s hardcore scat-fetish. This would ensure that the little bitch would be made fun of for the rest of her Senior year, and it would open the door to blame her for posting Janet’s humiliating pictures online.

When the authorities investigated, Nancy admitted that she’d helped Janet take the pictures (claiming that it was Janet’s idea, and backing up the boy’s claim that it was actually Janet who pushed for kinky sex, a story she’d arranged with him earlier). She said that the dyke must have hacked into her computer after she broke up with her, and distributed the pictures as payback. Nancy made sure to include a few compromising pictures of herself in the photo-dump just to make the story more believable.

The plan had worked, in one fell swoop Nancy had managed to humiliate that ungrateful bitch Janet, and teach that stupid dyke what she gets for refusing men their right to use her body. It was one of the great triumphs of her young life, but she only just barely got away with it. Nancy knew that she’d need to be more careful from now on if she wanted to continue abiding by her life’s mission to help all bullies, abusers, and rapists.

So when she got to college she reinvented herself. Publicly she was an advocate for every marginalized group. She went to feminist marches, she spoke at Black Lives Matter events, and collected donations for LGBT causes. This way, she could be seen as a champion for the abused, they would trust her. Never suspecting that she actually masturbated each night to the teary-eyed confessions by dumb bitches whose boyfriends smacked them around or sorority cunts who didn’t appreciate getting gang-raped when they were stupid enough to get drunk at a party.

A few years in, Nancy was majoring in psychology and volunteering at a rape crisis center as a counselor. This is when she met Darla.

Part 1

Nancy walked in that day with a button-up shirt and tie beneath her black vest. Her masculine fashion sense left little doubt to onlookers that she was a lesbian. It was form-fitting enough to display her slim body. Had she had her clothes ripped off in public, as she so often fantasized, observers would see a strong, athletic body with clear muscle definition beneath her smooth, dark brown skin. They would also notice the ample curves of her large breasts atop her six-pack abs, a contrast rarely seen in non-black women. Her hair was styled in neat dreadlocks that hung down just past her chin. Her whole style screamed liberal black lesbian feminist. Yet she dressed with enough allure that she hoped every misogynist, racist, and sadist that saw her went home and planned how to make her scream while they raped her dyke-nigger asshole bloody. She secretly believed it’s what all women deserved, and made it her life’s mission to ensure it happened to as many women as possible.

When she saw the defeated-looking woman with a bruised face in the rape crisis center office, she knew she was in for a treat.

“Hi, have you been helped yet?” Nancy said to the girl in a gentle voice.

“They said they don’t have anybody who can see me right now, and they said I have to wait.” she responded meekly, still staring at the ground, but obviously in distress.

Nancy squatted down in front of the girl to meet her eyes and gave her a reassuring smile. “My name is Nancy, would you like to go somewhere private and we can just sit together? If you want to talk, I’ll listen. If you want to just sit, that’s okay too. If you need a shoulder to cry on, or a hand to hold, I’ll be there for you if you want. And if, at any point, you think you’d feel better being alone, you’re welcome to leave, I won’t judge you or think less of you no matter what. I only care about making sure you get what you need right now.” She gave some version of this speech to almost every ungrateful cunt that came in. It made it easier for them to open up to her.

The girl nodded and Nancy led her to a small, quiet room where they sat across from one another. “Would you like to tell me your name?” Nancy asked.

“Darla.” She replied.

“It’s very nice to meet you Darla. What can I do to help you, today?” She asked softly.

“He raped me again last night.” Darla replied, her tone hectic. “I don’t know what I did! He always does this, even though he says he’s going to stop!”

Haha! What a stupid cunt! Nancy thought. “Who did this to you?”

“My ex boyfriend. Back when we were started dating, he said he understood that sex is something that’s really, really hard for me because of my childhood. But after a little while he said he didn’t want to wait anymore. And after that he stopped caring, and he didn’t even stop when I said no and begged him! That’s why I broke up with him, but he called me and said he changed. Except it seemed like he really meant it this time! He asked me to come over so he could give me a gift to apologize. But when I got there he…he…”

Oh, come on, don’t tease me you little rape-slut, Nancy thought, “It’s okay, you’re safe with me.” her gentle voice reassured the girl.

“He…put it in my butt.” Darla replied blushing, though the bruising on her face made it difficult to tell.

“This was the first time he’d forced you to have anal sex?” Nancy asked

Darla nodded, “That was always like really, really super off limits.” Tears rolled down the girls face. “And, and, and he knew that! I said I’d break up with him if he ever did that. He said he always wanted to, and that he was going to do it now that I can’t break up with him again.”

Well I can’t fault his logic! she thought as the girl cleaned the tears from her face with a tissue. Nancy briefly had a fantasy in which she congratulated the girl’s ex-boyfriend for a stellar job of tricking her into getting raped so many times, followed by the two of them laughing over how stupid she was to fall for it so many times. A brief moment later she considered how improved the fantasy would be if Darla were bound naked and gagged listening to them during the exchange as they prepared to rape her together. She was tempted to smile as she contemplated the scenario, but fortunately she was practiced at not letting her inner thoughts show on her face.

“You mentioned that sex was difficult for you because of your childhood. Was there something that happened when you were younger that resulted in you having a strong negative reaction to that particular act? Nancy asked.

“My parents used to make me do that when I was little. They used to make videos and let strangers do it to me for money.”

“They made videos of you having anal sex when you were underaged?”

“They stopped when I was fourteen, they said I was too old. But they only had men put it in my butt, because they said it’d be really bad if I got pregnant and had to see a doctor.” Darla explained, her lip quivering.

Jackpot! Nancy thought, I’ve got a real life porn-star in front of me! She wondered how many men and women had masturbated while watching her little asshole get sodomized. A spark of anger suddenly shot through Nancy. Ungrateful cunt, do you know what I would have given to have a childhood like yours?!? Her thoughts alternated back and forth between arousal and resentment. She compromised between the two emotions when she vowed to make Darla properly suffer for how blind she’d been for all the wonderful honors that her family and boyfriend had bestowed on her.

“Your boyfriend knew this when he anally raped you?”

“Yeah! He said he thought it was funny. He laughed and said that this keeps happening to me because I’m a whore, and I deserve it.” Darla said with tearful anger.

Smart AND a sense of humor! How dare this dumb bitch deny this charming boyfriend of hers the right to use his victim! She should be begging him to blister her cunt with a belt to show how sorry she is! God, I hate her!

“You’re a good-hearted person. It was very kind of you to keep giving him chances. But your kindness doesn’t mean you deserve to be raped.” The fact that you’re weak and you have a cunt means you deserve to be raped. Nancy finished the thought in her head.

The rest of the session continued along the same theme, with Darla pouring her heart out about her tragic life full of rape, molestation, and abuse. Nancy struggled to contain her excitement, but managed to maintain her professional disposition. Her only worry was that her cunt may have soaked through her slacks and left a stain on the chair. She resented this pathetic girl for having been given so much, yet being so stupid as to complain about it.

Finally finished with her cathartic confessions, Darla was finally ready to leave. Nancy, not wanting this delightful encounter to be fleeting, wrote down her phone number on a slip of paper and handed it to Darla. “I know you feel better now, but this isn’t something you can get over in one session. I’m taking a special interest in you. Feel free to call or text whenever you need, and I absolutely expect to see you back here soon.”

“Thank you, Doctor. That means a lot to me.” Darla replied before hugging her tightly. Nancy only had an Associate’s Degree, but chose not to correct her, hoping the assumption would work to her advantage at some point in the future. Darla walked out, riding on the high of catharsis.

***

Nancy stayed for a few more hours, but the rest of the afternoon was rather banal. A few girls came in asking about domestic abuse resources or abortion services. Much as she didn’t like helping these little rape-dolls, she had to if she was to keep her cover intact. Normally, she’d at least get a kick out of making girls give a few extra details before she provided them with what she wanted, but all she could think about is how she wanted to ruin and violate Darla.

When she left the center, she was so lost in thought, she hadn’t even heard the awkward footsteps of the girl racing to catch up to her.

“Hi, Nancy! I’m really glad that I get to volunteer here with you. You’re such an inspiration.” the girl said, failing at coming up with a natural way to start a conversation.

“Oh, Hannah. Hi, I didn’t notice you.” she replied. Hannah was a pansexual Jew-cunt that answered phones at the rape crisis center. She also took care of all the accounting. She’d been raped by her friend’s older brother when she was ten years old and it fucked with her self-esteem. She was desperate to get people to like her, a fact which Nancy regularly took advantage of. The big-nosed bitch always tried too hard, especially with people who treated her like shit.

“So, do you have any plans tonight?” Hannah asked.

Nancy smiled and took the Jew-cunt’s hand as they walked, interlocking her fingers. “I do! I’ve been dating a lot; getting pretty lucky in the romance department lately. But I don’t want to tell you about that, it’d be inconsiderate of your feelings. I’m sure you have something interesting going on. Tell me about that.”

Nancy knew that Hannah wasn’t especially popular and had a bit of a crush on her. Her background in psychology allowed her to utilize her knowledge to hurt Hannah in subtle ways while still pretending to be her friend. In a few sentences, she’d managed to remind her of the humiliating rejection that had occurred a few months ago; impress upon her the fact that while she has trysts with lots of women, she doesn’t find Hannah attractive enough to date; and put her on the spot to share plans that Nancy knew she obviously didn’t have.

The pair of them walked hand-in-hand as Hannah’s eyes frantically darted back and forth in thought as her chest slightly tensed, not knowing how to respond.

“Oh… ya know.” she finally replied with a forced smile.

“No, I don’t know. Come on, Hannah! Open up a little, you’re always so timid.”

“Ummm. Just… just catching up on some reading. Heh. Guess we’re not all as popular as you.”

“Hey, you’re a wonderful person. Any man, woman, or nonbinary would be lucky to be with you!” With that, Nancy kissed the lonely, desperate kike on the cheek and veered off in the other direction.

Nancy’s mind began to reel with delightfully villainous ideas. It’ll probably be a few days until I get a chance to see Darla again, she thought,  Maybe it is finally time to give Hannah some attention.

***

Part 2

That evening, Nancy went home and ordered a few spy cameras that she could use to record subsequent encounters with Darla. With that quick errand finished, she focused her attention on ensuring that her good friend Hannah the big-nosed Jew-cunt finally got put in her place.

Nancy worshipped individuals who violated others, but she did have a certain affinity for rapists on a cultural or societal scale as well. It’s why she has a strong veneration for men, whites, and authority figures (the last group being made up, predominantly, of white men). It was no wonder that she had developed a fetish for misogynist white-supremacists; in fact, she’d become a bit of one herself.

Jews like Hannah were among the worst, Nancy believed. As a shit-skin dyke, she couldn’t exactly claim superiority, but at least Nancy knew her place in the world. Hannah, however, was such a stereotypical Jew that it almost seemed intentional. She whined about being raped when she was little, she whined about her ancestors being tortured in the Holocaust, she even sometimes whined about her ancestors being enslaved in Egypt. In typical Jew fashion, she played them off like jokes, but Nancy knew that the little kike actually did feel as though these things were injustices.

Nancy hoped her friend would eventually learn her lesson and join her in honoring all the wonderful contributions that rapists and abusers make to society, but she was impatient and wanted to help her along.

A few months before, she sent Hannah a naked picture of herself out of the blue. She had picked up on the girl’s crush on her and hoped to use that to subtly humiliate her. Hannah’s response was ecstatic, she poured her heart out, saying how she’d loved her from afar for so long and was overjoyed to know that she felt the same way. After that followed a series of lewd images of the black-haired kike. Nancy didn’t reply, despite the increasingly nervous-sounding texts that followed. Instead, she confronted Hannah the next day in person. She remembered the conversation vividly…

“I felt like I owed it to you to explain this in person. I think you got the wrong idea yesterday. I had a great day at the gym and I was just feeling really good about my body, so I sent pictures to some of my close friends, but it was completely platonic, Hannah. I’m just a very body-positive person. I’m so sorry you got the wrong idea, it must have been so humiliating to you, but I could never be intimate with you. I value our friendship so much, so I just want to be clear. You are not attractive….to me. I still think you’re a great person, but I could never find you physically appealing.”

Nancy smiled as she thought back on that moment with pride. The look of pain and humiliation on Hannah’s face was priceless. She had run to the bathroom just after the conversation, and Nancy snuck in a few minutes later to hear her crying loudly. She felt an exhilaration at knowing she’d hurt the girl so deeply. In just a few moments, Nancy had left a mark in her mind and soul that would last for years, probably decades; words that would echo over and over again. There was a sort of romance to that, knowing that her friend would carry that moment with her for such a long time. It was the kind of gift that bullies left their victims with. But tonight, Nancy wanted Hannah to have an even better gift.

She knew that Hannah would be home alone tonight, so Nancy reached out to some of her online resources. She could be herself on the internet, and it made her many friends among rape-baiters and rapists. Those were the people she needed that night.

Nancy was posing as Hannah online, she was uploading the obscene images that the Jew-cunt had sent her a few months before and claiming that she was finally ready to fulfill her fantasy of being brutally violated by racists. She had even photoshopped an image she’d found of Hannah online. The original image showed her face holding a sign reading “I need feminism because no one believed me when I told them I was raped. I was 10.” But with some slight touch ups, in the new image, the sign read, “I don’t need feminism, I need my Jew-holes brutally gang-raped by Nazi cock.” Photoshopping “I need feminism” signs had become a bit of a hobby for Nancy, and she’d become pretty good at making them look real.

She was sure to include this new picture along with the other images of her naked body. She sent them to anyone with potential, even posted them online in a few spots with her name and location. Finally she got into a conversation with someone who was close enough and real enough to get it done tonight. Nancy shared private details, still posing as Hannah and claiming to consent to anything he and his friends wanted to do to her. She begged him for an assurance that he’d violate every hole, that he’d beat her. Even made him promise that he’d break her big Jew-nose. She warned him that she wanted it to be real, so she was going to beg and cry a lot, but they weren’t to stop raping her, no matter what.

The stranger online gave assurances that he’d do everything she asked and more. Nancy proceeded to give him Hannah’s home address, along with details of her house, and the location of the spare key. She finished by thanking him, then went off to masturbate for hours as she thought about all the wonderful things that could be happening to Hannah that night.

I’m such a good friend. She thought with a smile before falling asleep. 

