#Clan Home Association

[thefollyflaneuse]

Hume Castle, Borders

Hume Castle stands on a prominent site, visible for miles round. Initially, this gave it great defensive strengths, but by the later 18th century the ‘considerable eminence’ was thought the perfect site for an eye-catcher. The ruins of the ancient fortification were pulled down and the stone reused to create a curiously crenellated sham castle. Continue reading Hume Castle, Borders

[serpentface]

Two jaquinzi stallions duking it out over territory.

The jaquinzi is a wild equid in the clade broadly referred to as 'horses', though they are not closely related to the common domestic horse and cannot interbreed. They are of average size for a horse, being about 2 ft tall at the shoulder, 4 ft long, and weighing an average of 90 lbs. They are notable for their long tails and striking coat, which ranges from orange to a deep red-brown and is peppered with spots and stripes.

Jaquinzi stallions are highly territorial and routinely maintain their boundaries via dung marking. They rarely tolerate the presence of other adult males (though brothers sometimes form coalitions), and will get into aggressive, sometimes deadly fights with trespassers. Female jaquinzi and their young form hierarchical herds led by a lead mare, and move freely between territories. Stallions may develop close and longterm bonds with their mares, and herds may permanently settle within a stallion's territory so long as it contains ample resources and remains well-protected.

It is the only true wild horse endemic to the Imperial Wardi region, and has a very limited range. The vast majority are found in the far southern Pelenagal peninsula (Elumuqi to its predominantly Jazaiti inhabitants), with some scattered low density populations being found in and around the Red Hills. They are closely related to (but are geographically separated from) the Lowlands wild horse found south and east of the Blackmane mountains, a domestic variant of which is widely kept by the Yuroma people (and has been brought to Wardin by its sizable Yuroma-Wardi community).

The name 'jaquinzi' comes from the Jazaiti language. Most Jazaiti lands are on the Elumuqi peninsula, thus overlapping with most of the jaquinzi's range. The Jazait have a long history of relations with this horse. Most Jazait rely on the sea for the vast majority of their food, which is supplemented by foraging and farming. Much of their land is heavily susceptible to wildfires, which is mitigated with controlled burns. The jaquinzi horse indirectly assists with fire control by clearing away excess growth and preferentially feeds on many plants that are considered undesirable or outright noxious weeds to the Jazait.

As such, this horse has traditionally been encouraged to settle and proliferate within the territories of Jazaiti clans, and much of the peninsula jaquinzi population is semi-tame and heavily habituated to people. The relationship is largely mutualistic, as the horses receive protection from predators and are given access to otherwise unattainable high energy foods (they are actively fed harvest leftovers, seaweed, and fruits, which is the main contributor to their tameness). Jazait benefit from the horses clearing away unwanted growth, and these very tame, approachable wild animals can function as an emergency food source in times of famine.

The territoriality of the horses has partially integrated with the (substantially more complex cultural practice of) territoriality of Jazait clans. The boundaries of a clan's land are spiritually reinforced and physically marked by clanmothers on a yearly basis (via wrist scent gland), while its entrance points and boundary zones have shrines that are routinely anointed by clan members as they come and go. Jaquinzi learn to recognize the scent of their associated people, and stallions are known to align their territorial boundaries closely to the clan's boundary (as the people directly and indirectly contribute to keeping rival stallions out). A sense of home boundary and 'here and there' is fundamental to traditional Jazait identity and spiritual security, and the wild horse shares and reinforces this boundary, which elevates the animal's significance in the cultural schema.

The Jazait focus most collective cultural attention on sea life (and do not share their neighboring peoples' traditions of animal worship whatsoever), but the jaquinzi is a deeply appreciated wild beast, notable for its beauty and gentleness and association with Home.

This relationship to wild horses is, however, being increasingly replaced by keeping herds of domestic wooly horses, particularly in the past century. Domestic horses are attractive in that they provide most of the benefits of the wild ones (clearing brush, easy emergency meat) in addition to a continuous supply of textile sources and soap-making materials (though their dairy products are not consumed, as the gene for lactase persistence is highly uncommon among the Jazait). The adoption of domesticated horses has mostly occurred on the basis of individual clans (often in tandem with subsistence issues due to their fishing grounds being occupied by Imperial Wardi interests) and is not universal, but has still markedly fragmented parts of the jaquinzi's remaining range.

[emporiannee]

a xianxia au idea

buncha ideas n explanations under the cut

okay so it all started with this post i saw recently about the concept of yin eyes. it was kinda hard to look into. even if i use the chinese name, most results refer to them as yin/yang eyes and talk about them from a more modern context i think? so i'm just using it more as loose inpiration and will be referring to them as yin eyes for ease.

In this au, they'd be something one is born with and grants someone the ability to see ghosts and deities and see the presence of magic. Because it's more common for ghosts to be seen near people than deities, the general population considers the eyes to be cursed. However, they're seen more neutrally as a tool to people who are familiar with cultivation bc of it's ability to see through magic or identify ghosts in hiding.

Izuna

born with yin eyes. they're not hereditary like the sharingan tho. I think the uchiha in this au would be a clan known for having many great generals, heroes, ascended immortals, etc in their history and madara and izuna are expected to follow in those footsteps. I think it'd be fun to play around with how important auspiciousness/divination can be in xianxia and maybe madara was believed to be blessed since birth but izuna gets more mixed reactions, esp with his eyes.

izuna escapes from that environment by leaving for his cultivation but really he just doesn't want to be there and has complicated feelings about ascending in the first place.

his base robes should probably be a little ostentatious and gilded. His traveling robes and hat are more homely but gold embroidery and accessories are still visible and basically anyone can still tell he's some young lord from a rich family lol

Tobirama

his design was hard. I just ended up changing his hair bc his canon hairstyle was too uncanny when i tried to imagine him in a xianxia setting....

he's the second prince from the east sea palace. So he's a dragon. I think the water association and the treasury mentioned in Journey to the West suit tobirama well while the east being associated with the wood element suits hashirama/the senju well.

he goes out into the world to learn more about the humans and dresses himelf as a taoist with simpler robes and horsetail whisk.

i thought this might be funny bc according to cursory research, taoists monks would use the whisk to shoo away evil thoughts or the temptation to return to secular life. Tobirama would do this to people who annoyed him.

This is also purely self-indulgent and bc i've been reading tgcf but i think he should be able to transform not just from dragon -> somewhat draconic state -> human but also between genders for disguises. There is very little difference tho.

i have some ideas for madara too and i think hikaku n mito would fit well into this au as diviners/astrologists or smth. will prob stew on it for a while ^^

[opal-owl-flight]

Decimation.

Youve been stealing back millions of eggs from Grizzco for years. And in a single night, they took it all back.

How does it feel to face a possible extinction?

Uhh lore abt Grizzco and the salmonids below!

So in my interp, Grizzco started somewhat small, bc back then Grizz and...an associate... were doing everything by themselves. When his associate went nuts, and almost ended the world by driving the nearby salmonid nations nuts as well, Inkadia launched Project Piranesi. (More on that another time.) Grizz had to think of another way to get those eggs..

…how perfect was it then, that Inkopolis, a fairly new city, was having a bit of a salmonid problem?

Grizz inserted his corporation as part of the damage control along the run routes. it only grew from there.

he expanded to the Splatlands later, though admittedly the folks there were more adapted to the salmonids compared to Inkadia. Its not as strong a hold but Splatsville and its surrounding establishments appreciated the extra precautions Grizzco provided.

Neos born fighting for her life and for her clans. Its why shes so aggressive and finds it difficult to be anything but. If shes not angry, fighting for her clans to have a life of peace…for a present and future where she can live -- what is she?

she and 3 arent so different, in that regard.

------------

Grizzco says that the last 7 big run locales had "unusual magnetic readings" and in my world that just means THEY DAMN PUT IT THERE!!!!

They intentionally put something there to confuse the migrators and to steal the next generation -- and the Inkfish? Ofc theyd fight for their homes.

The Splatlandians TRIED to avoid the routes when they built the city after thousands of years of observation. Sorta like the dykes and canals some cities build next to swelling rivers.

Another comparison is that the big runs are just like other natural calamities in the eyes of the nations. Its like a flood, an earthquake, a typhoon. Hell its somewhat announced that way too. The infrastructure is built with the runs in mind. The powers that be have built countermeasures.

*I say try bc some sleazy/unaware corporations still built along those routes bc of the cheaper land/other "economical reasons."

And then Inkadia just wasnt aware at all, being a newer city compared to the ancient splatlands.

Grizzco intentionally causes property damage for bigger gains. Theyve been suffering a "shortage" thanks to Neo3 and the platoon's banditry. In a bid to take everything back and more, they decided to make the biggest event in the Splatlands the salmonid's next target.

They know that EVERYONE will show up to it.

---------

I think seeing that counter keep ticking up gives Neo3 a sense of creeping dread. Thats the number of eggs she put back in the sea. And more. All done in a single night. All her work, down the drain.

The platoon does manage to get a LOT of it back but god. What about the fallen runners, who were supposed to get to the actual spawning grounds?

Those lives disrespected and their bodies unable to feed the spawn. (Theres only so much the survivors can drag back.)

I wonder too, how many of those runners arent there for the runs at this point. They are there to kill.

Ticked off by the persistent attacks and the misdirection. As Polyphemus says in Epic, "Take from you what you take from me."

----------

After multi-magnetic field disruptors in the biggest run, these salmonid have had enough and want to hit back. I wouldnt blame them...god, I wouldnt blame them

The salmonids have never resorted to kidnapping any inkfish. Theyve killed. Yeah. Part of the whole running ceremony. But it was always just a part of that.

To actually go out of their way to fight instead of spawn? Thats different. In the grand run, inkfish may notice that some bosses arent dropping golden eggs. Bc they were never here to spawn. Theyre here to drag every inkfish they find into hell.

Subsequent big runs may end up with more and more of those eggless bosses.

----------

Happy 700 mil!! I HAD MANY NEO3 AND SALMONID THOUGHTS. THINGS ARE GETTING SO FUCKED UP IN SPLOONWORLD. The platoon as a whole is trying to restore peace between the Splatlands, Inkadia, Octaria AND the Salmonid nations, but unless Inkadia and the Splatlands change (COUGHS mostly Inkadia), nothing can really be done.

This is the shit 3 fights for. That harmony is what they dream of. The whole world rests on their shoulders and they press on, ever forward.

[laikabu]

sorry but would you be willing to elaborate on Kabru being a trans allegory? I'm trans myself + a Kabru fan but this never really occurred to me (just thought people made him trans since it's cool)

the whole thing with milsiril and all the doll imagery associated with her as symbolism of how she sees him as a doll she wants to keep and take care of is something a lot of transmascs can relate to. even though he loves her, he does NOT want to go back home to live with her again.

also him needing to mask and adapt his personality to certain people can mean a LOT of things, but you can visualize that a stealth trans guy would want to do this sort of thing for safety reasons

and to the shallower, surface level visual stuff:

he looked very feminine as a child and wore a dress. elf males can wear skirts/dresses, but you can infer that he didn’t like wearing one as you see him wearing shorts as an older child

he’s 170cm(average tallman female height) of course you can say “that doesn’t mean anything” but it’s a funny coincidence, don’t think too much about it.

okay this is just me hypothesizing through the existing text:

you can assume that elves view tallmen as inherently masculine the way dwarves see them as inherently feminine as marcille feels like the actors for the tallman adaptation of the daltian clan don’t fit elf beauty standards, so he didn’t have trouble being seen as a boy while living with milsiril

he spent four years living independently before the story starts. i’m sure he’d have access to masculinizing medicine during that time

of course, this all can be applied to other parts of his character, but there’s nothing that contradicts this headcanon. an allegory doesn’t always have to be intentional after all, but seeing how ryoko kui has made one-shot manga about unambiguously transgender/genderqueer characters, it’s really not impossible to have this reading of him.

obviously, you can still headcanon a character as trans without any “evidence” or even if it’s contradictory with their backstory, but it’s neat how all the puzzle pieces fall into place

[darlingsblackbook]

Distant Echeos 4

Gojo Satoru x Reader

Arranged Marriage AU

Summary : The time of an old pact, promising your hand to the heir of the Gojo clan, has come. It is now your wedding, how will the two of you continue from here?

Warnings : Angst, depressed reader :(, lonely reader :(, mentions of weightloss and not eating.

AN : Part four ♡

Previous parts : 1, 2, 3

Gojo Satoru

I didn’t come home often.

Not because I didn’t want to, but because it was easier that way. Easier to avoid the awkwardness, the tension that hung between us like a thick, invisible fog. Easier to stay away than confront what I’d been feeling since that damn wedding day.

But tonight was different. I wasn’t even sure why I decided to stop by this time. Maybe it was the guilt, gnawing at me like an itch I couldn’t scratch.

Maybe it was the exhaustion creeping in after a long week of missions and endless responsibilities. Or maybe, deep down, I just wanted to see her, to make sure she was okay.

I hadn’t been home in over a week, and though I knew Y/N wasn’t the type to complain, something about her silence had started to bother me.

I opened the door quietly, stepping inside the penthouse with its usual pristine cleanliness. The familiar scent of the place—something subtle, floral, that I always associated with her—lingered faintly in the air.

Everything looked exactly the same as I’d left it. Except… not quite. The furniture was in place, nothing out of order, but there was a thin layer of dust on the surfaces, as if no one had touched them in days.

The usual sense of care and attentiveness that she always brought to this place felt like it was missing.

The energy was off.

I frowned, walking further in, my senses on alert in a way they rarely were at home. Something wasn’t right.

The kitchen was spotless, of course, but the sink was empty, the counters bare. No dishes drying, no evidence of food having been made recently. A quick glance in the fridge confirmed it—half-empty containers of food that looked like they’d been untouched for days. Leftovers from meals that had gone uneaten.

The eerie quiet that filled the place started to press in on me, and an uneasy feeling twisted in my gut. It was too quiet. Too still.

Had she… left?

The thought hit me harder than I expected, sending a strange jolt of panic through my chest. I wasn’t sure why, but suddenly, the idea that she might have just packed her things and gone felt… wrong. Sure, I hadn’t been the most attentive husband, but she wasn’t the type to just disappear without a word. Was she?

I moved through the living room, glancing around for any signs—anything that would tell me she was still here. Her shoes were by the door, neatly placed like always. Her bag was on the small table near the entrance, untouched. It didn’t look like she’d left. But why was everything so quiet?

My feet carried me down the hall, toward the bedroom—the one she had claimed as hers. I hadn’t been inside since we first moved in, and I wasn’t even sure if she’d want me to go in now. But I needed to know. I needed to see if she was still here, if she was… okay.

The door was slightly ajar, a thin sliver of darkness spilling out into the hallway. I pushed it open quietly, stepping inside.

The room was dim, the curtains drawn tight against the windows, letting in only the faintest traces of moonlight. My eyes adjusted to the dark, and that’s when I saw her.

Y/n was curled up on the bed, wrapped in a thick bundle of blankets, barely moving. For a second, I thought she might be asleep, but there was something about the way she lay there—too still, too quiet—that made my chest tighten.

I stepped closer, my gaze falling on her face. The dim light made it hard to see, but as I got nearer, I noticed something that made me pause. Her cheeks looked a little hollower than I remembered, her skin paler. And then, the worst part—the part that made my stomach twist with guilt—I realized she had lost weight. Not just a little, but enough that it was noticeable, even in the dim light.

She hadn’t been eating.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, I just stood there, staring at her small, fragile form wrapped up in those blankets like she was trying to disappear.

What the hell had I been doing?

I knew I’d been distant. I knew I hadn’t been there for her. But I hadn’t realized just how bad things had gotten. How much she had been suffering because of me.

The silence between us had been easier for me to deal with. I told myself that keeping my distance was for her sake—that it was better this way. After all, it wasn’t fair that she had been forced into this marriage. She hadn’t asked for it any more than I had. She deserved better than to be stuck with someone like me, someone who couldn’t give her what she needed. What she deserved.

But looking at her now—seeing her so small, so worn down—I realized I had been wrong. Completely, utterly wrong. My absence hadn’t made things easier for her. It had only made her feel more alone.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight as I crouched down beside the bed, watching her quietly. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t stirred, but I could see the faint rise and fall of her chest, slow and steady.

I wasn’t sure how long I sat there, just staring at her, but my mind was racing with all the things I should have done, all the things I’d failed to do. I’d been so caught up in my own frustration, my own anger at this situation, that I hadn’t stopped to think about how much worse it had to be for her.

I was Gojo Satoru—the strongest sorcerer in the world. I didn’t have to answer to anyone, didn’t have to rely on anyone. I could have walked away from this marriage and still been fine. But Y/n? She had been forced into this life with no choice, no control. And I had just… left her to deal with it on her own.

I thought keeping my distance would protect her, that it would make things easier for her if I wasn’t around to remind her of the life she didn’t choose. But all I’d done was make her feel like she didn’t matter. Like I didn’t care.

But I did care. More than I wanted to admit, even to myself.

The truth was, I hadn’t been avoiding her because I didn’t want to be here. I’d been avoiding her because I didn’t know how to deal with the fact that I cared. I cared too much. I hated seeing her trapped in this situation, stuck in a marriage with someone like me. I hated that she had been forced into this life, and I hated that I was part of the reason she was suffering.

But now, seeing her like this—so fragile, so alone—I realized that my distance hadn’t protected her at all. It had only made things worse.

I let out a slow breath, my chest tight as I watched her, my mind racing with all the things I should say, should do. Apologize? Promise to do better?

But what good were words now, after all this time?

I stood up slowly, my gaze still fixed on her as I tried to decide what to do. I could leave, give her space like I always did. But something in me knew that wasn’t the answer. Not anymore.

Instead, I gently pulled the blankets up a little higher around her shoulders, making sure she was warm, and then I turned to leave. Not because I was abandoning her again, but because I needed to figure out how to fix this. How to fix us.

Because, for the first time, I realized that I didn’t just want to make things better for her out of obligation. I wanted to make things better because… I cared. More than I had ever allowed myself to admit.

And I had been too blind to see it until now.

♡

Taglist : @kalopsia-flaneur @lov3vivian @junslay

All Rights Reserved © 2024 DarlingsBlackBook

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

(Genshin Impact) Jean, Eula, Rosaria, Ei, Shenhe, Yelan, Navia, Lumine rescuing their S/O

No one requested this, Bonnie Tyler's "Holding Out For A Hero" came on and demanded I write. ...Same thing happened for the AK-15 fic actually. I NEED A HERO, I'M HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO-

The moment Jean learns that her S/O had been kidnapped for ransom, her senses become so hyper focused and immediately sets off to alert the Knights of an abduction.

She wastes absolutely no time in tracking S/O, and does so easily with her and the others searching.

Her adrenaline kicks into overdrive, and she does not rest until S/O is safe inside Mondstadt walls, ignoring any injury sustained and insisting that she can keep going.

For only a brief moment, Jean loses control and doesn't even warn warn the kidnappers or attempt an arrest, immediately using her Vision to blow them back.

The sight of her S/O is enough to get her to snap back to her senses, and promptly make the offenders pay for their crimes by sending them to the jails.

With a sigh of relief, Jean feels the exhaustion on her body start to take its toll, but she smiles as she unties them.

(Jean) "Thank goodness you're alright. Let's get you home."

She gives her S/O the tightest hug of their life, and has one arm locked around them the entire journey back.

Eula absolutely loses it the moment she learned that someone of the Lawrence clan has kidnapped her S/O.

This was the exact reason she did not want them associated with her-

No. Now was not the time for such thoughts. Now was the time for vengeance.

Being the Captain of the Reconnaissance company, she doesn't have any difficulty in locating their whereabouts.

As much as Eula would like to make sure the Lawrence in question never take another step, she knows it'd be far worse for them to be alive and imprisoned by the Knights of Favonius.

With a swing of her claymore, she instantly puts down the attacker in an ambush and cuffs them. Her gaze turns to her lover before releasing them, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes.

(Eula) "Hmph, how careless of you to be captured by another Lawrence. Next time, you will not be so lucky."

By the way her hand was shaking and how close she remained at their side, they could easily see past her words and how worried she was about them.

VIOLENCE

Unlike most people in Mondstadt, her idea of justice is if the person never takes another breath again.

The person kidnapping S/O more than likely had no idea that she was even associated with them. That was their first mistake.

Their last mistake was assuming they would get away with it alive.

Rosaria stalks the kidnapper to where her S/O is being kept.

For the moment, they were unconscious.

Which worked for her.

Dropping down from the shadows, she quietly but violently dispatches of the kidnapper, taking extra care to not make a mess on S/O.

She unties them before carrying them in her arms out of harm's way, not making a comment until they woke up.

(Rosaria) "Good, you're awake. I'm glad you're okay, but be more careful next time."

Rosaria's grip tightens on them before gently setting them back down if they could walk.

What do you think happens when you kidnap God's girlfriend/boyfriend?

If you answered death, congratulations! You're right!

Ei on the inside is scared for their safety, but she knows that panicking will not make things better.

Instead, she goes out to rescue them personally while alerting the soldiers at her command to ensure no one escapes.

And to add extra insurance, she sends out the Shogun to find S/O as well, and to exterminate any offender with extreme prejudice.

The skies darkened and lightning split apart the clouds, striking at the entrance of the abandoned base.

The last thing S/O's kidnappers saw was a woman in purple, staring down at them with a katana held in her hand.

I AM THE STORM THAT IS APPROOOAAAAACHING

There was literally nothing left of the kidnappers to arrest or bury, so Ei casually walked up to S/O before untying their restraints.

(Ei) "I am glad to see you unharmed. Do you require any medical assistance?"

For the next month, Ei and the Shogun personally accompany S/O to wherever they needed to go.

Ensuring that if anyone was stupid enough to try it again, they got to see what they would be up against.

EXTREME VIOLENCE

The red ropes on Shenhe is barely enough to contain the rage that swells within her at this very moment.

Someone dared to kidnap someone as loving and sweet as her S/O?

Thanks to them and the Traveler, she tries not to use violence as the answer to all her problems.

For this particular situation, Shenhe decides that violence will solve the problem that is the kidnapper's continued existence.

The very second she found out their location, she begins ripping and tearing through anything and anyone in the vicinity that she deemed was responsible.

The treasure hoarders that kidnapped them? Turned to ribbons.

The wooden doors trying to conceal them? In splinters.

That one Hilichurl sitting near the cliff minding its own business and not even realizing what was happening? It's now at the bottom of that cliff. (And if Shenhe didn't do it, you would've, you monster.)

