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3d-wifey · 1 year ago

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And They'd Find Us In A Week - Chapter 1

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 5.3k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! A/N: Don't be scared to click the embedded links, you might get an auditory surprise (Ai voice cloning works wonders)

Past (i) - You

[15 & 16] - THE CAPITOL

Pine is a simple wood. It grows in abundance, representing purity and innocence. In Eleven, it’s saved for children. Children like Cane. Only thirteen years old, but at the end of his life. He died in the initial bloodbath from a knife in the heart, you saw it yourself as you were running away. You had made eye contact with him for a split second and had contemplated waiting for him behind one of the many buildings encased by overgrown greenery. But, within the next second, those eyes had clouded over and cannon fire rang in your ears.

He looks so small in his pine casket, you note. The pale shade of his little brown face is the only giveaway that he isn’t sleeping.

His parents come to stand before him, withdrawn in their grief for their youngest child. They each place a fruit in his hand: a pear in his left, and an apple in his right. One for himself and another to share with whoever comes to take his soul.

Neem, his brother, holds up his sister Venus, the youngest girl. She is distraught, wails bouncing through the clearing. Their oldest sibling, Vera, hadn’t been permitted to leave the fields to come to the burial.

Chrysanthemums represent death, mourning, life, and goodbyes. Roses represent life, grief, and sadness. You watch as the adults of the town move in to help his family cover him head to toe in the petals. A few of these flowers are shipped to the Capitol to be used aesthetically, you’re sure. Such an odd thought knowing the rest are used here only for funerals.

You can’t help but think about how close you came to being the one under all those flowers. You imagine your mom having to place the fruits in your hands by herself. The hand on your shoulder keeps you pinned in place as Venus’s knees buckle. Your mom squeezes you to her side and you look at her tightened face. You aren't the only one imagining it.

The grave has already been dug and above it sits his headstone, a rock bigger than both of your hands combined with his initials and his age carved into it.

C.B.

You stare at that rock long after they put him in the ground and cover him in dirt. At the end of the ceremony, all of the children in attendance get in line to hug the family. This one is no different. You’re only fifteen, but you’ve been to many funerals. Only one stands out: your dad’s.

You remember being ten and getting irritated at how sticky the pomegranate juice made your hands, but you preferred it to the painful lump in your throat. You had to be lifted so you could place the fruit in his cold hands and you don’t think your mom put you down after, holding you close to her chest as the town’s children hugged you.

You’re at the back of the line nervously picking at your nail beds. There’s a certain amount of guilt tied to being the one who survived, especially in the face of the grieving family. You haven’t spoken to them since you got back a month ago—it took a while for the Capitol to return his body—but you know they don’t blame you. That’s just not the way people think in Eleven. You don’t turn against your own.

You’re nervous because you have a bigger part to play other than offering condolences and you promised Cane you’d complete it.

Before you go in to hug his father, you speak.

“I, uh, have something for you.” You pull a small bear figurine out of your pocket, crudely carved from wood. “Cane, he gave it to me to give to his family the night before we went into the arena. Just in case I managed to come back.” Something neither of you had any real hope of happening, but you understood the gesture for what it was. He wanted you to bring him back to his family. So you protected it with your life, literally.

And now he’s home.

And that’s what cracks them, you think. His mom’s lips quiver and his dad makes a pained noise when you place it in his shaking grip. And Neem, who has tried to stay strong for his family, gasps around a sob. Venus pulls you into a hug, tears dripping onto your neck.

A breeze comes through, shaking the leaves in the tree and cooling you from the humid heat. You like to think that it’s Cane’s way of thanking you for not forgetting him.

“Your accent is just darling. Say something else, say something else!” The woman in front of you exclaims. You can’t remember her name, but you’re pretty sure she never introduced herself to you anyway. In fact, you don’t think anyone has introduced themselves to you.

"Like what?"

"Like what?" They mock your voice, clapping like you’re a dog that did a trick. You smile around the embarrassment. Maybe for your next act, you’ll play dead. "Oh, that is just a treat."

You've officially been the winner of the sixty-seventh Hunger Games for six months and thirteen days. It's the end of your Victory Tour and all you have to do is tolerate the Capitols poking and prodding at you until the night is over. Though, that's easier said than done.

You remind yourself to make a conscious effort to bury the accent, sound a little more like them. The old you wouldn’t give a damn about how a Capitol perceives you, but the old you didn’t get pawed at nearly as much as you have tonight.

Your dress cinches at your waist uncomfortably. The heels you were forced into press painfully into the calluses on your feet, and you've eaten so many pastries that your jaw aches. Foreign hands pat at your hair, stroking and pulling at the curls as you recount for the fifth time how you escaped the tributes from District Five.

"I climbed to the top of a building and jumped between rooftops while they looked for me on the ground—"

“Skip to the part where you get your scythe!” Someone yells from the crowd, cutting you off. You purse your lips and bite your tongue so hard that you taste metal.

"Alright. Two days in, I was… gifted a scythe from a sponsor—"

"And you used it beautifully!" Another person calls from your left.

"Yes, that move you pulled off against that poor boy from Nine was simply marvelous!" A voice shouts from behind you. You remember him. How could you forget? The "move" you pulled off wasn't intentional. As a warning, you swung your scythe in wide arches, but he ran at you and the blade slit his stomach open. You think he did it on purpose, knowing how it would end for him. You put him out of his misery with his own knife.

He was the first person you killed in the arena. The first thing you had ever killed.

You bite into a muffin, and it tastes like ash on your tongue.

You try to ignore the multiple hands on your shoulders, arms, and neck; all moving to touch any bare skin they can reach. But it's hard to ignore soft hands that have never known a day of work. Much different from your own calloused palms, made rough from your days of harvesting crops and climbing high in trees to pick fruit.

You keep quiet as they talk at you, never actually trying to engage you in the conversation. You grimace as a hand touches your face.

"God, you are stunning—isn't she stunning?" A taller man smiles down at you with golden teeth, moving your face this way and that with his sharp nails.

"Oh, just gorgeous! Who knew they were hiding such a diamond in the Agriculture district, of all places?" The group breaks out in howling laughter, as if the very notion of something worthwhile coming out of District Eleven is outlandish. Somehow, both a joke at your expense and one they expect you to join in on.

You're willing to bet all of your earnings that none of these people have the slightest idea about life in Eleven, what it's like to be truly hungry. Children are being hung for stealing food and here they are, gorging themselves just to throw it all up. You're shaken by the thought that you are completely alone here. Forced to endure the abrasive attention of the Capitol residents until they grow bored with you. You contemplate how easy it would be to escape. You aren't sure how much longer you can go with people petting you like a domesticated animal. Maybe, if you make yourself sick from drinking those vomit-inducing drinks, you could make a strategic retreat with minimal fuss. "Excuse me, ladies, gentlemen," a smooth voice breaks through the crowd before a lithe body follows. The man—or boy, rather—is tall, all tan skin and sun-bleached-hair. Every eye falls on him as soon as he steps up, and you can understand why. Finnick Odair. He's objectively attractive; beautiful, even. You can tell from the brazen way he holds himself that he already knows that. Pink lips are settled in a smug smirk, but they don't take away from his eyes. If you were a writer, you could have authored a thousand and one poems about those eyes alone. "You wouldn't mind me stealing tonight's guest of honor for a dance, would you?" It's quiet, and the crowd looks at each other. They clearly don't want to give you up—their brand-new toy. But who can say no to Finnick Odair? Exclaims of oh, certainly and of course are called out before he comes to stand in front of you. Someone pulls the saucer of miniature cakes and cookies from your death grip and you feel bare before him. You had seen him two years ago during his games. Then, six months after that he came to Eleven for his Victory Tour, apologizing to the families of people he didn't know nor care about. He was just another pretty Career laughing and being gushed over on Caesar Flickerman's couch, pretty low on your list of priorities. But now—well, it was one thing to see him on screen, it was another to be in front of him. It's a lot like standing in front of the ocean, you imagine. You had seen it secondhand, through train windows and simulated in arenas, but nothing could prepare you to see it in person. He doesn't push you to take his hand, just holds it out in front of him like he has all the time in the world. Like he knows you'll take it, eventually. The temptation to reject him is strong. You’d pay money to see the look on his and everyone else's faces if you said no and walked away.

You reach forward and a callused palm meets your own. You trust him as much as you do everyone else vying for your attention here, but he's the lesser of two evils. You tense up as you follow him, mentally preparing yourself to be surrounded. But he doesn't lead you to the center of the dancing mass like you thought he would. Instead, you both linger on the edge, barely close enough to be a part of the crowd. He faces you and asks, "May I have this dance?" Overly formal in a way that nobody else here has been with you.

"We're already here, aren't we?" You say as if you weren’t just contemplating leaving him behind. You step closer to him as the band starts a new song, your right hand holding his left and the other on his shoulder. His free hand lays on your waist, a fraction above the slit on the side of your dress.

“Have you been having fun?” He picks, certainly nonexistent, lint off the shoulder of your dress. Is your eye twitching? It has to be. You want to place a hand on it to tamp down the spasms, but, instead, your nails dig into his shoulder through his suit jacket.

“What? Are you not enjoying your time in our great nation's capitol?” He deadpans. Your mouth tries to twitch into a smirk and you smother it down.

You narrow your eyes. “What’re your thoughts on lying?”

He inhales slowly, head tilting side to side contemplatively. “Depends. Am I the one lying?” You shake your head. He shrugs. “Then, I hate it.”

“Then, I won’t answer,” you shrug back. He lets out a puff of air from his nose, a laugh?

"I'm surprised Seeder isn't here with you. She talked you up a big game, you know. Very confident that you'd win." His eyes sweep over the crowd of dancing couples before settling on you. “Guess, I should have bet on you too, huh?”

You don’t know how you feel about that. Why would Seeder be that confident in a semi-malnourished fifteen-year-old with no combat skills?

You definitely wouldn’t have bet on yourself. If you were in his shoes, you would’ve put money into one of the Careers. Maybe that one girl from Two—perhaps the most muscular person you’ve ever seen. She was benching at least twice her body weight in the Training Center, but you think it was just an intimidation tactic. Though, a pointless one, since she didn’t even make it out of the Cornucopia. You suppose no amount of muscle can combat an axe to the back of the spine. “I wouldn’t have if I were you. But now that you've actually seen me, do I meet all the expectations she set?” You partially joke. Partially because as much as you hate to admit it, you are curious. Why you’re curious about what he thinks of you will remain a mystery. “Now that I've actually seen you? No,” you look up at him in shock before he grins like a shark, teeth on display. "You exceed them. Don't get me wrong. You were beautiful on screen, but the TV doesn't do you justice." He does little to hide the once-over he gives you. It was meant to be caught. You don't know what to say. You've been excessively complimented and fawned over since you were reaped, but somehow, it felt different coming from him. His gaze felt different. Like he actually saw you. You throw that thought away. Finnick is a known flirt—a playboy. He means nothing by it and neither does the look in his eyes. "She's pregnant. Seeder," you clarify, abruptly changing the topic. “About seven months along. She's resting at the hotel.” Traveling for so long had taken its toll. Not to mention the stress of just being in the Capitol. Snow, the bastard, wouldn't let her stay behind, even though Chaff was willing to take her place as your mentor on the tour. "Ah, congratulations are in order then."

"Please,” you scoff. “I'm sure you didn't come up to me just to talk about Seeder." Your gaze bounces around his face as you do everything in your power to avoid eye contact with him.

“Why not? I can’t ask about a good friend?”

“If you’re such “good friends” shouldn’t you have already known she was pregnant?”

“Touché.” He concedes with a nod, his smile still in place. Or at least you think he does. You aren’t entirely sure what touché means. “I came up to you because you looked like you were one more scone away from using it as a weapon." The laugh you let out is a surprise to you both and you have to bite your cheek to stifle it. You haven’t been doing a whole lot of laughing over the past six months.

"Was I that obvious?" He's quiet for a moment as he stares at you and you don't dwell on it. Instead, you focus on the freckles dotting the bridge of his nose.

You're only a year younger than him and, yet, there's something about him that feels far older than any other sixteen-year-old you've met. The way he carries himself—something sharp-edged hidden under indifference, an alertness in his eyes that you're sure mirrors your own. "To anyone who cared to look," his voice deepens as he hums. It really is smooth. "Definitely." "Am I supposed to believe that the Capitol's darling cares about little ol' me?" "So, you do know who I am." His lips shift into a shit-eating grin, preening as if he caught you in a lie. He’s probably used to people fawning over him, and that’s something you’d never do. Be that as it may, you can acknowledge that there might be something worth fawning over. “Who doesn't?” It’s been two years and people are still talking about his games. And for good reason, you have to admit.

"Touché...again.” He tilts his head with contemplatively narrowed eyes. You narrow your eyes right back simply based on the fact that he did it first. “You know, that’s the second time you’ve—” "Seriously, what're you hoping to achieve here? You've gotta have a motive. Everyone does.” You push, cutting to the chase and sounding more accusatory than you meant to. But, he’s a victor too, right? Maybe you can toe the line here without repercussions waiting on the other side.

"Hmm, blunt. Even you?" He questions, continuing when you nod. "What's your motive for dancing with me, then?"

You could have said no to this dance, but that would’ve meant staying surrounded by them. This, being with Finnick, is a breath of fresh air in comparison. He may not be Eleven or from any other district that’s similar to yours, but he is District. That’s gotta be worth something—some kind of kinship.

"I'd do just about anything to escape those vultures," you pause. Then, feeling emboldened, add, "And I guess you're not terrible to look at." If you were going to be forced to stay here, you might as well find your fun where you can. And talking to Finnick is fun. Undoubtedly, the only fun you've had all night.

"Oh, thank you," he laughs, mirth coloring his cheeks a pretty shade of pink. "You know, I was worried about that."

"Is that so?" You smile, trying, and failing, to not step on his feet.

"Definitely," he pauses for a second, seemingly deciding on something before answering your question, "It’s just that—you remind me of someone. They got wrapped up in the Capitol; thought they could handle the…” he makes a wide sweeping gesture to the gluttonous pageantry around you and you get it: the extravagance, the theatrics, the Capitol of it all. “But the Capitol asked for more than they were willing to give. And, well...I couldn't save them." His eyes look glazed as he trails off. His face is grim, his smile gone so fast it's almost like it was never there to begin with. You find that you want it back. "And you want to save me?" You guess, heart in your throat.

"Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. The people here? Every single one of them wants us. They want to talk to us, touch us, sleep with us," you swallow at the look in his eye. "But they don't see us as people." He leans towards you and you freeze. For a split second, you think he's going to kiss you. That doesn’t scare you. Instead, he hovers by your ear. What would you have done if he had kissed you? You don't think you would've moved away. That scares you. "Me and you," he hums, lips against your ear, "Well, we might as well be a completely different species to them. We're lesser than. Beloved pets at most, tamed beasts at least."

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” You live in Eleven, after all. There’s a reason no one goes looking for the kids that go missing from the fields. According to the people in charge, there’ll always be another to take their place. You sigh through your nose and turn away, but immediately turn back to Finnick when you make eye contact with the smiling man with gold teeth.

He shakes his head, lips curled into a frown of disgust, "Look at them, the way they linger at the edge of the crowd." The hand on your waist moves to the small of your back as he spins you. "You see how desperate they are to get in your good graces?" You peek over his shoulder at the people watching you, teeming with anticipation.

"Is that not what you're doing?" You ask, your cheek pressed to his. "Trust me, sweetheart. If I was trying to gain your favor, it'd be somewhere a little more private with a lot less talking." He doesn't give you enough time to reply, not that you know how, before continuing. "I'm doing the same thing I've done since I was reaped," he lowers his voice, almost like he's imparting some kind of secret. To the right person, maybe he is. "Surviving. I'd suggest finding your allies now if you wanna do the same. " And then he turns to place a chaste kiss against your cheek. To anyone watching the two of you, it would look like he's just flirting with you. You shiver as he pulls away from you, taking all the warmth with him. He looks down at you for a moment longer, locking you in his gaze. You had never really seen the ocean, you remind yourself, but, through him, you're staring at it now. Vast and limitless. All-consuming. He brings your knuckles to his smooth lips, and he smirks. The urge to shiver again is alarmingly strong as his mouth moves delicately against the skin of your knuckles as he begins to speak. "Until next time." You catch the shimmer in his sea-green eyes. It has to mean something, something worth pursuing. You've never known the ocean, but as you watch Finnick walk away into the crowd of adoring Capitols, you think you could grow to like it. There's a drive in him that's rare to see outside of Eleven, let alone in the Capitol, and it further proves your assumption right. There’s a kinship between the districts that only the victors are privy to—you and Finnick might be cut from the same cloth, and that’s made even more apparent by the way the masses move in to surround you both. You jump as trumpets sound around you and a spotlight shines on the balcony. You missed your chance to escape. It's time for Snow's speech.

Present (I) - You

[23 & 24 ] - DISTRICT ELEVEN

It’s winter in Eleven. There’s little worse than winter in Eleven. You must have forgotten to close your window when you left in a rush because the air in your room is practically crystallized, and you mull over the idea of igniting your fireplace but decide against it.

Normally, you would go to the Capitol after being invited to a party, your prep team would scrub and shave you from top to bottom, and Snow would introduce you to your client for the night. Then, you would stay in your hotel room and have time to recoup before you left. But, this time, there was no party. Only a very important partner of Snow’s who is not a patient man. So you left in the early morning and made the trip back the next day as the sun was rising. Seven hours there, seven hours back. You’re dead on your feet and your bed has never looked more tempting. You stand before your vanity and grab a makeup wipe, dragging it over your face and revealing the bags under your eyes. You're tired, bone tired. You kick your heels off. You unzip the back of your dress and let it fall to the ground. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you press on one of the bruises littering your neck. You follow the trail to the top of your chest, breast, stomach, and hips. You frown at yourself. What a pitiful painting you make. "It's starting!" Your mom calls from down the hall and you sigh, looking at your bed mournfully. You'd usually avoid Snow's announcements like the plague, you don't want to look at him more than you already have to, but it's different this time. It's the Quarter Quell. The last Quarter Quell had double the amount of tributes, and Haymitch told you how he only won by the skin of his teeth. So, despite yourself, you're curious to see what kind of nightmare Snow comes up with. There's also something else driving you. A man you met in passing at the party. Plutarch Heavensbee. He was strange, but a different kind than you were used to from the Capitols. He's taking the place of Head Gamemaker after Seneca Crane's untimely death. He spoke in riddles, always hinting at things of importance without saying anything at all. And there's a nagging feeling in the back of your mind surrounding something he said. "I understand that there’s a certain kind of…job that President Snow has employed you for. If I told you there was a chance to put an end to it, what would you say?" "I'd say you should cut back on the Morphling." "I assure you, I'm sober," he laughed, "I can't go into detail right now. I just need to know, when the time comes, that I can trust you to fight." Fight. It’s an interesting term, but you wonder if it has the same definition for him as it does for you. You doubt it. Very rarely is there ever any overlap between the way of thinking for Eleven and the Capitol. The people of Eleven fight every day and you’ve heard the other districts have finally picked up on the habit. Riots upon riots upon riots and it’s all thanks to the kids from Twelve. You still can't decipher what he was telling you and you’d usually chalk it up to the regular Capitol jargon. But there was something, something different that you couldn’t put your finger on.

You throw pajamas on, something soft that won't irritate you, and walk to the living room. "Here: sugar, berries, and licorice root, just the way you like it." Your mom hands you the cup and pretends she doesn't see the marks on your body. You're thankful. She looks tired too, older. "Thank you, Ma." You say, for more than just the tea. "Of, course. Now, sit, sit. He's walking out." You settle gingerly on the couch beside her, sorer than you thought, and pull your legs under you as Snow stands behind a podium. He lets the audience quiet down before beginning. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the seventy-fifth year of The Hunger Games. And it was written in the charter of The Games that every twenty-five years, there would be a Quarter Quell to keep fresh for each new generation the memory of those who died in the uprising against The Capitol." You drink carefully from your cup as he continues, steaming liquid burning the roof of your mouth. "Each Quarter Quell is distinguished by Games of a special significance. And now on this, the seventy-fifth anniversary of our defeat of the rebellion, we celebrate the third Quarter Quell," you place your cup on the table and fidget with your bracelet as Snow pulls a letter from an envelope, "as a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of The Capitol. On this, the third Quarter Quell Games the male and female Tributes are to be reaped—" The hairs on your arms stand on end. You brace for the blow. "—from the existing pool of victors in each district." "No. No, no, no, that's not, that's not right." You shake your head. It doesn't take long for your mom to start sobbing beside you and you…you can't breathe.

You suck a breath in and it feels like it's being funneled through a filter. Not enough, not nearly enough. Your heart's beating fast, faster, the fastest it’s ever beat and you're getting lightheaded. You stand up on shaking legs and stumble to the door, glass shatters as you knock a vase over in your pursuit. You need more air, you need, you need—you step out onto the snow-covered porch, submerging your bare feet in the white powder. It’s odd, it rarely snows here.

You kneel down and grab fistfuls of snow, smearing the ice on your face and grounding yourself. You breathe and you rationalize. You can breathe. You're taking in frigid lungfuls of air and you are breathing. You stare down the long walkway leading to your home, covered in both ice and snow. Across from that walkway is a cow pasture and past that pasture are woods. Vast and open and if you will it, no one would be able to find you. You wouldn’t be able to leave, not with the giant electric fence surrounding the district, but they wouldn’t find you.

But Snow could find your mom.

You stay out there until your feet and hands go numb. And then you stay until it hurts to move your fingers and toes, the skin of your shins and knees prickling with the temperature drop. You stay until your mom drags you in herself. "Let's warm you up." She says, but she's mostly talking to herself. She wraps you in a blanket and sits you on the couch. She goes to the kitchen and comes back with a fresh cup of tea. Saliva gathers in your mouth at the thought of drinking anything, so you use it to warm your hands instead.

“Oh, look what you’ve done to yourself.” You look to where she’s hovering over the carpet. Red footprints lead from the door to where you are now. You must have stepped on the broken pieces of the vase. You wait for the sting of pain to come now that you’re aware of the wound, but there’s nothing.

“I’ll go get something to clean you up with—”

“Can you just…can you just sit with me?” You ask and look away when you catch her frenzied gaze.

“Yeah, of course, baby. Of course.” The couch dips with her weight as she sits beside you.

By now, Caesar Flickerman is recapping the announcement to the audience with his cheery co-star. You can never remember his name. You're as still as a statue as Caesar goes over a list of remaining victors. You don't move when your mom holds onto you. She holds you and she holds you and she cries for you. You don’t think you have any more tears left in you.

“Now, it always hurts to say goodbye, Claudius, but I can admit there are a few lovely victors I’m particularly attached to.” Oh, you think, that’s his name. Doubtful that you’ll remember it.

“Yes, Caesar, I completely agree. Here’s one of mine now. From District Four: Finnick Odair!” Your eye starts to twitch, lower lid spasming. They play clips of him. Finnick waving to the audience as he walks on stage, Finnick posing for the camera at a photo shoot, Finnick walking down the red carpet at a movie premiere.

You imagine footage of him being reaped for the Quell and saliva is gathering in your mouth again, stomach flexing as you gag. You double over, nausea washing over you as you try to keep what little is in your stomach down. Absently, you feel a hand rubbing your back in wide, soothing circles that aren’t doing a lot to soothe you.

You were wrong. You do have tears left in you.

A/N: 1.) your arena is inspired by Valle dei Mulin in Italy 2.) The people of 11 all have farm and gardening-related names. (Neem tree, venus flytrap, aloe vera, Mass Cane) 3.) Cane had a crush on the reader similar to Peeta's initial crush on Katniss 4.) Each district has a different accent depending on their geography

#the hunger games #hunger games fanfiction #catching fire #hunger games catching fire #finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #and they'd find us in a week

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choicesmonthlychallenge · 9 months ago

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Choices March Challenge 2024

I asked and you answered. It seems like flowers and spring are prompts you are interested in for the March Challenge!

I hope you enjoy the prompts I chose. There is a mix of flowers, spring related words, March holidays, dialogue prompts, and visual floral prompts. I also posted some floral dividers that you're welcome to use.

Have Fun + Happy Creating!

Prompts + Guidelines below the cut!

