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[yourmomsawh0r3]

expecting

pairing: benedict bridgerton x f! wife reader

The soft morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, casting a warm glow across the grand bedchamber. Y/N stirred beneath the covers, her mind slowly rousing from the depths of sleep. She stretched her hand to the other side of the bed, expecting to find the familiar warmth of her husband, but instead, her fingers brushed against cold, empty sheets. Benedict had already risen, most likely absorbed in his work within the confines of his study.

She lingered in bed, her thoughts muddled by the lingering remnants of slumber, until a sharp pang of anxiety tightened in her chest. For several days now, a persistent worry had taken root within her, growing with each passing hour. She hesitated before throwing back the covers, her heart heavy with apprehension. Y/N’s gaze fell upon the bed linens, scrutinizing them with bated breath.

The sheets were immaculate, untouched by the crimson hue she had half-expected, half-dreaded to see. Her heart sank, frustration welling within her as she realized the implications. Another morning, another check, and still no sign of her monthly course. The absence of blood was both a blessing and a curse, for she knew what it likely meant.

They were still newlyweds, just months into their marriage, and while they had spoken of starting a family, Y/N had envisioned more time to enjoy their youthful union before the responsibilities of parenthood descended upon them. The thought of carrying Benedict’s child filled her with equal parts joy and trepidation. Was it too soon? Would he be ready for such a change, for the duties and demands that would come with fatherhood?

She rose from the bed, her movements languid as she wrapped her robe around herself. The silk fabric felt cool against her skin, a stark contrast to the warmth she yearned to feel. Y/N padded down the long hallway, her feet silent on the plush carpet as she made her way to Benedict’s study. She could hear the familiar sound of his pencil scratching against parchment, the melody of his creative process.

She paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of her husband. Benedict was bent over his work, his brow furrowed in concentration as he sketched, utterly absorbed in his task. Despite the seriousness of his expression, there was an undeniable gentleness about him that made her heart swell with love.

For a moment, Y/N considered turning away, letting him remain in his world of art and imagination, but she knew she couldn’t delay the conversation any longer. The uncertainty gnawed at her, and she needed to confide in him, to share her fears and hopes.

“Benedict,” she called softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He looked up immediately, his features softening the moment his eyes met hers. A warm smile spread across his face, and he set his pencil aside, rising from his chair to greet her.

“Good morrow, my love,” he said, his voice filled with affection as he crossed the room to her. “I did not intend to wake you so early.”

“You did not wake me,” Y/N replied, attempting a smile as she stepped closer to him. “I simply found myself alone in our bed and wondered where you might be.”

Benedict wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into his embrace. He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering against her skin. “My mind was alight with ideas,” he explained, his tone light and teasing. “I had to capture them before they faded away like the morning mist.”

Y/N rested her head against his chest, her ear pressed to his heart. The steady rhythm soothed her, but the anxiety in her own chest remained. She knew she couldn’t keep her secret any longer. “Benedict, I must speak with you about something of great importance.”

He pulled back slightly, concern flickering in his blue eyes. “What is it, dearest? You seem troubled.”

Y/N took a deep breath, her hands gripping the lapels of his dressing gown as she gathered the courage to speak. “I have missed my monthly course,” she confessed, her voice trembling. “It has been late for several days now, and I believe I may be with child.”

The words hung in the air, a delicate truth that had the power to alter their lives forever. Y/N braced herself for Benedict’s reaction, her heart pounding in her chest. She feared he might be taken aback, that the prospect of fatherhood might overwhelm him, especially so soon after their marriage.

But to her surprise, Benedict’s expression changed not to one of shock or apprehension, but to one of pure, unadulterated joy. His eyes widened, and a broad smile broke across his face as he processed her words.

“You think…?” he stammered, his voice laced with wonder. “You believe you carry our child?”

Y/N nodded, tears welling in her eyes as she watched the happiness unfold across his face. “I did not know how to tell you… I feared it might be too soon, that you would be unprepared…”

Benedict’s hands cupped her face, his touch tender as he gazed down at her with all the love in his heart. “Too soon?” he echoed, his voice filled with emotion. “My love, there could be no greater news in the world. You have just given me the most precious gift I could ever receive.”

