#but the lid is sealed to the jar cause of dried up ink from before

[onepiece-treasurecove]

The silly lads for @sibmakesart ‘s DTIYS!! 🌷

If only these bitches could talk like normal people 😔

But where’s the fun in that hehe

[mostly-mundane-atla]

Remembered how much I love this Ohtori au and I haven't been able to get this out of my head so:

He didn't make a habit of watching the students leave class, but he caught a peculiar smell by the door and turned to find the source when he should have been getting ready to leave himself.

Roses. He couldn't stand the smell of roses. Like those cryptic letters he received as a student, or those hands that made themselves too comfortable on his shoulders. Sometimes he could still feel the knuckles grazing his cheek, twisting his hair into curls, cooing about princehood, about the adult world and power.... The Car.... The Sister....

But he saw her.

No, not the Sister, the Bride!

He hadn't felt himself launch out of the chair so much as see the girl get closer, even though she was walking away. Same posture, same gait. He hadn't felt his arm extend to grab her shoulder and turn her around. Her face didn't show any annoyance, even, just the same tepid disappointment he always remembered. Eyes that seemed to be somewhere else. Glossy black hair pinned up in a way that reminded him of a 1950s movie star. The same as she always was.

"Sir?" she asked, prompting him to realize he had been staring in complete silence for about a full minute. The other students had all filed out of the classroom and headed to their dorms by then. They were alone and his breathing echoed off the walls.

"I met you," he said, still trying to string the words together, "generations ago. You attended this school when I did. The student council, the duels, you were... you gave out the...."

She had thorns around her neck and all down her arms then, skirts that seemed to be made of giant petals. How the image huanted him, how her silent glare that he swore held back tears jolted him from sleep for years and years.

"Why aren't you older?!?" he spat out. His grip tightened to where he squeazed all blood from his knuckles, but her face didn't betray any pain.

"Sir, I have to study," she said, plain as day. "I have a test tomorrow."

He let go of her but did not turn away. She did and gracefully walked to her dorm like the others. Her shoulders would definitely bruise, but she didn't seem to notice. Her steps sounded down the hall, but the scent didn't fade. He turned to gather his things, and there it was on his desk.

A rose, damned thing, a white one, with the stem trimmed. Just long enough to pin to your pocket.

The duels.

No.

The delicate perfume was nauseating and in one smooth motion he swept the rose's severed bloom into the trash basket by his feet.

Those awful duels.

He didn't like to remember, but oh, that smell took him back. The entire way home he remembered the dueling game, letters from End of the World, all of it.

He had settled in his on-campus accomodated room, leaning back in a soft chair he found both ugly and only moderately comfortable. Memories of his time as a student at Ohtori were normally so distant, shapeless, as if made of smoke or water that tinted the sun a different color. A good half of the time he was convinced they were just recurring dreams. He prefered it that way. They were not pleasant times, barring a few scattered moments. But it all came rushing back, clear as a bell and loud as Judgment Day.

He had an old photograph of them and even kept it in a frame. It seemed like the right thing to do. He'd put it on his nightstand, but flipped it down when the nightmares came back. It only took a few days. He held it in his hands, mentally reciting the names.

Bumi, always talking philosophical nonsense; Piandao, the youngest but perhaps most studious; Kanna, sweet but not to be trifled with; Pakku, arrogant like no other; Iroh, the Prince; Hama, the anger boiling under the surface may have been all that kept her alive.

Could they even be called friends? "Colleagues" or even "accomplices" felt more appropriate. Iroh was everyone's friend, competitive and boastful, but always happy with polite conversation. Hama was only interested in sharing kindness with Kanna and intended on knocking everyone else down a peg. These were the extremes of the scale.

And the girl seated on a chair in the center of the sanding student council, perfect posture and ankles crossed just so. Her hands were folded in her lap and her eyes were unfocused and distant, but they seemed to him to be contemplating escape. And of course, her signature not-quite-frown. There was no doubt to be had that she was the same girl he saw leaving class.

Our Rose Bride, Mai.

But how? He had ruled out the idea that she could be a granddaughter to the Mai he met all those years ago. He had Kanna's granddaughter in his class, a Miss Katara Penatac who had refused to take off that tacky rose ring that student council members still wore. In her own gentle yet professionally insistant tone, she pointed out that the dresscode did not forbid rings, only limited the wearer to one on each hand for practicality. She said she would be happy to comply if the headmaster agreed that she hadn't any right to wear her ring, but until then she was quite sure it was protected as per the school rulebook she was given when she had been enrolled.