Shenhe is absolutely stained red the moment she frees her S/O, her rage slowly subsiding at the sight of her lover.

(Shenhe) "I am here to rescue you, S/O."

Shenhe is almost super glued to their side from then on, never wanting to let them get hurt ever again.

And Archons help anyone who tried to again.

Yelan figured something like this would happen. Her enemies would try to kidnap her S/O as a form of revenge or luring her out.

Unfortunately for them, Yelan had a contingency plan if something like this ever happened.

Informants are able to pinpoint the exact location S/O was being held with relative ease.

She infiltrates the building and without warning, her strings immediately sweep the kidnappers off their feet and left them dangling in the air.

(Yelan) "Not so fun when you're tied up, is it?"

Ignoring their shouting, she walks over to S/O and gives them a smile.

(Yelan) "Sorry for the wait. Dinner on me?"

She seems casual about the situation, but when they're out of earshot of everyone, she gives them a firm but gentle hug.

Yelan was no stranger to losing people she cared about, but she was glad she did not have to re-experience the feeling today.

(Navia) *LOADS UMBRELLA WITH MALICIOUS INTENT*

Oh, perfect! Looks like S/O's kidnappers just volunteered themselves to be target practice!

Navia charges headfirst to wherever S/O is being held, not really worrying about the collateral damage other than S/O themselves.

Her bodyguards were able to find them quickly, and joined her in their rescue.

Navia lets all guns fly, making sure these punks would be taught a lesson they'd never forget.

NO ONE touches her darling, except for her!

When Navia finally gets S/O out, she has them in a near bone crushing hug, kissing them repeatedly on the face, being a bit too playful considering the situation.

But in private, she nearly breaks down crying as her hug on S/O tightens.

She was so afraid that they'd get hurt, or worse.

But she's thanking the gods above that they were unharmed.

The aftermath of the situation, Navia and her guards are almost stalking S/O. For their safety, of course.

Even though sometimes that safety has to be all three of them hiding behind a bush very conspicuously, even after S/O's insistence that they were fine.

Sadly, this was not Lumine's first experience with a close person to her being kidnapped. Probably wasn't going to be the last either.

While she is worried for their safety, she has no doubt that they're going to get them out fine.

Lumine blitzes into the domain they're being held in and clears out everyone in her way with nearly blinding speed.

No one has a chance to even react as she effortlessly takes out every single attacker, making her way to them.

Finally after knocking out their kidnapper, she has the guards who she informed the kidnapping about make their arrests as she personally attends to S/O.

(Lumine) "You're not hurt are you?" sigh "Good. Come on, let's go home."

Lumine holds S/O's arm the entire time as they get enough distance from town, remaining silent.

She couldn't find her brother, and she didn't want to lose S/O as well.

Brightening up the mood a bit, Paimon appeared behind them.

(Paimon) "Why don't we have S/O stay with us at the Teapot for a while?"

Lumine makes it mandatory for S/O to sleep in the bedroom with her, and has Tubby or Paimon usually keeping an eye on them so she has some peace of mind.

[throwaway-yandere]

𝖘𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖇𝖔𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 𝖋𝖆𝖎𝖗/𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖈𝖑𝖊 [Yandere Prince!Scaramouche/Reader]

A/n: After reading so many tyrant otome isekai manhwas, I thought I should give writing one a try... This story ended up being a bit more “real”(?) than OI. And I forgot the isekai part LOL. Love this fic a lot because the (L/n) family says the most banger lines. They spitting facts. Anyways, welcome to another throwaway-thursday, enjoy this one, @vennnnn-diagram because... lol.

Unreliable Synopsis: Exiled in Watatsumi island after publishing two anti-colonial novels outside their homeland, the famous reformist writer and physician (L/n) (Y/n) faces several familial deaths— and it all leads back to one man...

Content Warnings/Tags: Yandere themes, mentions of miscarriage (note: this is because this is very loosely based on a real life hero's biography), "lovers" to enemies, angst, character deaths, church corruption, politics, etc. Prioritize your mental health. The fic is meant to be a bit dark. You can listen to this song for the vibes 💖

"Are you going to Watatsumi Fair, Niwa?"

"Well, of course! The Lector works hard to make sure it's grander each year."

"Our Lector… I hope (L/n) is doing alright. It must be incredibly heartbreaking to lose a newborn son under three hours…"

"Indeed…"

It’s the 19th century and the streets chatter on about the upcoming festival. Seri, mitsuba, yomogi, and shiso— murmurs of food and spices exchanged at the Watatsumi Fair circulated. However, these four wonderful things wouldn't be there without a certain exile transforming the island into a thriving island: Lector (Y/n) (L/n).

Prince Kunikuzushi's most esteemed “rival”.

You were an exemplary philosopher and ophthalmologist who published two novels abroad that reflected Inazuma's social issues and military abuses. Of course, you were born in a noble clan. Only the wealthy can study outside Ritou and attain higher education beyond the basic arithmetic and religion Inazuman Colonizers gatekept your people with. You were slaves.

But these colonizers feared educated colonies would demand rights; hence, after publishing those eye-opening novels, you became Public Enemy #1. Charges against you were not absolved, but Inazumans could not execute you upon arrival. You were not a revolutionary, but a pacifist reformist. You made the government and clergy's behavior known worldwide, hence the military banished you to Watatsumi— another Inazuman colony and barren land. 

Assured that you've done nothing wrong, you stayed in Watatsumi. With nothing but your firm beliefs, your days of exile were your most productive. Using your skills as a physician and some wits on land surveying, you've improved Watatsumi’s quality of life in under 6 months. 

You're far from home with little spare change, yet you provided medicina gratis. With you, you’ve helped open the people’s eyes. 

You lived under the scrutinizing eyes of the Queen, yet you erected streetlights in each dark street. With you, you’ve helped the people see in this dark age. 

And most importantly, you have established Watatsumi's first school.

With you, the people understood the truth of their situation: they had been living under a tyrant’s rule for the past few decades.

And all you asked in return was for the people to help you in your ventures to improve the island's agriculture and spices.

How can the people of Watatsumi not love you for this martyrdom?

“(L/n) is organizing a secret rebellion association planning to overthrow the government”. That was the Queen’s grounds for exile, including false testimonial and documentary evidence. It was obvious that your books were in strong opposition to the current Inazuman Government.

Hence, Archbishop Sangonomiya Umiko was incredibly fond of you.

"I still believe I am innocent of the crime of rebellion, illegal association, and sedition. All I did was publish two novels!" You hummed. "When the Shogun calls for my execution— and she will— do immediately ask for my body. They will likely throw it wherever they please. Worse, Kunikuzushi might use me as his doormat." 

The Archbishop laughed. "I can see that. His Highness does fit that character."

You and Umiko sat far from the festivities. Sangonomiya Umiko was neither friend nor foe. She is the current leader of Watatsumi Island, but she is restricted by the commands of the Queen and her children. Umiko cannot even preach about her true faith, hiding her birthright as the Divine Priestess and instead donning the title foreign title of Archbishop. Even with friendly demeanors, there’s an unmistakable grim air on both your faces.

No passerby would mistake this meeting as a romantic date. You have a wonderful spouse waiting home, appearing as crest-fallen as you do now. 

… But "Spouse" is a rather loose term. You and your partner were forbidden to have a wedding. Prince Kunikuzushi would not allow an exile to marry and no priest would disobey him. Hence, you and your lover decided to merely promise to the God you believe in that you'll remain loyal to one another. That faith and loyalty brought about a prematurely birthed child— who only had three hours to live until his breath was cruelly stripped away…

And historians would attribute your son’s death as a cause for your morbid obsession with your own future execution.

"Kunikuzushi is a personification of what's wrong with the Inazuman Empire," you said casually. "He will be the core of what causes the revolution, not I."

Umiko did not miss the way you addressed the Prince. You spoke without honorifics, an aspect in both Watatsumi and Inazuma's language that is evident in everyday conversations. Most revolutionists emphasize his high station with hatred. You emit those titles and call him by name.

As though it was a habit.

As though you were once friends and more.

"Lector (Y/n), do watch your tongue," she shook her head. "The walls have ears."

"And what if the walls have eyes and ears? They shall see and hear my innocence." You sipped your tea before you snapped your fingers with a grin. "Oh, and do me one last favor. When they'll let me face my executioners, armed with polished guns and a shoveled ground:"

"Only the guilty are shot in the back. Let me face the firing squad and spare my head so that I may die facing the heavens."

A glimpse of (h/c) hair ran past in the streets of Inazuma City, carrying a child in his arms. The child was injured but otherwise “fine”— as fine as children could be amidst the rains of ashy woods and turbulent fires. The city capital reeked of gunpowder and a nauseating metallic scent. The (h/c) haired man may not have any blood relations to the person whom they’re protecting, nor does he know her name, but he held onto the 8-year-old dearly. 

Despite the chaos that surrounded him, your older brother cannot help but think of one hopeful thought:

With the recent loss of (Y/n)’s son, maybe they’d be willing to adopt this little girl as my new niece? 

But all that ended abruptly when a loud voice resonated throughout the streets.

“DON’T LET A SINGLE ONE OF THEM ESCAPE. NO SURVIVORS!”

Prince Kunikuzushi stood proud in the middle of it all. With calm finesse, he ordered the generals to order their soldiers to kill without a hint of remorse. His eyes were dull. All he knew was that his mother wished for the death of revolutionaries hiding in the capital. Whether these rumors were falsehoods or not, the Queen did not care. Fear is the family’s greatest weapon, bloodshed is nothing to them.

Death is nothing for a mother's puppet like him.

The Prince truly didn't have any care for this war. He's only following orders under the reward that he'll be able to have you. It was the Queen's promise, and she had always been relentless in any pursuit of honor and glory.

In return for his familial services, Queen Ei might consider his proposal. The royal family dreaded the death of their former matriarch, Makoto, and the prince showed no attraction to any of his valid consorts. Should he show loyalty to the end, the Queen will allow him to marry anyone to his liking.

That's why he's putting up with this.

He looked at the horizon, seeing nothing but fire instead of the deep ocean.

Why did Watatsumi have to be so far away?

Why did you have to be a sea away?

As fate would have it, a young soldier spotted the two. A hunt between two red-tagged innocent civilians and a greenhorn murderer commenced. Limping slightly, your brother attempted to push down restaurant chairs and other outside furniture in hopes he’d lose track of them.

The soldier did not know that the person he was tracking was your older brother.

Had he known, he would’ve left him alone.

And as much as fortune favors the bold, it was not on your sibling’s side.

The soldier fired his first reckless shot and hit its target.

Your brother stumbled, holding his stomach. He gasped, coughing as he subconsciously let the child go. But he did not fear for his life, but hers. He knew that the child was asleep on a park bench when the horns rang for danger. She was homeless with nothing but bedclothes and a short makeshift blanket, and now she’ll be forced to witness a traumatizing scene.

Poor child… You must be frightened…

I hope…

Your brother remains adamant that the child must live, even as the barrel of the enemy's rifle is pointed at his chest. A look of stern determination, mixed with fear, can be seen in his eyes as he stands his ground despite the threat of death.

That (Y/n) will raise you right…

“S-Scaramouche’s crown's resplendent band shows no natural light. The ocean's glimmer elucidates more hope than your vile scarlet battalions could ever hope for!!!” Your older brother yelled, weakly hiding the child behind him.

The soldier cocked the barrel against his forehead.

“There is no emprise to plundering, to murder and genocide—” he continued, coughing blood at the corner of his lips. “You will all be remembered in history as those who had foolishly paraded without genius. Death has a more ambrosial scent than a life of servitude under your heels.”

SHOT!!!

…

…

“M-Mister?... M-Mister?! MISTER!!!”

The child screamed as your brother fell to the ground. With the remaining humanity the young soldier clung to, he turned a blind eye towards the little one crying silvery tears. Truth be told, the new soldier himself had forgotten what it was he was fighting for. What was the point in this death, this pain, if not to harm both sides? But a good soldier does not question his orders and he leaves the child without a word.

She did not know his name. She did not know his status as a (L/n). She did not know he was the older brother of the famous physician (Y/n) (L/n). She did not know he was a martyr way before his true death.

But she still held his corpse with abandon. His body heat was slowly growing cold. Though her stature was short and small, her tears were heavier than her heart could manage.

(L/n)s may meet horrid ends, but Fate grants you all one last wish.

You all have the privilege of dying whilst facing the heavens, and that is the final honor your brother can carry with him in his passing. 

“My dear, a letter arrived,” your spouse spoke. “It came from your mother…”

It was deep into the night and you had just fixed yourself up for bed, but you’re not one to turn down letters. Perhaps your old friend from Opera Epiclese had sent you a reply? Igniting the nearby lamp, you lovingly kissed their hand before taking the letter.

“Thank you, love,” you cooed. “I’ll surely be writing a letter back, so why don’t you rest before me? I shall accompany you later.”

Leaving them with a blush, you shut the door behind you. Despite the struggles in your relationship, your love for your gorgeous spouse will never disappear over the unplanned loss of your first child.

Unlike Kunikuzushi’s…

You entered the living room and closed the door behind you. A wise decision, given the contents that were about to crush the little mental stability you had left.

“My Dearest (Y/n), It is with a heavy heart and trembling hand that I take quill to convey news that no mother should ever have to write down. As I write these words, tears splotch the paper, and each stroke of the pen is a painful reminder of the sorrow that has befallen our clan. My dearest child, it grieves me beyond measure to inform you that your beloved older brother, (B/n), has departed from this world. The weight of this solemn news rests heavily upon my shoulders, and the burden is almost too much to bear. The tragedy unfolded in the heart of the capital, where (B/n), in an act of unparalleled heroics, sacrificed his own life to save that of a young girl during a merciless ambush. His valor shone through, but the cost is another pain you must bear after the death of your own child. Oh, my (Y/n), the pain is unbearable. I wish I could shield you from this heart-wrenching truth, but I believe in your resilience. The thought that you are in exile, far from my comforting embrace, only adds bitterness to my heart. The cruel hand of fate has robbed you of the chance to bid a final farewell to your dear brother, to stand beside his resting place and pay tribute to his funeral. The distance that separates Ritou and Watatsumi feels insurmountable, and I ache at the thought of your solitary grief. I hope your spouse shall accompany you in these troubled times. In these dark hours, know that you are not alone in grief. Though separated, we mourn the loss of a beloved son and brother, the heir of the (L/n) clan. May time and the tender embrace of cherished memories bring some measure of peace to your soul. With all the love a grieving heart can muster, Mother”

As the ink on your mother's heartbreaking letter crumpled with sorrow in your heavy trembling grip, a weighted silence filled the room. The words she penned— each a painful jab to your psyche— threatened to spill tears you've fought so desperately to hold back for weeks since you didn’t want your spouse to worry.

Before you can succumb to weeping on the floor with a contorted expression and writhing body, the door opens, disrupting your peace. 

Prince Kunikuzushi, adorned with his mother’s feather and opulent regalia, strode into your humble abode with an irritating aura of entitlement. His presence, a stark contrast to the mourning atmosphere, successfully transformed your grief into weaponized spite.

"Still holding another Watatsumi Fair, are we?" he sneered, disdain dripping in every word. The callousness in his eyes and “indifference” to your mourning made the air all the more sharper.

“Why are you here, Your Highness?” You spat out. “Had your clow— soldiers failed to entertain you?”

“They are nearly as boring as your spouse in bed.” He snarled. “And I wager that their lives last longer than they do.”

You bit your tongue. Your spouse had made an effort to teach you not to reply to any insult he had towards them, and you had done decently enough to honor their wishes by merely scowling at the royal instead of equipping any nearby blunt weapon.

“Allow me to ask again,” you forced yourself to be cordial. “What are you doing here, Kunikuzushi?”

The prince clicked his tongue.

“Do I not have the authority to visit you?”

“You do,” you said. “But you do not have the right to barge in as you please, much like how Lord Hiroshi shouldn’t have decided to conquer my homeland Ritou and decide to claim it as Inazuman property for your mother’s ever-so-eternal happiness.”

“He was only claiming what is rightfully ours.”

Prince Kunikuzushi looked over at your bedroom door. You took large steps forward, blocking his way. You won’t allow him to disturb your lover’s good night’s rest.

He frowned.

"You should have been mine," he muttered softly. 

You hated this about Kunikuzushi the most. He speaks with audacity that knows no bounds as he criticizes your spouse, but would sound the most pure when addressing his own emotions. “You should’ve said yes. You should’ve ruled these nations with me, and more. But you threw it all away and for what? Fragile patriotism? You are defending an island that will suffer the same fate as your beloved Ritou.” 

In the eye of this tempest, your mother’s burning words fuels a fire that burns brighter than any royal decree. 

"You speak of love and marriages," you seethed, voice cutting through the tension, "but you know nothing of the bonds that truly matter."

…

…

…

As the realization dawns upon him, his arrogance wavered. 

He had not realized early on that news about your brother’s death had reached you already.

"An accident," he stammered, attempting to deflect blame. "If I knew, I would have spared him in that ambush. I’m not an All-Knowing God, so it’s genuinely just an accident."

With a chilling calmness, you locked eyes with him. "That wasn't an accident— our previous affairs were an accident. What you've done was murder." 

Your words hung in the air, leaving no room for denial.

“I love you,” the prince spoke in near-whisper. “You know better than anyone that I would never do anything to hurt you this bad. You know that I am the voice that called for your exile instead of execution. I never would’ve asked for his death.”

His claim was also true. 

You knew you were the only person who he had fallen for his whole life. You knew because when you were studying abroad, you had strange chance encounters with him. You knew because he was mildly stalking you and would’ve for a long time had you not offered a seat in the library. You knew because he had been a difficult person to court, always bottling his own emotions and lashing out in retorts you had dubbed “adorable” at a time. You knew because he had told you himself years ago that…

"You are insufferable. And yet, I find myself inexplicably drawn to your company. It's horridly vexing. Your presence lingers in my thoughts long after you've departed, like an annoying insect. I must confess, despite my best efforts, I find myself rather fond of you too— ridiculously enough."

... But what you didn’t know during your studies in Fontaine was that Kunikuzushi was the son of the Queen you despised and wrote articles against in editorial jobs to earn not only spare cash but the enlightenment of your people back home. What you didn’t know was that the prince had been sent by his mother to monitor your actions.

What you did not know came to haunt you on your way back home. 

So you rid yourself of these memories and cornered him into a wall, a hand just behind his head. The sound of your hand slamming made the intimidating prince flinch, and he trembled at the dullness of your eyes.

“And yet whose orders was it? Whose order was it to ensure there would be no survivors in that location? WHOSE WAS IT, KUNIKUZUSHI?! ANSWER ME!!!”

Your spouse called your name from the other room. “(Y/n), is everything alright?”

With their voice, your anger faded slightly, yet your breathing remains loud and manic. “I’m alright! Do not leave the room, dear!”

“Scaramouche” took that as an opportunity to digress.

“I saved you from death before. Do not forget that.” His face hardened. “In case you've forgotten, I'm no saint. Many people will want to seek me out and settle the grudges they've built against me, and what better way to avoid that than to route those future seeds of rebellion?” 

The prince took your hand off the wall.

“Mother had enough, she sees no reason to hold back against those who rebel and she had filed an order to reopen your case. And if my blood and hers are the same, I guarantee you that she will only provide you with the worst defense attorney possible. You will surely receive the death sentence.”

He placed your hand on his chest, gripping it so desperately tight to the point of it hurting.

“So choose me,” Kunikuzushi mumbled. “Choose me, and save yourself. Do not follow your brother’s path. Choose me. I’m your only option.”

And heavens above, does he take delight in that.

You met his gaze with a resolute determination. 

"I appreciate your offer," you replied, your voice steady, "but I refuse. My brother's legacy, as tarnished as it may be, deserves justice, and so do I."

A flicker of frustration passed across Kunikuzushi's face. 

"You're being naive," he retorted, the desperation in his voice taking a sharper edge. "An arraignment is on its way. The military court will not deliver justice. It will devour you. I’m offering you a fucking lifeline, a chance to escape the inevitable."

“I won't tarnish my brother's memory by succumbing to the same shadows that claimed him."

Kunikuzushi's eyes, once filled with a glimmer of hope, darkened with frustration. "You're condemning yourself—" he argued, "—for an idealistic notion of justice that doesn't exist. You're a fool."

"Perhaps I am a fool," you admitted, "But I am a fool who is sure of their innocence. I am not a revolutionary, I only spoke and wrote of the truth. I will not compromise my integrity for the sake of expedience."

As you spoke, the defeat in Kunikuzushi's eyes began to settle. 

"You're determined," he snarled. "So stubbornly determined to die!"

"Perhaps," you acknowledged, "Choosing you would be an escape, but it would also be a betrayal of everything I stand for. And I…"

You smiled.

“I love my spouse,” you said. “And the child we made that was taken from me all so suddenly. Hence, I do not need your love, Prince Scaramouche.”

Kunikuzushi tensed up.

Your child was baptized by the Inazuman priests. 

And Inazuman priests serve the royal family and their constituents.

History’s eyes will speculate that Prince Kunikuzushi was the reason your child had died, that he had ordered your son's immediate poison upon birth.

And Kunikuzushi knows it to be true.

But you will never know that.

You will never know the full extent of what this man had taken from you.

With those words, you turned away from Kunikuzushi, leaving him and his offer behind. You opened the door and gestured for him to leave. Neither of you knew at the time that this would be the last night you’d spend in the comfort of your own home.

Before you knew it, you were writing your final farewells.

(Y/n) (L/n) was subjected by the military court on ████████ ██, ████ and was sentenced to death at six in the morning.

The people saw no justice for their hero, and your body was buried in Inazuma City. If it were not for all you and your clan had given, there would be no freedom in Watatsumi Island and Ritou. Had your brother not saved the young girl, she would not become the matriarch of the Yuna Clan, who led the first Navy in the revolution.

And had you not died in Inazuma City, there would be no Resistance.

But that was centuries ago. 

Divine Priestess Sangonomiya Kokomi sat on her desk, examining previous preliminary investigations. She racked her brain over the testimonies of the seven members of the military court, the judge advocate, the defense counsel, and the prosecuting attorney. The prince was right when he stated the trial would not be fair for you were forced to employ a Lt. Arataki as your defense. It was a prejudged trial. Despite the obvious assertion of innocence, you were still acquitted of your allegations of treachery.

It never fails to make the current Head Priestess feel sour over a 5 centuries-year-old case.