Before she could respond, Benedict swept her up into his arms, spinning her around in a joyful circle. Y/N’s laughter mingled with his, the sound of their happiness filling the room. When he finally set her down, he held her close, his forehead resting against hers as he whispered, “We are to be parents, Y/N. I can scarcely believe it.”

Y/N’s tears spilled over, but they were tears of relief, of joy, of overwhelming love. She pulled him into a deep kiss, pouring all of her emotions into the tender embrace. When they finally parted, she looked up at him, her heart full to bursting. “I love you, Benedict,” she whispered. “And I am so grateful that we will embark on this journey together.”

Benedict’s arms tightened around her, his voice a soft murmur in her ear. “I love you more than words can express. You will be the most wonderful mother, and I will strive every day to be the father our child deserves.”

As they stood there in the warmth of the study, wrapped in each other’s embrace, Y/N knew that whatever fears she had harbored had been unfounded. Benedict’s love for her was unwavering.

A few weeks had passed since Y/N had first shared the news with Benedict, and their excitement had only grown with each day. Though they had reveled in the secret together, they both knew it was time to share the joy with their families. The Bridgerton clan was nothing if not close-knit, and such news was sure to be met with elation.

The day was sunny, with a pleasant breeze that made the leaves rustle in the grand trees lining the estate. The entire Bridgerton family was gathered in the drawing room of Aubrey Hall, the laughter and chatter filling the air as the siblings exchanged stories and playful jests. It was a rare occasion when they were all together, and Benedict couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth as he looked around the room.

Y/N sat beside him, her hand resting in his, their fingers intertwined. She was calm on the surface, but he could sense the slight tremor in her hand, the only sign of her nerves. He gave her a reassuring squeeze, meeting her eyes with a smile that spoke of all the love and support he had for her.

Finally, when there was a lull in the conversation, Benedict cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the room. “If I may have your attention, everyone,” he began, his voice carrying a note of seriousness that was unusual in their light-hearted gatherings.

The room quieted, all eyes turning to Benedict and Y/N. There was a mixture of curiosity and concern in their expressions, each sibling wondering what news might be so important.

“We have something we would like to share with you all,” Benedict continued, his voice steady but filled with emotion. He glanced at Y/N, his gaze filled with encouragement. She nodded, and together, they turned back to the family.

“We are with child,” Y/N announced, her voice soft but clear.

For a moment, there was silence as the words sank in. Then, as if on cue, the room erupted in a chorus of exclamations, cheers, and laughter. Daphne, ever the nurturing one, was the first to rush forward, her face alight with joy as she embraced Y/N.

“Oh, Y/N! That is the most wonderful news!” Daphne exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine happiness. “You are going to make such a wonderful mother.”

The rest of the siblings quickly followed suit, surrounding the couple with congratulations and hugs. Even Anthony, who often took on the role of the stern eldest brother, couldn’t hide the smile that spread across his face.

“Well done, brother,” he said, clapping Benedict on the shoulder. “You’ve managed to outdo yourself this time.”

“Thank you, Anthony,” Benedict replied with a grin, knowing that beneath his brother’s teasing exterior, there was deep affection.

Violet, their mother, had tears in her eyes as she enveloped Y/N in a warm embrace. “My dear, I am so happy for you both,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You are bringing such joy to this family.”

Y/N felt overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and support. She had known that the Bridgertons would be thrilled, but the reality of it was even more touching than she had imagined. Benedict stood beside her, his arm around her waist, his pride and happiness evident in every gesture.

The rest of the day was filled with celebration. The family insisted on toasting the couple’s happiness, and there was much talk of the future, of names and nurseries, of the roles each sibling would play in the life of the new addition. Colin, ever the joker, made a grand show of predicting whether it would be a boy or a girl, while Eloise teased that she would teach the child all the ways of mischief.

As the evening drew to a close and the family began to disperse, Benedict and Y/N found themselves alone in the garden, the quiet night a stark contrast to the lively atmosphere of earlier. The stars were beginning to twinkle in the sky, and the soft rustle of the leaves provided a gentle melody to their solitude.

