#( nothing to lose: alliance au )

[blackrosebishop]

-- "You're going to get what you deserve."

[futurepastme]

At King Emry's Court: Full Scene

(The badass King Merlin AU)

Excerpt: Arthur frowned a little, ready to complain, before remembering himself. "You speak of justice…" "I never said anything about justice." Arthur frowned at the interruption again. "I've given your father three options. I offered him peace, I offered him ignorance and I offered him war; the only thing I did after that was make him aware that actions have consequences. This is what this is about; not revenge, not justice, but simple cause and effect."

In the middle of nowhere, northwest from Albion, was the island known by magic users as Elysium. Elysium seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, nobody had ever heard about it until about twenty years after Uther Pendragon started his war against magic.

Slowly, rumors of this island began to grow and eventually what was only a myth became real. Some kingdoms of Albion turned their eyes to the island; interested in their growing economy, the chance to trade with them and the chance to forge alliances. Soon enough the island that was known to be the magic users paradise — their hiding place if you will — became a bustling and well succeeded kingdom.

The King of Elysium was known mostly by name, a hooded figure by the name of Emrys. Few were the people that knew his face, most of them were part of the select group he chose to manage the island while he was away.

Emrys was rarely seen, his way of ruling the kingdom was different than everything one might have seen before for Emrys rarely stayed at the island, leaving it on the hands of his chosen few.

The chosen few were known as the seven, most of their identities were also unknown as they all chose to wear a hooded cape at all times, so they were mostly known as their assigned number.

As the Kingdom grew in strength and wealth, Uther Pendragon began losing allies and what was once seen as a strong man with a just fight in the name of good, was slowly turning into a madman thirsty for revenge and bloodshed.

Trying to save face, King Uther scheduled a visit to the island. He was indeed curious about the kingdom and about Emrys himself, but with his visit he hoped to learn their weaknesses and find enough information to create doubt amongst the other kingdoms of Albion and turn them against magic once more.

King Emrys kindly invited Camelot's party to spend the harvest celebrations with them, a week-long festival where both magic-folk and humans thanked the goddess and the land for the given provisions for the winter. Along with King Uther, Prince Arthur and a handful of servants and knights went on their way to meet the mysterious island.

Upon arrival, Camelot's party were welcomed by the seven, the man and woman that managed the island in Emrys absence. Uther didn't like it, he wanted nothing more than meet the man that dared to go against him, but Emrys was nowhere to be seen.

After two days of not finding the sorcerer, Uther demanded a meeting with Emrys' court and was surprised when he found out that even if his wish for a meeting was granted, Emrys himself still wouldn't see him.

Merlin was Prince Arthur's manservant — he had been for years as a reward for saving Arthur's life — and as the prince's servant he was granted the privilege of joining them on their visit to the island. But Merlin was more than a servant — in Prince Arthur's eyes he was closer to a friend — so Merlin also had the honour to be allowed in council meetings.

That's why Merlin now sat at the back of the room watching as King Uther made angry demands at Elysium's court, screaming at the councilwoman that had been introduced as the main representative and the second of the seven. He watched as the woman was interrupted again and again, as she tried to reason with the mad king that demanded to see Emrys and made threats of war.

He had had enough, there was nothing the woman could do against Uther, especially in the state he was in. Merlin took a step forward, and then another, slowly letting his secret seep out of him.

Upon noticing his movement, some of Elysium's councilmen and women started to move as well, until one of them raised their voice to say "All rise for the Lord Emrys," and Merlin fully let his magic out, allowing it to change his garments into ones more befitting of a king. He walked to his seat at the center of the room and, upon reaching it, turned around taking in the many emotions passing through the faces of Camelot's citizens that were in the room.

Uther's face was red as he restarted his complaints, this time filled with accusations, insults, and even more threats.

"You are nothing but a lowly servant!"

Merlin had enough, he had been done with Uther a long time ago and now he was filled with a rage he hasn't felt in a long time.

"I'm aware of what I am, Uther Pendragon." he started, his voice growing louder in order to compete with Uther's own screaming. "I am a peasant. I was born to grow crops," Merlin continued his speech standing up slowly.

"I was born to scrub floors, polish boots and clean chamber-pots. I was never suppose to be King, I wasn't suppose to have people depending on me, on my choices; I wasn't supposed to have to lead anyone or give anyone hope."

Merlin walked towards Uther, staring him dead in the eyes with such intensity that brought a golden gleam to his still blue irises.

"I never once asked for riches, for power; and I never asked to be King."

He stopped right in front of Uther, still staring at him, and brought his voice down. "You are the one who gave me this crown."

Uther had his face completely red, a vein in his forehead threatening to pop.

"You can scream all you want," Merlin continued, turning around and heading back to his seat. "You can hate me and my people, my kind; you can try and make demands and threats, but I assure you, you will not have it your way."

"Then you have chosen war." Uther said when Merlin paused his speech long enough to sit down.

Merlin looked at the small man in front of him with a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

"War?" He snorted, "you can't go to war with me, Uther. How would that even work?"

Merlin smiled and frowned his eyebrows. "We are in an island, Camelot has no ships of its own. You are here because you used my ships." He leaned back.

"Besides, who says I want war with Camelot? I actually quite like the place, you know? I have a bunch of friends there."

"Camelot is no friend of magic users, we will fight to rid the world of your little nest of pests."

Merlin dropped his smile, his eyes grew sharp once again as he focused on Uther, and he let out a sigh. "By the goddess you are tiresome."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Here's the deal, I will give you three options to choose from. You can choose whatever one you like most, I'll be happy with any of them."

Uther seemed ready to speak again but never got the chance.

"Option number one: We sign a peace treaty similar to the ones I have with other kingdoms where we'll begin to plan trade routs and the such to start collaborating with each other, but you will have to stop your persecution and the bloodshed against my people," Merlin scrunched up his nose. "I'll not even demand that you lift the ban completely, merely that the punishment fits the crime committed and that you stop actively hunting us down."

Uther's face was getting closer to purple and he opened up his mouth. "Option number two," Merlin said louder before Uther restarted his hate speech.

"We sign an armistice and you go back to pretend this place doesn't exist and we will do the same with Camelot."

Merlin leaned back again, "which brings us to option number three: war"

Uther looked taken aback for a second that war was actually in one of his 'options', he looked eager to respond but Merlin raised his hand interrupting him again.

"Let me explain something about option number three before you choose. First of all, even if you manage to find ships to bring your knights across the sea, I assure you they will not make it to the port. The only ships that can anchor at my shores are the ones I allow to."

Merlin let the information sink in before continuing.

"Secondly, even if you manage to bring your man to my island you'll still have the three levels of protection shields that won't allow you to pass. Not mentioning the amount of magic users that would be eager to get their own personal revenge against anyone wearing Camelot's colours."

Merlin shook his head in disapproval.

"Finally, and this is the main one so pay attention; if you do choose to go to war against me, if you are so eager to erase magic from earth that you decide to go out of your way to persecute my kind in this sacred place; I promise you that no knight, no soldier, no innocent human from Camelot or otherwise, will be harmed in your foolish war. The only person that will face consequences if you seek war against my kingdom will be yourself, Uther Pendragon, and I'll make sure of it."

Merlin leaned forward again and rested his chin on his hands. "It's about time you start taking responsibility for your own mistakes, and assume the consequences of them like the man and king you were supposed to be."

The room went silent. Merlin's threat hang heavily in the air taking away the voices of everyone in the room, even from his own council who did not expect that decision. They all knew Merlin loved Camelot, and that he had a soft spot for it's prince.

"You dare to threaten me."

Merlin's eyebrows went up and a startled laugh escaped in a breath and soon turned into a giggle fit that was joined by the rest of Elysium's council.

"You are joking, right?"

"I demand a fair combat between our kingdoms, as a war is supposed to be."

"You are joking, right?" Merlin repeated. "You are not sitting in front of me, demanding war with people that you have murdered for decades and suddenly decide that you are pro-fairness just because things aren't going your way. Because if you are… well that's amusing, really. And befitting"

Merlin cleaned dry tears from his eyes.

"You threaten to murder me…"

"Murder? No, I don't recall saying that. I said that if you went with the warpath there would be consequences and you would be the only one to pay for them. In fact," he looked at the seven man and women he trusted most, the ones that ran his kingdom for him. "I'll tell you what, you have until the end of the week to make a decision, meanwhile councilwomen two and six will gather this week to decide what your fate will be if you choose the warpath."

"And how is that fair?" Arthur spoke and for the first time since Merlin left his place at the back and took his seat as Emrys, Merlin dared to look at him.

While Merlin knew Arthur better than the man knew himself, right now Arthur was using his court face, and even if usually he could read right past that as well, all Merlin could see right now was his steadfast gaze looking right back at him.

"Councilwoman two is a non-magic user, she helps us see the things by the point of view of those who have no magic at all but still have to live with it; councilwoman number six is a magic-user who lived in Camelot for a while, she was on her way to take matters in her own hands when I convinced her otherwise and she came to my island instead."

Merlin rested his chin on his hands again.

"I usually don't mind taking part on the decision-making — of course not, how could I? — but in this case I fear my judgment might be a little…" He let his gaze wander away and land back on the prince. "Compromised."

"I see the reasoning for your councilwomen choice, but how can I be certain that what they'll chose will be fair?"

Merlin let a smirk escape, both from the irony of the word fair related to Uther and for Arthur himself. Then he shook his head.

"You are forgetting that he doesn't have to choose that path."

"I think we both know the likeliness of that."

"What would you have me do, then?"

Merlin watched as a glimpse of surprise escaped through Arthur's mask, followed by a hint of doubt before both of them were suppressed again.

"Let me…"

"No." Merlin interrupted him before he could even start, there was no way he would let Arthur decide his own father's fate if it ever came down to it.

Arthur frowned a little, ready to complain, before remembering himself. "You speak of justice…"

"I never said anything about justice." Arthur frowned at the interruption again.

"I've given your father three options. I offered him peace, I offered him ignorance and I offered him war; the only thing I did after that was make him aware that actions have consequences. This is what this is about; not revenge, not justice, but simple cause and effect."

Arthur stared at Merlin with tight lips, he didn't like what Merlin had said but he also didn't have a good enough argument to go against his reasoning.

Merlin kept his gaze focused on Arthur's face trying to catch another glimpse of his emotions. He could feel his frustration and annoyance but most of all, he knew Arthur feared for his father.

"However" He continued, "I can see your point of view and after careful consideration I have come to realized that perhaps you might have a point."

Arthur looked shocked, not just a glimpse that was escaping through his mask, no, Arthur was completely shocked and it was clear for everyone to see.

"Well of course I have a point"

"Sure"

Arthur scrunched his nose in annoyance and Merlin smiled. Maybe things would be alright in the end.

"Like I was saying, you made me realize that it would be interesting to have the point-of-view of someone that has been directly under King Uther's rule and isn't connected to magic in any way in the decision making process, so I'll allow you, Prince Arthur, to chose someone from your party to speak on your kingdom's behalf."

Uther talked back at that. "If anyone should be choosing my representative, it should be me!"

Merlin had honestly forgotten Uther was still there, in fact he was so focused on Arthur that he forgot that everybody else who wasn't him were still there. He was so glad he didn't see any trace of hate in his prince's eyes that the rest of the world didn't seem to be attention worthy.

Granted, Arthur still had his mask on, but the glimpses Merlin managed to see earlier were all hatred-free, so Merlin was hopeful and if everything turned out not horrible, Merlin was considering to create a new holiday to celebrate this day.

"Honestly, Uther, the fact that you still think you have any say in my court baffles me. You entered here spitting rage and making demands like some kind of entitled child, why you would think I would let you make any decision about anything after that makes me severely concerned for your kingdom, and that's coming from someone who's been living there."

Uther spluttered.

"Arthur is choosing because the argument was his, because he seems to have his bearings and, honestly? Because he's more likable than you."

Uther's mouth opened slightly and Merlin noticed a small smile creeping up Arthur's mouth.

"Now, Prince Arthur, I'm going to need a name but if you allow me an advice, I'd tell you to choose for the kingdom, not for the man."

Arthur looked back at him in the way he always did when he thought Merlin had said something uncharacteristically wise, except this time it came with a weight Merlin couldn't place.

Merlin didn't know but Arthur was looking at him with admiration, Merlin always confused him in the sense that he seemed so much more than just a servant, like Merlin had the heart of a noble and the wisdom of a king. Now that he knew the truth about him, everything seemed to fall into place.

Merlin always had that aura around him — especially when giving Arthur advice — of someone that was destined for greatness. Learning that he was Emrys made so much sense that while looking at him right now, sitting in a throne leading and protecting his kind with certainty, Arthur didn't find it in himself room to be angry about it. Not when that scene felt so right that he wondered why he never realized how magnificent Merlin would look with a crown.

Arthur looked around the room for a while, seemingly measuring the men that had come with them.

"I can have someone brought from Camelot before lunchtime if you don't have what you need here," Merlin offered and Arthur looked surprised at him.

Merlin knew who he would've chosen. It seemed obvious to him but maybe Arthur had a different strategy.

"I choose Sir Leon," he turned to the man himself "If you feel like you're up to the task."

"It would be my honour, Sire." He bowed in agreement.

"Wonderful!" Merlin clapped his hands once which seemed to startle a few people. He smiled at Arthur's good choice before continuing. "Sir Leon will be joining the second and the sixth throughout this week to reach a mutual decision about what would be an appropriate outcome." He waved at each of them as he spoke.

"Meanwhile," he continued. "King Uther has a week to reach a decision of his own about what is to be done with both our kingdoms. While he does so I want to remind the court that the Camelot party are still our guests and must continue to be treated as such."

He looked back at Uther, "you are all, of course, still invited to partake in our harvest celebrations — there's no need for bad blood between us while a decision hasn't been made — and you are all free to explore the kingdom as you will, I just ask you all not to wander through our forests by yourselves, they have a tendency to be purposefully confusing."

He turned his gaze to his court.

"In the interest of full transparency, not more courtly meetings will be held until we gather again in a week to hear Camelot's position, all non-urgent matters shall be postpone to the week after, and the urgent ones can be brought directly to me."

"You will regret this." Uther interrupted, his voice filled with poison and disdain. "You think you can spy on me and my kingdom without consequences, I'll make you pay for your lies and your sins."

The room felt heavy again, Merlin was just tired.

"Can't wait to hear all about it next week. Court dismissed."

He stood up and his court stood with him, differently from what is done in Camelot, the Elysium court always waited for him to leave the room first before leaving their places. He wasn't sure when this began being their way but he had a suspicion it started because Merlin hated attending court and always were the first at the door when it was over.

Camelot's household watched in silence as the whole room of Elysium's court stood in place waiting for their king to leave through the door before moving to leave themselves.

It wasn't long after Merlin left that he began hearing the familiar footsteps following after him. They were strong and decisive and were marching straight towards him with purpose, soon enough he felt a strong hand around his arm and long nails digging at his sleeve. "I want him dead"

"And what else is new?"

He felt the nails digging deeper and he was forced to stop. He turned around and found himself face to face with green eyes filled with anger and annoyance.

"This isn't a joke, Merlin. Uther should die, this is the only way."

"You heard my decision, Morgana." Merlin stared back at her with a steady gaze, they had had that discussion many times before and while Morgana always complied with his decision of not going for Uther's throat, it didn't mean she was happy about it. "It's not me you have to convince of that."

"You really think Leon and Hunith will let me sentence him to death? Have you met them? They don't understand, Merlin, not like we do."

Merlin's gaze softened as he stared at her. "Do you know why I chose you to be part of the seven?"

"Because I'm powerful and have understanding of courtly matters."

"That helps, of course, but that was not the reason." Morgana's stance softened in surprise.

"Was it out of guilt?"

"What?"

"Some kind of gift to apologize for the poison?"

Merlin was taken aback with surprise, it had been a while since he thought about that day. "I thought we had put that behind us."

"We did." She sounded relieved.

"Morgana, I chose you because I trust you to fight for our kind in a way I'm not able to. You are angry, and while you might not be out for revenge anymore, it doesn't mean you would casually dismiss it like I would. But most of all, I chose you because after everything you've been through in Camelot, after Uther and after me, you still managed to maintain enough heart to not give in. I admire you, Morgana. You have a strength in you that can inspire people to follow you. I'm lucky to have you by my side and I trust you to make the right decision."

Morgana looked at him in shock, she seemed so vulnerable like this, with big doe eyes that seemed to be staring at the sun for the first time. It was gone quickly enough, she looked down and recomposed herself. "It's because of you, you know?"

"Me? I was under the impression that I made things worse."

"You did, at first, but you reached out to me later and didn't give up. I don't know what would have become of me if you hadn't. The path Morgause was taking us was not one I'd dare to follow today, it came from a place of despair and anger and I would have walked down that road with her til the end if it weren't for your persistence. We might have ended up in different sides of this war."

"I see. I'm glad it didn't came to it then."

"So am I." They smiled at each other before Merlin turned again and offered her his arm. "So, tell me, how's Morgause doing? Did she find new apprentices?"

She took his arm and laughed, "oh, you wouldn't believe it, those poor girls."

They continued their journey down the hallways of Elysium Castle, chatting and gossiping like old friends. Merlin knew there was still much to be done, he still had to find Arthur and explain himself to his prince, and he knew Uther wouldn't spend this week in silence. Just imagining the headache he could bring for his people left him slightly out of breath.

But that was a problem for another time, right now he just wanted to enjoy the pleasant company of one of his dearests friends in the world without any drama to stain it. "Anyway, let's talk about the way Arthur was looking at you, don't think I didn't notice."

Or not

"Did you hear that? I think I heard Lord Erick calling me." He let go of her and started sprinting away while laughing.

"Merlin! Come back here! You will not get away from this conversation! Merlin!" her voice echoed through the hallway as Merlin ran away with the wind.

☽♚☾

[where-the-water-flows]

ok so I keep coming back to an au where like.

Instead of faking his death, Shan Gudao fakes Li Xiangyi's death, and still blames the Jinyuan alliance for it.

(and, because, y'know, what's the point of winning if you don't have anyone to see it, stashes poor Li Xiangyi in a convenient dungeon somewhere. if you don't start with your own captive audience, a shidi is fine.)

Shan Gudao thus becomes the head of the Sigu Sect, bc...like, he is second in command, and now he's got 1)prestige and 2)time to work on his ultimate goal of Becoming Emperor Of Everything Ever. Probably does the occasional 'expedition' to 'search' for his beloved shidi's 'missing body', by which I mean go and update poor captive Li Xiangyi on whatever new terrible step in the 'take over the world plan' he's up to, and/or do a bit of torture, psychological or otherwise.

Di Feisheng, on the other hand, is fully losing his shit trying to work out what in the actual fuck happened to Li Xiangyi, because someone has clearly murdered him. And on the one hand, he's now, kinda, the top of the jianghu, and on the other, he hasn't exactly earnt that, has he, and winning by default doesn't fucking count, that's not skill, that's random luck.

And sure, literally everyone in the damn world is out for his head because of the whole ' "murdered" Li Xiangyi' thing, but that's 1)more fights to test his skill in 2)not the point, he has to find out who Really murdered Li Xiangyi, if that means mowing through every idiot stupid enough to get in his way when he can't just lay low, so be it. (A surprising number of people are thrown off by a mask.)

all of which is to say: in this world the kinda sketchy and mysterious guy wandering the jianghu on a quest to find a corpse that Fang Duobing latches onto is Di Feisheng, who-- is initially tolerating this idiot in part because he's Li Xiangyi's disciple, which means he has just as much interest as Di Feisheng does in working out what the fuck actually happened a decade ago, and in part because --

well. ten years of looking for a dead man, let alone a famous dead man like Li Xiangyi, is an awful long time to find nothing at all. a suspiciously long time, really, like there's not actually a dead man to find.

like Li Xiangyi is still alive.

[azurem]

The first deal™... Well, the dialogue around the first deal...!!

Impressive. You're really in a bad streak. What is this one, the 3rd? 4th?

...What do you want?

Let's not get too ahead of ourselves, now. Say, do you remember what was... this, before Error destroyed it all?

A fell variant of storyshift. AU number 884536736—

Uhuh. My main source of negativity in this area. Can you even fathom how it felt to... just feel it all disappear in a blink? Now, don't misinterpret me. I'm sure you did your best. It's just that... It just wasn't enough.

I don't get where you're going with all this.

I'll keep it simple. An alliance, between you and me.

...Pf. What? Are you being serious?

As serious as one can be. You and I... Have the same end goal, don't we? Preservation of life, for whatever means possible.

You don't know what you're talking about.

No living beings means no constant emotions. You want to preserve those inside the AUs, don't you? Then we wish for the same. Right now, we have the same problem.

...AU destruction?

Very clever, aren't you? Yes. I must admit, a lot of those... AUs of yours serve no function to me as of today. But there are those that are very desired for me. What I want is... well, priority.

You want me to prioritize... negative AUs? For what?

For mutual benefit, of course. Did you really believe I'd ask you something without giving anything to offer?

Stop making circles around it. What's the offering?

I'll lend you my "boys" anytime you feel surpassed by that... enemy of yours. But the alliance gets broken the moment another negative core gets destroyed.

You can't-

Oh, but I can. You have nothing to lose, don't you? Only so much to win.

...

After all, what's a guardian that protects nothing?

[kel-lance]

JJK Mafia Au (JJK x Reader) PART 4

(quick chapter//moving plot)

Warnings:

- TW: Dead dove dont read (DDDR) Minors do not interact (MDNI): SA, Physical Assault, DubCon, NonCon, Mindbreak, Public Humiliation, Breeding, Ownership, Gaslighting, Multiple manipulation, RWORD, PTSD, a lot more toxic sh.

Premise:

Reader lives in a city where the two biggest gangs keep things line until the third gang showed up. That had nothing to do with you though, until dumb luck just happened to favor you one day. Basically You’re picked up and used by every dangerous criminal within the clans due to some alliances they had to create due to some members messing up the previous alliances. ((Almost everyone’s gonna have a turn 🤗)) ( i have 12 chapters planned out right now meaning after i write those ill still be writing more.)

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AN: Sorry for the long update i'm trying not to get evicted bc i was fired a while ago bc of a protest (surprise surprise big companies don't like or care about palestine or other places like it.) but i had to give away my cats and am still struggling i have my socials in my masterpost if you could help if not its okay ily, I hope you like it

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After the three took a break from you, Sukuna pushed Yuuji towards you. Todo just follows along, trying to make sure Sukuna doesn't kill Yuuji as they just don't know what Sukuna could be thinking at times like these.

You lay a top the bed, sheets strayed, your hair messy, your whole body sweaty and broken, you entirely were weak, and Yuuji couldn't stop saying sorry to your fucked out face. "Let's see what you got."

You didn't feel anything for a few minutes until Todo broke the silence. "You've got to do something, brother, you know I'll back you up."

Yuuji just continued to stand there. If he were to fight Sukuna with Todo on his back, he wouldn't know who else would fight with them. Todo would lose everything he already has and would blindly die for him, which he would never ask for. But if he were to go through with fucking you again for Sukuna's enjoyment, Todo would also have to add himself into the situation. This double edged sword was going to stab him either way, but which would hurt you less?

"Don't take too long..." The leader made motion that he was going to start walking towards you two. "NO." Yuuji covered you on the bed, staring off back at his older brother. Todo comes behind Yuuji, putting a hand on his shoulder before giving him a look, and sighing understandingly as he stripped off his shirt.

Todo and Yuuji's was almost awfully awkward at first. They just felt bad, not being able to tell if you were even conscious anymore and continuing to do to you what they were doing.

Really they weren’t allowed to stop until Sukuna was satisfied. Until Yuuji was sobbing, begging him to give you and everyone else a rest. He was asking what would it take to stop this?

The older brother taunts, “Maybe we’ll keep her til she births one of our children, or multiple if she can create sufficient and strong offspring. I don’t know, Yuuji, should I start a farm because of you? I heard the Zenin clan is somewhat similar…”

“Please, please, Sukuna what do you want?” He was breathless. “This has to stop, you can’t-.”

He stops his younger brother, “I have, I did, and I can continue this for as long as you both live. I think that may be the conclusion I’ll come to, don’t you think it would be fun to be an uncle?” His big hands caress your stomach, feigning tenderness to his soon to be child or “sibling’s” child.