[ambidextrousarcher]

Sarcastic StarBharat Reviews: Episode 8- The wedding proposal disguised as war (faux-war)

Tagging @chaanv, @shaonharryandpannisim, @medhasree, @avani008, @butchcaroldanvers, @mayavanavihariniharini, @iamnotthat, @enigma-the-mysterious

This episode begins on a dramatic war footing. Since I saw the precap attached with the last episode, I know that a war is not happening, because everyone’s scared shitless of Bhishm, the paragon of perfection. The army of Gandhar rolls out in good order, accompanied by the shouting of orders from the senapati. For some reason, the Rajguru is also walking with the King and the senapati. Aren’t Brahmanas supposed to stay away from war? Except Dron, but he’s a special case. In the background, some dudes are doing push-ups. What for? Idk. “Close the doors! What is the news?” “It’s a huge army, flowing like the Indus. They have food too, they’re prepared for attack.” In what world is an opposing army described like this, really? “Whose army is it?” “I could not see the chariot of a King, Maharaj, but I could see the chariot on the lead.” Okay, obviously, it’s Bhishm. Let’s see how he’s flattered here. “White horsed-chariot, like it’s the chariot of Surya Narayan himself…” Does the Sun God have white horses on his chariot? I’ve never heard of that. Arjun does, though, that I do recall. The camera focuses on white galloping horses. “The chariot has a white flag, too, Maharaj.” The camera focuses on the aforementioned flag. It looks suspiciously like what will be the flag of Indraprastha in the future, I need to check that out again. The man riding on the chariot is as effulgent as the Sun. He’s wearing decorated armor, his arm muscles like trees, his eyes are like twin fireballs, he also has the symbol of the Moon God on his forehead.” While this description is going on, the camera focuses on each mentioned part of Bhishm. You know, I’m not sure if the man describing Bhishm is actually from Gandhar. How can I know he isn’t a spy? I mean, no one describes enemies like this. Seriously, the man sounds like he’s drooling over Bhishm. “This warrior is none but the best of the Kauravas, the son of Maharaj Shantanu and Mahamata Ganga” this from the Rajguru. “Bhishm.” The King. Bhishm theme plays, camera focusing on him and his army. Almost three minutes of the entire episode, more than 10% of it, has been spent on his entry alone. Camera focuses on Gandhari striding through a hall. “Mata, what is happening?” “Have you not heard? Hastinapur has attacked Gandhar.” “What will happen now?” Another lady says “Gandhar’s army can’t stand against Hastinapur. Gandhar’s forts will be breached in days. Rivers of blood will flow. We will be ash.” (Side note: Rivers of blood will flow/Rakht ki daarayen bahengi seems to be a favorite line. Arjun says it too, after Cheerharan, when he does a title drop.) “Admitting defeat before actual defeat is not worthy.” The Queen says. “Forgive me, Rajmata. However, Gandhar has not seen a war in many years…” She goes off on a tirade about what happens to defeated cities in war. It’s too much, as there isn’t gonna be a war anyway, so I’m desisting from writing the whole thing. Oh, that lady is Arshi, Shakuni’s wife in this show, as Gandhari calls her Bhabhishree. “What do we do now?” Gandhari asks. “What women do in war. Wait for darkness, and then…” Gandhari strides to the front and takes a sword from its sheath. “Bhabhi, lift a weapon. I am joining the war. It terrifies me as much as darkness, I was told by Gurudev that to get rid of fears, we must face them.” Why do you sleep in a room full of lights then, lady? “When death is certain, I shall die in the battle field.” Shit. Krishna Gyaan. This is about fear of loss. Skip, skip, skip. “The time to fly a flag is here, Maharaj. Which should it be? Red for war or white for surrender?” “Dishonor or death. Both of them seem blacker than ever to me.” “We have to furl one, Maharaj.” “The army has stopped, Maharaj!” “Amazing. They have furled the yellow flag of friendship.” It is rather amazing that Bhishm came with an army instead of a deputation, the minister is absolutely right. “Open the gates!” The King and his entourage go down to meet Bhishm. “If he wanted to talk, why the army?” Good question, senapati ji. “He must have come to exhibit his talent to us,” But, mantri ji, isn’t that done alone? What does he need an army for? “But why?” asks the King. Good question, again. “We have not offended Hastinapur. After drunk kid’s death (he doesn’t call him drunk kid, obviously), for 25 years, the throne has been empty. Yet, we have not attacked them or made treaties with their enemies. Why the need for this in front of friends?” “The show of strength is done in front of friends only when you need something from them.” This episode is dragging so much. ALL Of IT TILL NOW IS NON-CANON. And there are still 13 freaking minutes left! Aaargh! “What does a warrior like Bhishm need from us?” What else, Mr. Doofus King? Your daughter who has the boon of 100 children. Bhishm theme plays as he dismounts. Saubala joins his hands, his soldiers kneel. Mr. Paragon of Perfection lays a hand on Saubala’s shoulder. “A King should join his hands only to God. He should greet a friend and punish a foe, only in that is his pride,” he says gently. “Your radiance is not less than any God’s, son of Ganga.” NO! Someone please rescue me from this whitewashing, should I call it glitterwashing? Of course, he’s modest as ever. “I am no King, merely the servant of Hastinapur. My place is not above you.” “Your talents are more than any King’s, son of Ganga.” “The question of talent comes when there is war. I am here to meet my friend, for deepening our friendship” What the hell did you bring your army for then? Happy music plays. “To welcome a friend like you is Gandhar’s good luck.” Saubala and Bhishm hug, as the soldiers cheer him. Gandhari runs into a chamber. “Bhabhi, Bhishm is here for the hand of friendship.” “I heard.” “What do you think? Is he pretending friendship and planning war?” “I’ve heard that Bhishm never lies.” “I’ve heard that there is none stronger than him in the entire of Aryavrat.” Aaah! If I hear more, my ears will bleed. “Yes, Sukhda. Even Parashuram couldn’t defeat him.” “A strong man always seems calm, Bhabhi. Let’s see if he’s actually strong or we have heard tall stories.” “I want to ask what he needs from Gandhar,” says Arshi. Scene changes. The men are reclining in thrones, along with the Queen. “Disperse.” The Queen commands her servants. “Such a beautiful welcome and love fills my heart.” Gandhari is at the entry of the room, peeking in. “I am sure you have educated your daughter and daughter in law with such courtesy also.” Bhishm, finally getting to the point, right? Phew. “What can a little country like Gandhar give to a nation as large and powerful as Kururashtra?” “A future. And happiness in the future. You might know that no King has ever attacked you because you have the protection of Kururashtra. If Kururashtra and Gandhar become one, it will be good for both of us.�� “Such a thing occurs between two equal Kingdoms. Gandhar serves Hastinapur, son of Ganga.” What kind of a king are you, Saubala? I’m sure canon Saubala is not this much of a doormat. CANON FAIL. “That is why I asked for a relationship, not friendship,” says Bhishm. “A marriage proposal.” FINALLY, after 14 minutes of posturing, we get to the DAMN POINT! Gandhari, still standing at the entry, looks at Sukhdha. The other adults also look at each other. “Your daughter Gandhari is famous for her beauty and virtues in the entire of Aryavrat. We have a marriage proposal for her. Please do not deny us.” “But you have taken an oath of celibacy, have you not, son of Ganga?” asks the Queen. Thankfully, he has. Bhishm looks down, then starts to laugh. “The princess will wed a Prince of Kururashtra, not me.” Happiness blooms everywhere. “Gandhari is like a daughter to me.” “I think this is a right thing to do.” Says the Queen. “Where can we find a better husband than Prince Pandu?” “Dhritrashtra.” Everyone except Bhishm looks stricken. I can kinda understand them. “Where did Pandu get into this? He’s the younger son. Dhritrashtra is the elder. Maharaj, I am thinking of Dhritrashtra. Think about it. Even a sculptor’s wife can have 100 children (wait, how? People don’t live for a 100 years, how the hell can anyone have 100 children right off the bat?) but they will be building sculptures, not a Kingdom. It is not the number of children that matters, what matters is their virtue. Not everyone has the luck of giving birth to 100 sons of Kuruvansh.” Ugh. Even typing out this sentence is making me feel dirty. “But Mahamahim, my daughter is beautiful, knowledgeable and a warrior. Dhritrashtra, you know what he is.” Ah, ableism is the issue. I don’t blame her, tho. It’s kinda a human flaw. Bhishm stands. “Dhritrashtra is also skilled in all things. You do not know his abilities, Maharani Sudharma.” He goes on to give an excessive intro of Dhritrashtra, adding that Gandhari will be very lucky to have him. The scene changes. Gandhari and her maid are laughing together. “Where are you going? It is not time yet to go far away.” “Let her go. My sister-in-law is entitled to her pride. There’s a proposal for her from such a kingdom, after all.” “There’s nothing like that, Bhabhi!” “It’s alright even if it is like that, Gandhari. No Kingdom is as rich as Hastina in the world!” “I have heard the same, Princess. I keep trying to imagine, how Hastinapur shall be…” “Hastinapur…” trails Gandhari. “If you form ties with us, you shall be Emperor Suabala instead of a King.” “You mean, you are here to take advantage of us by showing your strength.” “I am here to make the royal family of Gandhar as my family. There is no question of taking advantage in a family.” Ah, veiled threats. Scene changes. “So what if it’s a big Kingdom?” asks Gandhari. “Our Gandhar is not weak. Regardless, a marriage is not with a Kingdom, it’s with a Prince.” Gandhari bites her finger. She’s clearly said too much. “Already fantasizing about hubby dear?” Ugh. Too sweet for me. “Bhabhi!” Gandhari blushes. Scene changes again. “As I see it, their match is made in heaven,” says Bhishm. “We do not wish to force you.” Ah, hypocrisy too. “Clear your doubts before you make a decision.” Saubala walks to his throne. “So, what do you decide?” Scene changes to Gandhari once more. “The Prince of Hastinapur is like Indra among men.” Indra again. “Kururashtra’s men and women worship their Princes like Gods.” That they do in canon too. Scene changes again, camera focusing on the back of a man. “Bhabi, what’s his name?” asks Gandhari. “What are you going to do knowing his name? Women don’t call their husbands by their name.” “Tell me his name, Bhabhi.” “Dhritrashtra.” “Prince Dhritrashtra”. The camera focuses on Dhritrashtra flexing his muscles. Precap: Dhritrashtra faces an elephant. “How will I tell my daughter that I traded her happiness for the people? When Shakuni comes to know, what will he do?” I am confused. Gandhari seemed happy enough. ANYWAY. THIS ENTIRE EPISODE IS NON-CANON. The only thing mentioned in canon is that Bhishm approached Gandhar for Gandhari’s hand with a deputation (not an army), he got the same. Shakuni was actually happy about it.

I’ve already reached 10k words of roasting StarBharat. Seems this is a longer exercise than Antraatman, which is a literal novel. Imagine the sheer number of canon fails in this thing.  

[desktopdust]

Phantom Network: Malware Uninstall

A common question bandied about in regards to the Phantom Network is how a bunch of (insert adjectives like “lowlife” or “no good dirty”, etc) thieves manage to work together without constantly stabbing each other in the back. Yes, I’ll admit, even I didn’t quite understand it back when I was but a wee passive civilian living a mundane life, but I now realize this was only because I grossly misunderstood what a Phantom Thief is.

Most often, you hear “thief” and you picture someone taking something for themselves--a selfish hoarder who collects by any means necessary.  A Phantom Thief, however, has more noble goals in mind...and a flair for the dramatic. Bit of a tangent, but important to note. You see, Phantom Thieves don’t steal for themselves: they steal for others.  We take from the rich and give to the poor and all that jazz, because even if it’s only a drop in the ocean of wealth the elites have built up, the act of stealing from them proves that they aren’t invincible.  It’s all too easy to feel powerless in this world.  But when those with power aren’t able to stop regular people from knocking them down a peg, you get a tiny bit of hope, and more often than you might expect, that tiny bit of hope can make all the difference. Those dedicated to making that happen join the Phantom Network with a simple vow: “honor among thieves”.

Usually, that’s enough.  But no organization is inherently pure, and no matter what your goals are (especially when you’re working outside the law), it’s only natural you’ll attract some folks who are in it for the wrong reasons.  And that’s what we have the FW Protocol for!  If a thief is found to have no honor, the Protocol strips them of their privileges and finds the safest way to expunge them from the organization.  We don’t go as far as to execute somebody, but with how difficult memory deletion is to pull off, lifetime imprisonment is a fairly common result.  The system works...most of the time.  The Protocol can’t be too aggressive, so it usually waits for someone else to file a complaint.  But, with the whole “honor” thing, a lot of good Phantom Thieves won’t feel right ratting on their colleagues unless they go way over the line, at which point they’ve probably already caused an incident and have the Protocol on their tail.  Plenty of thieves manage to operate in that gray area, serving themselves without pissing anyone off too much...and I’ve all too frequently had the pleasure of dealing with one such individual.

Kari always pushed the limits even of that gray area.  But it’s rare to find someone who can competently manipulate time, so she wasn’t entirely wrong in thinking that the Network needed her.  Even after being betrayed over and over, I still haven’t filed a complaint, because she hasn’t outright ruined any job she’s been on and I don’t want to resort to drastic measures just for being personally wronged.  Like I said, honor among thieves.  I had decided to just put the whole thing behind me, not work with or even think about her ever again, but...things took a bit of a turn.

The “courtroom” we have at HQ is rarely used, so it’s a bit cramped.  I practically had to wedge myself into the corner as I took my seat and waited for things to kick off.  Opposite the door, the Phantom Network Admin sat at a blocky steel desk: a broad-shouldered, dark-skinned individual with a cyan bionic eye and metal down one half of their face, the other partly obscured by their many red curls.  Between us were four lightly-armored folks who each wore solid red shades, and in the midst of them, Kari, with a jamming bolt stuck to her alchemar between her shoulder blades and shackles on her wrists.

“Phantom Thief Kari, the Epoch Swindler,” the Admin said.  “Following the recent incident at Navy Canyon, the FW Protocol has conducted an investigation and found you in violation of your vow as a Phantom Thief.  What do you have to say in your own defense?”

Kari adjusted her bangs with a puff of air.  “Listen boss, I know I’m not exactly a paragon of virtue--honor isn’t something that comes all that easily to me.  But have I really done anything that awful?  I’m still serving the essential functions of a Phantom Thief, and none of my transgressions have impeded operations in any meaningful way.”  Under her breath, she added, “Until Navy Canyon, at least...but that was an accident.”

“It is worth noting there have been no formal complaints filed against her,” said one of the FWs surrounding her.  “However, when we interviewed those who have worked with her in the past, we noticed a running theme of dishonorable conduct.  Several such thieves have been brought in today to share their accounts on-record.”

The various assembled thieves were called up one by one, each sharing a lovely little tale about some time Kari shafted them.  Honestly it was hard not to laugh: I felt their pain.  Through it all, Kari just stood there, completely silent as her misdeeds were laid out before her.  Part of me couldn’t help but take satisfaction in the sight.  But, another part...

“Lastly, we would like to hear from Phantom Thief Roche.”

I pushed my way to the front of the room, avoiding eye contact with Kari for as long as I could.  When I faced the FWs, though, I could see her out of the corner of my eye, staring dag...huh. Well, she was staring, but not as maliciously as I was expecting.

“Roche.  On how many occasions have you worked with Kari?”

“Ah, nearly a dozen, I guess,” I said.

“And during these occasions, did Kari conduct herself in a manner you found questionable?”

“Every time.”  I saw Kari look to the floor.  That’s the most remorse I’ve ever seen her show.

“In particular, please share your recollection of the Cosmic Sapphire heist.”

“Right.”  I shifted my weight a little.  “A certain Mr. Snyder had the national museum display a set of fine jewels he had collected over the years, so the two of us set out to steal the exhibit.  Breaking in was easy, and then I went to the display room while Kari disabled the security.  As soon as I had an opening, I snatched the jewels, but as I was headed out I was jumped by a mercenary using a sound alchemar.  Turns out Snyder had shelled out quite a sum bringing in extra help once we warned him we were coming.  I’m sure I don’t need to go into detail about why fighting sound-users is tricky--suffice to say I was on the back foot, with things only evening out once Kari showed up.  We were doing okay, so I made a plan to end it.  I got in close as a distraction...next thing I knew, my bag felt a good bit lighter, and I was eating concrete.  Took me a minute to piece everything together, but basically: Kari stopped time, took the jewels off my hand, and then bolted back here on her own.  Not to be dramatic, but I almost died there.  That’s the only time since joining the Network I’ve had to make an emergency call. In the end, Kari got full payment, I looked like an amateur, and…”

Hesitation struck.  See, I haven’t taken a look at the Cosmic Sapphire Collection--it was turned over to the Admin and stored in the Network’s cache--but I’ve always had a strong suspicion that a few of the jewels didn’t make it back to HQ.  I wanted to bring it up, but...it’s not like I had any proof.  It was baseless, and I’d just be slandering Kari and making her (already very bad-looking) case look a lot worse.  She was still looking at the floor, and it was still weirding me out.

Nodding, one of the FWs asked, “And?”

Mmm, I might hate her, but I gotta be fair.  I sighed, continuing, “And, I’m just mad about it.  Being left to die and all.  But, there you have it.”

I went back to my seat.  The Admin folded their hands before their face, staring at Kari as they sifted through the information they had just absorbed.  “Well.  It sounds to me as though you’ve been awfully consistent, and all that’s saved you from comeuppance is the reluctance of more honorable thieves.  Do you have anything to add, Kari?”