"In their last moments, (L/n) penned Watatsumi Fair and Canticle, two sonnets kept hidden in an alcohol burner." Kokomi murmured as she read. "Although the prince barred their spouse entry, several other family members and friends came to visit (L/n) with the Orobashi coral statue provided by the townsfolk. The sculpture was created for them during the aforementioned fair."

Are you going to Watatsumi Fair?

"In their Fontainian black suit, hat, shoes, and white vest, (L/n) walked calmly outside their prison cell to the execution site in Inazuma City. They've even checked (L/n)'s pulse and felt no irregularities. (L/n) were tied elbow-to-elbow despite their visible acceptance of fate."

"It was speculated that Prince Kunikuzushi was the last person whom they talked to, looking rather somberly with disdain. He spoke in a foreign language so only (L/n) and he knew of their conversation."

 

Seri, mitsuba, yomogi, shiso.

"But Archbishop Sangonomiya Umiko understood what he had said. Je t'aime, mon grand amour… ma première trahison. Roughly translated as I love you, my grand love… my first betrayal."

"Lector (Y/n) (L/n) was commanded to face the ground when the firing squad pulled the trigger, but they still tried to face their executioners. They fell to the shoveled ground, looking at the gray morning skies. They were buried at seven."

“From then on, the name Kunikuzushi changed its meaning to Country Destroyer— for he had successfully demolished the Inazuman Empire upon sitting on the throne through violent means. When asked about this, the King responded with:”

Remember me to one who lives there.

“I didn't desire the Empire that took away my (Y/n). I didn't crave any of it. As soon as I was coronated, my heart stopped beating. And so, I enticed the neighboring King Morax to crumble the very essence of the Inazuman Empire. What purpose do these soldiers have in life, when all they've done is obediently follow ruthless commands and snuff out the ones who hold my heart?

When it’s said and done, I will be empty— a blank slate, destined to wander the desolate corridors of a nation bygone.

Only to honor these filthy human emotions called “love” that never came to be.”

He once was a true love of mine.

Taglist (pls notify if you wish to be on the taglist <3): @pix-stuff @sagekun @vennnnn-diagram , @dilucragnidvr @tnsophiaonly @lsleepysimpl @kitkareen

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Kure Rain X Black fem reader [ All are welcome but I always write with black y/n ]

Synopsis: You had your entire life just beginning, fresh into college, and as a treat, you were going on a trip across the world where you find out what your father truly does for work and why you were able to move into a nice new home. A normal young girl thrust into a world where she needed to relearn everything she ever knew and escape the clutches of an assassin clan who wanted her as a wife.

Warnings: specific warnings will be in each chapter

There had never really been too much talk about what your father did for work, where he went to once a year for five days, and that was simply what it was. All you were told when you asked was that he liked fighting tournaments and his job required him to travel—this year had finally been different for multiple reasons.

Your father got a promotion that had you move out of your two-bedroom apartment that you called home your entire life and the whole family would be coming with him on his yearly endeavors. 

It was your first year of college and spring break was the time when your father would go on his trip. The news was brought to you one afternoon in February and from then on you had spent time planning outfits and hoping that the weather would be warm enough for a short dress.

The day had finally neared and you left your morning class giddily, having multiple appointments to doll yourself up and having your father pay for it was a true treat. 

After running your errands you went home hoping to double check your bags again before dinner. Opening the door your father called out for you from the kitchen. He explained the trip's basic ins and outs, including the tournament.

“Are there going to be any well-known fighters at the tournament? Like from wrestling or something?” you questioned. 

“ Well, I do believe this year there might be a famous wrestler but I don’t think he is on your radar, I also wanted to mention why I go on these yearly trips in the first place,” he explained.

You sat on a chair paying full attention as he went through the betting system, he explained his boss sends him to his place to either represent his company if they had their fighter or simply just to place his bets. The tournament was five days long and companies worldwide including many world elites attended placing billions of dollars in this secret tournament, With the information overload your eyes widened from shock. 

The Kengan association was not only a secret fighting ring for elites which initially shocked you but, the amount of money that goes into these tournaments had your jaw hanging to the ground. The excitement had steadily built up the rest of the night even through dinner. As you were getting ready for bed a crashing sound went through the house. 

“ Have you lost your mind !” You froze in fear hearing your mother scream through the house. Quietly, you tiptoed towards your door placing your ear to hear the conversation happening across the hall. There was a constant back and forth, your mother’s anger and your father raising his voice now and then which usually meant not only was he wrong for whatever he did but—- he was trying to rationalize his misdeeds. 

Your face scrunched up hoping to hear more than just bits and pieces and you finally creaked open your door. You heard the exasperated sighs of your mother, “ How could you even wager something like this, to sign your name on those papers knowing there is a fifty percent chance you will lose it all… and for what?” 

“ I didn’t have much of a choice, you don’t understand! If I didn’t sign something could’ve happened to myself or one of you. I needed to take that chance.” My father said solemnly. 

Your head was now sticking out of your door as your curiosity grew. Hours before the first family trip in years they were fighting and it seemed to be serious, analyzing the conversation you could understand just how idiotic your father had been. He signed his life away with whatever contract and decided to come clean. You wanted to dare yourself to get a little bit closer as their voices returned to regular volume but the possibility of getting caught in their crossfire limited you. 

“ Are you going to tell y/n? Or are you going to let her know only if you lose? Truth is you don’t have the option because if you don’t do it I most certainly will.” 

Your father sighed and you heard him begin whispering, gnawing at your lip didn’t cease, and the excitement of being sneaky was trying to overpower your senses. Releasing your lip you carefully inched out of your room praying to all above that your creaky door wouldn’t be so creaky today. Just as you were about halfway out your door whined, slowly and loudly. 

Thinking fast you ran to your dresser grabbed your cup and continued out the door, your mother soon appeared out of her room. You scrolled mindlessly on your phone hoping she thinks your demeanor is natural and head downstairs. You groaned internally as she followed knowing she was going to question whether or not you heard the conversation. You continued your act as you got your drink and she finally spoke up, “ I know you heard me and your father, I need to tell you the full situation.” You groaned internally and turned around leaning on the edge of the sink. 

“ I wasn’t really eavesdropping you guys are just way too loud…”

She laughed softly and made her way to the cabinet grabbing a wine glass. You watched her like a hawk, she was going to tell you something that could possibly give you a panic attack and this laid-back attitude was already sending alarms to your brain. “ I’ll cut to the chase… Your father decided to sign a contract binding the entire family on whether or not his boss wins or loses,” She said popping her bottle of wine. As the shock began to spread across my features she poured her class silently before making eye contact. 

“ If the fighter we represent loses we will lose everything, no college, no home, nowhere to run and his boss knows that. My theory is that your father’s boss wants to ensure that the losses don’t only affect him and use us as his shield.” 

I couldn’t think clearly, her voice fading out as the reality of my situation began settling in. How could someone who claims that his family is everything— the family who he worked so hard to move them up in life— how could he forfeit our freedom so easily? My vision focused back onto her as she moved towards the island sitting on one of the stools, I quickly moved towards siting beside her. 

“ I heard the last few bits of your conversation earlier, he said he didn’t have a choice but it was his choice to start this gamble in the first place,” you said irritably. 

She sighed and shrugged her shoulder in agreement before continuing, “ Honestly I should’ve known your father was in too deep when we moved into this house only a month after his promotion.” As she spoke my mind felt like it had become clear as if the rose-tinted glasses were taken off. You had always held my father in high regard alongside my mother, they kept you happy and you’ve lived a decent life and never truly had to ask for a thing.

However, this recent promotion after twelve years made no sense when you look objectively. Being sent away to the same place every year for five years, never truly knowing what your father did for work other than ‘ he is a businessman, you and your mother were purposefully kept out of the truth to ensnare your father in a devious relationship.  

“ I think he owes us the truth, what is really going to happen if we lose the fight? What has he been doing for work and why he got this big promotion.” You declare. She nodded in agreement and continued sipping her wine. There was a comfortable silence between you now as you had no choice but to make peace with the fact that your father was a liar who signed away your entire family’s freedom. 

You both sat there for a while and made small talk about what went on during the day, how you both went out to prepare for the trip, and what you were excited to see. Anything to distract each other from a terrible reality. Sometime thereafter you heard your father softly make his way down the stairs, you looked over to your mother and saw the anger that seethed beneath her soft features, it festered hotter as he grew close. 

When he appeared no one said a word. The sadness in his eyes was clear as day and you could almost hear his thoughts racing, wondering what exactly he was going to say to his wife and daughter that could justify his carelessness. 

“ Before I say anything else— I want to apologize for putting the two of you through this.”

He sat the opposite of us and you had to keep your eyes away from him, not ready to see such distraught emotions your father had never once showed me in all my years. He cleared his throat and proceeded, “ My boss… he is a very powerful man and unfortunately, I am just being shown his true colors. After working so many years I never thought he would make me sign such a contract, I had signed multiple NDAs for the tournament this time of year I didn’t really put much thought.” He further explains how his boss spent years crafting him into the perfect vessel, the one he would sacrifice if everything went to shit.

Your father went in depth about the manipulation he faced, his boss convinced him their relationship was tight nit and he trusted my father with these tournaments because he always got the job done without ever messing up. 

The night continued and the horrible truth unraveled. The contempt for your father was on a rollercoaster, you couldn’t truly decide if you felt sorry for this poor bastard or if you wanted to scream at him till your vocal chords were raw. You settled with keeping quiet as your mother vocalized her anger for his selfishness and reckless behavior. Deep into the night, you all returned to your rooms as the flight would be at nine sharp. Laying down you laugh to yourself, a trip that was supposed to be fun and filled with new adventures was replaced with a trip that would determine the rest of your life.

The morning came fast and you were out the door before you knew it, the brisk air of the morning was waking you up faster than you would like. The drive had been quiet, with no singing and laughing everyone just running scenarios of the worst outcomes through their minds. The airport was emptier than usual and after checking in you were greeted by a group of men dressed like men in black. 

You looked towards your father as they handed him a letter, he quickly opened it to view its contents and then nervously smiled at the men before him. Looking over to me and my mother he explained that these men would be escorting us during our entire trip and we would be riding privately. On a regular day, most people being told they not only had an escort but were riding privately to their destination would be a dream come true but we all could see between the lines. This was to keep us in check and to make sure we knew, there was nowhere to run. 

The plane was luxurious, the seats more comfortable than your own bed and the people doting on you made you almost forget the sinister undertone. Mimosas, full meals, everything you could ask for was just handed to you, who wouldn’t feel like an elite? The flight went smoothly but the guards were stationed all throughout the plane and even though their glasses were tinted you could feel the eyes watching your family’s every move. 

Fourteen hours seemed to go quickly when you had no choice but to sleep or have a starring contest with a group of guards. Once you landed you were escorted in a car bringing you to your first destination. One of the guards told us we would be brought to a hotel to get ready for the night, our luggage would be boarded onto the yacht that was going to bring us to the island. 

Arriving at our destination you could tell you were by the docks, the hotel was small and truly fit for a one-day stay. The room you were provided had two twin beds and a window that showcased a wonderful view of all the boats. A smile made its way to your face seeing such a sight and you decided to relax a while before you would get ready. The guards left us to ourselves for a while and you could feel the tension in your shoulders dissipate. Your father clarified that the guards were only heading out to get the clothing we were going to wear on the boat. 

A few hours passed and the sun soon began its descent, a swift knock came to the door and your mother opened it allowing the guards to enter with bags and boxes full of clothes you couldn’t even name. You were provided formal wear and then told your family needed to be ready to leave before the sun went fully down. The next hour was spent with everyone showering and rushing past one another in and out of the bathroom. Although the situation was far from perfect you had relaxed into it letting excitement run through your veins for the first time in seventy-two hours. 

The dress fitted perfectly along with your shoes, you bit your lip thinking about the fact that your sizes were known to these people and knew that was only the bare minimum of information they had on you and your family. Half an hour later when the moon was shining brightly into the room there was another knock signaling it was time to go. You kept your head down when leaving the hotel wanting to bite back the urge to burst into tears. These next five days would determine everything but you refused to show such vulnerability to evil people who would surely laugh in your face. 

The boat was magnificent, you were quickly escorted into a ballroom where already hundreds of people filled in. The guard urged your father to mingle stating the boss wanted to make new connections and maintain current relations with overseas companies. You held onto your clutch ferociously as you smiled into the crowd, your father making his rounds introducing you to people you’ve read nasty articles about. The entire situation was so surreal it all felt like such a fever dream until your father ran into an old man with onyx-colored eyes.

Chills ran down your spine as you discretely looked at the people surrounding this man, they all had black eyes and a menacing aura surrounded them. The old man smiled shaking hands with your father and you could’ve sworn you seen your father gulp. 

“ It is nice to see you once again Mr. L/n, and you’ve finally brought your family I see.” The man commented. 

“ It’s a pleasure to see you and the rest of your clan once more Mr. Erioh,” 

“ Your boss and I spoke earlier, I am so glad you decided to sign the contract, we both knew you would eventually crack,” The man laughed sinisterly. You bit your lip as you looked at the people surrounding the man, they were surveying your family thoroughly making you want to run and hide where they couldn’t find you. You looked amongst the group and made eye contact with a man with spikey blonde hair. 

He zeroed in on you and a smirk etched its way onto his face. He could tell just how much you didn’t want to be there and you could tell just how much that excited him. You broke eye contact and returned your sight to the floor hoping this interaction would end quickly. From your peripheral, you see the man lean towards the old man and whisper something into his ear and your worst fears come to fruition.

The man cleared and then motioned toward my mother and me before speaking, “ This is your wife and daughter correct?” It felt like the alarm for the purge was sounding off as the spotlight was brought to you. You lifted your head to see everyone with black eyes staring at you and your mother like you were meat. 

“ Yes this is my daughter y/n and my wife // “

Your mother spoke up first, introducing herself, and then clasped your hand tightly in hers silently nudging you to speak up. You robotically introduced yourself and noticed the blonde man fully breaking out into a smile and chuckling to himself while you spoke. 

“ And how lovely they both are— Tell me if I’m correct, you daughter, she is in college?”

“ Yes she is attending one of the top schools, it is her first year,” 

The old man smiled towards you congratulating you on your accomplishments. You thanked him and begged silently for the attention to go toward something else not liking the amount of eyes ( especially the beadily little eyes that were drilling into you from the blonde ) that focused on every ounce of your being. 

“ I hear she has played many sports including boxing, taekwondo, and basketball to name a few,” 

Your father nervously laughed and nodded his head, “ Yes she has always been a very active girl and we made sure she had her outlets,” 

The man hummed before snapping his fingers, the blonde quickly leaned towards him and the man spoke loud enough for everyone to hear, “ Raian I believe you have a lot in common with young y/n please accompany her for the rest of their trip. I think it would be great if the two of you got to know one another a little bit,” 

Your eyes widened and you looked over to your mother in fear. You wanted absolutely nothing to do with this man and the people surrounding him, your stomach turned in knots and your mother squeezed your hand once again before releasing it. You let out a huff in disbelief, she turned away from you and moved closer to your father as a sign for you to go with him. 

Your brain short circuited when the man stood tall in front of you smiling down at you insidiously. He placed his hand on the small of your back turning you towards the rest of the party, he quickly ushered you to walk without a word and you panicked pushing his arm off of you and turning towards your parents for an explanation. 

“ Y/n let Raian escort you for the rest of the night, your father has much to talk about with Mr. Erioh,” Your mother said pleadingly. 

You softly nodded and turned around, if your mother was begging you to just go with it you knew these people weren’t ones you wanted to piss off. Still, this nagging feeling in the back of your throat wouldn’t go away, there was something more to this— this entire fiasco wasn’t as simple as your father explained and your mother was trying her best to keep it together as well. 

You followed the man out of the ballroom silently hearing your heartbeat pounding throughout your eardrums like a symphony of death. The voices began to fade as the man directed you down many halls, there were fewer people as you continued your journey and you were opening your mouth every once and again thinking of what to say first. Finally, as he directed you onto the deck and into fresh air you stopped in your tracks and stared into his blue irises.

“ Do you mind explaining what exactly is going on here?”

🪼: if you’d like to be tagged for this series please give me a thumbs up below ! And lmk your feed back

A/N: Ik you’re probably like… didn’t you say you were gonna post ch 2 of Isekai Yandere op. Yes!!! And I will however, I’m in a bit of a rut because of school and honestly the pressure of living up to thw first part lol. A lot of you really liked it and more people began writing for it so I don’t want this continuation to be underwhelming. I’m going to make a separate post abt everything but I hope you enjoy this like I did! Mwuah 🫶🏽

[takusan-no-ai]

The place I’ve come to call “home”

PAIRING: Eula x Male Reader (Romantic) (Fluff)

SUMMARY: (Y/N) is Eula’s childhood friend, and her future true love.

“WRONG! Dear friend should only be used to address those the speaker are acquainted with and not particularly close!“ an older man yelled, swatting at Eula’s hands with a wooden stick. “What do you say to someone you are close to?!” He slammed his fists on her desk, glaring into her eyes. She looked down, too scared to answer. “You either know this or not Eula!”

The final straw, and she began to cry an ocean of tears. The man huffed in annoyance. “Class dismissed.” He left the room, clicking his tongue in frustration.

Finally alone, Eula wiped away her tears, still shaking violently. A small tap on the window brought her back to reality. “Huh?” She questioned, beckoned forward by the small pebbles tip tapping the window. She opened the window, only for a pebble to bonk her on the nose. “Ow!”

“Shoot! Are ya okay up there princess? You’s shoulda known better than to make yerself a target!” An arrogant young boy said. Eula could feel her face growing hotter in anger. She climbed out the window and shoved the boy lightly.

“Hmph! (Y/N), For such an act of defiance, I shall have vengeance!” She said proudly. (Y/N) just laughed at her words, patting her on the head with a toothy grin.

“Ya say that, but you’re really just lookin’ for an excuse to see more of yours truly.” Eula huffed, placing her hands on her hips. “Lotsa huffing over there—ya a wolf or somethin’?” He teased.

This uncouth boy was none other than Eula’s one true friend. Her confidant, and someone who she could be herself with. A secret friendship hidden within the backyard of the Lawrence Clan. Whenever the noble life got too stressful, there he was. Waiting for her outside her window.

Sadly, like every day, their hangouts are cut short. Eula crawls back through the window and returns to her next lesson. Dancing practice began early in the day and ended late at night. Her feet sore, and her stomach growling loudly didn’t help ease her nerves. Add the cherry on top, her dinner contained disgusting overly flavored broth. She almost slept hungry that night.

This time, (Y/N) crawled through her window, a small box in hand. It was lights out, and nobody would hear the giggles of two kids eating sandwiches as they went back and forth with joyous banter.

“I have this one dance I really liked today though,” Eula reminisced her lesson with (Y/N), who yawned, eyelids fighting to stay open.

“Cool. Show me some moves! Or else I’ll hafta keep tellin’ folks that you’ve got two left feet.” He mumbled, head rocking back and forth. Eula blinked in confusion before standing up. She grabbed (Y/N) and guided him towards her bed tucking him in with herself.

“Good night (Y/N)…”

“…Good…night…princess,” they cuddled together and fell fast asleep. With (Y/N) almost drooling in his sleep, and Eula blushing in hers.

This was just one of many memories that Eula holds dear. And through the years, those continued interactions helped shaped her into who she was today: the Lawrence Clan’s worst nightmare. Older, she now refused to attend lessons, and even sought to openly interacting with “commoners”; if they had the patience to speak to her, that is.

And when she came to the decision of leaving her household for good, she asked him to come with her. “Oh geez. Ya always hafta pull at my heartstrings princess? How could I ever say no to such a cute face?” She pinched him on the arm, blushing from his constant teasing.

Since Eula was a Lawrence it mean’t no one would allow her to buy from their shops. Even (Y/N) was outcasted by association, but he didn’t care. Him and Eula had been together through thick and thin, and he never had much social standing to begin with. A small inconvenience like that didn’t bother him anyway. Eula resorted to hunting and cooking food over a campfire for the both of them.

Eventually others saw her capabilities, Jean the most, who recruited Eula to be a Knight of Favonius. Through sheer effort, she slowly began to gain a more positive reputation with the citizens of Mondstadt. It came at the cost of being labeled a traitor by her family, but it was a necessary sacrifice for a brighter future. One with him.

She invited him to meet on the mountain top further out of Mondstadt City. “Remember this place?” She asked him.

He scratched the back of his neck, looking for an answer. “Oh! We first met here! Right?” He answered enthusiastically, a dopey grin on his face. Eula frowned and crossed her arms, looking away angrily.

“Forgetting such a special date. I will—”

“Have vengeance right? So what place is this?” He cut her off, which led to her steaming even more. Coughing into her hand, she finally made eye contact with (Y/N).

A bright blush littered across her entire face. And her eyes held a soft gaze as she caressed his cheek. (Y/N) began blushing now, finally remembering what this place meant to her.

“This is where I confessed my love to you.” Guiding his hands to her hips, she placed hers on his shoulders, and began to dance with him. “Years ago I told you I had learned my new favorite dance: The Dance of Sacrifice. In some far away place it might’ve been the only thing to bring me comfort. But now, I have you.”

(Y/N) held a small smile, moving closer to Eula. They shared a kiss under the moonlight.

“Marry me.” She asked.

- Fin

[megalony]

Just Her

This is my first Thomas Shelby (Peaky Blinders) imagine, I hope everyone will enjoy it. Feedback, comments and requests are always amazing.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez-blog @jonesyaddiction @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me  @hellsdragon @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh @onceuponadetectivedemigod @ceres27 @avyannadawn  @noonenuts @sleepylunarwolf @coverupps @anonyymoouussssss​​

Masterlist

Summary: When attending a charity event, (Y/n) suddenly takes a turn for the worst and Tommy has to take care of his wife.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The soft, lulling music hit (Y/n) as soon as they walked through the doors, blended with the voices of others arriving and mingling together.

Charity events weren't the kind of thing (Y/n) enjoyed. There were too many people keeping up false pretences, fake smiles and chatter that could melt anyone's ears off. And the Blinders didn't have the best track record because wherever they went, bad things happened.

With Tommy's arm secured around her waist and her body tucked safely into his side, (Y/n) could feel the gun strapped into his holster at the side of his chest. A safety measure he never went anywhere without and it was something (Y/n) now found strangely comforting, just like the smell of his cigarettes and the sound of his voice whispering in her ear.

