#are the 'passageways' to each clan

[ask-warrior-jaypaw]

Jaypaw has now reached the Starpool, what Starclan cats use to enter mortals' dreams. He is the only mortal able to access this pool through his dreams.

The night doesn't last forever. He has four dreams he's able to walk into before the sun rises. A poll will be held for each dream. After he walks in the dreams of four cats, he will wake.

Each of the dreams listed are equally important to the plot, so don't worry about 'wasting' a vote.

[phyx-m]

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 25: Something Wicked This Way Comes

Content warning: Angst, smut, fingering, Sukuna's cocks, private exhibitionism (?).

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

Clown - Switchblade Symphony Slut - Velvet Acid Christ The Space Between - How To Destroy Angels

* * * * *

Chapter 24 | Chapter 26

* * * * *

This is a mistake.

Staring down the first half of the corridor, a heavy weightlessness hums through your body, feeling foolish for choosing this path. You’re certain you’ll lose all sense and topple over at any moment.

But you don’t.

It takes two of Sukuna’s fingers prodding firmly between your shoulder blades to set your feet in motion.

Moving one foot, weight forward, then the other.

One… two… three… four…

You count each step like a chant you’re afraid to forget while your heart slams audibly against your ribcage.

Tonight, the banquet takes place in the main hall of the compound—a vast room that honeycombs into numerous corridors and side passages. More importantly, the main corridor you are about to enter leads directly to it. With everyone already gathered, your entry will not go unnoticed.

Keeping your strides long to maintain some distance from the beast at your back—not that it does much good, as one of his steps easily swallows two of yours. Reaching the bend, you round the corner and stop.

Chaos consumes the thoroughfare. The sight hits you all at once. There are so many people.

Lower-ranking guests and clan members cluster along the edges of the corridor, engaged in drunken conversations or indulging in other pleasures. Some slide open doors, drifting in and out of rooms where muffled sounds of fucking seep into the air, while others wander along the passageway or toward the expansive garden stretching along the perimeter to your right.

All the noise cuts against dusk as a soft murkiness settles over the space. An attendant begins lighting the stone lanterns along the walls, their flames throwing masses of light and shadow and, with it, the earthy scent of smoke.

But it’s the eyes that unnerve you most. There are too many of them, all at once.

Standing at the mouth of the passageway with the King of Curses’ impressive form at your back, garments perfectly matched, and your chin lifted high, your pulse suddenly dips. Gazes swing your way, faces barely hiding the disgust directed at you both. Some hands drop toward the weapons at their sides, fingers twitching. A silent itch they all long to scratch.

You can only imagine what they must want to do to him, your husband…

Suddenly, all the isolation, etiquette, and propriety drilled into you growing up flood your mind, yet here you are, about to—what did he say?

March in there like you own the place.

“I can’t do this...”

Your foot creeps backward, retreating, until your back bumps against the solid wall of Sukuna’s abdomen. His lower hands slide to your hips, holding you firmly in place.

Your heart dips again—but for all the wrong reasons.

“Let’s play a game,” his low, dark voice blows softly into your left ear, prompting you to turn your head slightly. His body curves over your back, bending so close that the ridges of his ruined mask hover beside your cheek, the two red eyes within fixed on you.

“A game?” You clasp your hands together, fidgeting with the soft, new leather gloves he gave you. 

They’re not broken in yet; leather is rare, and you own only one pair. Your fingers trace the spot where the seams feel stiff, picking at the tightly stitched threads.

“A game,” he repeats, grinning—a flash of teeth and canines, the tattoos on his face pulling up with a mischievous smile.

Despite the earlier warning in your mind that screamed wrong, something playful in his tone makes the corners of your mouth attempt to lift slightly. If he’s trying to distract you in this strange and cavalier way, it’s working.

“Let’s see who can collect the most death glares by the time we reach the end of the corridor—you.” The hands engulfing your hips give a tight squeeze. “Or me.”

You huff out a small laugh.

“Easy for you to say. You’re guaranteed to win.”

Looming over every man here, his extra limbs, there’s no way you’re winning. 

“So?” he scoffs.

“Lord Sukuna, the fucking heinous crimes you’ve committed to these people… to my clan. I’m honestly surprised they haven’t rushed you all at once by now.”

The crass tone slips out, and you chew the inside of your cheek, surprised when his smirk only runs further up his mouth. He straightens, and you tip your head back to follow, watching his four eyes widen with a feral look as if he’s savouring that idea.

“Ah, but don’t forget, wife,” he drawls, fingertips tracing slow circles over your hips. “Every man here, despite his hatred, has a measure of respect for me. You, however, are merely a woman—a creature with no purpose beyond the expected. To be bred, bear unsightly humans, grow fat, wither away, and simply die.”

Your face collapses at his words.

Is he provoking me?

Sukuna’s grin widens.

The bastard’s provoking me.

You lift your chin again, eyes fixed straight down the corridor.

“Fine,” you declare, squaring your shoulders, though your feet remain stubbornly rooted in place.

“Well, then.” His lower hands begin to release you, palms turning outward, hands unfurling in a wide gesture that frames you. “Lead the way.”

Pulse hammering uncomfortably, your fingers hook and lift into the hem of your kimono. Then, pulling away from the warmth of Sukuna’s body, you step forward, moving toward the belly of the beast.

Doors pass, people pass, parting for the two of you—or rather, for him. To your right, the garden stretches open, offering a perfect view of the sun sinking below the yew trees, stirring their branches into colours of red. You lose yourself in the sight for a moment, until the first hateful mutterings reach your ears, pulling your gaze forward once more.

“Demon clothed in human skin.”

One point for him.

“Cunting whore.”

There it is—one for you.

Daggered eyes come next, eyebrows raising, corners of mouths twitching. The occasional scoff, a curse uttered under breath.

Almost imperceptibly, Sukuna starts chuckling gleefully from behind, and you can only imagine the sick look on his face.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you murmur quickly over your shoulder.

“I am, actually,” he hums, his heavy footsteps cutting through the jarring noise of the crowd flowing around you. “But we’re still even.”

As you approach the corridor’s midpoint, the gravity of the stares shifts. At first, they flick between you and him, balancing the game. But gradually, more and more eyes focus not on you, but above you.

You’re definitely losing. Thinking otherwise would have been stupid.

But that’s fine.

“Did you know—” Sukuna suddenly begins, voice pitched, drawing more attention, “—that I originally preferred eating your clan’s livers?”

You falter to a stumble. More heads angle and swivel.

“Soft and creamy under my teeth. But over the last seven years, I noticed something peculiar.” There’s a wicked lilt tangling into his tone. “Many I butchered had damaged livers—likely from drinking. Perhaps they drank because they knew I’d be returning, that their time was running out.”

He pauses. Your ears strain, bracing for what you know is coming.

“So, I switched to their hearts instead… did you know, wife, that the heart has an entirely different texture? Firmer, richer. Each beat against my tongue—alive one moment, still the next. It’s a muscle that clings on as if it understands its own end is near. Quite the... intense experience.”

There’s no food in your stomach, but if there was, it would be dripping down the front of your kimono right now.

“You’re fucking vile,” you hiss loudly.

He grabs your shoulder, forcing you to stop and look at him.

“I know, brat,” he growls into your face, leaning close while he digs his thumb into your collarbone. “And I couldn’t care less what these mindless animals think of me. But you do.” He smacks his lips, giving your hair a light tug—taunting you, goading you, something he seems to enjoy. “And it looks like you’re losing right now.”

How can you be losing a game this absurd, in your own home, drawing sharper ire? Well, you know the answer, but still.

“Then I’ll lose gracefully,” you state.

He rolls his eyes at your response.

You push his hand away, inhale deeply, and turn to continue walking.

Step after step, the main hall’s door draws nearer. Inside your gloves, dampness grows as more stares fall on Sukuna. Low and mocking, he starts chuckling viciously to himself.

The last of the sun slips away, plunging the corridor into a deep indigo night as the flames of the stone lanterns sputter and flare, guiding your steps.

Sudden inspiration strikes.

No.

Sukuna keeps laughing.

Fine.

If he wants to force you to endure the scrutiny of this public eye, to shame you and make you embrace the disgust of these people—your people...

Then fuck it.

Trial by fire.

Without hesitation, channelling something your sister might do in moments when she reached for you, you turn sideways, reach back, and slide your gloved left hand into his lower one.

Sukuna’s laughter falls away.

The King of Curses’ hand twitches, his large fingers flexing under yours, and for a heartbeat, there’s only dead weight behind you. 

How is it that he has lavished your cunt twice, yet this feels far scarier than both times combined?

Without daring to look back, you give him a slight tug, your arm stretched between you, and continue forward. He follows, and this time, you can sense he’s walking closer. A quick glance at the wall to your left, where your shadows stretch, confirms it—his head held high as he strides just behind you.

One… three… seven… ten…  

More.

You’re winning now, no longer counting steps but tallying the sharp stares that seem to slice you in half. The corridor seems to narrow, leading you toward a single purpose. You raise your head higher and regal, allowing your face to fall to nothing.

You’ve never felt strong before, never compelling before.

But now...

They can all look at their stupid, useless girl all they want. 

Hooking your arm behind you, you bend it fully, feeling the pull of his as the space between you shrinks.

At last, his fingers relent further, sliding forward in a slow crawl until they wrap around yours, his hand completely engulfing your smaller one. Heat unexpectedly rises to your cheeks as the intimate grasp settles, leaving you feeling consumed.

But fuck, it feels addictive to know you have the power of Sukuna at your back.

Even after the terrible things he said, there’s something unsettling in the simplicity of this moment—a dangerous comfort.

Still, the barrier of your glove keeps the tide of emotions at bay. If you could touch his skin, you think you might be lost entirely.  

Funny how that had been the point of all this. Now, it feels strangely wrong, as though practicality and self-preservation have become distant, forgotten things.

Shaking away the last strands of hair that have fallen across your face, you square your shoulders, ignoring whatever Sukuna might be thinking behind you. You’re shocked he’s even allowing you to do something like this publicly. Maybe he’s deciding how to punish you—but he stays silent.

Then, as his thumb rolls lazily across your knuckles, you begin to doubt it.

More heat crushes into your body.

Don’t look back.

Keep going.

By the time you and Sukuna reach the end of the corridor, the stares no longer divide—they burn into you alone. You allow yourself to grin when you finally reach the main doors, where a waiting attendant bows deeply before carefully sliding them open, revealing the grand hall.

Polished wood and lush cushions. Chatter and the musk of poured sake.

The central space is large and open air with a seamless view of the gardens. Low, dark tables sit in neat rows, where guests and clan members lean forward, eating, drinking, laughing, and talking as though the world beyond this place doesn’t exist.

For now, it hasn’t fully descended into debauchery, but it feels close.

No one acknowledges your entrance, but at the very far end of the room, your father kneels before a screen partition and a table, with Onishi at his left and Yuna positioned off to the side. One by one, their gazes lift. One by one, they find you.

Your sister gives you a secret smile while your father’s eyes sweep over you, lingering too long on where your arm hooks back. The weight of his eyes makes you subconsciously wiggle your fingers loose. Slowly, you slip your hand free from Sukuna’s, even though it feels like neither of you truly wants to let go.

Dangerous. And stupid.

“Lord Sukuna, my Lady, you will be seated here.”

Your eyes retreat, and the attendant gestures to a table tucked into a shadowed alcove at the far end corner of the hall, away from the central bustle, hidden like some inconvenient secret.

Out of sight and out of mind.

Slipping off your footwear, your tabi socks whisper against the floor as you make your way to your seat. Sukuna lowers himself onto a cushion, sitting like a man who caters to no one. His gaze picks apart the room, four eyes ghosting from each individual. One of his fingers taps as if he’s counting something. You step forward and settle beside him, folding your legs neatly beneath you.

The room continues to buzz with a frenzy of noise, though not a single eye turns toward you two. Not that they could—the way you’re positioned leaves you staring at the backs of everyone’s heads.

“So,” you whisper to Sukuna, smoothing out your dark kimono as seasonal food and drink are placed at your lonesome table. “I think I won our game.”

“Mhm.” The sound he makes is more a grunt than a word, followed by a low grumble about cheating.

You fight a smile, then pick up the bottle of sake and pour him a cup. Tonight, you’ve decided not to drink, though it would probably help ease your nerves.

Sliding the cup to Sukuna, you both settle into a quiet rhythm as the night crawls forward, marked by every grating burst of laughter. He continues scanning the room, while you sit, picking at your food, trying to stomach as much of it as possible.

About an hour into the evening, across the room, dark grey eyes, raven hair, and a strikingly handsome face snag your attention.

Zen’in.  

His eyes lock onto yours, narrowing in acknowledgment, and he rises to his feet, making his way over.

“Shit,” you huff under your breath, dropping your chin as if that will somehow deter him. It doesn’t. He’s one of the last people you wish to speak with.

He stops in front of your table, positioning himself squarely between you and Sukuna, the eccentric-looking katana strapped at his side.

“My Lady,” Zen’in bows, his tone perfectly cordial where last time he was threatening you. “It’s lovely to see you again, and so soon.”

Against the side of your face, you feel the weight of one of Sukuna’s eyes boring into you.

“It’s nice to see you as well,” you lie, sitting up straighter and mustering your most charming, although fake, smile.

The dark-haired man smirks faintly.

“I hear your father will be making a decision regarding Lady Yuna’s betrothal this evening.”  

Your posture stiffens. Already? This is the first you’ve heard of it.

He notices your reaction and perks up at that.  

“I have a feeling it will be me,” he adds, the barest hint of a grin tucks into his cheek.  

“What the fuck do you want, Zen’in?” Sukuna drones, his tone flat, as though the entire interaction bores him.

Zen’in’s eyes cut to the King of Curses. 

“Ah, and this must be your husband. My soon-to-be brother-in-law.”

Oh, sweet fuck no.

He offers a deep bow. Sukuna doesn’t respond. Zen’in’s jaw pulses.

A moment of silence passes.  

“You know,” Zen’in begins, his voice light but sharp-edged. “I heard an interesting rumour recently. They say the King of Curses has a taste for women’s kimonos. Surely that can’t be true?”

More silence.

Horrible silence. 

You shift uncomfortably, trying to decide whether you heard him correctly.

Against your better judgment, your eyes flick downward. For the first time, you notice what you hadn’t fully considered until Zen’in’s pointed comment: Sukuna’s robes do bear certain details—wider sleeves, softer cuts.

You feel the briefest of the King of Curses’ energy shift, but only for a moment.

The silence stretches.

Zen’in, finally unnerved by the lack of response, clears his throat and dances his attention back to you.  

“Forgive my curiosity, my Lady. It’s not every day one encounters such a… unique figure.” He gives a slight, condescending bow before turning on his heel and making his way back to join what you assume is the rest of the Zen’in clan.