She shook her head.  “...No.”

Yikes.  I’d never seen her like this, and it was really starting to get to me.

“This selfish streak casts itself upon your current claims.  Having previously been so willing to let your colleagues come to harm, it becomes more difficult to believe that the losses suffered at Navy Canyon were simply an accident.  Especially considering how flippant you were in the wake of the incident.”

“Makes sense.”

The Admin paused, and boy did it drag on.  Eventually, they said, “Have any come to speak in defense of Kari?”

“None,” answered an FW.

“So we truly have only your word to go on that this was an accident?”

“Come on, I--” Kari snapped, but cut herself off with a huff.  “Alright.  I’m an asshole, no two ways about it--it’s not like I don’t know.  Maybe I didn’t react right to what was going on, but at this point, what do I have to gain by lying about it?  It was an accident.  I didn’t want those thieves to die.  Believe me, don’t believe me, whatever.  Are we gonna keep running in circles, or can we just get this over with?”

Damn, okay. Something got to her.

The Admin said, “You must have an idea of what my decision would have to be if we leave things here.  Are you alright with that?”

“I just want it over with,” Kari mumbled.  “If there’s no changing it, then this is just torture.”

So...she’d already accepted being banned from the Network?  And was still insisting it was an accident?  Why?  What did she benefit from being honest at that point?

The Admin sat up straight.  “Very well.”

Hold on.

“Kari, you are hereby--”

“Wait!” I said.  All eyes turned to me.  “...Boss. To be fair...I think she’s telling the truth about Navy Canyon being an accident.”

The Admin raised an eyebrow.  “You do? Even though she’s put your life in jeopardy before?”

“I mean I’m still mad about that, don’t get me wrong.  But it’s not like she let the others die and then got out of there: she stayed and finished the mission, and even saved the lives of the right flank later on.  Why would she do that if she had killed the vanguard on purpose?”

After another all-too-long pause, the Admin said, “You make a fine point. But even if that was simply an accident, the trend in her conduct still stands.”

I glanced at Kari.  She was staring at me, eyes wide with confusion.  Don’t ask me, I didn’t get it either.  “Of course.  But, we don’t need to overreact, right?  I think the fact that she stayed after that accident shows she’s not a completely lost cause--maybe we can help her to be a little more honorable, given enough time and incentive.”

The Admin considered this, leading to yet another long silence during which I could feel myself growing old.

“Plus, where are we going to find another time-user on her level?  Not to sound like a business bastard, but you can look at it as an investment.”

The Admin chuckled.  “Practical. I suppose if we lock her for a while, we can take the time to educate her on proper Phantom Thief conduct. Mandatory, of course, and she’ll be confined to quarters otherwise.  Reparations will also need to be arranged, but that’s something we can work out at a later date.  Does this sound acceptable to you, Kari?”

She turned back to face the Admin.  “...Well, doesn’t sound like my idea of a good time, but...I suppose it’s better than my other option.”

“This will only work if you are truly willing to learn.  If you remain obstinate, this verdict can and will be amended.”

“Okay, I get it.  I’ll take it seriously.”

“Good.  Does anyone else have anything to add?”  No one did. “Then we’re done.  Please escort Kari back to her quarters and confiscate her alchemar.  Once you are satisfied the conditions are secure, please inform me, and then we can proceed.”

The FWs ushered Kari out of the room.  As she passed, she stared at me, but I kept my eyes forward.  The other thieves filed out, and I stayed where I was until finally the Admin walked up to me.

“I have to admit, Roche: I wasn’t expecting that from you.”

With a shrug, I got to my feet.  “Yeah, me neither.  Couldn’t tell you why that happened.”

The Admin smiled.  “I see. You know, if we’re going to instill a sense of honor in Kari, there’s quite a bit she could learn from you.”

Every muscle in my body went stiff as I began to question recent decisions.

“Don’t worry, I won’t put you through that.”

The tension drained out of me all at once.  You’d think it’d be cathartic, but it was more like the experience of finally vomiting after hours of nausea.

“Thank you for speaking up, Roche.  Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Kari was locked for a good few months after that.  She wasn’t entirely responding well to her training, but she did make an effort, and eventually we got somewhere.  After doing a handful of supervised jobs pro bono, she was allowed to leave her quarters, and no one at HQ saw her for another couple months after that.  But, she did come back eventually and resumed duties as normal.  I haven’t interacted with her since the investigation, and I don’t really feel an urge to change that.  I’d like to think she’s made some real progress, but...it’s hard to give someone the benefit of the doubt after repeated betrayal.  I’m gonna keep my distance.  With any luck, she’s at least got some sense of honor now, and she won’t be my problem ever again.

[nocturne-inuyasha-ff]

Chapter Sixteen: On the Edge of Forever

Author's Notes: Thanks for hanging in there. Keep in mind while reading that most of the scene changes are different narrators and the narrators are not always what you would call "reliable." Meaning, that we only see what they see or hear or think, so the reader may not ever see what's really going on.

Happy reading!

Nocturne - Chapter Sixteen: On the Edge of Forever

Rated - M (for suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, and coarse language)

Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha.

Sesshomaru had the audacity to look confused - his one brow risen higher than the other. "This one assumed you might desire a moment to collect yourself after an arduous journey."

Kagome set her jaw, and she almost began tapping her foot in annoyance. "No, I want to see Setsuna and make certain she is well."

"The child was well when I last saw her."

"You saw her? When?" He'd made no mention of it on the trip over, which was flabbergasting to her. "Why wouldn't you tell me that?!" she demanded.

"It was unnecessary," he began before Kagome cut him off.

"Unnecessary?! You fool, it is never unnecessary to tell a mother the wellbeing of her child!" her anger seemed to be falling on deaf ears. "What if our positions had been reversed?"

"That is preposterous. I would have never allowed myself to be taken."

Kagome groaned. "No! That's not what I meant. What if something had happened to Setsuna? Would you have wanted to know?"

"It would have made no difference."

So, he didn't care. A part of Kagome was furious while the other felt numb from his admission. "I see," she responded. "Thank you for returning me home."

Kagome strode past him and out the door to begin the walk towards the village. She could only assume that Setsuna had been left in the care of her friends. So, that was now her destination.

Sesshomaru had not bothered to stop her. Whatever his intentions were with bringing her here, where everyone was not, were as mysterious as ever.

Kagome felt overcome with emotion and unsure of which one she wanted to address first, her anger, or her misery. Anger would likely fuel her longer, so she picked up that mantle until she could decompress later. She felt foolish to think that anything occurred from the point of their first joining until now would change the way the demon lord perceived her.

Sesshomaru stepped in front of her, breaking her out of her reverie. Kagome had honestly expected him to leave after dropping her off.

"Where are you going," he asked.

"What do you want from me?" she demanded.

"It would be astute for you to collect any possession you deem worthwhile," he explained.

Kagome crossed her arms. "Why would I do that?"

"It is not safe," he answered.

"Not safe?" she repeated incredulously. "And why may that be? Because I am human and incapable of protecting myself?"

His golden eyes narrowed at her, but he remained silent for the moment, knowing she likely had more to say.

"You've already killed Fan, from what else do you need to keep me safe? I haven't needed your protection before all this, and I don't need it now," she admonished.

Sesshomaru's brow piqued, "What leads you to believe that Fan Tsenpo is dead?"

"I saw you kill him," she said almost hesitantly, now beginning to doubt herself. Why was Sesshmaru stating otherwise? Her eyes had not deceived her.

"One would be a fool to kill Fan outright. His clan must be dealt with delicately. To murder one of their own in such a fashion would be considered dishonorable; and an action of the greatest offense. They would then hunt this one down without hesitation." He stated this matter-of-factly as if it were insane to suggest otherwise.

"I merely immobilized him for the time being to afford us the ability to escape."

"So...he's still…" she trailed off.

"Correct, wounded, but alive. It will likely take Fan some time to recuperate, but when he has recovered, it would be prudent to expect retaliation of some form."

"Oh, Kami." Fear enveloped her. If Fan were alive, that would mean he could come after her again, or more likely, Setsuna. Kagome shook her head, trying to shake evil images from her mind. "It was all too easy," she lamented.

"Indeed. Fan miscalculated your abilities, and I took advantage of his misconception to escape."

"So, you knew he would tell me to kill you?" she asked dubiously.

He gave her a stern look until his right lip pulled into a small smirk. "Fan did not get the idea on his own. His penchant for collecting oddities turned out to be his folly."

Kagome balled her fists in mock anger, "Don't get cocky! He could have killed me!"

"No harm would have befallen you."

The arrogant ass! "How presumptive of you, risking our lives based on what I can only assume to be a wild hunch!"

"If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle," Sesshomaru quoted.

"Wait, are you quoting a...a book? You realize that particular tome was written by a human, right?"

Sesshomaru made a 'hnn' sound. "I may have held disdain for mortals, but I am not so naive as to overlook the wisdom of those I may presume as weaker. Humans have not progressed this far by chance. They lack power, agility, and longevity, but some makeup for that in cunning. "

"Wow, Lord Sesshomaru, I am...speechless," Kagome said. She cocked her head to the side, studying him in a different light.

A small smile formed on his lips, "I find that to be unbelievable." His smile quickly dropped, and he looked past her and towards her little house. "Now, back to the matter at hand. It is recommended you find what you need presently or leave it."

Kagome reflexively turned her head to the house and back, "What? I'm not leaving. I am not going to run and hide. My friends are here, and they may be in harm's way because of me. No. I am staying."

Sesshomaru shook his head. "Miko, there are many preparations to be done and an unknown time to complete them. If you plan to risk your own life, I will not compel you to accompany me, but the same cannot be said for all those involved."

Why was he so wishy-washy, instructing her to come and then backing off. "Of course, you wouldn't. Just go then!" she demanded.

He did not move. Perhaps his words were empty, and he was trying to use reverse psychology to get Kagome to leave with him.

Kagome broke, her words quiet and venerable. "Please just go. This is already hard as it is. I can't keep playing this game anyway. Don't worry about us. We will be fine. I've been through worse."

"I cannot help but worry," he admitted.

"Why?" If he would even admit that much.

He reached out and ran his hands through the strands of her hair in a thoughtful gesture. "This one knows the miko can care for herself. That I do not question."

She grabbed his hand to stop the simple caress but did not let go. "Then why is it important that I come with you?"

"To leave you and the child would be dishonorable."

She closed her eyes and held her breath. "I release you from your burden. Go forth and be free from us."

He still did not move, "You are making this difficult."

"Good, because you have made my life difficult!" she bit out. "As if things weren't already hard enough for me. Now I have to deal with my feelings for you," she blurted before stopping herself. Damn.

"What feelings?" he demanded.

She spun away, having said too much. Looking at him was enough to push her over the edge, and she had to be strong.

Sesshomaru would not allow her to leave with his question unanswered and grabbed her, pulling her into his chest. His arm wrapped around her so that she could not pull free. His head leaned down to her ear, allowing some of his silver locks to cover her shoulder. His lips were close enough to graze her ear, but his words were soft. "Speak, woman. You hold your tongue no other time."

Resisting was futile, and she could feel herself melting into his chest. "I...think...I…" her words trembled upon her lips, "may love you..." The last three words came out as a whisper, but Kagome knew he heard them.

"What a fool I am. Now, please go." She turned her head away from him as much as she could. Anything to break the spell under which she was falling.

Sesshomaru would not let her go, and his voice was hard with his monosyllabic reply. "Why?"

"Why what?" she repeated with fear.

He turned his head closer to hers, "Would you think those feelings would make you a fool?" His words seemed to hold anger in them.

Kagome sighed, "Because I am human, and even if you were to return my feelings or pretend to care, I am just a blink in your life. I cannot give you what you need or deserve, and it would be selfish of me to ask."

He released her, his arm falling away, and Kagome was able to step back and turn to see him. His eyes were soft, but his lips set into a hard line. "I liken you to many things, but never a fool."

"Then, perhaps, I am overzealous."

"You have never aspired to be more than you are, and I would never ask that of you."

Kagome closed her eyes, set upon her chosen path, "Then it's agreed."

His words cut through her. "You are trying to corner me into your narrow outlook."

Her eyes snapped open, and she asked almost hopelessly, afraid to hear his words. "Then what do you want?"

"You."

"Why?" she lamented.

"You anger me."

Kagome nearly laughed in derision. "I anger a lot of people."

Sesshomaru raised his voice over her own. "You also give me pause. I've never understood my father's inclinations until now."

He stepped close to her again, trying to use his vicinity to express his words. "How a human could intrigue me, push me, plague me."

He lifted a hand and cupped her cheek, and she did not stop him. "You infiltrate my every thought, and it drives me mad. The idea of losing you is a pain insurmountable."

Tears spilled down her cheeks. "I can't love you. It's...it is not fair to you. Please... don't say these things to me."

He used his thumbs to wipe away her tears, his other hand gently grasping her face. "Kagome, do not deny yourself. Least of all to me."

The weight of his words was not lost on her. In memory, she'd not once recalled him using her name. She had to harden her heart.

He tenderly tilted her chin and possessed her lips with his own. Warmth spread through her like wildfire, and she fought an urge to pull him closer so as to melt into his body. His hands never left her face as he waited for her to signal to him that there was more to be had. She longed for it to deepen, but pulled away before she allowed it to go too far.

"No," she pleaded, turning away from him. "I must-must... Please go."

He left quietly and swiftly, to where she did not know. It was for the best, she assured herself.

o - o - o - o - o

He departed expediently. Any more time spent in her presence would have had a different outcome, one that she may not likely desire, but he did.

Sesshomaru had never met such an intoxicating and infuriating person. In a different time, he would have reacted differently, or not at all.

Like his brow, he set his course and made haste. It was only a moment before he alighted outside the Houshi's home. He could sense that the taijiya was inside, alone, aside from the presence of his young child.

Without waiting for an invitation, he walked in. Sitting next to a hearth, the woman stirred a pot with her free hand. The infant was slumbering next to her.

The woman looked startled at his abrupt appearance, abandoning her meal preparations, "Lord Sesshomaru!"

He stepped before her, "I've come to retrieve the child."

She seemed confused, looking down at the baby. "What about Kagome?!" His arrival without the child's mother seemed to unbalance her.

Sesshomaru had no time for this, "She is safe."

The taijiya grabbed the infant up and stood up. She was right to feel uneasy but also had no reason not to relinquish the baby to its father. The woman carefully placed the sleeping child into her father's waiting arms.

He stared down at the child, who was gaining size with speed. Her hair had grown even longer, curling in fine strands around her head.

"Fetch Rin," he commanded, looking back up to the taijiya.

"Is something wrong, Lord Sesshomaru?" the woman asked with concern. She looked over to a corner of the room where her gear and weaponry leaned against a wall, ready for use.

Not answering her question, Sesshomaru changed the subject. "You have called for your brother, as I suggested?"

"Uh, yes. He has arrived. I think Rin is with him."

He felt a twinge of anger at the suggestion. Rin was of marriageable age, and it was preposterous for her to be alone with a male, even one he was acquainted with and had been a traveling companion. "Accompanied by who?"

"Miroku and the children," she responded hesitantly.

That, alone, did not mollify him, but he would deal with it soon enough. "My gratitude for keeping Setsuna safe. I will send word to you with instructions."

"Instructions for what?" she called after him.

He left without another word, leaving her question heavy in the air. The miko's human companions were much too wordy than was prudent. There was no time to answer constant questions.

o - o - o - o - o

Sesshomaru followed his nose the rest of the way through the village to find Rin. He located her in a clearing at the edge of the village. She appeared to be conversing with a young woman. Upon further inspection, Sesshomaru was unable to locate the houshi, nor his brood and his irk rose towards the taijiya for her false words.

There were many people in the clearing, most carrying belongings and supplies, looking as though they had just arrived from a long journey or were displaced settlers bearing all they owned. He noticed the now grown Kohaku among them calling out instructions.