"Shall we get a drink?" (Y/n) leaned her head on Tommy's shoulder as Arthur and John walked past them and dispersed into the large hall, mingling and searching for Ada and Polly who were already here somewhere.

"Sure."

It felt strange to (Y/n) to see Tommy wearing a smart suit like this, it wasn't the kind he would normally wear when he walked the streets or sat in the office keeping books. It wasn't grey or tweed material and he didn't have a tie or a cap sitting on his head.

His hair was slicked to the side, unruffled by a hat he had left at home, his jet black trousers were up past his hips over the white button up shirt and he had a black blazer snug over his biceps. The look would have been perfected if Tommy bothered to wear a bow tie or even his usual tie but he didn't bother tonight. His look was a mix of smart and casual and it only made him more appealing to (Y/n).

With a drink in hand, (Y/n) took a large gulp before she glanced around the room. She could see Ada far across the other side, chatting to a gentleman in a snappy suit and Arthur had wandered off near the buffet, cigarette clasped in his lips.

(Y/n) wanted to keep an eye on the rest of the Shelby clan because she knew Tommy would wander off to talk to business associates soon and she never accompanied him to those chats. Tommy liked to keep his wife as far away from the business as possible, he would introduce her and show her off but when talk started on the darker side of his work, (Y/n) excused herself. So she wouldn't be alone, uneasy and anxious, (Y/n) would stick with other members of the family until Tommy came back to find her.

"We won't stay long," As if he could read her mind, Tommy whispered the words into the top of her hair and squeezed the hand that was wrapped around her hip. "Are you okay if I go speak to someone?"

"Yeah, I'll go speak to Ada for a bit." She suddenly felt lonely when Tommy's body left her side leaving her cold and insecure without him beside her.

When Tommy drifted, (Y/n) finished the drink in her glass and slowly walked between the tables, over to where Ada was now standing next to Polly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Y/n) could feel her foot beginning to tap against the polished floor the longer she stood away from Tommy, waiting for him to come back again. It wasn't the same kind of unease that she felt whenever he was out of town or when he didn't come home until the early hours of the morning. That was a sense of panic that came with the thoughts and insatiable panic that something had happened to her husband.

The unease she felt now was because she was at a big event that was fuelling her panic and she didn't have her natural remedy next to her to calm her down; Tommy.

Events like this made (Y/n) so panicked she ended up leaving early. There was always an enemy hanging around every corner and if a fight broke out, a panic attack would follow. (Y/n) loved the bones of Tommy and his family and it didn't bother her as much as it should what he did for work but (Y/n) didn't want to witness it.

With as much of a smile as she could muster, (Y/n) excused herself from the two women she had been spending the last half an hour with and placed her empty glass down on the table before she wandered near the dance floor. Her eyes had kept tabs on her husband for a while, keeping him in sight so when she got too nervous on her own, she could easily find and approach him.

Swiping her hand against her forehead, (Y/n) took a deep breath and tried to control the panic in her system that was making her sweat and made the room feel like it was heating up.

The smile on Tommy's face when he saw her made adrenaline spark in (Y/n)'s stomach and it eased the panic welling in her chest. He had a glass in one hand and his other hand stuffed into the pocket of his trousers but when she came within reach, his arm was already wound around her waist, reeling her into his side where she belonged.

"Gentlemen, this is my wife." Tommy pressed a kiss to (Y/n)'s cheek that he noticed was a bit flushed and he could see a sheen of sweat glistening on her exposed skin in the bright lights. Dipping his head down, Tommy raised a brow, silently asking if she was alright but her smile eased the rising concern he felt. He liked the way (Y/n) wrapped her arms around his chest beneath his blazer and he could feel her nuzzling her face into his neck, moving the collar of his shirt so she could graze her lips against his skin.

Turning her head, (Y/n) kept her cheek nuzzled against his neck and a kind smile on her face towards the two men standing next to Tommy whose focus was now severed from what they had previously been talking about.

"Mrs Shelby, looking lovely,"

"Thank you,"

"How about a dance?"

(Y/n) vaguely recognised the man on Tommy's right but she couldn't recall his name and the smile on his face was less than inviting or even friendly. She wasn't so sure a dance would be fun or the right thing and with Tommy's arm tightening around her waist, (Y/n) knew he didn't agree to that either. Work and home life were always kept separate and Tommy didn't want the line between them erasing.

"Sounds like a great idea, shall we?"

A smile tugged at (Y/n)'s lips when Tommy thrust his glass at the man beside him before he turned and guided (Y/n) towards the dance floor. He'd had enough of work and socialising with people like that for one night and he could tell by the expression on (Y/n)'s face that she was about ready to leave. They wouldn't be here for much longer.

Circling her arms around Tommy's neck, (Y/n) pressed her chest up against his when he reeled her in closer with his hands clamped down protectively on her hips. A loving warmth spread through her system when he leaned his forehead down to rest against hers and their gazes interlocked.

They didn't dance often, Tommy wasn't a dancer and with his line of work and their busy lives, it didn't leave much time for dancing. (Y/n) could scarcely remember the last time they danced together, let alone in front of others with an audience like this. But she couldn't focus or even notice the other people swaying close by on the dance floor or the onlookers around the large hall. All she could see, feel and her was the man in front of her with a small grace of a smile present on his otherwise stoic face.

(Y/n) didn't know how long they had been dancing for, they had spun in circles, swayed left and right and done a brief twirl before merging back together again.

With her cheek resting on Tommy's shoulder, (Y/n) let her eyes fall closed and pushed further into Tommy's chest like she was trying to find a way into his heart to keep close and safe. She felt his hands move from her hips to circle behind her and his fingers linked together, keeping her caged in his embrace as if he was afraid she was going to disappear.

The unease she had been feeling earlier had melted away but it was now replaced with something else. Her stomach was starting to curl into knots in a way that made (Y/n) unsure if she was going to be sick or not and the room now felt like it was in the middle of a volcano. Heat was rising all around her prickling her sweaty skin and making her feel uncomfortable.

When Tommy spun them round on his heels, even though the action was slow and in time with the music, (Y/n) felt her head turn on its axis and her steps faltered causing her weight to lean into Tommy.

"Everythin' okay?" Tipping his head down, Tommy hovered his lips over the shell of her ear and kissed the spot behind her ear, slowing down until they were barely moving anymore.

"Can we sit down?" (Y/n) moved her hands from behind Tommy's neck so she could scrunch his shirt up in her fists, grounding herself to the feel of him and his heartbeat that thundered peacefully through her skin. The few drinks she'd had so far must have gone straight to her head and interferred with the panic and adrenaline she already felt.

"Course, what's wrong?" Tommy's hand moved to the small of her back as he slowly guided them off the dance floor towards the nearest table where Arthur happened to be sitting.

"I just feel lightheaded, I'm okay."

She felt better when she sat down and the weight was off her legs that had started to tremble. Her elbow leaned on the table and her hand propped up her head that was suddenly too heavy for her neck. Her stomach was still churning and knotting up like a tangled snake inside her but sitting down helped a tiny bit. Tommy's hands on her shoulders and his lips against the back of her head helped the most.

After a few minutes, (Y/n) closed her eyes and pushed her face further into the palm of her hand to surpress a groan as her free arm wrapped tightly around her waist. Wishing her arm was some sort of binder that would press down on the pain and make it go away.

Tommy scanned his eyes around the hall, barely listening to the drabble Arthur was reeling off. He massaged his fingers into (Y/n)'s shoulders and leaned down to press another kiss to the back of her head. But when he felt her body starting to shake beneath him, something sparked to life in his gut and his expression hardened to stone.

Letting go of her shoulders, Tommy walked round and kneeled down on the floor in front of (Y/n)'s legs. His hands moved to rub up and down her thighs over her dress but he could feel his heart shattering in his chest when he looked her over.

She looked worse than she had earlier.

When they arrived she seemed fine, nervous but otherwise fine. Now, Tommy could see her skin wasn't the right colour anymore, her arm was bound around her stomach like she was in pain and her whole body had started to tremble. When he pressed the back of his hand against her temple. he could feel she was starting to burn a temperature.

"I'm taking you home. Now."

They couldn't stay here any longer when Tommy wasn't sure if his wife was going to collapse or start crying out in agony. He had to take her home where he could look after her without the risk of onlookers. Home was where she would be safe and have privacy that they didn't have here.

Tommy didn't know what to do when (Y/n) suddenly doubled over on herself until her head was pressing into her knees and both arms were bound around her stomach like iron bars. His hands moved from her thighs to her upper arms that were still shaking and he pressed his forehead against the top of her head, quietly shushing her when she started to groan.

"Baby, talk to me. What's wrong eh?"

(Y/n) tried to shake her head but it only made her feel dizzy and when she tried to speak, nothing but a croaked gurgle left her lips. She wanted to go home, she wanted Tommy to take her home. Her stomach was now feeling agonising cramps, everything was trembling and her body was on fire.

She wanted Tommy wrapped around her like a blanket, she wanted to feel his comfort and for him to magically take all the pain away but she didn't even know why she was suddenly in so much pain.

She felt fine before they came here.

Carefully, Tommy took (Y/n)'s chin between his fingers and tilted her head up so she could look at him again and it broke his heart to see tears staining her cheeks.

"Baby-"

Whatever he was about to say got stuck at the back of his throat when (Y/n) jerked to the side and threw up on the floor next to him.

Tommy remained perfectly still, his hands frozen on her arms and his jaw slack before he gently moved to rub his hand up and down her back. Something was definitely wrong with his wife for her to be sick and cry in public like this. (Y/n) was always so well composed and if she felt nervous she would tell him and they would go home. But this wasn't nerves, this was something else.

"Let it out, love."

Keeping one hand on her back, Tommy swiped the hankerchief from his top pocket and passed it to her before he kissed her hair and cradled the back of her neck.

When she threw up again, Tommy sighed into her hair and pushed himself up a little higher, balancing his weight on the balls of his feet as his eyes glanced over to Arthur. His brother was in between sitting and standing, unsure what to do or how he could help.

A burning sensation crept up the back of Tommy's throat and dwelled deep down in his chest when he heard murmurs and saw that a small crowd had started to get closer to see what was going on. Why were they gathering round? This wasn't a show or spectacle. (Y/n) wasn't doing this for an audience, she was ill and she didn't need any onlookers gawping at her.

"What the fuck are you looking at?!" His voice bellowed throughout the room and seemed to overpower the music that was already fading into the background, overcome by the scene of the Shelby's.

Some people turned their heads, adverted their eyes, others skimped away towards the bar or out of sight so they couldn't be seen gawking anymore. Just a few people stayed gathered round and made a small amount of room for Polly to push her way through and reach her nephew and his wife.

"Tommy..."

Turning his head back from looking through the crowd, Tommy looked back at (Y/n) but he could feel the blood draining down to his feet and his eyes widened in their sockets. Blood was dribbling down her lower lip and making a small slithering trail down her chin.

Gulping, Tommy tried to stop himself from shaking and he took the hankerchief from her hand to gently wipe the blood away, staining the once white fabric with tainted crimson.

"We're taking her to the hospital. Arthur, you can drive, Ada and John will sort out here." Polly patted Tommy's shoulder before she stood up, ordering the boys about with a wave of her hand. There was no way she was waiting here to sort things out when she knew exactly how Tommy was going to react in this situation. He was going to blow up, lose his temper and with a gun strapped to his side, he wasn't safe if he got enraged. Polly needed to go along and keep her nephew calm and under control since (Y/n) was in no fit state to do so on her own.

Wasting no more time, Tommy scooped an arm under (Y/n)'s knees and hooked the other around her back and lifted her up from the chair, praying she wouldn't be sick again or throw up any more blood. He had done this many times, hoisted his wife up into his arms bridal style and carried her wherever they needed to be. Whether it was carrying her over the threshold when they got married, from the sofa up the stairs to bed when she fell asleep waiting up for him in the early hours of the morning. Or carrying her to bed once when she was too drunk to stand, Tommy was used to this and he secretly loved it.

He loved holding (Y/n) like this, having her so close to his heart, in his arms and against him or even when he carried her over his shoulder, it was natural.

But this time it was different. Tommy needed to carry her like this, he needed to hold her and protect her and take her away from prying eyes and get her somewhere safe, quickly. This was to get an escape for her, get her to the car and show everyone here that she was his girl, his lady, his to protect and love and take care of.

Polly opened the doors and Tommy barged through them, digging his fingers into (Y/n)'s flesh, squeezing her dress so tightly against her skin that they almost melted together as he jogged down the steps towards the car. He could feel (Y/n)'s arms tightening around his neck and he knew from the whimpers muffling into his chest that his once white shirt would now be spotted with crimson just like the hankerchief.

It took a great deal of effort for Tommy to climb into the car backwards, shuffle across the seat with (Y/n) still in his arms and then manoeuvre her across his lap so that Polly could squeeze in the back with him as Arthur scrambled into the front.

(Y/n)'s head fell on Tommy's shoulder and her trembling arms coiled away from his neck so she could again scrunch his shirt up in her fists, accidentally popping a button in the process.

She could feel Polly's hand rubbing over her ankles soothingly and Tommy had one arm around her waist and the other hand was pressed against her cheek like a cold compress. It was soothing with how hot her skin felt and his thumb was pressing into her cheekbone, stimulating her to focus on him and stay awake.

If (Y/n) hadn't of heard Polly giving out the orders inside, she would have guessed it was Arthur driving the car. He was too harsh and didn't break fast enough when he went round the corners and he managed to hit almost every pothole and cobble on the road. It made Tommy growl, something that vibrated through (Y/n)'s hands and up into her chest and sent adrenaline sparking in her stomach.

Tommy gulped when the tremours rattling through (Y/n) got worse until she was violently moving back and forth, unable to control it to the point even her eyes were jolting from side to side.

"S'alright love, not long now- hey, you keep looking at me, got it? Keep those eyes on me, you're not allowed to sleep yet."

Tommy's voice was oddly stern, a tone (Y/n) wasn't familiar with him using around her and his words were sharp and cut like razors piercing into her mind. And if his words weren't enough to capture her full attention, she felt his hand move from her cheek to roughly grab her chin between his fingers and thumb. He jerked her head back until she was face to face with him, their noses skimming together and their breaths mingling to the point she was sure he could taste the blood on her lips.

His brows were raised high, his blue eyes were as deep as the sea and pierced her very soul but it was the way his jaw was set and his lips were locked in a straight line that got (Y/n)'s attention the most.

He wasn't having her pass out on him yet.

With a quiet gurgle, (Y/n) nodded her head to show him she understood, that she was listening and trying her hardest to focus on him, despite the fog that was rolling in on her mind.

The car came to an ungodly stop causing (Y/n)'s head to bash into Tommy's and even though he groaned, it was (Y/n) who momentairely blacked out. But when Tommy's hand shook her chin and got rougher when patting her cheek, her senses came back to her and she tried to clear her vision so she could look up at her husband again who was calling her name violently.

Tommy could see (Y/n) was on the verge of passing out when he carried her into the hospital. All he could manage to say was 'help her' on repeat, raising his voice until he was almost screaming, demanding the attention of anyone who would listen so they would come and look at his wife.

He didn't hear whatever Polly murmured to Arthur who disappeared without a word and Tommy didn't care to know. His attention was on his lady and her alone.

"Set her down here, what happened?"

Jogging down a hallway after a doctor and two nurses, Tommy hovered over a small stretcher in the empty corridor and carefully laid (Y/n) down, taking her hands in both of his when she clung to him like glue. He didn't want to let her go, he would rather them assess her while she stayed wrapped up in his arms but he knew that wasn't practical. But the way (Y/n) began to cry when he laid her down shattered his soul.

"I don't know, she was fine until an hour ago. She's burning up and she's been throwing up bad, blood too." Tommy wasn't stupid, he knew whatever was wrong with (Y/n) was due to something happening at that event tonight. She couldn't go from being perfectly healthy at home to then suddenly deteriorating this quickly for no reason at all.

Tommy stood near (Y/n)'s legs, both her hands still tightly held in his fists so she knew he hadn't gone anywhere and he could feel Polly's hands on his shoulders. A small attempt to try and keep him calm when she could feel his resolve quickly slipping away.

They watched in silence and concentration as the doctor checked (Y/n)'s temperature, listened to her heart, peaked inside her mouth before he tried to press his hands on her stomach. One touch sent (Y/n)'s knees coiling up to her stomach and a gut wrenching sob burned past her lips with a few speckles of blood.

"Has she eaten or drank anything?"

"Uh, wine, a few glasses. No food."

"No one else has been ill?" One look at the three of them told the doctor they had been somewhere in public, some event or a show or theatre of some kind. Tommy was in a suit and the two ladies were in dresses with their hair pinned up into elaborate styles.

"No."

"I think she's ingested something-"

"Like what?" Tommy wanted answers and he didn't feel like he had the time to wait for them or let the doctor finish his sentence. He needed (Y/n) to be helped and looked after but he needed to know what was wrong with her. If someone has given her something, Tommy needed the Blinders out there to find who it was and deal with them.

"My guess would be poison..." The rest of his words hit on deaf ears, all Tommy could think of was that someone had managed to get something into (Y/n)'s drink and not his. They went for the one thing that mattered most to Tommy, they didn't even bother to try and harm him as well. Just (Y/n).

When the nurses started to wheel the gurney towards a room, Tommy followed, keeping (Y/n)'s hands in his as tight as he could. Watching in agony when more spurts of blood coughed up through her lips and her eyes started to drift near the back of her head.

Something between shock and pure rage filtered through Tommy's darkening eyes when the doctor's hand pressed firmly into his chest and caused his feet to scuff against the floor when he was stopped in his stride. His hands let go of (Y/n) when the gurney kept moving and it felt as if someone had torn his heart out of his chest and left him watching it leave.

"Mr Shelby, you can wait out here while we stabilise your wife." He knew who they were and he still dared to tell Tommy the one word that wasn't in his vocabulary unless it was (Y/n)- or Polly- saying it.

He couldn't breathe.

They were actually trying to separate him from her, they were keeping them apart when she needed him the most. She needed him there to hold her hand and tell her everything was going to be okay and that he was going to watch over her and make sure she was alright. What was he supposed to do out here? He couldn't sit and count the time and wait for news, not knowing what they were doing to (Y/n) in there. He couldn't do that.

The moment (Y/n)'s weak, choking voice called out his name, something snapped inside Tommy. In that split second his heart stopped and the blood flooded his ears and clouded his vision.

He snapped the gun from his holster and pushed the barell so forcefully against the doctor's temple that a circular indent started to form around the gun.

"I stay with my fucking wife. Move." Tears burned into his face like acid and his mouth became oddly dry as he furiously spat the words through gritted teeth.

He could feel Polly debating what to do, her hands kept moving from his shoulders, down his arms, back to his shoulders and then her chin perched on his shoulder. She wanted to scold him, to shout at him and rage that this was a hospital, these people were here to help (Y/n) and he couldn't threaten them lest he wanted (Y/n) to be thrown out. But all she could do was try and comfort him because she knew Tommy wasn't going to listen and he was wrestling between his temper, his heart and his yearning to be with (Y/n).

The moment the doctor stepped aside, Tommy stuffed the gun back in the holster and ran into the room. He clasped (Y/n)'s hand tighter than he should have and brought it to his lips, kissing her flushed skin to let her know that he was back, he hadn't left her for long. He carded his fingers through her hair, smoothing it away from her face while a nurse busied herself with taking a blood sample.

It was clear that both nurses had seen the interaction with the doctor and they knew who they were treating in here. They were fighting to keep their hands from shaking and they kept looking at Tommy's blazer, fearing at any moment he would take out his gun and unleash his rage on them.

"I'm here, love, I'm still here."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A horrid burning sensation flared up the back of (Y/n)'s throat and coupled with the aching fire in the pit of her stomach making her feel like she had swallowed fire and lived to tell the tale. The burning spread through to her mouth that was parched and dry and felt as horrid as her eyes when she tried to open them.

The room she found herself in was small and the sheets beneath her were scratchy like paper and hard as stone.

She didn't recognise where she was when her sore eyes finally focused on what was around her. But what she did recognise, was a head of jet black hair, ruffled to the max and stuck up at all angles like he had been electrocuted.

Tommy.

He was slumped in a chair that was pulled as close to the bed as he could get it. His knees were bent out at the sides, his upper body was slumped over and his head was burrowed into the mattress she was laying on with both his hands clasped around one of hers.

She couldn't find her voice to speak, her throat was torn to ribbons when she tried to make a sound so she settled for moving her free hand and stroke her fingers through his hair. It only took two seconds for Tommy to wake up on full alert, his job made him a light sleeper to the point even the lightest rain drizzling down on the window would wake him up in the dead of night.

The surprise was evident in his crystal eyes but it was the way his lips parted and ever so slightly curved at the sides that made (Y/n)'s stomach jump with relief and excitement.

"Baby, oh love you're awake." For a moment, Tommy pressed his forehead back into the mattress and sent a silent thank you prayer to God and to Polly who he knew had been praying throughout the night and into the morning for this moment.

When he looked back up, Tommy stood to unsteady feet and leaned over to capture (Y/n)'s chapped lips in a breath taking kiss. He stole all the air she had within her lungs and more, swiping his tongue over her lower lip while one hand moved to cradle her neck and chin. They pulled apart when both were gasping for breath but Tommy stayed as close as possible with their noses brushing and their lashes tangling together. He sat down on the side of the bed, allowing a small smile to creep onto his otherwise stern and exhausted features.

"What... w-where-"

"Shh, it's alright," He stole another kiss, a gentle, brief one this time where their lips barely touched, only grazed together making (Y/n) lean up for more. "You're in the hospital, love. Been out for over twelve hours, gave me a fucking fright."

It was (Y/n)'s turn to steal another touch of his lips, nibbling at his lower lip when he leaned closer.

Everything was foggy, her mind was locked away in a cage and she couldn't seem to find out how to open it. She remembered turning up at the charity event, she had wrapped herself around Tommy, refusing to let him leave her side.

Flashes of voices swirled around in her head, shouting, bright lights blurring overhead. The feeling of Tommy's arms around her and his hand on her face, his deep eyes right in front of her but feeling so far away. A bumpy car ride that could have taken hours, she wasn't sure. Everything was mushed together, clips of a movie cut up and stitched back together in the wrong order.

"Some bastard spiked your drink, just yours, there was traces of blood in your blood. Doctor gave you medicine and charcoal to bind it, you'll be okay though. I won't let it happen again I swear it."