Once he’s gone, you glance at Sukuna, who watches the man’s retreat. For some reason, before you can stop yourself, your mouth moves.

“Is it true? About… your kimonos?”  

Sukuna rests his right elbow on his knee, shoving his fist against his face.  

“Of course it’s true,” he replies dryly, squinting at you as if you’ve asked something stupid. “These so-called ‘men’s’ robes are sewn for people with fewer limbs and smaller bones. They’re made for bodies the size of children compared to mine.”

“I see,” you mumble, looking away. The sudden urge to move closer to him claws into you, so instead, you focus on studying the room. A safer choice.

Many unfamiliar faces filled the room, mostly men, though a few women stood among them—rare, but present nonetheless. As expected, a retinue of concubines lingered nearby, occasionally joining a group of men for entertainment or sauntering off with one trailing behind.

But movement at the far end of the room, where your family sits, catches your eye, and you lift your chin for a better look.

Your father rises to his feet, followed by Onishi, a few elders, and then your sister. Together, they file through the door at the back left side of the hall. Your gaze follows Yuna’s retreating back.

A thick, uneasy warmth rolls down your spine.

A decision is being made tonight. That must be what they’re doing now—deciding her fate. Her path. Who she will marry. The man who will be adopted into this family and become the next clan lead.

Because of what I did.

A curse from the past that keeps on fucking taking.

Your body tightens, anxiety winding through. You tuck your hands below the table, folding them tightly in your lap to resist the urge to pick at them. But your fingers find a stiff seam on the leather, and you start to scratch at it anyway.

Please let it be someone good.

Please let it be someone good.

Please—

“You’ve gone tense again,” Sukuna states dryly, lifting his cup of sake and taking a slow pull of the liquid.  

From the corner of your left eye, you watch the way his throat works, the ridges of muscle moving as he swallows. As his head tips back, the rose gold of his hair glints, framing his profile in a soft glow. His bottom right eye rolls toward you, catching you mid-study and freezing you in place.

“I’m not,” you lie, hesitating for half a heartbeat before quickly dragging your focus back to the room.

Another pick at the seam.

Your careful gaze flits from the backs of people’s heads to a man drunkenly sloshing sake on the floor, then to a woman whose garment barely conceals her body. Her unfettered black hair falls over her shoulders, partially obscuring the swell of her breasts.

“You are,” Sukuna counters, leaning on his upper left elbow as he angles closer, cutting into your space. Your attention snaps back to him, leaving the room behind.  

“You’re also a shit liar.” 

Arrogant. 

Your mouth presses into a thin line.  

“I am not.”  

He grins as he sets down his cup.  

“You’re right. My apologies,” he says smoothly, pausing just long enough to make your brow furrow. “You’re a fucking terrible liar.”  

You roll your eyes and shift your focus back to the room, attempting to discern which faces belong to what clans. But from the corner of your eye, you catch the movement of Sukuna’s lower right hand.

Boredom seems to have made him bold—or perhaps he simply enjoys pestering you—because his fingertips find the hem of your kimono. He tugs the silk gently into a fold, lets it fall loose, and then repeats the motion as though testing the texture.

A second tug.

Your attention shoots to him, to his hand. You watch as he presses lightly, smoothing out the garment before pinching the fabric between forefinger and thumb, pulling until the hem lifts just enough to reveal a sliver of your ankle.

A prickle of warmth spreads through you.

Turning your head, your eyes find his. He doesn’t meet them right away. Instead, his gaze stays fixed on the fabric, his lips curving into a faint, amused smile as his fingers continue their torment.

A third tug. More this time.

“My Lord,” you murmur, your voice taut with a mix of irritation and something deeper. “You’re giving me a look.”

His head tilts slightly as though feigning confusion.

“What look?”

Just like all those other times. The heated ones, where his eyes reached onto you with a ravenous, hungry intent.

The corner of your kimono shifts, and at last, his fingers slip beneath the silk, brushing against the lining with a heavy slowness, testing how far he might go—whether you’ll stop him or surrender. And he seems to know which because when his red eyes finally lift to meet yours, they’re heavy-lidded.

“This one,” you whisper, the tension in your voice mirroring the tightness pinching your chest. He toys with the fabric again, the barest graze of his knuckles against your skin sending a shiver through you.

“If you notice the look,” he says, his voice dropping into a deep, rough timbre that makes your core clench desperately. “Perhaps you should wonder why you’re drawing it.”

Warm fingertips find the soft curve of your calf, tracing careful patterns that draw a flush to the surface. His crimson orbs burn, pupils darkening with every second.

“My Lord,” you warn in a small voice, trembling as your breath stutters. You feel his hand move to your knee, and slowly, his fingers begin to spiral higher, etching paths along your inner thigh.

Your lungs expand. Your pussy starts to soak itself.

“No one will see,” he murmurs. His touch trails upward—light, soft—the opposite of your racing heartbeat. “They’re all consumed by their own little worlds, while we…” He leans in closer, shielding your view of the room. “…can lose ourselves in ours. One far darker and more pleasurable.”

The knot in your stomach constricts.

Damn him. Why did he have to be so disarmingly charming? It hurt, to be drawn to something so inherently evil and vile.

But you were.

You raise your eyes, and all you see is him. In the confined space of the alcove, he’s completely engulfed and hidden you away using his body.

Unbidden, under all the layers of fabric, you part your knees—a silent invitation meant only for him. For once, it’s not part of some scheme to end his life. This time, it’s because, gods, you want this. You’re burning for it.

The corners of his mouth curve into a devious grin. That look stirs something in you, pulling a smile of your own, feeding your desire, making you want him even more, making more heat pool between your folds.

Without warning, his fingers flex, and he moves. His lower right arm slides around your waist as his hand withdraws from your garment, while his upper hands rise to your shoulders. In one fluid motion, he lifts you, pulling your knees off the floor and guiding you toward him.

The sudden movement collects all your breath, your eyes widening as your weight shifts effortlessly in his grasp. He maneuvers you across him with ease, the layers of your kimono cascading down as he settles you onto his left thigh. Angled slightly, you feel the firm balance of his hold—his upper right hand steady at the small of your back while his lower hands rest possessively on your hips.

Intimate.

Leaning over, his upper left hand reaches for the single lantern resting nearby. You watch as he extinguishes the flame with his fingertips. A soft, spitting hiss echoes, and the alcove is plunged into shadow. His hand returns, replacing the one on your back before it slips into the layers of fabric again.

“There.” He presses the tip of his nose into your hair and inhales deeply, as though you’ve landed exactly where he intended. “Now, focus those eyes on me.”

Looking up into his face, you nudge open your knees, and his hand slips up to your thighs and between. Embarrassment demands you close your legs, but one cruel fingertip lightly traces your soaking folds, and you melt into him.

“So soft,” he mumbles while fixing his stare on your lips and collecting the wetness that pools before dipping into your heat, opening you up fully.

The next breath you pull in is tight, and your teeth find their way to your tongue to stop a moan from slipping out. He smirks, watching your features distort into pleasure.

“Keep all those pretty noises in,” he tuts before pumping in deeper. Your body trembles at the pressure and pleasure. “Or everyone will know how much you actually enjoy having my hands on you.”

If only he knew.

He suddenly pauses as though deep in thought, brow creasing heavily in the dark.

“Or maybe I should. Then everyone will know that you rightfully belong to me and should keep their fucking hands off.” His eyes thin as he twists his finger smoothly, making sure it slides deeper into your pussy. Your mouth falls open on a silent moan that you wish you could let him hear, your head falling toward his chest, making him grunt.

With that, another finger nudges up into your folds, finding and flicking at the nub of your clit once, and you almost lose it. Sliding one gloved hand to his back to fist his kimono, you push the other into your lap. Sukuna’s mouth twitches smugly, eyes following your attempts to keep your face neutral.

“And you’re soaked.” Sliding his finger in and out, the pace is a slow, torturous drag. “All from a look. Pathetic.”

You clench your teeth to hold back, body softly arching helplessly against his, trying to close the space.

“Touch my clit again,” you demand softly, words feeling sticky like honey in your throat. Shifting your position closer to his body, you push your face into the fabric of his kimono, heart beating wildly.

And there.

You can smell him faintly—not the cypress, but blood and ash. You inhale. The scent snakes its way down your throat, making you dizzy.

“Please…” Your soft voice muffles into his clothing.

Somewhere deep in his chest, he growls, the sound vibrating into your body.

“It’s interesting that you think you can tell me what to do, wife,” he hisses against your hair, ignoring your plea and shoving a second finger up inside your wet cunt before sliding them both in and out.

Hypnotic and enthralling, you feel everything, the pressure he applies, how deep he sinks all the way to the knuckles. Tight.

“F-ffuck,” you exhale, lifting your hazy gaze to his face. He tips his head, peering down at you with a lustful look in his eyes.

The two of you stare into each other, your lips parting—his following in response. You breathe in unison, so close, watching each other. Just as he said, you’re lost in your own world because the room fades entirely from your mind. The intimacy is intoxicating, and whatever this thing is between you feels like the only thing that matters—the only thing you want.

“More,” you mouth quietly, wanting to toss your head back, fold into him and cry out. But you can’t, so you start to move your hips, a soft back and forth, seeking out the pleasure, your pussy clenching around his plunging fingers.

“That’s it.” His lower hands, gripping your waist, both tightens and begins to guide you, pulling you along his thigh. “You missed this, didn’t you?”

“Yes, my Lord,” you say breathlessly, nodding and rolling your head.

You could get used to being touched like this. No longer shying away but swallowing it down greedily while you can. Gluttonous. Yet somehow, it’s not enough.

“Touch me more.”

There’s another vibration in his chest, more animalistic.

“Sick little slut, fucking look at you!” he hisses quietly as he continues to slide his fingers inside your tight hole, moving faster and harder so it soaks the inside of your shaking thighs. Mouth at your ear, his tongue flirts with it, then licks its curve only to graze a canine against it after. You moan a little louder. The soles of your feet tingle with heat rising into your face, and nervously, you peel your eyes away, dipping your chin back over your left shoulder.

No one is looking at the alcove, the debauchery finally settling in the room. A drunken hum, a clouded feeling that settles on your aroused mind. So you keep moving, keep grinding, feeling the way he finger fucks you, the layers of your kimono, the table, the dark, all hiding your hips and everything the two of you are exploring.

Sukuna gives you a nudge of your jaw, guiding your attention back to him, and on a backwards roll along his thigh, your ass pokes and presses into hardness.

You still.

Sukuna’s mouth curls into a wicked smile, and on a thrust in then out of your pussy, his fingers stop, only to lightly trace against your dripping seam, dragging and coating your juices messy and all over.

Gaze falling into his lap, you realize he’s aroused. You feel your softness pressing against the jutting bulge sitting under the fabric of his kimono and hakama. Knowing how hard he is, the knot in your stomach winds tighter.

Not daring a look at his face, you glide a hand up the muscled expanse of his leg towards his cocks. Gods, you need him. You want him, want to see what lies between his thighs and finally, you allow yourself the pleasure of touching your husband for the first time.

Softly, your fingers tease lightly over the curved cloth, hugging the bulge of what you assume to be his upper shaft. It’s rigid and thick.

So thick.

When you make contact, you feel it twitch, and even through the fabric and your gloves, you find the swell of the tip. Making an exploratory pass against it, Sukuna hisses through his teeth, his hips coming up slightly from the cushion.

A thrill rolls through you.

Another slow glide, but this time, you tuck your fingers into the fabric of his garments, only to feel the lower one. Pressing harder, you hear a sound resembling a deep groan get caught in his throat, but he doesn’t allow it to escape. You're about to make another pass when suddenly, he grabs your wrist. Your eyes sweep up to his face, where his gaze narrows over his broad nose.

Your heart thunders inside your chest.

“You don’t seem surprised,” he growls, his chest heaving and swelling.  

Realizing he’s referring to his extra appendage, you shake your head faintly, recalling that day when you first asked about his pleasures. 

“You knew?” Cocking his slitted eyebrow, he releases your wrist.  

You nod this time.

“Women talk,” you reply, trying to suppress a grin. His mouth twists into a rigid pout, looking almost disappointed, and your lopsided smile escapes anyway.  

“Tch. Course they do.” He smacks his lips. The sharp sound makes you instinctively withdraw your hand.

Before you can pull away completely, his upper right hand snatches it again while his lower hands slide to the small of your back, pulling you closer until his abdomen presses firmly against your chest.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” he says, his voice low and pointed a bit of irritation pulling at it.

You watch him, feeling vulnerable in your lack of experience.

His jaw flexes, and slowly, he draws your wrist toward him. His lower left hand moves to pinch the tip of your leather glove. Holding your gaze, he tugs gently, the material sliding over your knuckles before slipping off completely. Your throat tightens as you swallow softly, watching him handle it with care before tossing it on the table.

“Go on, then.” He nudges his chin toward his thighs.

The hand inside your kimono pulls free as he leans back, his upper palms sinking into the cushion. His hips shift upward, presenting a deliberate invitation of where his cocks are, while his lower hands settle firmly on your hips.

“Continue,” he purrs deeply.

So cocky it’s almost charming.

A breath pushes past your lips.

Collecting yourself, your bare fingers trail along the surface of his dark kimono, tracing the fabric until they reach his obi. As your hand brushes against his abdomen, you feel the dips of his muscles, your touch lingering before moving lower—passing where you assume his stomach maw lies—and continuing along the path to his clothed members.

Sukuna shifts his hips again, kimono loosening and allowing you to part the front panels and thread your hand down to his hakama. You wrap your fingers around his upper cock as best you can. It’s big. The heat of it seeps through the fabric and into your palm. You give it a slow, experimental stroke from the base to tip, and he groans gutturally but quietly, dipping his head back in pleasure. And just that noise alone, fuck, you want more. You need to hear him.

You pump again, the same response. His cock twitches.

“Good?” Your cheeks bloom red.

"Yes…” he exhales, control slipping ever so slightly. An upper hand covers yours, guiding your movements, and atop the cushions, his legs widen. “Slower�� but tighter.”

Your hand slows, grip tightening around his shaft while you rub against the fabric. 

What you wouldn’t give to have your bare hand wrapped tightly around his dick, pumping it. Feeling the warmth of his skin, his girth, wanting to trail your tongue up and down just to taste it.

Fuck…

“That’s it, more,” he rasps in throaty breath, rocking up toward you. In response, you’re growing more and more aroused. Your hips move, tilting into his hardness, grinding your pussy into his thigh as you tighten and stroke him.

“Careful,” he breathes through his teeth, nostrils flaring as he squeezes your waist and hand. “Keep doing that, that little swivel of your hips and I’ll drag you out of here and find somewhere dark to sink my cocks deep into you.”