Flowers (these are some possibilities, but all flowers are accepted)

Bleeding Heart Flower

Carnation

Chrysanthemum

Coneflower

Corpse Flower

Daffodil

Daisy

Gladiolus

Hydrangea

Iris

Jade Vine

Lavender

Lilac

Lily

Marigold

Moonflower

Nightshade

Orchid

Pansy

Peony

Poppy

Rose

Snapdragon

Sunflower

Tulip

Wildflowers

Spring

Awakening

Baby animals

Butterflies

Clear skies

Daylight saving

Fresh air

Growth

New Life

Outdoor activities + sports

Picnics

Rain boots

Rainy days

Renewal

Spring cleaning

Sunny weather

Warm temperatures

Longer days

Umbrella

March Holidays (these are some possibilities, but all March Holidays are accepted)

March 01: National Peanut Butter Lover's Day

March 08: International Women's Day

March 09: National Barbie Day + Get over it Day

March 11: National Napping Day

March 15: The Ides of March

March 16: National Panda Day

March 17: St. Patrick's Day

March 18: Awkward Moments Day

March19: First day of spring

March 23: National Puppy Day

March 30: National Take a Walk in the Park Day + Doctors' Day

March 31: Easter

Dialogue Prompts

"The flowers in the park seem to have a secret language, don't they?"

"Why does every spring bring back memories of that garden?"

"I can't believe you kept that secret from me all these years."

"Why do you always have to be so stubborn?"

"I never thought I'd see you again."

"Do you believe in second chances?"

"I thought we were in this together."

"You're not the person I thought you were."

"Sometimes silence speaks louder than words."

"Is it too late to start over?"

"I don't know who I am anymore."

"We're running out of time."

"Why are you really here?"

"Your laughter is my favorite melody."

"If our love story were a book, every page would be filled with the softest words and the sweetest kisses. What chapter are we on now?"

“Will you please shut up”

“Of all the things i love about you, this is my favorite.”

Visual Prompts:

If one of these inspire a creative work from you feel free to use it. You can list the prompt topic + # (ie: Rainbow 3)

Guidelines + Rules

Submitted works will be featured on a weekly masterlist

Every form of creative work can be submitted: fanfiction, drabbles, moodboards, edits, drawings, poems, songs, sketches, and more—all are welcomed.

Work from any book and story from the Choices (and Pixelberry) universe are welcome (new and old alike)!

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Please tag @choicesmonthlychallenge and if you’d like to add me you can do so as well~ @lovealexhunt (feel free to DM me your work too since Tumblr tags are fickle)

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Late entries will be accepted through April 5

#choices #choices game #playchoices #choices stories you play #choices monthly challenge #choices march challenge #choices march challenge 2024 #choices monthly challenge 2024 #march2024

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cats-of-eden-valley · 10 months ago

Text

name: Locust

pride: Goldspring

role: Matron

age: Adult

sex: Molly

traits: Quiet, People Pleasing, Misled, Loving, Naive

------

dam: Chrysanthemum (Mum)

sibling(s): Tamarack (older), Pine (littermate)

1stLitter: Sakenti

2ndLitter: Flax, Willow

------

Relationships

Teasel (ex)(platonic)(attempted romance)

Honeysuckle (friend)

------

• Locust is the second born of her mother's second litter, an unintended litter at that. Her older sister, Tamarack, had long been intended as Mum's heir.

• While Mum continued to pour her energy into Tamarack, Locust and her brother, Pine, were left forgotten. Their mother often shushed them when became loud, and so both have become softspoken.

• Tamarack paid more attention to them, and Locust soaked it up, desperate to please her sister since she couldn't please her mother.

• Locust becomes an adult, and watches as her mother retires as Speaker, then tries to force the pride to accept Tamarack as her heir, despite no kittens. Tamarack only confided in Locust once, wishing that she could just have one kitten, one heir and it would change everything.

• Mum passes some seasons later, and Tamarack approaches Locust, telling her that she simply couldn't have kittens, then begging Locust to have a litter, if only so the family line would continue and Mum's efforts wouldn't be for naught. Well and easily manipulated, Locust agreed.

• Two of three of Locust's kittens survive the birth, but both are unwell. Despite her best efforts, she is unable to rope Tamarack into helping her raise them together like she'd thought would happen. The day they're old enough to be named, Tamarack announces that she's leaving the pride.

• Locust's daughter would pass away not long after, leaving her single son: Sakenti, named after the god Saja in desperate hope that he would live where his littermates did not.

• Raising Sakenti and watching him learn and grow are some of the best years of Locust's life, despite the abandonment, guilt, and trauma hanging over her head. She grows closer to Honeysuckle, who raises her litter alongside Sakenti.

• After Sakenti grows up and leaves with the coalitions, Locust is reassured by those around that she didn't need to risk another litter, that Hollyhock and her family could take the matron spot. Though relieved on a superficial level, Locust never shakes the feeling that she failed not only her mother and sister, but her entire bloodline. She's guilty that it will all end with her.

• That's what make it so easy for Sakenti, while home from the coalitions, to prompt Locust to try for another litter, to fulfill her family's wish. Teasel, born a tom and identifying as a molly, presents an ideal option, and the two strike up a bond as they begin discussing a litter in secret.

• The moment Locust tells the rest of the pride that she's pregnant, though, she can't help but feel like she failed THEM. Hollyhock would make a strong matron, and her children good successors. Locust and her history of illness and poor kittens made her feel like she shackled the pride to a tainted bloodline, that Goldspring may never have the strength it needs.

• When the kittens are born, and one of them is a molly, she feels sick with guilt all over again. She avoids them, and avoids Teasel--Teasel who gladly takes up the burden of raising them, making every effort to pass them off as her own litter, which the pride are reluctant to accept when Locust won't say anything on the matter.

• There's a certain magic that was lost for Locust with the second litter too--siblings that bicker are much different than an only child to bond deeply with.

• She feels guilty especially for Willow, who now has all this responsibility on her shoulders as the heir. It feels to her like all she's done is complicate what had once been a simple matter. As for Flax, he reminds her of the daughter she lost, a whole new reason to grieve. The pair drift further and further away as they get older, falling under Teasel's influence.

#-opens draft to post it-#-immediately notices tangent in image-#oh well. doesn't need to be perfect just needs to be a guide for future Art #my art #coev: goldspring #xenomoggy #coev: characters #coev: locust

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ikemenomegas · 2 years ago

Text

Boreas

Haku x Reader || 11:11

(for @omeganronpa) okay, would you believe me if I said I had a hell of a time coming up with an answer for this because Haku is an outdoors kid and I couldn't figure out how to get him around a clock (or even remember if the naruto world had clocks)🤦. While laying in bed, I finally realized I could just give up on making it super ninja show accurate. The premise is that it's a sort of Cinderalla AU, which seems appropriate since Haku is basically a disney princess. Still took a super long time though He uses a pseudonym for a good long while, but any reference to "Koharu" is really Haku. All characters are aged up and are adults in this au.

This is the Midnight Ball.

Only once every few years, visitors from everywhere come to the Land of Snow, and for three days and three nights the Kazahana Castle is filled with music while the night is filled with stars.

The official festivities at the castle only last three nights, but the capitol of the Land of Snow is bustling and the inns are bursting at the seams to accommodate the influx of visitors a week before.

There was plenty to see, from Land of Frost geisha to Land of Birds musicians, and dancers and entertainers and opportunists from everywhere else.

Besides all of that, you have been wandering the town, sampling the food carts and enjoying the very nice baths in the castle as part of the Land of Fire delegation. Apparently there were perks to being friends with the person who saved the current Snow Daimyo.

The first day of the ball arrives not with a true dawn, but with the dramatic dusk that had lasted since the previous evening finally fading into a moonless night.

People flood the public courtyard of the castle in their best clothes to celebrate the winter solstice, lifting glasses to the health of their daimyo, and to the ongoing peace brought by healthy alliances with neighboring nations.

You try to pick out as many different people that you can based on dress alone. It is undoubtedly exciting, dialects and patterns flowing around one another.

You spot the figure early on in your scan of the crowd because they are objectively one of the most beautiful people that you have ever seen in your life. They are also moving around like they're looking for someone and using the way the crowd parts around them to find this person.

You point it out to Sakura and Naruto, if only so they'll notice if you go missing tonight and send a search party, because you're curious.

This beautiful stranger moves like water in a pink kimono with sleeves that fall below their fingertips. It's elegant, and also easy to conceal hand signs or a blade.

From an upper tier, they're easy to follow. You can't imagine the same would be true of trying to follow them from the crowded main floor, and indeed if you look behind the figure, there are a few who try to follow, only to be blocked by bodies closing around the gap the stranger leaves in their wake.

But for all the circles the figure weaves, they cannot pretend to have no destination forever. You mark the beautiful stranger's target, a moth flutters from your shoulder back to your companions, and you begin to make your way down to the main floor.

See, here's the thing. Even when no one hears about it, there is always one murder at the Midnight Ball. There are too many important people, too many nighttime hours, and too many looking to make their name in the shinobi world for someone not to try.

To be frank, a beauty like this trying to intercept the Wave Country architect is either an escort or an assassin. Even with the silver chrysanthemum of the Narita clan on their collar, you're not really interested in having the death of the evening happen right under your nose just because you didn't check.

It is just as difficult to navigate from the ground as you had imagined, but you finally have the architect and his son in sight. They've moved to a courtyard where there is a lot more noise - music and the guests dancing - when someone crosses directly into your path.

You pull up short.

"Excuse me."

It's not shameful to admit that for a moment you are a little breathless.

"My apologies," you say automatically.

The stranger is blinking at you with a faintly friendly tilt to their pink lips, wide brown eyes not even looking at the architect.

You had intended to intercept them mid conversation and now-

"Were you looking for someone?"

"I thought I saw someone I knew, but it's difficult to find anyone in the crowd," you said, smiling.

They turned around, looking over their shoulder, flashing that silver flower in your face. "Oh. Who was it? Maybe I could help you look?"

You shook your head. "I'll send a messenger later. They're very good at finding people."

"Oh!" Those brown eyes widened. "Have you been to the ball before?"

Practice makes perfect and your face is set in perfect calm even while inside the immediate instinct not to give any information about yourself rises to the forefront.

"A few times," you said vaguely.

"This is my first time," they said, almost shy, ducking their head. "I am Narita Koharu."

Whether this was really Narita Koharu or not, he had introduced themselves using the masculine form with a sly tilt of the head that clearly suggested how aware he was of his own appearance.

It pulled an unwilling smile from you.

As a shinobi, you had to acknowledge the skill of a well executed disguise, especially one worn in plain sight. What better disguise, after all, than the bias of the strangers around you?

Narita Koharu's lips shaped the syllables of your name carefully, like he was holding a sliver of ice in his mouth, and he smiled like you had given him something equally delicate.

"Dance with me?"

You blinked in surprise.

"You said there are others who can find what you need."

Many more than he knew.

A new song had struck up and the natural simultaneous attraction and repulsion that seemed to emanate from this ethereal figure had opened up plenty of space around the two of you.

"I would be honored, Narita-san."

He covered his mouth with his sleeve, hiding a laugh. "If we are to be companions for the night, you should call me Koharu."

You held your hand out for his. His fingers were ice cold.

Time slipped away very quickly when there was no such thing as day or night.

You danced with this stranger until you were breathless and his cheeks were flushed and when you thought it was over, he pulled you laughing into the garden.

It was much colder than inside, although he did not seem to react much.

A clock tower cast a faint shadow as your companion led you aimlessly along pathways lined with healthy green shrubs and blooming flowers.

Despite the winter weather, the gardens were as healthy as if it were spring.

You wandered at "Koharu's" side until you arrived at a quiet seating area facing the clock tower. The tension that had worked its way out while dancing was starting to creep back up.

Was this were he would try to kill you? If he was someone with a target at the ball, why else would he-

"Thank you."

He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear.

You had an irrational wish to do it for him.

"You're a beautiful dancer." You're beautiful. There were worse deaths than at the hand of a beautiful stranger, although few more ignominious.

"It's a lot more fun than I thought it would be." He looked at you through his lashes and shrugged the sleeve of his kimono. "My brother won't be very happy," he laughed, "but it was worth it."

The clock began to chime.

"Oh."

He stood, robes whipping up in a sudden wind.

"I have to go." He said your name softly. "It was nice to meet you."

Like a rabbit disappearing into a thicket, he was gone with a flash of his heel.

You stayed for a while longer, drinking in the vitality of the garden.

While you had danced with "Koharu" you had caught hints of hyacinth drifting from his clothes, but you still caught the scent, even with him gone.

Following it led you to a bed of the flowers, stretching purple and pink and blue in the starlight. On a whim, you reached down to pluck a few blossoms from the thickly clustered stalks. Their green spring sent immediately flooded the air, along with an idea.

Where were those couriers again? You turned back to the castle. You had some things that needed to be done.

Neither Sakura or Sasuke were impressed when you arrived back at the suite.

"You left us to do all the hard work," Sasuke drawled.

"Someone had to keep the target distracted," you replied, shrugging off your own party attire and getting dressed in something more comfortable.

Sakura kicked her slipper at your back and you danced out of the way, sticking your tongue out at her and side eyeing where it had left a crack in the plaster it had hit instead.

"What did you find out?"

"Well." Sasuke pulled a scroll from a hidden compartment in the dressing table. "Naruto is still in the city, but Narita Koharu is a real person."

On the scroll were a dozen names, all people suspected of being high on this year's target list. Near the middle, in fresh ink, was the Land of Waves Architect.

"This was easier," he said, putting a finger on the name. "They were one of the Leaf's escort clients this year. Kakashi was upset because they were attacked twice on the road, which shouldn't happen."

"We'll keep investigating," Sakura said, "but don't be surprised if he isn't who he says he is." She looked excited at the prospect, and you couldn't deny that a part of you felt the same. The cloak and dagger of the ball was half the fun.

Naruto's personable demeanor worked its usual wonders.

The real Koharu had indeed stayed behind in the Narita tea house and inn where he usually served. Whoever this was, was doing an excellent job at elevating the reputation of his borrowed identity.

Apparently, the architect was beinghounded by a sort of local syndicate that did not take kindly to his trying to break the Land of Waves from its years of isolation. The head of the syndicate was a notoriously untrustworthy businessman, and the architect and his family had quietly found a number of investors willing to help break his iron hold on the peninsula.

The fourteen or so hours it had taken for you and your friends to discover the motive for the attacks on the architect had also been plenty of time for you start daydreaming.

Not-Koharu's scent was so firmly fixed in your mind you found yourself shaking away the distraction even as Naruto lighted upon the windowsill and launched himself into the room.

He gave you a grave look.

"You sure know how to pick them."

You held up two fingers, giving him a tired grin. The ball was not even half over and the constant dark made it more difficult to wake up from naps taken in between all the snooping.

"Escort-" you put down one finger "-assassin."

"Well this one's no joke," Naruto said seriously. "They're passing Mist money around, and they're not alone."

"Did you get a name?"

"One of the toads heard 'Haku' -"

You didn't recognize the name.

"- but what's real bad is they're with Momochi Zabuza."

That name any shinobi who had properly memorized their bingo book should know. A mercenary without morals or limits, Zabuza's last confirmed sighting had been years ago and well away from Leaf territory.

A sense of unease came over you. "If Zabuza is working for the syndicate... He's kind of expensive."

Sasuke joined Naruto in the apparent attempt to convert the suite's largest window into it's door.

"I wouldn't bet on the syndicate paying either. They know a contract put out during the event is expensive because it's risky. There's no way they get out of here unmarked."

A wave of sudden grief washes through you. Not the horrible, and unfortunately well known, pain of losing someone you know, but the sadness in knowing that something rare and beautiful would be gone from this world.

"That expression never means anything good," Sasuke said, folding his arms and glaring right at you.

That is enough to get you off the couch you'd fell asleep on, glaring right back.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

The Midnight Ball never truly stops and the party is in its perpetual swing when you go back downstairs.

The energy is a bit less civilized and there are more people swirling about, following the path of wilder dances and drinking shimmering little cups of liquor.

It's been only a few hours, but what you've learned seems to charge the atmosphere.

"Hello."

The low voice is close and warm at your shoulder.

The shiver that goes up your spine entirely inappropriate.

If anything, Koharu Haku is more beautiful than before. Instead of the delicate pink of the prior evening, he is in a teal kimono splashed with bold strikes of gold and deep red outlines of flowers. They are hard to follow, but you know they are chrysanthemums.

It doesn't matter what they are because all you can smell is spring hyacinths.

"Hi."

He smiles faintly. Even his eyelids are lined with the same deep blue-green as his clothes.

"Will you dance with me?"

And just like the night before, you hold out your hand for his cold one.

Time flies by, less distinct that the blurred faces of the people around you as you spin with Haku. He weaves you vague answers to your questions, and you answer him the same.

It's unfair to lay all of your fantasies at his feet, but even knowing that he is lying to you, you can't help but want to know more about him, the real him.

You dance until Haku's skin is flushed and until your feet ache. If the night is to begin a pattern, he will pull you into the gardens and then bid you farewell, having successfully removed your attention from the rest of the party.

But it won't be a pattern, it will be a coincidence, because by tomorrow he will be dead.

When he leads you to the gardens, you keep a hold of his hand and even though he looks surprised, he lets you. He lets you pull him into the shadows of a gabled roof where you stop, chests heaving with dying laughter and exertion.

He's lying, about everything, but that's the job. Outside of the village, and even sometimes inside of it, deceit is a shinobi's first weapon. Of the whole team, Sai is the best at it, and then Sakura, who's gotten only better and better at saying what people want to hear. You don't fault Haku for being good at his job, or for looking the way he does. It's likely that it's brought him more suffering than happiness.

It makes you feel guilty, like you're just another person in the crowd who's fallen for his face and his attention, but you also feel like you know where the lie is. You can see little pieces of something that seems real, surely being used to reinforce the pieces that aren't, but they're gentle and fierce and brilliant. Just like all the similar endings before, he doesn't deserve a bad ending just because they took on a bad client.

"I'm glad you found me again, Haku."

Like a switch flipping, Haku's expression went completely blank. He tried to pull away, but you stepped closer.

"Don't do this."

He tugged his wrist from your grasp and you let go.

"There are very powerful people protecting the architect."

His eyes, if possible, went even colder and he began to walk away.

The scent of hyacinths went with him.

"Please." Your voice cracked.

He stopped.

"Only death comes of this. The man who is targeting the architect is using you and your partner, Zabuza, right? From what I've gathered, even if you succeed, he will find any excuse to break the contract."

The gold in Haku's kimono shimmered faintly in the starlight as a wind kicked up, shaking leaves from the surrounding bushes.

"-your name."

He spoke so quietly you hadn't heard what he had said.

"What?"

"Did you give me your name? Your real one."

"Yes, but-"

His shape seemed to blur into the shadows, he was gone so fast, before you could even blink.

You return to the suite after spending a few hours running around the castle. There is neither hide nor hair of Haku anywhere you can sense or see.

"What the hell did you do?" Sasuke asks, cross armed.

"I guess we'll find out."

The third night of the ball, the celebrations don't even attempt to stay within the walls of the castle. The whole town is a riot of color and sound, scents and lights splitting out of every building as longest night proper begins.

It's a bad deal as far as guard duty goes. Naruto and Kakashi have their eyes on the architect, and the rest of you are scattered throughout the party, tracing set routes as invisibly as possible, tense and waiting for something to happen. You're all in formal-wear purposefully designed to be easy to move in, with weapons tucked into sleeves and boots and belts.

By your calculations it's creeping up on midnight when a presence appears behind your shoulder.

Instinctually, you whip a blade from the holster on your forearm.

A firm block stops your arm halfway while a hand grabs your wrist, twisting the point of the blade to the floor instead of their face.

Haku stares you dead in the eyes, searching for something.

You don't know how long you stand there, eyes locked, arms locked. Vaguely, you register the pointed tip of a long steel needle crossed with your blade.

Haku lets go first, releasing your wrist with a wary look.

You step back, lifting your arms and dropping the short blade back into its sheath. You swear you see the faintest uptick at the corner of Haku's mouth when you do.

He slips the senbon back into his sleeve.

Distance gives you enough space to see the shimmering white and silver coat he wears tied loosely with a brown belt. Inside, it is as striking on him as all the others he has worn, but outside he will disappear in the always falling snow. His eyes are lined red.

"I have something to take care of," he says evenly. None of the previous evening's flirtation is in his tone. But he hesitates, before he carefully asks, "Will you wait for me?"

You can't speak, you can barely swallow, so you just nod.

He gives you one more all but unreadable look and then he leaves, walking until you lose him in the crowd. The pervading music plays on.

You listen for the chimes of the castle clock which has been the only mark of time since the endless nights of the ball began. It passes midnight and fireworks go off in the clear night sky.

It passes one o'clock and nothing happens and the celebrations finally begin to wind down, as though everyone finally has the permission to rest after three days and nights of revelry.

Eventually, Kakashi calls the group together, and although he and Sasuke will stand guard over the architect and his family tonight, the danger is judged to have passed as the sky ticks towards dawn for the first time in three days.

Even given permission to sleep, you find that you cannot. You stop by your rooms just long enough to get a thick cloak and the little project you have been working on in your downtime. It doesn't take long for you to realize that there is only one place where you want to wait, to see if Haku will come.

You head down to the garden to watch the dawn come after the ball.

Short winter days mean the sun rises late. You watch the tall clock tick onward while you turn a resin preserved hyacinth between your fingers.

The shadows stretch long behind you as the sun rises beyond the tower.

You don't see or scent him until he has made his footsteps known some distance behind you.

"I didn't expect you to wait up."

You wonder how long he's been waiting too.

"I couldn't sleep," you admit softly. "I wasn't sure what choice you made until a few hours ago, and then I just couldn't sleep."

The hands of the clock move relentlessly onward. The hour and the minute hand sit at an awkward angle from one another, the hour hand barely scraping past the eleven while the minute hand makes its way past the two.

Part of you isn't sure why you came down to the garden. All you had been hoping for was a chance meeting, but now the moment is here.

A deep, fortifying breath comes from behind you, and then Haku was crouching down in the grass right in front of you. He wore no makeup or fancy ornaments in his hair. Like you, he was still in his clothes from the night before, but they were not tied so tightly or carefully.

You offered him the pin you had made in two hands and after a moment he tilted his head as if asking you to place it. You slid the pin through the top of the half-bun his hair was in, carefully arranging it so the cluster of pink and lilac blossoms curled around it.

Silently, the two of you watch the hands of the clock move onward.

"I'm Haku," he finally says.

"Hello, Haku."

You gave him your name.

Haku smiled, not as wide or as energetic as the first night of the ball, but sweeter.

The clock began to play its usual song at the quarter of the hour.

Somewhere, a few ambitious musicians perhaps already nostalgic for the spectacle of the Midnight Ball struck up a chord that barely carried along the breeze.

"May I have this dance?"

Your heart was fluttering, nothing like the first night of the ball.

Haku put his cold hand in yours.

#haku x reader #haku naruto #make a wish prompt fill #prompt fill #implied omegaverse #i found hyacinths have a very spring-like smell #and that seemed to fit haku and the land of snow/spring too well not to use it #I have been stuck on this prompt for lit. a week #so sorry it took so long T.T

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flower-seeks-the-moon · 8 days ago

Text

fandom: love bullet

relationships: tamaki aki/sakurada koharu

characters: tamaki aki, sakurada koharu

words: 4026

Read on AO3 or below this cut.

It's been a month since the accident. She still can't taste anything, makes her mother weep after she shovels her favorite hamburger steak in her mouth without a word.

The first year is always the hardest, the school-mandated therapist tells her. Tamaki Aki hardly hears it, kicking her legs back and forth as she stares at the clock on the wall. Tick, tock, tick, tock it goes. Time is cruel, she realizes, on one of her sessions as she continues to fixate on that piece of cogs and wheels and batteries. Tick, tock, tick, tock, it goes. Every single second carries her farther and farther away from Koharu.

One day, Tamaki Aki will wake up and see an adult woman in the mirror. Will she see Sakurada Koharu beside her, fifteen forever?

Millions of seconds later, she's supposed to have moved on with her life, her father tells her over breakfast. Someday, you won't even be able to remember the specifics of your conversations. This is supposed to be a well-meaning comment, but what do grown-ups know about grief? They can hardly even bring themselves to talk about bringing her to a doctor. Aki leaves the table and is sick all over the toilet.

Her mother yells at her father, but the thought has taken root in Aki. It grows into a thorn, one that's lodged deeper and deeper inside her chest the more she holds on to Koharu.