Sesshomaru's arrival caused a hush among the group who all immediately began to arm themselves with varying weaponry. He glared at them all, daring anyone to attack.

Kohaku noticed the disturbance and lifted a hand, instructing the people to lower their weaponry, but many continued to give Sesshomaru defiant looks. The young man ran over towards Sesshomaru with a wary smile.

"Lord Sesshomaru, it is good to see you well. My sister sent word to me, expressing distress, and asked that I come quickly. When I learned that the suggestion came from you, I thought it provident to bring a team." Kohaku gestured to his people, still giving Sesshomaru wary, sidelong glances.

Rin had taken the opportunity to approach and smiled broadly. "Lord Sesshomaru! You have returned, which must mean that you bring Lady Kagome as well." She saw the child, now awake and alert, in his arm. Rin looked around, trying to find Kagome, and then back to Sesshomaru. "She is not here?"

Sesshomaru ignored her question. "With your mortal caretaker dead, I wanted to ensure that you are provided for." He looked around again and back at Rin. "I will soon be away from here."

Still smiling, Rin cooed at the baby and placed a finger inside the child's grasping hand. "I am happy here, my lord," she said cautiously. Glancing up, she said slowly, "I only worry about you."

Sesshomaru noticed from the corner of his eye Kohaku staring at the girl with a particular fondness in his gaze. He figured that young Rin could do worse than the thoughtful taijiya. She may undoubtedly need his care in the time to come.

Satisfied that Rin would not be left wanting, he issued a brief goodbye. "Be well, Rin."

Rin grabbed his arm, a look of concern drawing down her features. "Where is Kagome?" she asked again.

"You may tell her I will be waiting."

"Of course," Rin replied obediently. She still seemed perturbed over the turn of events, but would not question Sesshomaru.

He bid a final farewell to the pair and departed on a swift wind.

In-flight, he looked down at the child in his arms. She sat up and looked around in marvel, never having seen the world from this vantage. Her dark eyes alight with a quiet wonder. Those were the eyes of her mother, he knew. This was the only way to get her to see.

o - o - o - o - o

Kagome stepped inside her house again, for what she was unsure. Everything was exactly as she had left it, except for a layer of dust beginning to form. Funny how dust began to move in the moment that you stopped paying attention.

She sighed at all of the work she would have to do and nearly debated on taking care of things now rather than doing them later with a child to care for.

Her desire to be reunited with Setsuna was too great. Kagome exited the house and looked around. A shaky breath escaped her, and she chided herself for thinking that he would be here. Not after she ran him off. She left the house and set down the path towards the village.

She had gotten a mile barely before she was pulled from her thoughts.

"Oi! Kagome!" A familiar voice called out.

Kagome turned on her heel. Only one person she knew would address her like that.

Inuyasha ran up to her, pulling her into a friendly embrace. "You're okay!"

"Ungh, not if you don't crush me first," she joked.

"Eh? Sorry." He released her quickly and took an awkward step back. "I, uh, I'm sorry you were kidnapped...again."

Kagome bit her lip and smirked. "There's nothing to apologize for. You saved Setsuna, and that's all I could have ever asked."

"I was gonna come and save you, too, but it seems Sesshomaru beat me to it. Where is he anyway? Surprisingly he isn't here threatening to kick my ass again."

"He's gone. I don't know where to."

"Oh."

There was an awkward silence. "So, you were going to come to save me, huh? Like old times? How did that pan out?"

Inuyasha scratched at his head, seemingly embarrassed, "Yeah, well, once Sesshomaru came and threatened everyone, we decided to come up with an alternate plan."

"Threatened you?" She asked.

"Well, yeah, he came here hours after you were taken and apparently told Sango to get her brother here. He basically implied shit was gonna go down."

"I see," she responded, thinking to herself.

"I guess that means he didn't kill that bitch or her badass brother, huh?"

Kagome's head snapped up, and her heart dropped. The danger was only gone for the moment with no indication of when it was to return. "No, unfortunately not."

"Keh, fucking figures. He drags you and the kid into this, and now he's bringing everyone else into his fucking mess, too. Then he takes off?"

"Likely to prepare," Kagome defended. "He was able to seriously wound Fan, and any counter-attack will not be immediate."

"Nah. Probably when we least expect it. He's a sick fuck that one."

"What do you know of him?" She asked suspiciously.

"A little."

"You've never even met him. How can you possibly know anything at all?"

"I uh…" he trailed off, and he looked behind her.

Kagome caught his glance and spun around to see a woman peeking out at her from behind a tree. "Who is that, Inuyasha?"

"That's um…" he stammered, "It's Shizuka."

"Shizuka?" Kagome asked, looking at the tree the woman seemed to be hiding behind. "Why is she hiding? Who is she?"

"Don't get mad."

"Why would I get mad, Inuyasha?" she inquired the guilty-looking hanyo.

He scratched at his head and looked up as he spoke, avoiding her stare, "Because she...she may or may not have been the one who snatched the kid."

"What," she responded in monotone.

When it seemed Kagome wouldn't blow up, Inuyasha called out, "Come on over."

Kagome seethed with anger at the fool before her. She stood silent while Inuyasha led a hesitant hanyo woman out towards her.

Her first inclination had been to lash out, but upon further inspection, Kagome instantly felt a surge of pity.

The woman was an inuyokai, just like Inuyasha. Her ears were turned down like she was a beaten dog, and she trembled so like a frightened animal. Inuyasha took hold of her hand and patted it reassuringly. "This is Kagome. She won't hurt you."

Kagome glared at him, but he was oblivious to her poignant stare. He only had eyes for this timid woman. The idiot would dare attempt to pass off this woman as some kind of ally? Yet, Kagome could feel that there was nothing nefarious about her. Strange that she couldn't pick up anything at all, no sense of her yoki, nothing.

The woman glanced up, hesitantly, and back down. She began to tug on Inuyasha's arm, trying to pull away. Something about the way Kagome stared at her, causing her to feel discomfort.

"You're frightening her," Inuyasha pointed out. "Don't be such a bitch. It ain't Shizuka s fault."

"Are you serious right now! I haven't said one cross word as of yet! Maybe you are scaring her by pushing her into situations she's uncomfortable with."

Inuyasha snapped back, "Maybe she can see your dagger eyes!"

"So immature," Kagome groaned.

"Such a stuck up whiny bitch," he snapped.

Kagome frowned. "I am not whiny. I know what I want. It's different."

Inuyasha scoffed, "Keh. Oh yeah? Then why are you alone again?"

Kagome gasped. "How dare you! I am alone because I have chosen to be alone."

"Lie to yourself, wench, but you can't lie to me. I know you too well."

Kagome thought that may be true to a point, but he was wrong about his opinion of her.

Shizuka looked supremely uncomfortable but said nothing. Kagome sniffed in derision, turning her attention to the newcomer.

"So, explain to me why she is sharing your company, and I shouldn't want to hurt her if she tried to steal my baby," she demanded.

o - o - o - o - o

Inuyasha explained on the way towards the village. He told Kagome how Shizuka had been a slave to Tsering and used for everything from a handmaiden to a spy. They did not even know her real name, instead, giving her a new one.

How he had extracted all this information from a girl who was clearly mute was beyond her. Still, she gave this stranger the benefit of the doubt because Inuyasha assured her that Sango and Miroku would collaborate the story.

Kagome was skeptical but also hesitant to doubt her friend's astute judgment. It would be best to keep this woman as far away from her babe as possible, just to be safe, she thought.

Inuyasha explained that a lot had happened in the weeks she was gone. Kohaku had arrived, bringing with him his entire clan of taijiya. The lad was doing his best to rebuild that which he had taken away. His guilt was something he would battle for years, if not the rest of his life. Survivors guilt at its worst, Kagome knew.

Apparently, Sango's summons prompted Kohaku to bring his foundling people to the village to settle. The old taijiya village was gone, decimated by an old enemy, its inhabitants eradicated except for two. Kohaku dreamed of making amends due to his guilt and began by recruiting worthy apprentices and others experienced in exterminating demons.

With the village seeming to attract yokai of all kinds, it seemed an appropriate place to settle and begin anew. Of course, many of the people Kohaku had recruited held a deep-seated hatred for yokai, no matter their affiliations, and found themselves unsettled by some of the village's inhabitants.

None of that seemed to bother Inuyasha. He held the woman's hand as they walked, occasionally running a thumb over her hand for reassurance purposes. Kagome felt an odd sense of jealousy wash over her when she noticed. She narrowed her eyes at the display and quickly turned her head before the lout could pick up on her mood. Kagome cursed herself for those twinges of envy. It's not as if she even wanted Inuyasha like that. Not anymore.

He had seldom been so tender and patient with her during their time together. Both of their stubborn tendencies clashed and caused many fights. Now, Kagome could see that what he truly needed to thrive would be someone demure. Someone who needed the protection he could provide. Someone to validate him after years of being nothing.

Kagome now knew that she was never the one for him, and it stung to see him look happy over someone that was a virtual stranger in comparison to their years-old relationship. She felt her throat catch thinking about her own happiness or rather lack thereof.

It just didn't seem fair that Kagome had left her family and her entire life to come to the past for a boy that now seemed enthralled with someone else. She tried to discreetly clear her throat without drawing too much attention to herself.

"What's your deal?" Inuyasha asked skeptically.

Kagome noticed that he had an eyebrow raised and likely wouldn't be convinced by whatever she said. "I just miss her," she said quietly. That was true, and he wouldn't question her. She hoped.

His eyes suggested he had his doubts, but he didn't push the subject, instead, going along with her. "Yeah, well, she's a brat. Just like her mom." His friendly smile trying to console her.

Kagome nodded and glanced over at the new woman being led along quietly by Inuyasha's side. She had not gotten a very good look at the woman and thought she saw some similarities to another. Odd similarities. The tilt of her eyes, even downcast as they were, held some disturbing familiarity. Kagome shook her head of the thoughts, clearing her mind of such notions.

Inuyasha stopped, and Shizuka tensed, hiding behind him. Kagome was puzzled at their hesitation but felt it herself and followed their eyes up. Up in the sky, there was a figure being swallowed in the clouds settling over the land. It was a queer sensation to have her heart drop lower into her chest than it had already done not long ago.

Did I make the right decision, she pondered, looking back at the pair whose eyes were still glued to the sky.

"Bastard is leaving again. Good fucking riddance," Inuyasha cursed. "He always rattles on about pride and honor, but be is a fucking hypocrite."

Kagome didn't respond, preferring to chew on her lip. For a second, she thought he'd come back for her. Not that it would change her mind. The idea of being an aging liability seemed unfeasible.

Inuyasha scoffed. "You're better off. Maybe one of the new guys that Kohaku brought would suit you," he suggested.

If looks could kill, Inuyasha would be 6 feet under. The best Kagome could do was one. "Sit, boy!" She commanded.

The beads around his neck glowed, and his face planted into the ground with a satisfying sound. Shizuka looked at Kagome with a mixture of perplexion and horror, eliminating any amount of satisfaction Kagome would get from the deed.

"He deserved it!" She defended against her wordless accuser. "He will be fine," she waved a hand.

Inuyasha lifted himself from the ground spitting dirt, "Dammit, wench! Don't fucking do that!"

Kagome grabbed Inuyasha by his beads, pulling his neck down and looked at Shizuka. "Beads of subjugation," she explained. "If he ever gives you any trouble, let me know, and I will bring him down a few notches."

Shizuka continued to look horrified, emphasizing her fright by taking a step back from Kagome.

Kagome frowned and let Inuyasha go. He growled and rubbed his neck, muttering obscenities. He grabbed Shizuka's hand and marched off with her, leaving Kagome behind.

She sighed and followed.

The village was just a few yards away, and the trio made their way to Miroku and Sango's house.

Upon entering, Kagome was greeted with smiles and tight hugs from her best friend. Sango hiccuped, stifling a happy sob. "We were all so worried, but when Sesshomaru came, I knew you were okay."

"What do you mean?" Kagome asked. How had Sango seen Sesshomaru already? "Did he come here?"

Sango's eyes went wide with apprehension. "He did…"

Kagome looked around, noting the absence of her child, "Where's Setsuna?"

"He didn't bring her to you?" Sango questioned.

"Clearly not!" Kagome felt the blood drain from her face and turned to bolt from the door. Inuyasha stood with Shizuka in the doorway, speechless, and Kagome shouldered past him to get outside. He protested loudly, "Hey!"

Kagome ran outside, not knowing where to go or what to do. She could feel her adrenaline start to course as she stopped and looked in any direction. People were coming and going, working through their daily chores and errands, some looking at her strangely as she stood panting and looking around frantically.

Without having a set course in mind, she began running blindly, looking for anything. She could hear her name being shouted from behind her. "Kagome! Wait!"

She ignored whoever called, dashing through women who were running errands, children who were playing, and men returning from the day spent hunting and gathering. Kagome had a one-track mind at this moment where her instincts led her rather than her rationale.

Another voice broke through her, "Kagome?!"

She didn't stop running, but a pair of strong arms grabbed her and pulled her off her feet. "What's wrong?" she heard a frantic voice call out.

Kagome was able to see Rin standing in front of her, concern marring her features. "Kagome, please calm down."

She wrestled against the hands that restrained her, trying to pull free. "Let go of me. I have to find her," she cried.

Rin grabbed Kagome's hands in her own. "Please, listen. Setsuna is not here. She is with Lord Sesshomaru."

"He took her?!" Kagome yelled. She settled and quit trying to break free, finally noticing who had grabbed her up. It had been quite a while since she'd seen the young man, Kohaku. He'd grown taller, more filled, and masculine in his slayer clothes. He also looked concerned while holding her from causing harm to herself or others.

"Yes, that is true," Rin said. She looked sad for Kagome like she felt pity for a child who didn't know the real way of the world. "He said to come," she said softly.

"What do you mean?" Kagome asked. "He said what?"

He allowed Kagome to go free, and she turned to look up at him in perplexion. Kohaku moved around to stand beside Rin.

"What are you saying?" Kagome asked. Come where she wondered.

Rin still held Kagome's hands and rubbed them in a soothing motion. "He wanted you to find them."

Kagome felt her heart fall. Now Setsuna was gone, too. Was it a punishment? Or was he using their child to bring her to him? Perhaps he did not find her capable of handling their child that would surely outlive her. "Find them?" she repeated softly. "Did he-was there anything else?"

"Yes, he said once you were ready, they would be waiting."

o - o - o - o - o

A/N: FYI, to any who may ask. No, Inuyasha isn't in insta-love with Keyuri/Shizuka. I'll just leave it at that.

Hmm, there will likely be some daddy-daughter moments in the chapter to come. That should be exciting.

Also, I know it seemed a bit anti-climatic that Fan bit the dust so easily. I mean, he's this hella strong yokai, right? Well, we've seen Sesshomaru lose an arm to his "weakling" brother, so I don't think it's a stretch to say that Fan overestimates himself a bit, or at the very least underestimates everyone else. I doubt he will make that mistake again.

[zer0pm]

Imagine that V rescues you and tends to you after you were captured by Urizen.

A/N: Part one of a two-part short story. Reason? Didn’t want one post to be too long plus there’s some sick pleasure in teasing 😏 I’m sure V doesn’t mind. Credit for the awesome and beautiful gif goes to @evilwvergil, slightly edited/cropped by me using Ezgif for this fic. Enjoy!~

Edit: tumble search doesn’t like links so you can also find my fics on Ao3. They have the links for the original post :3

.

.

.

When Dante was defeated, something you never thought possible while he was in his demon form, all hope was lost. The last thing you remembered was Urizen ensnaring you in his bloody vines and your world turning black. You don’t know how long you have been out but when you finally came to, you awaken to the sound of familiar music playing in the background.

Nico’s jukebox? Am I dead? If so, heaven is a hell of a weird place to choose this as my afterlife theme song.

Feeling your thoughts slowly coming together coherently, you open your heavy-lidded eyes. The blare of the sun was the first thing that caught your attention and you moved your hand to shield yourself from the blinding light. When you reached over to cover your eyes, you notice what felt like leather shift above you and look down to see a familiar long vest coat draped over you.