Your breath deepens at the thought—the fullness that would come with it, with having him and him having you in that way.

He leans back and watches your face as your mind turns over the idea, picturing it, examining it, longing for it.

“You want that… don’t you?” His smirk widens. “Is that what my wife wants?”

“Maybe…”

He arches his eyebrow, and the air between you sharpens.

“Maybe?” he spits harshly. “Maybe you’ll finally give me the truth. Unless you’d rather, I take care of that lying mouth of yours.”

“Yes,” you admit hastily.

“Hm,” he grunts, “so you do want to feel the weight of me as I fuck your tight ass and cunt at the same time?”

At the same time.

You wet your lips, his eyes following the movement.

“Is that how it works?” you ask quietly, your hand resuming slow strokes, hips rounding in tight circles.

His answer is a feral grin.

“Among other things.”

You start to feel a hot warmth seeping through the fabric where the tips of his cocks are pushing. You run your thumb along it, circling it until his hand on yours urges you to stop. 

You look up.

His face grows serious.

“Last time I had you, I asked you to admit something to me.” His voice grows serious. “Now, I want to hear you say it.”

I want you.

So simple.

That felt like a lifetime ago when his head was between your shaking thighs, mouth on your pussy, your hands on his head preparing to end him.

But now.

"I want you.” Your heart climbs into your throat and grows a second pulse.

So simple.

“Again.” His lower hands slide up your back, fingertips digging to hold you in place as he leans closer. “Tell me again.”

Your chest heaves, almost painfully, as you lean in, mouths so close that you can offer him your breath.

“I want you. I’ve been wanting you,” you urge softly, your body teetering on the edge of madness to please him. “Sukuna, I need you.”

Beneath you, his entire body goes taut and straining. His eyes roam your face, searching, taking in every detail, while his fingers trace the neckline of your kimono.

“There’s my winter flower,” he whispers, his touch moving to tuck a fallen strand of hair gently behind your ear before his face dips close to yours.

The world flickers. You flinch—confused, aware of him, of his words. Cool grass. Night and darkness. The scent of resin and earth. Blood, smoke, and death pressing close.

Then… nothing.

The King of Curses leans in, resting his forehead against yours, inhaling sharply, deeply. All four of his eyes close, then reopen, locking onto yours.

All of a sudden, he grips the back of your neck roughly, forcing you to look at him.

“You have no idea how much I’m going to enjoy ruining you…” he says, his voice calm and threatening, his eyes burrowing painfully into yours.

His grip begins to tighten, becoming uncomfortable. You squirm, and his face darkens.

Wrong.

Your mind screams again.

“I’m going to enjoy watching you while I take everything away, all at once."

Sssfft!

Somehow, you manage to tear yourself away from him.

An attendant slides one of the garden doors shut at the back of the room, then moves to close another.

At the far corner, your family reappears. Yuna trails behind, her head tipped toward the floor, her face stamped in an expression of stone.

Your eyes shift again.

In the opposite corner, Zen’in exits the room, disappearing into one of the dim corridors, his shoulders squared.

Another door rustles.

Something feels wrong.

A third garden door slides shut, and the sound makes you jump.

Your eyes snap back to your sister. She suddenly peels away from your father, dashing out of the room.

The final garden door slides closed, sealing off the world.

“Excuse me, my Lord.” You bunch your hands against Sukuna’s chest and push yourself away, abruptly rising from his lap. Gathering the glove he took off and your hem, you slip away without a glance back, even as you hear his sharp hiss, a command to return.

Stepping into the corridor, you grab your sandals, shove them on and move hurriedly, ignoring everything—even the woman with the long black hair you noticed earlier. She bumps into you almost on purpose, and an afflicting girlish giggle follows.

“Excuse me,” you mutter, not stopping.

You can’t think about her or anything else. Your focus is fixed on the blur of white—your sister’s garment disappearing ahead of you.

Pushing through the doors, you follow her into the darkened garden, both of you falling away from the crowd, deeper into the secluded night.

“Yuna! Wait!” you call, your voice desperate as you try to match her retreating strides, both of you plundering deeper into the shadows.

The scene feels familiar but reversed.

The darkness deepens. The stone path beneath your feet becomes harder to see. You stumble, catching yourself just as Yuna turns. Her face is streaked with makeup smudged by bleeding tears that cut dark lines down her skin.

“What’s happened?” you ask, brow furrowing in concern as you close the distance.

“He’s chosen,” she chokes out, her throat working as if the words are stuck.

You take another step, your sandals clattering against the path.

“Father’s chosen a husband for you,” you say. It’s meant as a question, but it comes out flat, a statement.

Her face falls inward, its weight folding her expression.

“Yes.”

Your stomach twists painfully at her admission. It’s rare to see Yuna like this—panicked, upset. Afraid.

“Is it Zen’in?”

As insufferable as that man is, she had shown interest in him the last time you spoke. If anyone deserved a chance at love, it was her.

She shakes her head, her painted lips trembling.

“Then… who?”

There’s a heartbeat.

It’s gone so quiet out here, the two of you alone.

Her shoulders tremble, drawing inward. She’s shaking.

More dread leaks into your stomach. You take another more cautious step.

“Yuna?” you prompt, your voice softening.

“Onishi.” The name is a hiss as it leaves her mouth.

“What? No!” The words burst out of you as if the air has been knocked from your lungs.

Not him.

Not with him.

She dips her head, eyes becoming lifeless, glassy as fresh tears build and spill over, tracing the lines of those before.

“It’s true,” she whispers, and with a blink, more droplets fall, pattering into her kimono.

Your instinct is immediate. Protective. Comforting. You grip the slope of her shoulders gently, searching her face.

“I don’t want this,” she confesses, her voice breaking. “I can’t marry him. That will trap me here. I’ll never be able to leave.”

Never escape.

Your throat thickens.

“I know... I know you don’t want this.”

She looks at you then all at once. Whatever pain she’s been keeping inside, she allows it to rip free.

“This shouldn’t have happened to us!” she cries, her voice cracking under the weight of her anguish. “You shouldn’t have had to marry that thing in there!” She points toward the compound. “And I shouldn’t have to marry fucking Onishi!”

You’ve never seen her unravel like this before. The perfect facade she always wore is crumbling before your eyes.

She sinks to her knees. You follow her down, huddling close on the cold stones. Your dark kimono presses against the pale fabric of hers as she cries.

“I miss her,” she gasps, strangled and raw.

You know who she’s talking about. You feel her grief. It mirrors your own.

Mother.

“I need her here. She should be here.”

Her voice.

So sad.

So gentle.

So angry.

Every time she looks at you, you think she must see a murderer. Someone who took something she loved. Took it and fucked it all up.

Yuna’s sobs intensify. The cage in your chest tightens, and the tears standing in your eyes fall.

I killed her. I did this.

For a heartbeat, you can’t breathe.

I couldn’t control any of this.

But Yuna’s shaking shoulders snap you back.

But I can stop this. Amend this.

Maybe…

“I can change this,” you state. “I’ll fix this.”

Her red, tear-filled eyes meet yours. Hope and exhaustion tangle in her expression.

Drip, as a tear falls from her eye.

“How?” she sniffs.

You swallow, looking at her, truly looking at her sister to sister.

“I—” The words refuse to leave your mouth. “Don’t make me say it...”

Her lips tremble, an understanding dawning in her soft features before it hardens them.

“No,” she murmurs, shaking her head, disbelief wandering into her face. “You’d unleash him on our own clan?”

Mouth gone dry, you swallow.

“If it’s the only way to save you from this, then yes . Onishi is a fiend, and I won’t let him touch you. It’s our best option—”

“He will kill everyone!”

“Only those who deserve it!” you snap.

Father. Onishi.

You’re certain Ryomen Sukuna would gladly tear apart both. Why he hasn’t done so already, you’re unsure. But persuading him shouldn’t be difficult. The rest of the Kasai clan can be spared. Then, this nightmare would end. Yuna would be safe. You’d both be free. That elusive sense of freedom might finally be within reach—a life wholly your own, something you could touch, grasp, and hold onto.

Yuna sniffs and shifts closer. Her white kimono brushes against the velvety night, her presence fragile yet steady. She takes your hands from her shoulders, clasping them gently before slipping her fingers over your leather gloves. Her touch moves past your sleeves to your forearms, her fingertips pressing firmly into your skin for support.

A pressure.

Deeper than flesh. Deeper than bone.

Her dark lashes tremble over her eyes.

“You cut off one head of the serpent, and another grows in its place. You know as well as I do—it has to be everyone.”

A whisper. Quiet, calm.

The thought lodges in your mind, taking root and spreading, hooking in so deeply it’s impossible to dig out.

“Then—” Your jaw clenches, teeth creaking from the pressure. No. “It shall be everyone.” 

“Then we leave,” she adds softly, “tonight. Just the two of us.”

You nod.

This, at least, you can do—this one thing you can make right. A way to mend what you once shattered.

“Go to the stables. Take a horse and ride west. I’ll meet you,” you whisper, your voice steady, though your heart is anything but.

Yuna’s hands slide upward from your sleeves to cup your face. Her gaze clamps onto yours, not simply looking at you but through you, as if she sees all the fractured pieces you try to keep hidden.

“I’ll finally be able to take care of you, as I should have all along.” Her voice no longer cracks with emotion. It flows as smooth and cold as silk. “Just promise me.” Her fingers press into your cheeks, firm, insistent. “Promise me that after it’s over, you’ll come find me. No matter what.”

You nod.

Kill your clan. Take Ayana. Find Yuna.

“I promise I will.”

She presses harder, indenting her fingertips into your skin.

A pressure, harder this time.

Deeper than flesh. Deeper than bone.

“You will find me after the King of Curses destroys our clan.” Voice low and sweet. “Then you will leave him.”

Leave him.

Your heart stumbles at her words.

“I will.”

Harder.

Her soft mouth twitches into the barest smile, but her grip presses further. Until nails bite, and sting. Until a ringing begins in your ears, rising steadily, like a swarm of insects buzzing. Until the world flickers, memories bleeding through.

Your gloves coming free from your hands.

Your mother’s haunted expression, the trembling in her face as you touched her swollen belly. The ravaging of her body as she slipped into rot.

The moment you took everything from her.

The darkness in the grove. The burning.

Stop!

But the images keep coming.

Sukuna, not as he is now, lowering his head to you, both your bodies drenched in blood, like the mouth of a hungry red flower.

More pressure, not just from her grip, but from something deeper, heavier.

Stop it, stop it, stop it—

Pain buds and grows behind your eyes. Swelling and pushing against your skull until it feels like it might burst. You squeeze your eyelids shut, and tears trace down your cheeks, tapering to your chin before dripping into the folds of your kimono.

You feel sick. So sick. The bile rises, clambering its way into your throat as wetness pools across every groove and curve of your face.

“What’s happening to me?” you choke, curling inward as nausea overtakes you.

“Shh, it’s okay. No more tears, sister.”

Her voice.

So soft.

So gentle.

So persuasive.

You look at her, desperately searching her face for answers. Her jaw flexes, and a bead of hot blood slowly trickles from her nose and traces over her top lip. Her tongue peeks out to lick it away.

More pressure.

Her hand moves through your hair, soothing, and the tears in your eyes dry.

“Sister—”

More.

“Don’t let the past hurt you. Forget it for now. Do what needs to be done. When this is over, find me, and everything will be as it should—with me as—”

“My, my, my. What do we have here?” A male voice interrupts. “Is everything alright, ladies?”

Yuna’s hands slip free from you in an instant. Without a word, she turns away, the blood from her nose staining her pale garment as she walks off.

You suck in a harsh, desperate breath, the confusion scattering what little clarity you have left.

Something—again—is torn away from you.

Do what needs to be done. Because you must stay, you have to do this.

Kill your clan. Take Ayana. Find Yuna.

Blinking, you watch her pale kimono flutter like a quiet apparition in the dark. Her hands tense, rolling into fists, then unfurling as she disappears.

Slowly, you turn your head toward where the voice materialized. A man stands at the garden’s edge, his black hair pulled back, his hands tucked casually into his kimono sleeves. 

Wiping at your face, you step off the path, slipping past him without a word.

“I only asked if all was well, my Lady,” the stranger chuckles, enunciating each beat in his chest. He steps closer to you, threading his hands deeper into his sleeves. “No need for rudeness, but I digress.”

Your gaze shifts between him and the place where Yuna just stood. Sweet and lovely, Yuna. 

Subtly, you incline your chin.

“I apologize, my Lord. I’m fine.” You bow shallowly. “Thank you.”

Turning, you head back toward the main hall, his presence lingering behind you.

“I was disappointed,” he continues, stopping you mid-step as you glance back over your shoulder. “To have missed your wedding. I heard it was quite the event. Do tell your husband I intend to make it up to him soon.”

Your eyes lock briefly with his. For an instant, you catch a glint of silken thread spanning discreetly below his hairline—an illusion you quickly dismiss.

“Well, goodnight, my Lady.” Mouth curving into a smile that spreads bumps down your spine, he turns down the corridor you and Sukuna traversed earlier and without further thought, you’re moving again.

Kill your clan. Take Ayana. Find Yuna.

Heart slamming into your ribs, you move quickly back into the main hall. The raucous laughter and raised voices only heighten the tension in your chest. But despite the noise, the room feels smaller—emptier.

Ignoring the task of removing your footwear, you hurry to the alcove, where Sukuna waits with a rigid posture and a dark expression.

“I must speak with you,” you say quietly, hurriedly.

He arches his eyebrow.

“Then speak.”

You shake your head.

“Not here.” You nudge your chin tentatively to the door. “Outside. Somewhere private.”

Without waiting for his response, you turn and walk away. The heavy tread of his footsteps behind you tells you he’s following.

Kill. Take. Find.

You know where to go.

Gathering your hem, you retrace your steps, pushing past the garden until you reach the limestone barrier. With a firm shove, the gate creaks open, revealing the grove beyond.

You rush to it and wait.

Then, you turn, pace, and turn again.

A breeze tosses your hair.

Under your skin, lies your heartbeat. It pounds loudly, racing up your arms, into your chest, and into your head.

Louder.

Kill. Take. Find.

Too loud.

A twig snaps, sharp as a crack of thunder. Your head jerks toward the sound.

From between the yew trees, Sukuna steps into view, his silhouette rigid against the moonlit backdrop. His presence is dark and cutting, like cloth torn from night.

Red eyes meet yours, and both of you freeze. For a moment, the world stills. 

Here. There’s something you’ve forgotten—a sense of repetition.

His upper right hand twitches. Your gaze jumps to it, the two fingers eager to extend in subtle, restless motion.

A single heartbeat passes.

Then, he steps forward.

“You look like you want something from me,” he murmurs, his face a mask of nothingness.