Tommy had waited through the night and into the morning as the doctor put (Y/n) on an IV of fluids and antidotes and concentrated charcoal to bind to the poison in her blood and stop it from spreading any further. The fever she had broke around three in the morning and finally, roughly around six in the morning- after Polly had gone home to help clean up the mess left in their wake- Tommy let himself fall asleep. Assured that (Y/n) was resting and not in danger of getting any worse while he slept vigil by her side.

For a few moments, (Y/n) closed her eyes and soaked in the feeling of Tommy's forehead pressing into hers, his hand on her neck and his breaths mixing in with hers.

"Lay with me," Her voice was quiet and she barely croaked out the words loud enough for Tommy to hear, but when they registered, his signature smile that he saved just for her graced his lips.

How could he refuse?

The blazer he had been wearing had been shed sometime in the early morning and he had kicked off his shoes and unbuttoned most of his shirt when he started to sweat and panic. But when he stood up from the bed, he took off the holsters he had kept on him for protection and as a silent warning to any staff member not to get in his way or ask him to leave.

He placed the holster on his vacant spot on the chair and shed his shirt like a second skin before he carefully climbed on the bed and laid on his side, facing (Y/n). His hand moved back to its new spot on her neck, splaying his thumb out over her jaw as he shuffled his other arm beneath her head and neck to keep her close.

(Y/n) reached out to hold onto his arm that was laid over her chest and her fingers danced across his skin, drawing aimless, soothing patterns over his arm while he pressed his lips against the side of her head. Breathing in her scent that was like his personal drug.

He couldn't come close to losing her like that again.

[corrupte3d-mindz]

Burning Embers

Possessive! Thomas Shelby x Pregnant! Reader

Summary: Thomas would burn the world down then not be able to hear you call his name again.

Wordcount: 5.8k

Warnings:

Possessive! Thomas, arson, gunshots, death, kissing, then lovey dovey stuff from Thomas.

Inspiration: Let the world burn - Chris Grey

The Garrison was a cacophony of noise, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. The dim light of the gas lamps cast a warm, golden glow over the worn wooden surfaces, creating an almost intimate atmosphere despite the throng of patrons. 

Thomas sat in a corner booth, his back against the wall, eyes scanning the room with a calculated indifference. His suit, impeccably tailored, clung to his frame with an air of authority. He had just finished a conversation with a couple of local businessmen, deals and threats interwoven with the ease of a man who knew his power. Arthur burst through the doors, his presence a stark contrast to the quiet control that Thomas exuded. The pub fell silent for a moment as everyone turned to look. Arthur’s face was a mask of urgency, his eyes wild. John, Finn, Michael, Isaiah, and their father followed closely behind, their expressions grim. Johnny Dogs lingered at the rear, his sharp eyes taking in every detail.

"EVERYONE! CLEAR OUT! BY ORDER OF THE PEAKY FUCKING BLINDERS!" Arthur’s voice cut through the air, leaving no room for argument. The patrons scrambled to leave, their conversations halting abruptly. Chairs scraped against the floor, and the sound of hurried footsteps filled the pub as it emptied out, leaving only the Shelby clan and their close associates.

Thomas’s eyes narrowed as he took in the scene, a sense of foreboding settling over him like a dark cloud. He rose slowly, the weight of his gaze heavy on Arthur. "What's goin' on, Arthur?" His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, a warning of the storm brewing beneath the surface. John stepped forward, it would be better if he said it; his face pale and his eyes wide with dread. "Thomas...Sabini, they found Polly's home. And you remember your wife sayin' she was goin' to talk to Polly about somethin'? Well, they fuckin' took her."

Thomas froze, the words hitting him like a physical blow. His eyes darkened, filling with a cold, murderous rage. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, a slow, steady drumbeat of fury. His jaw clenched tightly, the muscles in his face twitching with barely restrained violence. He didn't speak for a moment, the silence heavy with the weight of his anger. Arthur exchanged glances with the rest of the men, seeking their silent agreement. They nodded, their faces set with determination. Arthur took a deep breath, steeling himself. "Thomas... she went to Polly because... she's havin' your kid. She's pregnant."

The room seemed to spin for a moment as Thomas processed the information. His wife, his angel in this cold, dark world, was pregnant. And now she was in the hands of his enemies. A growl escaped his throat, low and dangerous. "Those bastards..."

He turned abruptly, his mind already working through the logistics of what needed to be done. His anger sharpened his focus, turning it into a deadly precision. He barked orders to the men, his voice cold and authoritative. "Finn, get the car ready. Isaiah , gather the weapons and petrol; John, Michael, Arthur, you're comin' with me. Johnny, find out where they took her."

The men sprang into action, their movements quick and efficient. Thomas paced the room, his mind racing. He thought of his wife, her gentle smile, the way her eyes lit up when she saw him. She was the light in his life, the warmth that kept the darkness at bay. And now she was carrying his child, their future, and he would move heaven and earth to bring her back safely. He pictured her at Polly’s house, the way she would have sat at the kitchen table, her small frame dwarfed by the large wooden furniture. He imagined her talking to Polly, her voice soft and filled with excitement about the baby. And then the fear she must have felt when Sabini’s men burst in. The thought of her being scared, of her being hurt, made his blood boil. Thomas grabbed his cap, the razor blades sewn into the brim glinting ominously in the dim light. He slid it on, the familiar weight grounding him. He was Thomas Shelby, leader of the Peaky Blinders, and no one threatened his family without paying the price. He glanced around at his men, their faces set with the same determination he felt. They were ready, and so was he.

As they piled into the car, Thomas’s mind was a whirlwind of plans and contingencies. He ran through every possible scenario, every potential outcome. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake, not when so much was at stake. He clenched his fists, the leather of his gloves creaking under the pressure. His wife’s face floated in front of him, her eyes filled with love and trust. He wouldn’t let her down. The drive to Polly’s house was tense, the silence in the car broken only by the occasional muttered curse. Thomas stared out the window, his mind a storm of thoughts. He had always been a man of action, but this time it was different. This time it was personal. He could feel the weight of the responsibility pressing down on him, but it only made him more determined.

The Shelby family had always been a force to be reckoned with, a tight-knit unit bound by blood and an unbreakable code of loyalty. Today, that bond was tested as they stood in Polly's ransacked house, the air thick with tension and unspoken fears. Thomas, surveyed the wreckage with a cold, calculating gaze, his heart a tight knot in his chest. The familiar surroundings, now torn apart, mirrored the turmoil inside him. The signs of a struggle were everywhere. Furniture overturned, shattered glass glittering like cruel stars on the floor, and papers scattered in a chaotic swirl. Thomas’s sharp eyes took in every detail, his mind racing through the possible scenarios. His wife, the angel in his dark and brutal world, was taken. She was pregnant, carrying their future, and now she was in danger. He felt a surge of anger, a visceral, consuming rage that threatened to break his carefully maintained composure.

John and Arthur stood nearby, their faces etched with concern and barely restrained fury. Michael, younger but no less determined, clenched his fists at his sides, his eyes darting nervously around the room. Polly, ever the matriarch, sat in the corner, a bruise darkening her cheek but her spirit unbroken. Her presence was a grounding force, a reminder of the resilience that ran through their veins. Thomas approached Polly, his footsteps deliberate and measured. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the heavy breathing of the men and the creak of the floorboards under his boots. He knelt beside her, his eyes searching her face for answers. The sight of her injury ignited another flash of anger, but he pushed it down, focusing on the task at hand.

“Polly… how far along is she?” His voice was low, a rumble that seemed to echo in the shattered room. His accent, thick and unmistakable, lent a weight to his words that demanded attention and respect.

Polly sighed, a sound filled with fatigue and frustration. She cleared her throat, her gaze steady as she met his eyes. “Thomas, she said she thinks she’s about a month along.”

Thomas felt a tightening in his chest, a mix of fear and determination. A month. It was so early, so precarious. He couldn’t let anything happen to her, to their child. His mind raced with plans and contingencies, each more ruthless than the last. There would be a reckoning, but first, he had to find her, to bring her back safely. Thomas sat at the head of the table, his piercing blue eyes fixed on a map spread out before him. His mind was a whirlwind of strategies and contingencies, every possible outcome calculated and re-calculated. John, Arthur, and Michael flanked him, their faces set in grim determination. Polly stood nearby, her presence a steadying force amidst the chaos. The house was a sanctuary, a place where plans were hatched and lives were decided, and tonight was no different. Hours had slipped by unnoticed, consumed by the relentless pace of their search. Thomas's people had been a constant lifeline, connecting him to a web of contacts and informants. His fingers tapped impatiently against the table, a rhythm that matched the frenetic pace of his thoughts. Each call, each lead, was a thread he pulled at, trying to unravel the mystery of his wife's kidnapping. She was his anchor, his beacon in the darkness, and the thought of her in danger was a knife twisting in his gut.

John paced the length of the room, his restlessness a stark contrast to Thomas's stillness. Arthur leaned against the wall, his hands clenching and unclenching as he fought to contain his frustration. Michael sat quietly, his eyes flicking between the others, absorbing their tension like a sponge. Polly moved about with purpose, her sharp eyes missing nothing, her presence a reminder of the strength and resilience that ran through their blood. The ring of the phone cut through the heavy silence, and all eyes turned to Thomas as he strode over to pick it up. The moment hung in the air, a heartbeat of expectation before Johnny Dogs' voice crackled through the receiver. Thomas's grip tightened, his knuckles white against the black of the phone. His breathing hitched for a moment, a flash of vulnerability that he quickly buried beneath a mask of steel resolve.

"Tom, I think we've found where she's at..." Johnny's voice was a lifeline, a thread of hope in the darkness.

Thomas exhaled sharply, his mind racing. "Where are they keeping her, eh?" His voice was a low growl, every syllable dripping with barely restrained fury.

"Epsom...his race track," Johnny replied, the words sending a jolt through Thomas. Epsom, the place was familiar, a playground for the rich and powerful, now a prison for his beloved.

A smile, cold and dangerous, curved Thomas's lips. "Get as much petrol as you can get your hands on..." he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. The plan was taking shape in his mind, a path of fire and blood that would lead him to her. He could already see the flames, smell the smoke, hear the screams of those who had dared to cross him.

As he hung up the phone, the room seemed to pulse with renewed energy. John stopped pacing, his eyes lighting up with a fierce determination. Arthur pushed off the wall, his muscles coiled like a predator ready to strike. Michael's expression hardened, his youthful face a mask of resolve. Polly nodded, her approval unspoken but clear in the set of her jaw.

"Right," Thomas began, his voice commanding the room's attention. "We move tonight. Get everything ready. We’re bringing 'er home." His eyes met each of theirs in turn, a silent vow that he would stop at nothing to rescue his wife.

The preparations began in earnest, the room a flurry of activity. Weapons were checked and rechecked, ammunition counted and distributed. Maps were consulted, routes planned with military precision. Thomas oversaw it all, his mind a whirlwind of logistics and strategy. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, sharpening his senses, fueling his resolve. His thoughts drifted to her, the image of her face a constant presence in his mind. She was only a month along, carrying their future within her, and the thought of her in danger made his blood boil. He remembered the way she smiled, the light in her eyes, the softness of her touch. Thomas's jaw clenched as he thought of the men who had taken her, his mind filled with visions of retribution. They had made a fatal mistake, one they would not live to regret. His reputation was built on ruthlessness, a legacy of violence and power that had shaped him into the man he was.

They would learn the hard way that no one touched what was his and lived to tell the tale. As the last preparations were made, Thomas took a moment to himself, stepping out into the cool night air. The stars were hidden behind a blanket of clouds, the moon a faint glow in the distance. He lit a cigarette, the familiar burn of the smoke a brief comfort. He thought of her again, his heart aching with the need to hold her, to see her safe and sound. The sound of footsteps drew his attention, and he turned to see Arthur approaching. His brother's face was a mirror of his own determination, a fierce loyalty burning in his eyes. They stood together in silence for a moment, the bond between them unspoken but unbreakable.

"We'll get 'er back, Tom," Arthur said, his voice a low rumble. "No matter what it takes."

The journey to Epsom was a blur of headlights and dark roads, the landscape rushing past in a haze of motion. Thomas sat in the driver's seat, his focus razor-sharp, his thoughts a relentless march of strategy and determination. His mind was a steel trap, allowing no room for doubt or fear. Beside him, his brothers John and Arthur, along with Michael, sat in silence, their shared resolve a palpable force. Each one of them was a cog in the well-oiled machine that Thomas had engineered for this night, their roles clear, their purpose unwavering. The moon cast an eerie glow over the countryside, the night cloaking the world in a shroud of darkness. The Epsom race track loomed in the distance, a shadowy fortress that held his world captive. Thomas's grip on the wheel tightened, his jaw set in a hard line. This was it, the moment of reckoning, the culmination of their relentless search. His heart pounded with a cold fury, the thought of his pregnant wife in the hands of their enemies fueling his every action.

As they neared their destination, the nighttime made the race track look more unforgiving, its skeletal structures silhouetted against the night sky. The vehicles rolled to a stop, engines cutting off in a symphony of finality. Thomas stepped out, the cool night air biting at his skin, the scent of petrol and determination thick in the air. He glanced at his brothers, their faces set in grim resolve, and nodded. It was time. Finn, Isaiah and his father, Johnny Dogs, and five families of the Lee's were already there, waiting in the shadows. The air was thick with anticipation, the tension a living, breathing entity. Thomas’s eyes swept over the assembled group, his expression hard, his blue eyes like shards of ice in the darkness. Each man here was ready to lay down his life for the cause, for the family, and Thomas felt the weight of that loyalty pressing down on him.

Thomas spoke, his voice a low, commanding growl that cut through the night. "You all will round up his men, find the ones that laid their hands on her and separate them from the rest; I'll deal with those personally." His words were met with nods of agreement, the resolve of the group solidifying around him like a fortress.

He turned to Johnny Dogs, who stood ready, a small, feral smile on his face. "How many cans of petrol did you get?" Thomas asked, his voice edged with a darkness that mirrored the night around them.

Johnny’s smile widened. "Enough to burn the whole world down, Tom."

Thomas nodded, satisfaction mingling with the cold rage that simmered just beneath his surface. He looked around at the men, their faces hard and determined. This was not just a rescue mission; it was a statement, a declaration of war. They would not leave this place without making it clear that no one touched a Shelby and lived to tell the tale. The night was alive with the sound of footsteps against the dirt, hushed voices, and the metallic click of weapons being checked and readied. Thomas moved among his men, his presence a steadying force, his commands clear and concise. He was the eye of the storm, the calm center around which the chaos would swirl. Every detail had been planned, every possibility accounted for. Now, it was just a matter of execution.

As they approached the entrance to the race track, Thomas's mind flashed back to the moment he had discovered his wife was missing. The rage he had felt then was nothing compared to what he felt now, standing on the brink of action. His love for her was a fierce, consuming fire, and the thought of her in danger had kindled a fury that would only be quenched by the blood of those who had dared to harm her. He signaled for his men to move into position, his movements precise and controlled. They spread out, slipping into the shadows, their figures blending seamlessly with the darkness. Thomas's eyes never stopped moving, scanning the area, assessing every potential threat. He felt the weight of the gun in his hand, the cold metal a comforting presence.

Inside the race track, the enemy was unaware of the storm about to descend upon them. Thomas knew they had the element of surprise, and he intended to use it to its fullest advantage. He glanced at John, who was crouched beside him, his face a mask of focused intensity. Arthur, John, Finn, Micheal and Isaiah were on other sides of the track; their positions strategically chosen to cover all exits. The first shots rang out, shattering the silence of the night. Thomas moved with a lethal grace, his every action deliberate and deadly. He saw his men engage the enemy, the flash of gunfire illuminating the darkness in brief, violent bursts. He pressed forward, his focus unerring, his goal clear. He would find her, and he would make them pay.

He caught sight of a group of men near the stables, their panicked movements betraying their fear. Thomas felt a grim satisfaction as he raised his gun, his shots precise and fatal. He moved through the chaos, his path cutting a swath of destruction, his mind a singular focus: get her back. His brothers fought alongside him, their loyalty and ferocity a testament to the bond they shared. Thomas reached the main building, kicking the door open with a force that splintered the wood. Inside, the dim light revealed a scene of chaos, men scrambling to defend themselves against the onslaught. He didn't hesitate, his movements a blur of calculated violence. He shot each of the men with ruthless efficiency, in the knees, making it nearly impossible for the to run. Thomas moved to one of the men on the floor whose moaning in pain, he grabbed him by his neck and forced him to look at him in his eyes, making him look his grim reaper in the eyes.

"I'm not done with y' yet'.." Thomas said his voice cold and calculated, he let go of his neck making him fall back against the floor on his back; the man let out another pained cry. His men would be back for them, to moved them to the front of the race track; to burn them.

The night air was thick with tension as Thomas Shelby navigated through the dimly lit stable area, his boots echoing against the cold, hard ground. The moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow that seeped through the cracks in the old wooden walls. His heart pounded with a fierce determination, each step bringing him closer to the back room where he hoped to find his wife. The sound of distant shouts and scuffles filtered through the air, but his focus remained unwavering. He was a man on a mission, a predator hunting in the dead of night, driven by the primal instinct to protect his own. As he approached the back room, a chilling sight greeted him. Blood stained the floor in dark, ominous patches, and drag marks indicated a struggle. A wave of cold fury washed over him. His hand clenched around the cold metal doorknob, twisting it with a deliberate force. The door swung open with a creak, and he swiftly stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room, clearing it with practiced precision. Moonlight streamed in, revealing a sight that made his heart clench: there she was, tied to a chair, her small frame illuminated by the pale glow. His wife looked up, her eyes wide with a mix of relief and fear. The sight of her, his angel, ignited a fire within him. He crossed the room in two long strides, his gun slipping back into his belt as he reached her. With deft fingers, he untied the ropes that bound her, and as soon as she was free, he pulled her into his arms. The embrace was fierce, protective, his hold on her unyielding. For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just them, their hearts beating in sync, a brief respite from the chaos.

"My angel, my sweet angel..." His voice was a gravelly whisper as he buried his face in her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume. It was a scent he had missed, one that grounded him in moments of turmoil. He pulled back slightly, cupping her face in his hands, his eyes scanning for any sign of injury. Small cuts marred her delicate skin, but they were minor, nothing that would cause lasting harm.

"Still as beautiful as when I last saw you," he murmured, a soft smile tugging at his lips before their mouths met in a desperate kiss. It was a kiss born of pain and longing, their lips moving with a frantic intensity. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, their tongues intertwining in a dance of raw emotion. When he finally broke the kiss, his forehead rested against hers, their breaths mingling. "I'm really going to be a father, eh?"

"You are..." Her smile was shy, yet filled with a warmth that soothed his soul.

Thomas brushed his thumb gently across her cheek, his touch tender. "Come on, let's get y' out of here, eh?" With ease, he lifted her into his arms, carrying her bridal style as he made his way back through the stables. The smell of blood and fear lingered in the air, but he paid it no mind. His focus was solely on her, his angel, safe in his arms.

As they emerged from the stables, the scene that greeted them was one of controlled chaos. John, Arthur, Michael, Finn, Isaiah, and his father, along with Johnny Dogs and the Lee families, were scattered around, unloading petrol cans. Blood stained their clothes, but it wasn’t their own. Thomas’s eyes flickered to the ground where the five men who had dared to touch his wife lay, their bodies broken and bleeding. He smirked, a dark satisfaction curling in his chest, before continuing to the car. He opened the passenger door and gently placed her inside, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. "Stay here, love," he whispered, his voice soft but commanding. He closed the door with a firm click, turning to face the others.

The moon was obscured by thick clouds that mirrored the murky deeds about to unfold below. The racetrack lay eerily silent, the stillness broken only by the faint rustling of leaves in the wind. Thomas stood at the center of this storm, his sharp eyes surveying the scene. His mind was a whirlwind of anger and resolve, a tempest brewing behind his cold, piercing gaze. The scent of petrol hung heavily in the air, a harbinger of the destruction to come. John and Arthur flanked him, their faces set in grim determination. Michael, Finn, Isaiah, Johnny Dogs, and the Lee family members were scattered around, ready for the signal. The air was thick with tension, a tangible force that made every breath feel heavy. Thomas’s thoughts flickered to his wife, his angel and the way they tried to use her against him; that backfired on them horribly. A fire burned in his chest, fueled by the memory of her soft voice, her gentle touch. She was his sanctuary, and they had dared to violate it.

He strode over to the five men who were the source of his ire, their bodies already bruised and battered. His presence alone seemed to make them cower. “John, Arthur,” he called, his voice a low growl. The two brothers stepped forward, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. “I want you to move them to the front, lean them against the walls, and soak em' in petrol.” His smile was a chilling contrast to the rage in his eyes. “If you don’t, you’ll join them as well.”

Arthur nodded, a savage grin spreading across his face. “We were going to burn em' anyway, no need to tell us.”

“Good,” Thomas replied, his tone curt. He cast a glance back at the car where his wife sat, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and understanding. She knew what was coming. She knew Thomas would not let their transgression go unpunished.

The men moved swiftly, dragging the nearly lifeless bodies to the designated spot. Petrol cans were upended, the liquid splashing onto the walls, seeping into the ground. The acrid smell grew stronger, mingling with the scent of fear emanating from the men. They were too weak to struggle, too broken to plead for mercy. Their fate was sealed the moment they had laid hands on Thomas Shelby’s wife.

It took almost an hour for the entire place to be doused in petrol, every room, every corner soaked in the flammable liquid. The task would have taken much longer if not for the combined efforts of the Shelby brothers and their allies. Thomas watched, his expression unreadable, as the preparations were completed. The fire within him mirrored the impending inferno, both consuming everything in their path. Thomas reached into his coat and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a practiced flick of his lighter. The flame briefly illuminated his face, casting shadows that danced across his features. Around him, the others followed suit, those who smoked taking a moment to savor the calm before the storm. They stood in a loose semicircle, the flickering embers of their cigarettes the only light in the encroaching darkness.

The men who had dared to harm his wife were propped against the walls, their eyes darting around in a futile search for escape. Thomas stepped forward, his gaze boring into them. “Let the world burn,” he said, his voice carrying a finality that sent a shiver down the spines of everyone present.