This is V’s. Why is this-

You lifted the coat.

Yeah, of course I’m naked. Why wouldn’t I be?

Questions and bells start to ring inside your head but for the life of you, you cannot comprehend what is going on.

“You’re awake.”

You turn your head towards the voice filled with that familiar silken drawl you’ve begrudgingly admitted recently to be tantalizing to your senses. If his voice wasn’t enough then-

The man was bare from the waist up and his jeans were hanging dangerously low around his hips. He wasn’t impressively built like Dante or Nero, but there was a seductive appeal to his slender frame exemplified by the intricate pattern of tattoos across his skin. V was beautiful and you couldn’t look away even as he approached you.

You: “I’m dead. I have to be.”

He smirks at you.

V: “I’ll take that as a compliment. I’m afraid Death will not claim you in his shadowy grasp today.”

He kneels before you and you from for lying position to greet him.

V: “For a moment, however, I truly thought you were a lost cause. It pleases me to know I was wrong.”

You: “What happened?”

V: “I was hoping you could fill those details. When I found you, you were buried in the husk of a Geryon.”

You: “A gary-what?”

V: “A hell steed that can control time. It appears Urizen may have either found one or most likely extracted the essence of one somewhere and used you as its core vessel.”

You: “I’m not sure I know how that works.”

V: “You do not need to know how demons operate, just know that they always have a use for humans and more often than not, it doesn’t end well for the latter.”

You shifted uncomfortably, not wishing to even dwell upon what would’ve happened if V didn’t find you in time.

You: “I’m guessing you were the one that beat the hell horse-thing?”

V: “Indeed.”

You: “I want to say “thanks”...”

V: “There’s going to be a “but”, I presume?”

You: “But...that doesn’t explain why I’m naked.”

You hold his coat closer to you although consider it has no sleeves, it wasn’t doing so well for coverage. And yet, V’s eyes have not wandered off from your face. Something you were thankful for...and disappointed in at the same time.

V: “How would you feel if I said that demons do not believe in clothes?”

You: “So they stripped me?”

V: “Clearly.”

You: “And that’s why I have your coat.”

V: “So that’s where it went.”

You lightly smacked him for his cheek and in turn he gives a slight laugh, the sight of his face filled with boyish humor brightened up the van and you just had to smile back even when you tried to adopt a scolding tone.

You: “V-”

V: “Just kidding. I wanted to protect your modesty. It was the only alternative for the time being until Nero and his friends can procure proper attire for you.”

You: “Ha. My hero, the gentleman V.”

You didn’t mean to come off as sarcastic. In fact, you meant it. It was true. V has not once shown himself as a man of dishonorable intent-

V: “Oh, trust me. The thoughts I had while carrying your naked form to safety was anything but gentlemanly.”

Except for that! Where did that come from?!

He grabs the edge of his coat to bring that end to the top of your exposed shoulder. His hand lingered for a moment before he withdrew it back to his side. You had wished that V had kept his touch a little longer, he felt warm. You wanted to press onto what he said.

You: “Anything, but huh? Did I hear that right?”

V: “Hear what right?”

He was playing with you, it was plainly so when an infuriatingly devilish smile graces his face. You wanted to smack that arrogance right off of his pouty lips.

You: “V-”

V: “I should let you get some more rest.”

He rises to stand and steps to move back outside before you reach forward to grab his wrist. V halts in his movements to look back at you in faux curiosity. Your sudden shift caused the coat to fall from your body, exposing you to him. This time he didn’t bother running his eyes across your naked skin, his gaze lingering in areas that made you quiver inside before he finally met your eyes.

You: “What do you think of me?”

It was quiet for a moment before you see the tip of his tongue play with the fang of his teeth. Such a simple thing made him look incredibly irresistible and yet it looks like it is he who is struggling to resist whatever it is he is feeling towards you.

V: “Art...”

He twists his wrist from your grasp to grasp your wrist in his hand and run his long fingers across your forearm up to your bicep. As he pulls himself closer to you, he sits beside you atop the couch in one fluid motion, his fingers dancing across the top of your shoulder in a feather-like caress before resting above the skin where your heart beats. You think that V can most likely feel your its quickening pace.

V: “Art can never exist without naked beauty displayed. And you...”

He is leaning towards you now, tilting your chin up and guiding you to stretch your neck to meet him halfway and yet he stops right before your lips meet. The man smirks when he sees that your mouth was already hanging open in anticipation.

V: “...are the most exquisite piece I have ever seen. I would like to study...”

One hand rests on your hip and squeezes, setting off an electrical charge throughout your body.

V: “Every line.”

His other hand runs his thumb across the bottom part of your lip.

V: “Every color.”

He shifts until he moved you to press against him, chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat and you gasped. It was delightful to his ears and when he spoke next, it came out almost like an aching groan.

V: “Every note.”

His lips ghosting above yours now. You can feel them tease your wanting skin, each word brushing against your mouth and you found yourself opening and closing your mouth slightly to meet him but his hold on your face stops you from pushing further. Those green eyes pin you to him, reflecting intensity of the desire that was swelling between you both.

V: “Until there is nothing but the promise of...sweet delight born in an endless night.”

Finally, he claims your lips with his and you return the kiss in fervor. With the way he tasted against your tongue which struggled against his for passionate dominance, you were looking forward to something endless.

[thcconduit]

[CLASSIFIED]: ADVANCED ADVOCATES CASE FILE:

ARCHANGEL  THE CONDUIT

BASICS

BIRTH NAME: Francis Hayes

NICKNAME(S): Frank, Frankie, but really he just wants you to call him Francis.

DATE OF BIRTH: March 19, 1984 (Pisces)

AGE: 35

GENDER: Male

PRONOUNS: He/him/his

NATIONALITY: American

HOMETOWN: Fort Smith, Arkansas. 

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Turnstone, USA. Madison, Wisconsin.

OCCUPATION: ASL interpreter. 

ORIGIN

CW: car accident mention.

Francis’ life has been a series of unfortunate events. He likes to think of his life as split in two distinctive parts; before and after the accident he suffered with his parents. Before that fateful event, he remembered his family being quite normal, sometimes distant in a way that happened when everyone was so cemented in their routines, but nothing out of the ordinary. He even has some memories he would consider nice, like going to a theme park on his birthday, or going to Sunday church service.

Things changed drastically after their accident, enough so that Francis often wonders what things would be like had it never occurred. You see, his family was driving down the highway, going to New York to visit an aunt for the holidays, someone he had never actually met before, even though he had been around thirteen at the time. They never actually made it to his aunt’s house, a semi truck plowed into them, sending them careening off of the highway. The impact had been so strong that Francis had eventually died on the scene. He was brought back by paramedics, but there are times where he wishes they hadn’t done so.

He was never the same after that, he lost a lot of hearing in his left ear and would need to use a hearing aid, and was left with extensive emotional trauma. This trauma was only exacerbated by the appearance of strange sensations in his body, something he couldn’t explain. Every time he went to sleep he would panic, waking up in terror, and then he would separate from his body, left to wander aimlessly around his home for hours until he returned.

Dealing with the reality of severe PTSD, and the fact that he was astral projecting was incredibly difficult for the young teen. So many things were changing for him so quickly and he felt isolated from his family. His mother and father turned to religion much more heavily to cope with the after effects of the accident, and often expected Francis to act fine so that no one could see just how they were affected. His parents, and especially his mother needed to feel that everything was fine and would continue to be fine. Francis clung onto religion and what his family expected of him to feel some semblance of normalcy and connection, but he was often left to deal with his traumas alone.

Over time Francis’ mental state only became worse as he learned new things about himself, things he knew would be considered unacceptable. Things he wasn’t prepared to face. One of those was that his astral projection seemed to get worse and he was now losing himself to forces he couldn’t understand. He felt as if he were under spiritual attack, but couldn’t actually go to anyone for help, too afraid they’d judge and ridicule him. Or worse.

He began to develop compulsions and rituals to keep the feelings at bay, and protect him. It was all irrational but it was the only way he felt he had any control. These only got worse until they impeded his ability to be like the other teens in his school. During his senior year, his counselor called upon his parents and told them of the things teachers had witnessed and how panic stricken Francis seemed all the time. His parents begrudgingly took him to therapists, but refused to allow him to take any medications.

Francis got a little better, enough so that he could enroll in college and take Deaf studies and ASL courses. He had known a bit of ASL growing up but never enough to be fully fluent. He wanted to feel connected to others like him.

He could still feel the presence of spirits calling out to him, but he didn’t know what to do, and tried his hardest to close himself off to that. It became too much though, and the first time he experienced a full scale possession was during a final exam where he was taken by a spirit who could light things on fire. He almost burned down the building he was in with his peers, and was kicked out of his college. There wasn’t a clear explanation, but he was deemed a danger, the witnesses had all seen the fire emanate from his body.  

His parents, upon seeing this, took in the young man in his early twenties, and decided he should work with them within the church. He was obviously troubled, and needed spiritual guidance. They kept him under watchful eye and demanded he be kept in line. Francis worked as an ASL interpreter within the church, and was heavily involved. Around this time, the church saw the rise of hero teams and leagues, namely the coalition. They disagreed with some of the ways things were handled, feeling that there needed to be a Christian league of heroes that could keep things in line with the morals they agreed with.

There was enough of a push that eventually, one of the megachurches created their own league, The Seraph League, a team of heroes who all upheld Christian beliefs and made it clear that they did. Super powered beings being involved with the church so heavily, and being upheld as paragons, made Francis feel that maybe he could actually use his powers and let his parents know what had been happening to him,

He finally told them about the spiritual occurrences that had happened to him, and his parents looked at him with fear, and a little disgust. Still, his mother agreed that he needed to join Seraph League so that he could control it and use it for good. She saw it as a wicked thing that needed to be put to good use, then maybe it could be considered a gift.

Francis went through the process of joining The Seraph League and was surprised to be accepted. He was given the name Archangel, something that made his powers seem less intimidating, and told the public that he channeled angels, rather than spirits. There was a whole PR team, and a lot of money behind Seraph League, even though they weren’t the most famous or known team. They had a lot of sycophants and followers. Enough so that they held large scale evangelical events.

What most did not know was that a lot of those within Seraph League were actually quite corrupt, and didn’t believe the things they purported to. Francis was frequently disheartened by things he saw, and didn’t know why he had ended up in this place. They saved people, not for the good, but for credibility and brownie points.

This on top of his powers finally becoming stronger thanks to actual use, made Francis spiral frequently. He was in a dire mental state and could feel the fear he was so familiar with overtaking him. He often lost himself in spirits, one time being stuck in time when a spirit paused time and he couldn’t get back. He had been stuck that way for about a month, and when he told his team members, they had laughed him off.

Things just kept getting worse for him, until there was a small period where things cleared up, and he was able to finish the degree he had tried to complete earlier in his life, and settled down with a woman he thought was the love of his life. Francis was still operating in many forms of denial, one such being that of his sexuality, he was dealing with enough, that he didn’t have time to confront how he felt.

He knew that going along with what was expected was his only hope, and so that’s how it had to be. Francis married his wife, and had a big wedding that was streamed to the Seraph League followers, it was the only time he had ever felt his parents were truly proud of him.

After the honeymoon phase was over, they settled into a life of routine, just how he had remembered from his childhood. The only thing was that his powers were still getting worse. He could feel himself astral projecting in the night, out of his control, and much stronger spirits beckoning to him whenever he needed to channel one.

Francis’ old habits returned and his mental state deteriorated once again, making him feel worse than before because he thought that he actually had his life together. He kept on with this for a while, suffering in silence, until after enough time he couldn’t any longer.

He knew he needed a change, he no longer wanted to be a part of Seraph League. They neglected his needs, and made sure to appear as best as they could to the public, and he wanted to be part of something that was actually fulfilling. Still, he was too afraid to do it himself. That’s how he ended up subconsciously channeling a mischievous spirit who could negate powers, and derailed one of their missions completely, ending up in some of his members needing to be hospitalized due to injury.

Francis had almost lost himself completely with this spirit, but managed to get back to himself only to see the extent to which he had destroyed his team. He was apologetic and remorseful, but it was too late, he was removed from the Seraph League dishonorably and was made a pariah.

The backlash was so much that even his wife left him, and this was enough to make him lose it. Everything he had known for years was suddenly gone. He had arrived at the lowest point in his life, his parents didn’t even talk to him because of how ashamed they were. That’s when he decided to get help for himself finally get on medication. He needed all the help he could get to cope.

Francis took some time to himself after everything fell apart, to find himself and began to work as an ASL interpreter for the courts and hospitals. He needed to try and have a normal life, something he felt he would never have. He was mostly successful but he still wasn’t truly happy, there was something still missing.

When he saw the rise of the advocates, he made a mental note of it, hoping that they would be able to see past his reputation and accept him. But he was too afraid to actually put himself out there like that.

Over time though, Francis saw the rise of villainy, cases coming in through the courts and he felt like he needed to help however he could. That’s what made him apply, changing his name to The Conduit, finally being open and honest about the reality of his abilities. Maybe this time he could actually be himself, and use his abilities for good. He’s been in the team for a few months, and that’s all he hopes for. To be able to create a purpose for himself and take control of his narrative.

APPEARANCE

HEIGHT: 6′4″

WEIGHT: 235 lbs. 

BUILD: Muscular.

ETHNICITY: Irish, French, Polish

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Green

DISTINGUISHING FEATURES: A scar on his his left cheek, as well as a few on his legs and arms and torso.  

DISABILITIES: Hard of hearing, PTSD, OCD. 

DRESS STYLE: Clean and simple. Well fitting slacks and button ups. 

TATTOOS: None.

PIERCINGS: None.

PERSONALITY/PSYCHOLOGY

INTROVERT or EXTROVERT: Introvert.

INTELLIGENCE LEVEL: He’s pretty intelligent, he works as an interpreter. 

MENTAL HEALTH: Poor, but he’s managing it at the moment.

HABITS: He has a series of rituals. Bounces his legs a lot. Chews on his nails, and plays with his hair to self soothe. 

MANNERISMS: He’s a little fidgety. Grinds his teeth and clenches his jaw a lot. He forgets to look at people’s eyes when talking at times. 

HEALTH: It’s okay, he likes to work out and eat well, most of the time.

MBTI TYPE: ISFJ

POSITIVE ATTRIBUTES:  Caring, Intelligent, Selfless

NEGATIVE ATTRIBUTES:  Distrusting, Scared, Avoidant

LIKES: Pasta dishes, dogs, helping people, quiet environments, animals in general.

DISLIKES: His powers, The Seraph League, rude people, swearing, places that are too loud and overwhelming. 

HOBBIES: He likes to paint landscapes and bake. 

TALENTS / SKILLS: He can play guitar, but he doesn’t do it often. He only learned to do it because he wanted to prove he could.

FAMILY

PARENTS: Peter and Amy Hayes.

SIBLINGS: None.

CHILDREN: None.

MARITAL STATUS: Divorced.

SIGNIFICANT OTHER(S): None.

OTHER FAMILY: None of significance. 

PETS: A corgi named Pancake.

SEXUALITY

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Gay, although he is in denial about it and in the closet.

DATING STATUS: Not looking.

DOMINANT / SUBMISSIVE / SWITCH: Submissive.

TOP / BOTTOM / VERSATILE: Versatile. 

TURN-ONS: A soothing presence, and who knows what else to be honest, he needs to figure it out. Big arms. He liked it when his wife kissed his neck.

TURN-OFFS: Having sex with his ex wife. Arrogance, rudeness.