You hold his stare, watching him as he approaches slowly, cautiously, as though you’re a wild animal poised to bolt.

“Yes, my Lord.” Voice barely steady.

He tilts his chin. The movement is almost lazy.

“Spit it out, then.”

You take a breath and take a step toward him. Your heart crashes into your breastbone.

Say it, and your chance of freedom is ever closer. Say it, and this nightmare can end. Say it, and you can leave him…

“I want you to kill everyone in the Kasai clan. Here, tonight.”

The words sting, a thorny stem poking into your tongue until it’s bleeding.

Silence.

The King of Curses only stares at you—eyes empty, emotionless red stones, mouth twitching, pulling up.

He doesn’t respond.

Your heart beats faster, hammering against your skull, drowning out the grove’s stillness.

More silence.

It’s too much.

“Say something!” you snap, your voice a hiss through gritted teeth.

Still, he doesn’t.

He only stares, red eyes bright.

Then, finally, his grin unfurls, and he hangs back his head toward the night sky and laughs.

* * * * *

🔗 Chapter 26

[blackjackkent]

It's an interesting thing that Rakha has now spent quite a bit of time in several different religious structures - the ruined temple of Selune, the overgrown, gith-hijacked monastery of Lathander, and now the shattered Sharran fortress.

And all of them have been places that are falling apart, broken, corrupted of their original purpose.

Rakha hears her companions speak a lot of religion. Gale is willing to blow himself up for Mystra. Shadowheart centers her life around Shar even while the goddess strikes at her regularly. Vlaakith was Lae'zel's only purpose until it all fell apart. Even Wyll sometimes speaks of the Triad. Religion is clearly very important to a lot of people.

But Rakha doesn't understand it. If she ever followed a god, she has no memory of it. And she can't recall any place of worship that was not cracking at the seams.

As such, she's not overly impressed with anything they find at Grymforge. The architecture is imposing, certainly - and she can see an interesting new tenor to the way the Weave works here, perhaps touched by some particular element of divine magic she isn't familiar with. But the dwarves have taken it over fully; there's nothing here other than rubble and corruption. If they're lucky, it is a route to Moonrise, nothing more.

She does keep her eyes and ears open as they walk through it, though, hoping to pick up any useful information about the Absolutists that might help them in the fight to come. Because there will be a fight. She will destroy this cult at the roots.

Initial data gathering and other shenanigans:

The duergar group is called "Clan Flameshade" and has been capturing local drow spies and making examples of them.

The duergar keep spiders for combat. They're either not well-trained or bred for violence even towards each other, because she watches three of them tear apart a larger one together.

Many of the other dwarves echo the welcoming committee in their disrespect for the True Souls, the Absolutists, and Nere. They're still arseholes, though, as Rakha quickly discovers - particularly in their attitude towards their slaves. (She and her companions briefly discuss trying to ally with the duergar against the Absolutists, but Rakha pretty stubbornly doesn't want to; she dislikes everyone in this place.)

The exception here seems to be the sergeant, a woman named Thrinn, who is (at least based on the comments she overhears) fucking Nere or would like to.

Entertained by this Dark Urge line option when talking to one of the gnome slaves, after he mouthed off at her because he thinks she's another True Soul:

She doesn't really care what the gnome thinks of her but I did have her say this - more for Wyll to hear her say it than anything else.

There's a cask of ale which the slave is using to fill the mugs of the nearby duergar. After some consideration, Rakha - still avoiding combat for the moment at Wyll's request - did dump a container of wyvern poison into it when no one was looking.

She then hung around to watch the next round get served.

The fortress itself has plenty of hidden passageways and alcoves. Rakha and co. are able to find a hidden room full of smokepowder, which Rakha immediately pockets. She remembers how useful it was in dealing with True Soul Gut.

Shadowheart occasionally pipes up with commentary about the Shar worship that used to happen here. Rakha tries to gauge how she feels about seeing the place overrun by duergar, but if she has an opinion, she's not sharing it.

Rakha gets almost completely obliterated in a single turn by the jelly fight in a random sideroom - not because the jellies hit her at all, but because of this wild magic surge. XD

[mundanemoongirl]

WIP Introductions

I’ve been posting about my wips for a while, but I never formally introduced them. So here they are!

Spiritwalker

Genre: YA fantasy, dark fantasy

Tag: spiritwalker wip

Status: Second draft

Triggers: Death, murder, suicide, self-mutilation

Summary

Lady Daron Spiritwalker lives in a world of witches, plague, and war. She is the seemingly perfect heir to her clan and is known across Serenta, the country of witches, for her beauty, intelligence, leadership, and ability to bridge spirits, which only her clan can see and communicate with.

When she is sent to an academy that only the most elite witches attend, she expects a normal education, but instead receives a deadly fortune and discovers secrets within the walls that reshapes the way she sees her world.

Daron is not the type to make friends, but when faced with this problem much bigger than herself, she learns to rely on and even love a group of her schoolmates.

Snippet

Ann Marie, Maya, and I all looked at each other. From their blank faces I could tell that they were just as confused as I was. “What does that mean?” asked Maya. “I presume it means that pressing the hand on the wall opens something. A passageway maybe.” “I already checked the other mosaics and none of them have runes. Who would defile a depiction of our goddess like this?” Ann Marie asked with as much indignation as her soft voice could muster. “There is only one way to find out,” I said, placing my hand atop my goddess’. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Maya asked. “It could be a trap.” “That is why you are here. You know what to do if something happens to me.” I knew how to read the signs. Someone was calling out for a Spiritwalker’s attention, and no matter who it was or how many warnings I received, I was not going to ignore the call. I would be a failure as a primary lady if I did.  The icy tiles warmed beneath my skin, letting me know that I was taking too long. I pushed and the section of wall behind the mosaic shuttered, but I still needed more force. I pressed my other hand to the wall and pushed harder, straining the muscles in my back and shoulders. The wall moved inwards this time, rotating like a cog. When it was just a sliver centered between two gaps, I gestured to Maya. “Are you coming?” The younger witch, ever loyal, followed me into the pitch black that awaited us. The smell of mold slapped me in the face, and I had to resist the urge to cover my nose in order to keep my grip on the wall. I stretched my foot as far as it would go, trying to gauge how far the passage went, but only felt emptiness. This vast, dark, unknown space should have frightened me, but instead I was struck with a strange familiarity. I had been here before—in my dreams.

We Faceless Folk

Genre: Mystery

Tag: we faceless folk wip

Status: First draft

Triggers: Racism, kidnapping

Summary

Rachel is a second-year Black college student and loves nothing more than watching movies from her comfy bed and hanging out with her photogrophy-loving girlfriend, Chinwe. But one day Chinwe goes to a concert and never returns. When Rachel gets no answers from the police and is sure they aren’t even looking, she takes to finding Chinwe herself.

Rachel finds clues in Chinwe’s Instagram and even enlists the help of Chinwe’s unhinged ex girlfriend. In her search, she discovers more about Chinwe than she’s ever known, including where Chinwe’s really from.

Snippet

Sometimes when I lay still long enough for my mind to lose control over where my thoughts roam, and the late summer heat blurs the lines between reality and imagination, I swear I can hear her voice. Her lips just shy of my ear, whispering something unintelligible. I turn to hear her better, but of course she’s not there. Chinwe’s been missing for two weeks. The door clicks as my roommate enters the room. We hardly ever talk. I don’t hate her, and I don’t think she hates me, but she lost interest in me pretty quickly after she discovered I’m a homebody. She’s been talking to me more ever since Chinwe disappeared. Not starting actual conversations, but reminding me of things I needed to do. When she walks in and still sees me in bed when I’m usually heading out the door, she asks, “Don’t you have class soon?” I do, but I don’t want to go. I don’t want to sit in that room that feels too large and yet suffocating with Chinwe’s empty seat next to mine. I groan and run my hands over my braids. Just one class and then I can get out of here. I can do that.

[wingedcupcaketimemachine]

The Mystery of the Barnet Clan Harry Potter x Reader Series

First Year Chapter 5: The Potions Master

Pairing: Harry Potter x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Summary: Harry, (Y/N), and Ron experience their first week at Hogwarts. After a disastrous first potions lesson, and an eventful visit to Hagrid's, Harry's feels even more wary of Snape.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3,283

Story Starts Below Cut

Chapter 1

Chapter 4

Chapter 6

Series Masterlist

Harry Potter Masterlist

Main Masterlist

“There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to the tall kid with the red hair."

"Wearing the glasses?"

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

Whispers followed Harry from the moment he left his dormitory the next day. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at him, or doubled back to pass him in the corridors again, staring. Harry wished they wouldn't, because he was trying to concentrate on finding his way to classes.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Harry was sure the coats of armor could walk.

The ghosts didn't help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Nearly Headless Nick was always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right direction, but Peeves the Poltergeist was worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose, and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!"

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Harry and Ron managed to get on the wrong side of him on their very first morning. Filch found them trying to force their way through a door that unluckily turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. He wouldn't believe they were lost, was sure they were trying to break into it on purpose, and was threatening to lock them in the dungeons when they were rescued by Professor Quirrell, who was passing.

Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-colored creature with bulging, lamp like eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone (except perhaps the Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs. Norris a good kick.

And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the classes themselves. There was a lot more to magic, as Harry quickly found out, than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for.

Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates, and got Emetic the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first class he took the roll call, and when he reached Harry's name he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Harry had been quite right to think she wasn't a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class. "Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said,  "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time.

After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only (Y/N) and Hermione Granger had made any difference to their matches; Professor McGonagall showed the class how they had gone all silver and pointy and gave Hermione and (Y/N) a rare smile.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed this story. For one thing, when Seamus Finnigan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

Harry was very relieved to find out that he wasn't miles behind everyone else. Lots of people had come from Muggle families and, like him, hadn't had any idea that they were witches and wizards. There was so much to learn that even people like Ron didn't have much of a head start.

“I told you, Harry,” said (Y/N) patiently, “Being pure-blood doesn’t make you any better at magic. It’s all about the quality of the witch or wizard themselves.”

Friday was an important day for Harry and Ron. They finally managed to find their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once.

"What have we got today?" Harry asked Ron as he poured sugar on his porridge.

"Double Potions with the Slytherins," said Ron. "Snape's Head of Slytherin House. They say he always favors them -- we'll be able to see if it's true."

"Wish McGonagall favored us, " said Harry. 

(Y/N) nodded in agreement.

Professor McGonagall was head of Gryffindor House, but it hadn't stopped her from giving them a huge pile of homework the day before.

Just then, the mail arrived. Harry had gotten used to this by now, but it had given him a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps.

(Y/N)’s family owl, Ares, flew down towards the Gryffindor with yet another letter from (Y/N)’s parents in his beak. 

(Y/N) appreciated the attention from her parents, but she felt that they were benign a bit over dramatic. She had only been away from home for less than a week.

Harry felt a pang of jealousy every time (Y/N) received yet another letter from her parents. He would give anything to be able to receive mail from his own parents.

Hedwig hadn't brought Harry anything so far. She sometimes flew in to nibble his ear and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the owlery with the other school owls. This morning, however, she fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto Harry's plate. Harry tore it open at once. It said, in a very untidy scrawl:

Dear Harry,

I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three?

I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig.

Hagrid

Harry borrowed Ron's quill, scribbled Yes, please, see you later on the back of the note, and sent Hedwig off again.

It was lucky that Harry had tea with Hagrid to look forward to, because the Potions lesson turned out to be the worst thing that had happened to him so far.

At the start-of-term banquet, Harry had gotten the idea that Professor Snape disliked him. By the end of the first Potions lesson, he knew he'd been wrong. Snape didn't dislike Harry -- he hated him.

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Harry's name.

"Ah, Yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new -- celebrity."

Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word -- like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses.... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death -- if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this little speech. Harry and Ron exchanged looks with (Y/N) with raised eyebrows. Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Powdered root of what to an infusion of what? Harry glanced at Ron, who

looked as stumped as he was, then to (Y/N), who simply shrugged; Hermione's hand had shot into the air.

"I don't know, sir," said Harry.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer.

"Tut, tut -- fame clearly isn't everything."

He ignored Hermione's hand.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat, but Harry didn't have the faintest idea what a bezoar was. He tried not to look at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were shaking with laughter.

"I don't know, sir." 

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" Harry forced himself to keep looking straight into those cold eyes. He had looked through his books at the Dursleys', but did Snape expect him to remember everything in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi?

Snape was still ignoring Hermione's quivering hand.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.

"I don't know," said Harry quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"

A few people laughed; Harry caught Seamus's eye, and Seamus winked.

Snape, however, was not pleased.

"Sit down," he snapped at Hermione. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your

cheek, Potter."

Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils

sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.

"You -- Potter -- why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

This was so unfair that Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Ron kicked him behind their cauldron.

"Don’t push it," he muttered, "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."

As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Harry's mind was racing and his spirits were low. He'd lost two points for Gryffindor in his very first week -- why did Snape hate him so much?

“That Snape’s a real git,” said (Y/N) as the trio walked along the corridor, “Asking you questions like that on the first day? We haven’t even learned anything yet.”

"Cheer up," said Ron, "Snape's always taking points off Fred and George. Can we come and meet Hagrid with you?"

At five to three they left the castle and made their way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.

When Harry knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "Back, Fang -- back."

Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.

"Hang on," he said. "Back, Fang."

He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Ron and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.

"This is Ron and (Y/N)," Harry told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

"Another Weasley, eh?" said Hagrid, glancing at Ron's freckles. I spent half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest."

Hagrid, then, glanced over at (Y/N).

“An’ I know who you are o’ course,” he said, “I remember meeting your parents when they were at Hogwarts. Bloody good witch and wizard, they are.”

The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke their teeth, but Harry and Ron pretended to be enjoying them as they told Hagrid all about their first -lessons. (Y/N) discreetly slid her portion over to Ron, who gave her a swift kick under the table. Fang rested his head on Harry's knee and drooled all over his robes.

The trio was delighted to hear Hagrid call Fitch "that old git."

"An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her -- Fitch puts her up to it."

Harry told Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid, like Ron, told Harry not to worry about it, that Snape liked hardly any of the students.

"But he seemed to really hate me."

"Rubbish!" said Hagrid. "Why should he?"

Yet Harry couldn't help thinking that Hagrid didn't quite meet his eyes when he said that.

"How's yer brother Charlie?" Hagrid asked Ron. "I liked him a lot – great with animals."

Harry wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Ron told Hagrid all about Charlie's work with dragons, Harry picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. (Y/N) read the clipping over his shoulder. It was a cutting from the Daily Prophet:

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.

Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.

"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.

Harry remembered Ron and (Y/N) telling him on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but they hadn't mentioned the date.

"Hagrid!" said Harry, "that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while we were there!"