Approximately 157 million seconds, she calculates over neglected math homework, remembering study sessions spent well into the night; scattered snacks lie abandoned across her desk for her mother to yell at her about later, Koharu's lashes fanning across her cheeks as Aki watches her friend drool all over her notebook.

Her homework has piled up so much that her parents fret that she will be held back for a year. Maybe that's a good thing, remaining first year because Koharu will be always be first year and every year that Aki moves up she'll share less and less things with her best friend-

She had so much time. Why did she wait for so long?

White chrysanthemums turned up on her best friend's desk for three months.

Flowers left by the grateful couples, those who Koharu gave so much of her time and effort to. Asaka and Hiroshi, holding hands in front of her. Asking her to place the vase for them, as if Tamaki Aki is the protector of Sakurada Koharu's memory.

She tries not to look at their interlocked fingers. Under the numbness, the grey that overtook her everyday life and seeped out all the color - the soft pink of cherry blossoms, the fresh pale green of spring; Koharu, ah you took the season with you and left nothing for me - there is an ugly red feeling that she couldn't dare name.

Why these people?

“Place them there yourself,” she says to the most recent pair to walk up to her. Aki has never been the nice one between the two of them. She grabs her belongings off her desk, shoves them into her bag. “I'm not her keeper.”

Koharu had been more the class's than she had ever been Aki's. This is the truth. Giving so much of herself to these juvenile crushes and their silly little relationships. Puppy love that probably wouldn't even last past high school. And for what?

These guys probably won't even grieve for you the way I will. They'll move on to the next best thing, give or take a few months.

Koharu would be disappointed in her, Aki knows. But she's not here to be dismayed at her best friend's lack of empathy, is the problem, isn't it?

That girl is more in love with the concept of love than interested in being loved herself. Isn't it grand, that she didn't even get a slice of the pie she set out for everyone else? Because Aki is too slow, with her horrible timing and lack of consideration for time and place and she's truly the one at fault but it's easier to hate others, to lay the blame at their feet, than to confront that she's the problem-

Easier to be mad at Koharu. Easier to look at the world and spurn her best friend's idealism than to reach inside herself and yank out that ugly pulsating mass of rage, and grief, and regret, and realize that the world will keep fucking turning! The sun will rise every morning and Aki will go to sleep every night, asking herself: why did she choose that moment to tell her?

Why did Koharu look more at these other kids than look at her?

“What are you doing,” she says, flat and monotone. She doesn't recognize this girl with the fluffy hair, standing alone in front of the desk.

The girl smiles faintly at her, inscrutable dark eyes unmoved by her stare. What was her name, again? Some transfer student. Aki can't tell if it was before the accident or after. Time doesn't mean shit to her lately.

“Placing flowers?”

They're not chrysanthemums this time. The delicate white camellias are something new.

Aki scrambles for the meaning, never having been one for hanakotoba, before she gives up. What's more interesting to her is that this girl is all by herself. No starry-eyed girl or boy by her side, no shallow gratitude in those sleepy eyes.

“She was more than just her matchmaking skills,” the nameless classmate says again as she caresses the petals. “Sensei said that she'll remove any new vases soon, since the class needs to move forwards." She eyes Aki's white-knuckled grip on the edge of her desk with mild curiosity. There is no pity in her face, and that's the only thing that keeps Aki from snapping out. "I thought I'd take the opportunity before that happens. You should too, Tamaki-san.”

The next day, the entire class is abuzz over the riot of colors on Sakurada Koharu's desk. Freesias, red spider lilies, yellow tulips, zinnias. One of the girly girls who knows a lot about flower arrangement comments that it's such a bewildering message, as if the sender doesn't know whether they resent or adore Koharu.

Two girls lock eyes across the lively classroom. Kanna, surname unknown, smiles as Aki grips the book of flowers tight under her desk.

In her dreams, it's not blood that stains Koharu's uniform red. In its place are countless red flowers, spilling from the hole left by a piece of rebar. The same bright petals spill from her best friend's lips as she opens her mouth, endless like the grains of sand in the hourglass that Aki took for granted, up until she realized it wasn't so limitless after all.

I can fix this, Aki presses her hands over the hole. Koharu's hand hovers, lonely and ignored in favor of stuffing those red blossoms back where they belong. I can fix this, I can fix this.

Before she died, Koharu had mouthed something to her, lips quickly losing their warmth and color before she even had a chance to experience her first kiss. And Aki doesn't catch it. Doesn't catch it over the static ringing in her ears and the shouts of the useless, useless construction workers and adult bystanders who watch as a high school student's world is torn out from under her feet.

So this time, Aki doesn't take her hands. She presses down on that gaping hole, plucking up the flowers and pushing them back inside. Despite the roughness of her 'first aid', Koharu doesn't wince or cry out.

She simply looks up at Aki with those dreadful kind eyes, lips moving and that same static noise pouring out.

What did she say?

Aki tries to fill in the gaps, to guess, but what's the point of it all, really?

I love you too?

She'd rather that Koharu be alive and with her. Fuck reciprocation, Aki can live with her unrealized and unfulfilled love if it meant waking up to walk to school with Koharu.

If it meant she can watch the sunset paint that face in gold and imagine what it's like to kiss her, if it meant wondering forever, then that's fine? If it gives her more study sessions where she gets to drape a blanket over those small shoulders, sweep those stray locks of hair from that face, and silently shut the study lamp off. If it lets them have more days where she can watch Koharu press an ice-cold can of coffee, fresh from the vending machine, as they both bemoan the heat of summer and Aki watches the stray drops of sweat trickle down that dear face and wonder what it's like to taste the salt of her skin.

I'll take back what I said, okay? You don't have to stand there looking so shocked, now move-!

Or maybe it's something else that Koharu said. Maybe-

I regret pushing you out of the way. Why do only you get to survive, Aki-chan?

Maybe she regrets hearing those words from Aki, being that moment of distraction that cost her everything. This is why Aki needs to fix things, needs to be a better person, needs to stop being so bitter and mad at the rest of the world.

If she becomes as kind as Koharu, to take up the kindness that was snatched from the world before it truly had a chance to shine, would she be forgiven? It's going to be difficult.

She's not a sweet person, she hears that often enough from her father, from her mother's chiding that she needs to temper her personality, be more like Koharu-chan, and she knows that she'll be a shallow substitute.

Six months in, her therapist puts her in art therapy.

To the surprise of many, it actually seems to work. Aki's room quickly fills up with paintings, each canvas a snapshot of their lives before the accident, painted in colors that she chose. Most of the subjects are Koharu, which had her parents murmuring among themselves in consternation more than once until the therapist takes them aside. It wouldn't have stopped Aki, either way: there's a desperation that underlies every brushstroke. A quiet determination to commit that face to a canvas, before her own memory begins to fail her.

Not that it's going to fail easily, since she still has those photos framed on her study desk. But those photos aren't enough, were never enough because Aki remembers better than anyone else what it looks like when Koharu is laughing.

Koharu as she blushes sheepishly under the admiring gazes of their classmates, Koharu in one of her rare pouty moments after her best friend teases her, unaware that Aki is this close to kissing her. Koharu's dark hair and the pink cherry blossoms that fell upon it during hanamatsuri as Aki resolves not to tell her about them. Koharu, Aki's name on her lips as she waits for her after school.

Because her skills are not enough to capture them and give them the justice they deserve, Aki ends up in the afterschool art club.

Hiroshi blinks at her as she introduces herself to the rest of the club members. She feels nothing when Asaka pops up behind him, more surprised than anything that the other girl has taken up painting as a hobby.

It takes weeks before someone approaches her. Despite her new resolve, it's still fresh in everyone's memory that there's an empty spot beside her in the shape of a person. They no longer talk about Koharu, but their eyes still flicker to the side of Aki as if expecting someone there.

"Tamaki-san?"

Her hands still, paintbrush held aloft. "What is it?"

The sound of footsteps, drawing closer to her place in the corner of the classroom. Two familiar faces.

She tenses as they all stand together.

Her canvas as always features their late classmate, this time of Koharu during Tanabata. Aki's having trouble capturing the fireworks just right, making the colors pop against the dark of night while making Koharu stand out just as noticeably. She needs it to be right, needs to remember all those times every year where they walked hand-in-hand, stall to stall.

Didn't Koharu suck at the goldfish catching game? Aki decides that's something for her to paint, later, but first she needs to get better-

"I know what you can do with this," Hiroshi says, soft-spoken as always. He smiles at Aki. "Would you like to paint together with us, Tamaki-san?"

It gets easier to respond, when she has an example to live by. "I'd like that."

She's forgotten what it's like to be held. Her mother and father have done their best, it's not their fault; Aki never takes them up on their offers, looks away from her mother's spread arms to hurry into the silence of her room where her brushes and paints wait for her. After his out-of-touch comments, she hurries past her father rather than sit down with him in the living room to watch TV together.

Her paintings have only grown in number since she joined the club, but no one sees past Aki's growing skill. If they do, they take it as inspirational, as if it's not just Aki vomiting all her feelings onto a canvas and hoping that everything will be okay sooner.

For a while, it works.

And then springtime rolls around, bringing with it all the cherry blossoms and the discussions of hanamatsuri. The shallow, patchwork job she's done with her heart falls apart again. It's worse this time. She stumbles into the new school year with bags under her eyes, barely hidden with a touch of concealer, her lips only having life to them due to a dab of colored gloss.

Why did she call all of Koharu's customers shallow?

Asaka's a surprisingly comfy hugger. She doesn't move when her winter uniform grows damp on one shoulder, her arms a solid anchor around Aki. "We've got you," the taller girl says. "We've got you, Aki-chan."

No one's called her that, since Koharu. But has she ever allowed anyone to get close enough to her for endearments? Aki doesn't know.

Better for them not to be close to her, after the horrid job she's done with Koharu.

Later, as Hiroshi walks into the classroom and presses a ramune bottle into her hands and her eyes have somewhat stopped leaking like a damn faucet, Aki asks a question.

"Why are you so nice to me? I acted like you were nuisances around Ko-" Her throat closes up. She pops the bottle, looking down at the marble floating inside. Once, they had tried to remove it. One marble still remains in Koharu's room, somewhere on her desk, unless it's been thrown out.

Aki hurriedly abandons that train of thought. Taking a long swig of her drink, she savors the cold soda, the faint sweetness on her tongue. Summer's just around the corner. Her first summer without… "Around her."

"Tch, you weren't that bad," Asaka leans forward against the back of her chair. "I kinda was able to tell that everyone was taking away your time with her." She pops her own ramune open.

"I didn't own her time." She can accept this now. "Koharu's time was her own."

Hiroshi adjusts his glasses. "Aki-san. After everything that Koharu-san did for us, we wanted to repay her kindness with kindness. And you needed it more than anyone else."

No one's surprised when she bawls again, moments later. Asaka holds her tight, a solid warmth. It's nothing in comparison to the feeling in her chest, enough to make her dizzy as a mix of love and grief and joy and relief pours out of her eyes and tumbles through her blubbering mouth.

"I can't go on without her…!"

But is there really a without?

Koharu touched people's lives. She's not gone. She's there in the kindness that people pay forward, like the cherry blossoms that spread through the wind in spring. In Asaka and Hiroshi's gentle gazes, the touch of her best friend lingers, only two among the many that got a chance to experience love thanks to a certain girl.

And that's fine. She'll reach far away places, scattered into so many pieces that Aki will see her everywhere. In the wind and in the water, in the freshly fallen snow of winter as people huddle close together for warmth and survive each brand new day together.

"Hamburger steak in the morning? Mother, you're spoiling me." Aki grins as she sits at the table, hearing her mother's laughter spill like golden sunlight and warm honey. She breathes it all in, holding the feeling close to her chest to bolster her for what's to come next.

The first bite of her favorite tastes amazing on her tongue. For the next few minutes, she takes her time to savor her breakfast.

Reaching out to ruffle her hair, her mother crinkles her eyes at the corners. "It's a big day for you, isn't it?" There's a hint of worry in the lines of her face. "You'll call us if you need anything, right, Aki?"

Aki swallows, before she replies. "Yeah, I will." She understands why her mother is worried, but it's going to be fine. Taking one hand into hers, she presses her cheek against her mother's palm. She holds it there for a heartbeat before she lets go. "Thanks, Mom."

After finishing her meal, Aki heads out. Summer break is time to be outside, to complain about the heat as she breaks a twin popsicle and holds out the other half to a friend. But first, she has an agenda. At a certain waiting shed near an intersection, a tall and athletic girl and her bespectacled boyfriend wait. She mustn't take too long, a pep in her step as she passes by other people her age.

No one is alone today, people clustered in groups or pairs. Neither is Aki.

"Ready?" Asaka asks. She's grown even taller, if possible. One would almost think she didn't, since Hiroshi hit a growth spurt recently. The two of them stand at almost the same height, nowadays. "Our first stop's a flower shop, yeah?"

"Yeah." Aki pats her shoulder bag. "I've got the money for a good bouquet."

Hiroshi sighs. It's real weird to see her nerdy classmate out of school uniform. "What do you take us for, Aki-chan? We're pitching in, too." He nudges her shoulder gently. "It's got to be from all three of us."

Chuckling, Aki shakes her head. "About that…"

The bouquet is even more outrageous than the vase Aki once left on Koharu's desk. She had heeded her classmate's requests, but it results in an arrangement without any sense or cohesion to it. Only once she's chosen all of their suggestions does she pick anything out for herself. Violet, zinnia, white egret, forget-me-not.

As she lets Hiroshi pay at the cashier's, she caresses the petals, reminiscing on the year she's had.

"Our classmates can be pretty cool, huh?" Asaka murmurs, not expecting a reply. "Didn't think the class pres and treasurer saved up for this."

Aki laughs, shaking her head. "We couldn't have afforded the out-of-season flowers without their help."

"True, that. Though Mirai probably would have wanted us to be pickier." They both snatch a look at the riot of color between them, and snort. "Yeah, I thought not."

"Koharu would like this better," Aki says. Clumsy earnestness would catch her more than a curated image ever could - Koharu's always been sharper when it comes to understanding the subtleties of other's feelings.

A ridiculous bouquet with everyone's feelings smushed together?

She can imagine the reaction. The blushing, the stuttering, the flustered glimmer in those eyes that would have tempted Aki to tease her more. Or, well, kiss her. What face would Koharu make? She would never know, she could only guess.

A year later, and the torch she carries still hasn't died. It burns, slow and steady, a lighthouse in the dark for Aki to find her way back to.

It still stings sometimes, thinking these thoughts. The what-ifs, all those could-haves. But that's just how it is. You learn to grow around the empty space that someone leaves, you learn to make it a part of you. Maybe she could have timed her confession better, maybe she could have done it sooner.

But these are questions that aren't meant to be answered, and Koharu would fuss over her in the afterlife if she knew the circles that Aki's thoughts would run in - if there is any afterlife.

These are simply the truths that she's learned to live with.

They hit the convenience store next, leaving with cold barley tea, an assortment of snacks comprised of riceballs and shortcake and some of Koharu's favorites. It is a simple trek to the cemetery, afterwards.

Asaka brings the incense. They light three sticks up first.

"Hey, Koharu. I'm sorry I wasn't able to make it for your birthday," Aki begins. "Spring had been… Rough." She feels a weight fall upon her shoulder, Asaka's hand squeezing briefly, and smiles. "You don't have to worry, though. I can imagine the face you're making at me right now. Well, don't."

Her gaze flickers to Asaka, on her right. And then to Hiroshi, on her left. "Do you remember Asaka and Hiroshi? They're here with me, right now."

It's almost nostalgic to watch Hiroshi execute a perfect 90-degree bow. Didn't he bow like that last year, to thank Koharu? "Hello, Sakurada-san. We came with Tamaki-san today to talk to you and hang out. I hope that we're not intruding…"

That night, she dreams of Koharu. For once, there's no red petals fluttering in droves from her stomach and her mouth. Her mind has stopped trying to bargain; blood drips freely from the corner of that chin, spreads and unfurls like flowers in the fabric of that uniform. With how many times Aki has run the scene through in her head, this hardly fazes her.

"I like you," Aki says again, more than a year later since she first said those words. They still ring true. She doesn't know if there's an end to it. "I have, for a long time now."

Since middle school, or perhaps even earlier, she's been in love. It occurs to Aki that she'll love Koharu for far longer than they'll ever know each other. "You had no idea, but I could have said something instead of relying on your intuition. I'm sorry for teasing you about that." She laughs, warmth suffusing her cheeks. "But you were just so cute even when you had no idea."

Koharu takes a step closer. Aki meets her halfway, hand coming up to grasp hers. She entwines their fingers the way she's seen Asaka and Hiroshi do, draws her ever nearer.

"I think I was afraid," Aki confesses, lowering her lips by Koharu's ear. Despite the blood that flows ever on and on from Koharu's wound, the dream is kind and lets her cheeks and ears flush red like she never bled out on that afternoon back in 2019. "I'm a pretty lame and selfish person, Koharu. It didn't seem fair to put all that on you."

She watches those lips move. Even now, she can't guess at Koharu's last words.

So Aki doesn't try. She instead tilts Koharu's face up, drinks in her blushing cheeks and shining eyes. The blood on her lips tastes more like salty tears than copper, her shocked breath mingling with the sob half-caught in Aki's throat. It takes a moment, but shaking fingers reach up to tangle in her hair, far bolder than Koharu would have been.

Their first kiss happens in the land of dreams, where all the could-haves and what-ifs are allowed to flourish in a world much kinder than reality.

Tamaki Aki wakes up.

She rises with the sun, grabbing her paints and her brushes first thing in the morning, and gets right to work. And for the first time, the subject of her painting isn't Sakurada Koharu.

Author's Note:

The meanings of the flowers, according to hanakotoba:

white chrysanthemum - truth, but in this situation they were used for mourning/grief

white camellia - waiting

freesia - childish, immature

red spider lily - we will never meet again

yellow tulip - one-sided love

zinnia - loyalty

violet - honesty

white egret - known as sagiso in Japan, means I'll think of you even in my dreams

forget-me-not - true love

Anyway. I'm not sure if this will remain canon-compliant as more volumes of Love Bullet come out, since Inee-sensei might have more in store for Aki and Koharu. But I hope that you enjoyed, if you read through all the way to the end.

First posted on AO3 on November 13, 2024.

#love bullet #tamaki aki #sakurada koharu #koharu love bullet #aki love bullet #luna's fics #fanfiction

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ellas-journey · 1 year ago

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The Demon Slayer Timeline, part 01

[Lots of spoilers for obvious reasons] The Demon Slayer Timeline is actually, a really long one. While it does not follow the totality of the Japanese history, it follows closely the beginning and falling of the Samurai era. While the main plot takes place in the Taisho Era [1912-1924], Sumiyoshi Kamado and Yoriichi Tsugikuni take us to the Sengoku Jidai [1467-1563], and Muzan to the Heian Era [794-1192] ( Muzan drop that skincare routine). But let us start from the beginning.

Muzan says that he was turned into a demon by a doctor in the Heian Era.

The Heian Era [c.794-1192] is today regarded as one of the times of highest culture, even though it was one of the [many] times of political and military conflicts. After conflits between the imperial court and the Buddhist sects that were starting to have way too much power the capital was moved from Nara to Heian-kyo - today known as Kyoto - to be safely way. That said, it also started a religious reform with the introduction of new kinds of Buddhism. [with less interest in power obviously, but still kept at a safe distance of the court] Tendai Buddhism and the Pure land Buddhism would start gain attention during this times and the temples would open their doors to every one of every type of social class [as we can see with Gyomei Himejima, the Rock Hashira that was a blind man that took care of orphan children in a Buddhist temple]. The temples stop having political power, but they also stop having financial aid. So, to survive they had to start exploring the natural resources of their territories. It's not going to take long before the temples start to argue about say territories, and to protect them, they will start to train the farmers that inhabited it, creating what would become a military class. In 'other hand, in the capital we see a court that is way to centred on herself. The Fujiwara clan was the family with the biggest amount of power. Fujiwara women would marry into the Imperial family in a what could be called genetic colonialization. In the 10th century the Imperial household could not function without the Fujiwara one, starting the tradition were until they reached adulthood the emperor had a Fujiwara regent, so basically it was the Fujiwara that ruled not the Imperial family. But, after 170 years, in 1068 an emperor without a Fujiwara mother sits on the chrysanthemum throne. Go-Sanjo would start to eradicate the Fujiwara by abdicating, leaving the throne to his already adult son. And the same would happen for the next 2 emperors. But by starting to cut ties with the Fujiwara, the imperial family cut off his right arm, and the arm that had the military power, nonetheless. Japanese had a natural border against enemies, that also meant that they did not have to where to expand their natural territory. So, without new territories to be conquered, the only solution was to start fighting each other for the lands that existed. The families that lived far from the capital were old families that knew their territories like the palm of their hands. With the crescent responsibilities of safeguarding their territories, like with the temples, this Shoen [local provinces] start to train their inhabitants [just like the temples]. We start to see the conquest of territories, and when a clan was defeated, the warriors would start to serve the winning clan. It's the birth of the Samurai Code. In the 12th century we start to have clans that are ready to go against the imperial court. In 1160 we have the Heiji war, were the Minamoto and Taiga clans are confronting each-other at the capital, and the Taiga family wins, and with entering the court life would become an exact copy of the Fujiwara. The only heir and survivor of the Minamoto clan starts to see the military machine of the Taiga to transform into an aristocratic one wand waits until 1180 to strike back. In 1185 the Minamoto would win the Genpei war staring the 1st ever Shogunate rule.

When Tanjiro goes to the Swordsmith, village, he encounters the mechanical doll made by Kotatsu’s ancestors called “Yoruichii Type Zero” where he goes on saying that that face is familiar to him and Kotatsu says that that technology is from the Sengoku Era.

Then after that we start to see Tanjiro’s flash backs of his ancestor Sumiyoshi Kamado and his encounter with Yoriichi Tsugikuni and all of that is confirmed with the backstory of Upper Moon 01 - Kokushibo.

Now, what was the Sengoku Era? Also known as the “warring states era”, the Sengoku-Jidai [c.1467-1573] was the time where the Japanese archipelago was buried on the total anarchy that was the civil war. So, we have a circa 275 years jump. After the failed rule of the Ashikaga Shogun [Yes because history spoilers, after the Minamoto Shogunate there was more was, more war, and another Shogun], the daimyo [local governors] continue to train their locals to defend their territory. Thanks to the fidelity bonds, the commoners responded to their daimyo, while the daimyo had to respond to the Shogun. Since the Shogun [we don’t even talk about the emperor since he was basically a poppet] no longer protected the daimyos they started to rebel against him saying that he was the first that broke the fidelity law. The commoners, started to learn specific combat techniques - the Kenjutsu, art of the sword - and would develop to what we know call samurai. The word samurai comes from the word “saburau” which means “to serve”, the rising of the samurai class marks the beginning of the feudal era in Japan. At the beginning, these warriors could have two jobs - be warriors and farmers as an example. When Hideyoshi (we will soon talk about him) came to power he required that they choose one or the other, but as long as a samurai remained loyal they were guaranteed a good life. The samurai's weapon of choice was a 2-sword combination. The 1st one, was the combat sword, a long one called (surprise) Katana. The 2nd one was a small curved one called Wakizaki that served to cut one’s stomach (note: important I tell you). Now, while everyone was fighting each other for territory, a man in the middle of the territory started what would soon become the union of Japan. Oda Nobunaga [織田信長 1534-1582], as the eldest son that everyone thought would not do much. Turns out he collaborated with his uncle to kill his brother, to then kill said uncle. At 25 years old no one was bad mouthing him in Owari anymore. He started then to expand his territories were battle after battle he seemed unstoppable. Then Nobunaga’s troops were defeated for the 1st time, and Akeshi Mitsuhide [明智光秀 1528-1582] would profit this momentarily loss of confidence on Nobunaga to obligate him to commit suicide. But Mitsuhide's victory was short lived since Toyotomi Hideyoshi [豊臣秀吉 1527-1598], learning what had succeeded rushed to confront Mitsuhide, ending up defeating him. (Man, I love telling everyone this part cause this is what I call plot twist after plot twist! And we aren't finished yet!) Hideyoshi would be de one finishing what Nobunaga started and re-uniting wall the territory under one ruler. But, after Hideyoshi's dead, his son was still a minor (literally a baby). He would go on naming 5 daimyos as regents in case 1 rebelled the other 4 would protect the heir. Still that did not stop Tokugawa Ieyasu [徳川家康 1543-1616] from rebelling. At 1600 Tokugawa would win the legendary Sekigahara battle, and in 1603 he would (not so kindly) ask the emperor for the Shogun title. He would go on to establish the longest Shogunate in Japanese history. So as the saying goes: “Nobunaga oiled the national rice cake, Hideyoshi kneaded the dough and, in the end, Ieyasu at down and gobbled it up”.