SUPERHEROISM

ALIAS: The Conduit. (formerly, Archangel)

POWERS / SKILLSET:

Spirit Channeling/Possession Empowerment: Francis is a conduit to the spiritual realm and can channel spirits through his body, who possess him and imbue him with their characteristics momentarily. Largely this manifests in him gaining their abilities, and being able to use them, but at times he will be imbued with parts of their personalities too. He can only channel one spirit at a time, and the stronger the spirit, the more control they have over him. He can lose himself to a spirit he is channeling if he doesn’t do it correctly, or they gain the upper-hand over him. He’s gotten better at his channeling over time, but he still isn’t as great at it as he should be, often too afraid to tap into his full potential. Fear is a tricky game for him, because the spirits can sense it, leading him to potential danger.  

Astral Projection: He’s able to separate his spiritual being from his corporeal form and navigate the astral plane. Often this happens out of his control, but he can call upon this ability as well. In his astral form, he is almost see-through and cannot interact physically but can communicate clearly with the world around him. Francis is able to use this ability to sneak around and gather intel. His astral form has a calming aura, able to subdue strong emotions of those around him, and he is able to think most clearly when he is in his spiritual form. 

COLORS: Dark grays and black.

APPEARANCE:

His costume when he used to be in The Seraph League was a white bodysuit with a cape that resembled wings, but now it’s a black bodysuit with a black flowing cape and hood. He wears dark colors that allow him to hide easily, and also reflect his general mood. When he’s possessed, his eyes will change colors and if you see his reflection, It will be that of that the spirit that he’s channeling.

WEAKNESSES:

Spiritual control: Francis can lose himself to a spirit if they are strong or willful enough, so he has to be careful of which spirits he channels. They can even try to possess him when he is astral projecting, which would lead to his body being controlled by another being, which would be a hassle to correct.

Dormant body: When Francis is astral projecting his body is essentially comatose and unresponsive, so he is weakened in that sense. If he is under attack physically, he needs to return to his body to be able to do anything about it.

Fear: Francis is afraid of the true power of his abilities, so he’s mostly just scratched the surface of channeling spirits. Often, he will only channel those he is familiar with and not veer off of that too much.

MENTOR / PROTEGE: Protege.

LENGTH OF ADVOCATE MEMBERSHIP: 3 months.

SUPERVILLAIN ARCHNEMESIS: None specifically. The Seraph League?

[nexttrickanvils]

Drabble NaNo Day 16

Prompts: Tarot + Fragile

Characters: Claude Von Reigan, F!Byleth Eisner, Flayn, mentions of Monica Von Ochs.

Notes: Persona 4 crossover/fusion, mentions of racism

This ended up being WAY LONGER than a drabble but oh well. 🤷‍♀️

I’m sure someone more talented with a better grasp on Claude’s character could probs do a P4 style Shadow confrontation better than me but again oh well.

--------- Investigating the murder of a classmate by entering a creepy alternate dimension with monsters and being guided by some cheerful fish...dragon… mascot… girl wasn’t exactly what Claude was expecting to do with his after-school time. But here he was.

At the very least, he wasn’t alone. Aside from said mascot girl (Flayn was her name,) Claude also had the new girl, Byleth. He still kept her at a distance but he still found her interesting, especially after she was able to fight off some monsters by summoning something Flayn called a “Persona.”

The green and white mascot soon stopped in front of what looked like the Von Ochs estate if it was in a horror movie. It was almost a shame that Claude and Byleth had to keep the glasses on to see anything, the fog would’ve set the proper mood.

“Flayn, are you sure this is where Monica ran off to?” asked Byleth

The white and green mascot nodded, “I am sure of it. I would have gone inside to help her but I was stopped by several Shadows.”

Both Byleth and Claude exchanged sad looks, they both couldn’t help but feel bad for Flayn.

“Flayn...”

“No, it is fine. Though I wish I could have saved this Monica girl, I know that we will be alright now that you are here Sensei.”

“Sensei?”

Claude chuckled, “Aw looks like you’ve got yourself an admirer, Teach.”

An unamused expression crossed Byleth’s face before she walked ahead of the other two and entered the swirling red and black entrance; Flayn and Claude quickly followed.

The inside continued the theme of creepy abandoned house with cobwebs everywhere and furniture and windows broken.

Before anyone could say anything though, a deep voice echoed throughout the mansion.

“Monica, your mother and I have told you before, that you need to take your role as the Von Och heir seriously!”

“Huh… guess that must be her old man. Charming.” Claude sarcastically remarked

“Monica, darling. You need to set a good example. You need to be more lady-like.”

“And I guess that’s her mother?” Asked Byleth

Soon a third voice joined in.

“”Be more ladylike, Monica.” “Set a good example, Monica.” “Take yourself more seriously, Monica.””

“...Wait… That’s Monica… but she’s supposed to be...” said Claude

“These… these must be echoes of her true thoughts.” Flayn answered

“It’s not like you’re a teenager who’s gonna make mistakes. It’s not these are supposed to be the best years of your life or something! IT’S NOT WE REFUSE TO ADMIT WE’RE STUCK IN THE PAST OR ANYTHING!!! Why? Wh-why can’t I just live my life how I want? I’m sick of pretending to be whatever mom and dad think a proper lady is! I just want to be a regular teenager and just goof around and hang out with my friends! But no, every day I gotta watch what I say! Watch what I do! Can’t dishonor the Von Ochs name even if that damn name hasn’t meant shit for a LONG TIME!”

Claude stayed silent through Monica’s little rant, he always suspected that the proper little rich girl act had been just that, an act. If only because he could sort of relate.

“Claude? You okay?” asked Byleth

“Y-yeah Teach, I’m fine. Still taking this all in, ya know?”

Before Byleth could say anything else, another, more familiar, voice rang out.

“Yeah I’m fine. Just being reminded of how I’ve been living a lie is all!”

All three turned to the voice and were greeted with the sight of a second Claude. Completely identical except his cruel expression and bright yellow eyes.

“Huh!? Why are there two Claudes!?” asked Flayn

“What the hells are you?”

The other Claude smirked, “Don’t play dumb. You know exactly who I am and I know exactly who you are, Claude Von Reigan. I know how you make a show out of being an unassuming idiot. After all, if there’s nothing to fear from you and keep everyone at arm’s length, then maybe you won’t be hurt again.”

Claude bit his lip, memories of attacks both verbal and physical flash through his mind. But whoever this asshole was, he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of a response.

“Aw, what’s the matter? No sarcastic quip? No witty comeback? It’s because you know I’m right.”

Byleth stepped forward.

“That’s enough, whatever you are! Leave my friend, alone.”

“...Byleth.”

The other Claude darkly chuckled, “Wow how noble of you. But tell me, would you be defending him if you knew what he REALLY thought of you?”

Now Claude found himself starting to panic.

“H-hey, leave her out of this!”

“Ohhh, touched a nerve there huh? Don’t want your little friend to know that you only got close because of you wanted to use her?”

Byleth turned around and Claude could see the hurt in her eyes.

“Te- Byleth that’s not… he… it’s not true.”

“More lies huh Claude? Honestly what haven’t you lied about at this point?”

“Shut. Up!” Claude said as he gritted his teeth

“You even lied to her about why you wanted to come back here. You couldn’t give less of a shit about Monica Von Ochs. But you love a good mystery and hey maybe you’ll be a hero for finding the killer! Maybe everyone will respect you instead of calling you a filthy half-breed under their breaths.”

Claude could feel all the walls and defenses he built up over the years, shatter like glass as he grew angrier and angrier.

“I SAID SHUT UP! Who are you!?”

“You still don’t get it? I’m you and you’re me… your shadow… I know every little dirty secret you hoard.”

No. No! NO! NO!

Claude was not going to let this imposter RUIN everything he’s worked towards.

“You don’t know ANYTHING about me! You. Are. Not. ME!”

The expression on the Other Claude’s face became almost inhuman as he began to laugh.

“That’s right! I’m not you! I’m done with keeping secrets!”

A dark energy surrounded the Other Claude and in the gaps, Claude, Byleth, and Flayn could see him transform.

The three stepped further and further back as the energy expanded until emerging out of the dark mist was an all black figure attached to a wyvern-like creature.

“I AM A SHADOW… THE TRUE SELF… I WILL USE EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE TO GET WHAT I WANT!”

The top part of the monster lifted one of its arms and it morphed into a bow. It was aiming straight for Byleth. As the arrow fired; without thinking, Claude pushed Byleth out of the way and took the hit.

“Claude!”

“I-I’m fine! I’m...”

“No you’re not! Flayn!”

“Y-yes Sensei?”

“Keep an eye on and protect Claude. I’ll handle the shadow.”

With that, Byleth stepped forward and raised her hand as the glowing tarot card appeared and was quickly crushed.

“COME! SOTHIS!”

[fxckmygxtz]

Blood Of Others

Word count: 2287

Warnings: War themes, injuries, minor character death, mental abuse (?), let me know if other things need to be tagged

Characters: Sephiroth, Angeal Hewley, Genesis Rhapsodos, Hojo

Authors note: This took forever to write but @blccdlet kept me motivated to do this.

Sephiroth's hands fidget around, adjusting the low ponytail his hair was held back in. He pulled it lower, then pushed it back up. He messed with the ends of his hair, already falling to his hips. If it wasn't his hair it was his gloves, tracing the seams carefully, trying to memorize the details of the leather. Leather wasn't cheap. Far from it actually. Why did they chose leather, he wondered to himself. Why was he here? A mission. They were at war of course. A trying time of blood shead on both ends. Sephiroth recalled his debrief before they send him off to war. They were going to a military town in Wutai. They were supposed to take out the main military force. It was supposed to be easy, especially for the mako enhanced SOLDIER.

"I'm doing it for them." The infantry man spoke, holding a photo of his wife and two children.

"How old are they?"

"Five and ten."

The conversation between the men caught the General's attention. It had the seventeen year old tilting his head as he looked at the photo himself. It was odd, to say the least. To have something outside of ShinRa was puzzling in itself. "What are their names?" Sephiroth spoke for the first time since they loaded up for the mission, finally sitting still. It honestly startled the two men who had been conversing of home to have such a high rank speak so commonly.

"Ah...My wife is Marina. This one is Rinku and the youngest is Silfi." The man explained, pointing to each person in the photo. "What about you? If you don't mind my asking, sir."

"My mother's name is Jenova. That's about all I know." Sephiroth stated simply, no remorse for never knowing her. A pang of sympathy fell over the two men as they heard him, though it didn't last long. "They look happy though. It's always good to have something to fight for." The rest of the conversation was lost on him. Nonsensical information is what Hojo would call it.

"If it's not important it is not worth remembering. There is much more you must learn if you are to succeed." Hojo once instructed him. He put so much into making Sephiroth perfect, as if he were trying to rival something, or someone.

_________________

Scouting the town from afar, the young male heard the whispers and hushed voices behind him. Those who doubted him of course. He could see why. Most of these men had been in war zones before. Sephiroth, had not. However he had more training than any man on this field.

"I just don't get why they let a fucking kid into a battle field. I doubt he even knows what he's doing."

"Hey keep it down. He's a First Class he's gotta know something."

"I don't care if he's in SOLDIER he's still a kid. I've got more experience than that brat-"

Clenching his fist, he sucked in a breath before relaxing once again. "It would be easier to focus without your bickering." The General spoke with authority in his tone. He could assume they froze in a panic, unaware he heard every word they had been saying quite literally behind his back. "If you wish, we could spar right now. If you win you can lead the charge. If you loose you go home with a dishonorable discharge. Is that what you want?" The silver haired male turned around, lightly glaring. "I may not be as old as you, but I know exactly what I am doing out here. This is not a game, this is war."

________________

He knew something was off when the village was bare of all life. It didn't make any sense to him, his left hand gripping his blade handle with anxiety coursing through his veins. He wasn't briefed on this. This area was supposed to be full of Wutai fighters yet there's wasn't even a civilian on the street. This wasn't right. That's when he heard it. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

"It's a trap." His blood ran cold. "Retreat imedi-" It was too late, the bombs went off and the entire village went up in flames. He was thrown back and hit his head hard against one of the stone buildings. As much blunt trauma he could take, this hard of a hit had his head spinning and he felt himself blacking out.

He awoke to a burning city. He didn't know how long he'd been out for but he knew he needed to find any men who were trapped in the city. He used the wall behind him to stand himself up. He'd only seen this much destruction in the simulator but actually experiencing it all was almost overwhelming. If he hadn't the determination to save his troops he would have broken down.

Running through the flame kissed city, he noticed the back of his head felt wet, but he payed little attention to it. He managed to get several of his troops out of the city and on the way to safety, his body aching from exertion but he couldn't give up now. He hadn't covered every building, every street. There could still be people in the city. That was what kept his legs steady as he ran back and forth, making sure he could save as many as he could. He was young. He was naive.

Most of his men needed help getting out, some left in pairs telling Sephiroth where others were in the town. Some he needed to personally escort out himself. Any of his men could tell how Sephiroth desperately tried to save as many lives as he could.

That's when he saw a familiar faced trooper. He'd been trapped under burning rubble. This only seemed to motivate him further, pushing his legs to the limit to get there before it was too late.

"Hold on I'm going to l-"

"It's no use, sir. It's the end of the road for me." The broken tone the man held was will shattering, but Sephiroth hadn't given up just yet. That was, until a photo was pushed into his hand. "Tell my girls I love 'em all. Get outta here while you can. You've got big things to do, I can tell."

Sephiroth's shaking hands looked down at the photo. It was the same one from early on in the mission. "I can't- you aren't- I..." He choked on his own words and for the first time his eyes showed weakness. He watched the man die in front of him. His heart pounding in his chest and all these foreign emotions filling his mind.

What was he supposed to do about this? He just watched someone who had been so full of life return to the lifestream. What would become of his family after this? This easily could have been him. Would his body be left behind just as his infentry man? What would happen if he died? Life on Gaia would just continue on without him. Sure people would grieve. However things would just continue on as if he never was a thing to begin with. He couldn't focus, too many thoughts overwhelming him. He couldn't think straight. His mind bouncing from thought to thought.

He stood on shaking legs, pocketing the photo. It felt wrong to leave the man under the rubble but he had little choice in the matter. That's when a familiar voice called his name. At first he didn't hear it, the voice sounded so distant with the screaming in his head. Then is called again, louder this time, breaking the trance he was in.

"Sephiroth!" It was Genesis, one of his dear friends. One of his only friends. He turned to the sound, seeing Angeal not to far behind. They were running to him in a panic.

"We heard the explosion and came as soon as we could. Are you oka-" Angeal's voice trailed off. Genesis had a hand covering his mouth, eyes wide in horror. That's when Sephiroth actually looked at the damaged he had taken.

His uniform was covered in blood, the only reason he could tell in his stark black uniform was the fact that it was clung to his skin and burned. The pain hit him all at once when he looked and his sight blurred, legs buckling but not failing just yet. All this time he never realized he was hurt. He realized why he'd been winded so easily. It was very likely his torso had been bruised, maybe a rib or two cracked. His right side had been torn to shreads from the shrapnel from the bomb and it likely wasn't just that area. How had no one noticed sooner? How had he not noticed sooner? He hadn't been paying attention to how much blood had been his and how much belonged to his injured squad. His entire body ached and he had a no clue how he was still standing. He was easily the most injured aside from the fallen men. He was the closest to the bomb.

His hand moved to his side, touching the blood before he looked at his palm. The blood was a deep red, almost black. Not a good sign. That's when he recalled his head. He'd been bleeding out this entire time. "Huh. That's....not good..." His voice trembled as the realization hit him. He didn't even know how bad it truly had been.

He looked back up to his friends, sharing the same horrified look as Genesis before his legs gave out. The last thing he saw was Angeal rushing over to catch him.

Sephiroth was out before he even hit the ground.

_________________

He woke suddenly, shooting up eyes wide and darting around the room he was in. A sudden flare of pain ripped through him with the motion. The room was white, medical equipment sounded behind him.

"Woah woah hey lay back down." Angeal had been sitting next to him he realized. His body relaxed a moment when he saw his friend at his side. Angeal's hands hover over his chest and shoulder, guiding him back down onto the hospital bed without touching him. He knew his friends' discomfort with contact.