There was no doubt about it, Hagrid definitely didn't meet Harry's eyes this time. He grunted and offered him another rock cake. Harry read the story again. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied earlier that same day. Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen, if you could call it emptying, taking out that grubby little package. Had that been what the thieves were looking for?

As Harry, (Y/N), and Ron walked back to the castle for dinner, their pockets weighed down with rock cakes they'd been too polite to refuse, Harry thought that none of the lessons he'd had so far had given him as much to think about as tea with Hagrid. Had Hagrid collected that package just in time? Where was it now? And did Hagrid know something about Snape that he didn't want to tell Harry?

[laspocelliere]

Day Ten: Stable

It happened in the night, and no witnesses survived to tell the tale.

The foundations hadn’t been stable since Dalamud, but no one would admit it. The Elders preached their sermons of light and redemption, and the youth snuck into the lower caverns of darkness and debauchery, and not a soul was the wiser to the cracks that had begun to fracture and warp the structures that had taken centuries upon centuries of painstaking craftsmanship to build. Their homes, their communities, their very lives, all nestled safely within the thick stone protection of the mountain, carved carefully within its heart where no one could find nor threaten them.

Until the threat came, at the worst possible moment.

When the ceilings caved in, there was barely time to scream. When the hulking forms of dying dragons slammed like falling gods into the sides of the mountains, the structures couldn’t – wouldn’t – withstand it. Not after the Calamity had fractured them from their very foundations. 

They didn’t stand a chance. Those who lived didn’t suffer long, buried alive beneath the ice and stone and sanctity of the secretive world that had once housed them so well.

When the floors cracked apart and yawned open into a bottomless pit from which there was no return, there was no time to mourn. Lives were lost in an instant, the darkness swallowing whole neighbourhoods without ceremony. There was no time to think, or breathe, or cry. 

There certainly wasn’t time to remember.

If there were, none present would have remembered someone who wasn’t there. A little girl they’d tried their whole lives to ignore, to explain away, to smooth over in their minds. Her sullen eyes and her brooding temper and her curse, her curse, her curse.

If they remembered her, in those last instants, surely it was the curse they remembered the most.

Surely it was her curse that had come to them at last.

They’d thought it had been Dalamud, at first. The Calamity had struck Coerthas with a ferocity that was felt ever afterwards, fire in the sky plunging them into a sentence of eternal ice. They’d clung to each other in the half-light as the red moon fell, whispering prayers and linking arms and taking comfort in the fact that they were there, they were together, they had done their best.

Meanwhile, that strange child had stood alone in the darkness, staring up at the fire above, unblinking and detached. Her fingers had trembled, and her eyes went glassy, and those who saw her swore that she’d coaxed the Calamity down upon them then, as though she’d planned it from her cradle.

Why else would she have left so soon after? Guilt ran through her veins like water. She was no blood of theirs. Not anymore.

Her parents stayed behind, and breathed relief at the loss of her.

Years later, they breathed ash, and dust, and nothing at all, and they didn’t think of her once.

There were no witnesses to explain the destruction. No one left to spread the news of an entire community, lost to the war, alone inside the mountain. Traders found blocked passageways, and assumed they’d simply closed off again, moved on, cloistered further into their ancient beliefs and archaic traditions. 

A pity, they might have said, had they known. A tragedy. Instead, they took their carts and their chocobos away, and thought nothing at all.

In the darkness, one of the last great standing Duskwight clans lay in a silent tomb, forgotten by the world.

Malms away – closer than one might expect – the Warrior of Light drew closed the heavy damask curtains of her rooms in the Fortemps Manor. The window gave her an exceptional view of the mountains she’d been raised and loathed in. Some nights, when the remembering was hard and pressed angry fingerprints across the inside of her skull, seeing the moonlight on the snow was too much to bear. The night watch in Ishgard clanked loudly beyond, and the dragons in the distance screeched their fury at more children lost to man’s spears.

She had no way to know that her entire family was already dead.

In the night, and in the quiet, she extinguished her candle, and went to sleep alone as she’d always done; with no one to miss her, and no one to miss.

[beardedmrbean]

No stake in it, but the fallout 5 discourse is going to be FUUUUUUUN

Oh got a division and ac game anon back to back

Here a dev bts on how they created dc

https://youtu.be/RBnC942-z5g?si=U9ulr2sHruVu1GV1

And here a comparison

https://youtu.be/nnyuWPikWts?si=Mwv19vekC9F0u7rT

Now I asked about the MLK library because I went “huh?” when I was sent to go there as I didn’t know it existed. There also a aero and space museum.

I also learn that division 2 executed the landscape of dc so well that a lot of people who visited, lived, or been there can walk around in game without every look at a map. Now keep in mind this was created to cash in on the looter shooter trend but still impressive

Didn’t we have a lot of museums and tourists traps in dc.

Now got assassin creed

https://x.com/assassinscreed/status/1779962935051202854?s=46

This exhibit make think of the collabs ac red can do with Japanese museums. Of course Ubi already went to the museums (actually I wonder how it feel like how to Japan. Doing exhibits and talk to historians and you need to make sure you don’t break the ndas?)

Now I vaugely knew, but learning about who Naeo historically dad is and the importance of Iga province is to ninja culture and boom they have ninja museum

In red I can totally seeing it (unless the Templars blow it up) the iga Provence being the main hub for the Japanese assassins. And I would have turn into the ultimate parkour experience like you can seeing assassins running atop rooftops, being trained, you can use secret tunnels and passageways

I would also make Ai programs of npc kids who are ninja trainees that you are see being taught or even use the pathways as you do

Oh sorry, now I’m thinking about a sidequest in the ninja village where a trainee (poorly) took something and you track him down and figure out what place he trying to escape out of. Only for you see him as he get out or put something a top of the exit until he admit he does it

He get reprimand, but it to make sure he don’t make the same mistakes when he become a full fledge ninja

Also my kids npcs training thing is meant to show that most ninjas were born and raised into ninja clans hence why it so difficult to learn about the ninjas as it was often family secrets or methods

In fact Naeo being part of a known ninja is probably going to tied her to this

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bansensh%C5%ABkai

TLDR, most ideas and foundations of the Shinobi image we know today is because the Fujibayashi clan created and edited the great ninja book for centuries

Side note I can’t really find a historical painting of Naeo father. Fujibayashi Nagato, hmm Ubisoft probably going to do a collab with the Ninja museum and probably make a model for Nagato

But it will be funny if I see hi res promotional images of nagato used for exhibit

Sorry rambling, please have a discovery tour for red ubi! Because I want to walk around Japan WITHOUT every animal wanting to kill me.

No stake in it, but the fallout 5 discourse is going to be FUUUUUUUN

Ya, never played the games or any of that and I know just enough to stay out of it and watch the fireworks.

They did a good job with the modeling on the DC stuff.

Now I asked about the MLK library because I went “huh?” when I was sent to go there as I didn’t know it existed. There also a aero and space museum.

Air and Space Museum is my fav part of the Smithsonian (shocking I know) managed to make it there a few times and just nerded out each time. Went to a private school through 8th grade and the 8th grade class does a trip to the eastern US namely the stuff in the DC area, Williamsburg, Gettysburg, and DC all that good stuff. I managed to wind up having people not from my school following the little group I was in there because I couldn't shut up about absolutely everything I saw and what it was.

I also learn that division 2 executed the landscape of dc so well that a lot of people who visited, lived, or been there can walk around in game without every look at a map. Now keep in mind this was created to cash in on the looter shooter trend but still impressive Didn’t we have a lot of museums and tourists traps in dc.

Very Impressive, and yes

Haven't been to the Castle, American Art, Anacosta, and the African Art one. US mint does tours we did that and we went to Arlington National Cemetery see the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and Kennedy's grave, I managed permission to wander off with a friend so I could go visit my dad's parents who don't live there's graves.

Side by side in Arlington, they got their spots early, can't get that now.

This looks rad

I would also make Ai programs of npc kids who are ninja trainees that you are see being taught or even use the pathways as you do

I'm having a "revenge of the sith" younglings moment in my head right now, 'Yasuke Sama are we in danger'

TLDR, most ideas and foundations of the Shinobi image we know today is because the Fujibayashi clan created and edited the great ninja book for centuries

Interesting. I always figured the ninja you actually learn about were the ones that weren't good at ninjaing, best spy in the world is one that the only the person that gives them their assignments knows exists.

Side note I can’t really find a historical painting of Naeo father. Fujibayashi Nagato, hmm Ubisoft probably going to do a collab with the Ninja museum and probably make a model for Nagato

Japanese art was never too focused on being photo realistic anyhow so even a good one isn't likely to look like the dude.

But it will be funny if I see hi res promotional images of nagato used for exhibit Sorry rambling, please have a discovery tour for red ubi! Because I want to walk around Japan WITHOUT every animal wanting to kill me.

Should be interesting, and no worries I ramble all the time, even did it with my little personal tangent about DC in this ask, lol

[therxtking]

Well... He really should have seen this one coming.

Challenges and exchanges of power were taken very seriously among the Retchen. So a coup was not only highly dishonorable, but nearly unheard of. Especially when the king was doing a good job and well liked by the masses.

When Gordon first ascended the throne, there was backlash from the Spitzgore clan since they were the displaced royal family. Gordon had fought many of their members in formal duels and had only reaffirmed his position with each match. In diplomatic public voting systems and combat alike. The attempts had died out after roughly five years...

So after another whole decade, surely that was the end. They were much more mellow and still respected by the public, so most of them remained in the palace and in hight positions. Gordon thought they got along civilly enough now. Apparently not. Gordon had been in his own room fixing up a meal when it happened. No less than thirty rats flooded the space and rushed him. Blood and fur flew from blind panic and rage. Despite the element of surprise and great numbers, Gordon put up a hell of a fight. Several dead, many more brutally injured, probably fatal. there were likely only five of them only badly bruised or cut.

But he did go down. And when he did, he kept fighting as they restrained him, gagged him, and hauled him away into one of the palaces secret passageways. No one spoke to him, no one bothered with a villainous monologue, no one dared draw out the moment as he was painfully dragged down the stairs and beaten more on the way, leaving the royal suite covered in blood, fur, and bodies surrounded by the destroyed room and appliances... The attack was far from neat, but it was coordinated and it was fast.

Once below the palace, a wide heavy trail of more blood following, it was much colder. MUCH colder. Frost clung to some rocks and ice formed half the cave, especially around the white running river. Gordon would have been more alarmed if he was more aware of his surroundings through the haze of pain and head damage. The king was pinned down for his legs and tail to be chained to a heavy boulder. It all happened so fast and so violently that he didn't even realize what they were doing before there was a splash, heavy chains snapped tight around him, and he went under...

Gordon hadn't even had time to take a deep breath or close his eyes... The water around him turned red. And his vision went black.

[piltover-sharpshooter]

Abridged Kiramman Family History.

The Lunari of Kir – Targonian Era ( 5000 BN -3000 BN)

The crest of the city of Kir shows two crescent moons in-between the Lunari symbol. The two moons are the Lunari’s signature curved blades, pointing outwards from the symbol to protect it from harm, as well as to imply it was a ‘passageway’ or ‘rest stop’ town to other settlements.

The roots of the Kirammans can be traced back to Targon, in a now forgotten city named Kir, built into the mountain side overlooking a cliff. The city was placed in the middle of the mountain pass, there merchants would get supplies from Shurima which they would then sell to other settlements higher up.

Aside from merchants, the people of Kir also trained proper soldiers and protectors, each group led by a Warrior Priestess as it’s commander, that both protected the caravans or other settlements, since most other Lunari warriors were trained as assassins.

It was a system that worked for a while, though eventually with the increased Solari aggression, the residents were forced into exile, even then being hunted down as they came down the mountain.  Whether by them or the Solari, the city itself was destroyed, leaving little to no trace of its existence.

Kir’man Hunters - Shuriman Era (3000 BN  -1500 BN)

The symbol of the hunters shows two bows and an arrow pointing at the sun. Originally meant to be a disguise for the Kir, the two crescent moons replaced by bows, as well as the arrow pointing at the sun to imply defiance to the Solari, eventually the meaning was lost, instead being replaced by the motto of the hunters wanting to ‘shoot to the stars’.

The survivors of Kir went into hiding in Shurima, the huge Continent sized country big enough to hide them as they scattered across the winds. They created an interconnected network across the desert, its soldiers becoming hunters, the Priestesses becoming leaders of each group.In a few centuries, the Kir’man Hunters as they became known, were a reliable as well as powerful clan of merchants.

It would not last however, as the war with the void then fall of the Shuriman empire (as well as the ramping up of tensions between the Ascended) began to cause problems for trade as the country crumbled around them. Once again, they faced destruction, and many groups of hunters simply were lost to history, some slow and drawn as they tried to survive for as long as they could, others in the blink of an eye.

One particular family managed to survive the fall of Shurima and the oncoming Darkin War, as their ‘station’ was in the port city of Osha Va’Zaun, having being there since it’s inception yet ironically not being as powerful. There, with most of their origins lost as well as a sense of dread from having fallen from grace again, the hunters swore that they’d never again lose their power.

House of Kiramman – Osha Va'Zaun Era (1500 BN -772 AN)

The icon of the House of Kiramman shows two swords across a shuriman sun disc with the family’s initials on it. After the fall of the empire, the Kiramman’s used the image of the Sun Disc to imply prestige, though having the family’s initials on it showed how important they believed themselves to be.

The Kiramman’s had an uphill battle as they tried to secure power as they both lost most of their resources and larger tribe. Nevertheless they managed to climb up the ranks of the merchant families with a unique strategy, they’d not try and outdo them in the fields they were actually strong, instead they’d invest in new inventions, daring entrepreneurs and brand new ideas, and in time simply run out the competition out of business.

This was most often organized by the Family’s Matriarch that led the family like the Priestess once led the soldiers, though now the battlefield was entirely focused in trade. Nevertheless hunting was a part of who they were,  and what used to be done to sell pelts or other items was now instead a hobby, with many trophies ending in their walls.

In the end the Kiramman’s had become one of the main families of Zaun and gained a seat at the council that governed it, gaining a reputation for both being forward thinkers as well philanthropists that would ‘look out for the little guy’, and while mostly a cultivated appearance (and more than one shady business going on behind closed doors) it was true enough that even as the Sungates sank the city to the ground, the Kiramman’s were one of the few council families that actively helped with reconstruction efforts.

Clan Kiramman – Modern Piltover/Zaun (772 AN –  997 AN Current time)

Two keys crossing over the Kiramman initials is the current crest of the clan. The swords were replaced as the family distanced itself with its protection roots, as well as dropping the sundisc as it grew to have more negative connotations. This version of the crest was inspired by the words of one of its most successful Matriarchs ‘The Keys to the future belong to the Kiramman’

As the divide between Piltover and Zaun became more literal, so did the relationship between the Kiramman Clan and zaunites. Having grown large enough to now have one main family as well as other secondary ones, they quietly left the stage of Philanthropy overall aside from a few token efforts and moved to pick up specific inventors and business people , their acclaims also becoming the Clan’s.