- You go back to your room where you stay in for a week.

- A random night, someone breaks in and tries to kidnap you and you didn’t know who it was, obviously you weren’t going with them without an explanation.

-That caused you to fight back as your dealing with everything so far, you were getting pissed being treated like a doll. The person who broke in gets captured, just before he says “Yuuji’s waiting outside, trust me.”

- Sukuna's family come in trying to make sense of the situation and the others had captured the mystery guy

- That's not before he throws you to two female ninjas. They secure you quickly and run back to their master Toji.

- their clan/gang is super powerful, the twins you can guess are Maki and Mai, and Sukuna (the new head of one of the three big families that control the large part of the area, the head of the Kamo gang) had just kidnapped their son, even if he did happen to barge in.

- Megumi’s been friends w Yuuji since they were kids but they never shared that.

- they met bc they were fighting bc yuuji was taught to fight ppl who give them looks (Sukuna wanted him to protect the family name no matter what, and megumi just had that face… and when they realized that they were part of the other side they had to come to extremes before realizing they were different from their families.

- they knocked each other out senseless and somehow one was still alive, megumi sat with yuuji while he regained consciousness and they started to talk more. Battered and bloodied but Yuuji finding the humor in it while Megumi thinks enough to like his character and realizes he’s just a big strong idiot.

- Maki and Mai are close, as sisters should be and they both have their loves (nobara and momo) and we all have to go team up with the gojo clan in order to make sure this trade off is safe and megumi and yuuji aren’t dead

- because now yuuji is with you at the toji clan too, it was supposed to be just you getting captured and then yuuji leaves to live his own life but now he’s in front of toji saying it was his fault that megumi’s now with his brother (sukuna)

- Yuuji explains that he and his son were friends since childhood, he says everything and everyone's on edge bc toji does what he wants, whenever, whatever, really anything for money.

- He says he knows he doesn’t have money, but the only thing he does have was something they both risked their lives for, so toji gets curious and wants to try you out.

- Toji fucks you senseless, making you think the train ran on you were more merciful. He was trying every hole, every position, just dressing you up and doing whatever he could with you, you were actually at your limit with him, enough to bring you back enough to start fighting again. You were getting sick of it, actually you think you were getting sick.

His inconsideration was on par with Sukuna's, though Sukuna cared more about his new objects while Toji wants them to know their place and to leave when he tells them to. He had to know why they would do all that for you//how did you survive so long in that clan he just has to see how durable you are and he’s LOVING IT.

- He asks you what you’ve been through and you don’t respond so he hits you again and again but you don’t cry so he does it AGAIN and you flinch enough to stop him, and start taking off his pants. His only response was "e’s like "Oh so they already trained you."

- You suck his dick and he pulls you up to kiss him, by your neck and places you on his dick and fucks you in the air, using gravity to its full advantage, that was the start of it all before the days of relentless attention and use, you were more sore than any of them have put you in. The hitting, cuts, just the amount of violence he's integrated into your sessions felt like training again, but worse.

- He’s wondering if he could keep you as his slut but remembered that it would be stupid to start a war when his kid couldn’t keep it in his pants. He blames Megumi for having a cold heart compared to his father's icy one.

- Toji makes up his mind to help and plans to betray/kill the sukuna clan when they get megumi back bc he doesn’t care but doesn’t say that.

-He plans a meeting with the other clan the top three have been fighting over the position of this location for years and now and ofc they’re all on edge.

- Gojo comes to the meeting with his clan, they’re not worried bc they know some of their clan can befriend some of the others involved. No ones been dead so they have some sort of unspoken treaty to leave each other alone but they never asked much from the other ever.

- Gojo settles down with his group, smug and tired bc everyone needs them to fix other peoples' problems for them. The community relied on the Gojo Clan to protect them when they also work with the Kamo and Zenin gangs, the people outside are just as gullible. He sits down and asks what could big ol Toji need from him,

- “It’s Megumi”

- Gojo drops his smile. Their other unspoken alliance was when Megumi was beaten up at a really young age bc of his status and itadori happened to be there too (same elementary school). Gojo beats the fuck out of the people who targeted the kids/second to heir the clans, and left, but Megumi finds him and asks why would he help them.

- Gojo said he can’t have his competition get angry, his people are at stake. (referencing to the shifting power in-between the gangs that they didn't know about yet, and that his person was leaving his clan to join the other, he didn't know why he was doing anything anymore at that point but he couldn't let more powerless powerful children get hated on.) Megumi says thank you and takes Itadori back near his gang before disappearing back to his clan.

- Gojo actually has been in contact with his friend who's joined the other clan. That's how he knows what's usually going on with them to keep them rangled up and behaving as much as they could to not cause trouble or cause attention to groups like theirs.

Gojo and Geto were very young when they met, and since their lives were everything but normal, they were given the chance to take in more young bodies to add to their clan. They raised them together, but geto left.

Gojo begged for days for him to reconsider, they day he left he was inconsolable, especially since he took the twins too. Geto couldn't separate the girls, but he could separate himself from Gojo, in his head it's to help Gojo in the future because of the power he'll have.

Gojo didn't care about that, he didn't want help he just wanted Geto. That was all he needed, he had decided. He could have ruled the world and done it confidently if he had Geto by his side, but things don't go through when you're young, and now you're about to catch as many years he hadn't been able to get out.

- He's not nice at all when you're under his care. With Geto leaving at a critical age in learning, his feelings had been all over the place. He was completely disordered, his goals and morals and everything went awry, with the years he couldn't get himself out of the timestamp of when he knew happiness.

- So he asks you about Geto, his best friend, the only one that could make him feel real again. The one person who didn't do things for him because of his name and status, and yet left with the excuse of protecting Gojo from future evil. It was enough to drive the strongest insane.

- He asks you everything by torture, not too physical that anyone can see. WHen trading you back you should at least look and act like you're in the same condition, if not better than what you were when they traded you off. Just anything that Toji didn't already give you, Gojo would have mindless enjoyment from digging his fingers into the fatter parts of your belly, legs, and forearms.

- He’s only doing this to see Geto again. He just wants to pass the time until he can finally feel good again. He's strong, he's smart, he's beautiful, when would life be good to him instead of him making everyone else's lives better just by being there. It made him coky, it made him secretly weak willed to his own desires, so his processing was different than most.

- He asks u what he looked like and everything about him while fucking you. it was the closest he’s got rn. "I don't know's" made him reel back more, his strikes becoming almost boneshaking and shattering. He was making Toji seem gentle. Now that something he cares about is just a memory away, he just couldn't stop himself.

-You were so close to him, even if you never spoke to him, even if you never saw him in the maybe month you were staying at the Pink haired clan. But his aura seemed to have darkened when you mentioned twins. There were just so many either of you could have known but it just seemed to rile him up more. Seriously you would need a doctor and healing time after this. You couldn't let that happen again.

-There was nothing else to take from it, it was a hell you would only wish for the person already committing it. It made you miss the tenderness of Sukuna and the warmth of Toji, it didn't matter what they did or how you got there, anything sounded better than Gojo being without his favorite things. And you were barely part of it.

[druidonity2]

hey you wanna hear another fanfic idea (based on an old doodle) i'll probably never write ok here it goes-

(What if, in her dying breath, Onyxia split Anduin into two, and nothing Varian tries is putting his son back together.)

Varian was able to fuse back together, but to his surprise, he found two boys where one once was. In her final moment, to further soe chaos and seek revenge, Onyxia channelged her power into the boy. And despite their attempts, they cannot get the boys back to one. (They try and use shalamayne, but really they can’t fully recreate Varian’s rejoining, for it would threaten the boys’ health and saftey. They spend the next year trying to locate any magic users who could help, but unwilling to risk their lives, there isnt much they can do. They must be raised as twins.)

Ann and Dulin are identical as young kids, and seem very happy with eachother, and it almost seems like they are better off now that Anduin isn’t really an only child. But then, as they enter their teens, a distinction between the two forms, and it slowly becomes clear that they are halves of a single soul. And their flaws are ever stronger for it. That they arn’t balanced. 

(-Little moments as the boys grow up, playing together, learning together, etc.

-Varian hoping at least one picks up the sword, but so far both boys are awful. He struggles, but is reminded they are the same person, of course if one cant do something the other cant either. 

-they both shared an interest in light, and learned fast bouncing practice off eachother. Both learn under Velen.)

Ann and Dulin are priests, but Ann is more rebellious and runs away more, and is more open to voicing his opinion, even at the wrong times. Dulin is much more clinging to rules and professionalism, and is quiet and more hiding of his voice, preferring to listen. They bicker more, disagree, and it slowly reminds Varian of his struggle as he and Lo’gosh could not come to agreements despite being one person. And he fears that as they age, Ann and Dulin will further be torn apart.

It does happen, when Ann and Dulin get into an argument, and Dulin uses shadow. 

-

MoP is Ann and Dulion getting shipwrecked. Despite his interests in Pandaria Dulin wants to go home as soon as the Alliance finds them, but Ann refuses too, and so Dulin follows along. Ann is the one to confront Garrosh, and Dulin is the one to get him help.

After the Bell scene.

Ann nearly died, and while Dulin didn’t get hurt, it seems he’s fallen ill too. He’s fine, up until he faints infront of everyone. Confused, someone reminds Varian, “They are not complete people. They are halves of a single individual, and that brings with it consequences. They were never meant to grow up apart, their souls are joined and that greatly effects their mind and bodies. I suspect if Ann had died, Dulin would’ve passed away soon after. If you lose one, you lose them both.” 

“When you were two, one half was a spineless noble easily charmed by wealth and beauty. The other half was an angry warrior, hot headed and unwilling to listen to opposition. Apart, you were two deeply flawed people who could not agree on anything, and you came close to killing yourself, until one made a sacrifice for the other. It was only because you shared a son did you come to terms with one another.” “I believe having the boys raised together is partly the reason they still get along, but they are very different from one another, and their lives would be better if they were joined again.”

Wrathion believes he knows how to rejoin the twins, and Dulin seeks that help, even behind Ann’s back. (It does not work).

(war crimes scene where Anduin holds his AU self as he dies, only in this fic it is Ann and Dulin watching an au version of Anduin die, seeing what they would look and act like if they were one person, as they should be. This event deeply effects them, acting as a constant reminder that their fractured existance is wrong)

-

-Because of their bickering, it's decided one will take the throne and the other remains prince. Dulin takes the throne, which is actually one of the only things the two agree on, for Ann dislikes the restrictions the title of King would place upon him. Ann still does work for Dulin, represents him in meetings he cant go too, etc, especially durring war, but still runs off sometimes.

-Dulin is taken by Sylvanas to the Shadowlands, and it is Ann who demands to go to find his twin. He felt the moment Dulin crossed into the veil, He feels the moment his twin is corrupted, and feels his soul aching. If Dulin dies so will Ann, and Ann can feel his brother's soul weaken by the day.

-JAILER RAID SCENE but Ann runs into the black smoke, Sylvanas cannot stop him in time- Ann embraces his brother, and a rush of energy envelopes the area. Sylvanas believes it to be the bomb, but as the smoke clears and they live, a single man is left in the middle-

Ann and Dulin fused back together.

the end.

-

Epliogue:

Anduin, newly rejoined into one person, disappears for several years in order to 'find himself', soul searching or whatever. Now that he is one person, who is he really? Who does he want to be? How does he cope with his past truamas was one person, when half of him experienced things differently?

Epilogue explores how Anduin honestly still feels like two people in one body, that being fully one in heart and mind may be truely impossible, but as time passes, years go by, it seems that healing truely may be possible.

[fruit-salad-ship]

I took a run at the Viking/Druid AU. This one’s a ‘married for political rest, hate each other at the start, then learn to appreciate.’

Story draft under cut

This particular group of Vikings might be a bit of an off shoot, they were led by peachs family for a fair few generations sucessfully, a notoriously violent lot, theyve come to be knows for their brutality. BUT that was peachs mother, the generation before, and the world needs a calmer head sometimes, so when peach was handed the reigns, her mother dead in battle as she'd always wanted to go, the weight of the village was suddenly on her shoulders. sure she'd prepared for this, but she thought she had more time to goof off and be young and free. alas, this shift fored peach to grow up, to watch her people die through her bad choices at times, to see them hungry or sick, and have to learn on the job how to avoid this, or fix it. Older generations have tried to overthrow her, but she proves she is the best fighter, if not the biggest, certeinly the fiercest, and smartest. She is tall and muscular, but her real edge is in her ability to be five steps ahead. She keeps a calm head unless shes in a besrker rage, something she doesnt do unless she ABSOLUTLEY has to. Triggered by a cocktail of plants, a tonic of strength essentially. the recipy was taught to her by her mother, and her mother before her, and so on, back many generations, and is unique to the family tree, a secret to them only. Peach goes and forages for the plants and parts often. so a few years later, with several mutinies squashed, a village of now healthy, fed, happy people, who trust her leadership, and believe that the young blood in this case has done well, is an accomplishment. Grey is her captain of the troops, hes vital, her confidant, her child hood friend, a guy whos very level and reasonable, traits she has been TRYING to get people to adapt to, and reduce how much bloodshed her people have brought to others.

They still raid and fight, but they pick and choose more wisely, taking from those who have more troops and more to lose, pinching from farmers and villagers is a cowards fight, they have pitchforks, and nothing worth taking. but kings? lords? princes? ohhhhhoho, they got shit they can stand to lose, their lives included. so they target bigger fish. arguably their trade with local hunters is also quite key, being good on the waters means fishing is their lifeblood, and many neighbouring villages have built a tentative truce with the viking settlement in order to trade and barter. it is...hard to work with, as her people are prone to fighting, but peach manages to delegate and calm raised tempers with a surprising level of reason. This same reason extends to the druid population. Her faimly have...perhaps been known to slaughter them upon sight. She has seen it, she had watched her blood strike down witchcraft in a heartbeat through fear, and peach does not wish to extend that fear further.

that being said, she is kind of terrified of druids.

low key tho

so when the druid council arrange a meeting with her, no weapons, no threats, a simple plea for peace, she is open to hearing it. Peach and her council go to discuss, and a peace can be arranged if there is a show of trust. Notably, marriage. A viking leader, to a Druid patron of the gods. if this can be done then surely they can trust in an alliance together. Peach is SO not here for it. She however is overruled by the council, they all agree this is a very reasonable arrangement, and peach is left taking one for the team, so to speak. and its honestly something that puts her in a foul state of mind from the get go

she has no clue who shes being married off to, and goes home sulking, telling grey everything over drink, and he is roaring with laughter. the towns most unapproachable, inhospitable woman has finally been shackled down. he cant even believe it, and does not give a rest to the pokes and prods of his taunting. A fortnight passes and no news, nothing from the druids save for a charm of favorable winds for their ships that arrives by raven. Sure enough the ships do prosper, the winds are behind them, and the fish are plentiful. Peach begrudgingly watches her village flourish, and dreads the next step, one she alone has to venture forward with, one she is honestly mortified about. She toughs it out, and soldiers on. And then the letter to the ceremony arrives. She is to meet her betrothed in a week, and the first meeting will be within the druid community, where peach will come with no more than two escorts to agree to terms, and collect the person in question to return home with. There is no exit clause, this means peace for their people once and for all.

and that long long hike to the heart of the woods where the druids exist is...hell. Shes got real nerves, doesnt even get like this for battles, in fact she states on several ocasions that she'd rather be in the thick of a war in the mud and the dirt and the blood than in the calm of the woods. its almost too calm, lets her mind wander to what kind of awful person shes been tied to for the rest of her life. she pictures an old crone, a witch of the woods, a crusty old being, and shudders, while her two companions make jokes that she'll have to have horrible weird druid sex with an old person. and shes there trying not to throw up.

the druids welcome them in with more hospitality than expected, this is of course a negotiation for peace, and peach activley hands in all her weapons, right off the bat with no arguing. she has to berate the other two ONCE, and no more, to do the same. So theyre in a community of 75-100, all of which follow this weird and wild magic, all somehow touched into natures way, and the vikings are just there, strangers in a foreign land, and people are very wary of them. They are taken to the leaders, sat, offered food and drink, to which peach is feeling too sick to really partake in all that much, picks at best, but her attention is toward the new setup of what is to be rules on how their people interact with each other. No more unnecessary deaths. The work of it all nearly lets her mind slip from the end result, her people will no longer hunt druids, offer trade, military aid and services should need be, and for all forward purposes consider them allies, unless violent action is taken against them, in return they will gain access to medicine and the occasional charms to aid the villagers, magic to bolster their people. It is a truce. A good one. A better one than peach was expecting to get. their negotiations go on into the early hours, and finally the leader of the druids says its late, and peach must be eager to meet his daughter. She pauses, looks up, processes, and then recalls the arrangement. she had NO idea this man she talked with was to be family, she'd have tried to be a little more impressive and imposing, but perhaps her subdued and calm approach was fine. they walk to a rather lovely building, draped with vines and hidden deep into the mossy dirt, he sighs, and looks at peach. a warning is given, his daughter was...not, thrilled about this situation. she may be fierce in her actions and words.

peach is left to knock the door, her brides father not entering, simply waiting a few paces back, calling in a name, a pet name from the sounds of it, and from inside peach can hear the light footsteps of someone. the door opens, plum sticks her head out, glares past peach to her father, shouts 'NO' and slams the door. Peach cant help but laugh.

he sighs, waves a weary hand, and turns to go stating taht peach best get acquainted with his daughter, this is out of his hands. and so peach tries again, calls in to at least ask her name, and gets no response. just told to go away. their conversation starts on a hostile point, and peach sits against the door and tries to reason with her. plum is every bit as stuborn and hard headed as peach is, but shes really throwing a fit about this. peach ends up just as mad, as if this is ideal for either of them?! but its not about them, its about their people, and moving forward with a sense of peace. surely as a druid, of all things, plum could reason with the notion of peace? and thats when the door opens, peach tumbles back, lands looking up, met with a VERY mean glare, plum saying she has no idea what druids should or shoudlnt reason with, that shes just some bloodthirsty idiot with nothing between her ears. harsh but fair. the girls row. and fight, and argue, and get to understanding that they couldnt be more further apart. this goes on for hour, until it becomes a fight, and peach is trying, TRYING not to take the bait, shes twice as big as this little druid and not about to break the truce on the first night. plum however does not care, and eventually peach has to defend herself. it is a close quarters, brutal little spat, and they both end up scraped and bruised.

by the morning peach is ready to go home, black eye and bites and scrapes adorned, the truce is made, plum has been appeased by her father and a whole host of others, she is in NO WAY happy about this, but has come to the bitter conclusion that its for the good of her people. the travel back is mind numbing. plum stops to look at things all the time, shes never really ventured out of her territory for fear of vikings. they have to slow down, get caught in rain, get their path crossed by a bear. the two with peach go to attack it, she tells them to back down, leave it be, and plum at the VERY least appreciates that she lets it pass unbothered. by the time theyre back at the village its all hands on deck to get ready for the festivities, everyones happy to see them, but peach suggests she'll hold a meeting tomorrow once rested and settled, to introduce her...betrothed (she is still mad about it) and inform everyone of the events. natrually some of the older vikings are not happy with plum there, they eye her with hatred, and skulk away. peach doesnt notice, those old farts are always angry, theyre old, its what they do, but plum gets a bad read off them. peach and plum go back to the girls new home together, a longhouse with fair space and one too many weapons. Plum is mildly interested in some of the strange trinkets peach has stolen, but doesnt ask, she is given a bed, a space her own, away from peach, and shown around enough to feel at home. it is very much laced with snide jabs and comments from both sides. things plum does notice: peach makes her own beserker tonic, and seems to be mid-way making a batch now. peach of course doesnt reveal what is in it, nor what its for, it is none of plums concern, and plum pulls the 'well ill be your wife soon enough you may as well tell me now.' card. peach hates it. doesnt cave.

it is another restless night for the girls, they bicker and fight about every little thing. plum kicks her shoes off anywhere, peach never remembers to throw a log on the fire in time, plums constantly tripping over things shes used and not put away, peach cant stand the smell of the tea plum drinks, a home blend. By the time the meeting in the village comes the next day, peach is hardly awake, grouchy, and fed up. but the information of a truce is given, plum is introduced, and the village sets about trying to come to term with the change. Grey is the life saver, he is very calm, and offers to show plum around, giving peach a break. one that she spends the entire time sleeping through. grey and plum actually get on fine, she finds him much less irritating, and perhaps even nice, if she can put aside his murderous skills. she learns the village, the people, the trades, the buildings, she pets the animals, she sees some of them trying to farm, others hauling in fishing nets from the boats. all in all, plum is quietly surprised the vikings have this level of civilisation built, tales and stories would suggest theyre all mindless brutes who do nothing but kill and steal. she is at LEAST pleasently surprised.

she gets home to peach fast asleep by the fire, on a number of furs, and proceeds to dump a jug on water on her, for the fun of it.

the 'i have to marry you, i dont have to like you' comments they share are laced with seething disdain, peach goes to fish, plum goes to forage, they dont see each other unti the next day, and its over a very hostile breakfast. Eventually peach is thankful to leave to fight, and plum is left home to her own devices. This raises issues. While peach is out doing her thing, the older villagers start to fuck with plum, and she has to recall the truce, and not to hit back. they say some horrible things to her, perhaps even get in her face, but it never gets physical, so she leaves it be. She can tough this out for her people, the village will get use to her, shes just new. peach and her raiders get home a week or so later, they haul in goods stolen, and peach has cleared her mind of rage, and tried to be the bigger person...not literally, she already is, but she has returned, and gets home, and doesnt say a word about the tea smell, instead pulling a rather pretty broach from her pocket that looks like a branch of blossom in golds, inlaid with some kind of pinkish gemstone. A peace offering. Plums right, she does have to marry her but he doesnt have to like her, but maybe if they just, got along this could all be a little less shit. Plum says nothing, sees peach is battered and hurt and tired, her body is on the rebound off beserker tonic, so she needs rest. She slinks off, runs herself a bath, and tries to soak her aches out. plum sits and looks at the broach and doesnt say much, rolls over and goes to sleep by the fire. peach finds her curled up, pulls a blanket over her, and goes to her own bed to try and do better tomorrow. well that doesnt quite work out. the next two weeks the girls are slowly at each others throats more and more, its becoming obvious to everyone.

they foil each others fun, ruin each others things, have spite for one and other that extends to their personal space and privacy. Grey watches them both get run ragged by the endless torment they throw at each other. And then finally, the wedding arrives. The dreaded day. it is traditional viking style, with a few tweaks to include the druid nature of one of the brides, and honestly everyones just there to feast and drink afterwards, something the two new wives hardly do. well. peach drinks. a lot and plum throws berries at her for the boring bits. they go home, sleep at opposite ends of the house, and try to just get on with this. its for their people, both say to themselves in the quiet of night. every time peach has to host to other leaders plum is subtly spiteful, makes her look bad tbh, which is fine, but after one particular disaster of a meeting with a local leader who could have been a useful allie, peach sees them off and turns to plum to remind her, NOW she is fucking with pech's people, and another reminder, they are now HER people, shes the chief's wife, she is one of this village too, and shes shooting her own in the foot because shes a spiteful witch. peach is furious, she needed to barter that better, this is less than ideal. plum finally sees that perhaps she went too far. this isnt just a dig at peach, and she hates to say it, but peach is right. these are now her people. and most of them, save for a few, have been nothing but agreeable towards her, some even nice. plum sits up, peach is asleep turned away, ad the druid has time to do something good for once. she sits up and starts to do what she does best.

peach awakens the next day to a myriad of smells she does not know, and finds plum still awake, concocting a whole host of small bottled items. plums things are sprawled out, she hardly notices peach, and when she does, she doesnt say anything, feeling a little bad for the day before. peach asks, has to, its taking up half the house, and plum says shes working. thats as good as peach will get, she knows that, she leaves, goes to help with building a new barn, and doesnt go home until late that day. this goes on for two more days, before peach wakes to the house quiet, no plum, no things out, the chaos has subsided, its cleaned up, mostly. herbs hang and dry neatly, a huge mortar and pestle sits clear of debris, theres a bowl of petals drying, some jars of unusual powders all lined up, its like...plums settled in. her things have places, and has become part of this setting. weeks of not getting along or finding her place here, and finally it seems to be happening. Peach doesnt find her in the yard out front, not the woods when she goes to check the perimeter, nor alogn the lakes edge where plum goes walking. No. Peach finds her in the village, she spots the drift of her curls and peaks out to see what shes doing. Going around offering help, she found the man with the bad cough, the kid with terrible itchy skin, the mother who cant sleep, the man with no luck, even the cow with a funny limp. Plum has made a fix for most of the ailments. She is not the bitter twisted little shit peach has been presented with now, she is calm and kind and open, and seems to radiate true druid energy while doing this kind of work, she is a different person. Peach doesnt say a word, but they clock each other, theres no smile shared, no look of taunt or smugness, they just...they know. they know that plum took on board that these are also her people.