Benedict turned to Y/N, his expression tender as he took her hands in his. “Are you pleased, my love?” he asked, his voice low and intimate.

“More than I could ever put into words,” she replied, her heart full to bursting with the love she felt for him and for the family they were building together.

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “We are going to be wonderful parents, Y/N,” he murmured against her skin. “And our child will be surrounded by so much love. I cannot wait to begin this new chapter with you.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears, not of sadness but of overwhelming joy. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close as she whispered, “Nor can I, Benedict. Nor can I.”

And so, beneath the canopy of stars, they stood together, holding each other close as they looked forward to the future, their hearts filled with the promise of the life they would share a life of love, of family, and of unbreakable bonds.

[hrtwve]

dissociate ౨ৎ

౨ৎ about ─── you died moons ago. now, you sit, running your hands through viktor's hair as stars pass around you.

or: viktor shares bad news. (viktor x gn! reader)

౨ৎ cw ─── angst heavy, mentions of death, physical intimacy (mwah), sexual implications if you squint.

author notes can be found at the end of each fanfiction ⟡ ⋆˚

(total w.c 1.2k)

₊˚⊹ ───

Light fragments fall from elsewhere, drawing bodies closer to the centre of existence; crystals, broken, dance. There is blinding, piercing, light balanced by dark which exudes everywhere. Memories faded from view, burning through the mind in a supernova crashing across space; memories of life now gone. The echoes of past drift through this place, cascading down in waterfalls of rainbow and pooling through the air. The ground is hollow, the sky pure. Stars glitter the lining of the horizon and burn through forms, hands and heads barely visible in the glow. Glorious technicolour spins, raining o'er static objects.

Your fingers run their steady hand through his soft hair, the sensation quite real, nerve impulses binding to the shape of a caress to maintain response. Yet your nerves were no more, shattered by the mere mention of nightmare, the very core that pulled you, strangled you, straight through its heart. Your nails find his scalp, tickling his head before returning to the soft mass of glittering fibre. A low hum sounds from his parted lips, head lolled onto its side, comfortably situated in your lap. His weight is light, his cheek locking into your leg like a lost piece of a forgotten puzzle. His shoulders rise and fall with a heavy sigh, a break in his thoughts, a signal. Your hand continues its journey.

"I do not wish to alarm you." His voice barely below a whisper, accent dripping from his tongue, bleeds into the air. His hands are lulled, placed adjacent to his face, hair is messy against your form as it flows beautifully, rivers of white drooping along high cheekbones. He sighs yet again, the pause in his continuation a clear sign of heavy heart. You almost wonder if he will complete the statement, stomach-turning in noughts from your quick worry, although your hands still find themselves absentmindedly stroking curls. "But," Another beat. "I feel I am slowly... decaying."

You half expect him to turn, to face your wide eyes as tears threaten to fall. Yet he reclines, stagnant, like a memory frozen in time. Body glittering with the strength of a thousand suns, he lays, surrounded by the blanketed mist of beams. The light, a sacred entity to this space, without it ─ oblivion. A single droplet topples down your cheek, rushing a translucent tear behind. Salted water splashing against the high bones in his face, dissipating into nothing when it lands. He stirs, your hand moving to accommodate the new position of his head, brushing soothing patterns into his hairline. Glittering gold eyes meet wandering stare, weeping, tearful, and a furrow appears in between the folds of his brow.

"Don't shed tears for a man predestined for a premature death." He mutters, taking one of his striking hands, colours drifting through the transparent skin, and placing his fingertips against your jaw. The friction barely scratches the surface, nails briefly leaving their mark on your star-clustered skin. Soft, gentle, his features dance across his face in haze covered glow, affection dripping from the droop of his eye, the parting of his lip.