Bibliography: CHAPLIN, Danny. 2018- Sengoku Jidai: Nobunaga, Hideyoshi and Ieyasu: the three unifiers of Japan. CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform. Ebook; CLEMENTS, Jonathan. 2017 - A Brief History of Japan: Samurai, Shogun and Zen. The extraordinary story of the land of the rising sun. Clarendon: Tuttle Publishing.Ebook; HILLSBOROUGH, Romulus. 2017 - Samurai Assassins: "Dark Murder" and the Meiji restoration, 1853-1868. Jefferson: McFarland & Company. Ebook; MANSON, R.H.P ; CAIGER, J.G. 1997 - A History of Japan. Clarendon: Tuttle Publishing, 1997. Ebook;

#demon slayer #demon slayer history #demonslayerfromhistorytofantasy #demon slayer from history to fantasy #japanese history #history #research #history research #kimetsu no yaiba #kamado tanjiro #muzan kibutsuji #sumiyoshi kamado #yoriichi tsugikuni

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splashspeck · 9 months ago

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Can I have chrysanthemum and iris?

Chrysanthemum: If you were a cat, what would your clan and rank be?

As much as I adore Windclan, with my penchant for swimming and love of water I'd probably be a Riverclan med cat. I love helping and taking care of others, and I'm notorious for fussing over the people I care about.

Iris: Name your top three favorite ships and your top three least favorite ships

You had to challenge me Trout. I'm gonna ramble a little for each so I'm putting these under a readmore lmao

I'm here for any Jayfeather ship since hes my favorite, but im gonna only pick one, but among them JayPoppy is top. Childhood buds, saved each other's lives more than once, such good chemistry. Berrynose is a homewrecker.

Longfire holds a special place in my heart because enemies/rivals to friends to lovers is so darn good. Their development into respecting one another had such Promise.

LeafHawk is another favorite purely for the absolute potential. I have gone on a ramble separately but also we all know my love of double illegal romances.

Honorable mentions go to Minnowmouse, snowlioncinder, and firesandferndust, all of which are the fault of you and the others at Fourtrees for giving me new ships to love or in the case of minnowmouse reigniting a ship I love.

Least favorites is hard because a) i can find a way to enjoy most ships, and b) most of my least favorites are some of the most popular ships.

Half Moon and Jayfeather I just don't vibe with. Jay's Wing is fine, and some lingering affection makes sense. But it feels Weird making Jayfeather love an ancient dead woman so much he yearns after her consistently after a couple of dreams. Hell I'd be fine with it if they gave her a reincarnation too and they had the whole "falling in love in every incarnation" would be fine. I just don't like the way it Is.

Hollyleaf/Fallen Leaves has the same problem as HalfJay, ancient dead cat with currently living young adult feels Weird. This also definitely involves how I dislike the way Hollyleaf is written in canon, and if I were to write it she would have died I the tunnels and then they could have a posthumous(post-cat-ous?) Romance.

If I HAD to pick a least favorite Canon relationship it would definitely go to BrambleSquirrel/LeafCrow I absolutely despise the route canon took with them because it could have been really sweet romances. Squilf choosing not to have Brambles in on the three being not his was not a choice I think made sense with any of the characters involved. Leaf knew Brambles could keep a secret, Squilf knew he was trustworthy and loved him, and Brambles has that drive to help those important to him. LeafCrow has the dubious honor of being my only disliked illegal romance in canon, and it definitely boils down to a lack of proper build up and Crowfeather's terrible develop.ent into a bitter asshole. Like... man let the gal dangle off a cliff and she still went and ran off with him?? Leafy, honey, some self respect please.

If you're gonna go for a toxic romance you have to let it be toxic but if you want me to believe it's this sweet life changing young love you gotta put in the work to MAKE it. Fanon depictions of these ships are always better imo, and honestly if you want to write bramblesquirrel as a romance that turns into a toxic or abusive marriage I'm here for it because that tells the story instead of completely changing their characterization out of No Where.

No dishonorable mentions because it took so long to think of ships I just don't enjoy personally. Like I said there are ways I can enjoy most ships.

#warrior cats #ask game #troutfur #ships

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zenasflower · 2 years ago

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Flowers for Funerals

Flowers are one of the most common ways to show sympathy for a friend or family member. They can be in vases or in baskets and are usually sent to the funeral home.

Roses are a common choice for funeral flowers. White roses symbolize purity and innocence, while red ones evoke love and courage. Pink roses denote admiration and grace.

Chrysanthemums

In the United States, chrysanthemums are one of the most important flowers for funerals arrangements. These are largely considered cheerful flowers, although in certain European countries and cultures they symbolize mourning and grief.

They come in a wide variety of colors, including white, pink and yellow. They can be found in fan spray tributes, which are classic arrangements for a funeral service.

They also symbolize purity and innocence, making them ideal for the funerals of children or close friends. You can also send them to the homes of those who have lost someone, as they are a sign of support during this difficult time. However, it is a good idea to choose flowers that convey the proper message, as some types and colors have specific meanings.

Gladioli

Gladioli are tall flowers – sometimes over 4 feet tall – that typically form a fan spray. They’re often used for funerals and can convey a message of strength, remembrance, sincerity, and moral integrity.

They’re also long-lasting and fragrant, which makes them a good choice for sympathy bouquets or standing sprays. They can also carry a meaning of respect and admiration depending on their color.

Azaleas symbolize femininity and are popular in floral arrangements for women who have passed. Magnolias are known for their nobility and represent perseverance. Chyrsanthemums express fidelity and deep love even in the face of death, while forget-me-nots represent true friendship. Finally, tulips and daffodils are symbolic of Spring and new beginnings. The meaning behind these flowers can give hope to the family during this heartfelt moment.

Carnations

Symbolic flowers are a powerful tool for conveying sympathy to grieving friends and family. Whether you choose lilies, chrysanthemums, roses or carnations, they each have profound messages to express your sympathies for the loss of your loved one.

A popular choice for funerals, white lilies symbolize purity and the rebirth of the soul. The tulips and daffodils that can also be found in floral arrangements for funerals help the family members to remember that their sorrow will eventually give way to new life.

Chrysanthemum flowers or simply “mums” represent sincerity and loyalty to the deceased. They are the most suitable flowers to send when you want to show remembrance of a friend who has passed away. Dainty forget-me-nots imply that the person will always be remembered in your thoughts and that you will never forget them.

Daisies

Flowers are an important part of the funeral process. They convey a message of love and compassion to those who are grieving, and can help them find hope and strength.

When choosing the right flower for a funeral, consider the relationship you had with the deceased. You want to convey your sincere condolences, and you also want to make sure you're respecting the life of the person who passed away.

Gladiolus are a great choice for mourning a family member or close friend, as they symbolize strength and character. The tropical hibiscus flower is another good option, as it symbolizes a true friendship. Finally, the white daisy symbolizes purity and innocence, making it a good choice for funerals of children or young adults. White roses are also a popular choice for funeral flowers, as they symbolize love and grief.

Orchids

Orchids are a symbol of enduring love in many cultures, and they're often used to convey sympathy. They are available in many colors and can be incorporated into bouquets or other floral displays.

Orchid plants are also a good option when you want to send a lasting gift that's still beautiful even after the funeral. Choose a potted plant like the hydrangea in our Beautiful in Blue bouquet to give the family a reminder of their loved one for years to come.

Roses are another popular choice for funeral flowers, as they represent a wide variety of emotions. Red roses can convey love and respect, while white roses symbolize innocence and humility. Pink roses can indicate remembrance, and yellow roses denote deep friendship. Chrysanthemums are also common at funerals, as they represent truth and honesty. They come in a wide variety of colors, including purple and pink.

#flowers for funerals #Flowers for funerals in Liverpool #Sympathy flowers #Sympathy flowers Liverpool

0 notes

mellowchen0813 · 3 years ago

Text

Confession

Poseidon x Sasaki Kojirou

OOC | BL | LGBTQ+ Topic mentioned | Modern University AU

*Young Zeus instead of the old version*

*Everyone is alive. Yes, including Adamas.*

Word count: 3817/4526 (the rest is my Roar hahaha)

Everyone sees Poseidon as a role model in school, but being a role model in front of the public is just a mask. Under that mask, is an identity that most the public couldn't accept: Homosexual. As homosexuals were tagged with names such as "weirdos", they couldn't confess their love towards their crush as easily as heterosexual people. As Graduation Ceremony draws near, will Poseidon confess to his crush?

“…and this concludes Ragnarok University Graduation Ceremony 20XX.”

As the principal ended his speech, every graduate threw their bachelor caps high up in the sky, symbolizing the ending of the chapter for university life, and the opening chapter of the future.

As everyone is hugging and being extremely excited about getting a job and their long-anticipated adult life, the valedictorian stood at the side of the stage, looking at the black-hair graduate taking selfies with his Kendo friends, and murmured:

“This is my last chance…I have to do it…or else…I’ll regret it for the rest of my life…”

Poseidon followed the others off the stage and walked towards his brothers, who were standing at the corner of the stage. He took off his bachelor gown and bachelor cap and passed them to Adamas, and tidied up the customized suit he was wearing under the bachelor gown.

Hades handed a bouquet of red chrysanthemums to Poseidon, and the hand that received the bouquet trembled slightly. Hades patted Poseidon on the shoulder and cheered him for the last time: "You can do this"

Adamas: "It's okay, we are all here."

Zeus: "How long have you been preparing! You’ll be fine!"

Zeus gave Poseidon a push, and Poseidon was left alone with a bunch of red chrysanthemums, walking towards where his crush was. Every step taken represents Poseidon's determination to what he was about to do. His godlike figure would always attract unwanted attention no matter where he is, every little thing he does would create certain types of commotion, but Poseidon never pays attention to those topics, because there is something he has to do.

“Look! Poseidon’s suit is so stylish!”

“Hold up, is that a bouquet in his hand?!”

“Is he going to confess?”

“No way! Who can it be?”

Every graduate he passed by murmured and wondered who the lucky man would be. His crush is close at hand. The numerous practices and self-encouragement that Poseidon had done for the past few weeks were all for this moment!

"Just this once, I have to convey it well!"

Poseidon reached out and patted his crush on the shoulder. He turned and looked at Poseidon. His eyes shone like the warmth of the sun on Poseidon's lonely and nervous heart. Knowing that it was his friend, he smiled and asked:

"Hey, Poseidon. What's the matter?"

Poseidon took a deep breath:

"Sasaki Kojiro. I have something to tell you --"

⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯

*1 month before the Graduation Ceremony*

The Olympus brothers were getting a customized suit that Poseidon would best present himself during the Graduation Ceremony since he was the chosen valedictorian.

While Hades and Zeus scan through different cloth for Poseidon’s suit jacket, Adamas realized that Poseidon seemed to be distracted by something as if the person standing beside him was just an empty shell, and the soul seems to be distracted by something else? Nevertheless, from other people’s perspectives, that perfectionist looked pretty normal.

Adamas: “Poseidon, are you alright?”

It seems that the soul has not been called back.

Adamas: “Poseidon?”

A tap on the shoulder brought Poseidon’s attention back to choose the cloth for his suit.

“This cloth is fine. Let’s get going with the rest.” Poseidon pointed at one of the clothes on the table and he walked off to look at the cufflinks.

“This cloth?” Adamas felt confused as he turned and looked at Hades and Zeus, then looked at the red cloth printed with numerous golden chrysanthemums in his hand.

“Hmmm… I thought Poseidon would go for dark ocean blue instead. You know, according to his usual fashion style.” Hades thought about all the possibilities of Poseidon's careless behaviour the past few days, but unfortunately, there is no evidence to prove his hypothesis. Upon hearing the conversation, Zeus had an idea and smirked. As the youngest yet also the most experienced in a love relationship, the little demon pop up out of nowhere and asked:

“Do you two think that brother Poseidon has a crush on someone?”

Hades and Adamas stoned for a second and giggled.

Hades: “How is that perfectionist with a zero EQ will be related to love??”

Adamas: “There is no way that Poseidon has a crush on someone, no way...”

The 3 of them turned their heads and looked at Poseidon, the expression in his eyes were as usual but with a bit of gentleness and warmth. The three of them were then confidently assured that the blockhead in the house seemed to be in love…

Adamas: “Yeah, it can’t be wrong. That perfectionist has a crush on someone. That’s the expression I saw when he pointed at this red cloth.”

Hades: “So… shall we help him?”

Zeus: “Of course we should! Don’t you guys think this will be so interesting?”

Adamas: “I think you just want to tease Poseidon.”

Hades: “I think we should help this anti-social valedictorian.”

Adamas and Zeus couldn’t agree further.

Adamas: "Let's take care of his suit first, it's not too late to ask him when we get home."

Hades: "That cloth, it reminds me of someone's fashion style... But who is it? ...Damn I can't remember..."

⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯

*Back at home*

While Poseidon was looking through his speech for the Graduation Ceremony in the living room, the other 3 brothers sat around him with serious looks on their faces.

No… one of the brothers had a mischievous smirk on his face…

Adamas: “Hey, we need to ask you something.”

Poseidon: “Yeah, I sensed that since we were in the suit shop, spill the bean.”

Hades: “Is there anything you want to do right before the Graduation Ceremony?”

The mischievous Zeus couldn’t hold his curiosity back any further:

“Brother Poseidon! Who do you have a crush on?”

The secret deep inside Poseidon’s heart seems to have been discovered by his fellow brothers. Poseidon went pale, clenched his fists, and crumpled the speech unintentionally.

Zeus: “Is she pretty? Do I know her? Is she the same batch as you or is she your junior? Have you asked her out for a date?”

Adamas: “Stop it brat! You are making Poseidon nervous!”

Hades: "Urgh... By the way, Poseidon, do you plan to confess to that girl?"

A girl? Have they misunderstood something? Well, Poseidon has never revealed his sexuality to anyone, so it was normal for them to have such speculation. The moment came too early, is this the time to come out? What will their reaction be? Will they accept an "abnormal" family member like me?

⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯

No matter how long he struggles, he still has to say it, right? One day, his family members will still know... It’s just whether he wants to say it or not...

“⋯Sasaki Kojiro,” Poseidon murmured.

Upon hearing the name of Poseidon’s crush, the three brothers couldn't keep up with the situation: Poseidon likes boys? When did he discover that he was gay? Why didn't I notice it?

Zeus: "Sasaki Kojiro?? Do you like boys? Since when? Are you not interested in the girls who follow you? Damn, if my friend knows that my brother is gay—"

Zeus’s provocation and incomprehension have pushed Poseidon to his limit, and Poseidon, who had been in a state of mental strain for a long time, finally broke out. He clutched Zeus's neck and shouted out the helplessness and fear that he had buried deep in his heart for a long time.

"Yes! Your brother likes boys! I have discovered it since I entered university! So what!?"

Poseidon, in a dilemma, pushed Zeus away and dropped the crumpled speech and went straight into his room, locked himself away from his family members.

*BONK! ** BONK! *

Zeus: "Hey! That hurts! Why are you two hitting me?"

Adamas: "Zeus! You are not helping at all!"

Zeus: "Calm down! I'm just joking!"

Hades: "Still! There is a limitation to joking around! Do you know that Poseidon is now in a state where he has no one to depend on? Under such pressure, there is a possibility where he can do all sorts of unpredictable things!!"

Zeus: "Then...what should I do? I didn’t do it on purpose..."

Adamas: "What else can we do besides communication? Are you planning to break into his bedroom?"

⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯

In the bedroom, Poseidon lay on the bed and cried bitterly. The secret was exposed in front of his family. He was not ready to come out yet…

"I was discovered ... I hide it so perfectly and yet. ...How am I going to live in this house in the future...everything is over..."

His feelings for Sasaki have always been hidden. Every single day, he hides the doubts of his classmates and the awareness of his family. He doesn't dare to take the slightest trivial detail lightly for fear of being discovered. Under the speculation and questioning of the family, the mask they had worn for a long time was inadvertently pulled off by his brothers. He had planned to come out with his family after graduation. Unfortunately, changes always go beyond plans. Other than being infuriated by Zeus's words, Poseidon locked himself in the room without getting to see the elder brothers’ reaction. All kinds of ridicule and abusive words come to mind: Abnormal, disgusting homosexuals, perverts, weirdos, failures of God’s creation…

It is very unpleasant to stand outside the door and listen to Poseidon‘s wail. He is a family with who they interact every day, and they could have reached out to help him, but now there is nothing they can do. They can only listen to Poseidon’s helpless crying of inner loneliness outside the door.

⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯

*Knock on the door*

Adamas: "Poseidon, will you open the door? We didn't—"

"Go away! Stay away from me!"

Poseidon's roar contained fear and despair towards his family.

They will laugh at me, hate me, and treat me as a freak...

Who would want to let their beloved family member bear such heavy pressure? Hades's heart squeezed tightly, how did he wish he could give his brother a deep hug now...

Hades walked to the door:

"We will not leave, but I hope you can listen to me.No one can choose who they want to be. We are all God’s beautiful creations. We are no different. We are all born equal, and everything should be treated with the respect and dignity you deserve. Whether it’s heterosexual, homosexual, or bisexual, love is the biggest power of all and no matter what happens, what anyone says, love will be the biggest motivation for you to continue living. Living freely with your lover is something you are worth pursuing."

Zeus has a stomach full of guilt, after teasing Poseidon.

"Brother I'm sorry, what I just said was not intentional. It is my fault for not understanding you. Will you forgive me?"

Adamas: "Open the door, we have no reason to make fun of you or despise you, we all hope that you can live happily. Everything will be fine, trust me."

"Should I trust them? Can I rely on them? Can I... tell them how I think? Will they...accept the real me?"

⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯

After a while, Poseidon decided to give it a go, and slowly opened his door: two crying eyes were still red and swollen with tears, and there were several faint tears on his cheeks. Looking at how careworn Poseidon is, the other three brothers swarmed up and gave him the most unique and the most warming hug in the world.

Poseidon realized that the respect, tolerance, understanding and love from the family could be so warm. For a "weirdo" who has been questioned by others, with the love and support of his family, the criticism from outsiders was nothing at all... the ordinary happiness of oneself is the most important thing. Poseidon was glad that his coming out was not as painful and sad as some of the stories on the Internet...

Before the graduation ceremony, the other three brothers started searching, learning and talking to professional people about homosexuality to help Poseidon to confess smoothly. Various stories: beautiful, cruel, pitiful, and interesting. All kinds of stories and experiences revolve around whether they are willing to step out of their comfort zone and live the life they want and need. Hades found him the most suitable bouquet for confession; Adamas helped him write the words to say to Sasaki; Zeus shared with him various situations that he would encounter when he was in love, although most of the situations were rebutted by Hades and Adamas…

With the help of his brothers, Poseidon gradually no longer felt inferior about the fact of being gay, and he could be himself in front of his brothers. However, regarding the confession to Sasaki, there is still a little uncertainty in his heart...

⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯

On a peaceful and quiet afternoon, Poseidon went to the suit shop alone to try on his customized suit. Only Poseidon and the suit tailor were in the suit workshop,

Although it is not very nice to interfere with the customer’s privacy, the familiar and confused expression on Poseidon's face felt like he was looking at his past self.

Well, the suit tailor couldn’t help it but still opened a dialogue:

"Are you troubled by love? I overheard your brothers’ discussion while choosing the cloth."

"...yeah."

"Have you confessed to your crush?"

"No...I...don't have the courage to do so. "

"How is that so? Is there anything in your mind that you can't get through? "

" ...... I had a crush on a guy. I do not know if he is the same as me, a homosexual. "

Poseidon sighed a long, long breath, that breath contains cowardice and anxiety about his sexuality.

"If I confessed to him, will he drift away from me and not interact with me? It seems that I and him will pass by each other, and never meet again."

"Have you come out to your family?"

“At first, the way I came out was not the way I wanted, but they are more than happy to understand me."

"Well...this is a good start. With family members by your side, the subsequent confession should be smoother. "

" But I do not know if he is like me, even though I have supports from my family ⋯ my confession might not be successful. "

The suit tailor looked at Poseidon, and while he was modifying the suit, he began to share his story...

"When I was young, my parents left me due to an accident. From then on, I was kicked around like a ball by relatives. During those days under my relative’s roof, I found out that I was gay. But my relatives have never wanted to spend time understanding me from the very beginning, so I don’t have anyone with whom I can approach and talk about what’s deep in my heart. I have been hiding in the cabinet ever since, wearing a mask that caters to what the public wants me to be. When I stepped into society and started working, I met my current partner. Although I liked him very much, I have never told anyone about my sexuality, and I get all those anxiety and fear whenever I think about coming out, so I have always been restraining myself and suppressed my love for him. Then one day, I rushed to him like a crazy man and confessed to him. Right after I finished my confession, I thought I would lose him. Well, to my surprise, he confessed to me too. Three days and three nights were just not enough to share my joy at that moment. It felt really good to have someone you can depend on. Although the struggle was a pain in the ass, whenever I look back, I thank myself for being so impulsive at that time.”

“How long have you been together? "

"Hmmm ⋯ If I remember correctly ⋯⋯ nearly 20 years? Our adopted child is entering high school soon. "

" Adopted child? Can homosexuals adopt children? "

"As long as the Child Welfare Association finds us suitable and ready for a child, and of course the original family of the child must agree to it. However, we applied for adoption as a single adult before registering for marriage.”

As he continued, the suit tailor also completed the slight changes to the suit.

"That’s all for today, you can take it off."

"Thank you."

Poseidon grabbed his clothes and entered the fitting room, changed into his clothes, and thought about the story that the suit tailor shared with him...

⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯

As Poseidon was changing his clothes, a man dressed slightly casually entered the workshop, holding a bottle of drink in his hand, and walked towards the suit tailor.

"My dear, what are you doing here?"

"Of course, I came to visit. You have quite a lot of customers these few days."

The man patted the suit tailor’s head and gently kissed his forehead.

"Oh stop, my customer, is still there."

"Okay, okay... I'm going off to work soon, see you tonight~"

After giving the suit tailor a deep kiss goodbye, the man turned around and left.

Although he didn’t witness the interaction between the two, Poseidon did overhear their conversation. Even though it was impractical and unrealistic, Poseidon couldn't help but begin to fantasize about his interaction with Sasaki like a passionate lover, what a beautiful and sweet love it was. He also imagined that the two of them could also build a simple and happy family in the future. How Poseidon hopes that his fantasy can come true...

⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯

*Back to the Graduation Ceremony*

"Is there anything you want to tell me? Hmm? Why do you have this bouquet in your hand?"

Poseidon held Sasaki's hand and looked at Sasaki who had a face full of question marks, and spill out his feelings for him:

"Sasaki, I always tried to persuade myself that you are just a good friend of mine. But inevitably, every time I see you, my heart is always throbbing fast for you, all the problems in the world felt like nothing, and I would be happy like a child with no troubles. You treat me as a good friend of yours and surprise me with warm hugs, which makes my heart miss a few beats, holding your hand, warm or not, I always like the rough callus that grows on your hands after long training. After we part away, the smell of you remains in my hand. Whenever I look at you, no matter whether you are happy or sad, to me, you are the most dazzling star in my world. The smell of your body has become the fragrance of you that I will never forget. I hope you become I, the most unique existence, you are the happiness that I desire the most in my life."

"I hope you will also love me, and realise that the dolphin that was standing behind you has been guarding you all this while."

"Eh? Wait...Poseidon ...Are...are you..." Before Sasaki could finish talking, Poseidon brings out the most critical question:

"Kojiro Sasaki, I love you. Will you..."

" Be my boyfriend! Be my boyfriend Just these few words!"

"...Will you marry me?"

The surrounding graduates were dumbfounded.

"Wait a minute!? This is a marriage proposal?"

"Oh my Goodness! The valedictorian Poseidon is gay!?"

"This is the headline news!"

At this very moment, Poseidon wished that there is a hole for him to hide in. How did a good confession become a marriage proposal? Now there is no chance to explain...