As one, they stepped back and threw their lit cigarettes into the building. The effect was immediate and devastating. Flames erupted, racing along the trails of petrol with a voracious hunger. The night was transformed into a hellscape of red, orange, and yellow, the heat searing the air. Screams of agony pierced the night as Sabini’s men were consumed by the fire, their bodies writhing in a futile attempt to escape the flames. Thomas watched with a detached satisfaction, his face bathed in the glow of the inferno. Each scream was a note in a symphony of retribution, each flicker of flame a testament to his resolve. The men’s knees had been blown out earlier, ensuring they could not flee. Now, they were prisoners of their own fate, their arms dislocated to prevent even the slightest chance of escape. The fire roared, its fury unchecked, devouring the building and everything within. The sounds of collapsing timbers and shattering glass added to the cacophony, a fitting accompaniment to the demise of those who had crossed Thomas Shelby. He turned away, his mind already moving to the next step, the next plan. There was always another move to make, another battle to fight.

Walking briskly yet purposefully, Thomas made his way back to the car. His footsteps were steady on the gravel, the sound swallowed by the roar of the fire behind him. He opened the door, the heat from the blaze momentarily flooding the car before he slid in beside her. The interior was a haven of calm, a stark contrast to the inferno outside. His wife’s eyes, wide and searching, locked onto his, seeking the reassurance only he could provide.

“It’s done,” he said, his voice low and steady, a soft rumble in the confined space. He took her small hand in his, his grip firm yet comforting. “They won’t ever hurt you again.”

She exhaled, a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, and a flicker of relief crossed her delicate features. Thomas watched her, his heart a fortress against the world’s cruelty but a haven for her. He released her hand, his own moving to cup her face. His thumb brushed against her cheek, the simple touch conveying a world of unspoken promises. He leaned in, their lips meeting in a kiss that was both a balm and a blaze, a mixture of passion and unspoken love. His kiss deepened, his tongue seeking hers with a fervor that spoke of his desperation to connect, to reaffirm their bond in the midst of chaos. She responded in kind, her own need mirroring his. Their tongues danced, entwining in a symphony of shared breath and mutual desire. The kiss stretched on, each second a testament to their unbreakable connection. When he finally broke away, it was only to gaze into her eyes, his blue piercing eyes and intense, meeting her soft, doe-like gaze.

“I'd let the world burn, let the world burn for you,” he whispered, the words a vow etched in the air between them.

The fire outside continued to rage, a testament to the violence and power that defined Thomas. But here, in the car with his wife, he was just a man, deeply in love and fiercely protective. He brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her skin. The night outside was a battlefield, but inside this car, it was a sanctuary of their own making.

“Y’alright, love?” he asked softly, his accent thick, the concern in his voice palpable. She nodded, placing her hand over his, their fingers intertwining over the life they had created. It was a silent affirmation, a shared resolve to face whatever came next together.

The drive back to their home was quiet, the night around them a shroud of darkness punctuated by the distant glow of the fire. Thomas drove with one hand on the wheel, the other holding hers. The road ahead was uncertain, filled with dangers and challenges, but as long as they were together, he felt invincible. His mind raced with plans and contingencies, each one centered around ensuring their safety. His wife rested her head against his shoulder, the gentle rise and fall of her breathing a soothing rhythm. Thomas glanced at her, his heart swelling with a love so profound it bordered on pain. He had built an empire, forged a legacy in blood and fire, but she was his greatest treasure. The thought of losing her, of anything happening to her or their child, was a fear that gnawed at the edges of his mind. He pushed it aside, focusing instead on the warmth of her presence, the steady beat of her heart against his arm.

As they neared their home, the familiar sights of Small Heath came into view, but they weren't home yet; they drove till they were on the outskirts. It was quiet, the sun was starting to come up; Thomas parked the car and turned to her, his expression softening. “We’re home,” he said, the words a balm to the tension that still lingered. She smiled, a small, tired smile that spoke of her own relief.

Inside their home, the world outside seemed a distant memory. Thomas helped her out of the car, his arm around her waist as they made their way to the door. The night had been long and exhausting, but the sight of their home brought a sense of peace. He closed the door behind them, shutting out the chaos and danger, if only for a while. They moved through the house in silence, the weight of the night’s events pressing down on them. Thomas led her to their bedroom, helping her undress and settle into bed. He watched her as she drifted off to sleep, her face serene and untroubled. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply be, to let go of the burdens that constantly weighed on him.

But sleep would not come easily. Thomas stood by the window, staring out into the darkness, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and plans. He knew the road ahead would be fraught with danger, that the enemies they had made would not rest until they were destroyed. But as long as he had her, as long as he had their child, he would fight with everything he had. He turned back to the bed, his eyes softening as he looked at her. She was his anchor, his reason for everything. Thomas undressed quietly, slipping into bed beside her. He pulled her close, the warmth of her body a comfort against the cold reality of their world. He kissed her forehead, a silent vow to protect and cherish her, no matter the cost.

As he lay there, his mind finally began to quiet. The night’s events would leave scars, but they would also strengthen the resolve he had to keep his family safe. He closed his eyes, the sound of her breathing lulling him into a fitful sleep. The fire outside might rage, but here, in their bed, there was peace, if only for a moment. Thomas knew that the battles would continue, that the fight for their survival was far from over. But with her by his side, he felt a glimmer of hope, a spark of light in the darkness. He tightened his hold on her, his heart a silent promise to never let go. In the midst of chaos, she was his sanctuary, his angel in a world of shadows. And as sleep finally claimed him, Thomas dreamed not of fires and battles, but of a future where they could find peace, a future where their child could grow up safe and loved. It was a dream worth fighting for, a dream worth burning the world down to protect.

Authors Notes:

Don't worry the three asks are being worked on, I just wanted to get this one out because I haven't seen anyone do this song yet or they have and I haven't seen it. But I wanted to do a Jonathan one, because he's fucking mental about his lover but idk it wouldn't click.

Have any idea's please hit me up!!! Love you all xoxo

[chinesehanfu]

[Hanfu · 漢服]Chinese Warring States period(475–221 BC) Traditional Clothing Hanfu-Life of Qu Yuan(屈原）

【Historical Artifact Reference】:

China Warring States period (475-221 BC):Silk painting depicting a man riding a dragon (人物御龍帛畫)

it was discovered in the Zidanku Tomb no. 1 in Changsha, Hunan Province in 1973. Now in the Hunan Museum

A man with a sword is riding a dragon by holding the rein. The dragon's body was given the shape of a boat. A little egret is standing at the tail of the dragon. A carp under the dragon is leading the way. The umbrella in the top middle of the picture shows the owner's nobility. The work has become associated with the Chu poet Qu Yuan’s famous verse from his poem Shejiang (涉江, Setting foot in the river), ‘Carrying a long sword with weird colour; Wearing a qieyun–styled high cap.” (帶長鋏之陸離兮, 冠切雲之崔嵬)

Western Zhou Dynasty seven-huang jade pendant with linked beads/西周七璜联珠组玉佩

About Qu Yuan(屈原）

Qu Yuan (c. 340 BC – 278 BC)was a Chinese poet and aristocrat in the State of Chu during the Warring States period. He is known for his patriotism and contributions to classical poetry and verses, especially through the poems of the Chu Ci anthology (also known as The Songs of the South or Songs of Chu): a volume of poems attributed to or considered to be inspired by his verse writing. Together with the Shi Jing, the Chu Ci is one of the two greatest collections of ancient Chinese verse. He is also remembered in connection to the supposed origin of the Dragon Boat Festival.

Historical details about Qu Yuan's life are few, and his authorship of many Chu Ci poems has been questioned at length.[4] However, he is widely accepted to have written "The Lament," a Chu Ci poem. The first known reference to Qu Yuan appears in a poem written in 174 BC by Jia Yi, an official from Luoyang who was slandered by jealous officials and banished to Changsha by Emperor Wen of Han. While traveling, he wrote a poem describing the similar fate of a previous "Qu Yuan."Eighty years later, the first known biography of Qu Yuan's life appeared in Han dynasty historian Sima Qian's Records of the Grand Historian, though it contains a number of contradictory details.

Life of Qu Yuan(屈原）

The only surviving source of information on Qu Yuan's life is Sima Qian's biography of him in Records of the Grand Historian (Shiji), although the biography is circumstantial and probably influenced greatly by Sima's own identification with Qu.Sima wrote that Qu was a member of the Chu royal clan and served as an official under King Huai of Chu (reigned 328–299 BC).

During the early days of King Huai's reign, Qu Yuan was serving the State of Chu as its Left Minister. However, King Huai exiled Qu Yuan to the region north of the Han River, because corrupt ministers slandered him and influenced the king.Eventually, Qu Yuan was reinstated and sent on a diplomatic mission to the State of Qi. He tried to resume relations between Chu and Qi, which King Huai had broken under the false pretense of King Hui of Qin to cede territory near Shangyu.

During King Qingxiang's reign, Prime Minister Zilan slandered Qu Yuan.[9] This caused Qu Yuan's exile to the regions south of the Yangtze River. It is said that Qu Yuan returned first to his home town. In his exile, he spent much of this time collecting legends and rearranging folk odes while traveling the countryside. Furthermore, he wrote some of the greatest poetry in Chinese literature and expressed deep concerns about his state. According to legend, his anxiety brought him to an increasingly troubled state of health. During his depression, he would often take walks near a certain well to look upon his thin and gaunt reflection in the water. This well became known as the "Face Reflection Well." On a hillside in Xiangluping (at present-day Zigui County, Hubei Province), there is a well that is considered to be the original well from the time of Qu Yuan.

In 278 BC, learning of the capture of his country's capital, Ying, by General Bai Qi of the state of Qin, Qu Yuan is said to have collected folktales and written the lengthy poem of lamentation called "Lament for Ying". Eventually, he committed suicide by wading into the Miluo River in today's Hunan Province while holding a rock. The reason why he took his life remained controversial and was argued by Chinese scholars for centuries. Typical explanations including martyrdom for his deeply beloved but falling motherland, which was suggested by the philosopher Zhu Xi of the Song dynasty, or feeling extreme despair to the situation of the politics in Chu while his lifelong political dream would never be realized. But according to "Yu Fu," widely considered to be written by Qu himself or at least, a person who was very familiar with Qu, his suicide was an ultimate way to protect his innocence and life principles.[citation needed]

Qu Yuan is said to have expressed his love for the ruling monarch, King Huai of Chu, through several of this works, including "The Lament" and "Longing for Beauty".

Dragon Boat Festival/端午节

Popular legend has it that villagers carried their dumplings and boats to the middle of the river and desperately tried to save Qu Yuan after he immersed himself in the Miluo but were too late to do so. However, in order to keep fish and evil spirits away from his body, they beat drums and splashed the water with their paddles, and they also threw rice into the water both as a food offering to Qu Yuan's spirit and also to distract the fish away from his body. However, the legend continues, that late one night, the spirit of Qu Yuan appeared before his friends and told them that he died because he had taken himself under the river. Then, he asked his friends to wrap their rice into three-cornered silk packages to ward off the dragon.

These packages became a traditional food known as zongzi, although the lumps of rice are now wrapped in leaves instead of silk. The act of racing to search for his body in boats gradually became the cultural tradition of dragon boat racing, held on the anniversary of his death every year. Today, people still eat zongzi and participate in dragon boat races to commemorate Qu Yuan's sacrifice on the fifth day of the fifth month of the traditional lunisolar Chinese calendar.

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Recreation Work by : @晴南

Xiaohongshu🔗：http://xhslink.com/CU2x9J

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[howlingday]

Hyena jaune and lion yang would hate each other but they like each other but must keep it a secret

In the African savanna, there are two animals constantly at odds with one another. The African lion, often symbolized to be associated with kings, with lionesses who fight fiercely to protect their cubs and sisters for the sake of their male leader, and the Spotted hyena, the top scavenger with an appetite for rotting flesh, where the lowest ranked female ranks higher than the highest ranked male. Both animals compete for food to the point of developing a natural animosity with one another. In some cases, hyenas will specifically target lion cubs and elders, while lions will maim hyenas with mortal wounds and leaving them to die.

Though not the same as their animal counterparts, two clans of faunus which share these traits compete with each other over the continent of Sanus. The Xiao Long clan, whom value loyalty, honor, and justice, reside on the island of Patch, under the protection of the Kingdom of Vale. The Arc clan, whom value freedom, community, and legacy, reside to the south, in the shadows of Mountain Glenn, in the village of Ansel, not bound by the laws of any one kingdom.

Would it be possible for these two clans to be reunited under the banner of one? Perhaps, long ago, before the raids began. Raven Branwen, the leader of the Branwen Bandit Tribe, attacked the Arc clan for their resources. However, when they sought retribution, the Xiao Long clan protected her. A child of the Arc clan was killed in the assault, and the Arc's sought the death of Raven's child, who was held in protection by the leader, Taiyang Xiao Long. He refused, declaring that any who made an attempt on him or his kin would suffer greatly.

This is when an unknown member of the Arc clan made the attempt on the wife of Taiyang, spurring the clan head to declare war on the Arcs. Bloody combat was engaged for days, even weeks on end, until the Arc clan was forced to surrender before the might of the Kingdom of Vale. However, the Arcs vowed that one day, they would see the end of the clan of Xiao Long.

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"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"I'm sure, Mom." Jaune nodded, taking the hug from her and hugging in kind. "This is something I have to do."

His mother looked to his father. "If... If this doesn't work out, then there's no shame in coming home."

Jaune frowned at this. Were they expecting him to fail? To quit when things got too difficult for him? A part of him wanted to shout at his parents for insinuating this was what they meant, but he instead chose to keep his mouth shut. Especially with his mother as the clan matriarch. Punishment for a man contesting with the matriarch was harshly dealt, regardless if the man was correct.

Besides, deep down, he knew they were right.

"Jaune?" He looked to his mother. "Be careful. Please?"

"I will, Mom." He smiled before he turned and left to board the bus. He sat in his seat and looked to his family waving to him. His mother, his father, his sisters, his aunts and uncles. They all waved him off, to which he waved back. Next stop, the bullhead. And from there, Beacon.

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"Yang," the eldest daughter of Taiyang looked to him, "there's someone here to see you."

Standing next to him was her mother, Raven, her hand resting on the pommel of her sword. Same as always, she didn't have a smile on her face. She'd never seen the woman smile, but that's also a slightly unfair statement since the woman was never around for longer than a day since Yang was old enough to notice. Maybe even before then.

"Yang." Raven greeted, entering Yang's room. She looked around, as if she were judging Yang's choice of decorum. "KickerZ?"

"What do you want, Raven?" Yang replied.

"You're going to Beacon."

"Yeah? What about it?"

"I went there, too, a long time ago."

"What, and you're choosing to offer me advice now when I'm about to go?" Yang stood up, doing her best to keep her temper reigned in. "Because the last we talked was... Wait, we never talked. Because you were never there."

"I was busy."

"Being a thief?"

"Bandit."

"Right, because that's so much better." Yang rolled her eyes. "Why are you here, Raven? Don't tell me it's for a hug goodbye because I'm not hugging you."

"Be careful."

Yang blinked. She didn't expect Raven to offer caution, partially because in all the stories Dad told about her, Raven usually was the one to disregard such warnings. It would be sweet, if it came from anyone other than Raven.

"I will." Yang crossed her arms. "I don't make the same mistake twice. Especially with the Grimm."

"It's not the Grimm I'd be worried about." Raven stared at the KickerZ poster with a muscular blond man with fangs and a tail. His eyes were as blue as hers... "You know about the Arcs?"

"A bunch of bandits south of Mountain Glenn." Yang said off-handedly. "Friends of yours?"

"No." Raven turned away, walking out the door. "I mean what I said, Yang."

"Yeah, I'm sure you did." Raven then left. Yang stepped out shortly after, but found the woman had already left without a trace. No trace, that is, except for a single black feather. Probably fell off of her while walking. Did that woman ever change clothes, or bathe? Yang didn't want to think about it.

Mostly because she needed to meet up with Ruby before they left for Beacon together.

[prime-adeptus]

ONE LOVE, ONE LIFETIME – YONE X READER

“Well, if you decide to come back here one day,” you said, reaching for his hand. Your skin felt warm against his own. “Just know that I’ll be here waiting for you.” Or, the one where Yone fell first.

CONTENT.⠀female reader; romance, light angst and hurt/comfort, family issues, elitism in the family (yeah), Asshole Father bc I have problems, family member death, very heavily implied that MC was an accident baby, talks about death and the afterlife on yone's end, brief talks of arranged marriage, allusions to misogyny. + Spirit Blossom AU with some changes to fit the narrative. ~11k words

NOTES.⠀I wanted to finish this before I start properly using the break so woe ~20 pages be upon ye. I've had this in my drafts for ages and it took longer than I would've liked but! we made it! this is a gift for my beloved @kakujis, a dear friend and my Shimada Liker in Arms. <3 I hope you enjoy!!

divider by cafekitsune | cross-posted on ao3

Pride and honour stood above all else.

Such a lesson was established in your clan from the moment of its founding, forging ahead generations of noble swordsmen who have never strayed from their paths. Every child born into the family is bound to duty, raised and trained by the elite until they are seen as ready for the battles ahead of them. Pride flowed in your veins and you were taught to believe that what you bleed is your negligence. Honour is engraved in your bones, down to the marrow—strong as the seas, and immovable as the mountains.

Every child of your family knows this by heart, including you, the broken one. The odd one out. The blemish on what would otherwise be a pristine reputation.

Born without the same mana or prowess that all of your brothers possessed, you were deemed a flawed child undeserving of the honour of your family name. Fate restricted you from following the path you wished to take as soon as they decided on where your life began. How was it fair at all to put such a heavy burden on a child’s shoulders? On someone who hadn’t opened their eyes for the first time yet?

You craved to learn the ways of a warrior, to be someone the younger generation could trust and look up to. Instead, you were scorned in your own home by a family that was hellbent on upholding tradition and their position among the elite. All because you were born differently. Anything said about you was always done in contempt, especially from your own flesh and blood—your father, your brothers, and your sisters.

‘You are not my child.’ It was your father’s way of saying he didn’t want himself or his beloved sons associated with you, his flesh and blood. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. So long as he and the oh-so-esteemed council were alive, you would never be seen as a part of the family. So long as he continued to breathe, he would look down on you as much as he could. And yet, even though he so explicitly despised you, you still did everything you could so you could be worth his time.

A fruitless endeavour. He held your weakness over your head, his glare a constant reminder of how he’d always see you as a failure. You would never be enough. You wanted to leave, but where would you go? Without your family name, you had nothing. With your name, all you were was a bastard. You were bound to a home that didn’t welcome you.

‘You are not my child.’ You didn’t want to be.

You wished you had the chance to meet your mother. She abandoned you on the doorstep, they would say whenever you asked about her, your father saved you. It wasn’t until years later that you learned the truth. She never abandoned you—she was threatened, forbidden from stepping foot inside the mansion again. You used to wish she had fought more and taken you with her, but the more you grew, the more you understood. Whatever fury you harboured towards her dwindled like a flame dying on its own.

She didn’t have a choice. You knew firsthand what that felt like. Everything the elders said was law; within these walls, there was no going against them. They saw her as disposable, a lowly commoner who just happened to earn the affection of a nobleman for a night. And dispose of her they did. As the midwife took you away, your mother was sent off to another city in a carriage that never returned. No one spoke of her again. Whether it was by command or a collective agreement, you weren’t sure.

There were times when her name would come up in hushed whispers. Some of them were from your father. You remember being six years old and listening to your father’s drunk mumbling. With a hand on your head, he told you that you looked just like your mother. It was the gentlest he’d ever been with you. But when the inebriation left his system the next morning, your loving father was gone, and the patriarch was back.

His soft tone became harsh once again. His eyes burned with hatred. It was as if everything was just a dream. It might as well have been. You chalked it up to him having a bad day, just like yesterday and the day before that. Surely he’d be kind to you again if he drank.

He wasn’t.

And as if taking your mother away wasn’t already enough of a mockery, you were constantly reminded that this was not your home. That you were here because you belonged to the clan. You’ve always been. You were already their property from the moment you inhaled your first breath.

Your life was theirs, but even that wasn’t enough.

(You don’t think you’ll ever be.)

A child in a loveless family. Your father thought it wasn’t worth trying to train you, having decided that you were beyond help. Your brothers didn’t see you as someone they had to protect. Your sisters didn’t want to be seen with you. All you had were your grandparents.

With them, you were treated as family. It didn’t matter to them that you didn’t have what your siblings did. They loved you.

You spent mornings in the apothecary room with your grandmother, learning all about herbs and medicine from all around the world. In the afternoon, you’d spend time training with your grandfather in the dojo and listening to his stories of ages past. Then, every evening, you’d spend time with both of them at the temple that they cared for. All of your best memories were made there. When your grandparents inevitably passed, you didn’t hesitate to pick up from where they left off.

Your volunteering to maintain its upkeep seemed to satisfy the elders enough. At least you’ll be useful in something, your father said without batting an eye. You liked to think you’d become numb to all the jabs thrown your way, but you were wrong.

The temple was your getaway, somewhere you could hide from the world and feel more at home than you did in the estate. The smell of flowers and herbs inside the temple, alongside the sight of the sunrise or sunset, never failed to lull you into a state of tranquillity. The voices you’d hear from around you weren’t those of disappointment, but those of birds chirping in a joyous tune. It was the only place you’ll ever feel at peace in. Seeing the names of your grandparents engraved on the stone slabs broke your heart whenever you walked by. You might not grieve any more, but you were still alone.

Ionian faith and tradition flowed in your veins. You were taught about grace by your grandmother and what it meant to be dignified, worthy of respect even without noteworthy achievements. Your grandfather taught you strength and combat so you could protect yourself and others from monsters, both human and unknown. You wouldn’t have gotten the chance to learn the blade elsewhere. He was more than enthusiastic to pass on his knowledge to you. He’d grown weak with age, he said, but you’ve always thought he was the greatest swordsman you know. Aside from the temple, the dojo was where you felt the happiest, but as always, good things never lasted long for you.

In your world, secrets were nearly impossible to have. Spies and traitors lurked in the walls, engraving every decision you made and every word you spoke into their memory. It didn’t take long for your father to find out about the lessons his father had been giving you. In fury, he forbade you from entering the dojo or holding a weapon again and told you that you didn’t deserve to carry on his father’s legacy. Forced to leave behind your passion and descend into monotony, the art of the blade eventually left your mind. Had you just fought back—

No. Not everything was under your control. As long as you were in your father’s home, he would continue to treat you however he liked. The cruel words will keep being said, behind your back and to your face, but you won’t give them the satisfaction. You swore not to let anyone see you at your weakest again. You hated the name that you bear, but you would honour it the way you were taught to. The world might be against you, but there is always a light at the end of the tunnel. Staying hopeful in a place like Ionia was all you could do.