Nature strikes another good soul from its pedestal, although he was always given fewer opportunities than the others. From childhood, born different, odd. Youth prejudice is born as maturity arrives, resulting in isolation from those he loved most. Outcast, he found solace in intimacy within his own soul, introverted, shy; but not helpless. Until compassion forgave his innocent mind, blessing him an angel. Childhood love blooms into bouquet in adulthood; intimacy beckoning from a hollow wound of loneliness. Your fingers tangling in accidental hallway bumps, resulting in longing glances; picturing the coming hours when dusk had finally settled. Souls intertwined, abandonment could not be pondered. Galaxies withheld your love, your passion, you would dissipate as he did.

"I feel I must." You breathe, highlights dancing through your dreams, floating on a cloud of affection. Reaching higher, his calloused fingers cup your cheek, rubbing slow circles into your skin. Time ticks on like a slow heartbeat, the wave of love bleeding through the atmosphere in tidal fashion. "I care for you so, Viktor."

The comment alerts him, frightens him, from his familiar position. He changes his nature as he rises, straightening himself away from your grasp. You twist, finding solace in his gaze, a soft expression momentarily dances before a serious brow plays upon his features. Shards of stardust play against his cheek, colours dancing through his locks, brushing down the sides of his face. Respect twangs upon your heart strings, like a bard on a lyre — he looks, feels, dream-like. The sensation of fingertips caresses your skin like nothing before, warming your soul in the colours of amber. In his movements, he brings your faces together, kissing your foreheads, embracing minds into one.

"Do not fret." The words pour like honey, yet they still lay heavy on your already breaking heart. You find your hands climbing, losing themselves in his already messy hair. Your breaths mingle, if it were temperate you would feel the air leave and form clouds between your bodies. "This was always meant to be," He pauses, pulling his head back to stare into your eyes, yet never removing his hands from their position. "Surely you were aware?"

A recollection of suffering plaques your downtrodden mind, swimming through pools of sorrow and lapping in an ocean of despair. Your attempt to strangle the siren's call ultimately resulted in failure, the depressing truth now set out before you; anticipation returning as dred. You envisioned his passing, decaying from the mortal domain, returning to the cosmos of wence he came; materialised in the stars above. Yet this place was neither Heaven or Hell, and both parties would be banished in future; you weren't aware of how soon this future would be.

"I was." You breathe, tickling your fingers up his sideburn and into his platinum hair, tugging in a quick sign of affection. Catching a strand in between your digits, you twirl the curl through and allow it to spring back, meeting its maker. Although your tears have left their parting gift, your chest tightens with sorrow, becoming increasingly agonising and bubbling deep within your throat. A choke escapes your throat, "I was not quite aware of the immediate action."

His eyes dare part for yours as the words fall from your whisper, blowing into his psyche, toppling his confidence. In this moment you are forever, timeless, stuck in an everlasting loop of forgiveness and pain. He pulls you towards him once more, connecting your bodies in a state of pure bliss, lips brushing yours in a delicate kiss. His hands roam, traversing the back of your head like buried treasure, padding their way across the skin lying there. You press a quick sound into his lips, but it is quickly lost in the entanglement of both body and mind. Your fingertips dance against his cheekbones, forgetting, only for an instant, that you were lost to your mortal frame. He retreats for a moment, tucking a solitary strand behind your ear into its rightful place.

"For now, my love, I shall remain," He whispers, so low that the cosmos could bearly apprehend, placing a solitary kiss on the tip of your nose, and wrapping your body closer to his chest. Blossomed warmth fills your once hollow chest, an urge to believe in the present.

₊˚⊹ ───

i hope you enjoyed my first offical post!. i really adore the shots within season 2 picturing viktor, jayce, or sky in the beautiful galaxy space, where their features (save face and hands) are glowing white; it's just so breathtaking. as you can probably tell, my love for those moments brought me to writing this short piece! i must say this is shorter than i am used to writing, but think of it as a short piece to get me back into the swing of things... anyway i love you so much for making it this far mwah! x

[moineauz]

may i request a ticket for mosaic the memento with boothill?