The other graduates around them talked one after another. Poseidon couldn't breathe under the pressure of all those various remarks. He lowered his head and didn't dare to look directly at Sasaki. He held Sasaki's hand tightly and trembled for fear of being rejected.

Sasaki, who was confessed and blushed, looked down at Poseidon, who had mixed emotions scrambled up and then looked at the bouquet of red chrysanthemums in Poseidon's hand. Life is so wonderful sometimes, those coincidences are so coincidental that he can't even believe it...

Sasaki reached out and took a red chrysanthemum, inserted it into the boutonniere of Poseidon's suit, hugged him tightly, leaned on his shoulder and said to him:

"My dear, I am willing to grow old with you."

A simple sentence and a hug was the best gift Poseidon could have ever asked for. Sasaki is willing to accept all kinds of imperfections that Poseidon has. Just like what the suit tailor said, being very grateful for the decision he made now. Poseidon cried with joy, hugged his beloved half tightly, and felt the warmth from every inch of his body. The superfluous fear and anxiety in his heart dissipated and was replaced by comfort and happiness. At this moment, Poseidon smiled unconsciously.

This was the first time, and it won't be the last time, people around saw Poseidon's bright smile.

From now on, these 2 lovers no longer need to wear masks and live a hypocritical life.

Hope people like them can live freely without wearing a mask.

*When Party A proposes to Party B with flowers in hand, if Party B picks a flower and inserts it into the boutonniere of Party A's suit, it means that Party B is willing to make a lifelong relationship with Party A*

*The flower language of red chrysanthemum: the appearance is cold, the heart is like fire, devoted love*

⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯

(A dozen years later...)

Sasaki: "Children! Come down for breakfast!"

Little Swallow, little Dolphin: "Coming!"

Little Swallow: "Daddy, what do we have for today's bento?"

Little Dolphin: "Is it hamburger steak?"

Sasaki: "You guessed it right."

Little Swallow and Little Dolphin: "Yay! Daddy’s hamburger steak is the best!"

Poseidon: "Finish up your breakfast quickly. You'll be late for school."

Little Swallow, Little Dolphin: "OK ~"

Poseidon: "How about Pappy taking you two to school today?"

Little Dolphin: "Dut Pappy’s driving skill is terrible..."

Little Swallow: "Yeah, I prefer Daddy instead of Pappy..."

Poseidon: "Come on, can’t you two give Pappy a chance?"

Sasaki: "Just give daddy a chance, okay?"

Little Swallow, Little Dolphin: "Errr..."

Poseidon: “Please~ Can you two give Pappy another chance?”

Little Swallow: "All right."

Little Dolphin: "But Pappy has to promise us that you will not break the speed limit."

Sasaki: "Break the speed limit?! Pappy, please explain!"

Poseidon: "Ah! It's getting late. Little Swallow, Little Dolphin, pappy will take you to school! Say goodbye to Daddy!"

Little Swallow and little Dolphin: "Bye Daddy ~"

Sasaki: "Pappy, you'd better explain it to me when you come back!"

⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯

OVA:

Suit tailor: "I hope that blondie can face his feelings as soon as possible, I believe... he will. After all, the crush he mentioned is that ponytail boy..."

*In fact, Kojiro also went to the same suit shop to make suits. *

Kojiro: "Sir, how does it feel to love someone?"

: "For me... it's a kind of happiness."

Kojiro: "Is that so? Actually, I’m interested in someone."

Suit tailor: "Then why not enjoy it?"

Kojiro: " He is an existence that I can't touch, like the deepest part of the ocean... but I hope I can feel his heart one day..."

Suit tailor: "It's nice to be young... isn't it?"

Suddenly he thought of the blondie...

Kojiro: "Um?"

⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯

Mellow’s Roar:

Hello there! My name is Mellow and this is my first time writing a ROR fanfic story, in English. Initially, I signed up for ROR WEEK as a reader but I decided to try something different.

It was quite challenging at first as I had some trouble writing Poseidon’s train of thoughts, especially when I put the LGBT+ elements into this story.

At first, I wanted to take a comedy style to this story, but later I found that I couldn’t connect my stories together! Like, it just doesn’t make sense at all!

Later, when I was watching the RuPaul Drag Race, some contestants shared their stories after they came out as homosexuals: some were abandoned by their biological parents, some ran away from home after being found, and some were disliked by their friends. Despite so many things going on, they still live their own happiness.

I am not a homosexual. Even though I have read so many stories about LGBTQ+ people coming out, I can never truly understand what they have been through. This group of minority has long been stigmatized, equated with licentiousness and perversion. This vulnerable community is struggling hard every day to fight for equal rights for their own happiness.

Although this story has a happy ending, it does not mean that everyone is willing to support and tolerate LGBTQ+ when they come out. For some LGBTQ+ people who come out, they are either despised or ridiculed. Their biological parents will send their children for psychotherapy. Religious families will send their LGBTQ+ children for exorcism and other rituals, thinking that their children are possessed by demons, thus they felt no attraction towards the opposite sex. In some countries, LGBTQ+ behaviour is seen as illegal, they will send those LGBTQ+ people to places similar to concentration camps for so-called "sexuality correction": They will implement all kinds of brainwashing, force them to get along with the opposite sex physically, and force them to be a heterosexual.

I get my ending reference from a Taiwan drama called "Two Fathers": The relaxing and humorous description of homosexual life and homosexual families in the drama allow the audience to picture a homosexual family raising a child. Although the two men in the drama are not gay, they can still pamper and take care of their little daughter with all the love they can provide. This drama shows the possibility of two men forming a family. Regardless of gender and sexuality, the two fathers handled their living in order and lived happily together with their daughter.

After two years of passing gay marriage in Taiwan, there are still many children confused about their sexuality, love that can not be blessed, discrimination has been heard from time to time, the opposition has never stopped criticizing, and there is still a lot to do. Even if it has nothing to do with their own rights, they have to stand up for others. The existing freedom is precise because too many people have come forward in the past.

In daily life, try to blur the boundary between gender and sexuality. Men and women, transgender, homosexual, heterosexual, bisexual and pansexual. These labels are only part of self-identity and are not enough to define a person. Who is gay and who is transgender? Isn’t it good enough as long as everyone can love freely without hesitation?

It has been 18 months since I started my train of thoughts again in English, everything felt so foreign for a while but here I am! Doing writings and not really caring what Grammarly is trying to suggest to me.

What do you guys think? Do you like this fanfic?

PS: Who is the suit tailor?

#record of ragnarok #poseidon record of ragnarok #shuumatsu no valkyrie #snv poseidon #ror poseidon #snv sasaki kojiro #poseidon x sasaki kojiro #shuumatsu no walkure #snv #ror #ror sasaki kojiro

52 notes · View notes

stitch1830 · 3 years ago

Text

Change

Kantoph Mondangst here we go! I'll probably have more to add to this before it's posted on ao3, just a heads up :)

......

“What are you doing?”

He said nothing as he kissed her neck and gently rubbed her stomach while she cut vegetables for dinner. They weren’t unwelcome gestures, in fact, she quite enjoyed the attention. Still, Toph had tasks to complete and she couldn’t have her boyfriend cling to her like this for the next six or so months. So when he didn’t stop kissing her neck and rubbing her stomach, she feigned being exasperated and once again commented on his antics. “Don’t you have something better to do?”

“Nope,” he replied quickly, grinning into her neck. His hands gently wrapped around hers and coaxed them to release their hold on the knife and vegetables, and once she did, he turned her around to face him. “I have nothing to do except kiss you and say hi to our little baby badgermole all day long.”

“That baby badgermole is barely a baby right now,” she teased.

“Nonsense. I can tell already.”

“Are you calling me fat??”

“Please Toph. You’re perfect the way you are.”

“That’s not a no, Hotshot.”

He said nothing, but leaned his forehead against hers and swiped his thumb over the small swell in her belly. Normally, such close quarters and cheesy gestures would’ve had Toph complaining until the man stopped, but with Kanto, it was okay. In fact, she enjoyed it. Loved it, even.

His hair tickled her forehead as he stood there with her, leaning on the counter. She could practically feel his mind reeling with thoughts, and one of them he thought aloud. “You can actually feel the heartbeat, huh,” he quietly remarked.

Toph chuckled. “Yeah, ever since Katara said that’s what the echo was, can’t stop hearing it.”

“I wish I could feel it.”

She teasingly clicked her tongue at him. “If you weren’t such a lily-livered earthbender, you probably could.”

“Hey!” he playfully shouted as he wrapped his arms around her, effectively ‘trapping’ her. “Some would say I’m a pretty good earthbender.”

“Pretty good doesn’t cut it with seismic sense, Hotshot.”

He grumbled and buried his face into her neck, and she breathed out a laugh as his towering figure huddled over hers. They stood in their kitchen, content with the silence and the intimate moment they shared with one another. Pretty soon, those moments would be limited, so there was no need to rush. And it was strange how soon things would change. One moment, they were two, the next, they would be three. A change that while they had months to prepare for, would still be rather sudden for the both of them. For that, a wave of apprehension overwhelmed Toph. The idea of motherhood was distant, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever be prepared.

It was as if he knew what she was thinking, because he commented on the very same idea.

“Funny,” he began. “A year from today, our lives will be so different. And the year after that will be different, and so will the year after that.”

The comment seemed straightforward, but it left Toph curious. She had only told him last week that she was pregnant, and while he had been ecstatic then, there was that fear in the back of her mind that this wasn’t what he wanted. She swallowed thickly and noted, “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

“Not at all,” he reassured her quickly. “If anything, it’ll be amazing and perfect. I just mean, it’s crazy what can happen in a year.”

“I suppose,” she pondered.

Toph meant to say more, but she refrained. Perhaps it was the uncertainty of the change, or the weariness she still felt about becoming a mother, or a combination of both. Change could be good, but she feared it wouldn’t be all perfect like he dreamed it would be.

He seemed to be reading her thoughts once again. “Don’t worry,” he began, “I’m going to be with you every step of the way, and you’re going to be a great mother. The very best mama.”

She could hear the smile in his voice, and as quickly as her worries came, they disappeared. Her response, however, was filled with sarcasm and sass for their continued banter. “I feel so much better knowing you’ll be there to hover all day,” she jabbed. “And of course you’re not worried about being a dad. You’ll be a natural.”

“True,” he replied, mimicking Toph’s dramatic tone. “But that’s only because we’re gonna have a baby girl that’s gonna be just like you. And I know you like the back of my hand.”

Toph scoffed. “How do you know that??”

“A father’s intuition.”

“Well, my motherly instincts say it could be a boy. And if he’s anything like you, I know you like the earth beneath my feet.”

“Oh yeah?” he jokingly challenged. “What happens when I pick you up from the ground and you’re not on the earth, huh?”

His hands found her waist and did just that. He lifted her up and set her on the counter, her feet losing the sense of the world around her. Toph laughed at his antics, and he chuckled with her as her legs wrapped around his waist. “I’d hit you until you put me back down,” she threatened, thumping his chest with her knuckle.

Kanto breathed out a laugh. “I suppose I deserve that.”

She smiled at him while his thumbs smoothed out the wrinkles on her shirtfront. Her hands found his face and traced out the marvel and joy etched on it. Things were perfect, even with change looming over them. Oddly enough, it didn’t seem so bad with Kanto around for it, despite what she thought moments ago.

He looked up at her. “I know you’re still worried, but I’m really looking forward to what this year is gonna bring us.”

His heart beat with hers, and his hands were warm and gentle and reassuring, and fear was far from her mind. All she felt was joy and excitement with him.