If one were to look around the City of Piltover they’d find the Kiramman Crest everywhere, from patents, to buildings, inventions, newspapers and even some vox-films. The main family continues to innovate and amass power, but in truth they could sit on their laurels for a while before they’d begin to be in trouble with the amount of wealth they have.

The Current heir of the main family is Caitlyn Kiramman, who by coincidence or fate, is once again acting as a protector of a city like her ancestors did. She spends the considerable wealth she has to help as many people as she can, through donations or the gear she uses. The outter families allow this as she’s still the next in line, yet they both hope she eventually dies without an heir of her own so they can possibly become the main family, as well as the simple fact that no amount of spending from her could ever damage them in a meaningful way.

Nevertheless, Caitlyn is steadfast in her resolve to help, and perhaps if she does eventually decide to take control of the Clan directly and time to change drastically, she’ll find that often the hardest enemies share a surname.

[lichennose]

ThunderClan territory map! View below for info on the landmarks 

ThunderClan’s territory is thick deciduous forest, with mixed coniferous species near the western border. In the east, the forest thins out into hilly fields, butting up against Moon River. ThunderClan camp lies in an abandoned quarry.

The Sky Oak An ancient oak tree that grows near the lakeshore, its branches reaching high into the sky. Apprentices learn to climb here, as the wide branches and soft, rich grass make for a relatively safe training space. It’s a popular hangout spot in general, especially on hot greenleaf afternoons.

The Mossy Hollow A narrow clearing where moss grows thickly. It’s considered a beginner’s training spot - the open environment allows mentors to see exactly what their apprentices are doing. “Graduating” out of this area is often a mark of pride for aspiring warriors.

Deadfall Ditch Two big trees that fell into a narrow ditch, their branches criss-crossing into a maze. The trees fell long ago and have since been colonized by smaller plants, lichens, and fungi. As opposed to the Mossy Hollow, Deadfall Ditch is considered a difficult training spot, one conquered only by determined fighters - the tangled branches and slippery trunks make for a difficult battle. Apprentices and warriors alike enjoy training here for the extra challenge.

Newt Pond A nice, weedy pond, situated just west of the Old Path. There’s lots of rich foliage and mud. There’s also a low elderberry tree, serving as the clan’s sole source of elderberries - other herbs include sweet woodruff, horsetail, and valerian. Aquatic wildlife flock here as well, and cats may hunt the native frogs and newts when prey is scarce elsewhere. Newt Pond is widely considered one of the territory’s prettiest locations (at least if you enjoy water).

The Abandoned Twoleg Nest / The Herb Garden An abandoned house with a toppled garden wall made out of cobblestone. The house itself is degrading as well, with a collapsed roof, missing windows, and gaping door. The old garden is overgrown but cared for by ThunderClan’s medicine cats, who cultivate rare herbs here; foxglove, ginger, rosemary, poppy, and sage. Ginger and rosemary aren’t found anywhere else in the territory.

The Old Path Once a dirt road, now an overgrown path through the forest. It winds from camp northwards past the abandoned twoleg nest. It’s used as a trail through the woods and for orienting oneself when lost.

The Greenleaf Twolegplace A campsite in the northwest corner of the territory, situated just beyond the scent markers. Twolegs visit during greenleaf - warriors are careful to avoid it during that time. When vacant, cats may sniff around, but it’s considered too dangerous for further exploration. 

Dandelion Glade A nice sunny meadow in the woods, often blanketed by dandelions during the warm seasons. Cats like to come here to sunbathe in greenleaf, making it quite the social spot - it’s deserted other times of year.

Sun-down Hill A hill near the northern border. The land here opens into a little cliff, overlooking the territory - one can sit atop it and see all the way across the lake. It’s considered a beautiful scenic overlook with oft-romantic connotations.

The Lone Ash and the Cave The Cave is just that, a rocky tunnel that twists deep into the earth; its entrance is narrow and marked by a singular ash tree. Unknown to the clans, this cave system connects to the abandoned passageways below WindClan. ThunderClan cats avoid this spot, as they find it frightening or useless, but apprentices might visit to freak each other out.

The Lush Woods A section of mixed deciduous-coniferous forest, widely considered to begin just past Newt Pond and end at Border River. in greenleaf, the variety of foliage attracts many different prey species - in leafbare, birds and squirrels are drawn to the abundance of nuts and seeds. These factors make the lush woods an invaluable hunting ground year-round. Due to its importance, cats avoid cutting through here on patrol, preferring to leave it be and let prey accumulate for later hunting parties.

The Weedy Clearing A long, narrow clearing that runs along the ThunderClan side of Border River. It’s thickly overgrown with water-loving plants. 

Border River The river that separates ThunderClan from the neighboring ShadowClan. Generally difficult to cross, given its rapid current and depth - cats avoid entering it, as even wading a few paces in can expose one to dangerous conditions. It widens and slows a bit near the lake.

Splash-cross Point A shallow spot in Moon River somewhat near the lakeshore, this location is used as a crossing-over point from ThunderClan to WindClan land. ThunderClan cats use it primarily to get to the monthly Gathering.

Moon River The river that separates ThunderClan from WindClan. Its current is slow and meandering, though the water is deep in places. It gets its name for how medicine cats follow it north to the Moonpool (the two bodies of water aren’t connected, however).

[saiilorstars]

☼ Fandom: Harry Potter ☼ No pairings, just fluff and friend stuff ♡ ☼ Summary: She reflects about her best friend Harry Potter and his person. ☼ Taglist: @ocappreciation @arrthurpendragon @anotherunreadblog @maaaaarveeeeel @stareyedplanet @foxesandmagic ☼ Other HP OCs

If you’d like to be a part of this OC’s work/edits, let me know!

She had known him for years and it honestly never ceased to amaze Her the kind of person that Harry Potter was. They were placed in the same House, bunched with the other frightened yet fascinated first years of Hogwarts. And the day that he and Ron Weasley berated another student, Hermione Granger, for her "know-it-all" qualities was the same day they got to know Her.

She scolded them both for being rude and not understanding that all Hermione wanted was friends. Being muggleborn could sometimes put students at a disadvantage in Hogwarts. That part drew Harry in. It was very true. Though a halfblood, he had no clue about the Wizarding World at his 11 years of age. Hermione knew more than him! From there on, they were all friends. Through thick and thin, they were best friends. It was fair to say that they were tangled into each other's lives…

Over the years, She learned to love and laugh at Harry's antics — the ones worth laughing at anyways. Everyone regarded Harry Potter as the Chosen One but what they didn't know is that the 'Chosen One' wasn't actually very keen on getting compliments. Even when he saved Ginny Weasley from Tom Riddle, and he had the whole Weasley clan thanking him at every possible turn, Harry was like a blank statue.

She laughed each time. He was so awkward and shifty even when he deserved the gratitude. He had no idea what to do with them, except blush profusely.

"You say 'you're welcome'," she would tell him after the awkward moment had passed and he returned to the land of the living.

Harry would continue to mutter and mumble about how he didn't need any of that stuff. It's not like he purposely went and saved people. Alright, maybe that one time with Ginny could technically be seen as him purposely saving people but he didn't know if he actually could save people.

"It's dumb luck, is what it is," he retorted constantly. "My whole life is dumb luck." She giggled at him, deciding to leave the conversation at that before things turned grim and he stopped smiling.

There were other moments, however, where things weren't at all grim and those were Her favorite moments with Harry and their friends. The moments were they weren't deciphering complicated riddles and planning on how to take down Voldemort. It was the moments were they were just friends hanging out and bickering and making fun of each other.

One very important thing about the Chosen One, perhaps one of the most important things about him...is that he was sarcastic and a bit of a teaser.

Ron was terrified of spiders and his luck always had him finding them everywhere. Hermione would do him the courtesy of not laughing even when he continued to scream. Harry wasn't as kind.

He laughed, hard. And hearing him laugh, made Her laugh. There were plenty of times where Hermione had smacked both of them for being, in her words, "such rude friends!" but it didn't matter to either of them. She held onto his arm, their heads bumping into each other's as they laughed with their entire bodies. It was funny, especially when Ron jumped onto the couch to escape the spider's wrath.

"You should" — She tried catching her breath — "help him! It's" — still laughing — "he's going to faint!"

Harry eventually untangled his arm out of Hers and got up to go retrieve the spider. He was brave enough to find the spider and pick it up from the ground. "It's not going to bite you, Ron," he said, watching the spider crawl on top of his hand. It was going over his knuckles and so he raised his other hand to create another passageway for the spider.

Ron looked ready to puke. "Get it out!"

"It's a cupboard spider, or Steatoda grossa if you prefer," Harry went on as if his best friend wasn't about to faint. He kept joining his hands to keep the spider from falling. "Must have crawled out. But it's harmless."

"Yeah, the ones you want to really watch out for were the, uh…" She started snapping her fingers trying to remember the name of the spider Harry had told her about just yesterday. "Damn! Harry, what was it called again?"

"Jumping spider," Harry said. Ron squeaked. "They bite you sometimes. It's like a mosquito bite, really, but it can itch and swell. There's some venom in their fangs—"

Ron yelped. "There aren't any here, are there!?"

Hermione looked between Harry and Her, silently reprimanding them for making the situation worse.

Harry had turned his hand over so the spider could crawl on his palm. "They usually make homes in vegetation, wood piles, rocky habitats…" Ron had just sighed with relief when Harry added: "And your sock drawer."

Ron fell behind the couch, and only his legs were left dangling up in sight. Harry's eyes flickered up from the spider, his lips curving into a smirk especially when someone else started laughing.

She had collapsed on the couch, clutching her stomach, laughing her head off. Hermione kept throwing Her glares.

It was one of his finer moments, in Her opinion, but She didn't let it define him. The Chosen One, although sneaky, was still a big softie.

She loved watching Luna Lovegood get that side out of him. It wasn't often Harry could be carefree and if there was one person who knew exactly how to be 'carefree' it was Luna Lovegood. When you were around her, you had no problems in your life.

One evening, Harry returned to the common room sporting an adorable bracelet around his wrist. Ron thought it was funny, and Hermione wasn't a big fan of the odd beads…and even more so that it read 'loony luna'. It was no secret that Hermione was wary of Luna and her personality.

She, however, thought it was cute when Harry explained the reasoning behind the bracelet. It was a friendship bracelet and while his was blue with Luna's name, Luna's was a deep red bracelet with Harry's name on it. The girl was so sweet with the idea. Apparently, she and Harry had gotten together in the Forbidden Forest earlier to feed some of Hagrid's creatures and happened to make the bracelets on a comfy clearing.

"Invite me next time," She told Harry as she admired his bracelet. "They're so cute!"

Harry was bright red with the compliments and, as usual, a frozen statue.

Another softie moment that She was witness of, and this was one of her personal favorites, was when he received gifts. Harry Potter was not used to getting gifts so the day that he did get one, he was a jumbled mess. Sirius was one of those people who constantly sent him gifts and, really, why it was so surprising to Harry She did not understand. Sirius was his godfather, and he had missed countless birthdays and Christmases so of course he would want to make up for them.

Harry had too many presents from him to count now, but Her favorite was when Sirius would send Harry sweaters. They looked hand knitted and were almost always a little bigger than Harry's actual size. And they had that vintage touch to them. When Harry would put them on, he reminded Her of those boys She would see on TV shows from the 80s. Couple those with his messy hair — he was definitely from the 80s. She loved it.

"You can have one, if you'd like," Harry told her one day, "They don't fit in my trunk anymore. Sirius just keeps sending them. Says they're supposed to be like the ones my Dad used to wear."

"Then I will not take any one of them," She replied right back. "They're special. Treasure them. Besides, you're cute in them." Once again, Her compliment left him blank…so she laughed.

One of the moments She also liked, but this one was a secret, is the time she got to spend with Harry alone. It was nothing romantic of the sort, but just the peace he brought with him. And the air of comfort. It was hard being comfortable with anyone and Harry felt that too.

A lot of those moments happened when Hermione and Ron were arguing — usually about something pointless but that's beside the point — and neither Harry nor She wanted to be brought into it. Sometimes they could just get up and walk away but other times Harry had to use the invisibility cloak for their own safety (Hermione Granger was scary when she was mad). Together, they would sneak away and it almost always led them to the Black Lake.

"How long do you think we have to stay away?" She would ask just about every time. They were chucking rocks into the lake.

"My money's on one hour," Harry said, looking at Her with a grin. "Want to bet?"

She laughed. "Maybe. But if Hermione finds out, it was all your idea."

"Deal." Harry chucked a new rock into the lake.

Usually one hour was the safety mark for their return. Together, they would start coming up the lake, joking with each other. For some reason, they both thought it would be hilarious if one of them fell and rolled down to the lake. A stupid game they both indulged in each time they were leaving the lake.

"Get away from me!" She would shove Harry to the side.

Laughing, he would reach out for Her arm and try pulling Her back. She, in turn, would curl Her arm around his and pull him right beside Her. Because if She fell, he would fall with Her too. Together or nothing. That's usually the way their game would end. Their arms curled tightly with each other's as they walked back to the castle.

It was one of those carefree moments She loved too. Harry was always on guard, looking for the next danger that could hurt them. It was why She always tried to sneak in little moments like these. Plus, and this was another secret of hers too, he was not a big fan of constant touch. She understood his reasons. Touch, from his experience, was always done in a brute way. He did not know a gentle touch until he came to Hogwarts and even then he was wary of it.

But not with Her.

And She valued that trust beyond belief. She would never hurt him and he knew that. He trusted Her with his life and She trusted him with Hers. They were, it seemed, tangled in each other's life in the best way.

[serious-tabaxi]

Menoa's Notes: 'Mera' Exploration log 01

This log serves as documentation of reality CK-SS-B0, self-identified as "Mera". Examiner Menoa set out alone to document unusual phenomena, specimens, and possible tradeable cultures in this reality.

Log Begins.

Upon arriving on the world of Mera, i found myself in a small cave. while it wasn't especially dusty in the cave or anything, there was no light whatsoever illuminating the room. quick manascans showed no photoreactive substances, so I lit a magelight to better see my surroundings. the cave was approximately 5 meters by 6 meters by 3 meters; the roof was low enough to touch but in the center required no stooping to not contact. at one end of the cave I saw a passageway; seeing no other exits i went in that direction, stooping to be able to fit. the passageway twisted but went roughly in one direction for 10 meters, during which I began hearing singing from ahead. active stealth prevented me from being noticed, so I investigated, and found a larger cave. inside this cave were a large number of nests, made of metal scrap. the inhabitants of the nests were the source of the music, a group of armadillo-shaped constructs in a semicircle around the passageway I was coming from, singing. the readings of mana of the song were high; the song was some kind of conjuration incantation. my hypothesis is that this is why i ended up in this cave instead of somewhere more open.