Sephiroth slowly laid back with Angeal's aid. "Genesis has been out pacing in the hallway. He's worried about you. Want me to get him?" Angeal spoke with a low voice, as if not to pain him further having just woken. He gave a small nod in response. A small smile was thrown his way and Angeal stood up and went out to get the other. Genesis was the one to open the door, relief washing over him as he saw Sephiroth. A ghost of a smile showed on Sephiroth's face when he heard the soft 'oh thank Gaia' slip past Genesis's lips. As much of a rivalry they had they did still care for another.

Genesis was quick to sit by his side, Angeal entering and closing the door. Sephiroth noted Genesis's fidgeting hands, holding up his own for him. The redhead hesitated before clasping Sephiroth's hand with both of his own. "I'm so glad you're okay..." Genesis spoke barely above a whisper.

It wasn't long until someone knocked on the door, hesitantly opening it. "General Sephiroth? Professor Hojo wishes to speak with you." Three sets of eyes landed on the woman in a lab coat. One set was hard, glaring even, questioning why this was the time to tell the injured man to get up. Another was neutral, frustrated, but not at her. The last asked a silent question.

"Tell him I'll be there in a moment." Sephiroth spoke up, breaking the silence. The woman nods and quickly fled the room.

"You can't be serious. You need to rest!" Genesis spoke up before Angeal could.

"Genesis is right. You shouldn't be walking around, especially to Hojo."

"I've little choice." Sephiroth was already in the process of getting up, wincing as he did. Genesis went to help but froze mid way through the action. "At least let us help you get there." Angeal said as he saw how shakily Sephiroth was standing.

"Fine..."

_________________

It took some time, needing more help than he'd like to admit, before the three were in front of Hojo's office. His two friends agreed to wait for him so they could help him back. Taking a deep breath, Sephiroth knocked on the door then entered the room. "Professor Hojo, you wanted to see me?"

"I heard about your last mission." Hojo spoke, his voice harsh and Sephiroth immediately knew why he'd been called down here. "That was reckless. Unnecessary even. Their lives are worthless compaired to yours. Do you know how much funds to train would would have been wasted if you died? Worse, what would happen if the Wutai forces found your body?"

Sephiroth's gase fell down, unable to make eye contact any longer. "My apologies. It was the heat of the moment, I hadn't realized that-"

"That you were injured? That they weren't as important as you?" Hojo cut him off. "Please. You were trained better than this. You should know that a petty few infantry men are worthless compaired to you, a First Class SOLDIER. If it wasn't for those other First Class you would be dead even with all your enhancements."

"It won't happen again." Sephiroth muttered, his fists clenched not raising his gase still.

"Look at me while I'm taking to you." Hojo snapped, grabbing Sephiroth's chin and making the silver haired man look up. "Do not let this happen again. I will not be so kind next time. Now go. I have work to do."

[lazywhaler]

Serious actual Dishonored 2 Thoughts

I played through Dishonored 2 completely for a second time and paid a lot more attention this time around and as promised here are some thoughts under the cut (some 1700+ words of thoughts). This post is primarily meant to be like a journal-type thing for my thoughts, but I’ve tried to organize it as best I can with my minimal writing skills:

I was initially disappointed by Dishonored 2: I didn’t play this game at launch in 2016 because at that point I had a laptop that could only run Dishonored on low graphics in low chaos. I watched a bunch of walkthroughs on Youtube, read people’s thoughts on the comments in the wiki and all the meta here. I thought, and continue to think that mechanically, and gameplay-wise it’s vastly superior to the first game. 

I was disappointed by the story which was basically a retread of the first but somehow even more simplified. (which even though I love with all my heart, come on, Dishonored doesn’t have a groundbreaking story). The Daud DLCs were so much better in that regard, that I blindly trusted that Arkane would continue to move in that direction.

The characters in this game felt a little more one-dimensional. It felt like almost all the targets were expies of characters from the first game in one way or another, and the Clockwork Mansion level seemed to say that they didn’t care.

Apologies to Stephen Russel, but Corvo’s voice acting is not good at all. Corvo just sounds like he’s staring down a long Monday at the office with a hangover. I might said that maybe that grizzled raspy voice just doesn’t work for Dishonored but Michael Madsen’s performance of Daud pretty much assassinates that argument.

Don’t like what they did with the Void or characterising the Outsider, but this one’s just a personal preference. I can see why people would like it or not care, even if I don’t. 

The story also felt much much lower-stakes than the first one. Dunwall really felt if you pushed it with a feather, it would fall over the edge. Karnaca, in contrast felt like a vibrant, ascendant city being held back by gangs and corruption. Even the bloodflies aren’t that much of a calamity.

Having paid closer attention to the story, and other peoples’ readings of this game, I’ve realised that the ‘low stakes-ness’ of Dishonored 2 is intentional.

Arkane could have chosen to show Karnaca as a city on the brink of utter collapse. The bloodfly epidemic could have been bad enough that instead of buildings, entire streets or districts had to be blocked off. I haven’t done a high chaos run, but in my playthroughs, I’ve never seen Nest Keepers in groups of more than two, in stark contrast to the pant-shitting Weeper hordes from the first game.  Dunwall was literally blockaded, so there was no escaping your fate. The docks at Karnaca are wide open for anyone who wants to arrive. This is all intentional. 

So, the stakes are low. But why would Arkane intentionally make that choice? I think they intentionally lowered the stakes so that all the instances of corruption that you encounter or hear about are thrown into starker relief

In the first game, against the backdrop of a cataclysmic plague that made life very hard for non-aristocrats, it’s pretty easy to see why the City Watch would turn to crime. The plague if not excused, at least justified, a lot of shady behaviour from characters up to and including Sokolov experimenting on healthy people. In contrast, without the threat of the city descending into utter chaos hanging over everyone’s heads, when you try and pull the same shady crap that people did in the first game, now you just look greedy. And I think this game tries to bring that theme right to your doorstep, by letting Corvo/Emily participate in making things worse.

Robbing people’s houses in this game feels a lot worse than it did in the first one. The majority of the apartments that you rob don’t belong to people who are outrageously wealthy and haven’t been abandoned. These are people who are already getting screwed over and you can help make it worse. In Lower Aventa, you get a whole cutscene with the Lady Gaga Black Market woman being threatened by the Howlers and you have the choice to rob her (very likely) after witnessing that. 

Dishonored 2 focuses more on repairing damage done rather than avenging it

A bulk of the problems that happen in this game can be attributed to Corvo and Emily not being good at their jobs and more importantly, not being a good rulers. The game highlights the moral failures of Corvo and Emily to turn a blind eye to Luca Abele’s antics and the problems in Karnaca. They fucked up and they can’t really take revenge because they played a part in it too. That’s why instead of the poetic justice fate-worse-than-death types of nonlethal eliminations from the first game, we have more, for lack of a better word, corrective, options. The Crown Killer is cured. Breanna Ashworth can’t do witch stuff anymore. Knocking out Stilton improves so much stuff and literally heals Billie Lurk. Even Delilah gets an ending that kind of rewards her for all the crap she’s been through, without letting her hurt other people. Kirin Jindosh’s elimination comes across like this, but it’s emphasized that we’re taking him out purely so that we can stop him from mass-producing clockwork soldiers, not out of revenge, For my money, the only poetic justice-type nonlethal elimination is Luca’s even if he’s not really going to be in a situation where he’s better off dead. 

But here’s the thing: even though I ‘get’ Dishonored 2 a little better now, I still think they did a terrible job of trying to convey a lot of this!

I said that I think the low stakes nature was intentional and I think there’s reasonable evidence to support that claim. But there’s also evidence to contradict it. The Outsider keeps talking about Karnaca being on the brink of collapse. So do a lot of NPCs (I’m looking at you, beggar near the Aventa District Black Market). Am I supposed to take that at face value, ignoring what’s being shown to me in favour of what’s being told? Am I supposed to be like ‘Classic emo drama queen Outsider’ and slap my knee, and marvel at humanity’s propensity to make things out to be worse than they seem? I don’t know????

People being squeezed dry by the Grand Guard on the left and the Howlers on the right, with a light garnish of Overseer harassment? Definitely something in the game. When you rob them, and especially the Black Market shopkeepers? It’s Bad. But I guess a twinge of guilt and judgement from me is all you get, because the game isn’t going to punish you. They could have really committed and made robbing the Black Markets an action that increase chaos, even if you don’t kill anyone, but that Did Not Happen.

What about Emily (and let’s not even pretend anymore that this story holds together with Corvo as the protagonist) confronting her failures as a leader, realising she’s Not So Different from Luca Abele? Well, she gets called out on it a grand total of, maybe, 3 times by Billie and Sokolov, who immediately go ‘Well anyway, here’s the next thing I want to say’ and then at the end of the game, she’s like “My time here living as a Poor has given me Perspective. I deserve to be Empress now because I Want it”. Combined with how low-stakes this game is, it feels a lot like Emily took a gap year to find herself, except that the whole thing evidently took two months. I don’t think they executed any of this stuff well. The fact that I have to question these decisions were intentional or not doesn’t bode well.

Emily kind of faces some reckoning for her moral failings, turning a blind eye to the crap going down in Karnaca, but what about her incompetence and utter lack of interest in being a ruler? Or Corvo’s failings as a Spymaster (like seriously dude, how did you not know how any of this shit was going on, so much of it was an open secret). But she barely gets called out on her disinterest in ruling and IIRC Corvo pretty much gets away scot-free with not doing his job. 

Or maybe I’ve just gotten it wrong. I study computer science. Media criticism is way outside my wheelhouse and so maybe I’ve grossly misinterpreted what this game was going for. But the one thing I’m absolutely, 100% certain about is that this game shouldn’t have been about Corvo and Emily.

Even back when we started getting details about Corvo and Emily, I was a bit...iffy about the whole thing. Their stories wrapped up pretty nicely in the first game. “Emily lived to be a wise, just ruler and things were good” or “Emily is a Murder Empress”. The end. And now suddenly it’s not. I hate it when sequels override the endings to previous concluded arcs, and I think there needs to be good justification for doing it. Arkane didn’t do a good job of it and after the wet hork of spit they lobbed at Daud’s arc in Death of the Outsider it seems to be a problem they have. Their story was completely concluded in the first game. No sequel hooks. This game shouldn’t have been about them.

I feel like Arkane were trying to tell a story about corruption and the decay and damage caused by simple human greed, but felt like they had to shoehorn in Corvo and Emily or we’d lose interest. I think the game would have made way more sense with someone from Karnaca’s underclass as the protagonist, maybe a Mindy Blanchard type. Maybe her plan to craft the Mark works, or maybe the Outsider gives her a little push and then she foils the conspiracy to bring Delilah back, kind of like The Brigmore Witches, except Delilah doesn’t actually come back. The main villian in this game could just be people’s appetite for corruption and Emily’s apathy. 

I don’t know. It’s too late for any of that kind of speculation. My faith in Arkane took a huge hit with the one-two of Dishonored 2 and DOTO. It makes me optimistic that Dishonored 3 would have a completely different protagonist, but I’m not going to be blindly trusting, like I was after Brigmore.

[ten-thousand-paper-wasps]

It wasn't the sex, not exactly. Sex for Nells was entirely casual, it hardly meant anything, harmless fun. It was easy.

Morrin wasn't easy, in any sense of the word. She was caustic, irritable and derisive and she made sure he knew exactly how much he displeased her.

He loved her, the way one might love a particularly ruinous cat, or an especially difficult grandmother. She was his darling, furious counterpart.

She carried him home in her arms. He trusted her with his back in a fight, with his life. There were no secrets he would hide from her.

But evidently, the feeling wasn't mutual.

"Make it good for me, pet," she commanded, like a god to its acolytes.

And Nells, in her thrall, fell to worship.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

On the third day, he came awake to the sound of muffled sobbing. Zakurr loomed over him, eyes screwed shut, kneeling in a desperate prayer. Falk sat at his side, their hand on Nells' heart and eyes glowing with power.

The crying had to be Morrin, then.

He reached for their hands. He was okay. He was home.

He was also exceptionally tender, which was absolutely not improved by being crushed by an anxious orc and his massive, beautiful biceps. Oh, how he's missed Zakurr.

When Falk ends the spell and their eyes return to normal, Nells sits up. "Where's Morrin?"

"She went to bed," Falk tells him. "Been a long couple of days, needed some time to herself. You know how she gets."

"Was up all night again, too," Zakurr added. "She's been in a right state since she brought you back."

Falk shoots a glare at Zakurr. "She just needs space," they said. "Nothing wrong with a girl taking time to sort her feelings. Was both of you covered in blood when you got in, of course she's been worried."

"But so have we, dearest," Zakurr rumbles. Worried for both of you, we were. I thought...Nells, I thought I was going to lose you. You wouldn't wake up."

"I'm okay, really," he reassures them. "What about--"

"She told us what happened. It's far from my place to say, mind, but I suspect she's feeling a bit conflicted."

Falk glares at Zakurr again, and Nells resolves to talk to Morrin immediately.

His stomach gurgles. Immediately after breakfast.

"I made soup," says his beautiful, magnificent orc. Nells thinks, for the thirtieth time in a week, that he's in love.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Once they're on the road again, Nells asks her. "Morrin, can we talk?"

"I don't especially want to talk with you, Nells, pleased though I am that you're alive."

"See, I weren't really asking, dearest, I do very much need to speak with you." Owlsby chose that moment to skitter up his body to perch on his shoulder, clicking his mandibles together.

"Seems to be a theme for you," she spits, "asking without asking."

He's taken aback by the accusation behind the words. He'd asked her, absolutely. Made damn sure of it, he had. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, don't beg, my pretty pet, not when your mouth can be better put to use. You can call it a duty, if you like."

Falk, just ahead, whipped around. "Morrin, that was uncalled for."

"Perhaps we can all discuss this more constructively?" Zakurr suggested. "If we’re to be together for as long as we will, I'd like no resentment among us."

"Morrin?" he tries again, "Did I dishonor you?" He almost fears the answer.

"It was a duty," she eventually says. "When you have a duty, there is no want or fear, only that it must be done."

"Morrin," he whispers, horrified, "have I sinned against you?"

"It was a duty," she repeats. "I would have done it regardless. It matters not if one wants it, one simply does it."

"I'm not asking about your thrice-damned duty, you stubborn, half-spent candlestick, I'm asking--"

"You did me no dishonor, Nells, but by the flames, I wasn't ready! I needed tenderness! You fucked me, you sputtering ball of wax, you fucked me and I loved it! I loved every minute, even though it meant nothing! It meant nothing, Nells, and that is your dishonor, not that you did it in the first place!"

Morrin had tears in her eyes again, but so did he. Merciful fires of birthing, ash on the hearth, smoke on the wind. He was stupid. He was so, so stupid.

They spend the rest of the afternoon in uneasy silence.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

After dinner, which is a stew made with the rabbits Falk caught earlier in the day, Nells feels ready to try again. He did wrong by her, and he must apologize.

"Morrin? May I speak with you?"

It's another long pause before she answers. "Aye."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I pushed you, I'm sorry that I didn't consider your feelings. I'm sorry for hurting you the way I did."

She takes a ragged breath, refusing to look at him. Falk's eyes are on them, watchful and wary.

"I'm not upset that you fucked me," she said. "I'm upset with myself. It was just something I had to do, you know? A duty. I can put my feelings away for duty. It doesn't count, not if it's duty. I could do it again, if I had to."

"Look, if we fuck, we fuck. If we don't, we don't. I don't want that from you, not if you don't want it. I don't want it if it's duty."

"Nells, the plan was--"

"Ash on the hearth, damn the plan! I can't do that to you again! Next time, you overinflated gust of wind, we just fight our way out."

Morrin snorted, and he thought he saw the ghost of a smile. "A castle that big? Maybe if you brought your newest husband with you. I'm not sure I have the strength to do it, myself."

"Come now," he laughs, "Zakurr couldn't pull off that level of deception, you've seen how huge he is."

"If he were much bigger, he'd break you in half," she says, a genuine grin on her face.