Dawn always comes after dusk. The sun always rises for a new day. You didn’t see why it should be any different for you.

—

Your days got busier as the Spirit Blossom festival approached.

More and more people came to honour their loved ones every day, praying and making offerings to their ancestors for protection. You weren’t sure if you ever attended the festival yourself. You knew of the legends and stories behind it, of its reasons and purposes, but you had only been a bystander. You couldn’t see spirits even if you wanted to anyway, you thought bitterly, so there wasn’t a way for you to see your grandparents again.

‘In the Spirit Blossom festival, the dead reunite with their loved ones until the afterlife calls for them again.’

Whether or not it was possible to see said spirits, it was still hard to ignore the longing in your heart. The cycle of life and death was not unknown (you were more familiar with it than you’d like) but you didn’t think anyone could ever get used to it. You loved deeply, and when the ones you love are taken away from you, you’re left alone with yourself. You weren’t a stranger to partaking in as many tasks as possible to stop needlessly thinking, either. You spent your entire morning doing chores and running errands for this reason. You needed to keep yourself busy so you could drift away just for a little while.

With all of your tasks completed, you had nothing left to do. Leaves were swept into neat piles that the farmers always came to pick up later per routine. It took longer than you would’ve liked, though you supposed it was bound to happen when the workload wasn’t meant for one person, but two. The other shrine maiden had an ‘urgent matter to attend to,’ as her messenger informed you and left. You knew right away she paid him to cover for her. You’d like to think you mellowed out with age, having lived for almost three decades, but you were wrong. You were just as easy to irk as you were as a child.

‘It’s not a good thing to harbour negativity in a sacred place,’ your grandmother’s voice rang in your head, ‘it brings bad luck.’ But there you stood, the most irate you’ve ever been as you wished a terrible week upon the both of them.

Thanks to the tedious work done in all your lonesome, the tile flooring within the temple was spotless. The altar was dusted and reorganised, ready to accept the next batch of offerings. The place smelled more like soap than the usual floral incense you were used to. On any other day, you’d return to your quarters after such a productive time, maybe read a book before you go to sleep, but nature had other plans in store.

The wind howled and rain started to pitter-patter against the rooftop while the sun began its descent. Silhouettes of nature and man-made structures were the only company you had as you made your way back into the prayer room. Away from the rain, you idly watched the world go by from inside. You remembered your grandfather telling you about his battles in a storm and how tumultuous it had been. The retellings of his past exploits were your favourite stories to listen to in your childhood. He travelled through the lands and protected those he held dear with honour. He lived a life of pride and accomplishments that you wanted to have in yours. You still did.

A singular incense stick burnt in the centre of the bowl of ash and sand, its smoke disappearing into the air as it did so. The air grew colder as the sun set, painting the sky in warm hues and your skin in gooseflesh. The storm outside threatened to extinguish the flames within the lantern posts outside. Your uniform robe and long skirt, despite its many layers and the fabric, didn’t aid much in shielding you from the cold. A shiver ran down your spine from the sudden drop in temperature.

If you were asked what you disliked about this time of the year, you would say the weather’s unpredictability as the veil was lifted. The day started pleasantly; the sun was bright and the spring breeze was refreshing. There was no way you could’ve known that there would be a storm approaching.

The doors slammed shut with a loud bang, making you jump in fright and instinctively reach for a sword you no longer owned. You frowned. Years had passed since you last held a weapon, and you weren’t sure if your body had any memory of it at all. If danger were to actually happen, your only means of defence would be the old wooden broom in the corner, which you doubted made for a good weapon. Still, you found yourself keeping it close, your fingers curling tightly around the handle. It was better to be safe than sorry. You were fortunate enough to live in a densely populated area that was well protected, but as typical of an Ionian village, worse things awaited after sunset.

You were a cautious person for as long as you could remember. As optimistic as you tried to be, you weren’t exactly so convinced that there was such a thing as a safe haven. So long as peace exists, so will chaos, and with chaos comes things that are out of your control. You were taught to let things progress the way fate and nature intended them to, to let go of your anxieties because you always worried over ‘nothing.’

But that was easier said than done. You worried for a reason. Everything happens for a reason. Fate weaves the threads of life the way it wants to. The strong are led to lives of fame and power, and the blessed are led to lives of love and fortune. But you weren’t strong or blessed, you were cursed. If the Creator put you on earth for a reason, what is it? What path does fate want you to take, and what did you do in your past life to be put in such a suffocating position?

The anxiety at the pit of your stomach grew stronger the longer you observed the forest and the shadows in between. In the daylight, the temple was comforting and tranquil, picturesque, but it hadn’t occurred to you until then how daunting it was in the dark. It was a quiet night, eerily so, and the floorboards creaked beneath your feet as you padded into the prayer area. Tentatively, you placed the broom down and knelt before the statues of the gods you worshipped. The incense burnt itself down to the base, gradually putting out the flame on its own.

‘If you are afraid, pray. The gods will protect you.’

You weren’t a child anymore. Monsters only existed in stories—there was nothing to be afraid of. But the feeling persisted and it became worse as the door swung open and slammed against the wall. You heard something breathing.

It wasn’t the wind.

A low growl rumbled from the chest of whatever was stalking towards you. An animal of some sort. A predator. Your mind screamed at you to just run, but you were terrified, you couldn’t move and your body just wouldn't listen—

It drew closer.

You were going to die, ripped apart by a monster, and it was going to hurt more than anything ever had. Squeezing your eyes shut, you muttered a prayer under your breath in hopes that it would help. Maybe it was a spirit that couldn’t pass on. If you prayed for it, you could alleviate its pain and then be left alone. You were frantic, the words coming out incoherent as you got tongue-tied and struggled to remember the rest of them. When you felt it breathing down the back of your neck, your voice died in a choked whine. It watched you with hunger and it raised its claws with murderous intent, ready to slash.

It never did.

Instead, you heard the gargling of blood, followed by a clatter on the floor. Your body finally listened and you turned around to see what you could only describe as a demon. The glow in its mask’s eyes dimmed as it died with a sword speared through its chest, inches away from your face. In terror, you watched it bleed as the crimson splattered on your skin. It crumbled into dust as if it was never there. Just like that, it was dead and gone.

The mask dropped where your saviour stood. Wordlessly, he picked it up and attached it to a grotesque belt adorned with similar faces. All you could do was watch as everything slowly sank in. The downpour became louder, heavier. Your ears rang and your body felt numb. The only sound you heard was your ragged breathing as you tried to calm down and think. This must be a nightmare. It had to be. It had to be a hallucination from your paranoia and lack of sleep.

You closed your eyes and opened them again. The man was still standing in front of you.

You weren’t dreaming.

It was all real, from the blood splattered on the ground to the man in front of you. Half of his face was covered by a red mask, more menacing than what the monster had worn. Bandages were loosely wrapped around his torso and his arms, revealing some of his pale skin and scars from what could only be combat.

You weren’t dreaming.

A monster you had never seen tried to kill you and you were lucky enough that this man came to save your life. It felt as though your mind stopped entirely. You didn’t know where to start. Were you supposed to ask about the monster or ask about him?

You decided on the latter. “How did you know it was here?”

A beat of silence passed, and then he spoke.

“It is my curse to bear.”

That didn’t really answer your question. You attempted to ask again, but one glance at his face made you realise that he didn’t care about answering them. It was essentially impossible to tell what he was thinking and you’d rather not agitate someone as intimidating as him.

“Thank you,” you opted to say instead.

Your gaze landed on the swords in his hands. Blood was still dripping off of the red blade that seemed to be glowing. If his mask was menacing, his blades were worse—you had never seen anything quite like them.

He didn’t respond. All he gave you was a nearly imperceptible nod, a sign of acknowledgement. Seemingly satisfied with his kill, he made the move to leave, and your thoughts ran rampant. You wanted answers, an explanation, anything to make sense out of what happened.

You should let him go. You should run home before you encounter another one of those things again when you’re not as lucky, but you didn’t.

“Wait!” you called out, louder than you intended. “Teach me how to fight.”

He stopped in his tracks, then slightly looked back at you. The action had you fidgeting nervously. There was a gut feeling that he was going to say—

“No.”

You needed him to teach you. He was strong. He knew what those things were and how to kill them. He could help you. If that thing could come in here so easily, undeterred by the protective runes and wards placed around the temple, another could do it again. You couldn’t afford to let this place get destroyed because of your inability to defend it. You needed to protect your grandparents’ memory, a small sliver of their legacy that you were allowed to touch. You had to.

The chance was falling out of your hands right in front of you. Your confidence wavered, but you tried again. “I… I’ll pay you. Just name your price.”

“Money has no value to me.”

“Please?” Your voice was quieter, more hesitant. “This place, it’s… It’s all I have left. I need to protect it.”

“I can’t,” he said. “I have a duty I must fulfil.”

“Please—wait!”

This time, he didn’t spare you another glance as he walked off into the night, leaving you afraid and alone with the monster’s blood still on your skin.

—

No matter how many years passed, Yone’s hands would always be stained in blood.

The village was different from what he remembered. He knew of it when it was in flames and scattered with bodies of the brave. With what little time it had after the war, the village has been rebuilt from the disaster that the Noxians left behind. It was stronger, safer, liberated from their clutches. More swordsmen and warriors were patrolling the area, all bearing the crest of the clan that owned the village itself.

That didn’t. The clan of where men were raised to be elite warriors and women were raised to be the most adept of mages, known for their noble blood and valiance. Their estate was fortified and bigger than it used to be, looming over the smaller houses that unsurprisingly didn’t get as much protection. What seemed to be the most protected, though, was the temple. It was known to be a sanctuary to the villagers and the most important value to them was faith. Seeing said sanctuary well-protected wasn’t a shock. It was always that way.

As a child, he used to visit the temple on particularly rough days. Sometimes, his brother would come along, and they’d go find the master swordsman who took care of it with his wife, the shrine maiden. His brother in particular enjoyed hearing all about the swordsman’s stories, inspired by his strength and bravery that remained well into his older years. His wife was stern but motherly to all, more doting towards children than adults.

They weren’t like the rest of the clan who looked down on the weak; they loved. They loved their home, they loved their fellow men, and they loved the world. The people loved them, too. He loved them, just like they loved this sanctuary they built.

Yone stepped into the courtyard. Though it was past sunset, he could see that the place was much greener. More flowers had grown since then and the spring was well-maintained. He thought that the temple remained the most welcoming place he ever found himself in. It was clear that whoever was taking care of this place did it with the same love that the elderly couple had. He spotted their names on the stone slabs written in gold. There wasn’t just one bouquet on their grave, but several. Well-loved even after death as they deserved.

As he approached the main building, he sensed it—danger lurking within, undoubtedly the work of a monster he was all too familiar with. The wooden doors were broken and splintered. Cautiously, he stepped inside. True to his suspicion, at the end of the hall was an azakana hunched over someone, its grotesque mass a stark contrast to the pristine state of the walls as it growled and breathed heavily. His swords glinted in the light of the moon as he drew them.

Yone’s kills were clean and precise. He didn’t need to destroy his surroundings to prove his strength, nor did he think that he was destructive to that extent. As disciplined in life, as disciplined in death, and even more so in between. His physiology was wholly different from what it had been when he was alive. His being alone defied life itself.

He felt weightless, numb yet still in full control of his body as he moved into the prayer room, his footsteps not making a single sound. He heard what sounded like crazed muttering from where the azakana stood, something akin to pleading or perhaps a prayer. The azakana raised its hand. Its talons grew longer and sharper, prepared to strike whoever it was hiding. Before it could, Yone pierced his blade through its heart, silently watching as it disintegrated back into nothing but ashes and dust on the ground.

“How did you know it was here?” you asked, still struggling to catch your breath.

He was silent for a while as he picked up the mask it left behind and pinned it to his belt as proof of yet another successful hunt. You were staring up at him with teary eyes, still shaken from being so close to death’s grasp. He didn’t want to alarm you—he knew he looked ghastly—but you were obviously different from what he was. You were alive, vulnerable, and from the way you quivered like a leaf, you had never encountered one of those things before.

“It is my curse to bear,” he replied smoothly. A practised response, one that he hoped would be all you asked for. Yone knew it didn’t answer your question. As if you had more questions—you most likely did; he didn’t blame you for that—you parted your lips to speak, but no words came out.

Slightly defeated, you exhaled and gave him a small smile. “Thank you.”

Yone glanced at you. Your face felt familiar to him like you were an old friend he hadn’t seen in years. You must be related to the previous caretakers somehow. The resemblance you had with them was striking. The way you spoke was timid, unlike the boisterous master swordsman or the confident shrine maiden. It didn’t bother him. If he was like you, defenceless in your position, he would’ve acted the same way. You seemed to be calming down with each breath you took, making him relax just the slightest. You weren’t harmed.

Aside from the azakana’s blood, tonight, his hands were clean, and he wouldn’t need to repent.

He decided to leave. There was no reason why he should stay for any longer. The sooner he could find the other stray malevolent spirits, the safer his childhood home would be. Things like him didn’t have the privilege of resting. He didn’t need it. Before he made it past the door, you called out for him, forcing him to stop in his tracks.

“Teach me how to fight.”

He didn’t hesitate. “No.”

“I… I’ll pay you. Just name your price.”

You looked less and less confident with each passing second. Dealing with stubborn people wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for him. He grew up with Yasuo—he was more than used to it. He pursed his lips.

“Money has no value to me.”

“Please.” Yone should’ve been out for the next hunt by now, but there was something in your voice that kept him staying where he was. “This place, it’s… It’s all I have left. I need to protect it.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help you. He wanted to protect what he could too. It just… wasn’t for him. He thought you’d be better off learning from a master. Surely you could go to the dojo that your clan owned?

“I can’t,” he replied, realising that he had left you hanging. “I have a duty I must fulfil.”

He didn’t look back this time. The cold air of the night greeted him as he stepped out and put his swords back in their sheaths. The rain washed away the blood and its remnants on the stones beneath his feet. The skies seemed to be clearer than they were earlier. The moon and stars glowed brightly in the darkness, illuminating the paths before him. There was a nagging feeling in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Something was off—were there more azakana hiding in the area? He decided he’d patrol the forest one more time before moving on elsewhere.

He left without a trace, just like a ghost like him always did.

—

You started to carry a dagger with you wherever you went.

It wasn’t a naginata or ootachi like you were trained to use, but it made you feel safer to have something you can defend yourself with. Thankfully, the temple wasn’t damaged too badly, though it would still take some time to repair. One of the older mages dropped by and offered to cast a protective seal, which you gladly accepted.

“Miss?” you asked, fidgeting nervously as she finished up her work.

She hummed. “Yes, dear?”

“Is the… The veil, is it already open?”

“It should be by now.” She contemplated for a bit. “I will say, it wasn’t this disastrous last year… I assume it’s because the magical energy is stronger this time around. Don’t worry, dear—nature will have adapted to it by now.”

“I see. Thank you,” you chirped. “I’m more worried about the temple getting attacked or broken than anything… I can’t see spirits the same way you can. I won’t be able to protect myself.”

“The seal will keep out malevolent entities.” She placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. Then she lowered her voice as if she was worried someone would hear her. “Was this really done by the storm? I could feel something strange in the air when I came here.”

You hesitantly shook your head. “There was a monster. It broke in and some—something else killed it.”

“What did it look like?”

“I was too scared to look,” you said apologetically, “but it was wearing a mask.”

“A mask?”

“It looked like a demon. The same ones in stories I used to read as a child.”

The mage frowned. “We’ll need a stronger seal than the one I put here, then.”

“Do you know what they are?”

“They’re called azakana. They are demons,” she explained. “You’re really lucky to have made it out alive. Those creatures are ruthless. They’ll stop at nothing.”

Azakana. You didn’t think you heard of them. You weren’t allowed in the magic library. Your grandparents didn’t like going into detail about the unknown, said it was just hearsay. You never got to explore the world the same way they did. All you knew in your entire life was the estate. You contemplated sneaking into the library to learn about everything that was kept from you, but there were bigger matters at hand.

“How do I stop them?”

“You kill them before they kill you,” she answered wryly. “I’ll do all I can to help keep the temple safe, but I can’t guarantee your protection.”

You had a busy afternoon ahead of you—more errands to run, more favours to do—so you couldn’t stay for long. With a polite goodbye, you went your own way, her words echoing in your mind all the while. You’d have to retrace your steps and learn to fight by yourself. The thought of how ridiculous you’d look training alone made you grimace. But she was right; it was kill or be killed. You wouldn’t always be as fortunate as you were a few days prior.

You idly swung the empty basket in your hand as you walked through the estate. The gardens look much better now. The hedges were trimmed, wilted flowers were removed, and the pond was clear. You couldn’t believe a storm just happened. The weather seemed to have settled for good, too. It was a warm and sunny day, the perfect weather for you to collect herbs and flowers for the village apothecary. She had become more frail with age, and considering her station isn’t too far from the temple, you offered to do the job for her. In your pocket was a written list of what she needed. It was nothing too difficult to find.

You were about to leave until you heard your name coming from someone in the meeting room. The doors were closed, but the walls were thin enough for you to be able to hear through them.

“—a leftover person,” a voice said—you recognised it as your uncle’s. “Past the age of marriage, but it could still be an option.”

Your heart dropped. You hid behind a wall, your fists clenched tightly around the handle of the basket as you tried to calm down and stay quiet lest you get caught eavesdropping.

Another voice chimed in. “—offspring would be cursed as well. Are you sure you don’t want to set up an arranged marriage? It’s been years—”

“Being constantly reminded of a mistake I made nearly thirty years ago is quite irritating, councillor,” came the unmistakable haughty voice of your father. “I said no. I refuse to tarnish our family name.”

You should be used to this. The cruel words, the hatred, the anger, but you can’t, no matter how much you’ve tried. It’s not as if you’re unaware of your power or lack thereof. It’s been said to you time and time again: you were weak, you were nothing.

“—what about training? It could help with getting started,” a feminine voice added. You weren’t surprised that she was the only one who was less harsh with her words talking about you so far. She of all people would know how you felt.

“Out of the question,” your father replied snidely. “Our mages and swordsmen are all pure-blooded. The bastard doesn’t deserve the honour of being one of them.”

Their words slipped through your ears. You were no longer listening; instead, you bit down on your lip and tried to hold back tears. How could someone hate their flesh and blood so much? How could he take everything away from you so easily? Not caring that they would hear you, you stormed out the gates while harshly wiping away your tears with your hands. Knowing them, they probably wanted you to.

You ran and pushed past strangers, unbothered by the concerned and irritated looks you were given. You ran until you found yourself deep in the forest, far enough so you could be left alone. Everything you tried to hold back then burst. You wailed, nails digging into your skin and your body wracked with sobs. The sound of water flowing down the stream slowly but surely calmed you down. The sobs eventually became quiet sniffles until they stopped entirely. Your tears dried on their own and you could finally breathe again.

Looking up from your hands, your gaze drifted to a fawn across the river. It lovingly nudged its mother with its head, stumbled a bit as it tried to keep up with her pace. The sight warmed your heart. It was always nice to see beings, human or animal, be gentle to one another. You hoped to be in that position someday.

A twig snapped behind you. Alarmed, you reflexively grabbed your dagger and whipped around, but the threat you were going to say died on your tongue when you saw who it was. The masked man—the one who saved you from the azakana—stood before you, huffing at you as if he found something funny.

“I’m not here to hurt you.”

You glowered at him with furrowed brows before hesitantly relaxing, putting the dagger back in its sheath. “What are you doing here?”

“The dojo.”

“What?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you not ask me to teach you how to fight?”

“I did, but…”

You bit the inside of your cheek. It was kind of him to seek you out again to tell you this, but you weren’t sure how you felt. Part of you wanted to say yes, to learn to protect yourself and others. The bigger part of you already felt defeated. You could only be tough for so long before you started to break.

“Thank you for reconsidering,” you said. You meant it. “But I’m not allowed there.”

“Not allowed?”

“My father is quite a stickler for the rules.” You chuckled humorlessly. “Only his sons are allowed in that dojo. The ones with noble blood, not the bastards. Take a guess where I fall between those two.”

He mulled over your words for a bit. Then he said, “Tell me your preferred weapon.”

You blinked dumbly. “Huh?”

“Your stance. It doesn’t belong to someone who uses a dagger.”

You supposed it made sense for someone like him to know something that even you didn’t notice. Awkward as he might be, it was evident that he was passionate about what he knew. A man of honour and discipline, a dual wielder with effortless lethality. You wondered how someone like him wasn’t revered and well-known the same way that the bladesman from Wuju and the blade dancer of Navori were. You broke the silence with a noise of disbelief. How strange, indeed.

“My grandfather thought I was best suited for a naginata, so that’s what he trained me in as a child,” you told him. “I don’t think I remember anything, though. It’s been a very long time.”

“You do,” he cut in. “No one forgets the art of the blade. Your mind may not remember, but your body does.”

“That’s very kind of you to say… Thank you,” you responded, smiling softly at him, “but what made you change your mind? I thought you had your… duty.”

“I do, but helping you can also be one of them,” he replied bluntly. “You have something you want to protect. As did I.”

You tried not to think too much about why he said it like that. It was not your place to pry, but you had always been a curious one. He must have lost something or someone along the way. For someone so stoic, he didn’t hide the regret in his tone well.

You glanced at him, deciding to end your train of thought before you slipped up and said something you regretted. “Are you sure you want nothing in return?”

“I only ask for your name.”

Heat rushed to your face. It was an incredibly mundane thing to ask for, normal for people who were getting to know each other to do. His forwardness caught you off guard, made you lose your balance for a moment. You cleared your throat and gave him your name, which he repeated quietly to himself.

He nodded at you. “My name is Yone.”

Yone grabbed a bamboo stick (where did he even get that from?) and tossed it your way, visibly pleased when you managed to catch it with ease.

“Well, then, let us begin.”

—

You developed a new routine since you started training with Yone.

In the morning, you took care of the temple, which you said was ‘good as new.’ In the afternoon, you helped the apothecary with preparing medicine. In the evening, when everyone went home, you trained by the riverside with Yone. Then, at night, he walked you home per your request.

For someone who was adamant that they forgot everything, you got familiar with the blades quite easily. You were a quick learner, he noticed. He didn’t understand why you thought so lowly of yourself. He didn’t understand how your family could hate someone like you. From first glance, he knew that you were kind. Stubborn, but a great listener. Thoughtful, quick-witted, and gentle even with those who didn’t treat you the same way.