and dare peach say it, shes thankful for her, for once. The villagers repair, thrive even, but some still do not care for her meddling. Peach catches her back at home, coming in late, hands full of splinters, a fresh batch of jerky brought in from the drying racks, she traded a few bits for actual apples too, nice ones from a farmer that came through! She's in a surprisingly good mood, but there is still caution coming home. She doesnt want to cause any more arguments. She tells plum about the apples, to help herself, and leaves her alone to go soak her hands and try to get the splinters out. it is a slow process, but methodical, she quite likes the joy of excavating a big splinter, getting a good sharp blade and sitting in the bath to start this process. She has since become numb to plums tea, she actually has even started to like the smell perhaps, its certainly not nice, but its definitely a smell of home to her now. It shocks her when plum comes to sit with her, the first time ever. Neither talk immediately, peach is trying to catch the wood i her hand and pull it free, so her focus is mostly taken up, and plum is poking at the fire with a stick, sipping her drink, not really paying much attention. its quiet company. after a while, Peach syas she's grateful, her people benefited from plums skills today, she got a lot of people telling her that druid magic helped them with this and that. plums short 'mm' back is enough. they continue in quiet, peach getting slowly more frustrated by one stubborn splinter, going to cut into her hand to get it out, until plum notices and stops her, wordless, takes the knife, finds the problem, and carfully pries it out. takes two goes, and the chip comes free. there is a BRIEF moment where she still holds peachs hand, and looks at her like shes looking for something in her gaze, before giving the knife back and going back to the fire.

this quiet existence is a nice change to the arguments. for weeks after they bicker less, but still of course snap and disagree over so much, but certainly have less quarrels, and come together to put on an air of power should people visit for talks of trade or alliance. peach gifts plum a shawl that was her mothers mothers, a hand woven thing that holds a lot of meaning, and displays her families mark clearly, its not a huge deal, but it kind of is. the girls play it down, but peach is quietly happy to see plum wears it when the chill in the morning air is too much, or when shes wandering the village working. their marriage was not conventional, nor chosen, but they are finding a midground. even if they annoy eachother endlessly. its for their people, not them. but with time the things that bugged them start to hold less weight. Plum can no longer find irritation with peach not putting things away because shes changed, she does actually return items to where they belong. The endless weapons have their own storage, she doesnt leave them lying around. There is never a leak in the roof she cannot fix, and for such a merciless killer (plum thinks, shes never seen her fight) peach holds a calm note to all decision making, and typically never puts her own wants above others in terms of whats good for the masses. She has very little, and gives what she can, but somehow it comes around, and she is never left wanting. Her good nature, and speed to help her own pays back. Plum sees she is not all harsh edges. Peach however has also come to herms with plums temperament. The woman knows when plums going to kick off in a meeting and always manages to calm the situation. plums need to create went from an annoying clutter in the house to something peach finds joy in looking over now.

theres even a quiet love for plums cooking, which is arguably better than she thought it'd be, somehow she expected druits to chew on twigs and berries, but no, plum can and does make many nice things, and so they can take turns and give each other breaks from that task. peach even likes when plum is busy weaving and shes carving some wood and they sit quiet;y by the fire together. its...calm company. quiet. Is peach horny 24-7? yes, but again, shes had to put that aside and ignore it, this is not a marriage of joy, its one of peace.

the scalding tone of 'oh, so you survived then.' every time peach gets back from a trip has become welcoming, plum does not care, she knows, but at least she acknowledges her entering the home now. its something.

it is on one of these late nights, when peach gets in from a volatile battle, the village hit with a violent downpour, the people are struggling to pull the ships in, everyones out to lash them to post and stop the waters taking them, even plum is out helping as best they can to calm animals and settle people. when peach is away, plum acts in her stead, she is the wife, she has to. so shes out, in this miserable weather, and while everyones busy trying not to lose ships, peach notices she cant see plum. not anywhere. with things under control she goes looking. plum however has seen a bunch of goat bolt, a pen left open, a crack of thunder spooking them, and chases them down. cant lose a flock like that, she can get them. but it was a trick. those old vikings, ones who saw peachs mother rule with her bloody iron fist, do not care for this new alliance, and have been compelled to kill plum and break the truce, they dont like this peace with witchcraft users, they liked things the old way. Plum is busy trying to get these goats to come to her, a quiet whisper to them that they understand, to calm, to come to her, and they do. She only turns in time to see three villagers coming at her with an uneasy look, plum says its ok, shes got the goats, asks if they others wrangled the boats? and they dont answer, she takes a step back when she spots theyre armed, and starts considering the peace pact, the tentative nature of this situation. they attack her, and she can retaliate, but it'd scare the villagers, potentially break the peace, peace she'd finally managed to come to terms with herself. she tries to talk them down, reason with them, but they spew old world hate, words plums not heard in the mouths of men for a while, they want the druids gone, they dont trust nor like them.

she winds up a low powered warning spell, firest it at the floor and tries to spook them, but theyve fought druids before, and dont fear her small show of strength, shes pulling punches , big time, and they keep advancing. So she charges up an even bigger hit, warning them, telling them, urging them not to risk the peace, and they dont hear it. In the raging weather, they dont hear the person running in, the three villagers swing weapons, and plum fires a defencive spell. Both hit, but not as they had wanted. between them both peach stands, she has redirected the spell, pointing plum upwards, and taking a fair brunt of whatever she cast, and her other hand wields a weapon blocking the one at the front who swung first. Chief is back and pissed, she barely stepped off the boat, she didnt even get to see the villagers, she didnt have a moment to rest, and now her own are beign traiterous bastards to the peace. She tells everyone to step down, cool off, this is not worth it. She will let the three leave with their lives if they stop now. They made an attempt on her wife, she will not allow them to stay, but in any other situation, theyd be put to death for it. She is giving them a chance to pack, and leave by morning. they dont hear her. Plum is completely preoccupied with the spell she fired off, it was a harsh one, one thats settled under peachs skin, not a direct hit but plenty enough to graze her, she can see her words are a bluff to some degree, shes tried, she was hurt when she got back, now shes more hurt because of her. The men do not back down, calling her a coward in the shadow of her mothers wake, and so peach is forced to fight. and boy does she fight. harder than ever, with a brutality plum has never seen on her. She is fast, and precise, and despite injury plum thought would slow her, peach fells three and is still standing.

she however is now very much out of momentum, she looks plum over, shes fine, the goats are fine, the boats are tied, and she drops as soon as the relief hits. plum is left trying to turn her from drowing in the rain, goats chewing on her hair, being shooed away, plum eventually being found and helped, they get peach in her home and she for the first time ever, tends to the injuries. She is exhausted, the effects of the spell that grazed her are very much settled, and her injuries from the battle are painful but not fatal. Peach will live, but she really pushed herself. plums wondering how she has druid resistance, the spell she cast shoudl have done a lot more damage than this. She doesnt know the tonics peach has ingested all her life have built her tolerance to some things, and she doesnt know peachs family are old school druid killers, all dead now, but peach technically is her natrual enemy. not that plum knows that. peach groggy with pain awakes inside, warm under so many furs and throws, the fire crackles, she can squint out details in the low light, and plums there, asleep next to her, the cold cloth in her hand fallen but still held to her head. Its a very surreal moment. peach is convinced she died, this is not her wife.

she shifts and in that shift plum startles awake, seeing peach now somewhat awake, if not a little hazy. they have their first civil ish conversation after nearly half a year of marriage.

there is a quiet thank you in plums actions, not her words, she wipes blood from peachs skin as they talk, a soothing that chief didnt think she'd ever want, nor need, yet here it was like being cradled, her body cried out for contact, this long with nothing but hostility, this was a welcomed change in her sorry state. plum does tell her she was stupid to redirect magic like that, it was dangerous, and peach can only think of the peace brokered, how fragile it is, now scared people would be if a death was caused by a druid and not her. No one will question it if she cut them down in defence of her wife, thats a reasonable motive for deaths, she warned them, she gave them a chance, they didnt take it. on their head be it. for the first night ever, peach settles on her side, and plum does not go to her own bed, she stays by the fire and lies down and they drift off together. This whole thing does not stop the girls arguing, but their bickering seems mostly laced with concern, or reason. they grow mildly closer by the day, its slow, tentative process, but plums starting to see the joy in her big strong wife, who is surprisingly calm and patient, and peach cant help but notice how intelligent and beautiful the druid is, convinced she might be going mad but accepting it. Its not like anything would happen between them anyway, this whole thing was for the people, not for love of any kind. She is resigned in the thought that she gets to watch plum fuss over a potion or incantation, and sit quietly and see how the light hits her just so when shes by the window grinding up herbs, wiping her brow and ending up with all manner of colours on her face.

it is quiet admiration from a distance, on both parts, too resigned by the situation to act on anything, even when they catch the other looking. even when plum helps peach with a minor injury, or when peach brings home "too many flowers" for a dye, and just happens to leave them for plum on the table. They have a quiet language between them, and their bickering really does mask it day to day. Eventually however theres a new person in town. Another druid brought in by hunters, they found her wandering hurt, and with the new alliance, they offered help as agreed. chief and her wife are overjoyed at this show of hospitality, her people are learning! its a big step, and so with some digging, they find this druid has no allegiance in this area, and had no clue about the treaty. She is weary and seems to drift directly towards peach, who to most holds a very calm reassuring presence, so this is not unusual. They welcome her in, ask if she has any family, she is put up in a small hut, given a job, shows their ways, and once healed seems happy to be part of things here. Plum wakes often to find this new woman with her wife talking, she watches from the house as peach and the druid chat while working, seems like shes always close to her, and certainly is quick to help should anything go wrong with Peach. Plum saw her patch up a cut, and pull a splinter, and hang fish to dry, all simply to spend time. Seems no matter where peach geos, somewhere close, that new druid hangs by. eventually plum catches peach alone at home, night a welcomed break, and tells her to keep an eye on that one, shes got an odd feel to her. peach just laughs, says she sounds jealous if anything, in a mocking kind of teasing tone. The accusation causes an argument, and they end up sleeping on opposite sides of the house in angry heaps of furs.

this continues, the closer the druid gets, the more peach pulls back from her duties, plum picks the slack up, starts to notice peach doesnt come home for longer, is less talkative and interested in plums day to day goings on. This was a marriage of peace, of politics, not of love. so why does she feel awful seeing this? then one day peach goes missing. no one can find her, plum has to take on the role of leader, and calm everyone, reassure them they will find her, and oddly, the other druid is gone too. whispers start to spread. People really like plum now, shes helped so many, proven shes good natured, and cares for them, and start to worry if this is some scandal. Plum reassures them its probably nothing, and sets about working out where peach has gone. she puts an appointed council in charge and gathers her things and does what she does best, using magic and logic to track the path peach last took. it winds plum into the forest and grey catches up to see if she needs help, something she is fine with, theyve grown to be good friends. they wander deeper into the woods, noticing a path, keeping on it. The druid might manouver these forests with ease but if peach is with her, then she will be as haphazard as youd expect of any viking going on a nature trail.

they come to some kind of clearing after a while of travel, signs of a struggle, theres blood, its not animal, its human, and the trail seems to lead further up, a small mountainous peak ahead. they amble up, following the blood drops into a rather discrete cave half way up, slinking further in. Plum feels no natural life here, everything in this area is dark and twisted, the energy here is...disturbed. uncomfortable even. they peak around a rocky outcrop as the muttering of a person is overheard, finding the druid at some kind of alter surrounded by bones of many kinds. sat on her knees behind the other druid, peach, her gear pulled down to reveal her top half streaked in red, blood? no doubt, the druid also seems to have slapped on the same markings with hands, as if she adorned them both with warpaint. her mutterings are so low plum cant catch the incantations, but nothing like this is ever good, and the energy is all off, whatever god she's pulling from, its not a decent one. Plum goes to cast a block, to stop whatever happening, but its not strong enough, bounces off, and also alerts the other druid. So here they stand, Grey tries to be the valiant fighter, and he is good sure, but magic like this trumps anything a sword or axe can do. He is knocked back, not by a spell, no, peach has gotten up, turned to face them, and is brandishing her weapon. her eyes are not her own, the bloody markings all over her skin look like theyre hot from burning, she gets between her wife, grey, and this new druid, and takes a stance to defend the new witch.

if peach fought like a demon before, this took it to a literal point. plum can tell somethings residing in her body, a vessel for something, the runes drawn on her seem to hint at that too, and greys struggling to keep up with her at all, hes getting hurt. an almighty fight plays out, mostly of plum casting double time to not only try to knock the other druid down but defend and bolster grey enough to stand up to whatever peach has become. its exhausting, but quickly they realise grey is not a threat, the real problem is plum, and both attackers go for her, target the caster specifically. this works well, but plum gets to pull one some big-bollock kind of spells shes never got to use before, tells grey to run out of direct sight, and he does, before she casts. the cave is flooded with light, searing, cleansing light, her druidic hail mary, and its fantastic, downs the druid, and dislodges whatever is in her wife, but that things stubborn, got its claws in her. Plum cant think to do anything when shes grabbed and thrown down hard, peach now on top of her, it is not her face, or expression, or eyes, thats not her, but shes in there, plum can sense it, shes hesitating. where peach didnt before, she seems to be now. Plum cant think of anything else to do, so frustrated with seeing what was a good woman in this state. she gets free for a second of peachs grip, lunges forward and kisses her. one last spell, a cleansing one, needs direct contact, these kinds of spells dont tend to work so well without thre being real oomph behind them, a real tether to the afflicted. Plum can move away and cup her wifes face, peach has comepltly stopped, focus flickering from fierce and full of hate to a far softer one. plums little 'come back to us. come back to me.' that no one hears, pulls, and pulls, and drags whatever evil was in there kicking and screaming out.

they can leave there, and leave with their chief dazed, and a little confused, but alive. Greys got under her arm, plums taken the journal from their dead foes body, a coded druidic shes slowly figuring out, unravelling the truth of what happened. Peach was charmed, heavily, from day one, and lured away thanks to that deeply ingrained charm to be a willing receptical for some kind of evil spirit. to bring it into the human world. the druid she killed was essentially a cultist, and a good one at that

very nasty, very devious, knew about the druidic treaty and took advantage of it

it is once peach is home, her people calmed now shes been found, the situation explained, in a way that was careful not to put fear of druids back in them. plum handles it very well, and can go home to her wife, who she now realises she quite enjoys, and sits with her quiet as ever by the fire. she gets peach to try and rehydrate, gives her some of her tea, with WAY too much honey in it, but peach likes it that way, and tries to get her to rest. Peach is so confused, she doesnt recall the last week, her actions werent her own, whatever happened she totally lost herself. plum fills the blanks in, and gets to the point where she cant NOT tell her wife, a woma nshe was bound to in marriage out of oath, not love, that in fact she saw her with this other druid and felt... sad. a flash of peachs old teasing comes back 'jealous much?' and plum laughs, smacks her arm gently, not too hard, peach took some serious damage, but they seem to be acting like normal.

for the first night ever, peach curls up in her bed, in so much pain, trying to find comfort, and plum comes in and crawls over, she could hear peach in the dark struggling, and joins her, a small incantation to repair, like a gentle healing aura, the best she can do for her wife right now. She gets in as the big spoon, and peach feels relief from her touch, the magic helps her sleep, helsp the pain slip away, and they can recover in peace.

they still bicker nd argue, peach has a slow but steady recovery back to full health, but something always resided in her after, something that kept her up at night, something that made her see things in the darkest shadows. Whatever spirit was put in her, plum suspects it left somethign behind. None the less peach leds her people with patience and care, and plum, despite her awareness of peachs new problem, finds ways to improve her situation, and the situations of all the villagers. They are her people too, after all. the wives slowly find new ways to love each other. plum likes the water, so peach takes her out to swim, knows a clear calm river in the wood thats perfect for it. they girls get to drink together on long windy nights, and talk about their families, about each other, about what they like, dont like, where they love being, where they'd want to go and see. they find beauty in each other. It doesnt take too long before they finally find themselves FINALLY getting intimate, as most married couples do

[mixelation]

notes for the absolutely bonkers time line of toxicity (that's reborn au au). note that nothing is actually set in stone because it's derivative of reborn au, which is also not set in stone

i realized i suggested tori deciding to get with obito after the cave incident, but also that in reborn au she's actually already dating itachi when that happens. so consider

tori has been dating itachi for a few months (more if you count when she was dating him unknowingly) (her life is... dumb?)

she gets trapped in a cave by Some Guy and minato bans her from seeking vengeance

in reborn au she gets itachi to go freak out That Guy and is satisfied, but in THIS au everyone is more toxic. she has "destroys village out of affection" on the table as normal human behavior. she wants blood. she deserves blood

tori: can you BELIEVE itachi won't kill a singular guy for me obito: lmao tori is it really that big a deal? just kill him yourself tori: but it was :( tori: a cave :( tori: where i doubted anyone at all would ever help me again :( obito: obito: obito: okay FINE i'll kill him

tori breaks up with itachi specifically to seduce obito

it's an amicable break up. she doesn't tell itachi it's so she can run off with obito, but she's like "look i don't have any problem with helping you shirk your clan duties, but i still want to have my own dating life. lmk if you need something else but i won't be your fake gf" which is an entirely reasonable and mature argument for someone who is about to go after an unstable ex-missing-nin

obito is extremely confused when tori starts coming on to him (she is. not good or subtle at it) but ALSO he's kind of into it. he has a lot of weird feelings about tori but she's the one person who knows all his darkest secrets and he likes having her undivided attention. is she actually into him or is she trying to use him to murder more people? he doesn't care!

anyway i have been trying to figure out how no one intervenes in this or causes, like, some sort of permanent interpersonal fallout. and i remembered @waffliesinyoface and i joking around about toxicity just having its main cast destroy even MORE villages, and what if kushina wrecked suna's shit over gaara. so further consider

kushina goes to suna for some reason. idk maybe they host the chunin exams and they're like "send a representative..... not the hokage...... pls thnx." and she realizes how they're treating gaara and she loses her mind

kushina: SURPRISE I RUINED OUR ALLIANCE WITH AN UNTOLD AMOUNT OF MURDER!!!! kushina: also i kidnapped the kazekage's son. he's ours now kushina: he is deeply emotionally unstable and completely op and has murdered so many suna-nin kushina: but i can fix him. with my love <3 minato: o-oh

i don't think i'll have kushina PERMANENTLY adopt gaara (he has older siblings he can go back to!) but he's definitely in konoha for a hot second. so minato's life is currently

bonus child who is both crazy powerful and also desires to kill

(kushina: (shoving shukaku back in with her bare hands) HE'S FINE)

like the number of people who can handle gaara is. very low. he keeps sending gaara and naruto over to the uchiha compound for "babysitting" (Naruto keeps whining he's too OLD) but it's literally a bunch of A-ranks bc someone's sharingan is on them the whole time. the ushiha massacre 1000% doesn't happen in this time line because people are like "the uchiha are the only ones preventing us from being sand-coffined"

tori just fucking broke the hiraishin, so now he has to worry about the possibility of ANYONE ELSE doing that and killing/ruining everyone/everything he's ever cared about

obito?? decides to date her????

anyway the apparent situation of "obito, a 25 year old, has decided to date a teenager, who he's know since he was in his twenties and she was 12" is like. look, it's bad. but also minato is so tired. everyone else is so tired. obito what if you just...... didn't? please?

tori: but i'm the ultra manipulative seductress villain???

also an anon sent this

Itadei fake dating arc.... No one would even really notice/care since obitori is going on at the same time would they

Deidara doesn't give a shit about the murderous suna child. He killed him before and he'll do it again, okay. However WHY IS OBITO IN HIS APARTMENT ALL THE TIME NOW???

deidara: get her back. GET HER BACK itachi: ?? she had a very sound argument for our break up deidara: YOU'RE JUST COVERING FOR BEING A BAD BOYFRIEND

deidara is convinced tori would be SO easy to re-seduce. she likes good food and getting people to commit crimes for, okay. deidara would have just murdered that guy smh

deidara is going to show itachi how it's done

itachi is pretty sure being gay won't stop his parents from trying to get him to marry someone with a working womb, but maybe it will slow them down? certainly deidara has a good shot at scaring away any perspective dates

itachi and deidara start "dating" and no one gives it a second thought because it's the least insane thing happening right now

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

Saheb, Bibi aur Ghulaam

#3

Thank you to the lovelies @arshifiesta for celebrating IPK and setting up the great moodboards and AU.

1878, Calcutta

Eleven years old Arnav Mullick had not spoken a word in a year.

Some thought it was his parents' traumatizing deaths that led to his silence. But death was nothing new. The house had lost its middle son, his Mejda Akash at tender age of 19.

So no, death made no difference to Arnav. In fact he was happy when his philanderer of a father died of drinking as well. He deserved it. Not once had he seen his father home at night.

Arobindo Mullick would often scoff when stopped, that if any man of this house had ever spent a night in his own house?

So then some speculated that Arnav's behavioral issues had gotten worse, hence why he stopped speaking for a year.

If his darling mother was alive, she would've wrestled with anyone who thought such against her Arnob. Shyam, Arnav's Borda (boro-dada = older-brother) would perhaps be the only one to chuckle and agree with the society. Arnav was tempestuous as a child.

But quiet? Never quite.

The society would never understand that it was Akash's falling for a Baiji (courtesan) at the age of seventeen, his frequent visits leading his early introduction to alcohol despite their mother's best to protect them for it that hurt Arnav the most.

This was when Arnav swore off love.

That his otherwise pious brother was gullible to follow his father's footsteps to a kotha - where Arobindo Mullick spent all his nights.

It was his mother's haunted face and tears that left Arnav speechless. Or rather Arobindo's reply to her request to stay at home.

Has any Mullick ever spent a night in their own home?

This was when Arnav swore off marriage.

Or that despite Raja Rammohan Roy having abolished Sati-pratha a good sixty years ago, Arnav's mother was dragged to her undeserving husband's pyre by her conservative in-laws to follow patni dharam.

This was when Arnav swore off religion.

But if maa was alive, what life would she have had? Arnav saw how his uncle, Kaku, eyed her. And Arnav had seen that in the months prior to his mother's death, how she was shaved, dressed in white and forced into a strictly ritualistic dreary life.

His mother, whose hair spilled like the Ganges from Himalaya, had a beauty who could rival the Goddess, lived a life none deserved simply out of rituals and religion.

Thus when Shyam gave their mother mukh-agni, Arnav found his devotion die in his mother's pyre. And when his only hope, Borda (Shyam) set sail to London abandoning him, his words died as well.

-- -- --

1880, Calcutta

Arnav had been wrong about Borda. He returned as a Barrister from London, swiftly kicking out Kaku (father's younger brother) by bringing up property possession rights and threatened the rest of the Mullicks with incarceration for having forced their mother to die.

Thirteen years old Arnav did not know what to do when the brother he thought so wrongly about did the most just thing. It was then he decided that he too would run away to London when he came of age.

But the other thing he couldn't figure out was what to do with Boudi (bhabhi; sister in law). Their grandmother had fixed Borda (Shyam's) alliance with a member of the Tagore family.

Barely two years older than him, fifteen years old Anjali Devi was to manage the household of a twenty five years of Shyam Mullick. How could Arnav accept her as the lady of the house when the post truly belonged to Maa and only her.

But Arnav realized no rebellion was needed. Boudi arrived with the biggest reverence to their mother, along with the grief of losing her own. She chatted constantly with Arnav, not questioning his silence at all - Borda had gotten fed up after a few tries.

And over the years Arnav realized he had a sibling more in Boudi than in Borda.