They were going to be okay. Coals on the sands, they were going to be okay.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

They don't touch anymore after that.

They love eachother the way they always have, but the easiness is gone, a brittle anxiety in its place. If they lean together, they jump apart. They stop hugging. Cuddling. Even sparring together has become too much touch to tolerate.

Zakurr was worried. Falk was agitated. Morrin was skittish. Nells was just lonely and a little lost, yearning for the touch of his vicious paladin. All the molten magma of creation, what he'd give to only hold her hand again!

After three weeks of forced distance, he broke. "Morrin, I can't do this any longer."

She only looked at him, quiet as she's always been, lately.

"This has to stop," Nells insists. "I hurt you, I did harm to your person. You are within your rights to be cross with me. But this, Morrin, this silence, this distance between us, it cannot go on! Carve your price from my back if you will, only be at my side again. Be my shield, my sensibility."

"Are you truly so lost, Nells?" Her voice is rough with disuse.

"Morrin, please, let us end this--"

"Spar with me."

"You want to spar?" he asks, hopeful.

"Dearest," says Zakurr, "are you quite sure this is wise?"

"It's what he needs," she grinds out. She draws her monstrous greataxe and steps toward him, and Nells mirrors her pose with a staff.

"Then you can do it elsewhere, away from my cooking," Zakurr commands. "I'll not have you knocking over dinner in a fit, either of you."

Falk says nothing, absorbed in his stew.

.

Her first strike is fast and brutal, and it's all he can do to keep out of her reach. Her beast of an axe is heavy, sharp, and unforgiving. If this is what she carries every day, it is little wonder she's so strong.

He snaps out of his thoughts as the branch he's perched on snaps in two, crushed by the metal of her weapon. He jumps up, up, out of her reach and she rages on the ground below him.

Morrin is too upset to spar safely. She's out to carve her price from his back, as he'd well offered. Sputtering candlesticks.

He comes in low, moving just slowly enough to get her close, then speeds back up to make her chase him. If she lands a blow like this, he may not survive the night.

He doesn't want to think about the idea that she's planning for it.

His staff strikes her behind the knees, on the shoulder, on the wrist, and she cries out but she does not drop her weapon. She swings again and catches his thigh with the flat of the blade.

Nells grunts in pain and drops. She didn't cut him, but that was going to leave a hell of a bruise later. He leaps back up as she swings the axe again, wincing.

The fight goes on, and on, and on. Nells and Morrin roll, twist, dance around eachother, remembering the shape of their bodies against one another.

After nearly two hours of constant, vicious combat, they stop, too tired to continue. They sit and rest, back to back, and Nells tries to burn the feeling into his memory, the weight of skin on skin.

"I'm sorry," she says, surprising him. "I went too hard." If you were any slower, I might have killed you, she doesn't say, but he hears it anyway.

"I probably had it coming," he tells her, rather than admit his panic. "Are we okay?"

She takes his hand. "I think we're okay," she says, and then she looks at him with such focus, like he's the most captivating thing she's ever seen. "Nells, back in the castle, you--"

"Upon my honor, darling Morrin, I shall never besmirch you in such a way again--"

"When you kissed me, there was, I don't know, it was a feeling, and maybe I'm being sentimental, but--"

"Morrin, I swear it, you're safe with me, let me hold you." And he pulls her to him in a soft, but solid embrace, burying his face in her mane of hair.

When he finally pulls back, she's still looking at him with those beautiful brown eyes. "Nells, it is terribly improper of me to ask this of you, but I need you to kiss me again."

Candlesticks, he really wasn't expecting that. "Er, what?"

"I've been feeling a lot of things, and I need to figure them out. This is the easiest way to do it. Kiss me, please."

"Morrin, are you feeling alright? Do you have a fever? I can fetch Zakurr, just a moment--"

"Please," she whispered. "If only once, but you must, I beg of you."

This was officially the most confusing day of his life. "Alright, dearest," he said, and he kissed her.

It was long and slow and gentle, the most tender he knew how to give. He ran a hand up her back, feeling the way their mouths fit together. Her eyes were closed. He held her more closely to him, the hand on her back pressing in, and then,

She grips his shirt in a fist and opens her mouth to him, tongues pressing together, fighting, dancing. She's taking control, forcefully, and he's letting her.

When they finally break apart, she's blushing like mad. "Did you figure things out?" he asks.

"I did," she sputters. "I figured out that you're a damnably good kisser, but I'm not in love with you, and as enjoyable as it was, I don't think I want to fuck you again." She pauses a moment. "Are we okay?"

"Yeah," Nells chuckles. "We're okay.

[kokina-kizoku]

Noblesse Painter AU: The Meeting

Go here for the presentation of this AU.

Frankenstein was in a state of deep torment. His emotions were dueling: admiration against disgust, wonder against rage. He had finally arrived in Lukedonia, the world capital of painters, and was certainly not disappointed by the artistic quality of what he saw: everywhere on the walls of the buildings were painted magnificent frescoes, each with a unique theme. For example, the Kertia mansion was decorated with images of wind and lightning, representing speed, and the Landegre mansion was very imposing with its elegant columns, painted with nobility and distinction.

However, wherever he looked, he saw the injustice that enraged him: ease. The children born in Lukedonia were supported by great artistic masters, brought up in luxury, lodged and fed like princes. And all their paintings represented opulence. Frankenstein was thinking about his mother, who died for lack of money to cure her, and to himself who had to search the trash and sometimes even steal to get a tiny amount of paint to express his art.

At one point, he passed a large mansion decorated with frescoes representing the fire, with the sign "Avgain Family" written in gold letters above the door. These warm colors made him think of Tesamu and he felt a poignant sadness add to his anger. Fucking Union. Fucking humans unfair and selfish.

The heart hardened by this memory that still hurt, even after three years of separation with his little assistant, he took a dark resolution. That night, he was going to add his colors to the rich and pretentious city of Lukedonia.

The brush slowly slid against the canvas, bright red mixing with the black to create a blood-colored hue. Raizel knew this mixture by heart. In each of his works, there was at least one small red spot. It was his signature, for lack of a real one. Raizel did not know how to write. The only thing he had always been able to do was paint over and over again. He had no idea of the letters that made up his name, but why sign his works? Anyway, there was no one to admire them.

That night he was sketching the image of angel's wings on his canvas. Two scarlet and bloody wings. Those whom his brother had not had to fly when he had pushed him off the cliff to prevent him from doing evil.

A tear fell on Raizel's pale cheek, devoid of color because he was never exposed to the sun. The pain that filled his heart was impossible to express, even with the greatest artistic talent in the world. He hated crying. His father had always told him that it was a weakness. That his emotions should never be expressed otherwise than by art.

Raizel's fingers were shaking. He hated his talent. He would have liked to learn something else... To learn love, happiness... Now that he was alone, he had nothing left. Just hundreds of useless paintings adorn his huge, empty house.

Suddenly, a sound of fast footsteps echoed across the door of his studio and Urokai Avgain entered. He was out of breath and his eyes were furious.

''Sir Raizel! There is a poverty-stricken who wreaks havoc in the city... We hastily painted his portrait. If you have seen it, report it to us!’’

Urokai placed a folded sheet on the table, bowed with deference, and hurried away. Raizel sighed. This sudden visit had at least had the advantage of distracting him from his grief.

He rose slowly. His body was thin and weakened by inaction and lack of food. Indeed, he had already spent 24 hours painting, completely forgetting his physical limits. But his health did not matter to him. He took the paper and unfolded it carefully.

The man in portrait had young and beautiful features. His blond hair in battle fell on his broad and strong shoulders, his lips were tight with determination and his eyes seemed troubled, lost. Blue like the sky. This portrait gave off power and wandering. Raizel recognized, for having already seen it before, the characteristic signature of Ragar Kertia at the bottom of the sheet. This man had always been talented, drawing with extraordinary speed and perfect precision.

Raizel brought the sheet to his easel. He had just found the inspiration, the person he was going to illustrate as an avenging angel with scarlet wings.

Frankenstein was exhausted. His arm was aching and the cold of the night made him shudder. He always wore rags, worn clothes on his travels, and had no time or money to buy a good coat. But he plunged his brush again into the purple paint. On the main wall of the Kertia mansion, he smeared furiously another streak of color. He had time to finish blackening these offensive designs; he was returning from the Urokai mansion and the men were still looking for him.

He took a few steps back to evaluate the whole, then raised his brush again in order to make the final line that would create in his drawing without a definite shape, that wild and unstable harmony he so much loved. But his movement stopped in the air when a soft and severe voice called to him.

‘’I ask you to stop now.’’

A few steps from him, the Kertia clan leader was standing, looking very calm, alone in the middle of the street. Frankenstein gritted his teeth. He would have preferred to see the man start screaming at him and attacking him. It would have been worse than the impassive gaze as he faced her, his cashmere scarf hiding the lower part of his face and his silk coat. As for him, he was panting, dressed in torn clothes, covered with paint and trembling with cold. This contrast of richness between them made his anger even more vivid and he said defiantly:

'' What if I do not stop? ''

"These frescoes were painted by my father, in honor of our family. I politely ask you to respect that. I do not wish to fight you; I am a painter, not a warrior. ''

"Oh, do you see that?" Frankenstein mocked. ''Your little bourgeois hands can not be damaged by giving a blow? ''

"It would be dishonorable for me to do it out of anger, you are clearly not in a normal mental state at the moment, and, moreover, sick and shaky. Be reasonable, stop now. I know very well why you are if angry with the nobles, your art is eloquent and denounces opulence, but there are many things you do not understand... Please, calm down and let me help you."

'' BULLSHIT! Why would you help me? You do not know anything about me! ''

"I know what suffering is."

"That's enough, Ragar," said another voice, more serious and ripe. "He is not able to think and listen to you right now. The mayor has given us the order to capture him and bring him behind him. Let's fulfill this mission now."

Frankenstein watched with resentment as the second, silver-haired, older man emerged from the shadows. Ragar looked sad and nodded.

"You are right, Gejutel. I'm sorry, but we're going to force you to-"

He paused when Frankenstein grabbed the paint bucket with one hand, ready to swing it in his face. But he changed his mind at the last second and instead threw it on the named Gejutel, who was splashed with violet paint from head to toe.

He barely heard the old man's shout of surprise, running at full speed. He hated to run away but he had no choice at the moment if he wanted to save his life. The members of the Urokai family had tried to kill him and he did not trust the mayor of this town, which certainly should not be less radical. The man called Ragar had seemed kind and understanding, but he could not take any chances.

Frankenstein ran as far as the city, a terrible pain oppressing his chest. His cough increased and he had difficulty breathing. He found himself in a field and without the cover of the buildings, the cold wind slapped him without pity and he could not see anything in that absolute darkness. There were not even stars in the sky.

He saw the lights of a manor shining in the distance. A manor house in such an isolated place? Strange... He was getting ready to go into the forest, but he felt his head spinning and realized he could not stay outside anymore. The cold would end up killing him. He also had a chance to die if the inhabitants of the manor found him, but between that and let his corpse be found in the morning in the middle of a field...

He gathered his last strength to get to the mansion. It was tall and imposing, and even in the dim light, Frankenstein noticed that he was not decorated with frescoes like all the others. It gave him a good impression. The owners of this mansion were not eager to show what they had to others.

As he entered, a flush of heat made him shiver with relief. But the house was not as hot as it should have been, and despite the lit oil lamps in the hallway where he walked, the mood was dark and empty. Dust covered the floor, and there were only two footprints track on it. He was so exhausted, his mind so lethargic that he automatically followed this track instead of trying to hide. He had a presentiment that he was not in danger in this manor.

As he passed, he put on a white shirt hanging from a coat rack, ignoring the fact that it was not his. It was a beautiful linen garment, the same one he had dreamed of wearing when he was a kid. As he climbed the stairs, trying to drive out those sad memories of his memory, his gaze stopped on the huge paintings hanging on the wall and his breath was cut off.

They represented ragged landscapes, with fuzzy and faded colors, with spots of red spotted in a few places. Such a poignant emotion filled them that Frankenstein put a hand to his heart, upset. Other paintings represented people with empty eyes, wandering in the fog and completely alone...

Suddenly, footsteps on the first floor brought him out of his contemplation. He had to hide. A coughing fit shook him and he pressed a hand against his mouth, leaning against the wall. His legs were close to collapse, but his survival instinct was stronger and he forced himself to walk to the end of the hallway and open the door to the last room.

He froze on the spot. It was a painting workshop, filled with pots of all colors, high ceiling. Paintings decorated the old tapestry. And near the window, an easel was installed. A man sat with a brush in his hand and stared at him. This man was frail and livid, his skin white as snow, his hair black as night and his eyes glistening with a reddish glow. His deep eyes pierced Frankenstein into his soul.

'' I ... I ... ''

He could not speak. The silence of this man was an invincible weapon. The window, open despite the intense cold, let in the wind that whipped the thin figure of the painter and fly through the air immaculate curtains. A flash of light suddenly illuminated the sky, creating dazzling lights in the room, and the thunder sounded. Frankenstein, like electrified, says in a whisper:

‘’Good evening. I came to work here.’’

Raizel, bewildered, looked at this intruder who had desperate and suspicious eyes like those of a wild animal. It was him, the one who was wanted through Lukedonia. He has released as much power and torment as in his portrait. Raizel could feel his panic, his anger, his loneliness. Then, gently, he did something he had not done in years, naturally, to appease the terror he saw in his blue eyes like the sky. He spoke.

‘’You wear my shirt.’’

The man looked embarrassed, but relieved at the same time not to be hurt.

‘’Ah, uh, yes. I did not find anything else, forgive me.’’

The door opened suddenly, and panic returned in his eyes. Frankenstein took a step back. The old man with silver hair, looking satisfied, or at least the most we can be when we are covered with purple paint, stood next to Ragar Kertia in the embrasure of the door. The latter, on the other hand, did not seem very happy and rather guilty of not being so.

"We found him. It was the last place I would have thought ... "

"He came to work here."

Gejutel paused, his mouth open and his eyes wide. He looked at Raizel as if to ask him if it was really him who had just spoken.

"You ... um ... what do you mean?"

"He came to work here because I live alone and I need someone to maintain my paintings."

Frankenstein did not understand much about his situation, except that the ebony-haired painter was defending him. He tried to support his words, but a violent cough shook him as soon as he opened his lips. He placed his palm in front of his mouth to repress it, and blood fell on his palm.

"You are sick," Ragar said. Frankenstein gave him a annoyed look.

"I know how to take care of myself."

"We have to take him to the mayor," Gejutel said authoritatively, ignoring the dialogue between the two. Raizel replied in a whisper:

"I will send him when he is healed."

The two clan leaders bowed, and came out after giving Frankenstein a last look. The latter, once the door closed, found himself without words. The painter looked at him with compassion, and got up to close the window from which the cold draft was coming.

"Thank you for saving me," he finally said. '' My name is... Frankenstein...''

"Cadis Etrama di Raizel."

Frankenstein printed this name in his memory. He was not at all like the other nobles... Faded, silent, and surrounded by an aura of power and calm. His eyes fell at random on the canvas he was painting. He stepped forward, fascinated. The painting depicted a man with scarlet wings... A man with blond hair and blue eyes like the sky...

He realized with shock that it was himself and the memories poured into his memory.

"Mom, you always say that angels protect us. Who are they?''

'' They are the artists, my treasure. Those who create beautiful and moving things for humans... "

"Can I become an angel, mother?"

''I think so. You are so good for others.''

Frankenstein's lips began to shake. There was no reason for him to be combed like this; he was more of a demon than an angel. But this painting was moving, more beautiful than any other he had seen in his life.

"It's so beautiful ..." he said in a panting breath. The painter lowered his eyes. Frankenstein convulsed as another fit of coughing him, preventing him from breathing and filling his mouth with blood.

He fainted.

Coming soon in Noblesse Painter AU: Frankenstein's healing, his first moments with Raizel and his confrontation with Ragar.