So she didn’t hesitate to respond, “I’m looking forward to it, too.”

~~~

She dreaded this day. She wanted anything but this day to come.

But the days came and went with the wind, and a year had passed since she felt his heart beat in time with hers, a year since his warm hand was in hers, a year since she heard this deep, calming voice.

She hated today. It reminded her how much things could change in a year.

Toph bitterly chuckled at the thought. He wasn’t wrong when he spoke about change before they had Lin. Change came suddenly and unapologetic. And their lives were so different from a year ago. But they weren’t better. That was apparent.

The memorial itself was a lovely, intimate ceremony with her friends and some close work colleagues in attendance. He would’ve loved it, or, she hoped he would’ve. Out of all the endless conversations they had, death was not one of them.

All the flowers had to be shipped in; Republic City’s bitter winter started to roll in early, and no native flora could withstand the sudden overnight freezes. Still, it was important that the hill had a flowery aroma with the incense. His botany obsessed heart and mind would’ve rattled off all the different types and facts of each flower, and he would’ve spent half the time describing each petal in great detail to Toph.

She insisted that there be at least one panda lily to set by his memorial, and the lengths she went through to have one in bloom in time for today was no small feat. It hung low by her side in one hand, the other occupied with her—their—daughter. Poor Lin didn’t understand the reason behind today. The chilly wind bit at her cheeks, and she sought refuge in the crook of Toph’s neck while she waited for the adults to carry on with whatever kept them outside on this cold, windy afternoon.

Zuko gave the speech. It was lovely, really, but Toph didn’t remember a single word of it. And all the hands and pats to her shoulder and back felt distant; they weren’t his steady hands, and if they weren’t his hands, then she didn’t want their support.

At the end of the formal ceremony, those in attendance dropped a single, unique flower by the memorial portrait. Some took a moment to say something to his picture, others dropped the flower and left. It meant a great deal that so many came to honor him, but truthfully, Toph didn’t care about anyone in attendance. She didn’t care about the number of flowers that dropped to the ground for him. Because in the end, only one mattered, and it wasn’t even hers.

When everyone dropped their flower in honor of him, Toph set Lin down and held onto her hand. Katara handed her the very last flower designated to be placed for him, and Toph gently steered Lin toward the memorial. It took a few moments, but when Toph and Lin arrived at his picture, Toph placed her panda lily on the pile for him, and gave a white chrysanthemum to Lin. She wrapped Lin’s chubby fingers around the stem and gestured toward the flowers.

“Come here, Lin,” Toph prompted, rather shocked that her voice sounded so strong and calm just then. “Give your flower to Daddy.”

At the sound of his name, Lin toddled over to his memorial and the pile of flowers. Her little body crouched down to the level of the pile, and she set hers on top.

Toph pulled Lin into her arms and whispered to her, “Good job, Lin.” She placed a single kiss on Lin’s cheek, and listened as her daughter said, “Dada,” over and over.

She ignored the sting of the breeze as it hit her tear-stained cheeks. “Tell Baba you love him,” she told Lin.

Lin whispered to the wind those words, saying them only loud enough for Toph to hear.

Spirits, she hated all of this. Time moved so slowly each and every day, and yet, here they were, remembering his life because it has been a year since he was alive. She hated that a year had passed, she hated that she still wasn’t over it, she hated that all the things they used to forever memorialize him were things that she couldn’t enjoy to their full extent, and she dreaded the day Lin wouldn’t call for her Baba any longer. Because that day would be sooner than Toph cared to think about.

There were too many people around, now. Toph wanted a moment with her family, no matter how broken it was. But it didn’t feel right to snap at the others and scream at them to leave, so she waited.

And waited.

Until finally, Toph Beifong got her wish. As the crowd disappeared and all who remained were her closest friends, Toph only told them once that she wished to be alone. When they left her alone with Lin and his memorial, and as her friends waited at the bottom of the hill, Toph wept openly for him. For the drastic swerve her life took, for the inevitable reality that she’d spend more time separated from him than they were together, and for the change that the future held for her, because she no longer looked forward to it.

#kantoph #toph #toph beifong #kanto #lin #lin beifong #atla #lok #writing #the long winding road to you #the chief and dep series #like a boomerang i always come back to you series #kantoph mondangst #the angst is strong to start the week lol

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shypotato-translations · 4 years ago

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QTVW Chapter 17

Showbiz* Sexy Queen (IV)

----

“……”

Even though Mei Mu Lan's heart was in a state of shock, her face was still slightly stiff as she said,

“Haha, I'm just kidding, I'm actually a big fan of yours and I love your movies, so can you sign my autograph?”

As she said this, she took the script from the hands of the petrified director and kneaded it in her hands, smoothing out the curled paper before handing it over with a slightly shy expression,

“Then, just sign here.”

Ling Yi Yao looked at her with slightly narrowed eyes, and there were unreadable emotions in them.

She took the script, signed her name on that, handed it back, and said,

“Thank you for your support, Miss Mei.”

Mei Mu Lan took the script and stared at the three big words on the page with glowing eyes, her face was uncontrollably excited, and she performed the image of a fan getting an autograph from her idol with perfection.

She blinked her charming eyes and looked at Ling Yi Yao with an affectionate expression, saying,

“I'll always be there for you, you're the best in my heart! Keep up the good work!”

The director, who had been ignored as a set-piece for a long time, suddenly made his presence known, smiling broadly and saying,

“I didn't know you were so fond of her, but since Ling Yi Yao is your idol, she'll be your mentor for the rest of your life.”

Mei Mu Lan was immediately surprised and said,

“Is it really possible? But……”

With a look of embarrassment on her face, she said,

“This will not affect and delay the work of Queen Ling, right?”

With a gentle smile on her face, Ling Yi Yao said,

“No, I have long admired Miss Mei's reputation, I won't find it troublesome. Moreover, Miss Mei's previous performance platforms are all top international art theatres, your performance experience is very rich, I believe you are a good student who can easily start.”

With a big smile on her face, Mei Mu Lan said,

“In that case, I'll be counting on you after that, Teacher Ling.”

“You're welcome, just call me Ling Yi Yao.”

Ling Yi Yao replied with a light smile.

At this time, an abrupt phone rang, and Mei Mu Lan looked in the direction of the voice, and saw the director answering the phone in a frenzied manner, saying,

“It's me…… I've already got the part of the second female character…… You have to be interviewed by the producer to do this? Who said that? Big Boss…… All right then, I'll send her over now.”

The director hung up the phone with an embarrassed look on his face as he scratched his head awkwardly and said,

“So, the producer just called and asked you to audition again, because the producer seems to be holding an audition for the supporting female character. Sorry, go for another interview, go through the motions, you'll be selected anyway with your strengths.”

Mei Mu Lan froze for a moment and said after coming back to her senses,

“That's fine, it's the process, I can't make any special distinctions, I'm on my way, director, where's the interview?”

The director smiled toothily, reached out and pointed in one direction, and said,

“I'll take you there. I guess the staff will give you a script and let you do an impromptu performance based on the script, and those who perform well will be selected as real supporting female actresses.”

“I see, then you can take me there first,”

With that, she looked at Ling Yi Yao again and said,

“See you later, Ling Yi Yao.”

Ling Yi Yao also stood up, smoothed out her ancient dress and said,

“I'm one of the interviewers, I'll come with you.”

The three of them walked together to an ancient style tavern, Mei Mu Lan said goodbye to the director and Ling Yi Yao, then went to the waiting room for the female supporting roles.

As soon as she entered, she saw a dozen young and gorgeous women, who were now studying the script carefully in their hands. When they saw Mei Mu Lan walk in, they raised their heads and stared over, and only when Mei Mu Lan found a place to sit in the corner did they avert their eyes.

Mei Mu Lan sat alone on a sofa, her head hanging slightly, her long hair hiding the expression on her face.

In her mind, she recalled what had happened earlier, when her emotions were out of control and she had done some of the original owner's daily actions. Even though the original owner's soul is completely dissipated, the body still gives some instinctive reactions to reality.

She didn't know why this was happening, and she didn't know if anything like this had happened in previous missions. But this sudden event today has clearly given her a direction for her strategy.

The villainous BOSS mentioned in the plot is an apparently gentle and generous film queen, but in reality, she is a woman who has blood on her hands, was secretly raised in the underworld and has been a mentor to killers in the underworld for her entire adult life.

She's a hothead, a frightening figure in the dark world, and even her uncle, who raised her from a young age, chose to kill her when their interests diverged.

At the same time she also sent people to murder the female lead several times, the novel explains that it was because if she could not be loved then it was better to destroy, not to say whether this is true or not, but the description of her ruthlessness is definitely the real deal.

And this time, such a woman became the object of her raid.

Ling Yi Yao is dark and ruthless, confronting her enemies and eliminating their roots. If she wants to take her on, the first thing she needs to do is to reduce her threat level, so that Ling Yi Yao feels that she is harmless and can be approached in depth, so that she can drop her guard.

And in order to achieve this, she must show herself to be harmless.

At the same time, she must show her affection for her in order to stop the "I only think of you as a friend" type of outcome from happening.

During her growing up years, many people must have wooed her, but they chickened out when they learned of her indifference, while this time, she chose to do the opposite and insisted on persistently adoring her to impress her.

When Mei Mu Lan thought of this, she suddenly recalled today's oops incident, and she made this decision because of today's incident.

Anyway, her image has already been ruined in public, so why not 'break the pot' and 'not do anything' and choose the active pursuit mode, expressing her sincerity in all sorts of ways to brush up Ling Yi Yao's goodwill?

Plus, the original owner's situation would make this method work very well.

For example, the original owner's background is so clean that even if the villains wanted to investigate her, they wouldn't find out much dark information;

The people around the original owner knew about Mei Mu Lan's affection for Ling Yi Yao, as well as the original owner's posting and microblogging accounts, all of which could show that the infatuation for Ling Yi Yao herself came to light;

She was unable to control her feelings for Ling Yi Yao many times and basically got emotional and her eyes lit up when she saw her……

So, after combining all the above, Mei Mu Lan embarked on the path of a "martyr who is afraid of stalking girls".

Mei Mu Lan figured this out and breathed a huge sigh of relief in her heart, no matter what, she already had a direction for her strategy, after that she just had to work hard in that direction.

With a goal to strive for, she was in a much better mood. She lifted her head and tilted the long curly hair on her forehead to the side, and then a woman dressed in a Republican student girl's dress, innocent-looking and lotus-like, came into her eyes.

The woman had her hands folded in front of her at the moment, holding a folder, her smooth flat fringes hanging down in front of her forehead, and one foot on tiptoe. The whole person carried a strong school freshness style, two very different types from Mei Mu Lan herself. One is as light as a chrysanthemum, the other as enchanting as fire.

Mei Mu Lan noticed her at first because of her charming aura, but when she saw what she looked like, a deep thought flashed in her eyes.

This woman, she looked familiar, she had seen it in the original owner's memory, and she had seen it many times.

Because this woman, the daughter of her father's newly married stepmother, her stepsister, is also the female lead of this showbiz revenge reversal novel, Bai Jieying.

After recognizing her, Mei Mu Lan did not go over to talk to her, because their relationship was already full of conflicts, and now this white lotus-like harmless woman was already a blackened and mutated version, in the novel, she went from gentle and lovely mode to cold and ruthless mode in just one day.

Mei Mu Lan has always stayed away from these types of women, except for missions of course.

She leaned her back on the sofa, her whole body taking on a lazy pose, and Bai Jieying across the room must have recognised her too, but it was clear that she had no intention of recognising her on the spot either.

Mei Mu Lan suddenly thinks of the original owner's death by poison. According to the original owner's memory, the most likely people to poison the original owner are the stepmother and the female lead.

It seems that she still needs to get in touch with them, and perhaps in a few days she should also go back to the Mei family to investigate in person.

After waiting for an unknown amount of time, the director's assistant came in with a stack of envelopes, which he placed on the table, and then said loudly,

“Here are the excerpts of the plays you will be performing, now come one by one and collect an envelope. After half an hour, those whose names are read out will be interviewed in the interview room next door. Okay, now who's first?”

After his words landed, the women in the room, all of them, stepped forward slowly and unhurriedly, picked up an envelope from the table, then stepped aside to open it and look at it.

Mei Mu Lan waited until the end before she slowly got up to get her envelope, she brushed past Bai Jieying who also stayed at the end, ignoring each other like fellow passers-by.

Mei Mu Lan took the envelope and returned to the sofa to sit down. She tore open the envelope, picked up the white letterhead on a black background inside and read it line by line.

Half an hour later, the first person was called out for an interview, and the atmosphere in the room was noticeably more depressing.

Mei Mu Lan closed her eyes to herself and waited until her name was read before she slowly and enchantingly picked up the envelope with her fingertips and slowly walked out.

Entering the interview room, she was greeted by a completely empty place and handed the letterhead to a staff member who in turn handed it to the interviewer.

She stepped into the room without a glance, then turned to face the dozen people sitting across from her.

The director, sitting at the very centre, casually scanned the letterhead, then waved at Mei Mu Lan and shouted,

“Action!”

Mei Mu Lan then moves into the role of the female supporting role.

【Inside the dark and empty tomb room, two urgent footsteps came to an abrupt halt.

Through the faint light of the candle, one can see a wonderful trajectory formation in the middle of the room. A woman in a purple body-hugging cheongsam, now looking at the formation with a wolfish look, said to the man beside her,

“Blood leads to the formation, the next hurdle requires blood to open the formation before the door to the tomb will open.”

The stocky uniformed man at her side, propping himself up on one leg, raised a rigid eyebrow at the words and said,

“Let's wait for the next person to come and then turn it on. Let's take a break, you come and hold me.”

The cheongsam-clad woman walked slowly over to him and the two leaned in intimately.

The uniformed man said with deep emotion,

“When you get that elixir of immortality, you can surely preserve your youthful beauty.”

The cheongsam-clad woman shook her head and inclined her head to look at the uniformed man, her beautiful, demon-like face could be seen in the dull candlelight, she was now licking her red lips gently, her eyes looking at the uniformed man with fascination, and then said with a soft smile,

“Say……”

She whispered;

“You love me……”

She murmured.

The uniformed man smiled at that and he said in a low voice,

“Mmm, love you.”

The cheongsam-clad woman laughed delicately, a vivid and seductive expression on her face, but as she laughed, tears streamed down her face, crossing her cheeks and falling into the man's chest.

The woman in the cheongsam laughed and cried at the same time, she frowned slightly and said,

“You're very kind. You've always been very kind to me,”

She lifted her hand and caressed the man's neck and cheek.

Then, like a snake-like white arm, it fell behind the man's ear, a silver needle appearing abruptly, revealing its unsettling colour in the dark, obscure light.

The cheongsam-clad woman stabbed the silver needle deep into the back of the man's head, and the long, thin silver needle actually pierced through the man's brain and penetrated the whole thing.

The man stared with blood-red eyes, the expression on his face was one of distortion and disbelief as he died.

The cheongsam-clad woman 'giggled' softly, singing a love song from Shanghai at night on her lips, and pushed the man to the ground, blood crumbling out of the corpse as the blood-initiated formation was broken and a blackened tomb passage was opened.

The woman in the cheongsam stroked her long, dishevelled hair and walked enchantingly into the tomb passage, the grey walls falling abruptly as she passed.

The scene is dark and the only thing in the air is a love song that is softly sung.】

#shypotato #yuri #transmigration #world hopping #QTVW17

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lynnkn · 4 years ago

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Get It In Writing

Here’s my Pynch Secret Santa for @betterwithoutsense. One of the prompts was non-magic au. Hope you enjoy!

@pynchpromptweek

Read it on ao3!

Ronan was always an outdoorsy type. His mind moved faster when the world around him moved slower. He liked New York, but it was never meant to be his home.

He had come up with the idea to move back home, drunk out of his mind on a Tuesday, after weeks of trying and failing to churn out so much as a short story, let alone a novel. He hadn’t had an original idea since he was fifteen. It made perfect sense if he didn’t think about it too much. At fifteen, he’d created some of his most original ideas, he crafted plots so intricate they made his adult self weep with jealousy. Characters had come to him like dreams. Nothing he’d written since Declan swept him and Matthew off to Alexandria had come close to the stuff he’d scribbled in frayed notebooks between lessons.

If he did let himself think about it, he’d wonder if it had less to do with the change in locale and more to do with his parents’ deaths.

He’d called Blue the next morning. She offered him the couch at her mother’s house while he looked for a place. He calls her again just as the plane lands.

“Don’t hate me,” are the first words out of her mouth.

“Oh, I love when you start conversations like that.”

“I’m stuck at work.” There’s a shuffling and a crash from the other end of the line, followed by voices. At least three of them are yelling out for Blue. “We’re understaffed. Three people quit last week and I’m the only manager left.”

He makes plans to call an Uber as soon as they land. He hates to do it, but he’s left without much of a choice. He’d avoided taxis and the like for most of his time in the city, but every time he did it, it felt wrong. His skin prickled and pulled like even it knew he did not belong in the backseat of someone else’s car.

“But I sent my cousin to pick you up at baggage claim,” Blue says.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll see you at the house?”

“Yes, definitely! I’ll see you tonight.”

“And thanks for all this.”

“No problem, Ronan.” She huffs a breathy sigh and the phone crackles as she leans in closer to whisper. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too shithead.”

Ronan had met plenty of Blue’s cousins. While the girls come in all shapes, sizes, and colors, they have names like Orla or Chrysanthemum. They wear mismatched clothing and make art out of recycled materials. They’re all indiscriminately weird. He feels confident in his ability to pick a Sargent out of a line-up.

The baggage claim is a confusing swirl of business suits and combat uniforms. He walks past a family carrying a giant banner. But he recognizes none of them. There are no floor-length skirts, no dyed hair. He pulls out his phone to call Blue back when a voice calls out his name. He turns, but he can’t make out who it is. Then he sees him.

He’s leaning against a half-wall, hands tucked into his pockets and a denim jacket tossed over his shoulder. He pushes off with his foot and approaches cautiously. He’s waiting for an answer.

“Yeah,” Ronan coughs out. He’s proud of his own tact and grace for the briefest flash before he opens his mouth again. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Blue said she’d call you.” He shuffles for a moment, grabbing desperately at his phone. “I’m Adam. I’m gonna take you back to the house if that’s cool.”

“It’s fine, man. You’re just not who I expected.”

“Well,” he says, starting a sentence he clearly never plans to finish. “You got bags?”

“Yeah. Wait here. I’ll get them.”

Adam takes the large suitcase and reaches for the duffel, but Ronan shakes his head. Adam shrugs and leads the way to the car. Ronan pulls the bag onto his shoulder and flinches as the bag bangs angrily against his stiff muscles. He moves through the pain, desperately hoping Adam can’t tell he’s struggling.

“So how are you related to Blue again?” he asks, desperate for a distraction.

“Uh, I’m Persephone’s kid.”

He remembers Persephone, long white hair, and a soft-spoken voice. She baked pies and could speak with some level of authority on any topic a person brought up. But she hadn’t had any children that he knew of. And he’s sure he’d remember Adam.

“Oh. Sure.”

“It’s an adoption thing,” he says like he’s not outrageously uncomfortable.

“That’s cool,” Ronan says like he wasn’t wondering. He doesn’t want to push so he lets the conversation float away. He’s a big fan of comfortable silence. The issue is that nothing about this situation is comfortable and he’s drowning in his own goddamn bullshit. He follows Adam to a monstrosity of parts but resists the urge to comment. This clearly isn’t the kind of car a person chooses for themselves. They exchange nervous smiles over the trunk and settle into their seats.

Adam clearly knows where he’s going so Ronan settles back in his seat, watching D.C.fade away. When the world turns green, he lets himself feel at home.

“Blue talks about you a lot,” Adam says.

And that’s the funny thing because he’s talked to Blue a lot in the years since he left, but she’s never mentioned Adam. He searches his memory for any mention or comment on the addition of a new cousin, but there’s nothing. He’d told her about every gruesome, gory detail of his move to Alexandria, of school, and Declan, and Matthew. And then when he’d moved to New York, he’d told her about his building and the shitty people he talked to and he’d laid all this on the line without considering that she was still in Henrietta and her family was changing and he didn’t even know. Why hadn’t she told him? He only lets it sting for a moment. Then he numbs it with a promise to talk to her later.

“Yeah,” he says. “She’s my best friend.”

They don’t talk much more on the drive, but Ronan watches Adam out of the corner of his eye. He’s the kind of guy a teenaged version of himself would’ve fantasized over. His hands grip the wheel and his tongue sticks out the side of his mouth as he focuses on the road. His eyebrows hang heavily over weary eyes. He’s a strange guy, a unique blend of old and young, of new and refurbished. He’s a lot like the car he drives and Ronan wonders if this body is also the kind no one chooses for themselves. But he can't stop staring nonetheless.

The house looks like itself when they pull up and a strange warmth pools through his gut. He breaths in the air as he steps out of the car. It’s lighter here. The air hits the bottom of his lungs and he pulls another breath in just to hold it there. To breathe. If he forgets, he can pretend he’s fourteen and coming over to borrow a cd. Or that he’s ten and coming to watch a movie his parents wouldn’t let him watch. Or that he’s seven and going over to play at a friend’s house for the first time in his life. He could stand out there all day, but he wants to see Maura so he hauls the stupidly heavy duffel over his shoulder and goes inside.

“Ronan? Is that you? Get your ass in here.” Maura’s voice blends with the hum of the laundry machine and children screaming somewhere down the hall and it’s a sound so wrapped in nostalgia, Ronan can’t remember what year it is. He follows the sound to the kitchen where she waits with open arms. He leans down to let her pull him into a hug. Behind him, the screen door slams as Adam comes in behind him, but he doesn’t pull away. “How’ve you been?” she asks, finally pushing him back to take in the sight of him.

“I’m alright.”

“You’re staying with us for a while?”

“Is that a problem?”

“You know it’s not.” She turns back to the counter in front of her. She has a sheet of pepperoni rolls half wrapped and lined up on a strip of parchment paper. She grabs the dough and goes back to work as Ronan leans against the counter, watching her fingers delicately shaping the rolls. “We’re a lot nicer to the boys than we used to be, right Adam?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says brushing past both of them on his way out the back.

“Oh I’m convinced,” Ronan says.

Adam stops and quirks a quiet smile, the kind Ronan wasn’t supposed to see. He turns back to them. “I promised Calla I’d fix the porch rail.”

“It can wait if you want some lunch," Maura says.

“I’d rather finish it up before class.” He looks like an animal caught in a trap, leaning towards the back door and letting his eyes wander out the window. “But I’ll take a pepperoni roll when I’m finished if you’re offering.”

She nods at him and this seems to be a dismissal because he’s out the door before Ronan can blink. As soon as he’s gone, though, Ronan is thinking about him again. About how strange he is and how much stranger he seems in a house like this. He shouldn’t fit in and yet, everything about him makes sense.

Ronan washes his hands and picks up a strip of dough, following Maura’s gentle instructions. She reaches over and fixes each roll he makes, but he doesn’t mind. He lets her fix his mistakes with no more than an overdramatic eye roll. And she doesn’t comment on his lack of manners. Maura never expected him to be polite, so long as he was kind.

Blue doesn’t make it home for another two hours. By that time, Ronan is full of pepperoni rolls and Adam has gone to class. He waits for her on the porch and she runs and jumps into his arms the moment she sees him. He picks her up, sweeping her feet out from under her. He’d hit a growth spurt a month after leaving town and hadn’t stopped until he was ducking in doorways.

She startles, but he’s strong and he’d chop his own arms off before he hurt her.

Blue and Ronan had been the weird kids of their homeschool co-op. She yelled about the patriarchy during history and he knew more about Irish folklore than algebra. She hissed at the other kids and he hit anyone who made fun of her.

“I knew you’d come home eventually,” she says.

“Then you must be psychic cause I didn’t know until last month.” He hugs her and she still smells like the tree in the backyard and pixie sticks. All is right with the world. She doesn’t look all that different either. She grew maybe another inch or two, but all-in-all, she’s still what he remembers. He wonders if she’s disappointed cause he sure as hell isn’t the Ronan she knew.

The passenger side door shuts and a man climbs out. His hair is neatly combed and his shirt is ironed. He sweeps a hand over his tie and waves at the two of them.

Blue waves back. She glances over her shoulder at Ronan, hesitant and curious. She waits for a reaction, but Ronan has nothing to say. He watches, slack-jawed and stupid as the man approaches. He kisses Blue on the cheek and offers Ronan his hand.

“You must be Ronan,” he says. They shake hands, a sweaty affair that Ronan pulls away from as soon as he gets the chance. “I’m Gansey.”

“Can you give us a minute?” Blue says. He grins back at her and then at Ronan, slipping into the house, leaving silence in his wake.

“Anything else you wanna tell me?”

“Well John Boy, things have changed here on Walton’s mountain.” She laughs at her own joke, watching for Ronan to join her. When he doesn’t she sighs. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were miserable, Ronan,” she says. “And don’t say you weren’t I could tell. I just didn’t want to rub it in your face.”

“You still should’ve told me.” It burns, like every other little hurt. These days, Ronan can’t seem to feel anything a normal amount. Every prick is a white-hot scorch. Every ache is a broken bone. One day the floor fell beneath him and the pain gets worse every time he hits another level of concrete and earth.

Blue nods and she turns, just enough to the side so Ronan can’t parse out her face. He can’t read her anymore. And so he falls again.

“And what about Adam?” he asks.

“What about him?”

Ronan’s not even sure himself. But he shows up in the same shitty town he’s always lived in and he comes back to a place that had once been his second home and this guy is here, just waiting and he’s everything Ronan thought he’d wanted back then. His perspective is tilting. He thinks about the guys back in New York: Proko, Skov, Swan, and Jiang. He thinks of Kavinsky and how much sense they made. He thinks Adam seems like the kind of guy who’s going to get him hurt. He thinks of how much he’d love to let someone like Adam hurt him.

“Why didn’t you tell me about him?”

“I didn’t know how to,” she says. “It’s not my story to tell.”

“Then why send him to pick me up?” Ronan leans into her, watching for a flicker of something recognizable. The Blue he’d known never lied to him. She was honest, sometimes brutally so and she never hid anything from him. They’d talked constantly over the years. And while he’d unloaded all of his bullshit on her, she’s remained mysterious in regards to her own life.

“I think you’ll like him,” she says. “He needs someone like you.”

“I’m not trying to fuck your cousin, Blue.”

“I’m not suggesting you fuck him. I just thought you could be friends.” She rubs her hand over her eyes, pulling her features in a sharp downturn. “I was gonna say the same about Gansey.”

He lets the breath out of his cheeks and watches the wind blow through the grass. It's grown long, just the way Blue likes it. He lets the wind move him like the grass, swaying gently until he feels grounded. He’s not mad at Blue. Not really. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“I just want to make sure you have a support system here.”

“I do,” he says.

“Besides me and my mom.” She wipes at her eye again and Ronan graciously ignores the single tear.

He gestures to the door and the family waiting inside. “Well then let’s go.”

Blue smiles and Ronan remembers why he’s here in the first place. Blue is something stronger, more prominent than anything in New York. She makes him stronger, louder. It’s not just about Henrietta or the mountains. It’s in Blue’s smiles and Maura’s eyes and the strangeness of them all. This is where his story is waiting for him. It’s always been here. Ronan is the one who left.

Soon they’re all sat around the table for dinner. The conversation is light and easy. No one pushes Ronan to talk about what he’s been doing in New York and he’s eternally grateful for that. They talk about Blue’s job at Nino’s and Gansey’s parents’ real estate business. He promises to help Ronan check out some of the properties in the area. Adam excuses himself early, claiming he has to get up early for work in the morning.

“What do you do?” Ronan asks, helping Maura clear the table.

“I work at the Greenmantles’ farm up in Singer Falls,” he says. And Ronan feels his heart drop all the way to his ass. “It’s this really old shitty family farm that this guy bought a few years ago. And he has no idea how to run a farm so it’s a disaster.”

“Oh,’ Ronan says. “That’s my house.”

Adam’s eyes widen to twice their regular size. “I…”

“It was always kind of shitty,” he says.

“Yeah.” Adam stands awkwardly behind his chair, perhaps waiting for an appropriate time to bolt. Ronan breaks eye contact, hoping to put him at ease.

But the idea of his home, fallen into disrepair bothers him more than he expected. He remembers the Greenmantles. He doesn’t remember them fondly. He turns to go outside for another breath of fresh air. As he heads for the door, Ronan hears the exchange between Adam and his mother.