Perhaps, perhaps maa's essence found its way into Anjali Boudi. It would explain why Arnav's first words were celebrated by Anjali as if it was her first child who had uttered their first words.

A child she was unable to give through all of her married life.

And perhaps his family was cursed against joy for the moment Arnav saw his mother in Anjali, he saw his father in Shyam.

The easy money he made as a barrister faded quicker given his lavish expenditure in trying to out-host the British and the Indian royalties. He belittled Anjali's lineage as much as he could and tried to prove that he was a bigger industrialist than the Tagores.

Lawyer he was, businessman he wasn't.

And thus at age eighteen Arnav had to run to London, no longer chasing any dream, but at least attempting to make the fortune his brother boasted of having.

-- -- --

1893, London

London was far more accommodating than India would ever be. This was what Arnav believed until, of course, an intellectual sparring with Boudi's cousin - Rabindranath - would get him thinking about perspectives.

To think of it, majority of India's existing regressive laws were nothing but British Victorian laws.

Then who was regressive?

It had been a lazy afternoon where Arnav was entertaining his thoughts, alone, as usual when a telegraph changed his life.

URGENT STOP SHYAM DA MARRYING AGAIN STOP

Arnav tossed the telegraph aside, grabbed his documents and hailed the first ship - premier class - to India.

He only had two goals.

Stop Shyam Mullick from marrying and ruin everybody who stood as an obstacle to Bo- Didi's happiness.

-- -- --

A/N: Yes, babua is here and so is his very very painful history! Lemme know what you all think :)

Tagging @shiyaravi @maansiloves @featheredclover @chutkiandchotte @laad-governess @msbhagirathi @phuljari @hand-picked-star @barshifan (updating it slowly and steadily)

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Series Synopsis: The story of how you, the bastard daughter of the Hiiragi clan, gain power in a country at constant war — and how, just as quickly, you lose it, too.

Chapter Synopsis: The morning after your encounter, you meet a strange gardener with an even stranger name. That night, you strike a risky deal with the ninja.

Series Masterlist

Pairing(s): Otoya x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.0k

Content Warnings: sengoku period au, character death, angst, sad ending, implied abuse, lots of political content, violence and war, the characters will probably be ooc a bit (as is to be expected when you put a bunch of soccer freaks into the warring states period), they are all morally questionable AT BEST, i promise i don’t hate your fav if they act heinous it’s just that someone has to, the prose here is so purple you might confuse it for reo mikage, i may or may not include original characters, i do try and do a bit of research but this is a bllk reader insert fanfic so please keep your expectations for historical accuracy and whatnot at a minimum, possibly a bit suggestive eventually

A/N: hello eita nation i hope you all are doing well on this fine day!! as i am sure you will be able to tell by this chapter i was born to be w karasu and forced to be w otoya 😩💔 JKJK dw guys there will be no second lead nonsense going on here trust 🤞🏻

When you next awoke, it was to a sore back and a rough feeling in your mouth — a dehydrated and papery sensation to your tongue, which lay heavy against your palate. You sat with your elbows digging into your thighs, your cheeks warm against your palms, your nightclothes clinging to your body in a film of sweat.

Last night had been the worst of them all, though it had begun so wonderfully. How had your mind thought of such horrible circumstances, in which you had promised Reiji’s life in exchange for your own? That assassin, or ninja, or whatever he had called himself…why had you dreamt of him? What did any of it mean? This was the first terror which had not culminated in your mother’s death. Were they evolving in nature? Would it now be your own demise which you saw?

Staggering to your feet, you began to ready yourself, clinging to the daily routine as a sort of stability. It hadn’t been real. The assassin, Yukimiya’s betrayal, none of it had been real. It had only been a dream. He would awaken soon, that Mister Kenyu Yukimiya, and he would be as kind and gentle as you had remembered, and once the negotiations were completed, he would marry you and take you to his manor and you would finally be freed of the names L/N and Hiiragi alike.

Dipping your fingers into a pot of herbal treatment, you swiped them across your face and waited for it to soothe your frayed nerves and inflamed skin. The treatment was a rare luxury that you had been given by your father — he spared no expense when it came to your beauty, for your face was a man’s first greeting and last farewell, and if an alliance was to be made, then both needed to be pleasant. After waiting for the prescribed time, you soaked a clean rag in water and dabbed it away, careful to ensure that you did not rub too harshly and undo the effects entirely.

During this process, you saw that there was something unsightly on your neck. Furrowing your brow, you leaned closer to your mirror, angling your chin away from the mark and rubbing a finger against it, hissing at the contact, which stung more than you had anticipated.

It was a shallow wound, so ugly and precise that it could only have been made by a blade. Falling backwards, you scrambled away from your dressing table, looking wildly around the room, searching for any signs of disturbance.

There was nothing. Of course, if he had been hired by a clan as high-profile as the Yukimiyas, and for such a delicate undertaking, then it stood to reason that he would not – that he would not have left anything behind. Anything but the fright which curled over your heart like a fist and the laceration on your neck, which had almost spelled your death.

Despite your efforts to convince yourself otherwise, you were now faced with the fact that it had not been a nightmare. You really had almost been killed. You really had promised your half-brother’s life away to that person — your half-brother! How could you have done that? You were the one who had killed a star, the one who was a bastard, the one who was unwanted. If Reiji died, then the Hiiragis would be lost, left without an heir, at a time when your father was far too old to produce another. And you — you were nothing. If you were to die, then what? It would not matter to anyone.

You could only stare at your reflection in the mirror, at the scarlet stroke against your neck, and wonder at the grave evil you had committed. You had to tell someone. At the earliest convenience, you had to warn your half-brother and father about this plot against your family. If they knew, then they could increase their defenses, protect the manor until the Yukimiyas and their retainers were dealt with, until that ninja was found and brought to task.

Reiji cared not for the propriety of knocking nor announcing his presence, not when he was in a fury, as he was today. He stormed into your room while you were lost in your thoughts, stopping with his hands very near to your throat, as if he had considered choking you but found no merit in it at the last moment.

“What did you do?” he said.

“I know not of what you speak,” you said.

“Yukimiya,” he spat, the name falling from his lips like the venom of a snake. Well, Hiiragis were serpents, weren’t they? You understood that comparison better than anyone. “He has vanished in the night. What did you do to him? How did you chase him away?”

“You believe that it was my doing?” you said. “That I, whether out of malice or ineptitude, drove him away?”

“What else could it be?” he said. “The cursed daughter of the Hiiragi…do you know what they call you in the village? The laughingstock you are? Perhaps it is that he came to know of your vile nature and was duly terrified. For that I cannot blame him, though it was a cowardly act to flee without warning. Now, an alliance is all but impossible, and it is your fault.”

“I cannot claim to even understand the affairs of the daimyos,” you said. “So how could I have meddled with them?”

He was blaming you. His own would-be murderer had been foiled, wholly thanks to your actions, yet he was accusing you of a crime, of dooming an alliance which had only ever been a farce. You wanted to tell him these things, tell them to him well, but something made you pause before the words could come.

“Insolent witch,” he said, and then his eyes zeroed in on the column of your neck. “You have been injured?”

You wished that he was asking out of concern, but in fact it was nothing but an appraisal. Were you, his father’s precious asset, damaged in some way? Or was this injury some clue towards Mister Yukimiya’s flight from the estate? These questions flickered across the pale seas of his irises, and you pursed your lips.

You could say it now. You could tell him what had happened, the truth of it, and you sensed that he might believe you. Reluctantly, unwillingly, and perhaps not entirely, but he might believe you enough that he would take the threat seriously. The manor would be fortified within the hour. An army would be amassed and sent to the Yukimiyas before the moon’s cycle was complete. You had that power. You could save your half-brother, save him as well as yourself.

Though, would it be fast enough? The ninja could be anywhere. He could even be in the manor already, and you were certain that your betrayal would not go unnoticed if that was the case. You’d be dead as soon as you tried to warn him, and Reiji’s end would inevitably follow.

Something coiled in your stomach, something like a pit of serpents which writhed in a frenzy as you came to a sure conclusion. It was not an attractive one, but you were so certain of it that, in that moment, it became an unavoidable truth.

No matter what you did, Reiji would die. It was written, was set in stone, and you could not change it even if you wanted to. Your choice, then, wasn’t between saving him or not saving him — he was no longer a person that could be saved. The one who still could be, the one whose life hung in the balance — it was you.

“I rolled onto a stone,” you said. “I have since cast it from the window. I am saddened to hear of what happened with Mister Yukimiya, but I swear to you on my life that I had no involvement in it.”

“What good is your life?” he said. “Swear on something of a greater value.”

“Then I swear it on yours,” you said. “I am telling you the truth.”

“I shall have you banished if I find you are lying,” he said. “Banished or executed. To make such a claim on my honor...you are shameless to say the least, Y/N.”

He left with a flourish, his robes billowing behind him, the painted screen obscuring his figure as he stalked away. You swallowed as you watched him leave, your cut burning with the sin of the lie.

The manor was in a disarray after Kenyu Yukimiya’s disappearance, and it was all you could do to sneak some food from the kitchens and then tiptoe outside to the gardens to eat. Reiji’s anger would be pale in comparison to your father’s, and though your father was less likely to turn his ire upon you, he was not the sort of person that one preferred to be around when he was in such a mood.

Sitting on a bench swing, hidden from the path by a grove of ginkgo trees, you pushed off with your feet so that you could sway gently as you ate. The rocking motion must’ve been something like being on a boat, you believed, though you could not know for yourself. You had never left the manor, were not allowed to, and so the ocean remained a mystery, albeit a beautiful one.

Still exhausted from the previous night, you closed your eyes once you were finished with your semblance of a breakfast, folding your hands in your lap, though you did not allow your head to loll back as you longed to. You could not sleep in such a place, but this dignified form of repose would be acceptable even if you were caught by Reiji or your father.

“Are you asleep, lady?”

What felt like only moments later, you were startled to consciousness by a voice which was as tentative as it was foreign. Your eyelashes fluttered open, slowly and then all at once as you realized a man your age stood before you.

“Ah, who are you?” you said, still blinking the grogginess from your vision. He was dressed in the garb of a gardener, and true to form there was mud flecking his uniform, but for some reason he held a wooden sword at his side. When he realized you had noticed it, his face reddened, and he bowed his head in surrender.

“You may punish me as you see fit, Miss Hiiragi,” he said.

“Excuse me?” you said, genuinely confused. “I was only asking your name because I found you unfamiliar…and do you mean to mock me with that address? Miss Hiiragi?”

He had an open and honest tone, with a twang of a simpler accent than the one which you had grown up around. His features were fine, still unweathered from the sun and wind, angular in a way which belied his true youth, and both his hair and his eyes were dark, though they had an iridescence to them — like crow-feathers or beetle-wings. It was impossible to describe the effect, for when you listed these attributes in your mind, it felt as though you were speaking about someone quite plain, but all in all he actually had a pleasant appearance. One might even consider him handsome, if they were so inclined.

“Mock you?” he said, his knuckles white against the grip of the training weapon. “I did not. Is it — is it that you are the Lady Hiiragi? I beg your pardon for the offense. ”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re new, are you not? When did you get here, and from where are you from?”

“I am,” he said. “I came this week, from a village nearer to the river. My father is — was a foot soldier in the employ of a samurai, but he was killed in a skirmish, and so I was sent to study in a temple.”

“This is not a temple,” you pointed out. He gave you a wry grin.

“It wasn’t a life I found suitable,” he said. “I left as soon as I could, and I have been in search of work ever since — whether as a foot soldier like my father, or an even less glamorous occupation, it mattered little to me. Lord Hiiragi was the first to hire me despite my name.”

“Your name?” you said.

“Tabito Karasu,” he said.

“The traveling crow?” you repeated. When he nodded, you could not stop yourself from snorting. “Is that really it? It cannot be. Surely you jest!”

“It is a title as much as it is a moniker,” he admitted. “I was only ever known as Karasu before my father died, as he was before me. It was after I escaped the temple that people began to call me Tabito. The traveler. The crow without a home.”

“You tell a good story,” you said. “Though I fear I cannot take you at your word quite yet, Tabito Karasu.”

How could you trust him? Karasu, whose arrival coincided exactly with the Yukimiyas’ plot and the ninja’s threat, who held a sword in his hands despite his status as a gardener. He was not your assailant from the previous night — you would not forget that voice so soon, and anyways you believed the ninja had been slenderer than Karasu, leaner and of a smaller frame, at least based on the way his body had felt against your own. Yet it was not an impossibility that they were in league, that Karasu was meant to observe your actions and report back to the ninja, so it would be folly for you to lower your guard.

“Because of the sword,” he said. “And my error in addressing you. I apologize for both, Lady Hiiragi.”

“Lady Hiiragi is dead,” you said. “The mother of my half-brother. He tore his way out of her womb and left her a lifeless husk. You are lucky my father was not around to hear you call me that; he’d have your head for the assumption. You were closer when you referred to me as Miss Hiiragi, though not exactly on the mark. Have the other servants truly not warned you about me?”

“They shun me,” Karasu said. “I could not tell you the reason why. Perhaps it is that they have not warmed to me yet. Perhaps they never will.”

“Servants take after their masters,” you said, taking pity on him. “Those in the Hiiragis’ service will not accept you, an outsider, until you have proven yourself to be one of them. If that is the extent of your ambition, then I should advise you to keep out of trouble — if it is possible for a person like you, traveling crow.”

You gestured at the sword. His fingers twitched, but he did not relinquish his hold on it. You were not sure whether he was embarrassed or angry; regardless of which he felt, he straightened his back, standing with the pride of a samurai, which was incongruous with his humble background.

“You were surprised that I had not been warned about you,” he said. “Yet I cannot see anything about you which would merit warning.”

“Supposedly, I am cursed,” you said. “Y/N L/N, the daughter of a servant, whose birth was marked by the death of a star. The laughingstock of the village and the manor alike, I am told. But Lady Hiiragi died before she could give my father a legitimate daughter, so I have in some sense adopted that role.”

“I see,” Karasu said. “Will you be consoled if I tell you that I have in fact heard some whispers in the kitchens about you? However, they painted you in a far more monstrous light. I was expecting the infamous Miss L/N to be an altogether hideous beast, but you are entirely a normal girl.”

“It is good to hear that my notoriety has not faded any,” you said bitterly. “Enough about myself, though. What are you doing in these gardens with one of the samurai’s swords? Is your work not of a tamer nature? There are no enemies to slay amongst the flowers, I am sure.”

“In this season, gardening is an easy task, so I have an excess of free time. I spend it training, for it is as you said — this is not the extent of my ambitions,” he said.

“That sword is not yours,” you said. You waited for him to deny it furiously, but to your surprise, he shrugged and then nodded.

“It is not,” he affirmed. “That is why I told you you can punish me as you see fit. I have stolen from the Hiiragis for my own personal gain, and I do not even feel guilt for my actions. It will be better for my constitution if you make me regret it; I am certain I will not without your intervention, and indeed I shall continue in the manner I have been should you leave me be, so I shall take whatever punishment you dole out with gratitude.”

You let out a delighted laugh. He was a brazen man, this Tabito Karasu, though he hid his boldness under a guise of duty and deference. Uncrossing your ankles, you stood and smiled at him, not out of submission but in recognition. He eyed you warily, but you swept past him, continuing on the path back towards the manor, though not without looking over your shoulder at him one final time.

“Consider yourself lucky that it was me you stumbled upon and not Reiji,” you said. “Verily, I remain unassuaged as to the truth of your identity and motives in coming here, but whatever the case may be, I have no desire to see you bloodied and beaten. Continue as you have been, then, though I implore you to be more and more careful. A snake never lets a bird out of its jaws once it has it there; you’d do well to remember that you are one such bird, Tabito Karasu, and you have found yourself in a nest of serpents with eager mouths.”

He might’ve thanked you, fallen to his feet and groveled, even, but you did not give him the chance to, and neither did you think it to be in his character. You left him standing by the ginkgos, the wooden sword balanced expertly in his hands, a thoughtful expression on his face as he swung it against the trunk of one of those ancient trees, over and over until you were well out of sight.

“Miss L/N!” Anri said, as soon as you re-entered the manor. “There you are! Lord Hiiragi has summoned you to his study. I have turned the estate upside down searching for you!”

“I was having breakfast in the gardens,” you said, omitting your conversation with Karasu. “And then I suppose at some point I fell asleep. It is harder to have nightmares in the sunlight, so it was a peaceful rest, which I have not had in some time. I’m sorry for the trouble.”

You both walked at a brisk pace towards the study, which was at the heart of the manor due to its importance to the lord. Anri’s face was flushed, though she had no reason to be worried; were it anyone else who had been summoned, she’d have been blamed for the tardiness, but it was you, and if there was anything the Hiiragis enjoyed, it was finding fault in any and all of your actions.

Your father sat cross-legged on the floor at his desk, a brush stained with ink in his right hand, the damp bristles wavering over a piece of rice paper. He was not writing, however, and as you watched, a droplet of ink splashed onto the pale expanse of the blank sheet, blooming into a black mark the size of your thumb. He scowled and returned the brush to its holder, balling up the ruined paper and tossing it in the wastebasket.

“Lord Hiiragi,” Anri said. “I have brought Miss L/N.”

His gaze snapped up to meet yours. “At long last. What was the cause of your delay, daughter?”

“I thought you would be far too preoccupied with other matters to care for my whereabouts, so I entertained myself in the gardens. I see now that it was a misguided assumption,” you said, kneeling on the floor across from him.

“Has Reiji informed you, then?” he said.

“Of Mister Yukimiya’s disappearance? Yes, he told me this morning,” you said. “What shall we do now?”

“I have sent a carrier pigeon to the Yukimiya estate demanding an explanation,” your father said. “Until then, we do nothing but wait.”

“An explanation? Have you not the slightest clue what might’ve driven their decision?” you said incredulously.

“It would be unwise of me to jump to conclusions,” he said. “An alliance is our end goal. If we move too hastily, then we risk losing that.”

The Hiiragis were a great clan, and their power was coveted by many simply due to the sheer amount they had. Should your father command it, the Hiiragi army could bring even the Yukimiyas to their knees, though it might take a toll on their forces. Yet it remained not to be an impossibility, and you could not understand why your father did not see the need to act at once.

“We ought to make a show of strength,” you said quietly, softly, knowing that, as always, your father would dismiss your suggestion in turn. “What the Yukimiyas have done is a grave insult to the Hiiragis, even if it was not intentional. Should we not, then, remind them of who they parley with?”

It was your attempt at warning your father. You could not call him to arms and tell him that the Yukimiyas had all but declared war upon your family, not with the ninja’s threat looming over you, yet neither could you stand by idly and watch the destruction of the Hiiragi clan — a clan which had never treated you well but was yours nevertheless.

“The relationships between daimyos are too complicated for you to understand,” your father said. “You are thinking entirely too simplistically. We cannot bare our fangs at every ruffled feather; we’d exhaust our resources before doing anything of significance. It is just as likely that Kenyu Yukimiya grew frightened of his future bride as it is that the clan has some or another scheme up their sleeves. Our duty is to rule out any other explanation before we ready ourselves for war.”

Of course he would say that — to him, Mister Yukimiya’s disappearance was still a mystery. An abnormality. He didn’t know what you did, that the entire purpose of the visit had only been to assassinate Reiji, your father’s only heir. If he had that knowledge, then he would surely take your side, but how could you give it to him in a way that did not invite further questioning?

“Can we not make preparations in the meantime?” you said. “The worst is that we will have to dismiss the army, but it’d be better if we are ready, should the Yukimiyas prove traitorous.”

“Were it that simple, I’d already have done it,” your father said coldly, in a voice which meant that he would not entertain further discussion on the matter. “Every single movement that the daimyos make is subject to scrutiny. Gathering forces in earnest will not escape unnoticed by the peasants, and from there, word will spread. The conflict will grow far more than it needs to.”

You wanted to tell him. You wished that you had the ability, that you could lean over that desk and shake him by the shoulders. You are a Hiiragi, you would shout if you could, behave as a Hiiragi must. His forebears would not have been so cautious, so cowardly — your father’s insistence on peace, on alliance, would’ve been admirable in another time, one that was more conducive to such goals, but now it bordered on witless. Of course he did not know the extent of the situation, but even then, as a daimyo, and the head of the Hiiragi clan besides, he was supposed to be ready to take action at any moment. He was supposed to give up anything for the honor and justice of his family.

“Very well, father,” you said. “I apologize for meddling. It was not my place.”

What else could you do? It was your week of terrors, after all. Even if you could say something, even if you did not live in fear of that ninja and his kunai, you doubted your father would believe you. What man would summon an army at the word of his ill-fated daughter? Perhaps the witless one was you, for thinking that speaking to him would’ve had any effect on what was to come.

“Correct,” he said. “Focus on your own shortcomings — of which there are many. Leave the work of the clan to Reiji and I, who are doubly well-suited to it.”

“Yes, father,” you said, standing and bowing. “By your leave.”

“Study today,” he said, a command, not a request. “If your body and face are not enough to keep a husband, then your mind and conversation must make up for them. Do not take lunch; study until supper, and then go straight to bed, so that you do not appear haggard when the next suitor comes.”

“As you wish, father,” you said, bowing at him one more time and then exiting the study, your nails digging into your palms so hard you were shocked that they did not come back bloody.

After the third hour of study, the characters swam before your eyes, endless blurs which you could not hope to decipher. You spent more time gazing out at the gardens, admiring the butterflies and wondering if that strange boy was still practicing his illicit swordsmanship, than you did actually working. It was not to your detriment; you were already far better-read than most your age. It had not been a lack of education which drove Kenyu Yukimiya away, and furthering your knowledge of history and the arts would not by any means change what had occurred or prevent its repetition.

The sight of Anri made you faint and queasy, but in a grateful way, for she in that moment represented a liberation from your torment. You were glad, too, that it had been her sent to fetch you and not your half-brother, who surely would’ve jeered at you in a manner you did not at present have the wherewithal to face with decorum.

Dinner was terse and strained, beginning and ending without conversation. Your father and half-brother both exchanged glances frequently, as if they were in on some private secret that you could never comprehend even if you were to hear it. There was a camaraderie between them, a relationship you could not hope to have with either, so you supposed it wasn’t out of the question, but this time, you did not feel as put-out as you once might’ve. You, too, had secrets of your own now, secrets which were far riskier to hold than anything they could’ve kept from you. It vindicated you to think that, in some sense, you had something over them both, despite their superiority.

“There will be more suitors,” your father said when you got up to return to your chambers. “The Yukimiyas are not the only clan in the area, and far from the most powerful. Another man will come for your hand soon enough, daughter, and when he does, you must ensure that he does not run with his tail tucked as Kenyu Yukimiya did.”

From what you knew of him, Kenyu Yukimiya had never tucked his tail a day in his life. He didn’t seem the type. You wagered he had pranced all of the way back to his estate with his head and spirits high at the success of his clan’s half-baked plot.

“Yes, father,” you said, sounding like a lost bird which could only repeat one mournful note. Yes, father, yes, father. When you were with him, it was all you could say. He huffed and then waved his hand at you obliquely, a clear dismissal that you would be hard-pressed to refuse.

Scurrying back to your room before Reiji or your father could call you back and place more inane demands on you, you readied yourself for the night, watching your window in fear all the while. What if you had not done enough? What if, in attempting to warn your father, you had revealed too much? What if this was your final night alive? Your heart pounded like drums in your ears, so fast and harsh it felt as though it might leap out of your throat.

Crawling under your blanket with trepidation, you lay on your back with your eyes closed, though sleep did not come readily. This was not a surprise — no person could rest in such conditions, when every breath they took had the chance of being their last.

“Don’t open your eyes.”

The voice was the same, and before you knew it, a familiar kunai was pressing against your neck. This time, though, it was the flat of the blade which he held to your pulse, so that it was more a reminder meant to intimidate than anything.

“It’s you,” you said.

“Hello,” he said, oddly cheerily. “Are you surprised?”

“No,” you said.

“I am,” he confessed. “I thought you would’ve run to your half-brother as soon as the sun rose into the sky, bawled to him all about your terrible experience and used the cut on your neck as proof. Yet you didn’t; in fact, when he approached you about it, you lied.”