It had taken a while, but you started to be more confident in yourself as well. You hesitated less. He could see you rising up the ranks in the dojo quickly; you just needed encouragement and practice. It didn’t make sense to him why your father was dead set on restricting you from everything.

No matter, Yone thought. His heart swelled with pride every time he saw you. You didn’t even seem to realise that you were nothing like your family said you were. As much as he wanted you to know that, he wasn’t good with words. On top of his unfamiliarity with comfort or praise, he also didn’t know where his relationship with you stood. You weren’t friends, you weren’t strangers, but you weren’t distant like acquaintances would be. Regardless, he didn’t want to overstep. All he could do was hope that you’d understand him.

Steel clashed against each other as you parried his attacks. Something was different, like you weren’t completely there. He was proven right when he managed to pin you down to the floor, the edge of his sword hovering only a breath away from your neck.

“You faltered,” he said more as a statement than a question. “You can not hesitate in a fight.”

You averted your gaze from his intense stare. Were you afraid of him?

“I’m sorry.”

“We should stop for today.” He smoothly rose to his feet and offered you a hand, helping you up. “Is something wrong? You seem distracted.”

“The festival is tomorrow,” you murmured. “But I’ll be alright.”

“You don’t wish to participate in it,” he finished for you.

You gave him a strained smile. “I can’t. I just… can’t.”

Abruptly, you pulled your hand away from his and squeaked out an apology. He hadn’t noticed they were still joined together, but there was a strange feeling pulling at his chest when you let go. Still, he didn’t say anything, choosing to let the conversation end there. He knew what it was like to lose someone. Rebirth might have changed him, melded him into stone, but some things could break through and get to him.

(He hadn’t known it then, but you were one of them.)

“I’ll… see you tomorrow, then,” you said hesitantly. “I should go back.”

He nodded. “I understand. Get home safe.”

You looked as though you wanted to say something else, lips parted and eyes curious, but you didn’t. Instead, you smiled at him—softer this time, less strained—and left without a word. As you faded into the distance, Yone sighed quietly and sat down on the grass, his swords laid next to him. He didn’t want to take you away from your other responsibilities; he knew fully well that you were quite dutiful as he was. He’d gotten so used to spending evenings with you, training and listening to you talk about whatever was on your mind that your absence felt off.

Though you were sure that you weren’t going to join in the festivities tomorrow, you most likely had to help out somehow. From what you told him about your family, he doubted that they’d leave you alone as well, taking the chance of reuniting with loved ones to look down on you. His lips tugged into a frown. Feelings weren’t exactly his strong suit since his new life began, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t understand how you would feel.

The breeze caressed his skin, taking him in its cold embrace. The drop in temperature didn’t bother him. It never had, really. He was more than used to how inconsistent the Ionian climate could get. So what was this weariness and uneasiness clouding his mind? Lingering somewhere between life and death, feelings were the least of his concerns, but he didn’t like what it was doing to him as he thought about you.

He stared at the moon’s reflection in the river. It did the same thing not long ago when you sat together and talked to him about your fondest memories. It was the first time you were so open with him. He listened to your stories, your laughter and the bittersweet tinge in your voice.

He saw a spirit walking hand-in-hand with another person somewhere not too far from where he was. A festival meant for reuniting with their loved ones, the only chance spirits and humans got to see each other again. He didn’t have anyone to visit—even if he did, he doubted he could bring himself to face someone he had failed years ago.

His thoughts wandered back to you and what you told him about your grandparents. It was a relief to find out that they never changed even after the war, having stayed the same loving people until their end. A thought popped into his head. If he could just find them—no, he could.

He knew their names. He knew them.

He wasn’t a magic user, but he was confident in his ability to search. Reinvigorated, he grabbed his swords and got up. Pondering under the stars would have to wait, he had a mission to do.

The only advantage to being something he was, Yone thought, was that fatigue was never an issue. He traversed through the plains, made his way up the hill, taking every twist and turn he could think of. Not wanting to risk being seen by civilians—he wasn’t exactly unaware of how… appalling he looked—he stayed in the shadows, hiding in the darkness. After what seemed like a few hours, he finally spotted the silhouettes of your grandparents, distant but familiar.

“Yone? Is that you?” your grandfather said in disbelief, his tone still full of the same joy it had whenever he spoke to Yone and his brother. His eyes crinkled as he beamed at the younger man. “I haven’t seen you in… in years! You’ve changed!”

Your grandmother was less boisterous, though it was clear she felt happy to see him as well. Upon taking a proper look at him, her face fell, and she approached him with a concerned expression.

“It’s far too early for you to be like this,” she sighed. Yone wanted to argue that he wasn’t exactly young anymore, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. “What happened?”

“It… is a long story,” Yone replied, his voice lacking the same strength and volume it had earlier in the day. Grief was such a fickle thing. He’d feel nothing one moment and everything in the next. He didn’t mourn himself, never had nor did he ever think it was necessary, but he did regret. Regretted being unable to protect his family, regretted being unable to protect your family. The curse laid upon him gave him the chance to atone, and even then, it never eased the chains wrapped around his soul.

He shook his head, pushing the thoughts aside. “I have a favour to ask of you.”

—

Yone was acting suspiciously.

To start, when you arrived at the clearing of the forest you usually trained with him, he wasn’t there. You didn’t know how long you waited until he arrived, offhandedly apologising for his tardiness. The sky had already faded into dark shades of blue, the sun nowhere to be seen and replaced with the moon peeking over the horizon. It might have been immature of you to scold him while being as huffy as a petulant child, but he didn’t seem to mind.

The day didn’t start out well for you, to say the least. The only things spoken around town were how excited people were to see their late relatives again and how much they looked forward to spending time with them for the next three days. It wasn’t like you wanted to feel bitter about it all. You were glad on their behalf, but the feeling of being the odd one wasn’t something you could control that easily. You wanted to be able to experience the same magic and happiness the others did.

As if that wasn’t enough, a councillor—likely the same one you overheard that time—left you a letter summoning you to a meeting the same night. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve kept that in mind and made sure you arrived in time. But you knew what it was going to be about. You were already in a loveless family. A loveless marriage wouldn’t make your life better and the only one benefiting from it was your father. You didn’t exactly like being spiteful (it’s a sin, a monk would say) but there was nothing wrong with it if they deserved it, was there? You ripped the paper to shreds, threw it out somewhere you couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter as long as you got rid of it.

There were a lot of things to be angry about, like how irritating it was to still be under your father’s control as an adult, or how they all never broke their habit of speaking as though you weren’t there. It didn’t mean you liked being angry. You weren’t built for such aggression.

You shook your head. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about this.

“You’re late.” You didn’t mean to say it as whiny as you did. Overly aware of how you sounded, you looked away from Yone and crossed your arms over your chest, ignoring whatever reaction he had to it. “I’ve been here for hours.”

“I’m sorry. I… had something to attend to,” he said. “I have something to show you. Follow me.”

Without realising it, you pouted. “And you have the nerve to boss me around…”

Yone’s silence made you begrudgingly glance at him again. He looked anxious, which was a surprise—you always saw him so calm and collected. It was… concerning. You sighed. He didn’t seem like he meant to leave you waiting for so long. Heaving out a quiet sigh, at last, you relented.

“Fine. Lead the way.”

The walk was quiet. You had a bunch of questions in your mind, both from curiosity and a bit of pettiness you had left. He deftly navigated through the woods, turning back once in a while to see if you were still following him. It was dark, almost as dark as it had been when you met him in that storm for the first time, but you weren’t as afraid anymore, either. You couldn’t describe it. Something about him felt safe. It could be that it was because he saved you from death and helped you become stronger. You didn’t think that was it, though.

You caught up to him, now walking beside him rather than behind. “Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer. You huffed. Fine.

But you couldn’t stay annoyed for long. You found your gaze drifting over to him; the curves of his mask, the clenching of his jaw. How was it possible for someone who scared you so much when you first met to also be someone who you’d trust with your life? You knew nothing about him. He was a strange person, impeccable swordsmanship aside. He never spoke about his family or his home. He was familiar with the village like he lived here before, but you’d never seen him. Just who was he?

Yone led you to a cliffside. The trek—how wasn’t he tired?—felt worth it in the end when you saw the night sky. The crescent moon smiled at you from her place among the scattered stars, sparkling and glowing brightly on what would normally be pitch black. A hand was placed on the small of your back, taking you by surprise and making your breath hitch before you relaxed. It was just him.

“I brought you a gift,” he said plainly. You narrowed your eyes at him. He didn’t look like he was one for gifts, but who were you to decline? It must be a reward or something, or an apology because you were left for hours—

Someone called your name. A familiar voice, one you hadn’t heard in years. You must be imagining it. They were dead, there was no way it could be. Were you so tired that you were imagining things?

“They’ve been waiting for you.” Yone gently pushed you forward. “Go.”

Sceptical as you were, once again, you relented.

The figures were clearer the closer you approached. You recognised the clothes, the voices—was this a prank? Would someone like Yone play such a cruel joke?

“You’ve grown so much,” came the voice of your grandmother, laced with a tenderness you’d recognise from anywhere.

“How…” you trailed off. Your grandparents stood in front of you, happiness radiating off of them in waves as they walked your way. You didn’t know what to think, what to feel. Weren’t they supposed to be dead? Were you hallucinating? “I don’t understand…”

“It’s us, kiddo.” Your grandfather placed a hand on your head, ruffling your hair affectionately. It was cold, but it felt real, too real. “We came to see you.”

You fell apart. Tears sprung to your eyes as you fell into their arms, broken sentences and wailing leaving you at its will. It was real. You didn’t understand it. You weren’t supposed to be able to see them, to see spirits—you didn’t have that gift, your father always made sure you knew that. So how was this possible? How could you see them, touch them, feel them?

“We tried to come find you every year,” your grandmother spoke, her voice as soft as a whisper. “But we—we couldn’t come in. The estate, it’s… locked away from us.”

“You left me,” you snivelled, “you left me here—you…”

You didn’t know what you were saying anymore. Giving up on trying to voice your thoughts, you kept crying until you grew weary, the devastated weeping gradually dissolving into shaky breaths. You felt her hand on the top of your head, lovingly smoothing down your hair as she hummed the tune she always sang to you when you were young. Your grandfather leaned down to press a kiss to your temple, chuckling under his breath—they were as overjoyed as you were.

“We can’t stay for long,” he murmured. “But we really wanted to see you. That young man helped us. Quite the man you’ve found, hm?”

“He’s just a friend,” you grumbled. As cross as you were with him earlier, you were thankful that he’d done this for you. There were many unanswered questions you had lingering in the back of your mind, but those weren’t that important anymore, you thought. Finally pulling away, you smiled for the first time that night. “I missed you.”

“We missed you too, sweetheart.” Your grandmother returned the gesture, brushing your stray tears away with her thumbs. “Why don’t you come sit with us, tell us what you’ve been up to?”

As you followed them, you turned to look back at Yone, mouthing ‘thank you’ with another smile. He nodded. You learned to pick up on his cues in the past month you spent with him, so you knew what he meant. You’re welcome. He wasn’t the best with words, preferring to let his actions speak for themselves. You wondered if he knew how important this was, how you’d always remember his kindness.

Lost in conversation with your loved ones, you missed how Yone’s stern expression melted into fondness as he watched the scene, the corners of his lips curling up just the slightest. It was the happiest he’d ever seen you.

(And it was the moment he knew—he’d do whatever it took to protect your smile.)

—

Existing somewhere in a plane between life and death, Yone spent his days on autopilot with only one goal in mind. Cursed for as long as his afterlife would last by the azakana, he’d continue to hunt them down one by one until there was nothing left. He saw his ‘life’ differently, ‘felt’ differently.

Bound to the world of the living, denied the peace of death, as he used to say. Time was no longer so important to him now that he became what he was. It passed as it willed, and he would only follow until it was over—assuming it would ever be. Yone didn’t care—or rather, he just tried not to think—about the state of life, the meaning of his existence. If he was bound to duty, at least he’d try to accomplish this one, unlike what he failed in his youth.

He should have left Ionia when he killed the last azakana in that temple. But more and more showed up every day, dangerously close to where you lived, and he knew that they would come find you again eventually. Deciding to take your request wasn’t an impulsive decision. He found your determination admirable even with the chains that held you back. It reminded him of who he had been. Who he craved to be once again. He tried to keep himself distant, staying within the boundary of just a kind stranger, but before he knew it, he found himself feeling tethered to you.

You weren’t just someone he saved. You were someone he had grown increasingly fond of. Yone knew you were kind, that you had a lot of love to give even to those who didn’t deserve it. He believed in his ability to predict what would happen, to adapt to sudden changes, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the whirlwind that was you.

For the first time in years, he felt alive, and it was all because of you. Your smile, your voice, the way you’d playfully talked back to him, the way you were always concerned for him. That much still held true as he sat beside you on a hill, his gaze focused on you over the sunrise you meant to show him.

He didn’t expect you to invite him to something that could be seen as so intimate. He didn’t expect himself to agree without a second thought either. He prided himself on being someone who always thought before he did anything, but something about you had him caving into his whims more frequently. He’d find that irritating if he was the same young man he used to be, but he didn’t. If he was bold enough, maybe he’d go as far as to admit that he liked how you made him feel.

It seemed his gift for you had changed you overnight. You weren’t mad at him anymore; if anything, you seemed to be more gentle with him. Like you saw him differently. He didn’t want to assume you did—that would be unfair to you.

This was what made it difficult for him to leave.

He couldn’t stay here for long. Fate would guide him to other places, more obscure and dangerous, and as much as he felt like he overstayed his welcome with you, he didn’t want to go. He didn’t know if he’d get the chance to see you again, to talk to you again. Getting attached to what could be temporary wasn’t a smart idea—he knew that. But for once, he wanted to let himself live again.

Seeing your face fall when he told you about his imminent departure was, perhaps, the worst he ever felt. He lived through countless battles; the scars on his hands proved that. He didn’t lose his senses even with his state of being a ‘ghost’ of sorts. He still felt the sting of a cut, the aches in his muscles after exerting himself. Emotions, on the other hand, were more complicated. Growing up with his brother, he had to be stern, calm and confident. He had to be assertive. He had to be strong.

With you, he could let all of that go. He wouldn’t lose his habits, he didn’t want to, but with you, he could let his guard down.

“Yone?” you broke the silence. He blinked, suddenly overly aware that he had been staring at you like a fool in love. Maybe he was. “Are you alright?”

“I am. I’m sorry for worrying you,” he responded. “I was only… thinking of the future.”

“You’re leaving soon, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

You went silent. He frowned, wondering if he should’ve kept it a secret after all. He didn’t want to hurt you. He never did.

“Well, if you decide to come back here one day,” you said, reaching for his hand. Your skin felt warm against his own. “Just know that I’ll be here waiting for you.”

Yone felt like time and the world stopped for him.

“I know I’m a lot to handle.” He didn’t think you were. Still, he didn’t interrupt, letting you speak your mind. “And I know this is just some favour, but you know… I’ve grown pretty fond of you. I’d be sad if you left without telling me.”

Your tone was lighthearted, playing off your words as if they were only a joke in case he didn’t feel the same. He felt warm—the warmest he’d ever been—and he was never one to be timid, but you always managed to bring that out of him with ease.

Yone said your name. You hummed, urging him to continue.

“You should be proud of yourself,” he said. The words felt unfamiliar to him, foreign, but he needed you to know. “Like I am of you.”

You smiled. He wanted to engrave this sight into his memory, make it something he would never forget. You teasingly nudged him with your elbow, giggles leaving your throat as you replied without missing a beat, “So you’ve grown fond of me too, huh?”

This was the most casual you had ever been with him. It was a nice change, he thought, one that he really liked. In a matter of a few weeks, you’d gone from a meek, terrified person into someone confident and much happier than you were when he first met you.

“I have, indeed,” he replied. Perhaps more than I should.

With another chuckle, you fell back into a silence that was tranquil this time, more comfortable. He wondered if it was obvious that he was staring at you—he was trying not to be, but he was always told his gaze was intense. It didn’t seem to be an issue with you. Sighing in contentment, he let his eyes wander back to the sunrise before him. The last day of the Spirit Blossom was fast approaching, which meant that you’d once again find yourself in a busy schedule. But he didn’t have to think about that, so he stopped. Instead, he let himself indulge in this rare moment with you, thinking of nothing but how much things have changed. How much he has changed.

You never let go of his hand. Neither did he.

—

“Will you be going back too? To the spirit world?”

He did say he would be leaving, after all. You weren’t really sure what you’d do if he left. His presence had become something you were accustomed to. Since the moment he found you again in the forest, your routine seemed to have more and more of him. It would feel odd, having something you were so used to just disappear so suddenly. You knew you’d get over it, but you didn’t want to.

“I’ll be staying in the human world,” he said, “only elsewhere.”

A selfish part of you wanted him to stay. You liked having him around. With him, you could forget all about the people who shunned you. Your initial lack of strength or inability to use magic never bothered him; he saw you for who you were, treated you like any person should be treated. You weren’t lying when you told him that you’ve grown fond of him—you truly did.

No, you didn’t want him to leave. But he had to.

“I see,” you whispered. “I guess this is goodbye, then.”

The longer he took to reply, the more anxious you became. The familiar stinging of your nose and the watering of your eyes had you trying to hide your face from him. You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry. A quiet whimper was all you let slip before you held back the onslaught of tears. You didn’t want him to think you were strange. Someone who got more attached to him than they should’ve. Someone lonely, desperate for company.

“Would you like to join me?”

Even with his mask on, you could still feel Yone’s gaze on you.

“What?” you echoed dumbly. You must’ve misheard him. You could’ve sworn you just saw his lips twitch like he was amused by something. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve said before that the only thing stopping you from leaving was your fear,” he continued. “You’ve become stronger. You fight well, by yourself and by my side. We might also be able to find your mother if we travel together. And, I…”

He trailed off, seemingly to collect his thoughts before he added, quieter, “I enjoy being with you.”

Flustered, you couldn’t say a word. It took a while before you could properly process what he said.

“You mean…”

“Yes. I’d like you to come with me.” He cleared his throat, hesitating as if he was nervous. “You can decline if you’d—”

Yone was cut off by you tackling him into a hug, nearly sending him falling backwards had he been unable to keep his balance. You buried your face in his neck, smiling against his skin before you pulled away to properly look at him. Seeing how close you were made your eyes widened, and you were about to pull away before he leaned down to kiss you softly, which you melted into with ease.

Hesitantly, he pulled away. You could’ve sworn he was blushing. “I assume that’s a yes…?”

“You already know what I meant, Yone.” You grinned, unable to resist the urge to tease him. “You just want me to say it.”

“Well, it… would confirm my thoughts.”

“Of course, it’s a yes!”

“I must warn you it won’t be easy,” he hesitated, giving you another chance to say no. Like he couldn’t believe that you wanted to join him. “So if you don’t want to come, you don’t have to… Why are you laughing?”

“I mean it, you old fool,” you teased.

“Old fool—”

“I would love to come with you.” You curled into his side, laying your head on his shoulder as you watched the river flow in front of you. “I’m not scared anymore. I have you.”

Yone pulled you closer, leaving a ghost of a kiss on the crown of your head. “And I have you.”

It felt like something straight out of a fairytale. You were going to leave this wicked place with someone you fell in love with. You couldn’t believe it was happening, but it was, and your heart raced, not out of fear but out of excitement.

You couldn’t wait for the adventures you’d have together.

[f1shart]

i am Hearing you Out on Tankbalt. me and bro when we're traumatized teens forced to carry the curse of being too much like our parents and not enough at the same time. please go on

EVERYTHING TANKBALT HAS IN COMMON

rambling under the cut. aha

both the oldest brother with two younger siblings and are the strongest out of them (IGNORING TANK'S 0 BODY POINTS) - you could say they take on the protector role

The Anger

both cover their faces

neurodivergent coded. one camouflages and the other masks come the fuck ON

they have one signature color (which are complementary fyi 💚❤️)

both involved in family feuds though the grunt-smith one is much smaller in scale. also they both have a really gay obsession with a boy from their opposing clan

dead moms that are a key factor in their unbridled Rage

on the topic of family, they both also have a male parental figure that has both a heavy overall influence on them and encourages them to partake in the feud (in consort's case you could argue he doesnt actually encourage tybalt to beat the shit out of the monty brothers every day, but he also doesn't effectively stop him or even make an effort to. i say "effectively" as a reference to the scene in r&j where capulet calls him a saucy boy for wanting to deal with romeoSORRY IM SO OBSESSED WITH THAT)

going back to the color thing can i also say how both their colors relate heavily to their family/expectations... tank's green is obviously representative of how buzz expects him to pursue a career in the military and center his whole life around it; meanwhile tybalt's red, often the "Capulet color" in many r&j adaptations, represents his very strong allegiance to his clan and how he's like. the only teen in that town to actually give a fuck about the feud

both are fanonically associated with an animal aka angry pussy and perrito encerrado <3 not to mention that the kitty x puppy type ship dynamic is very popular

both technically come from wealthy families? i'm just being logical here - i KNOW the grunts dont have a super mega amount of cash in their bank like the capps (and those guys are a whole different breed of rich..) but generals make a fuckton of money irl so just imagine the accumulated wealth of wholeass generations of them!! plus, buzz often gets this one chance card that, if you choose correctly, he brings home §50,000. if u get that one make sure to choose to launch a missile at the thingy (asteroid?) btw

what if we dove into fanon real quick..you could sayyy they both have physical signs of their trauma ^_^ for tybalt, it's his burn scars from escaping the fire that killed his parents when he was young and additionally having to save his even younger sisters. for tankernaut there's a couple of things you could argue: 1. his ptosis. i typically depict it as a congenital thing mysef but perhaps it's stress-induced? from my 5-second google search i've concluded that this isn't possible as a permanent affliction but first of all Fuck Realism, secondly it could be a thing that just appears every once in a while when he's reeeally going through it. and 2. his funny bone injury mentioned in gba/ds, presumably obtained on the battlefield. i've also seen tank depicted with more intense scarring (shoutout to my boy mash) but yap yap NEXT POINT?!??

hmmmmm ah. i think my brain juice's all fixzled oit.... hm. both are whi..te...???

both reeeaalllyy gay like fag asf. quite possibly the gayest boys of the sim franchise

TANKBALT GALLERY