He had seen what had happened with teachers who pushed her too far. All the gentleness melted away and she began shouting and calling them tyrants. She wasn't quite charismatic enough to get the students to rally behind her, but none defended the teacher either. From that point on those teachers began to lose the stundents' respect, little by little. Definitely Kanna's, and looking at her likeness at that age the resemblance was obvious, but a resemblance isn't a copy. Not like with Mai.

He moved the picture to his other hand, and notice he had covered his own face with his thumb. That's right, he was barely in this photo and almost argued that he should take it. Much of his left side wasn't even in frame. He'd hoped they would ask him to leave, that they would find him too weak or too cowardly -- he couldn't even gather the courage to leave on his own just yet -- but their mercy was relentless.

He'd managed to win one of the duels, to win the Rose Bride, once. She became his roommate after that, somehow, in spite of that not being allowed. She scrubbed the dorm and polished his shoes and made him tea that didn't taste as good as he'd hoped. It felt off but entirely harmless until she insisted on sharing a bed. Her eyes, they weren't hollow or empty like many said they were. Some part of her was very aware that she was keeping herself in people-pleaser mode and it seemed to him that part wanted to cry out and scream. He cautiously acquiesced, but when she started touching him, he moved to the other bed. When she followed, he insisted on sleeping on the floor. When he awoke, he saw she had fallen asleep at the very edge of the bed. Her arm draped off the side and her pinky finger curled around his. He lost the next duel and told himself it was an accident. After that he grew more and more disinterested.

"I don't get it, Jeong Jeong," Iroh had said to him once after sparring. "Your form is good but you never follow through."

"Maybe I just don't want to hurt anyone," he replied.

"Of course you won't hurt anyone! It's just a game."

And it was just a game, until it wasn't. Until the warped half of Dios, and his car rides in the dark, his hands and words, memories of which still stuck to his mind like grime under fingernails. How he had tried to make it all seem silk and silver, but it was actually only made of rot and impossible promises.

And there was a new student council.

Wearing the same rings.

With the same Rose Bride.

He had often asked himself why he came back. The academy caused him nothing but pain and perhaps even ought to be shut down. He'd told himself it was to protect students from what had befallen him. How could he say that when it was all happening before his eyes? Had he dared hope these children had the courage that he didn't in the same situation? That they would come to him for guidance? The photo felt suddenly too heavy so he returned it to its place: face down on the nightstand.

If there's one thing Iroh was correct about, it was the power of comfort, and especially the comfort to be found in a cup of tea. Jeong Jeong filled his electric kettle with enough water for one cup and grabbed a mug with a little wire basket tucked inside. The tea he saved for such occasions was a hand-blended loose leaf from France. It was eqaul parts green and white tea, with bits of lavender and mint and he kept it in little ceramic jar.

But when he opened the cupboard, his tea jar was missing, and in its place was one of glass. Filled with dried rose petals and blooms.

The stems on them only just long enough to pin to a breast pocket.

"What in the world?" He could hear the water building itself up in the kettle. A breath more than a whistle. "Who could have...?"

He pushed past the aversion and reached for it to throw it out. No need to present it to the headmaster, a simple complaint would do. But the jar wore its own crown of thorns the same color as the lid just under the mouth, and his old eyes couldn't see the difference between them. The unexpected pain was enough to make him drop it. It shattered just as the kettle began to screech. Long dead roses made to maintain their shape rather than rot as nature intended spilled out at his feet.

Among them, a letter with that same dreaded rose seal. It was addressed "to the Boy who was Not a Prince, but remembers a Witch from his past," in ink not yet dry.

He stood there staring with that ear-splitting whistling in the background, petrified. He shut off the kettle and swept the glass shards and crumbling rose matter into the garbage. The letter found itself in his hands. It smelled like the others, and the handwriting matched, from what he remembered. Who had seen him recognize the girl?

Somehow, Mai was still a student at Ohtori Academy, and Jeong Jeong had to wonder. If he had fought for her as Iroh had until he won his something eternal, if he had said anything to her about being her own person, would she have grown up with them? If he had given her reason to leave, as he had only left the student council a day after that car ride, would she have freed herself of this place? Why did he come back to teach all those years ago? He told himself it was to protect new generations of students, but that couldn't be true, could it? Was it penance for penance's sake?

He held the letter, positioning his thumbnail to peal off the seal as if it was instinct. He hesitated. Why should its contents matter? What good could possibly come of it?

"Perhaps I'm chasing after what should have been," he admitted to himself.

He lit the damn thing on fire, holding it over the sink in case he dropped it. He watched the little flame lick at and devour the envelope and the pages inside. The scent of roses was gradually overpowered with the scent of smoke.

"Perhaps I'm hiding from the world." Embers lept off the paper and put themselves out in the drain. "Hiding in what I already know."