“I suspected you remained in the manor, or nearby. The moment I told Reiji anything, you’d have killed us both,” you said. “No matter how swiftly my father raised his forces, it would not be enough to save us. Save me.”

“What a sad business it all is,” he said. He seemed unnecessarily amused, though then again, he had been like that last night, hadn’t he? Your plight was nothing but a pastime for him. Spiderwebs crisscrossed the back of your eyelids as you cursed him internally. “Your father, I mean. Ignoring his poor daughter like that…I’m sure he’ll come to regret it one day. It’s admirable that you tried for as long as you did.”

“My father — did you follow me the whole day?” you said.

“That gardener boy is handsome,” he said instead of answering the question. “Do you fancy him? It seemed like you did.”

“How did I not notice you? The entire day, and yet I had hardly a clue that you were there at all,” you said, your skin crawling at the thought that he had kept such a close eye on you without you noticing. He hummed thoughtfully.

“It’s my trade,” he said. “Why would I tell you my secrets? Suffice to say you will never know when I am there and when I am not; neither will you ever realize just who is willing to betray you for a few coins.”

“Do you mean to kill my half-brother tonight?” you said.

“Not particularly,” he said.

“Why do you prolong this?” you said. “Won’t the Yukimiyas be upset with you?”

“They’re the ones who erred first, so they can’t be,” he said. Though you could not see, it felt like he must be shrugging flippantly when he said that. “The Yukimiyas know better than anyone the value of patience. They’d wait for years if that was what it took for me to complete the job in the way they specified.”

“But you could complete it at this very moment, should you so please,” you said.

“Of course, I could do many things,” he said. “Yet I have found some diversion in this manor, and as I am so rarely excited by anything nowadays, I have decided to indulge myself in this new interest for as long as it keeps my attention.”

“And what might that diversion be?” you said. He poked you in the forehead.

“How far will you go, I wonder?” he said. “Most of the highborn, especially those altruistic ladies, are willing to give up their lives at the slightest provocation. I have never met any noble so reluctant to part with their existence as you. To think you would even give up your own half-brother, bastard as you are, for it! It’s interesting. It’s definitely interesting, that you add nothing of value to this world, and yet you are the one so determined to remain a part of it.”

“That’s all?” you said. “My life and how I lead it is nothing but an experiment to you?”

“An experiment, or a game, or a gamble,” he said. “Whatever you want to call it.”

“Yet games and gambles are better played with pairs,” you said, an idea forming in the back of your mind, one based solely on his curious personality, your last effort at salvaging something of this mess you were in. “There is no equality in things as they are.”

“Do you have a proposition?” he said, voice ticking up with intrigue. You swallowed, your throat bobbing against the metal of the kunai.

“If, within a moon’s cycle, I can find you, then you must change your allegiance and become mine,” you said.

“Yours?” he said. “Not the Hiiragis’?”

“Mine,” you repeated. “I have nothing to my name. Can I not at least claim your loyalty if I manage such an arduous task?”

He scoffed. “Very well. And what if you do not succeed?”

“It will be as we initially agreed,” you said. “I will give you leave to kill my half-brother, and then I shall help you escape this estate unharmed.”

“Alright,” he said, not even taking a moment to mull it over. “This game is even more exciting than the one I conceived of. I have a stipulation, though.”

“What is it?” you said.

“You cannot search for me in the night,” he said. “Once the moon rises, you must keep your eyes closed until daylight.”

“Do you mean to continue visiting me, then?” you said.

“It’s lonely, living in a place where no one can know you exist. Speaking to you is the only method I have of staving off that isolation,” he said.

“I accept your stipulation,” you said after a moment of consideration. It was a relatively harmless request, wasn’t it? You had no plans of running around the manor in the middle of the night, anyways.

“Try your hardest, Miss L/N,” he said, removing his kunai. “Though you must know that I only allowed this because I am assured of your failure.”

You exhaled. To some, this might have seemed a dangerous proposal, but in your mind, it was the only thing you could do. Besides, if you failed, then was there even a consequence? None that you were not already prepared to handle. Your half-brother’s death was something that, only hours ago, you had decided was inexorable. You had grieved it already, so it mattered little to you if you saved him or not.

That wasn’t why you were doing it, anyways. It was for yourself more than anything; you could not bear the paranoia of knowing that he was your enemy and was ever-present, ever-waiting with that kunai of his. You wanted him on your side. You wanted this ninja to belong to you, for you had this inkling that you would be a different kind of invincible if you had him, a kind of invincible that you could never dream of being otherwise. With him, you could reach the status which your father and half-brother enjoyed by virtue of their birth alone.

“I won’t fail,” you said, though you were unsure if he was gone by this point or not. “I cannot.”

There was a soft sound, but you could not tell if it was a chuckle or the wind blowing against the window. Either way, after that it was silent, and you knew he had finally left you alone.

[kijosakka]

Total Drama World Tour AU, where before everyone votes, Alejandro asks Noah: "Since you knew my true colors, why didn't you team up with Heather? Why didn't you warn the others earlier? Why did you only warn Owen and Tyler now?"... Noah then answers: "Because I don't care what you do with the others... If they're dumb enough to fall for your tricks and charms, then they deserve to lose... But Owen is my best friend, and I don't like how you treat him, so he's the only one I'm warning..." 😏 What if Noah's answer makes Alejandro decide to vote off Duncan instead?... How would Noah react to not being voted off?... What if Alejandro likes Noah's logical apathy?

there’s something in how (according to the wiki, at least), noah takes notice of alejandro’s sketchy behavior in germany and only ever brings up the trust thing challenges later in london — not to say noah hasn’t spoken with owen about alejandro before then (seen through when owen says noah told him heather and alejandro were into each other ‘big time’, he’s obviously talked about him before) but as owen’s asking ‘why don’t you like him’ and noah explains why he distrusts him that would indicate it’s something that specifically hasn’t been brought up before.

all this to say that he’s spoken to owen about them before and it shows if nothing else he wants owen to be wary of alejandro, which would be why he jumps at the opportunity to further warn and explain to him his distrust.

anyway i’d imagine post-challenge, while dissatisfied with it, noah would expect his elimination (thus giving him reason to lay all this cards on the table via telling alejandro why he did so, if not being just straight-up spiteful and wanting to gloat), adding to the surprise when he isn’t.

duncan would be saved by chris here (because of,, drama or whatever. the dreaded love triangle), and on noah’s part probably dread or annoyance with a smidge of being happy he’s not voted off — because, yeah, he’s still here, but now he has to deal with that he revealed himself to alejandro and through implicitly voting for him duncan may be wary of any alliance between them, leaving him as the option.

because i do think alejandro would leverage him warning owen to his own advantage — and even if there’s no goodwill or trust, duncan would play swing vote if it means the heat is off himself. thus, if alejandro says, owen is gone — to keep noah close; but further than that i do think alejandro would at least find his apathy interesting, if initially in a purely strategic way.

a kind of, ‘noah is proactive enough to recognize me but spiteful enough to think the people around him don’t “deserve” to be warned because they can’t see it themselves’.

there would be appreciation there for his being able to even see through his façade in the first place, and im sure grudging respect for being willing to say it knowing everyone else is fooled and it would cause dislike to be thrown noahs way (…..not that i think noah thought of this. i just think alejandro would assume noah did)

i do think noah would, while being pretty incensed at leveraged into such a forced alliance situation, go along with it, riding alejandros coattails to keep owen safe.

story-wise it would make sense for owen to still be eliminated in sweden (through a tiebreaker, probably) so noah can properly break away from alejandro come merger and team with someone else

……or conversely noah stays with alejandro and flat-out trashes it to get himself voted out. arguably the most in-character thing for him to do.

^ also because through the entirety of it, noah may recognize it for what it is; showing off. alejandro has been shown in-canon to be the kind of person who puts showing off above strict pragmatism, so he’s ‘punishing’ noahs speaking out by ‘showing off’ that he can leverage the situation to his own benefit anyway. and noah, spiteful and upset that his friend is gone, would seize the opportunity to piss alejandro off via ruining his whole plan.

this is all to say i want this particular set-up to turn into noah vaguely annoyed but mostly apathetic at his situation and for alejandro to be the stupid loser he really is genuinely growing to really like noah and his brand of scheming (romantic or otherwise honestly). more stupid loser alejandro please. completely dumbfounded when noah gets himself out.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Mel x Silco - Something Blue AU - A Drabble Thing

Based on this ask by anonymous <3

Part of an AU meta of the Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO universe.

"You are my daughter! Your future, and your legacy, are mine to protect."

"Is that why you cast me out? Protection?" Mel lifts the blue-tipped brush. The bristles sigh across the canvas. With methodic strokes, she begins to paint. "Or was it because I stood in the way of your ambitions?"

"What I did, I did to keep you safe!"

cw: sex, angst, dysfunctional relationships, abandonment issues

Based on this ask on Tumblr:

In the married AU, how would Mel and Silco reveal their relationship to the public and possibly their inner circles (the biggest of elephant in the room being Ambessa). Perhaps a discreet kiss at a public event or just say yep we're an item.

At the outset, Silco and Mel in the FnF-verse absolutely opted for secrecy during their, er, courtship. Given their alliance is literally struck due to backroom deals and intercity espionage, they keep their meetings discreet and their trysts tightly under wraps, in the guise of visiting each others' cities in the interests of diplomatic galas, festivals, and trade expos.

In these neutral settings, they are the most likely to interact and thus their illicit dealings can be easily masked.

By the time their closeness transitions from alliance to affair, they've actually hit a conundrum. Silco, a born provocateur, delights in stirring the pot to get the upper hand. Meanwhile, Mel, having been trained from childhood to be a savvy statesperson, is more restrained, particularly with a subject as controversial as her private affairs. And yet their reactions are paradoxical: while she wants to maintain her privacy, she enjoys seeing him lose control; while he enjoys the thrill of their secret trysts, he'd also relish the look on the Council's faces once they realize his fingerprints are all over the Crown Jewel of Topside.

And yet, when they finally formalize their agreement, the dichotomy culminates in remarkably different reactions.

Silco, who's always had a subversive flair for dramatics, suddenly loses all his trademark chutzpah. His first instinct is to keep the announcement under strict lock and key, a reaction Mel finds absolutely baffling. Bashfulness, now? Here is a man who's always in control of every narrative, and who is finally in a position to dictate the terms of his relationship.

And yet...

Even among his close circle, he's cagey and close-mouthed. He shares the bare bones with Sevika (to her glowering displeasure). She is not happy with how his fraternization has rapidly crossed the line from business to home. She is also, in her foresight, not the least bit surprised. She warns him bluntly about the future political repercussions, and their impact on Zaun.

Jinx, meanwhile, has already put two and two together. Her reaction is as expected:

Boom.

"No! No no no!"

They square off in his office, where she's burst in, a fitful cannonball. Silco is sitting at his desk, his expression deliberately neutral. Jinx's face is contorted, her blue hair an alarum of distress. Her cheeks are streaked with tears.

"Jinx," Silco begins reasonably. "Please listen..."

"You're leaving me! Just like Vi!"

"I'm not leaving you. I would never—"

"No, no, NO! You're leaving because I'm a monster and I ruin everything and everyone hates me!"

"Jinx, please."

"I knew it." She grabs fistfuls of her own hair. "I knew I wasn't worth saving, or keeping, or—"

"Stop that." Rising, he rounds the desk to encompass her in his arms. "Don't you dare speak that way again."

Jinx wrenches herself loose. "Why should I listen to you? You're a liar! You're gonna marry that Piltie and leave me behind, and I'll have nobody, nothing, ever again, just like before." She's sobbing openly, her voice ragged with rage. "Just like always."

"I am not lying, Jinx." Silco's voice is strained. His is trying hard to hold it together. "I will marry, yes. But you have my word: I will not abandon you."

She laughs wildly. "You already have!"

"Jinx—"

"If you really loved me, you wouldn't do this. You wouldn't leave me all alone, again, with nothing!"

"Jinx, please. Listen to me."

"No! I won't sit by and be left with nothing! I won't! I won't!"

"My lovely—"

"No! Don't touch me!"

She bolts, a blue comet shooting up the rafters. Silco is left, hands dangling, alone.

For the next few weeks, Jinx will remain sequestered in her workshop, either in a manic burst of tinkering, or staring vacantly at the wall. Silco will try to coax her to talk to him. But she'll either ignore him or scream at him to go away. He'll have no choice but to give her space, and hope the bombshell doesn't destroy their bond. In the meantime, he'll try to keep his meetings with Mel discreet, for the sake of easing Jinx's mind. And salving her hurts.

Eventually, she will thaw.

Eventually.

Mel, on her part, is disappointed, but understanding of Silco's need to proceed at a cautious pace. She's seen his girl in the flesh, and can empathize with her fragility. She'll encourage him to do what he can to repair his relationship. But she will also gently remind him of the precariousness of their alliance, and how they must secure the groundwork they've laid. Publicly formalizing their union will do just that. In time, the shock of it will settle, and their families will have no choice but to accept it, no matter the fallout.

As for Mel's family?

She has already informed Ambessa. And, she's done so with a brazen aplomb.  Despite being groomed to be discretion itself, she has absolutely no qualms about her affair becoming public knowledge. She's been banished by her clan; in the eyes of her compatriots, she is nothing. Therefore she has nothing left to lose. 

Finally free of the chains of her own making, Mel is now ready to stake her claim, and no one else's. She'll take Silco out on the town and proudly declare herself his, even though the news will be met with shock, and its downside, snobbery. The Council will be livid; the public will be baffled; the press will go wild.

And Mel will just smile.

Ambessa, predictably, is apoplectic. Mel, whatever their differences, was always destined for greatness. How dare she throw it all away on a street-rat from the Lanes?

She'll confront Mel at her apartments.

"I don't believe it. Of all the men at your disposal, you'd pick a wretched, half-rancid thing?"

Mel, her back to Ambessa, slowly mixes her paint: a deep, iridescent blue. Her bare canvas sits on the easel.  A possibility, beckoning.

"Is this your idea of a joke?" Ambessa goes on. "Some last-ditch rebellion? To spit in my face, and that of our entire house?"

"I stopped belonging to our house the moment you banished me."

"I sent you here to carry on the torch! To solidify our foothold on Piltover's shores!"

"Perhaps my idea of a torch differs from yours."

Ambessa's hands ball into fists: ferocious, and yet imploring.

"Don't be a fool, Mel. Idealism blinds the brightest minds. And that man? He only has his eye on the prize—and your heart on a platter."

"My heart, Mother, is made up. As is my mind." Mel, her wrist steady, dips her brush. "Neither are for you to judge."

"You are my daughter! Your future, and your legacy, are mine to protect."

"Is that why you cast me out? Protection?" Mel lifts the blue-tipped brush. The bristles sigh across the canvas. With methodic strokes, she begins to paint. "Or was it because I stood in the way of your ambitions?"

"What I did, I did to keep you safe!"

"Safe?" Mel echoes. The paint spreads, a cobalt teardrop. "You sent me here, alone, without the slightest consideration of how I might navigate an unknown city. You left me to fend for myself. Practically left me for dead."

"Mel—"

"I've made a home for myself. Here. In Piltover. I've built a life, on my own terms. And I am no longer beholden to you, or your schemes. So no, Mother. You will not interfere. And you will not come within five hundred yards of my future husband."

"That snake will never give you what you deserve!"

"What, wealth? Prestige? Respect? I have all that."

"Until he drains it dry—and takes your city for himself."

Mel lets off a mirthless laugh. "Oh, Mother. As if that wasn't your goal all along."

"Mel—"

"You'll not threaten him. Nor our future."

"And if I do?"

Mel stops mid-stroke. Turning, she faces her mother full-on, and there is fire in her eyes.

"Do that," she says softly, "and see what it will cost you. See what it already has." She gestures, all the paintings lining the walls. No scenes of Noxus. No memories of home. Only a thousand different vistas, of a foreign shore. A foreign shore that she will not forsake.  "All this time, you've never known me. And now, you pay the price. So go on and call me a fool. Go on and pretend you're the better strategist. But the truth is, our cities are safest when Silco and I work together. Because then we are better equipped to defend ourselves against people like you."

Ambessa's scowl is a blackened storm. She stands, arms folded. "So that's how it is, then."

"Yes."

"It'll come to no good. Mark my words. Your little romance is doomed."

Mel turns away. "We'll see."

"It's a waste." Ambessa turns on her own heel. "A waste and a mistake." Then, a parting shot: "If you'd been half as ruthless as you were cunning, you'd still be standing at my side."

Mel's fingers falter, a fraction. Her spine stays ramrod straight.

"Perhaps," she says, "your side is where the mistake lies."

Ambessa's footsteps echo, fading. Then door slams shut, and Mel is alone. Her paintbrush, poised. It trembles, barely.

Then the teardrop falls, and blooms.

Blue as the sky.

A possibility, unfolding.

In the following weeks, Silco and Mel's plans gain traction. Having shared the news with their close circle, they begin to lay the groundwork for breaking the story to the broader public. Silco is a savvy businessman; Mel, a shrewd politician. Their collaboration is a well-oiled machine. Instead of subjecting themselves to the arduous process of navigating the media storm, they'll let a third party do the legwork. An independent media outlet will build up to the reveal, starting with small, local publications. As the story gains momentum, they'll transition to more prominent outlets and heavy-hitting powerbrokers.

The idea is to slowly begin seeding their relationship into the public consciousness. Two cities arm-in-arm. Two leaders, intimately aligned.

The narrative is the hook; the angle is the bait. And the truth, a bottle waiting to be uncorked.

A bold blend, filling everyone's cup with the scintillating spoils of their union.

By the solstice, the announcement hits the newsreel. The two cities are aflame with shock and a healthy dose of scandal. From the conservative quarters, there is a barrage of criticism and downright hostility. In Piltover's upper echelons, the objections are rooted in classism, with some claiming Mel's union with a Trencher will only degrade her standing, setting a dangerous precedent for future 'downscaling' of the elite, and their social stature.

In Zaun, meanwhile, there are rumblings of discord, particularly from the chem-barons. Many question whether Mel, a Topsider and a Councilor, will throw a wrench in the black market's spokes. There is also an undercurrent of anti-Piltie sentiment, which some leverage to cast aspersions on Silco's leadership. How can a man who's built up his brand on defying Topside now choose to cavort with one of the ruling elite?

And then there are those who question whether this is a ploy. Is the Council using a honeypot tactic to infiltrate and sabotage the Fissures' economy? Has Zaun's Chancellor been taken in by a pretty face and a clever tongue? 

Conversely, Zaunites speculate that Mel is merely a stand-in, and that the real love affair is between Silco and the city of Piltover itself. Is his heart really set on the woman, or on the power she represents? The access she grants him to Piltover's wealth, and the influence she has in the city's halls? Is the Eye of Zaun staging a coup to overthrow Piltover, and seize control?

Mel and Silco's betrothal has opened a Pandora's Box. With every question comes a thousand more.

But they know what they're doing. The seeds have been planted. And their narrative is taking root.

Soon, their respective cities are a frenzy of whispers, rumors, and outright slander. Their names are on the tips of everyone's tongues, from the Black Lanes to Bluewind Court.

The press is ravenous, and the public is starved.

Behind closed doors, each respective city's bureaucracy and security agencies begin to dig deeper into the other. They scrutinize Mel and Silco's histories, searching for a chink in the armor. They scour their dealings for the faintest whiff of a trail, for the slightest sign of betrayal.

And yet, as the days turn to weeks, nothing seems amiss.

No backdoor deals. No subterfuge. No secret threats.

Mel and Silco appear to be two trailblazers, united by a common vision. They've been allies for years. They have a solid working relationship, and the fruits of their combined efforts are starting to manifest. Their joint-venture has generated an unprecedented surge in trade and tourism between Piltover and Zaun, as well as a slew of new scientific innovations.

With each passing day, the news cycles begin to shift. The stories change. So do the angles. The whispers have become questions. Questions, answers.

The doubts start to melt into admiration.

Among the younger generation, a sense of glamorous taboo emerges. For the Topsiders, the Eye is a folk myth, an urban legend, a veritable bad boy. Now, his mystique is amplified tenfold, and his relationship with Mel only serves to fan the flames. On her part, Mel becomes an overnight sensation, a risktaker who's not afraid to break the mold, and whose charm has captured the imagination of a dangerous outlaw.

To the Fissure-dwellers, the interest holds a different flavor: speculation, scandal and self-congratulatory schadenfreude. Zaun, after all, was once a backwater slum. Now, their star is on the rise. Their Chancellor—a black-hearted scoundrel through and through—has bagged the Crown Jewel of Topside. What was once unobtainable is now theirs for the taking. Their victory over the Pilties is twofold: their haughtiest is now Zaun's hausfrau. They've managed to seduce, and subjugate, the Council's most formidable.

Marriage, eh? Who knew that the old ball and chain would prove so positive?

Now that the barometer of public adulation has spiked, Silco and Mel deploy a different approach. Rather than keeping their distance, they begin to take calculated risks: public outings, shared dinners, even a gala or two. Their appearances are met with a fervor bordering on hysteria. The press is abuzz. Everywhere they go, they are greeted with the dazzle of cameras and avid calls.

This is, after all, a historic first.

"Silco, Silco! What do you have to say about the rumors that Mel's engagement ring is from the Fissure mines? The same ones where you worked as a child?"

"Mel, Mel! How do you respond to the critics who say your engagement is an act of nepotism, and that it violates the principles of democracy?"

"Chancellor! Is it true that you're secretly building a palace underneath the canals, and that it will be a wedding present for Mel?"

"Councilor! Are you planning on changing your last name as a Medarda? If so, what will it be?"

Mel and Silco answer the barrage with enigmatic smiles, and an equally opaque, "No comment."

Except the wall of reticence won't stave off the tide forever. The pressure is mounting. Emotions are boiling.

It's time to launch Phase Three.

By the solstice, Silco and Mel agree to do a joint interview. This way, they can put the most outlandish rumors to bed, while satiating the public's appetite for their personal lives. The interview is to be conducted in neutral territory, outside Piltover's and beyond Zaun's borders, to avoid accusations of journalistic bias. A balcony in a small seaside town in Tereshni serves as their backdrop, and the interview is a two-part special, aired live on prominent radio stations.

Mel and Silco have agreed on their talking points. They've also laid ground rules: no questions about their sex life, their finances, or their families. The interview is about their partnership, their cities, and their plans for the future. They are there to dispel the rumors, not perpetuate them.

The sit-down is a sensation. Millions tune in to listen to their story, and to marvel at the fairytale of it all. For many, it's as if the couple are speaking directly to them. The audience is starved for content, and the airwaves throb with excitement. Some are captivated by the way the couple engage each other: the chemistry is undeniable, and Silco's sardonic, acerbic wit is perfectly complemented by Mel's elegant, cutting humor. Their affair has a certain dark-and-light aesthetic: shadow and sun.

The questions and answers fly fast. The duo are a masterclass of media savvy. They detail the timeline of their relationship: their first meeting, their alliance, and its transition from diplomatic to intimate. They discuss their respective roles as heads of their respective cities, and how they will each be transitioning to more ceremonial titles to avoid a conflict of interest. Silco will remain the Chancellor, while Mel will become an 'honorary' member of the Council. They'll have less to do with the bureaucracy, and more to do with public affairs and their philanthropic endeavors.

They are, essentially, becoming statespeople. Their primary goal is to ensure a seamless, amicable transfer of power, from their current governments to their respective successors. Silco will groom Sevika; Mel, Jayce. This way, the transition is guaranteed. It is, as they say, a win-win for all parties.

As for their plans?

A wedding, for starters. In a year's time, they will tie the knot.

After that?

Well. Who knows. The future, as they say, is up in the air.

Any children?

That is where the interview stalls. Family is a no-go subject. Now the interviewer is pushing boundaries. Attempting to address the elephant in the room:

Jinx.

"You are aware, Councilor Medarda, that your fiancé has an adopted daughter. A rather volatile one. Correct?"

The mood changes in the venue. Silco's expression is darkly-inscrutable. Mel's is a mask of pleasant ice.

"I am aware, yes," she says.

"And do you plan to accept her into the fold?"

"The fold?"

"As your step-daughter. As a potential Medarda."

Silco's expression is granite. Mel's, steel. He opens his mouth to impart a succinct response. Mel lays a hand on his arm. Then, with a serene smile, she says:

"I do. If she'll have me."