“You couldn’t have told me he lived there before I opened my mouth?”

“I could’ve,” she says, placing a palm on the top of his head. She plants a kiss on it and walks to the sink to wash out her mug. Adam, for what it’s worth, smacks his head against the doorframe.

He spends the next night, sitting on the blanket with Blue and Adam and their friends. Gansey’s there, as is his friend Henry. Noah, one of Blue’s coworkers turns up with beer. And they sit in the grass watching the stars. It’s not until they’ve been laying there for a couple of hours, laughing and teasing like they’ve always been this way, that Ronan realizes how much he needs this.

As the others trickle inside for air conditioning or food or sleep, Ronan and Adam are left alone for the first time since the car ride.

“Why do I get the feeling you don’t like me very much,” Adam says.

“It’s not that,” Ronan says, hands folded behind his head. The stars are duller here in Henrietta proper, but it’s the closest to home he’s gotten in years. “I just realized Blue hasn’t been telling me shit. I didn’t know about you. It’s not personal.”

“That’s probably my fault. I told her not to tell people.” He bunches a corner of the blanket in a tight fist, before releasing it and smoothing it back out. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

“I just…” He stops, just long enough that Ronan doesn’t think he ever plans to finish the sentence. Then he groans like he’s forcing the truth from someplace buried within him. “Things weren’t good at home so when Persephone offered…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“Still,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all good.”

The beer is warm and settling in Ronan’s stomach in that way that makes him a little worried sometimes, so he sets it aside. He closes his eyes and reminds himself why he stops. Because it would be so easy to keep going. But he actually likes talking to Adam, and he thinks he might even want to remember this conversation in the morning.

“Blue said you’re a writer?” he asks.

This is a tightrope. Ronan calls himself a writer. His father had called him a writer. Even Declan, for all his infuriating nagging, calls Ronan a writer. But he has nothing to show for it. Nothing’s proud of. People use to ask him this and he’d pull out notebooks full of stories. Sometimes he’d just recite stories from memory like Niall once had. But now, he has nothing to show for the title. He’d trusted the story was here, buried in the hills of Henrietta, sleeping, waiting.

“I guess I am,” he says.

“What do you write?”

“Fantasy.” It’s one of the oldest truths he has to give.

“Only fantasy?” Adam asks. “Never anything else?”

Ronan shakes his head. He’d never had much use for anything else. He’d grown up with his father's stories, grandiose and ridiculous. He’d never conformed to the rules of the mortal world and Rona’s narrative imagination took the hint and ran with it. He silently begs Adam not to ask about his work anymore. Hopes to God he won’t ask to read anything. And he doesn’t. Instead, he tips his head up toward the sky, eyes tracing patterns of stars overhead.

“Tell me something about you,” Ronan says when the silence lingers too long.

“Like what?” He doesn’t move, chin tipped up the heavens and Ronan studies the curve of his jaw.

“Anything true,” he says.

“I’m deaf in my right ear.”

“Really?”

“No,” he says. He’s got a gentle smirk that charms Ronan more than he’s willing to admit. “It’s my left.”

“Can you hear me okay now?”

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s quiet.”

The summer passes in hazy waves, washing over him every few weeks as he watches time slip away. He’s done nothing. He’s written nothing. But he tours properties with Gansey and makes art with Blue. He buys a skateboard and lets Noah teach him a few tricks and he let Henry take him to Henrietta’s newest and only gay bar. It’s not the best summer of his life, but it comes pretty damn close.

And then there’s Adam who listens better than anyone he knows. They sit together, nearly every day, either on the porch or in the kitchen. Sometimes they drive miles away from the house in Adam's car, away from Henrietta and they park and they talk.

He tells Adam about the farm and Adam tells him about the trailer. He talks about Declan’s nagging texts about college and Adam talks about using the money from the Greenmantles to pay for classes and textbooks at the local community college.

In September, Adam’s car falls to shit in the driveway and several hours under the hood aren’t enough to fix it so Ronan drives him to work in Maura's car, promising to bring it back immediately so no one got stranded at the house.

He follows the gravel driveway, following the curves and dips just as he had once upon a time. He doesn’t watch Adam, but he can feel himself being watched. “This is where I’m gonna live,” he says, pulling in behind a car too shiny and new to fit in with its surroundings. “I don’t want to buy another place.”

“You mean this is it?” He looks over his shoulder out the window and Ronan watches the line of his shoulder crease. If he could, he’d trace a finger over, push in where the skin dips beneath bone. He turns back before Ronan can pull his gaze away. “This is your perfect house?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“No. I guess I just assumed this place would be…”

“Traumatic?”

“Honestly? Yeah.” Adam's gaze floats back to the open field. Ronan can't tell if the expression is jealousy or pity. Maybe it's both. “You don’t see my buying my childhood home.”

“I loved that house. I loved the farm. I could get cattle.”

“You’re gonna buy cows?”

“No, but I could if I had this place.”

“You could always ask if they’d be willing to sell?”

“You work for the guy. Do you think he’d sell it to me?”

He doesn’t answer, just watches the house, eyes full of hope or envy or something dangerous like that. When he turns back, the light of the sunset hits his face and everything seems right. Ronan can picture them sitting on the porch, sipping tea or bourbon on the front porch. He wants this. He wants him. He wants, wants, wants so much it hurts. He reaches, but the whole world lays on a shelf above him, just out of reach.

His mother used to hide cookies on the top shelf, saving them for after dinner. When he closes his eyes, Ronan can see his father’s arm stretched upward pulling the cookie jar down to Ronan. “Just one,” he’d whisper and they’d never speak of it again. Until the next time.

Adam leans forward, pressing warm lips into his and it’s that hand reaching out to him, pulling things down to him that once seemed so impossible he could cry.

He nearly does when Adam pulls away, slowly with a single breath. It was a period, not a comma. It was a thought, not an answer. They let themselves freeze, both leaning over the center console to breathe against one another’s collarbones. This was impossible.

“Do you wanna come look around?” Adam asks.

“Isn’t that a little risky?”

“Mr. And Mrs. Greenmantle aren’t home,” he says. He leans over to unlock Ronan’s seatbelt and the feel of Adam’s arm brushing against his stomach could convince him of almost anything.

“Okay,” he says.

Adam takes him by the hand and leads him around the house, past the empty cow pastures and the shiny new silo. He introduces him to Mr. Gray and the other farmhands and they regale Ronan with stories about Adam at work that make his cheeks flush bright pink.

They climb up the hill and past the old storage shed, just the two of them.

“That thing’s still around?”

“Yeah. It’s old as shit. I can tell.” Adam kicks up some gravel and a small cloud forms around his ankles. “A lot of the old equipment up there’s never been used. Greenmantle just leaves it lying around and sends me up there twice a week to look for something.”

“Yeah. That roof leaks every spring.”

“I know. I keep bugging him to have someone look at it.” He shrugs, the noncommittal gesture of someone who is used to being ignored. Ronan takes care to grip his shoulder with a weighted strength. And he looks at this guy, so fucking beautiful and so capable, and wonders how anyone could see him in any other light.

“Show me the house,” he says, wrapping his other arm around Adam’s waist.

“We’re gonna get caught.”

“Then we’ll have to be fast,” Ronan says. “Lucky for you, fast is my specialty.”

“Stop,” he says. He pushes away, without a second glance and bolts for the barn as soon as he’s out of Ronan’s grip.

“Hey,” Ronan calls after him. He watches as Adam turns, pulling anxiously at his bangs as they flop into his face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I just miss this place.”

He thinks of the smell of cinnamon in the kitchen and the dent Declan’s head made in the hardwood and the green slime stain on the carpet in Matthew’s room. He wants it back even for a moment. He wants it more than anything. Anything except Adam.

But Adam pulls another breath into his lungs and says. “Okay, but we have to be quick.”

He takes Ronan’s hand in his, leading him toward the house, pulling at his finger and the heat trapped between their palms travels all the way up Ronan’s arm. He lets himself be dragged until they reach the porch. He pulls a key from the sconce and opens the front door. The same one Ronan remembered. He could picture his mother, standing in the foyer if he focused.

The craziness of it all strikes him as he stands there. He thought he’d never see this place again, but he’s standing there and he’s so close to what he wants and yet so far. So he pulls Adam in for another kiss, this one messier, hungrier. He buries his hands in the hair on the back of Adam’s neck.

“What are you doing here?”

Ronan turns back to the open door and there is Greenmantle in all his smarmy glory. Ronan previously thought his teenage memories had exaggerated, but he was clearly right all along. This guy simply looks like a bastard.

“Sir,” Adam says. It’s a plea, a desperate Hail Mary from someone Ronan once thought was too proud for such things.

“Get out,” he says. He holds his hand out and Adam slowly drops the keys. He doesn’t look at Greenmantle or Ronan. He watches his feet. Ronan can’t help but watch him. “And don’t come back. You’re done.”

They don’t talk on the way back to the car. There is nothing to say. Adam slams the door as he sits. He makes a sound, so low, so guttural, Ronan would’ve thought it came from one of the animals.

“You took it too far. I lost my job, Ronan!”

“I know that.” He puts his keys in the ignition and lets the engine roar to life under them. He feels better, but Adam clearly doesn’t. “I’m sorry.”

“If I don’t have a job, I can’t keep paying for school.”

“Listen, I know. I’ll help you. It’s not like I’m gonna let your freeze out there.”

“Oh yeah, cause your dream comes before everything else, huh? What about my dream?” He takes a harsh breath and hunches over the dash, refusing to meet Ronan’s eyes. It’s possible there are tears, but Ronan feels too guilty to look more closely.

“What fucking dream, Parrish? Your big dream is to spend the rest of your life slaving away so some dipshit in suit and tie gets to summer in Guam. That’s not a dream. That’s a nightmare.”

“It’s better than this.” He drops his head to his knees, burying his face. He has nothing to worry about. Ronan couldn’t look at his face if wanted to. “I can’t keep doing this.”

“Then let help you find something better.”

“This is why you don’t know anything about Blue. You’re too caught up in your own bullshit to realize the rest of us have stuff going on too.”

He drives Adam back to the house without another word. He doesn’t go inside. He doesn’t want to see anyone else. He wants to drive. He takes the backroads too fast and the curves too sharp. He lets the road lead him to the convenience store just up the road. At least he saves the whiskey until he gets back to the house.

When he wakes in the morning, he doesn’t remember much after he got back. But he’s on the porch, back aching and head throbbing instead of tucked away on the couch, so he’s willing to bet it didn’t go well. Maura is sipping tea at the kitchen table. “Wanna tell me what you were doing out there? With my car?”

He shakes his head. He tests his voice, but it’s rough and gravely. He clears it into his fist before trying again. “Is Adam here?”

“He went to talk to Greenmantle.” She sips her tea again, placing it beside her. She looks up, trying to look him in the eyes, but Ronan stares at the table, the floor, anything but her face. She gives up, crossing the room to fill a glass with water from the sink “Blue and the boys went with him,” she says, handing it to him. "they said they were going to get his job back."

He sips at it cautiously. It lands in his stomach with a splash, so he stops, letting it settle before sipping again. “I need to go see him.”

“Is that a good idea?”

He drains the rest of the glass in one gulp and sets the glass back on the table. “I don’t know,” he says. With a clearer head and a couple of Ibuprofen, he hops in his car and prays for one more miracle.

Mr. Gray is there when the BMW crawls up the drive. He directs Ronan to the old shed, before reminding him to not get caught.

Adam’s got the door to the shed propped open so he sees Ronan coming from a mile away. “Go,” he says once they’re close enough to talk without yelling.

“Parrish, I just wanted to apologize.”

“Don’t pull a muscle.”

“I’m trying to act like a grown-up here. Would you come talk to me?”

“Talking to you got me stuck up here cataloging inventory in the first place. I had to beg for my job back.” He drops an ax beside him with a resounding crack that catches them both off guard. They stare at each other for a moment, caught up in their confusion before Adam turns back to his work. Ronan can’t look away. “Just leave me alone. We can talk tonight.”

The crack returns followed by a crash and Adam’s head dips beneath the stacked crates without time to so much as scream.

“Parrish!”

He rushes forward, forgetting to consider the already fragile flooring. It bends and moans in front of him. He pulls back, leaning over the boxes to get a view of the hole, slowly spreading as bits of wood flake off. “Parrish?” he yells begging his friend or God for an answer.

Both God and Adam seem to have other plans as Greenmantle rounds the corner. “What the hell was that sound? What are you doing here?”

“Parrish, can you hear me?” He waits for an answer. A beat. Nothing. He’s not a patient guy, but he waits for a second longer, prays for so much as a grunt or groan, but nothing. “He fell through.”

“What do you mean he feel through?”

“I’m not a fucking contractor. He fell through the fucking floor. What else do you need to know?”

Mr. Gray is there in an instant. He stays back graciously and doesn’t seem interested outside the basics. “Is he responding?”

“No,” Ronan says. He thanks God that someone else is taking over the situation because he's beginning to feel horribly unqualified. “I think he’s unconscious.”

“Do you have your phone on you?”

“No. I left it in my car.”

Mr. Gray turns to Greenmantle wordlessly. The two exchange looks that seem to cycle through an entire exasperated conversation before Greenmantle spits out “I don’t have service out here.”

“Ronan?” Blue yells, rushing forward. Henry, Noah, and Gansey follow her. He holds out a hand to keep them back. He watches the hole, waiting for it to spread, and feels it bobble beneath him. He’s not safe either and he knows it, but if someone else comes inside, they’re definitely fucked. He looks at her though and the unshed tears in her eyes undo him.

He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if he can say anything. He’s trapped leaning over a hole and Parrish is trapped and the whole world is pulling in toward him and he doesn’t have the strength to fight it off. Still, he says “I’m okay. But if I move the rest of this place is gonna cave in on him.”

Gansey runs up behind her, wrapping his arms around her. He tucks her into his chest and they both stare back, discomfort clear in their eyes. They flash him matching encouraging smiles through the fear.

“I’m gonna call 911,” Henry yells, sprinting back across the field from where he came. No one stops to thank him.

“Is this really necessary?” Greenmantle asks.

“It may be a while before anyone makes it out here,” Mr. Gray says. “Ronan, if we can get you out, they’ll be able to get to Adam quicker. Can you sit down where you are?”

Ronan pushes a box of small garden tools off to the side, clearing enough of a path for him to sit down. He lowers himself gently, holding his breath the whole way down. He doesn’t release until his ass hits the floor.

“Good,” Mr. Gray says. He leans forward, peering over the mess to meet his eyes. Ronan sees his own fear and panic reflected in the man’s eyes. “Now roll onto your stomach, okay? You’re gonna crawl.”

He pushed himself over, turning as slow as he could. The floor groaned again beneath him. “This isn’t working. This is all gonna end up on top of him.”

“No. It’s not. You’re going to crawl toward me. You ever play army guy when you were a kid? It’s just like that. Keep your stomach on the ground and crawl.”

Ronan crawls. He can't see the other from the ground, but he can hear them talking around him.

“We can’t get to Adam until we’ve got him safe," Mr. Gray says. His voice is calm, but in the overly-controlled way that indicates a person is not actually calm at all. “If we tear down that back wall, we may be able to dig through to him.”

“We might just end up staking more debris on top of him,” Greenmantle says.

“I don’t know how else to access him.”

“There’s a crawlspace,” Ronan says. He pulls himself past an old ladder, taking care to avoid rusty nails and a suspicious stain. He thinks about his last tetanus shot and decides a booster couldn't hurt.

“What?” Greenmantle leans down to stare at Ronan through a gap. Ronan ignores his furrowed brow and exasperated tone.

“There’s a crawlspace underneath.” He pulls himself another inch and Gansey is there offering a hand. He takes it graciously and Gansey pulls him the last few inches off the foundation and through the doorway. Mr. Gray leans over and tugs on his other hand pulling him up. He’s still coughing from the dust and panic as he throws himself around the corner of the building to the small wooden door.

The deadbolt gives way with little fuss despite the copious amounts of rust around it. “Adam?” he yells into the entrance, but there’s still no response.

“I’m little,” Blue says. “I can fit more easily.”

“You’re not dressed for it. There’s ticks and shit down there.” He hurriedly tucks his jeans into his boots and slides through the door before anyone can stop him.

He can see the damage as soon as his eyes adjust to the dark. And then he’s army crawling again. He pulls himself forward, pushing past bugs and dirt and what he thinks was once a raccoon. He crawls until he reaches and a chunk of wood too big to move. He has no leverage in the slim space around him. He can barely push himself up. His shoulders are squished in too tight to move anything heavy. He kicks himself for not thinking of a better plan. He crawls around the wood, blinking dust from his eyes and searching for any sign of Adam.

He peeks past the beam to see a clear space on the other side. He sees the ax to his left. He’s here. He’s somewhere in this place. He’s so close Ronan could touch him except he’s hidden and not responding. “Adam?” he yells one last time.

There’s a groan, soft and pained, but a groan nonetheless.

“Ronan? Can you hear us?” Mr. Gray yells.

“Yeah,” he calls back. “Kinda busy here.”

“You need to get out of there, Ronan.”

“Let me just get to him.”

“Ronan, now!” Gansey yells.

There’s another crack and a plank falls on top of the stack. But it stops as soon as it starts. The dust settles into his eyes and he can’t see in front of him, but he can hear the gasps and murmurs from above him. “I’m okay.”

“Ronan get out now.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Adam coughs. It’s harsh and pained, but it’s the best sound he’s heard because he can tell where it came from. He pulls the ax toward him. There isn’t room to swing, but he doesn’t want to anyway, not with Adam so close. He smashes it into the block of wood. It doesn’t split, but he’s got enough force to crack and splinter it. With a few more strikes, it breaks away just enough to wiggle. He pulls it back, throws it over his shoulder and there is Adam.

He’s pale, coated in a layer of dust and grime and his temple’s a mess of blood, but he’s the best thing Ronan’s ever seen. He collapses by his side, sweeping a hand over the blood clumping in his bangs. He weighs the danger of spinal injuries against the threat of another collapse. The voices screaming above him win out. He ends up pulling Adam behind him, trying to keep his head and neck as steady as possible.

Mr. Gray waits at the door and Ronan is more than happy to hand Adam over to him. He pulls Adam into his arms and immediately heads for the driveway where an ambulance is pulling up. Ronan falters back a step at the ominous task of pulling himself back out.

When he turns back to the opening, his friends are there. Noah and Gansey reach down, grabbing Ronan by the biceps and hauling him out with minimal assistance from himself. Henry hands him a bottle of water and a towel as soon as he touches the ground again. And Blue says nothing, simply throws herself at him, face into his chest, and hugs tighter than she ever had before. And he lets her.

And when he starts coughing, they help him sip from the water. When he coughs so hard he throws up, they pull him to his feet, dragging him toward the ambulance as well.

In the end, Ronan’s lungs are okay. He’s advised not to inhale large quantities of dust again. He tells the ER nurse where she can go. It’s all quite civil as far as Ronan’s concerned.

Persephone hugs Ronan as soon as she arrives at the hospital. She doesn’t say anything, just wraps her arms around him in a gesture he understands as a thank you. He doesn’t tell her it was no big deal, but he squeezes her back and hopes the message is clear.

Adam’s broken arm, three broken ribs, and moderate concussion are fairly underwhelming as far as structural collapse injuries go. “What did I tell you?” he says that evening when he’s staying awake for more than 30 seconds at a time. “I’m hard to kill.”

No one finds this quite as funny as Adam, but he’s awake and healthy enough to be laughing.

When Greenmantle arrives at the hospital, not twenty minutes before the end of visiting hours, Ronan is fully prepared to drag the man from the room, but Adam stops him. “Actually I’ve been wanting to talk. Please, Mr. Greenmantle. Come sit.” He takes the only seat in the room, facing across from Adam like a business meeting. Adam drops a folder on the stand over his bed. He pulls the papers out and spreads them out. “Here I have copies of my timesheets, dating back to last June with reminders from me to call a contractor about the shed. And you signed off on all these, didn’t you?” Greenmentle nods, Adam's apple bobbing anxiously. “What do you think a lawyer would think of these, Mr. Greenmantle?”

“Well, I — uh.”

“But I don’t really want to sue you.” He sweeps the page back up into a file and slips them back into the folder. “This isn’t some sort of moral high ground thing either. I should sue you. I just think we can solve this without any lawyers, don’t you?”

“I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement.”

“So what do you say, you sell my friend Ronan your farm and we can all go about our lives.”

“Well I’m sure we can talk about prices, but this particular property is quite valuable. I’ll have to get a fair price for it of course.”

Gansey steps forward, clutching his own folder. This one is red and labeled “Greenmantle can suck my Dick III.”

“Actually we have some numbers here for you, sir.” He shuffles through the papers contained and pulled one from the bottom of the pile. He folds it over and presents it to Greenmantle with a flourish, that is unusually snarky for Gansey. Ronan finds himself charmed by it.

“This is considerably less than I paid, Mr. Gansey.”

Adam clears his throat. “Yes, but let’s pretend I did take you to court. If you look here, this is an estimation of what you’d be paying based on some employer negligence data I found. So all in all, I think you’ll find that to be a very fair price given what you could end up paying.”

“I see…”

“And of course, this way your wife never has to find out about any of this. She didn’t want you spending too much on the property if my memory serves me well.” It’s bold talk from someone who slurred and mumbled his way through the alphabet just a few hours ago, but he’s bouncing back fast. “Sleep on it. Come talk to me again tomorrow.”

Greenmantle shuffles out of the room, clutching the paperwork to his chest. Ronan likes his odds.

The nurse knocks softly on the door. “Visiting hours are ending soon,” she says. “One of you can stay with him overnight if you want, but everyone else needs to head out.” Persephone scoots closer to the bed, wrapping her fingers lightly around Adam’s wrist and Ronan wouldn’t dream of trying to fight her over this.

Ronan pats Adam twice on the leg, a friendly gesture and nothing more, but fingers grip at the hem of his jacket.

“Can I talk to Ronan alone for a minute?” he asks Persephone, who nods quietly and shuffles out with the rest of the crowd. And when it’s quiet and everyone else has become a memory, Ronan pushes himself up onto the side of the bed, leaving little room for Adam to wiggle himself up into a seated position.

“Stop,” he says. “Don’t hurt yourself. Jesus, Parrish. They’re gonna kick me out for good if I knee you in the ribcage.”

“I’m real sorry, Ronan.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t apologize just cause I saved you. I would’ve done it anyway.”

He leans back, petulant as a child. “I’m not. But I went too far and I am sorry.” He grips the blanket like that night under the stars before releasing it again. "What I said about Blue..."

“You weren’t wrong. But I'm gonna do better Parrish. I want to be better.” He watches the way Adam's brow creases and for the first time in a long time, he understands why people keep going when shit sucks. If he’d known that face, scrunched and focused as he chewed on the edge of his swollen lip, was waiting on the other side, he never would’ve considered any other option. This was what people live for, this feeling here. This is what people write poems and songs and fucking dystopian YA trilogies about. There's an entire story in the shit-eating grin. And he found it. The goddamn holy grail. “I just want to see you happy.”

“And that dream thing? You were right," he says. "It turns out I’ve been paddling upstream for nineteen years without ever knowing where the creek drops off.”

“Then you draw your own map and you figure out how to make the water do what you tell it.”

“And what are your big plans, Lynch?”

“Haven’t you heard? I’m buying a farm.”

#the raven cycle #trc #pynch #adam parrish #ronan lynch #alcohol tw #abuse tw

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sirsharp-a · 4 years ago

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Hellbent (TEASER) ;

Summary: Edgar sits down to have a chat with you. Warnings: Mentions of child predators, sexual assault, murder and torture.

I am not a good person.

I’m not telling you this because I rejoice in it. It isn’t because I aspire to be ‘’The Big Bad’’. It isn’t because I’m wounded and small, nor is it because I’m secretly fragile with a heart of gold. I’m telling you this because it’s the truth. I am not good. I am not bad. I toe the line whenever it suits me, and the rest goes up in flames.

The more I open up to you, the less you’re going to like me.

And I don’t care. I’m not your Messiah.

There is evil in this world. True evil. The moment I came to Earth and began to study its inhabitants, I took note of a trend that was most disturbing: this realm’s children, in a lot of cases, are treated no better than livestock. Empty vessels for adults to vent their frustrations on. Before long, I found myself obsessed, books and case files I’d printed from previously solved cases scattered across the length of my bed like I was some detective from a critically acclaimed drama, a morbid fascination blossoming in my brain like a chrysanthemum beside a tombstone.

Fathers that beat their children because they had a bad day at work. Mothers who take care of their addictions instead of feeding their young. Babysitters that aggressively antagonise babies while their parents slave away.

The deeper down the rabbit-hole I fell, the more I felt myself coming to terms with feeling. If there is anything you must know about me, it is that I have the emotional capacity of a goddamn waffle-- or so I’ve been told. I’d have to agree. I’ve never felt things… ‘right’. But by God, as I leafed through those records, I felt angry. How could somebody do such cruel things to people who have not even lived yet? Children are tiny, fragile, and weak. What could you POSSIBLY glean from being horrible to them? To me, it’s the equivalent of people abusing animals: they’re so hungry for somebody to notice them that they’ll do even the most asinine, malignant of things for a morsel of sweet, sweet attention.

Congratulations. You have my attention now.

As most unfortunate things go, these things were relatively tame. Even now, I can’t believe that I’m saying such a thing when children have died at the hands of people like this-- but again, it’s the truth. The more I read, the more educated I became. The more educated I became, the more I realised that this realm was not doing enough to protect those that could do nothing to defend themselves. It made me so hot with rage that I had to leave my research behind for several days. I’d seen enough. I didn’t want to witness more.

Still, it didn’t take long for me to come crawling back. As if I could forget such heinous displays of depravity.

Mothers that burned their children alive in microwaves. Fathers who buried their children in the backyard after ‘accidentally’ hitting them too hard.

And then the worst of it.

Parents that molest their sons and daughters for reasons unknown. Mothers and fathers that rape their sons and daughters for--

… for what? What reason could you POSSIBLY have for laying your hands on a child in that way? Do you know how small they are-- how much they resemble glass in your large, grubby hands? Why is that alluring to you? Why do you need to touch the one thing that no person, monster or God ever should? Do you think yourself special? Exempt of the rules? A person who DESERVES it all?

That was when my plan was first hatched.

I was bored. I was angry. And I will always have forever to fill.

I began to investigate on my own. I watched the news like a hawk whenever I came to visit. Steadily, I filled my head with information and I laid in wait. I’m not going to spew some bullshit at you; I’m not going to tell you I heard the children crying out to me, or that their silent pleas lingered in between the lines of every calculated interview, PR meeting and news report. There was no feeling of subservience to a higher power, no ‘child whispering’ technique I employed-- just the facts, and my fury being fed. Like a starving animal being tossed scraps from a man that pitied it.

The first man I murdered was in cold blood. I found him using nothing but my nose and my brain, recognised him immediately in light of the hours of research I’d been doing. While the cops ran circles around the breadcrumbs he had left behind, I tore his legs off and beat him to death with them in his bedroom. I can’t describe the feeling it gave me. Satisfaction doesn’t describe it - and that’s what I’m trying to highlight to you. I’m not the good guy. I do this not just for the people in need, but because I’m a self-righteous bastard who can do it. I know that. I accept it. Damn, I embrace it.

… but I will ask you this:

If not me, who?

I know, I know-- what a self-centred, cliche question, no? But think about it. Really open your mind and think. You sit there in your perfect little house with your comfortable amenities and your dazzling future spread ahead of you like a big blue tarpaulin, all while the elites you have funded sit around twiddling their thumbs and doing nothing to aid crises. Your police forces, in most cases, mean well, but the law smothers their ability to enforce any sort of goodwill. Who fears a man that bears a gun if he is not allowed to fire it under most circumstances? There’s nothing that most of them can do unless it’s literally going to cost them their life. A lifetime in jail-- even with prisoners who do not like them-- is not a fair punishment. It’s simply what you’ve been told is humane.

Do you think it’s humane to hold a little girl who’s crying and screaming still while a grown man inserts himself into her? Do you think it’s humane for an adult woman to humiliate her prepubescent son for the changes his body is going through, touching and probing in places nobody should touch? Do you not think that kind of abhorrence deserves an equal measure of retaliation?

They should both be in Hell. And I have no desire to wait until after death for that to unfold.

Humans have too many rules, too many laws that mean nothing and too many governmental figures that are content to turn a blind eye to the things wrong with the world. I don’t want people to get into unnecessary trouble. I understand why the police can’t unleash an entire clip into a pedophile’s chest because they caught them in the act while going to apprehend them.

But I’m not the police. I’m not a government official. I don’t have a cushy office, or a high-paying job, or a moral compass that prevents me from delivering a hearty blow to the back of a man’s head should he fiddle with small bodies. I have myself. I have my principles. I have my rage. That’s all… and perhaps that’s why I enjoy it. I know I’m doing something cruel, but it’s to people who deserve it, and for that I will never apologise. People who ruin others for no good reason. People who tarnish the sanctity of youth for no other purpose than to satisfy their perverted fantasies.