Among the constructs was one especially large specimen, being nearly twice the height of the others. it was also singing, though its placement in the semicircle led me to believe it was a leader.

At this point I also noticed that every one of the constructs was slightly different in composition; while they all shared large physical traits(shell, large claws, some kind of firing mechanism at the end of the tail), each individual instance was made of a different combination of chunks of metal carefully assembled together. this observation led me to believe that the method the instances had for growth of new members either required materials that were scarce or that the method was sloppy in some regards, or both.

after observing the group for 5 minutes, i decided to go back, de-cloak, and return visible. upon noticing my presence(presumably hearing my footsteps), the singing was abruptly ceased. the group then waited for me to be visible, then stepped back considerably, waiting until i was within 4 meters before speaking. follows is an approximate transcript, with me labeled M, and the large leader labeled L: L: observation! summoning attempt successful! L: question. who is the summon. M: Hello. I am a traveler, from another place and time. L: analysis. traveler is uncomfortable sharing their name. L: judgement. acceptable given that communication is still possible. L: question. what is the traveler's purpose coming here. M: I am here to explore and document everything I find in this place. L: clarification. is traveler hostile. M: not hostile, i will not fight unless absolutely required to defend myself. L: judgement. optimal. L: question. what information does traveler require. M: for now, i'd like to know what your kind are and more about this world. L: Answer. this clan is of the species Xelmer. Xelmer is a species defined by its size, armored plating, claws, grappling, and speed. L: Continuation. this world is known as 'Mera', and is home primarily to mana-based lifeforms. L: Addendum. traveler's construction is exotic and not understood. L: Question. how was traveler made. M: Primarily built by another, activated by chemical reaction. Mana, while helpful, is not required to keep me alive. L: confusion. how can life persist without mana. M: chemical reactions on many different scales. L: Clarification. where is energy sourced from. M: intake and processing of energy-rich material. L: Confirmation. Understood. L: Question. Is traveler willing and able to help Clan? M: it depends on the required task. L: Clarification: the Clan is shortly going to partially split, a new Ascendant is nearly ready. Clan would like traveler to protect new sector during exploration and searching for new settlement position. M: ...I'm not sure how helpful i'll be, but it is an opportunity to learn more about this world. L: Judgement. Acceptable motives. L: Information. Clan is scheduled to split in 4 hours. Until then, Clan members are to disperse and prepare.

And with that and some clicking, the assembly scattered, most members going to individual nests.

After a little more conversation with the leader(apparently called the Ascendant in Xelmer culture)(documented in Attachment 1), I determined that Xelmer are small and easily taken advantage of alone, and so work together. they are also capable of singing mana into place to cause primarily transmutation magic, though some other types of magic are available as well. however, due to the sparsely placed structure of their many communities, they are unlikely to be a best option for trade.

[piffcreations]

Serena strolled down Diagon Alley in awe. She was making her way to each shop to collect all that she needed for school. In about 2 weeks, Serena would be joining the Second Years as a student at Hogwarts, a school for young witches and wizards to practice and hone their magical abilities. She tried her best to contain her excitement and focus on the task at hand. 

When Serena landed in London, she was told someone would be there to meet her, it did not take her long to find them. There waiting was a rather tall individual with a poorly drawn sign with her name on it, thinking to herself that the sign was rather charming. Serena walked up to him and introduced herself. The rather tall man then  introduced himself as Hagrid. As they made their way to the Leaky Cauldron, a pub in London, Hagrid gave Serena her list of supplies. Serena asked where she could get these everything and Hagrid told her Diagon Alley.Then took the secret passageway at the back of the pub to get to the Alley and Serena jaw dropped at the sight of all the magical shops.

There were so many wizards and witches shopping all over the alley, the different shops looked so fun. Serena wished she could explore everything, this was all so different then New York’s magic scene. Hagrid told her he did have to go pick up some flesh eating slug repellent and that she should start shopping without him. It felt like forever since Serena was trusted to be left alone, the excitement was just building more with every step of this new adventure she was on. 

After a bit, Serena had collected her telescope, phials, and her cauldron. Her next stop was Olivanders’ to get her wand. Walking into the shop, Serena saw wands covering the shelves, ceiling to floor. While she was looking around, she heard a voice call from the back of the shop, saying they would be there in a moment.

Serena continued to look around when the voice revealed themselves to be an elderly man and introduced himself as Olivander. Time had passed and Serena had tried plenty of wands but none seemed to work with her. She started to lose hope that she would ever have a match, that she might have to go back to New York if she couldn't get a wand that would work. Then Olivander spoke to himself, “I wonder.” He walked behind a shelf and came back with a rather dusty box. He  opened it to reveal a 11 ¾ alder wood with a dragon heartstring. Olivander mentioned he did not have many beech wood wands at the moment so he was saving them for special occasions. Beech wood is typically picked by someone who is truly open-minded. With Serena’s background not being in the wizarding world and having met many personalities through the vampire clan she grew up with, maybe this wand will be the one. Serena picked up the wand from the box and nervously gave it a wave. This time nothing broke nor did the wand do anything�� exciting. Thinking this is her best bet, she bought the wand and headed for Flourish and Blotts.

[secretariatess]

Kylin 50

            It was only a matter of days before the materials for the building arrived.  Ofjaet and Jyl went through the village, picking out trustworthy villagers who had skill in building.  Or at the very least, could follow instruction.

            Kylin had partly assumed that he and Rei would’ve moved on, but the project became an all-hands-on-deck kind of situation, and he found himself helping where he was called to while Rei was constantly dealing with disputes, as soldiers came by to watch.

            Though it was an amazing and huge gift from the dryads, it did come with the flaw that the dryads let their imagination with it run wild.  It resulted in a grandiose design, one that was “the simplest I could convince them to get,” as Ofjaet told Kylin.  It would have one giant room that the front doors would open to.  It would have side rooms of varying sizes, some lined with bookshelves.  Stairs would lead to a spacious second floor with a couple of big rooms and rooms with bunks.  If Kylin had to guess, he would have to say that the dryads were inspired by cathedrals and castles, bot of which they had never seen and never understood the purpose of the rooms occupying such buildings.  They had insisted on at least two secret passageways, and several areas where one could hide in the walls.  Each room was to be given elaborate decorations, carved into walls, doors, shelves, sills, and anywhere else a dryad thought it needed something.  Every dryad of the clan had chosen one design motif to be put in the building, which was touching.  But while a good portion of them had put thought into their motif, it was evident that some of the dryads had picked the first thing they could find in their excitement, creating little motifs of twigs, acorns, and spiders.

            On the front doors were to be the design of three cedar trees, a tribute to the dryads who now made the very walls of the building.  The doors were being done by the dryads themselves, to be delivered when they were done.

            Since the center was too big to be made entirely of the dryad wood, only select parts were made by that wood, focusing on the exterior and load bearing walls, and the front doors.

            Its unusual design definitely provoked questions from the villagers, in which the only answer that could be given was a resigned sigh, a shrug of the shoulders, and a “It’s just how dryads are.”

            Despite all the odd requests, progress was made, leaving a giant structure surrounded by the brown and bare ground where a village once stood.  The builders jokingly called it the Castle of the Veil, which evolved into a few crowns being twisted from dried vines.  Anytime someone was deemed “too bossy” without good cause, a crown was placed on his head and he would mockingly be called “Your Majesty” until the crown was removed for someone more fitting.

            Of course, the guidelines for crowning became looser with time, and Kylin found that even simply passing on a message could result in being crowned.  In one morning, he had successfully dodged six crowning attempts.

            Soon, not even the likes of Ofjaet and Rei were safe.  Ofjaet merely passed on the crown with a gracious smile, a “Oh, but I couldn’t, I must abdicate” while gently placing it one the one who attempted to bestow him with it.  Rei went a completely opposite direction.  At first baffled and perhaps a little annoyed, he warmed right up to the joke, and then some.  He appeared to be attempting to collect the crowns, demanding to know the reason one was removed, pointing to his stack if anyone questioned him, and unabashedly wearing them when talking with the soldiers causing problems.

            Unfortunately, Rei’s fun had to come to an end.  He had informed Kylin that he was intending to leave sooner rather later, after he was confident that things could be handled without his constantly telling the soldiers off.  The morning of the day he planned to leave, he strutted around the building area, enjoying his final moments of having the most crowns before passing them off.

            Kylin waited for him as he finished his rounds in the partially done main room.  As he stared in the direction of where he knew the captain to be, he heard above the sounds of construction and stomping about footsteps unlike the rest.  It was not the boots of a Ranger or soldier, or the footwear of the villagers.  It wasn’t even the footwear of the Elves, designed to allow for soft treading.  It was completely foreign to him.

            He twisted around to face where the front entrance of the center was to be.  His assessment that it was someone foreign was correct.

            It was a woman wearing garb he was unfamiliar with.  Considering the symbols embroidered on the fabric, it could be assumed she had connection with the church.  It was at one time a white garment, dirtied by travel- a hooded tunic that reached her knees, slits in the sides to allow freer movement.  She wore matching trousers and undershirt, completed with a gray sash, gloves, and boots with metal tips.  Her hood was up, betraying strands of thick, bushy red hair.  Of her face, only her eyes were exposed, the rest of which was covered by a mask not unsimilar to the ones the Rangers had.

            Her eyes locked with his and she confidently strode forward.  She stopped a couple feet away, head tilted back to continue staring at his face.

            “I came with the hopes of speaking with your captain,” she said.

            Kylin blinked, unable to come up with a single reason why this woman wanted to speak with Rei.  Her accent was reminiscent of the merchants he’d heard who were from other parts of Harlofelp, and while the Veil Villages had churches and followed the religion of Harlofelp, none of them were visited by the more important sects of the religion.  There was little sense in her speaking with anyone from the Veil, let alone the Rangers, who did not deal with merchants beyond ensuring safe travel, nor did the Rangers as a whole impose or decry religion.

            “Who are you?” he asked abruptly.

            “My name is Kendra,” she said nonchalantly.  “I have matters to discuss with him that would impact all of you.”

            He wasn’t about to take her at her word on that, but it wasn’t going to be his problem.  He glanced over to where he could hear Rei and called out to him.  He heard Rei excuse himself and head over to him.

            When he drew closer, Rei opened his mouth to tell Kylin off for being impatient, but Kylin quickly gestured to the woman.

            “She said her name was Kendra,” he explained before Rei could say anything.  “She wanted to talk to you.”

            Rei looked her up and down, eyebrow raised.  “You aren’t from the Veil. What business would someone across the river want with me?”

            “There is quite a lot,” she said.  “Perhaps we could go somewhere a little more private to talk?”

            Rei gave her a look but said nothing as he motioned for her and Kylin to follow him. He brought them to one of the tents set up for sleeping quarters.  He settled himself at the small, flimsy table with folding chairs placed in the center of the tent and littered with playing cards.  Kylin sat next to Rei while Kendra sat opposite them.

            “So, what business do you have that you thought us?” Rei asked again.

            “Thought of?”  She chuckled.  “Involved in. I know you are closely tied with the kidnapping of Prince Selim.”

            Rei narrowed his eyes.  “On whose behalf are you here?”

            “I work for the patriotic organization known as the Myst,” Kendra responded smoothly.  “My interests are for the wellbeing of Harlofelp.”

            Rei lean back. Kylin glanced him, hoping he would have some sort of explanation.  He had never heard of “the Myst”, let alone a group that considered themselves specifically patriotic.

            “The name is familiar,” Rei confessed.  “Don’t your people cause trouble in Chester?”

            “If you had been in Chester, you would understand,” she said dismissively.  “As I said, though, this is about Selim.”

            Rei pursed his lips, waiting for her to continue.

            “Selim has fallen gravely ill,” she said.  “The royal healer, who accompanied the Crown Prince down here, claims a chance of survival, but especially now that he is back at the castle, there is no chance of that.”

            Kylin bit the inside of his lip, forcing back all the thoughts htat flooded his mind.  Especially the ones regarding Amelia.

            “Are you suggesting that the healer intends to kill him?” Rei asked.

            “Unfortunately, we cannot confirm that,” she said.  “We cannot clear him of suspicion, but he may be operating with genuine motive. What we know is that someone does not want Selim to come home. Having failed to prevent that, they do not want him to live.”

            “The king showed little care for him,” Kylin said, confused and annoyed.  “Selim himself told us that. He isn’t even the Crown Prince. Why is he being targeted?”

            Kendra pointed at him as though he had hit on something.  “It is because the king does not care. Selim is the ‘prince of the people,’ the one to rely on. Not because that’s what he actually was, but because making him so put someone in control of the people. The king’s feelings and actions towards Selim are the feelings and actions he takes towards his people.”

            “They want to make him a martyr,” Rei surmised.

            She nodded.  “Precisely. If he dies, the people will blame the king for his inattentiveness, for his lack of care. They will attempt to dethrone him.”

            Rei let out a long sigh, not taking his eyes off Kendra.  After a long pause, “So where do we fit into this?”

            “The king will not go down without a fight,” she answered.  “He will redirect their anger; he will pass on the blame. He will accuse you, the Rangers, of having a hand in his death. He will declare a war on you, and he will not just drive you out of the villages. He will seek to destroy you.”

            Rei leaned forward and carefully placed his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers together and pressing his mouth against them.  Kylin surveyed Kendra, searching for any hint in the exposed part of her face that would betray . . . something.  What, he did not know.  Perhaps a trace of a lie, that what she presented was not as grave.  Kylin could not place himself as a friend of Selim’s, but he certainly did not view him as an enemy and the idea of him being assassinated was wholly unpleasant.  Even more so knowing that Amelia did view him favorably.  On top of that, for his murder to be used as reason to go to war against the Rangers . . . .

            He glanced at Rei, wishing he would say something.

            At long last, Rei said, “And what are we supposed to do about this?”

            “You need to go up and clear your name by healing him,” she said.  “Or at least try. If you do so, the king cannot claim that you intentionally murdered his son.”

            “If we do not succeed? If he dies in our care?”

            “We do not want Masitof as king, understand,” she said.  “But we also do not want unnecessary war. We have people in high places who can help defend you, at the very least in the face of the people. However, if you do not show at all, we have little to support you.”

            “It sounds as though you and those you are claiming to want to martyr Selim have similar goals. How do we know that this was not your plan, but have realized too late what the retaliation will be?”