Silco narrowly hides his shock. There's a silence. Then, a susurrus of whispers, as the crew react to the news.

The interviewer blinks.

"Do you mean that, Councilor Medarda?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Jinx is not a child, but one of Zaun's most innovative minds. One that has been linked to multiple attacks, and countless counts of homicide.  To say nothing of her role in Zaun's independence." The interviewer is careful not to be confrontational. "Many still consider her a terrorist. And yet you would take her into your family, as a future Medarda?"

"One's past needn't define one's future. Especially one so young, and full of promise."

"But aren't you concerned? About your safety? About the safety of your city?"

"My city is her home. As hers, I hope, will be mine." Mel holds the interviewer's shocked stare. "The Chancellor's and my union is meant to herald a new age of cooperation. I see no reason why it should be confined to the political arena. As far as I'm concerned, we are family."

Silence.

Then, a flurry of flashbulbs, as the camera shutters whirr. Mel's smile is sweetness itself. But her gaze is steady.

Silco, meanwhile, is eyeing her with hooded eyes.

The interviewer is floored, but scrambles to move the conversation forward.

"Thank you, Councilor Medarda. Your statement is... intriguing."

"I expect we'll be hearing much more about it," Mel says, and shoots her fiancé a glance.

Silco gives a single nod.

"Indeed."

"Then, before we end, is there anything you'd like to add, Chancellor?"

Silco is silent for a moment. Finally:

"Yes. You asked me at the outset, why I agreed to this union. At the time, I said the reason was obvious. Now, given Councilor Medarda's answer, I'd like to make an amendment."

He turns to Mel.

"Councilor Medarda and I made a choice to enter into this union. It was not the most prudent course of action. But it was the right one. It was not borne of convenience, or obligation. It was not based on any form of calculation, or expectation. It was founded upon one simple premise: two cities, one family. And, perhaps, a chance at something more. I know this won't be the last criticism. I'm aware of the risks involved. And yet, as of now, I'm certain of only one thing."

He takes Mel's hand.

"There can be no progress without sacrifice. No victory without adversity. But most importantly, no family without trust. So if we are to build a bridge between our cities, it must start from within.  Ours will be our family. Our foundation. And Jinx...will be its heart."

He smiles a crooked little smile.

"And anyone who takes issue...had best watch their step."

His tone is mild. His meaning is not.

The interview ends on a high note.

Hours later, hot off the press, the cities are abuzz. The story dominates the newsreel for the next several days. In Piltover, everything is dissected ad nauseum: from the Council's official stance on the union, to the general consensus on whether the Medardas are abetting a terrorist, to discourse around historic reparations. In Zaun, meanwhile, the conversation is more nuanced. Some are ecstatic, believing Medarda's acceptance is proof that Zaunites are finally gaining social clout. Others are wary, wondering what the lineage of known conquest will bode for a city that prides itself on working-class roots.

The only certainty: the union is now, irrevocably, a fact.

Jinx, meanwhile, stays holed up in her workshop.

She'd flung her radio against the wall because she couldn't bear the newsreel: Zaun Chancellor (that lying snake), and Councilor Medarda (that gilded bitchqueen) have been spotted at the opera-gallery-theater-exhibition-club-restaurant, and were they holding hands, or kissing, or dancing? What does this mean for Zaun’s future? Is Topside being sold off to the Undercity? Is Piltover getting the keys back to the Fissures? Or is it a trick, a ruse,  a scam, a lie, a betrayal, a—

From her shoddily-assembled radio:

"I expect we'll be hearing much more about it," the dulcet female voice says.

"Indeed," replies the low sardonic rumble.

Jinx, in a blind fit of fury, nearly blasts the damn radio to shreds.

But the broadcast continues, and Jinx falls still. Her ears are like little gravity-wells, and the voices are a pair of comets: hurtling straight for the core.

"You asked me at the outset, why I agreed to this union. At the time, I said the reason was obvious. Now, given Councilor Medarda's answer, I'd like to make an amendment."

She creeps closer. Despite herself, she leans into the crackling speaker.

"Councilor Medarda and I made a choice to enter into this union. It was not the most prudent course of action..."

Got that right, buster.

"But it was the right one."

Suuuure.

"It was not borne of convenience, or obligation."

What a crock.

"It was not based on any form of calculation, or expectation."

This man is a pathological liar.

"It was founded upon one simple premise: two cities, one family. And, perhaps, a chance at something more. I know this won't be the last criticism..."

Jinx rolls her eyes. The rest is a blur. The spiel, the spin, the sales pitch. It's a load of horse manure packaged smartly into soundbites. Silco's expertise is selling stories, and he's good at it. He knows how to make a sucker look like a genius.

Too bad it won't work on her. She's his daughter, after all. She knows the game for what it is. She's heard enough, she's seen enough, and she'll hear and see no more. It's a trap, and she refuses to fall into it. She'll have nothing to do with him, or his Topside trophy wife, and she'll certainly have nothing to do with—

"Ours will be our family. Our foundation. And Jinx...will be its heart."

Jinx stops. Transfixed. The radio is crackling in her lap. Her fingers are locked around the dial. But her mind has gone blank.

Jinx.

Jinx.

Jinx.

Her name is a throbbing echo. A hammer striking a chord. A lifeforce.

"And anyone who takes issue...had best watch their step."

Jinx stares down at her radio. It's an ungodly piece of junk. One of the antennae is bent and the dial is loose. The batteries are corroded, the knob is a tangle of exposed wire, and the paint is peeling. The damn thing should have been thrown out a long time ago.

Except Jinx can't bring herself to let go.

Not when it's her only connection to Silco.

His face has gone blurry over the past weeks. She can't recall with exactitude the shape of his mouth or the seams of his scars. Sometimes, the memories feel like a dream: the way he'd stroke her hair and hum her a lullaby; the way his hands would enfold hers when she struggled to aim the rifle, or steady the drill; the way he'd sit at her bedside, reading a storybook, when she was scared or feverish. Those memories are a salve, soothing the hurt.

Then the fever breaks and it returns. The guilt. The anger. The hurt.

He's found someone else.

He doesn't love me anymore.

I'm not worth saving, or keeping, or—

Jinx's thoughts are a vortex. But Silco's voice is a hook. It drags her back. Back to the moment she saw him in the rainfall, the flames eating closer and closer, Vi gone and Vander fallen. She'd been sobbing, begging, absolutely alone, and he'd stood there. His face was a Jack-o-lantern: glowing eye and jagged teeth and a knife tucked behind his sleeve.

And Jinx had wondered, in a delirious haze: Is this how I die?

And the answer had come.

Not from her. From him.

"It's okay."

His arms enfolding her, a shield against the rain. His breath, soft and smoky in her ear. The shape of his palm, gentle against her spine. The smell of cigarettes and gunmetal and blood in the weave of his coat. His heartbeat, a counterpoint to hers. The words he'd said. The realest thing in the world.

"We'll show them."

"You're safe."

"You're home."

And, cradled in his embrace, Jinx had closed her eyes and believed.

Now, with her head in her hands, Jinx lets out a shuddering breath. Then another. Then another. Until she's no longer trembling. Until the tears have stopped.

Until her choice is made.

She's had enough.

Enough of hiding, and running, and losing. Enough of the pain and the nightmares and the ghosts. Enough of feeling alone, and scared, and forgotten. Enough of the grief and the fear and the hate.

She wants it gone.

And she knows how to get it done.

****

Dear Jinx—

If I may be so bold as to call you that,

I know we've had our share of misunderstandings. Truthfully, I cannot blame you. I understand you were hurt in the past. And I understand your suspicion, as I'm sure it has been warranted. Like your father, you have a reputation for a long memory. And yet I also know your father is a man of his word. That he has a sense of honor, and humor, and loyalty. That, above all else, he is a man who will do anything for his family.

Perhaps that is why I agreed to our union. For, although the idea was mine, the decision was his. When I told him of my desire to see both our cities prosper, he did not hesitate. He accepted my proposal the same night. I think, deep down, he has always wanted this: two cities that share a common cause, and a shared legacy. And I am glad he chose to accept my offer, as it is a chance to make it so.

Not just for our cities. But for us.

Family means different things to different people. For some, it is a blood tie. For others, a bond. And for still others, a choice. To me, the definition is rather simple: family is the place where you belong. The people who care about you, and who are willing to protect you, no matter the cost. To whom you owe a debt of gratitude. And whose debt, in turn, you are honor-bound to repay.

As your father's bride-to-be, and as your future stepmother, I want to make a vow to you.

I promise to never leave you. I promise to do everything in my power to keep you safe. I promise to care for you, and hear you, and see you.

In short, I promise to be your family. If you'll have me.

With sincere hopes of seeing you soon,

Mel Medarda

P.S.

I've included a painting, which I hope will serve as a gift. I've titled it: "Something Blue."

Please let me know what you think.

P.P.S.

I hope the wrapping paper suits your taste.

It's not easy to find a pattern with pink explosions.

****

The wedding is a spectacular affair.

The logistics are a nightmare, and it has taken weeks of coordination between Piltover and Zaun to streamline the process. Everything from security checks to seating arrangements to catering is meticulously planned. The event is meant to symbolize the future: two cities united by a common goal. In the spirit of this partnership, the nuptials are hugely publicized.

They are also split between both cities.

In Piltover, it's a regal, understated affair. The time is late-morning, under the blue curve of a cloudless sky.  The venue is the grandest hall in the city, an ancient estate whose history dates back to the mercantile era. Beneath a classical pavilion of limestone and marble, a close-knit collection of guests are present: Councilors, nobles, diplomats. In a testament to the changing times, they rub shoulders with Zaunite dignitaries: chem-barons and clan leaders, who've traded their usual flamboyant finery for sober suits and demure dresses.

A few steps away, Sevika and her blackguards stand at attention.

Jinx, as predicted, is absent.

Silco's eyes scan the scenery. Behind his ribs: a pang.

He can't help it.

Today's ceremony, pure spectacle, is still a step forward. For Piltover, and Zaun. A step he'd planned to take, but not alone.

Not alone, but with his little blue urchin hanging off his arm—

"Ready, sir?"

Silco turns. Sevika, in a smart deep-viridian suit, regards him inquisitively.

Silco squares his shoulders, and nods.

"Let's get this over with."

Sevika gestures, and the doors swing open. Silco steps out. The sun is a brilliant glare. The flashbulbs are a barrage of gunfire. He and his entourage are instantly besieged by the press. Everyone wants a close-up of his nuptial finery: a black double-breasted charcoal, sleek and slim-cut, with a burgundy silk waistcoat and matching gold accents. His slicked-back hair is neatly-styled, and his eyepatch boasts a glinting blue stud.

An accessory—or a tribute.

Depends on who's asking.

"Chancellor Silco! Any final words before the big event?"

"Any last-minute jitters?"

"Is it true your bride-to-be is pregnant?"

"Will Jinx not be attending?"

Silco's good eye cuts like a blade. The questions taper off. The reporters fall back.

Satisfied, Silco walks on.

At the altar, the officiant is waiting. A string quartet plays a lusterless traditional hymn. The guests have taken their designated spots. The air is a shimmer of sunlight and a buzz of whispers.

Silco keeps his posture straight and his expression bland. But his eyes stay alert, scanning the crowd, searching for a flash of blue, a peek, a hint—

A hush descends.

The quartet strikes up the familiar strains of a marching waltz. The bridesmaids, a trio of gilded cream-clad swans, are gliding down the aisle. Silco keeps his gaze straight ahead, on the ornate mirrored archway at the end of the aisle. It shows, between its curlicued filigree, a view of the courtyard behind him. Its stone pathways and leafy hedges are a lush green maze. Beyond it is the Topside cityscape: a dazzling vista of rooftops, spires, and the glittering sea beyond.

Silco's gaze shifts, and settles.

His lip curls at the corner.

Mel is here.

As ever, she is radiant. Her dress is a masterpiece. A sumptuous ivory gown, cut in a classic bias-cut silhouette and embellished with an intricate golden overlay and delicate floral detailing. Her features are dusted as if with stardust. A golden band affixes the diaphanous veil to her richly-coiffed updo. She holds no bouquet. Instead, she is the sprig of flowers in motion, the enticing waft of jasmine and hyacinths suffusing the air with every step. As she approaches, she looks every inch the Noxian noble: chin up, gaze direct, each motion unerringly graceful.

At the altar, she takes her place.

Her fingers, fleeting, skim Silco's knuckles.

"Hello, Chancellor," she says, a coy purr.

Wryly, Silco tips his head. "Councilor."

"Fancy meeting you here."

"Just passing through."

The officiant clears his throat. The crowd hushes.

The ceremony begins.

The vows are conducted with somber dignity, and conclude with a chaste kiss. Afterward, the bride and groom lead the procession down the aisle, arm-in-arm, amidst a storm of confetti and camera flashes. Outside, a motorcade surrounds a lone limo, the black lacquer gleaming under the sunlight.

The newlyweds slip, soundlessly, into the backseat. The doors slam shut.

And they're off.

They travel along the coastal road, parallel to the scenic blue seaside. The motorcade keeps a discreet distance. In the limo, the couple sit side-by-side. Their smiles are stiff. Their muscles, frozen into pleasantly neutral masks, need time to thaw. Then their eyes meet, and formality gives way to something else.

Their lips twitch. Their expressions quaver. They both turn away. They can't help it.

Silco bites the inside of his cheek.

Mel struggles to maintain her composure.

But the visage is cracked. And the flood is inevitable.

The laughter escapes in a rush. Mel's hand flies to her mouth, her shoulders quaking. Silco lets his head loll back against the headrest. The pale curve of his Adam's apple thrums with a chuckle. The car continues, a sleek black bullet, slicing through the cityscape.

Their gazes meet sidelong.

Mel twines her fingers with Silco's. He squeezes, once.

The partition between them and the driver's seat rolls down.

"Where to, Mister S?" Dustin asks.

Silco smiles.

"Home," he says.

In Zaun, twilight slips like a silk stocking down bare skin. The Undercity, in a display of festive splendor, is decked out in fairy lights. Zaunites relish a good spectacle. A wedding is always a riot. And this one's rare as black diamonds. The bride is a Topsider. The groom is a Zaunite. The most unlikely pair in the most unlikely story.

There's already a betting pool.

Odds 3: 1 for a marriage of convenience.

Odds 2: 1 for love match.

Odds 1: 1 for a marriage borne of a single night's indiscretion.

But everyone agrees on one thing. It'll be a miracle if this doesn't end in disaster.

Meantime, hope springs eternal. So does booze.

The wedding party is held at the Last Drop. The club, decadently decked in red and black, is packed to the rafters. A livewire band plays the Sumpside Waltz. Dancers sway exuberantly to the beat. There is laughter and ribaldry; parlor games and prize fights; bed-hopping and burlesque. It's a celebration the likes of which hasn't been seen in years.

Not since Zaun's ascension.

In a private lounge upstairs, a handful of guests have gathered. They are an eclectic mix: clan leaders, business tycoons, merchants, all with a stake in Zaun’s finances. A toast, a bit of networking, and the party will resume. Meanwhile, a line of bodies—admiring, avaricious, or just plain curious—are queuing up to pay tribute to the bride.

Mel sits, a picture of poised elegance, receiving their well-wishes. At the outset, she was dressed in a sequined black-and-gold gown. The bodice was intricately embroidered with pearls, and her train was a glittering, trailing cascade of crystals. Then, as the hours waxed, the costume was peeled away, strip by tantalizing strip, until the gown lay in a shimmering pool at her feet. Her true garb, emerging from the translucent carapace, is a dramatic jet-black number, exquisitely-tailored, with a sheer panel cutting a daring swathe from décolletage to belly, and a deep slit riding each thigh. The back is a dramatic, plunging swoop. At her brow is a gold diadem with a single black diamond. Her lips are red, her eyes are lined with kohl, and her feet are encased in a pair of heels so sharp they could cut a man's neck.

It's a far cry from the pristine Piltovan bride she'd played above. Here, in Zaun, she is a siren of sinful splendor. The sight of her elicits lingering stares.

For a Topsider, the Eye's new missus is packing serious heat.

Silco, idling by the mantelpiece, is a picture of louche elegance in a smoky bespoke suit. The lapels and button-holes are edged with gold brocade. His cravat is pinned by a single blue gemstone. His hands are encased in sleek leather gloves, the hems studded with matching blue buttons. A cut-glass of bourbon rests loosely in his grip.

He and Mel have spent the evening tag-teaming. She is the center of attention, the shining lure. He is her shadow, the sharp-eyed hook.  They'd prearranged the dance beforehand. A flirtatious smile from Mel, a wry aside from Silco, and their targets are snared. Soon, conversation transitions from platitude to business. By the time the Old Hungry strikes nine, Silco and Mel have secured a slew of new investments. And the party is just getting started.

Two cities: one agenda.

In between, they trade veiled glance. There's no missing the glow in Mel's eyes. The fire, simmering low. The promise, implicit and enticing. It's a look he knows all too well. One he's yet to tire of.  And yet, with the nuptials still fresh, he finds his mind drawn elsewhere.

The party is in full swing. The hour is late.

Jinx is nowhere.

He'd known it would be a long shot. The chances of her showing up had been slim. The chances of her appearing as a happy-go-lucky bridesmaid had been infinitesimal. Still, the fact that she'd stayed away—

Silco's grip tightens around the glass.

"Silco?"

He turns. Mel regards him from beneath her lashes.

"For a bridegroom," she says, "yours is a singular scowl."

Silco's mouth curves, wry.

"I thought we'd agreed," he says. "Tonight, you'll smile for the both of us."

"If I smile any more, I'll split a seam."

"On your dress? I'd pay good money to see that."

"That's why I had it tailored with your tastes in mind."

Mel runs an idle finger along the sheer neckline. Silco's eye follows the movement, then flickers up. Their stares lock. Mel's expression softens.

"Dance with me."

"Now?"

"Of course, now."

The band is playing a languid waltz. The dance floor is dotted with a handful of guests. It's the perfect opportunity to make a discreet exit. And yet—

Silco hesitates.

Mel, seeing the conflict, modulates her tone.

"Please?"

Silco sets his drink down. He offers his hand. She rises and slips her fingers though his.

On the dance floor, she lays her cheek against his shoulder. They sway in a graceful circle.  They've spent the day trading pleasantries and playing the game. It's tiresome, but they're both old hands. Thankfully, the night is drawing to a close. Soon, their guests will depart. And they can finally rest.

And, finally, have a moment alone.

"She'll come around," Mel murmurs.

"Hm?"

"Jinx. She'll come around. Later, if not sooner."

Silco's lips twitch, a bitter reflex.

"Your optimism is a wonder to behold."

"I can hardly let your pessimism have a monopoly on the market." She smooths his lapel, and sobers. "I understand. Neither of us is much for ceremony. But having family at one’s back. It makes a difference. Part me wishes my mother could see this."

"See what, exactly? You, in a hellpit."

"Me, brokering a historic truce. The start of something greater. Better."

"Truce is not a word the Medardas esteem."

"That doesn't make it less valuable." Her eyes dip. "Times like this, I wish she could see me. Not the heir she wanted. The person I've become."

Silco's palm settles on the small of her back.

"She sees you," he says.

"Just not the way she would've liked."

"Her loss."

Mel lifts her gaze to his.

"I see you," he says softly.

A flicker, there and gone. Then, Mel melts into his embrace. They glide together in the glow of the neon lights.

By midnight, the festivities are ebbing. The guests, trailing congratulations and well-wishes, trickle out. Sevika, who's been keeping guard by the entrance, comes up and makes a discreet report.

"No sign of her, sir."

Silco nods, once.

"Should I alert the crew?"

Silco shakes his head. "That won't be necessary."

"You're sure?"

Again, a single nod. He knows Jinx. Tonight's vanishing act isn't a warning, but a rebuke. He has no idea where she is. And if he did, he'd still keep his distance. If he's going to reach her, it won't be by coercion or cajolery. The choice must be hers.

In the meantime, he will wait.

Sevika's eyes are on him, a knowing appraisal.

"I'll have the crew check in on her tomorrow," she says, preempting his order.

"Do," Silco says.

Sevika nods. "Enjoy the rest of your night, sir."

She turns on her heel.

"Sevika."

Sevika glances over her shoulder, irreproachably aloof.

"Thank you," Silco says, quietly.

Her gaze, level, softens a fraction.

"You're welcome, sir."

Silco watches her leave. Then, a light touch on his elbow.

"Are you finished?"

Silco turns.

Mel's eyes are bright circlets of green and gold beneath heavy lids. Her updo is unraveling into sultry corkscrews. Her dewy make-up has begun to fade.  Her costume—because that's what her risqué little get-up was: a costume to match the theme of tonight's theatrics—is a study in artful disarray:  the bodice unlaced, the straps slipping, the buttons undone. She's practically an avatar of Undercity debauchery. And, Silco knows, she is reveling in it. Shedding the trappings of decorum, and coming alive. It's the side of her she typically keeps under wraps: the sybarite. A side he's always known was there.

In baring it now, she's not only privileging him with her trust. She's inviting him to join her. To play. To lose himself, a little. Forget, for a night, his worries.

And, perhaps, a little, the hurt.

"Your ride is ready," Mel says, a breath against his ear.

"Ride? Well, well. You're already picking up our vernacular."

"I wasn't referring to the limo."

"What then?"

Mel's lashes lift, a slow, inviting sweep.

"Three guesses," she whispers. "And the first two don't count."

Silco says nothing.

He only encircles her, and guides her deep into the shadows.

The limo drive to his private quarters is a torturous tease. The doors are barely shut before Mel's mouth is on his, hot and seeking. Silco's palms are gliding up her thighs. Their journey back is a breathless blur of lips and teeth and tongue, and Mel, in her lapse, letting loose a throaty little wail.  

Silco smiles and drags his teeth down the arc of her throat.

Dustin, beet-red, has long rolled up the partition.

Upstairs, they slip arm-in-arm through the doors. The apartment is a sprawling maze, a sumptuous affair of black, mahogany and gold. The Art Noveau furnishings are elegant, the artwork striking. Mel spares a cursory glance, then sheds her heels. Silco shrugs off his jacket and begins to undo his waistcoat. She beats him to it, her palms, a whisper of satin, coasting down his torso. Fingers, deft, undoing the buttons on his trouserfront. Her mouth against his, a slow burn of need. The kind that goes on and on, steeping and simmering. The kind that's been under the skin all night, waiting to be let loose.

Silco's hands, encased in leather, skate down her spine.

He knows the feeling.

Without warning, he traps her wrists behind her back. Mel's breath catches. He takes her mouth, sliding his tongue inside and sucking out all the heat he can find. She cries out, a delicious contralto, and his teeth close around her lower lip. Her scent is a cloud of sweet heady motes—hyacinths, smoke, champagne, sweat—and he breathes her in.

"What do you want?" he whispers.

"You," she gasps.

"How?"

"Any way you like."

Silco drags his mouth away only to bite the hollow of her throat.

Then he backs her, dark-eyed, toward the bedroom.

Afterward—a languorous stretch of bodies, tangled sheets, and ragged sighs—Mel lays her cheek against his shoulder. Her body is a sated spill of sweat-sheened silk. Her hair is spread in a dark cloud across his chest. Idly, Silco loops a finger into one of the curls. She sighs, a spent little hum.

"Extraordinary night," she says.

"Hmm."

"The media likely took enough photographs to fill an album."

"Likely."

"And my mother will burn every single one."

"Doubtless."

"And between Piltover and Zaun, we've amassed enough enemies to start a civil war."

"Mm-hmm."

Mel nudges his jaw with her temple. "So. Overall, would you call it a success?"

Silco's smile is a ghostly twist.

"I'd call it a marriage." The twist deepens. "Shame, though, about your dress."

"I'm sure I'll find its shreds between your teeth."

"The wrapping never tastes as sweet as what's inside."

"Mm, flatterer."

She nestles closer. Silco, his good eye sliding shut, enfolds an arm around her.

It's a moment of strange incongruity. An entire day spent conducting themselves according to the strictest rules of decorum and shrewdest stratagems. The next, nakedly twined in bed, exchanging lazy barbs and banter. In a few hours, they'll wake, and enclose themselves back into their respective armors. Silco will slither into his tailored suits, Mel will pour herself into her sumptuous gowns, and together, they'll don the mantles of rulership. They will play their parts. They will conduct themselves without fault. They will carry on.