While ever I feel strongly about this, I’m going to continue my work. It’s why I come to Earth routinely now; sit in a darkened apartment in London after having dinner with my wife in another realm completely, sifting through encrypted requests for help in my inbox.

Do you need help removing a human stain? Contact E.Strahv for further assistance.

[ You have (1) new email! ]

It’s time to get to work.

#🞮 — i am the lie that you adore. ❜ ( edgar. )#🞮 — welcome to my world﹐take a look around. ❜ ( main. )#🞮 — ask me to stay﹐i would be charmed to. ❜ ( ic. )#drabble *#hellbent *

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kewltie · 5 years ago

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Izuku is currently standing at the precipice of childhood. Like all highborn omegas before him, at the age of eighteen he’s presented to high society as an adult in a large social gathering designed to just pick him apart to see what he’s made out; UA is not made for weak and simpering omegas. They must punch their way into adulthood, and do it as gracelessly and bloodlessly as possible.

This is his debut, but more than that it is him laying claim to his candidacy for the most ruthless and bloody crown in the entire galaxy, the Chrysanthemum Throne. He's Izuku of the Thousands Houses, one of the nine candidates for the crown and he's currently alone. Wretchedly alone.

Izuku curls his trembling hands into a fist to still it and tries to ignore the growing whispers surrounding him from the other debutantes and their escort at his predicament. For a highborn omega, their debut is supposed to be one of the grandest nights of their life accompanied by a chosen alpha partner, but Izuku's apparent lack of one is ripe with scandal.

"Wasn't it supposed to be Bakugou—?" someone asks. "Aren't they womb mate?"

"I heard he'd escaped to Iona V just to avoid being Midoriya's escort," another answers.

"How embarrassing." A giggle. "And he's a Candidate? Absurd."

"If he can't even keep his alpha chained to his side than what use is he."

"Our great UA Empire would fall apart within a solar cycle if he ever sit on the throne." A hum of agreement rises through the gossiping crowd as Izuku's nails dig into his palm with every passing word from their chattering mouth.

He doesn't defend himself. Couldn't do it even if he wanted to. After all Katsuki did choose to leave the Core System after Izuku had asked him to be his escort for his debut. He didn't even give Izuku a reply then, but his silence and disappearance said everything he didn't quite say.

What can Izuku expect when out of all nine Candidates, he is the only one from a Thousand House and not a single a Thousand House Candidate from the past had ever laid come close to sitting on the throne until All Might had come along that is, but that's a secret he’ll take to his grave.

The Chrysanthemum Throne has always been rule by one of the Ten Ruling Houses. All Might was the sole exception and not the rule; even then his true roots were erased by the last Regina, who had adopted him into one of the Ruling House, Shimura; his secret remains hidden from the populace.

Izuku is one of the few who knows because he was handpicked as a Candidate for the throne by Toshinori Yagi, sobriquet: All Might – the Regina of UA, the most powerful omega in the galaxy. Raised under his tutelage since Izuku was eight, he is expected of many great things but he hadn't lived up to any of it.

Izuku had stood alone all evening and watched one by one as the other debutante is escorted out of the waiting room and be introduced to the crowd of awaiting nobility in the Grand Hall, welcoming them to the ranks of adulthood. It's far less ceremonial than it seems but more a display of power, of which omega has the best alpha with the highest pedigree as their escort?

The star of the show may be the omega debutante, but the alpha is the centerpiece on their arm. A good alpha can make or break their debut, because omegas are bred to rule but alphas fight to make it a reality.

As long as an omega has the support of a strong alpha of good breeding, a warlord in the making, they can even shoot for the moon and become the new Regina, the head of an ever expanding galactic empire that stretched across several quadrants.

The path Izuku was meant to walk with Katsuki.

On a snowy trodden ground of a far flung icy planet, Izuku had watched the only home he'd ever known went up in flame – the life of a Candidate were always as fleeting and short as a whiff of a candle – and Katsuki had fallen to his knees, swearing that Izuku will never have another reason to cry; he'll make a ruler out of him. It was a promise made in blood.

Now, it seems Izuku is the only one who can even remember anything from that blood red night anymore, kept that promise tight to his chest like it's mating vow that one day Katsuki will fulfilled. Perhaps it was all a lie in the first place, but Katsuki is no liar. He'd probably just changed his mind, Izuku thinks dejectedly.

Insecurity once again sinks its claws into him, and Izuku has to shake it off with a harsh slap to his face that surprises everyone in the area. "You're fine. You're going to be okay, Izuku," he tells himself.

"What is he even doing?" someone demands, aghast. "Has he gone completely mad?"

His cheeks sting, but he feels more awake and less weighted down now even as the whispers around him get more aggressive and vitriol. Somehow, Izuku knows, that by the end of tonight there's going to even be more rumors spread about him.

But even without Katsuki, he can handle it. After all, he can't always rely on Katsuki to fight his battle. Especially now that Katsuki had made it clear where he stand with Izuku. If he wants something, he must grab it for himself and he may not amount to much but he plasters on his prettiest smile at them, daring them to continue.

The group all blinks at his brazenness, quietly looking away and closes rank around each other as though Izuku is something to for them fear. It's one thing to talk to him like he’s vermin in their midst as though he wasn't there, it's another to say it to his face, the one who has the backing of the current Regina.

He's the only Candidate to reach eighteen this quarter and by that etiquette he's to go last. All the other omegas who’d gone before him were from the Hundred Houses, greater noble houses compare to his own, but he's a Candidate and that afford him far more privilege than them.

They'd mocked and teased him earlier because for a moment he'd show his belly to them, but he can't forget who he is and what he stands for. If he to rule over all them one day, he can't show any weakness in front of them or they'll eat him alive.

Katsuki had taught him that.

So he raises his head and keeps his arms firm by his side as he waits for his turn to be presented while keeping a close eye on the rest of the debutante and their escorts, not letting them even have any room to breathe without escaping the pressure of his scrutiny.

There are still six more debuts to go before his turn, and Izuku doesn't drop his guard for a second.

"Midoriya," he hears someone call out to him, and he turns toward the voice to see two familiar figures making their way toward him. It's Todoroki and Yaoyorozu.

He gives them a small bow as they return his greeting with their own. "What are you doing here?" he asks. Neither Todoroki and Yaoyorozu are part of tonight's debut. Todoroki Shouto is an alpha of the Todoroki Hundred House, and Yaoyorozu Momo is a Candidate who won’t debut till the last quarter of this solar cycle. Neither has any reason to be here instead of out there in the Grand Hall with everyone else.

"Did you find someone to escort you yet?" Todoroki says, frowning. "If you haven't, I don't mind doing walking you down the hall."

Yaoyorozu's friendly smile abruptly freezes and her eyes narrow ever so slightly at Izuku, daring him to accept. She and Izuku are allies, but not necessary friends because they're both Candidates. While Izuku was chosen by All Might, Yaoyorozu was born into it; born to rule. As the member of one of the Ten Ruling Families and a prized omega, she's one of the leading Candidates for the throne. What that basically means is that Izuku and Yaoyorozu are competitors.

While she isn't necessary outright cruel or a scheming liar out to backstab him as soon as his back is turn like other Candidates Izuku had met, because Yaoyorozu is actually as kind as she portrays to be but Izuku can never forget that one doesn't get to this point without stepping on a few toes, drawing some blood, and piling on corpses. After all there are nine Candidates but only one crown, and they equally want it badly enough. It all depends on how far they’re willing to commit to the crown.

They may be allies today, but who knows what tomorrow would bring and that is why when Todoroki, who Yaoyorozu had long claimed as her champion even if Todoroki hasn't realize it, cannot favor another omega before her.

It'll be Izuku's death sentence to accept.

Izuku shakes his head. "Thank you for the offer, but I'll be fine on my own," he tells Todoroki.

Todoroki stills look concern, but Yaoyorozu's smile relaxes itself and her expression softens just enough that Izuku can feel the sharp edge of her gaze refocus back on Todoroki.

He isn't mad at her about it. Any omega with any common sense would defend their territory from other omega for all their worth. If this was Katsuki and Izuku was on the other side, he would have had a knife to her throat before she can even utter the next word.

Alpha wages war on the field for conquest, honor, and prestige but omega only ever fight for two things and two things only: to rule and the right to mate with their chosen alpha in order to secure their seed of their future. Mating is the omega's battleground and they do not lose. Losing might as well be akin to death for them.

"Are you sure—" Todoroki says, but Yaoyorozu lays a hand on his shoulder and squeezes it just enough to steal his attention. It's a calculative gesture.

"If Midoriya insists he's fine, we shouldn't push anymore or we'll be belittling his effort," she says, looking at Izuku. "Isn't that right?" There's a smile on her face, but her eyes hold no warmth for him.

Todoroki is a sweet and thoughtful friend. A good alpha overall and it would take great omega to tame him, but not Izuku. So he backs up to put some distance between him and the pair.

"Thank you for understanding," he tells Yaoyorozu, then his eyes flicker back to Todoroki, who remains steadfast oblivious to the underlying tension between two omegas vying for the attention of an alpha.

Izuku couldn't blame him, after all this is different kind of battlefield. A much more subtle and bloodless one, but a single careless action can cost you everything. On here they trade bullets for sharpened words ad their only injury is only to their pride, but a loss is paramount to losing their future. The battles that omega fight just as important and vital as the wars that alpha lead; only the best breeding stock for the future of the empire.

"Don't worry about me," Izuku says with a placating grin.

Todoroki sighs, finally accepting his defeat. "We'll leave you to to it then," he says. "Good luck, Midoriya."

"See you in the Grand Hall," Yaoyorozu adds, before taking Todoroki by the hand and leads him out.

Izuku is once again alone and he's not the only one who'd noticed it. There are only a handful of people left in the waiting room now, and they all looked at him pitifully like he'd just lost another viable lifeline in Todoroki. "Do you need something?" Izuku coolly asks the group.

They flinch and abruptly pretend to find an interest in each other as Izuku exhales. It's not easy to remain guarded at all times. The time pass by quickly enough that the next he knows he's truly alone at last, not a single soul in sight. All the others had already gone.

"Candidate Midoriya?" the usherer asks him, stepping forward. "It's time."

Izuku puts a hand on his chest and breathes, gathering every bit of his courage he can muster before saying, "Yes."

The usherer frowns, looking pass him for something. A very important something that he is missing. "Is there nobody else with you?"

"No, it's just me," he says firmly. "Is that going to be a problem?"

The usherer flushes. "No, my lord Candidate. Please follow me then."

He leads Izuku through the long narrow hallway of the castle, until they arrive at a giant wooden double door that easily dwarfs them. "Are you ready, my lord?"

Izuku clenches and unclenches his hand before nodding.

The door is pushed open and the usherer's voice booms through the Grand Hall: "The Imperial High Society welcomes Midoriya Izuku of the Thousands Houses into its warm bosom and may greatness grace his future and beyond in service of our great empire."

The applaud that follows is deafening, but the moment Izuku steps through the doorway and forward into the hall – opening up a high ceiling above him of a projected swirled of starry sky – it quickly slows into a confused death.

"Alone?" he hears, a high pitch outrage. "Where is his escort?"

"He's a Candidate! Does he have no shame?!" A scoff. "Shouldn't have even come in the first place."

Izuku doesn't let their callous but truthful words touch him. He walks down the long parted path with crowds of nobility on both side eyeing with scrutiny, like they're about to tear into him if he's not careful.

Finally, he reaches where the other debutantes and their escort are, line up in a straight line in the center circle.

He bows to the Master of Ceremony, who coughs awkwardly at Izuku's disgraceful state that had caused a such ruckus among them with just his sole appearance. "May the First Dance of this evening begin with the debutantes and their partner taking the floor," he announces to the room at large.

Izuku freezes as soon as the words hit him. How could he even forget that all the debutantes are required to share one dance with their partner at the beginning of the evening?! It's the most important act of the night, and Izuku had let it slipped through his head like an amateur.

He'd worried so much about being presented and walked into the Grand Hall by himself that he didn't even consider what it mean to be standing there alone as all the other debutantes pair up with their partners on the dance floor.

Humiliation doesn't even begin to encompass it.

He can put on a brave front and walk himself down, but even he realize can't dance unaccompanied as he watches other debutantes take to the floor with their partner and music floods the entire room; Izuku stands alone on his island of solitude as a stab of longing hits him.

The Grand Hall lights up with various ongoing conversations, the music of the orchestra, and the laughter draw from the lips of the party-goers. With no company next to him and partner to dance with, Izuku is sequestered away in a corner, left to his own and forgotten by the mass.

It's meant to one of the most important nights of his life. His entire childhood was leading to the moment of his debut, onto the stage of high society as an adult, but because of his own inadequacies and folly, he has becomes a wallflower at his own party.

Izuku's hands twist in front of him.

It's grim, but Izuku holds on. The odds have always been stacked against him, borne into a lower noble house with no connection and aid, he had to laid the foundation of his own support just to stand equal with the other Candidates. Izuku doesn't get to live his life, but had to survive it.

All Might cannot make him the next Regina, Izuku must seize it for himself. It’s the Flower Game – a bloody cutthroat competition that cut down the Candidates one by one till there is only one left standing. All Might did it before him, so had his predecessor and so on. The line of Regina is drenched in blood and paved by the bodies of those fallen souls whose sacrificed reinforced the position of the most powerful omega in the galaxy. One is not born into it, but is systematically chosen by conquest and the unbending will to have it all.

Izuku, with his awkwardness, doesn't fit the image of their fierce Regina, the mother of the Empire, but what he obviously lack he hungers instead. All Might had once said to him, "To stand at the top, one must want to be there because to step back even for a moment, you lose."

And so, even as Izuku stands at the bottom he's always looking up, hungry for what it may offer him. It's something he'd dreamed with Katsuki, side by side, together they'll bring this entire empire down to its knees; the Regina and his Champion. Like All Might and Todoroki Enji before him.

The Regina rules from the high seat of the Chrysanthemum Throne, the beating heart of the empire that keeps it moving, but even they can't do everything. The Champion exists as an extension of the Regina, as his sword to point outward at his enemies and as his shield to stand close and protect him.

That's why every Candidates will have to pick their cCampion one day, an alpha who will pledge absolute loyalty to them and only to them. It’s the kind of bond that stories are made of, if one is romantically inclined to think like that. Izuku had used to and still does in many ways thinks of that for him and Katsuki.

Now, he's gazing down at the floor and waiting for the dance to end and for the ground to swallow him completely. Izuku may have been caught in his daydream of them together, but Katsuki was looking another way. Maybe this is sign that he should—

"Don't think anything stupid."

There's a shadow looming over him, but what makes his hear race is the rough cadence of—of, "Kacchan!" he yells, jerking his head up to meet the scowling and haggard face of his heart's desire even as Katsuki looks so worn out and beaten up like he'd just gotten out of a fight with someone’s fist. "Are you alright?" he asks, stepping forward as concern thickens his voice.

Katsuki’s scowl deepens. "I'm fucking fine," he retorts, grabbing hold of Izuku and drags him away from his little undisrupted corner, straight toward the dance floor where all the other debutantes and their partners are.

The crowd quickly takes notice of Katsuki pushing his way through them with Izuku reluctantly in tow. He even catches the familiar faces of some of their friend who gives him a grin of encouragement even though Izuku is so terribly confused. How and why is Katsuki even here?! Now of all time!

"Kacchan, please! What are you—?!" he cries out, shaking his head hopelessly. "I was waiting for you, but you didn't come so I thought—" He bites down his lip as tears blur his vision. He doesn't tell of the humiliation he had to endure and loneliness that had suffocated him.

Katsuki stops abruptly and Izuku almost collides with him, but he catches Izuku's fall in time and before Izuku can even gather his wits, Katsuki drops to his knees in front of him – in front of the entire room as all eyes descend on them.

The gasp that leaves Izuku echoes everyone's else.

"I, Bakugou Katsuki, swear upon the throne in blood and soul and as long as my body allow, I pledge my everything to you," Katsuki says, voice solemn but fierce as the wolf sigil that flies on the banner of his House. It's an oath of absolute loyalty made from a Champion to his Regina.

But coming from Katsuki whose face Izuku has to look down upon, there's not a single trace of obedience and submission in the lines of his body, in the defiance of his face, and the fire in his eyes. It's the face of a wolf who holds his prey in its jaw, but vowing to not eat it.

And even when he's bruised, dirty, and on his knees he's still the most terrifyingly and wretchedly beautiful thing Izuku had ever seen. His heart trembles at the sight even as confusion and doubt squeezes his chest. "You don't mean that," he croaks out. Didn't Katsuki reject him earlier? Left him planetside so he can run off to feed blood thirst?

He'd choose to leave Izuku behind so he can go to fight on some outer system just so he doesn't have to be stuck escorting Izuku to his debut ball. Isn't that what had happened?! "Please, please don't tease me," he begs. Izuku wouldn't be able to take it if, if—

"Shut the fuck up," Katsuki growls, steering Izuku's increasing panic toward him. "Do I look like I'm the type make a fucking joke like that?!" He grumbles, annoyed as he rummages through his pants pocket and pulls out the ugliest piece of rock Izuku had ever seen.

It has rough, uneven edges with a scorched surface and fits just in the palm of Katsuki's hand. "Here," he says, handing Izuku's the rock.

Izuku blinks even as he takes it. What is he even supposed to do with it?

Katsuki frowns. "It's a rock from Iona V's homeworld. I found it and now it's yours."

Izuku blinks again, fisting the rock in his hand and Katsuki sighs. "Iona V is an independent outer system rich in resources and land, but the people are resoundingly stupid even after I brought the entire fleet of 444st Legion on top of them."

He scrubs his badly-need-to-be-comb hair furiously. "I was late for your debut because I was securing Iona V's total surrender. This is my proof of that and now this rock is yours and so is Iona V," he says, like that revelation isn't going to shift Izuku's entire world.

Bakugou Katsuki of the Hundred Houses — the only son of Warlord Mitsuki, the Wolf Queen and Head of the 444st Legion, one of the mightiest armadas of the Empire, making a pledge to Izuku, would mean everything that belongs to Katsuki and will be Katsuki's will also be his.

Izuku wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of it. A homeworld and seven colonies of Iona V as a starting courting gift; Bakugou Katsuki truly never does anything by halves, not even when he was breaking Izuku's heart all over the floor of this castle, only to fixed it with a conquest of an entire solar system.

Izuku is so in love with this heartless man that he's sick with it. "Kacchan," he cries out, holding the rock against his chest like it's the only thing that is holding him up. "Thank you, thank you. I accept it."

Katsuki stares at him for a moment. Then he breathes out, body relaxing finally. "Okay, okay," he says, the first crack of his indestructible armor of confidence is finally shown for Izuku to see. "Give me your hand then."

As he extends his free hand for Katsuki, he slaps it away with a glare. "Your other hand, dumbass,” he says pointedly, looking at the hand that is clutching the rock, no, the courting’s gift, closely.

"Oh, oh," Izuku says, eyes wide.

As per their tradition to seal the pledge, Izuku must let Katsuki kiss the back of his hand, so Izuku switches the rock to his right hand. With heart palpitating against his chest, he gives Katsuki's his left hand and Katsuki holds it in his palm, but he doesn't kiss it.

Instead Katsuki grabs Izuku’s fourth finger, slips it into his wet mouth, and bites down hard on the end, enough to cut through skin and leaves a deep rivet of red behind. Izuku winces, but doesn't withdraw his hand even though it hurts, it hurts so, so much because Katsuki remembers. He remembers.

Izuku, who has always been enchanted by Ancient Terra's history and traditions, had set his young heart on the idea of exchanging rings in the Old Ways. Something their people had long considered obsolete, but Katsuki had listened then and still remembers now.

This isn’t a ring, but it's a close enough.

Katsuki finally releases his finger, his teeth bloody and his face feral with a victorious grin as he stands up. He doesn't even bother wiping away Izuku’s blood smear from his mouth, this madden and wild man who absolutely and ruthlessly lay claims to Izuku's heart. "Let's go," he declares. "We got a First Dance to do."

It's late and the music had already stopped playing because of Katsuki, deciding that moment to throw the ball into complete chaos with his declaration and making Izuku the one and only future Regina he'll ever serve for all to see, leaving the crowd fascinated and appalled by their action tonight.

But he doesn't stop Katsuki, just follows him to the floor because the thing is: he didn’t choose Katsuki as his Champion to become the next Regina; he wants to become the next Regina so he can have Katsuki as his Champion. After all, Katsuki doesn't settle and neither does Izuku.

#bakudeku #fic snippet #verse: a/b/o space opera

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sumisuchan · 4 years ago

Text

First Name Basis Ch.1

Hey y’all just thought I should post this to Tumblr as well, but here’s the link to the ao3 for people who are more interested in that: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25889923/chapters/62913253

I don’t know what to say for myself other than I love Kaiba and Jounouchi, and I hope you enjoy this fic <3 Also feel free to leave me a comment. I cherish all of them forever.

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

It was a quiet winter morning, the second Monday of January, when Mokuba pushed open the double doors to Seto’s room. However silent he tried to be, they still scraped across the hardwood floor. He had cast a light that shot from the hallway to envelop Seto’s figure in bed, buried beneath a plush comforter.

“Seto — ” Mokuba tried to keep his voice low, leaning culpably against one of the doors. “I'm going to head out.”

Without throwing off the comforter, Seto rose as if accused. The pale morning light made him squint. “I thought I was taking you.”

“I know, but I was going to meet a friend a little bit early. I'll meet you there, I promise.”

“But it's snowing,” Seto laid his head back down. Even with centralized heating, the air was cold. His alarm clock read 6:46 a.m., which made the comforter seem warmer and the mattress more generous.

The door clicked softly shut again. Seto had lost. He closed his eyes and let Mokuba go, the bed’s hold too strong to break. Maybe he would wake at 8:00, or 8:05, or 8:10...

***

It was 8:15 when Seto had hit snooze for the third time, and had finally managed to sit up. He opened the curtains behind him to a chalky sky and a Domino City winterscape, draped in snow. It even obscured the faraway mountains whose dark grey bodies wore pure white caps. Seto sighed visibly into the glass. Another harsh one.

Seto ate, washed, and dressed, finding himself in a partially cloudy bathroom mirror. He had put a sharp white suit over a blue shirt speckled with gold, and fixated upon the second gray hair he had found that month. He leaned in, making the mirror fog up more. Though his hair was still a little damp, there it was — front and center, mocking him.

Seto straightened himself out, turned the bathroom light off, and went downstairs. He could see from the top of the staircase that Mokuba had taken the kimono from its resting place upon the front room sofa—garment bag and all, his geta disappearing from the entrance evidence that it hadn't been just a dream.

***

The traffic to the ceremony was hell. Every damn car in Domino City had congested the roads leading to town hall, each of them progressing only about a meter before stopping again. Snow fell as a light powder, dusting the shoulders of young men and women dressed in expensive suits and long-sleeve kimono. Seto estimated that at least 3/4 of them were rentals. Their parents walked alongside them, shielding them from the snow with clear convenience-store umbrellas, and Seto realized that he had forgotten one himself.

Finally, his driver reached town hall and held open the car door. Parents, brothers, sisters, cousins, who had come to support their own twenty-year-olds, all seemed to turn around at once, then double take. “Isn't that Kaiba Seto?” They whispered too loudly as he passed them. Seto was certain he could feel someone's phone camera pointed at his back as he entered. His watch read 10:37. The ceremony would start soon.

***

The mayor, a slightly overweight man in a gray, cheap-looking suit took the stage, adjusting the microphone and clearing his throat. Several rows of newly-minted adults straightened their backs and lifted their heads. The entire auditorium stopped talking, and the mayor preemptively set his short-fingered hands on the podium. For the final time, he adjusted his legs, shoulder-width apart. Seto noticed a bald spot at the very back of his head, bordered by thinning white hair.

“Everyone, thank you for attending today's ceremony — ” He spoke in a coarse voice.

Seto began searching the first three rows for Mokuba. The young men and women had formed clusters, some still chatting quietly to one another. They made a patchwork quilt of solid black suits and explosions of flowers in red, white, and gold.

Mokuba would be in white. He had insisted. “I'm going to wear a suit for the rest of my life, but I'll probably have far fewer opportunities to wear a kimono.” So Seto took him shopping at one of the most expensive boutiques in Domino City, their winter line of handmade kimono on display. Most of them were furisode — sleeves to the floor and soaked in snow flowers, chrysanthemums, tsubaki .

Mokuba looked uncomfortable. He tensed at the extremely attentive sales assistant, who asked them in exquisite keigo what they needed. He tensed even more when Seto replied bluntly, “he needs an outfit for coming of age day.” He tensed while they brought out the entire cavalry of men's kimono — admittedly plainer than the women's, but just as elegant. Almost all of them bore complex patterns that fit seamlessly into their solid black or white fabrics, allegedly handmade. The shopkeeper ran her hand over each of them as if playing an instrument. It was genuinely surprising when they didn't respond with a musical phrase.

“You’re more than welcome to try on any one that you like, and one of our male employees can help you dress if you require assistance.” She had nearly reached the end of her, “please take your time,” when Mokuba pointed to the one on the very end.

“Uh — that white one looks nice.”

“Oh,” the shopkeeper had to walk to the far end of the table to reach it. “Do you mean this one, sir? Would you like to try it on?”

“Sure. Yes, I can try it on.”

Without prompting, yet another attentive male employee rushed over to lead him to the dressing room. “Please follow me this way, sir.” Seto got a glimpse of the kimono. No discernible pattern. Nothing extra. Just white silk adorned with the shop’s brand insignia embroidered in gold at the end of the sleeves.

Mokuba left the dressing room without the kimono on, yet claimed that he wanted that one. When Seto asked him if he was certain, he only nodded and tensed even more once Seto paid one million yen in cash straight from his wallet.

From his place in the third row of guest seating, Seto searched for that kimono, the stark white against both plain black and noisy flower patches, and found him sitting amongst a group of young women. One of them whispered something to him and Mokuba turned around, missing his shoulder-length hair. Sometime that morning he had gotten it cut. The woman at his side adjusted his bangs, giggling. She said something. “You look like your brother,” Seto imagined. Mokuba pulled away, brushed it off. That must have been it.

***

The ceremony ended and its attendants came gasping into the freezing winter air. The families occupied the bottom of the staircase as their children emerged at the top, posing in formation for pictures.

Mokuba had found a place in the second row, his hands at his side for the first serious photo and then with his tongue out and fingers forming a heart for the silly one. The same girl from earlier in a red kimono and thick-rimmed glasses made bunny ears above his head — something he would find later when they received the photos. They posed for one more before the crowd dispersed and Mokuba turned to her before coming downstairs. He must have promised to rejoin her, but then met eyes with Seto and began his descent.

Finally, Seto witnessed the full body of his kimono, its white sleeves and gray pants making him resemble the snow-covered mountains in the distance. He treaded so carefully down the steps, responsible with his new-seeming long legs, but he had been chipping away toward Seto’s height for a while. That fact hit especially hard when Mokuba ran to embrace him. His long strides had brought him so smoothly.

Someone snapped a picture.

“How did you manage to get a haircut?” Seto asked, maintaining his balance. “Every salon in the city must have been booked.”

“They were.” Mokuba set his hands on top of Seto’s shoulders, negotiating himself against the icy sidewalk, “but I had reserved my appointment months ago. I wanted to surprise you. I guess…” He paused, touching the back of his head. “I didn't realize how much I would resemble you.”

“It suits you,” Seto said. “You look grown up.”

Mokuba smiled but furrowed his brows. Someone shouted, “Kaiba- san ! May I please take a picture of you and Mokuba?” and someone else added, “to commemorate the occasion!”

Seto, who would normally have walked away, turned toward the crowd. He put his hand upon Mokuba’s back and found it to be rigid. Yet, Mokuba smiled for them. There would be articles written whether he did or didn't, so he chose to be pleasant. He grinned into the flashing lights, into a future of magazines that would compare their heights, their faces, weigh their fortune, pondering if Mokuba had found a girlfriend yet and commenting on the fact that Seto never had. It would be a thing for months until it wasn't at all, until something else happened, and the cycle would start over.

Seto felt Mokuba inflate with a sigh that no one would notice. He had become so good at letting it deflate slowly from his nose that only someone standing as close as Seto would hear it.

He called off the pictures and they loaded into the car, leaving barely enough time for Mokuba to wave to the young woman he had left up on the staircase.

#Seto Kaiba #jounouchi katsuya #katsuya jonouchi #puppyshipping #violetshipping #yu-gi-oh #Gay #Mokuba is a character as well

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