            “We are not the same,” she stated, almost affronted.  “We do not know who they are, but the information we do have of them makes us uneasy. On the surface, they appear to want to benefit the people, to better their conditions. But the fact that they are willing to so manipulate the very people they want to help, misrepresent someone, and kill him for their sake tells us that the interests of the people are not their end goal.”

            “You work in the shadows also.”

            “Yes, but for the people. We listen to what they say- not tell them what they should believe.”  She folded her arms and it was evident she was frowning behind the mask.  “We are not asking you to fix the situation in Harlofelp for us. However, we share a similar goal in that we do not like certain conditions. Your focus is just mainly the Veil. You would not just be helping us by coming up; you would be protecting the villages from the disaster that will befall them from the king’s retaliation.”

            “My issue here,” Rei said after a pause, “is that you could very well be playing me. That this is a set up, because war is actually your goal and it won’t happen unless you can directly pin the blame on us.”

            Kendra nodded slowly, thinking.

            “You cannot heal Selim yourselves?” Rei questioned.

            “We cannot get close to him,” Kendra said.  “Otherwise, we would. You, however, would have an advantage with your own healer.”

            Rei looked over to Kylin.  “Go find Ofjaet for me.

            Kylin nodded and left.  It did not take him long before he found Ofjaet.  After he showed the diplomat to the tent, he remained outside, deciding it would be better to be reinvited instead of assuming that he was.  Shortly, Kendra stepped out.  They exchanged a glance, but nothing else.  He could hear the two in the tent talking, but blocked out the words by focusing on other conversation nearby.

            For Amelia’s sake, if it were his decision, he would send a party up.  In addition, considering how long they helped keep Selim captive, it felt wrong to ignore him when he was in trouble.

            It was not that simple, however.  Given the king’s dealings with the last person from the Veil who helped his family, having the Rangers show up offering their services was unlikely to yield a favorable reaction.  That besides there was the potential of involving themselves in Harlofelp’s political mess.  A mess they had no part in.

            “You folks building a church?” Kendra asked, breaking the silence between them as she nodded at the center under construction.

            “It’s a community center,” he answered shortly.  He did not particularly care for being friendly towards her at the moment.

            She seemed unfazed by his lack of warmth.  “Fascinating. I would have assumed you would have started with houses. But I suppose this would be better.”

            Kylin said nothing in response.  He was not keen on entertaining a conversation with her.

            Thankfully, he was spared from any other attempts made by her as Rei and Ofjaet exited the tent.

            Kendra looked at them expectantly.

            “After consideration, we will send a group up,” Rei said.

            “Excellent,” was her response.

            “I assume you now have to inform your people,” Rei said.

            “On the contrary. I will be accompanying you up,” she said.  “I know the fastest way up, and it also avoids the potential of meeting anyone who really wants their martyr.”

            “I see You will have to wait. I do not have everyone I was sending here and ready to go.”

            “Certainly. Presuming there is a sense of urgency.”

            Rei replied only with a look.  “Ofjaet, as you were. Kylin, with me. Kendra, we will gather in the sixth village.”

            The dismissal could not be denied.  She paused, a little surprised at the abruptness of it, but decided not to say anything.  Instead, she went on her merry way without even so much as a glance over her shoulder.

            Rei took Kylin to the tree line, well out of earshot of anyone else.  Kylin had a feeling he knew what Rei was about to tell him.

            While he could agree with the decision to save Selim, he certainly did not mean for himself to go.  He had never left the Veil and he had no intention of doing so.

            “I am sending you up,” Rei declared, as Kylin suspected.

            Kylin opened his mouth to object.

            “No, I have a purpose,” Rei said, cutting across him.  “You will be going not just to provide security for those I am also sending, but also because, if the opportunity presents itself, I want you to take Selim on as an apprentice.”

            Rei might as well have punched him in the stomach.  He stared at his captain, the blood draining from his face.

            “You must certainly be joking,” he said weakly.

            “I am not.”  Rei’s face could not have been more serious.

            “I thought you didn’t want him as a Ranger!” Kylin argued.  “After all you said to him?”

            “I was reluctant, yes,” Rei admitted.  “But after careful thought, his joining the battle and carrying his weight, and still have the desire to join- I think that speak volumes. He still has learning to do, but I do not think he is incapable of learning.”

            “And all of this political nonsense?” Kylin aggressively reminded him.  “If one group wants to kill him and his father is feeling particularly unfavorable towards us . . . .”

            “Which is why I said if the opportunity presents itself. Taking Selim out of the equation there does have benefits for us. He cannot be used as a tactic to start war against us. The rest of those groups can figure out politics without him.”

            “So your solution is to have him join us in front of the king?”

            “No one will be able to say that we were trying to kill him,” Rei countered.

            “They’ll have other things to say,” Kylin grumbled.

            Rei dug into one of his pouches and pulled out a copper pin of a bird with its wings folded.  An apprentice pin.  Rei seized Kylin’s wrist and pressed the pin into his hand.

            “You will still need an apprentice,” Rei reminded him.  “As per our agreement. I think someone who isn’t as young will not make you as anxious.”

            Kylin stared at the pin, having his doubts about that.  Selim had shown he could be strong-willed, and if apprenticed, it would mean Kylin would be responsible in keeping him alive.  It was not as good a match as Rei thought.

            “You will be going up with Taileia, who will be able to perform the apprentice vowing.”

            Kylin barley heard him.  He still hadn’t taken his eyes off the pin.

            “You’ll do better than you think,” Rei said reassuringly.             If only that were true.

[etsuven]

you are (y/n): a royal living in the kingdom of aetas*, and the time has finally come for you to choose who to marry. as a way of looking for a future spouse, you begin searching all across the land of teyvat. your parents weren't very picky with who you chose, so it shouldn't have been that hard. but really-

who knew that there were so many men willing to marry you?

Xiao your personal knight. he was appointed to you when you were both young, so you practically grew up together. he was adept at many things: fighting, teaching you how to defend yourself, reading your practiced facial expressions, and of course, protecting you.

ever the stoic person, xiao is the type to stand by you and stay quiet unless you ask him something. he much rather preferred to- as you liked to say, "stand there and look pretty." he always looked at you weird when you said that. after all, he believed that he was just doing his job.

he often found himself shooing away strange people who tried to make moves on you. he claimed time and time again that he was only doing it to keep you safe- and while that may be true, you've begun to think that he's doing it more out of jealousy than his concern for your safety. or maybe he's right and you're just overreacting.

Zhongli the king of the liyue kingdom, and quite a lovely man! you met him a few times in the past in places like royal balls, finding that he was naturally a gentleman. unlike most other people you met, he was respectful with his touches. he always had his hands clasped either in front or behind him, and he only ever touched you when dancing or kissing the back of your hand as a greeting.

he seemed very sweet, but you found that he had quite the extensive knowledge about war tactics. how to plan, where to strike first, how to absolutely obliterate someone in battle... things like that.

zhongli had the tendency to ramble on about things, which was quite handy when you needed something to fall asleep to. you've always tried to keep your eyes open, but they just end up closing on their own. and the next thing you know, you're tucked into your bed. this happens every time you're with zhongli, and you've begun to think that he does this on purpose since it helps you sleep after a particularly stressful day...

Ayato a noble from the inazuma kingdom, and another respected man. you didn't know him very well, so you never really had much to say about him. you had heard rumors that he was an incredibly smart and efficient man, leading his clan at a concerningly young age- and all while taking care of and protecting his younger sister.

you had also heard about how he had survived an assassination attempt from one of the most feared assassins in the land! the assailant was reportedly able to disappear and reappear at will, but the young master managed to outsmart him in the end.

facinating, you thought. maybe you'd be able to learn a thing or two from him.

Thoma one of ayato's guards, and the housekeeper of his manor. along with your parents, you'd visited the inazuma kingdom on a few occasions, and he was the first you noticed. after all, blonde hair and pretty green eyes weren't exactly common in inazuma.

and what a coincidence, you later found out that he was from the same kingdom as your childhood friend!

now, thoma was absolutely the sweetest guy you had ever met. he was kind, hospitable, and he knew the best places in inazuma to eat at. you tried your best to pay for your meals in return for his hospitality, but he never let you. always greeting you with a smile and sending you off with a kiss on your knuckles and a deep bow...

ah, he really is too nice for his own good.

Venti your dear childhood friend. the two of you had known each other since you were babies. he was a tad bit older than you, and since you were both royals, you had plenty of time to bond together. your childhoods were spent running around the castle halls, playing tag in the many passageways that littered the area.

venti always seemed to have a childish wonder to him, and that trait only persisted as the two of you got older. once you began to get swamped with royal duties, venti was always somehow there to provide a stress free environment for you to relax in.

whether it be a picnic in your garden, or a late night walk on the outskirts of your kingdom where you spent most of your time catching blue crystalflies. now, you had to admit- you had quite the crush on him when you were younger. the feelings have faded away by now, but they were quite fun while they lasted...

Kaeya a noble and the son of the late crepus. as he is adopted, he is not the heir of the ragnvindr house. unlike most would think, he doesn't mind it. he spends his free time roaming around the kingdom, making personal connections with people- unlike his dear brother. no offense to him.

you've met kaeya on a few occasions while hanging out with venti (xiao was tagging along, as a personal knight should.) he was often one of the ones shooed away by xiao due to his attempts at flirting with you. kaeya and venti were acquainted as they drank together a lot.

kaeya flirted with almost anyone, so you never knew if his flirting attempts were just his personality or genuine. did his smooth words genuinely fluster you at times? maybe, but we won't get to that now.

Albedo the chief alchemist of your alchemy department. he was very, very smart, and you often found him helping you out with your studies. normally they were quite boring. confusing math and science, sleep inducing reading and history... but with albedo there, everything was calm and fun...

he was patient with you, explaining things carefully and working things out with you if needed. albedo with his pretty hair and pretty glasses and pretty smile...

this meant nothing. you were just a sucker for pretty men.

anyways, albedo was quite the calculative person. he was another person who knew how you were feeling based off of your facial expressions, which was both a blessing and a curse. he knew when you were frustrated with something, which was a sign for him to grab your favorite drinks and snacks and take a break. now, this was something you'd always appreciated about him.

alrighty, here's the cast! keep in mind that not all of these are love interests, they're just the people who made it into the top five (with the exception of thoma and ayato who were guaranteed to be in the fic when i first thought of making something like this.)

these also aren't in any particular order because i didn't want to give away who the endgame was. i just randomized it a bit! you may think that you know who the endgame is based on what i wrote, but you're most likely wrong!

*oh, and the pronunciation for aetas is “ah-aye-tas”

taglist

@frieschan

[innerchorus]

@tired-reader-writer​ Here’s a rough translation of the sad meal that Hilmes cooks for himself in Book 16. NOVEL SPOILERS for major character deaths.

(As always, this is essentially a machine translation edited for readability, so please don’t count on it being 100% accurate!)

‘The rabbit, hit by the arrow fired by Hilmes, abruptly dropped to its stomach among the withered grass.

Hilmes walked over expressionlessly, grabbed the rabbit by its ears and lifted it up, then slit its belly with his short sword and pulled out the internal organs.

A fire had already been lit. The light smoke mingled with the mist, meaning that there was no need to worry about being discovered.

"Food fit for a prince."

Mocking himself, Hilmes pierced the rabbit with a stick and roasted it over the fire, sprinkling it with crumbled rock salt. He thought back to that time more than twenty years ago, when he had escaped from within the raging inferno in Ecbatana through both smoke and flame. Since then, Hilmes's fear of fire had not faded.

Even now that the rabbit was roasting, because there were flames, he verged on wanting to flee. The fact that without fire it was impossible to make a meal or keep oneself warm seemed extremely unfair to Hilmes.

The fire set by Merlaine had been a huge shock to Hilmes. If it were not for that blaze, Hilmes ought to have been able to kill Merlaine, the older brother of that Zot Clan woman, with a single blow.

"Am I going to be afraid of fire until I die?"

As he bit into the rabbit meat, Hilmes ridiculed himself. He thought back to the time he had fought Narsus to the death. At that time, if Narsus had held a torch rather than a sword, Hilmes would have found himself helpless, unable to do anything but run away.

"Ultimately, I’ve ended up in this sorry mess."

After he had finally managed to kill Narsus, the army of New Maryam had nevertheless suffered a complete collapse after being defeated by the Parsian army. Hard though it was to believe, King Guiscard had simply just been killed somehow! That man had surely wanted to live at least until he could reoccupy Ecbatana, undoubtedly planning to use him down to the last drop of blood.

Hilmes pondered this mockingly. Guiscard had obviously come up with the idea back then. The kingdom of Pars could be conquered once more. That loathsome court painter had disappeared from the map, and therefore there was nothing to fear. However...

"Looks like I've added too much salt," Hilmes muttered, spitting out the bones of the rabbit he had eaten. He longed for a glass of wine. For one who coveted the throne of an entire country, it was a somewhat pitiful desire.

The mist gradually dissipated, and Hilmes looked out over the valley and Zabul Fortress. He knew the time was right to invade it, but after wandering outside the fortress perimeter for several days, he had not yet been successful. The secret passageway appeared to have already been sealed off, and the surviving New Maryam troops had completely lost their trust in Hilmes. No matter how weak the soldiers of New Maryam were, with the fortress walls lined with archers ready to fire volleys of arrows, it would be impossible for Hilmes to survive.

Unexpectedly, Hilmes found himself thinking of the cutting remarks he and Guiscard used to make to each other when discussing matters together.

...Guiscard gnashed his teeth audibly.

"You bastard, you bring disaster to every country you visit. I can scarcely believe that you've somehow been able to live your life and remain safe and sound until now."

"It's rare indeed for you to speak the truth, Your Majesty, king of New Maryam. Be that as it may, from my point of view, this mask is the root of all evil. It was bestowed upon me by none other than you, Your Majesty."*

Guiscard remained silent.

Thinking about it now, that was the last conversation he had with the man who was the younger brother of the Lusitanian king. Although there was no sadness or lamentation, Guiscard had at least been a man who he could talk to.

The horse gave a low whinny. The sound seemed to be permeated with resentment. Nothing could be done about the fact that it hadn't been well-fed lately. This only served to add to the displeasure that Hilmes was feeling.’

* For some context, Guiscard and Hilmes had been working together again. Hilmes was the one who instigated this, and Guiscard, who was not exactly thrilled to see Hilmes again, decided to get his own back by giving Hilmes a box containing a present, which turned out to be a silver mask.

As for what happened before this scene, Merlaine and the Zot Clan set the grain store of Zabul Fortress alight with fire arrows. Poor Hilmes woke up from a bad dream to a terrifying reality, and opted to run away. The army of New Maryam left the fortress, and Guiscard was simultaneously shot by Farangis and Merlaine.

"Am I going to be afraid of fire until I die?" Yes unfortunately you will, because Tanaka never wanted you to be happy and overcome your issues  😭😭😭