Until the next time, they can be alone.

The dynamics of their old affair, he thinks, remain intact. It's only the intimacy that's inverted

Something new. Something stronger. And the thought—of being known, and strong, and seen—makes him...

Mel's lips nuzzle his collarbone.

"Where are you, husband?"

Silco opens his good eye. The window, half-open, throws a pale rhombus across the bedspread. Outside, the cityscape is a mapwork of neon, as familiar as the lines on his palm.

"Here," he says. A wry aside: "Wife."

"I've always preferred the term 'Ball & Chain.'"

"Sounds like one of Jinx's pejoratives."

"Does it now." Mel's lips are a petaled curl against his shoulderblade. "Have I told you what the media are calling Mother?"

"This ought to be good."

"Zaun's Monster-in-Law."

Silco blinks. A beat, and a scoff breaks loose. Mel's smile blooms full, and she buries her laughter against his skin. It's been a long day, and a longer night. Now, passions spent and tension drained, there's only this: a rare, tactile, transitory joy. Hell, Silco thinks, if this is his wedding night, it hasn't been such a bad one. Not if he can still smile. And, for a moment, forget the ache.

For himself. For Mel. And for—

A burst of blue is framed by the windowpane. The crackling boom holds an eerie echo.

Silco goes still.

Mel stirs. "Was that a rocket?"

Adrenaline sluices. Silco disentangles himself.

"Stay inside," he says, and slips from the bed.

Mel sits up, watching as he drags on his trousers. Barefoot, he creeps out into the balcony.  The night holds a biting chill. The sprawl of rooftops is silvered by the moonlight. A surreal haze of blue flecks floats in the air.

Bemused, Silco sniffs. There is the unmistakable whiff of gunpowder.

A premonition coils down his spine.

"Silco?" Mel, draped in one of his shirts, is standing by the threshold. "What's going on?"

Instinctively, Silco pivots to drag her back inside. His ears have already caught the low whump of a second rocket being launched, followed by the whistling shweeee as it arcs through the air.

"Down!" he snaps. "Get down!"

Encircling Mel, he dives for the floor. The round passes almost directly overhead, erupting fifty feet beyond them. The atoms in the airwaves jostle. The explosion echoes across the rooftops. In the ringing silence that follows, Silco's mind races. Two rockets in rapid succession. His place of residence targeted. Either it's a coup, or a terrorist attack, or—

Beneath him, Mel gasps, "Look."

Silco follows her gaze. Tiny pink lights, like fireflies, float through the air. They suffuse the cityscape with a kaleidoscopic glaze. Then, with a series of pops and hisses, the lights erupt into fireworks. A spray of corkscrewing sparks. A dazzling, dizzying, disorienting dreamscape. 

Silco drags himself to his feet. Slowly, he approaches the balcony's railing. Mel, finding her feet, follows. Her shock is palpable.

Then it happens again.

A third rocket blasted skyward on a straight trajectory. The velocity peels it to nothing but a needle of smoke. At the top of the arc, the missile detonates. A bloom of cobalt explodes, a starburst of light.

Then, a cascade of blue teardrops.

Each one blooms in different patterns. Some spread with the slow-motion tendrils of a breath of frost on glass. Some erupt into a spray of butterflied shards. Others plume into a cloud of shimmering spangles.

The effect is hypnotic.

Each missile, when it is fired, has an intense familiarity. A single shot, a precise aim. Silco recognizes it in an instant.

Then he sees her.

Jinx.

She crouches, elfin, on an adjacent rooftop. Fishbones is slung over her shoulder, a sharklike silhouette. Her braids, wind-tossed, dance to separate tangents. Her face, tilted skyward, is a picture of glee. She watches the fireworks with a rapture so total, so triumphant, that Silco is struck still. His heart, in his throat, beats a drumroll. But what's most overwhelming is the sense of relief, because—

Jinx fires the last rocket. It arcs and detonates into a pyrotechnic delirium, umbrellas of brilliants color blooming open against the dark. The haze drifts back and forth. Jinx, her handiwork done, stands. A small, solitary silhouette, the moon washing over her like a baptismal tide.

Her head swivels. Her eyes lock with Silco's.

Her smile takes a shot and scores a direct hit.

In a blur, she is gone.

"Jinx," Silco breathes.

Mel, enfolding her arm through his, whispers, "Something Blue."

He stirs. "What?"

Mel's features, glossed in the radiant blue remnants, are soft. "It's the painting I sent Jinx. 'Something Blue.' It featured a panoramic view of Zaun. Bathed in blue, like the aftermath of a fireworks display. I chose the color with care. I wanted it to be the same hue as the Hex-Gates. But also to capture the shifting shades of Jinx's hair. I think I was hoping to convey a sense of homecoming." Mel's eyes lift to his. She smiles wistfully. "Now I realize that I was looking for the wrong hue. Jinx did a better job than I could've imagined."

"You—sent her a painting?"

"I did." Mel squeezes his arm. "I told her I'd like us to be a family. That I was hoping we could all belong. Together."

"I see." Silco's jaw flexes. "Did she reply?"

"She didn't have to."

Mel's stare returns to the sky, a dappled mosaic of lights. "I find booms to be a popular Zaunite mode of discourse."

Silco stays silent for a moment. Then, he dares a smile.

"You might," he says, "be on to something."

The fireworks fade, the glitter dissipating on the wind. Soon, all that's left is the lingering waft of gunpowder. And a city, brighter, somehow, in its glow.

Silco and Mel, side-by-side, contemplate the vista. 

Jinx's gift, for the world to see. And, in its own way, a sign.

Blue means forgiveness.

Blue means family.

Blue means home.

[popatochisssp]

off the rails? poppy what else did you do

Well.

Here's the rest of The Court Au. :)

Undertale

-

House Snowmirth

-

A respectable family on the low end of nobility. They gained their status as entertainers, most famed for their performances during winter festivals, and there’s a long line of ice-carvers, jugglers, musicians, and more in their humble yet sought-after family.

The last head of the house was less than enthused by their frivolous reputation, an academic who hoped the family name would become synonymous with intelligence and higher education—which he did his best to instill in his only two sons. Results were…arguably mixed, as both certainly grew up well-read and quick-witted, but with little interest in a scholar’s life.

The eldest’s skill at humorous wordplay was fine enough to make King Asgore laugh for the first time since the Queen disappeared, and the younger was inspired by tales of heroism to chase glory of his own as a knight. Alas for their father, but the (metaphorical) blood of the performer runs strongly in them both.

The house crest is depicted as a snowflake, curved as if smiling, and denotes the family motto of ‘Greater Together.’

-

Underswap

-

House Starstryke

-

A noble family, with its standing on the decline. While previously renowned for their brilliant tacticians and wise generals, prolonged peacetimes meant less need of their talents and their relevance at court diminishing by the generation.

The previous head of house did all in his power to regain the prestige he felt they were unjustly losing, seeking connections with many other nobles of higher standing—doing favors, striking alliances, and the like. He encouraged similar behavior in his sons, who both grew to be kind and generous young men…who care absolutely nothing for the standing of their house.

The eldest at least chose to seek some glory in pursuing a knighthood, but insists on earning it fairly, and the youngest has chosen to sidestep any attention at all entirely by shutting himself away to work in the archives, largely unseen. Well…though they don’t seem to care to elevate the family name, they at least seem committed to keeping it a good name and wearing it respectably.

The crest of their house is a shooting star in flight, an emblem of the family motto to ‘Choose Your Moment.’

-

Underfell

-

House Helflame

-

A highly respected, wealthy and powerful noble family, famed for the long line of strong and ruthless soldiers it has always produced for the Emperor’s ranks. Militaristic in nature, all of their line trained from birth with the aspiration to one day fight in the ranks of the Royal Guard…or at least, they did.

The last known head of the house had only two children, who were of course trained heavily in swordsmanship and hand-to-hand combat, pit against each other to fight for the glory of becoming the recognized heir to the family name and fortune. Before an heir was declared, however, both sons disappeared, and the fate of the remnants of their glorious house is still a mystery.

In reality, the eldest son denounced the family name and fled, passing over wealth and glory for a simpler life by his own sword. The younger followed after him, still with aspirations to the Royal Guard and to do great and noble things, but determined to pave his own way and not rely on a legacy to win it for him.

The house’s crest is a flaming skull without a jaw, a reminder of the family motto: ‘Show Them Hell.’

-

Swapfell

-

House Swiftshield

-

A high-ranking noble family, in close association with the royal family going back centuries. Their line has been direct servants and protectors to the crown as far as anyone can remember, and the trust and privilege built has elevated them quite highly.

The prior head of the house was fully committed to staying this course and maintaining the close, esteemed relationship with Empress. As such, he impressed upon his sons from a young age that loyalty to the crown was their highest calling, and to serve the Empress should come before all else—wants, needs, and even (especially) their own lives. …It was a terrible shock when he was found murdered, and no culprit was ever caught, but life goes on.

The eldest son followed obediently into the life expected of him and, with the privilege of his house to ease his way, worked his way up through the ranks of the Royal Guard to serve at the arm of the Empress herself. The younger was…not particularly suited to any kind of military service, but instead pursued his personal passions and at least displayed a talent for the arts to make a name for himself.

The crest of the house is an ornate winged shield with a bolt of cloth draped over its corner. The family motto is ‘All For Duty.’

-

Horrortale

-

House Pinevale

-

A noble family, but more in name than anything else—with little wealth or prestige to call their own. Theirs was one of the first families to settle the land when the kingdom was new, explorers and frontiersmen who scouted territory, cleared brush and raised buildings. Well-respected, but mostly by legacy.

The previous head of house was content with this reputation and dedicated himself to a lifetime of humble, loyal service to the King. How successfully he managed the first two is debatable, but he was unquestionably loyal until his (somewhat early) death. It was his wish that his two sons follow in his footsteps and be dignified and morally upstanding members of court, even should their house never gain higher prestige.

The eldest son at least waited until his father’s passing to do away with the pretense of dignity and pursue a career as the court jester, and the younger never made any secret of his aspirations of glory and knighthood over a humble life—but their moral fortitude and loyalty was always steadfast throughout.

This was especially evident when King Asgore was assassinated, among many other casualties, and both brothers weathered the storm of uncertainty that followed in the kingdom. When the king’s successor faltered and made some questionable, consequential judgment calls early in her reign, and there was an argument, and… Well, in the aftermath, both sons showed the dignity of their house in continuing to serve the queen—the elder now in the stables and the younger tending and treating the knights.

Their house crest is a sleeping bear, the line of its back reminiscent of a mountain range, and their motto is to ‘Walk Soft, Hold Firm.’

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Undergloom

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House Heatherfog

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A common house, of neither wealth nor nobility, but even commoners have a care of their legacy. Most of their line were gatherers, herbalists and apothecaries that treated the farmers and peasants in the lower villages. They believed strongly in the power of community and were known for giving aid to anyone in need, regardless of status or ability to pay.

The prior head of the house was fully committed to these ideals and hoped above all else to be able to make a difference in the world, to bring health and joy to as many corners of the kingdom as could be reached. Should his lofty ambitions fall short of his lifetime, he encouraged both of his sons to live their lives the same.

The eldest son, frail since birth, found this path difficult to walk until discovering the contagious joy of music and the ease with which even one so weak as he could make and share it. The younger made slightly unconventional use of the family’s encyclopedic recordings of herbs, making a study of flavor and seasoning in food such that his meals now bring pleasure and comfort to all who partake.

The crest of their house, though they have no signets or shields to engrave it upon, is a simple spiraled cloud. The family motto is ‘See Through.’

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Horrorfell

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House Bludthorne

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A high-ranking, famous—or perhaps, infamous—noble family. Their history is just as full of strong, ruthless soldiers as it is bloody betrayals and backstabbing schemes, the name practically descended into legend for how cold and vicious its members were on and off the battlefield, seeking power by any means necessary.

The last known head of house was no different, a cold and calculating man who saw little merit in emotion or attachment. It was something of a surprise when he admitted to two sons, when most assumed he would rather his proud name die with him than pass it to an unworthy successor—which surely anyone but him would be.

It was perhaps less of a surprise when both his alleged sons vanished one day, leading to some…distasteful speculation about their fate, when really the eldest simply grew sick of his father’s iron fist and fled to make his own way in the world, younger brother in tow. They lived for some time in relative anonymity, as a mercenary and a knight of no particular house.

When Emperor Asgore was assassinated and his successor proved to be both inexperienced and made cruel by grief and anger, the younger son spoke out against her and he—and his brother—were severely punished for the infraction. They kept up the appearance of contrition for some time after, enough to amass and stir a rebellion that would unseat the interim queen and set a new king upon the throne. The elder son, rendered mute and with a feeble hold upon his wild, fighting spirit, was unfit to rule but lives a life of luxury as brother to a king and does all in his power to defend his remaining family. The younger rules still, a stern yet fair king to the realm.

The crest of their house is a rose button knot, tied with thorns instead of rope. Their motto is ‘Drop By Drop.’

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Horrorswap

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House Stormglade

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A lower tier, yet still noble family, comprised of skilled archers and huntsmen who served the crown both in battle and in trapping game. Over time the need for the former diminished and the latter tended to be done only recreationally, leaving subsistence hunting to more common folk the higher into society their name ascended.

The prior head of house saw little value in the old ways and spent most of his time and energy at court, honing social niceties and noble manners to cement his standing as a courtier and cut ties with a somewhat unseemly, rugged past. Still, there were some lessons to be learned from nature—to respect it, to act decisively, to take nothing for granted—and these he passed on to his sons, alongside sparingly few practical wilderness skills, for emergencies.

The eldest son sought a knighthood and the younger favored scholarly pursuits, both entirely respectable paths for the noble courtiers they were intended to be…but fate had other plans. A plague struck the kingdom, brought in by an outsider, and people began to get sick and Fall at alarming rates. No one, not even royalty was exempt, and though their line was nowhere close to succession, the elder son ended up on the throne, completely unprepared for the duty. The younger did his best to support his brother, frequently leaving on trips outside the kingdom to seek food, supplies, and any chance of help for those too sick to do so.

It was during one such absence that the untrained and desperate king made the decision to shut the castle gates and quarantine all who remained…even at the cost of locking his brother out, who hadn’t yet returned. And unluckily, also a disguised witch who came seeking shelter and took great personal offense to being turned away at king’s decree, casting a curse upon him—that his form should be as shifting and wavering as his integrity until he can forgive himself for what he’s done. When the quarantine was lifted and the younger son returned—after much hardship of his own in the wilderness—he found a convalescing kingdom, but no king to rule it, his brother having long since fled in shame.

A regent was left on the throne to rule in his place, and the errant prince’s quest to seek the missing king began.

The crest of this torn house is a lightning-struck tree, boughs in the middle and bolt and trunk above and below, as a mirror. The family motto is to ‘Stand Tall.’

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House Moontide

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Little is known about this royal house, so old and forsaken that even legends of it have mostly fallen out of memory. Its halls, full of cracked stone and discolored cloth, depict paintings and tapestries of both moon and sea, nereids springing forth from the waves and ethereal spirits descending from lunar light and dancing together hand-in-hand.

The last head of this ancient house, who could have spoke to the meaning of these depictions, translated the strange runes on the walls and in the surviving books, passed on long, long ago, with no heir to succeed them. The land itself has withered and grown barren as the castle has sat empty, awaiting a worthy ruler to sit upon its throne and reawaken the old magic that lies dormant within it.

A stranger has come to the castle keep in recent days, seeking only shelter—but the kingdom’s magic has begun to stir ever so slightly, in preparation for a king who can restore glory to the once grand Moontide house.

The crest of this ageless family is a crescent moon, mirrored by a cresting wave, with stars inside the circle they form. Their long unheard motto is ‘Ebb and Flow’

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Horrorswapfell

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House Ravenknell

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A noble family of high prestige, well-known as trusted scouts and messengers for the royal family since the royal family’s existence. Dedicated, vigilant, and often fleet of foot, their duty has been to serve the crown however they have been needed.

The prior head of house was deeply invested in this reputation, viewing it as a critical stepping stone to maintain should the time ever come that he could…elevate…his status, by alliance or perhaps, by force. By his own boasting, he was quite strict with his two sons, demanding their complete obedience and to see every task, lesson, and trial to the end, no matter the cost. …His sudden death was a surprise but perhaps not very much of a tragedy as he was not well-liked at court (or at home).

He was succeeded by his eldest, who embodied all of his father’s preached values plus a strong love of family, a trait which quite endeared him to the Empress and made his eventual rise to her personal guard all the easier. The younger son, doted upon and left to his own devices took up painting and was actually quite skilled at it. Things went well for a time, and then didn’t.

A dark force set its sights upon the kingdom and took possession of the General of the Royal Guard, using her trusted face to gain access to the Empress, and cut her reign short. Her escape was prevented when the elder son happened upon her, but the ensuing fight blinded and near-mortally wounded him, and many others were injured or killed before she was able to break free of whatever was controlling her. The younger son, as the highest ranking, fully-conscious and able-bodied nobleman left ordered the portcullis dropped, no one in or out of the castle walls until they could all be sure it was truly safe.

When the erstwhile Emperor Asgore heard of what had happened and returned from exile, he was all too gratefully returned to the throne and normalcy—or a semblance of it—began to resume. The older son, no longer fit to fight in the Guard himself, found new purpose in training soldiers and knights to serve in his stead, and the younger took up a guard duty of his own standing sentry on the wall, vigilant to prevent future threats to the kingdom.

The house crest is a raven in flight, beak open to call out. Their family motto is ‘Watch Close, Fly True.’

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Gastertale

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House Driftwind

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The history of this house is particularly odd…in that it seems to have no history. It’s strangely absent from all court genealogies, even under misspellings or in records thorough enough to outline the detailed lineage of a common-born ditch-digger from five generations back.

The previous head of this house…was not, actually, the head of this house, because it didn’t exist until quite recently—but he did exist, at least until he didn’t. He was a nobleman, of minor standing, unmarried or otherwise partnered, and the thought that he might pass on as the last of his house—the last of his very species—both alarmed and upset him. He sought to make a legacy on his own, using unconventional magic to make more skeletons of himself. He’d hoped for children, but what he got was…split.

The twin sons of the house which does not actually exist were born as half-grown youths, with jumbled memories and in an estate actively burning to the ground with a strange, unearthly magic fire. The moment they stepped free of the crumbling manor, they forgot it, as if it had simply been removed from their minds. It was all quite odd and upsetting but the two young men—sans any family to call on, or even a scrap of papyrus to write for aid, if they had—hatched a plan to build (or rebuild?) a life for themselves.

The shorter twin found he had a talent for charming and making friends of even the most standoffish of people, and the taller a gifted logician with an impeccable grasp of etiquette and proper courtly manners. Between the two of them, they made a house of their own and passed it off to those at court as truth. The story of a burned estate (which somehow felt right) and ruined belongings earned much sympathy, and many courtiers allowed them use of rooms for a time, invited them to feasts to take their minds off the trouble, introduced them to other sympathetic nobles—all the way up to the king himself, who especially favored the taller twin’s wise advice, and now they’ve all but made it as the real deal, a noble family.

The crest they long ago decided on for their house, and are finally having properly cast as seals and signets and embroidered into finery, is a balanced scale with ringing bells and trumpeting horns to either side. The motto of their very small family is ‘In Fair and Foul.’

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Transcendtale

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House Fallowkeep

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A lowly ranked family, not far from commoners. Primarily known as guards and watchmen in the lower towns, minding fields and livestock from predators and thieves, their history is far from glamorous but still worthy of some respect for their role in maintaining order.

The last head of house was not entirely pleased with their lack of standing, but was largely resigned to it and realized the folly of looking a gift-horse in the mouth—or more plainly, of taking their relative comfort for granted and risk losing it entirely by trying to scrabble for more, and more, and more. He counseled his children to strive for excellence as what they were, and to not reach too far beyond their station.

His eldest managed to both obey and disobey this directive as a mere insouciant jester, but to the highest authority in the land, and his younger openly dismissed the idea of not aiming too far above his station by seeking a knighthood. Still, their ambitions carried them well and they were happy, until they weren’t.

A necromancer besieged the kingdom one day, slaying all in their path and resurrecting all they killed to serve in their army of the undead as mindless slaves. Only the jester was spared—an act of cruel humor—and escaped to find the court physician who had only just missed the slaughter by a day’s travel. Together they found a cursed tome of the same dark magics the necromancer used, a slim chance to undo what was done…that only one of them had the nerve (or lack of care for the fate of his soul) to take.

The former jester became a death wizard himself, turning his bones to cold iron and giving his soul for the power to wrest control of his felled kingdom away from the necromancer and revenge his loved ones. After, their bodies died again, properly this time, but their spirits—warped and altered by death and resurrection—did not die, made capable of persisting after death as human souls sometimes do. The kingdom, including a delighted invulnerable phantom knight, chose to remain in the land of the living as a haunted ghost kingdom, and continued life mostly as normal…just, now technically dead.

The family crest of the fallen jester and ghost knight is the skull of an ox, draped with sacrificial tassels. Their motto is ‘Bounty From Barrens.’

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Ascendswap

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House Morngleam

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A highly respected and highly wealthy noble family, built by merchants, bankers, and tradesmen, all renowned for keen intuition and a drive that never quit. Somewhat lavish in matters of taste, they’re nonetheless known to be honest and of excellent character which has brought them quite far in the world.

The last head of house was a proud man, bordering on boastful and often going on about the great glory of his house (to many sighs and rolling eyes), but he never spoke falsely. His sons were raised to be proud and confident in all that they do, and to strive to add their own great deeds to the many that adorn their illustrious and distinguished name.

The eldest son sought to serve the kingdom as a knight someday, and the younger thought the archives would be a noble, if humble, pursuit…and this is where fate found them when the kingdom came under siege by a great and powerful army. Queen Toriel bravely resisted the invasion and for a time, her forces held ground, but soon—overwhelmed by numbers and tireless warring—they were forced to retreat behind the castle gates and attempt to withstand the war of attrition brought to their doorstep.

Mere weeks away from being starved out and forced to surrender, the squire snuck out of the castle, willingly risking life and limb to seek aid for the kingdom. Though he avoided detection in his escape, he had little success finding allies willing to fight the enemy he described…until a strange feeling compelled him along an untrod path, deep into the heart of the forest, where a faerie ring lay awaiting. Entering, he found the Summer Court—faefolk—willing to lend their aid, at a price, and only should he bring his monarchs to them to pay the same.

Returning to the kingdom, fae-touched and stranger than when he left it, he managed to convince the queen to come along and with help, even tracked down the estranged king too—but that ‘help’ who insisted on coming along (his brother, the Captain of the Guard, the court physician) cost him a greater price than he had already promised to pay… Still, bargains were struck, alliances made, and the kingdom freed itself from the siege, with very few Affected by the fae. No longer a fighter but with a strange sight and a keen sense of the world’s energies, the former squire now serves the queen as a mystic, and the bookish scholar has followed a new attunement to the wilds and keeps the falcons of the crown.

The crest of their house is a half-sunburst, reminiscent of the early hours, and their motto is ‘Chase The Dawn.’

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Underfell Fruition

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House Warhart

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A common house, populated mostly by rangers and mercenaries in years past. At times they’ve been wealthy and had some measure of respect approaching nobility, but these times coincided with skirmishes and conflicts which required their skill—and peace has reigned for many decades now.

The last head of this house was greatly dissatisfied with the state of things and believed it was his purpose to elevate their name to—and beyond—the glory it had once held. Seeing an avenue to assert himself as a powerful figure, he turned to religion, preaching to those who believed that an Angel of legend would come and lead the kingdom to peace and prosperity the likes of which it had never known. He told all in the congregation he presided over that the coming of The Angel was soon, and when they came, their followers would be called to fight, conquering all who chose other beliefs and bringing peace by means of hard-won war.

He had two sons by this time, the first sickly and weak, and the second healthy and strong. The elder son was expressly vocal in his disagreement with his father’s ideals and the way he was manipulating the townspeople for his own benefit…and for this, he was thrown into an oubliette, left to wither and starve on meager rations tossed down to him sparingly while his absence was explained by ‘divine illness,’ punishment for his heresy. The younger son, around the same time as his brother fell ‘ill,’ was sent away to train with the militia—a show of his father’s faith in what he preached that he would even give his own son for the cause.

The imprisoned son survived in captivity, growing attuned to the magic in the very earth and air around him and even learning to draw upon it to sustain himself when he may have otherwise perished. His brother adapted to the grueling training regimen he was subjected to and became the star soldier of the zealots’ army, the strongest, fastest, and most obedient of their number.

When the Royal Guard came to investigate the rumors of a military cult forming in an outlying village of the kingdom, the cult’s leader was dispatched and all prisoners freed—including the brothers. The elder found a niche performing in the court of the Emperor whose forces ended his stay in the ground, and the younger became a carpenter’s apprentice, seeking a constructive trade as far from making war as could be.

The crest of their house is a stag with its head lowered to charge. Their motto is ‘To The Last Man.’

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Swapfell Fruition

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House Nyteblade

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A house of great wealth and means, but little social clout…at least, as far as is public. Their line is known to run in one of two directions: recluses and bon vivants, with little variation. What they all have in common, unbeknownst to the court at large, is a hand in shady dealings, from theft to reconnaissance to assassination and everything in between—all in the service of the crown. To maintain secrecy, they could never be acknowledged openly for the work they’ve done but have always been rewarded well to live comfortably and maintain cover.

The now-late head of house was a diligent and ruthless spymaster for the Empress and pulled the strings of all his clandestine assets as deftly and nimbly as any harper, a true master of the web he’d woven… Though, perhaps too tangled in it to realize the folly of raising two sons to follow in his ruthless, underhanded dealings, sons who feared and hated him in equal measure.

Following their father’s untimely death, the eldest son succeeded him directly, taking control of the underground network that had been built to serve Empress Toriel and continuing to use it for exactly that purpose, business as usual. The younger son, well-practiced in espionage and assassination, maintained a cover as a roguish devil of a courtier with time and money and little care to how he spent either…Perhaps not so much of a cover, but a very easy reputation with which to do his job.

The removal of their father was the turn of the hourglass, however, and gave them a limited time to make arrangements to be out of the picture before the killers and assassins under them followed in their footsteps and tried to remove them the same way. Choosing a suitable mark, the ruler of a neighboring kingdom, the younger employed his considerable powers of seduction and won a marriage proposal to bring him—and his brother—far, far from the reach or care of conspirators he was no longer in the way of.

The crest of the house the youngest son left behind, that the eldest still bears is a pair of crossed stiletto daggers with ornate grips. Their motto was ‘From Shadow, Glory.’

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House Wulfmaw

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The royal family of a middlingly prosperous kingdom, availed of decent resources and power, but suffering from…mismanagement. The line is mostly known as drunkards and adulterers and warmongers—but not in any of their hearing, as they’ve also been known for their hot tempers.

The last monarch on the throne was no exception to the reputation of their family, spending poorly and skirmishing often with neighboring kingdoms over territory, to say nothing of many, many diplomatic incidents caused by poor manners with dignitaries at court.

No one was especially surprised when the monarch chose a low-ranking foreign nobleman of…not dissimilar temperament to be their prince-consort. It was a bit of a surprise when the monarch passed, though the suggestion that ample wine and poor decisions may have been the cause made sense of that. It was certainly strange when none came forth from the proper line of succession and the prince-consort became the crown-prince, but…

Frankly, the new prince was a decidedly cooler head upon which to rest the crown, with a much better grasp of diplomacy and charm than any monarchs in living memory. A bit of a philanderer and a shirker, with a tendency to flounce off seeking pleasure over duty, certainly, but the brother he brought with him does a decent enough job wrangling his larking about and seems to keep things running smoothly. It seems…for the best, to let things continue as they are, and perhaps have a kingdom which can be taken seriously by the other realms, maybe even respected.

The crest of the family is the head of a wolf with its jaws open in a snarl. Their motto was, and is ‘Swallow Mercy.’

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Descendtale

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House Blackroot

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A common family, little more than simple farmers who tended the land and reaped the fruits (and vegetables) of their labor. All among their number were hard-working, salt of the earth folks who had little money and next to no prestige to their name, but plots of land to sow and (usually) enough to go around.

The last patriarch of the family was hardened and embittered by a life of labor he had never wanted and dreams he was never able to achieve for himself. To his sons, he left the lesson that there isn’t a thing in life that will simply be handed over for nothing, and to grip onto whatever you get with both hands.

Both of his children took the lesson to heart, and the elder studied and honed his humor until he was good enough to perform in the royal court for the king himself, and the younger spent countless hours training mind and body to have a chance at becoming a fully-fledged knight of the realm. They lived well, comfortably above their social station for many a year.

Things changed when a stranger came to the kingdom one day and snuck into the royal vaults beneath the castle, where many powerful artifacts and beautiful treasures were stored. They took only one small thing, a token said to grant prosperity to those who hold it…at the cost of unleashing a great darkness upon the land from which it is taken. In the wake of the theft of this cursed totem, a perpetual night fell across the kingdom and its borders were ringed with sharp and wicked thorns—penning its inhabitants in. King Asgore attempted to tear through the briars as they began to grow in, devouring the kingdom like a living thing, but the prick of their thorns caused a deep and deathly illness and he passed quickly after that.

The Queen burned her way through—a passage which grew over completely in only days—and ruled in his stead, adapting the kingdom to survive in permanent night. The people slept in strange patterns, ate what crops would still grow in darkness, and simply...carried on.

The former jester quite lost his good humor and began to manage the dungeons as they filled up with treasure-seekers come to look for more artifacts like the one that was famously stolen from a cursed kingdom where there was surely no one left to protest—grave-robbers in intention, if not in truth. The aspiring knight found greater purpose in trimming back the perpetual growth of the evil thorns at their border, preventing risk to others who could scratch flesh upon them and fall gravely ill, perhaps die…and of course to keep the castle and its nearest surrounding lands from being lost to those who still must live there. Like himself!

The crest of their family is a tree of life, centered more on the roots than trunk or boughs, and ringed by an ouroboros. Their motto is ‘Dig In Deep.’

[popjunkie42]

Blossoming in Winter - Chapter Four

For my darling @witchlingsandwyverns, the next chapter of your gift exchange! I hope you enjoy! The angst is getting angsty.

Love and kisses to @witch-and-her-witcher, @temperedink and @wilde-knight for the beta reads, patience and advice!

Blossoming in Winter

Chapter Four: Darkness Unescapable - read on AO3

Summary:

Five hundred years before Amarantha’s reign Under the Mountain, Prythian and the Continent were thrust into a brutal war to abolish human slave lands and the threat of the King of Hybern. Tamlin, third son of the High Lord of Spring, has rebelled against his father to fight on behalf of the human-faerie alliance. A fae archer in his personal guard, Feyre Archeron, makes a foolhardy decision that changes the tide of the entire war.

Rescued from torture at the hands of General Amarantha, Prince Rhysand has been sent to High Lord Thesan’s Hall of Healing in the Dawn Court. Frustrated, immobile and in disgrace with his father, Rhysand meets a fellow patient in healing who helps him see the days ahead, beyond the brutality of war. But can he make her see that future for herself?

A Court of Thorns and Roses AU set during the first Hybern war, inspired by the story of Faramir and Eowyn in Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien.

First part of Chapter Four under the cut!

In her quarters, Feyre argued with her nurses until she had driven them from the room.

The nurses were a problem. They insisted on bandage changes twice a day. And she was starting to lose the strength to keep them away. Standing in front of the mirror, breathing deeply, Feyre began to unwrap her bindings.

White, withered skin revealed itself stripe by stripe in the mirror. It was dull and gray, as if it was dying on her bones. 

The pale wintry sun shone over the spread of newly infected flesh on her ribs. The skin around the edges was raw and red. Every day she felt it, the searing, frozen cold biting at her body. And then, nothing. More of her body given way on the battleground of her flesh.

Turning away from the mirror, she pinned a strip of clean bandage between her wrist and the table, and began awkwardly wrapping her arm. Hopes or wishes could do nothing now. The ichor spilled on her skin was claiming her body, inch by inch.

Feyre closed her eyes. Sometimes the memories felt so real she wondered if she ever really left the Middle. If that cursed blood that spilled on her had stained her mind as well as her body. The memory of the scent of wet earth and sweet rot hung heavy in her nose. She swore she felt wet moss trailing over her skin, the sound of rustling leaves drowning out the muted bustle of the healing hall. 

In the forest, she had not approached the god like a warrior, soldier, or High Lord. 

Feyre had hunted.

She was fortunate that his power was so vast it prickled the hairs on her arm, that she could sense it and keep to the very edges, out of his awareness. Fortunate that a small creature such as herself posed so little threat to an old god as to go unnoticed.

Magic had dripped off of him like morning dew. Her feet followed the path decked with new green buds on the trees, spring grass and flowers on the forest bed in the shape of his footsteps, quickly freezing and dying in the early winter cold.

Under the dark trees, she had circled for hours, scenting and tracking. And slowly, she set her trap - of wards and spells, and the more vulgar spikes and ropes. 

She didn’t lay eyes upon him until he had fallen into her trap. A towering figure, long of limb, so covered in sprouts and moss and vines it was impossible to see the skin underneath. His power not of good or evil but simply the endless, metamorphic cycle of a seedling sprouting and falling back to the earth as a rotted tree.

When he was caught, bound and covered in his own dark blood, and she finally stood in front of him, her only impulse had been to kneel.

She was a creature of the forest, was she not? 

In his eyes, in the draw of that vast power, older than time, she felt the world melt away. Felt how short a time these seven years were to an immortal. Grief over the dead on a battlefield was meaningless, as all would return one day to the earth to feed the trees.

And as he raged even in his death rattle, the burning blood had splashed from his wounds and onto her body. He sank to the forest floor and breathed his last as Feyre had screamed, her skin marked, cursed, by magic and fury. 

In her bedroom, Feyre winced at the bite of ice on her flesh. For a terrible moment, the numbness subsided, and she felt the burning pinprick screams of her limb so long asleep and starved for blood. 

She shoved the rest of the bandages in between her teeth and screamed.

Through the pain she repeated the awful truth to herself: she had already accepted this cost, for Tamlin, and by consequence, the rest of Prythian. The Suriel had foretold it, and it was just taking a little longer than expected. 

Wasn’t one inconsequential fae life worth the rest of them, of all Prythian? 

The pain subsiding, she tucked her wrapped arm under a large tunic and tied the sleeve, pulling it tight with her teeth. Then she pulled the fine night-blue cloak around her shoulders and tied it tightly around her throat.

She didn’t admit what was on her mind now. She was going walking, and it was best he didn’t see.

Read the rest on AO3

[deathbxnny]

YQ's Mother Requestor Anon here! I'm now gonna cackle bc the era of YQ angst is over and its time for his Villain! 🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳

So, in the au "Jing Yuan executes his wife/Yanqing's mom wrongly" but let's make it even more worse with his son turning against him, very much angry and absolutely wanting to be the guy to end Jing Yuan. He betrays the entire Alliance and doesn't even care if he became a major criminal, because Yanqing now believes the Alliance is merely a glorified legion of murder worst than the Anti-Matter Legion (At least the Legion accepts their wrongdoings in a twisted way than to regale it as justice like the Hunt/Xianzhou Alliance).

He doesn't even join the Abundance, the Stellaron Hunters, etc. because he lacks the will that aligns with the Aeons opposing the Hunt/Xianzhou yet would not stay in the Hunt Path no longer, maybe he'll follow the Nihility or Finality?

Anyways, thanks for reading in my request and I look forward to whatever you bring!

[Ps: Bonus if the last straw was losing someone he loved bc of the Hunt/Xianzhou Alliance and making him question if the Alliance is truly the ones that bring justice, like Dan Shu and Yukong]

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A/N: Hello there! Yanqing's long awaited villain arc is finally approaching and so thank you for the request! I also apologise for me taking so long, but I officially got my new Laptop today, which means I'll finally get some requests out! I hope you'll like it!>:))

Content: Angst, betrayal, heartbreak, mentions of Yanging's mom being wrongfully executed, Yanqing getting his well-deserved villain arc, mentions/threats of violence, some cursing, Jing Yuan being kinda heartless, Reader briefly mentioned as Yanging's lover

Reader has no mentioned pronouns!

((Not proofread and new posting format!))

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Yanqing's life fell apart the moment he found out about the truth.

It were like the cold, unforgiving waves of the ocean crashing against a shore in a wild storm, drowning him in it with no way out. He reached out for help, yet all he got was pitied looks and empty apologies for what was the most heartbreaking revelation of his life. He cried and screamed, his body thrashing aorund in the hold of the cloud knights, his hands gripping onto his sword, his teeth barring at what was once his beloved master. He was reduced to nothing but a hateful memory now in the young boy's mind, all admiration and love gone in an instant and replaced with an unquenchable thirst for revenge.

"How could you? How could you betray me like this?" He screamed, but there was no explanation nor apology that would ever make this okay. Nothing in this world could fix this. And perhaps Jing Yuan knew this, when he turned aorund and began walking away quietly. He was a coward, who couldn't face his son's disappointment even when faced with the consequences of his actions. "HOW DARE YOU WALK AWAY, DAMNIT? AFTER ALL THESE YEARS! I LOOKED UP TO YOU, YOU LIAR!" The boy screamed, his throat burning and failing him, his voice cracking so painfully, that it made the older man wince in shame. He knew this would happen, he knew the truth would tear him apart. But ultimately, he could never imagine how bad this truly would be. He was ignorant and it made him wonder what he expected would happen.

JIng Yuan came to a stop momentarily, his eyes focused ahead to blend out the pain in his heart, as he slaughtered the last of his emotions with a single sentence. "Take him away to cool off." Yanqing's eyes widened at his words, his body going limp in defeat and surprise, yet the rage in him said more than he needed to.

This wasn't over.

But Yanqing waited. He would be patient with getting his revenge. He'd plan every detail, he'd wait for the right moment to enact the perfect betrayal. He dug deep, learning all about the way his mother was wrongfully excecuted by his own father, who decided to just never even mention him being his biological child to him either. Yanqing just couldn't comprehend why the general would do this to him. And it wasn't just about his mother's excecution. All the lies about his heritage, all the lies about who he was, his mother discarded as nothing more than an unimportant memory alongside her entire clan.

Forgotten by all, except for her son, who eventually couldn't wait anymore, after he lost the only person who kept him sane. You, the light of his world, that comforted him when no one else wanted to. They let you die. You weren't worth saving in their eyes and that was what made him finally break.

The darkness was turning him into a ball of hatred and rage, he wasn't the same cheerful boy he once was. The change hurt him in more ways than one, but he decided to just drown that old part of himself and push forward with his plans. He wanted no help. He wante to do it all on his own, destroy everyone on the ship with his own hands, until they finally understand how he felt. He made a pact with the Aeon of Nihility and gained the power needed to truly enact his plans of betrayal.

His hair whipped in the wind, his face devoid of any emotions, as he stared down at the dishevelled general, who was clutching on his bleeding side uselessly. The Xianzhou Luofu was up in flames, citizens and guards running aorund in panic to get away from the destruction, their screams music to the too far gone boy. Once father and son, now nothing but enemies, the two brandished their swords in preparation of a fight Jing Yuan never wanted and Yanqing was itching for.

The boy could only hope that you and his mother were watching him, as a smile spread across his face in glee of it all finally coming to an end, when the older man's sword clattered to the ground with him following it soon after in defeat.

-----

A/N: Alright, I hope this was okay! Thank you again for the request and sorry again for taking so long!<3

[dasphinxone]

Okoye x Attuma Arranged Marriage AU WIP

I guess since no one else is doing it, here goes my plotline to my WIP attempt at an Okoye x Attuma Arranged Marriage To Ally Their Kingdoms and Save Lives AU 😆

Instead of Okoye getting blasted off the bridge in Boston, she's also taken to Talokan with Shuri and Riri. Shuri sends Namor to the surface to meet with her mother, where Queen Ramonda plants a tracker on him. Nakia does still go to rescue them from Talokan via the tracker and her research in the Yucatan.

Except, since Okoye is down in Talokan too, she's able to knock out the handmaiden holding Shuri hostage rather than Nakia killing her to rescue them. Shuri presses one of her kimoyo beads to the handmaid's head, so she survives without injury. Okoye is still stripped by Queen Ramonda of being a general and a Dora Milaje for allowing Shuri to be taken. Shuri is pissed off because yeah, she volunteered to go to see Namor on her own. In fact, she ordered Okoye to stand down, ending her fight with Attuma and stopping Namora from tossing that water grenade at her.

So Shuri immediately announces in front of Ramonda and the visibly sympathetic tribal council that she's assigning Okoye as general of the Midnight Angels, who will be her personal bodyguard.

Ramonda says her daughter has no authority to do so. Surprisingly, M'Baku comes to Okoye's defense and points out there is nothing in their Tribal Council Constitution that states Shuri doesn't have that power. Besides, considering what happened to Shuri and that she's alive and whole, doesn't that mean there's no better person to protect their princess and only heir than Okoye?

Ramonda is pissed, Shuri is smug in her triumph and M'Baku lives to create drama. Ramonda still sends Okoye away out of her sight. Shuri loudly tells Okoye to meet her in the lab and then promptly bounces out of the meeting.

The two spend the next few days working together to speed up finishing the Midnight Angels suits since Namor and the Talokanil are a new threat. They bring in Aneka to help them review and test the suits' efficiency as well. Shuri also works on creating more sonic weapons since she witnessed how Nakia's sonic gun killed the Talokanil warrior at their rescue.

Namor loses a warrior bodyguard at Shuri's rescue but not a civilian handmaiden. So he's still pissed. But not quite "Fuck up your capital city and assassinate your queen" pissed. Instead and a few days later, he infiltrates Wakanda via one its main rivers. He takes some of the River Tribesmen hostage with Attuma, Namora and some other Talokanil warriors.

Nakia catches him (he has no idea it was her who rescued the three women). He demands an audience with Shuri or else he'll drown his hostages...and keep snatching River Tribe people every day to drown at sunrise and sunset. All while increasing the number killed by one per drowning.

After Nakia calls Shuri on her kimoyo beads, the Princess quickly arrives, accompanied by Aneka and Okoye in their new Midnight Angel suits. Attuma is startled to see Okoye again (her face is uncovered) but remains silent. Namora is on full alert and is definitely in "Fuck around and find out" mode. Aneka smirks at her but remains on guard.

Namor reiterates that he will drown River tribesmen if he is not escorted to the palace. Also, if his warriors don't hear from him by sunset (it's the early morning), he will direct them to drown and kill them. Out of options, Shuri escorts Namor, Attuma and Namora back to palace.

Ramonda is understandably livid. M'Baku is extremely wary but gleeful, pointing out Okoye was right about the "fish man." Especially that big, blue, balloon one. Attuma growls at him but M'Buka ain't concerned and hoots back.

Chaos nearly ensues until Okoye tells both of them to basically shut the fuck up. They're trying to avoid a fucking war here, by Bast!

Namor demands a more binding alliance between Wakanda and Talokan or else he will go to war. The tribal council and Ramonda are in uproar. It gets even worse when Namor recommends a marriage between himself and Shuri, which causes all hell to nearly break loose. Above them, the Dora Milaje go into battle defense mode with a pound of their spears.

Except Shuri actively looks like she's thinking about it. Ramonda bellows that an arranged marriage its absolutely off the table. It's archaic, mad disrespectful and for fuck's sake, Shuri is far too young. She doesn't even rule the kingdom yet.

Namor points out Shuri is heir. He also low-key threatens that he could conceivably make her queen right now. Shuri snaps that he's WAY outta line. Besides, how could she expect to grow to potentially marry him if he's actively threatening the last of her remaining family right now?!

Namor slyly responds that perhaps courting her would prove more constructive. Shuri points out he's still proposing this under duress.

"A binding marriage between one of my nobles and one of yours would prove less beneath your contempt then, princess?"

Okoye feels increasingly guilty since she blames her actions on the bridge forced Shuri to give herself up to Namor in the first place. She's also still reeling from being stripped her command and kicked out of the Dora Milaje. She thinks on the one time she chose a husband for herself, she picked that bitch-ass traitor in W'Kabi, so she has nothing else to lose.

She volunteers herself for a political marriage to one of the Talokanil.

Ramonda sneers that Okoye's been stripped of being a general for failing to protect her daughter in the first place. Okoye feels ashamed (but once she thinks about it later, she realizes this was Ramonda's attempt to save her from being forced into a marriage and leave Wakanda by trying to downplay her value).

Meanwhile, as soon as Ramonda tells Namor that Okoye is no longer a general, Shuri counters with the fact that Okoye is general of the Midnight Angels, her personal guard. Ramonda tries to deny it but Shuri presses forward. Namor responds that's excellent, as Okoye clearly has value. "And now, all we must do is decide who your great General will marry," he smugly says.

This is when Attuma declares that he will marry the Warrior. Namor is surprised while Namora hisses. Mostly to cover up her astonishment at Attuma's declaration. 'Cause holy shit, this whole thing is spinning out into some batshit crazy circumstances.

But Attuma points out that the Talokanil have a tradition of "What we cannot kill, we keep." And since he could not kill Okoye on the bridge?He has right of first refusal when it comes to marrying her.

Okoye is stunned, fuming and looks like she wants to rip out Attuma's gills. Hopefully finishing the job this time. Meanwhile, Namor immediately grants him the marriage. Namora is in stunned disbelief

After that, Namor sends word to his warriors holding some of the River Tribe hostage that he is safe. However, he won't have the river tribesmen released until the marriage contract is completed over the next three days.

Over the next three days, the marriage contract is ironed out by him, Shuri, Okoye and Attuma:

-Okoye and Attuma will get married in two different ceremonies. Namor demands the Talokanil ceremony take place first in precedence but Attuma asks Okoye what she wants. She icily insists the marriage first take place in Wakanda.

-The marriage must be consummated within a week of the second marriage ceremony in Talokan or it will be invalid and threaten the end to the treaty.

-They agree that Okoye will live with Attuma for three months at a time in Talokan and he will live with her three months at a time in Wakanda, alternating from there. Since Okoye will have the first wedding in Wakanda, she will be living her first three months with Attuma in Talokan.

Shuri pledges to design a new house for Okoye on the river that can accommodate Attuma. She will also work with the Talokanil scientists to create a home in one of the grottoes in Talokan that can accommodate Okoye since they cannot live separately. Otherwise, why marry?

-They do not have to have children, though it is heavily encouraged. Okoye reminds everyone she's in her early 40s, so yeah, not gonna happen and it's ultimately her choice. Not to mention, they have no fucking clue how human and Talokanil physiology work together.

Attuma points out that they may adopt younglings. Though if they do, it will have to be an equal number of Wakandan and Talokanil younglings to keep things fair.

-If they have a potential marriage ending disputes, they will have to bring it to a council of 2-3 Talokanil and Wakandan members. The nation who has the majority of council members changes every year. Once a dispute is voted on, it is law, unless extenuating circumstances require that the issue be revisited.

-Okoye and Attuma will train the other's forces. Tactics and weapons will be shared.

-This marriage will also open the way to cultural trade between Wakanda and Talokan.

-Any threat against either spouse will be taken as a threat against both nations and treated with equal importance and threat response.

-Attuma insists on properly courting Okoye during the first three months of her living with him in Talokan. Okoye hisses that it's pointless since they're already married. Attuma gets irritated and says that even though the marriage is political, he still needs to court her properly to fulfill Talokanil tradition. Okoye tries to get out of this, but Attuma won't budge.

It pisses off Okoye even more. She then points out that since he's so fond of courting, he can court her in both Talokanil and Wakandan traditions. Attuma shrugs and agrees. Okoye certainly wasn't expecting him to so quickly agree to her traditions, huh.

-The first marriage in Wakanda will take place at the next full moon, which is in just under three weeks.

All four of them sign the marriage contract. Ramonda won't sign it until the end of the first marriage ceremony in Wakanda.

Meanwhile, the U.S. and France most certainly HAVE NOT forgotten losing their ships and mercenaries to Wakanda in their efforts to gain vibranium. The African nation is absolutely still in their sights. And Valentina Fontaine sure in the hell never forgets a perceived insult...

And that's where we are with this crack-ass AU...Help, I HATE IT HERE 😂