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ THE HOUSE OF MUSICA PRESENTS... 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆ノ𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐂 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 — boothill !

synopsis: lovers that collect each other, piece by piece and display it in peculiar ways.

side comments: tysm for requesting!! I definitely had fun with this and boothill in general. I took the concept quite literally hehe.

extra: gn reader, angst & fluff, mentions of marriage, established relationship word count: 1, 184

When eyesight failed, you turned to the wind's caress, the hum of incessant chatter, and the mechanical click of Boothill's shoes like a heartbeat made of flesh and bone.

Penacony thrived and bounced with promise and prose that night, as it has every night; brimming with the convivial spirit of a cocktail. While morphing desire into the tangible.

Nevertheless, Penacony is a pest: a jewel sowing songs of seduction, Time spent in Penacony rots the living flesh.

"You're thinkin' too much again."

Languidly, you turn your head towards the man leaning against the door frame. His limbs slacken as a tender grin pressed onto his face. It was as beckoning as a blast of dust and powder. A soothing grace found in jagged cliffs.

"It's Penacony," you begin scrupulously, "It's difficult not to think of-"

A small nail bolt hits the ground, a ring reverberating throughout your hotel room: a sour psalm. Your eyes observe the nail as it spins toward the tip of your boot; halting it in its path.

Boothill scrutinizes your eyebrows and how they crease, your placid countenance replaced by blunt displeasure. You cast a faint sigh, rolling your wrists until you discerned a click. A practice Boothill has inscribed into your skin it seemed. To Boothill, your faint, pervasive sighs are like wisps of smoke billowing in feeble puffs. It is the kind that Boothill could keep within the biting palms of his hands like a cloud of mist rolling over a slumbering horizon.

"Boothill," you chide askance, the nail now tightly wrapped under the guileful length of your fingers, "You're falling apart, again."

Boothill emits a delicate laugh; carrying through the thick atmosphere of your hotel room like fog being pushed to the side. "Oh? It's Nothin' to worry bout'," he exclaims, his grin acute and unrelenting like a child.

You scoff, your face solemn. "You're a fool then."

Boohill raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. "A fool?" he begins with a tone of toying inquisition, "And what kind of fool would I be then?"

"The kind that never listens," you seethed as you turned your back and rummaged through your satchel. The click and ring of colliding components rebound from the disquieting walls. "Tell me, is it that difficult to keep your gun down?"

Instead, Boothill's legs carry him to the side of your bed; hoisting himself up before lying down on his back, his right hand gingerly tapping against the plating of his chest. One beat after another, one rise of your chest like sundown, one click before the drop.

The room grows reticent as does Boothill's incessant chatter. You considered him like a fly; one swat never ceased his lingering. His buzz and wagers compelled you to an ineffable cusp of undoing. He tugged at your hair, sauntered over your plans and tenderly pressed his treasured gun against your skull like a prayer of undying fidelity: the kind that reaches from the mounds of soil, dust and dirt. A skeleton crawling on the face of the Earth.

However, you kept the bones of that same serrated skeleton in your coat pockets. When the night yielded its youth, you traced your glided hands over its ridges like one recites verses in a destitute, ceaseless pursuit for solace. You hauled the bones of your dead on your back, straggling through sand dunes and sun. Thus, you ensured the bones would never corrode or break. For safekeeping, you thought.

"It always surprises me," professed Boothill, his body still limp on your bed, "That you carry every part of me in that damn satchel of yours."

He then scoffs, amused, "It's ridiculous."

A subtle, witty smile unwinds on your lips before you exasperate, "Well, I find it more ridiculous that a full-grown man needs his spouse to cover his boo-boos."

"Ha!" exclaims Boothill, a smirk unveiling itself, "And what's so wrong bout' that?"

You simply hum at this question, still absorbed by the sensations of various metal pieces grazing against your skin. "Boothill," you betokened "Which wire is thinner? The one on the right or the one on the left?"

Boothill promptly glances at the side table, "The one on the right."

You reach for the wire on the right, no inkling of doubt smearing the page of your chest.

Boothill never pressed his knee down or slipped a circular piece of metal on your finger.

On the contrary, you professed your devotion while uncoiling the vast forests of his wires found in his spinal cord and replacing the plating of his shins. Like a doll being unwinded: its button eyes stitched concurrently to become whole.

Boothill pondered the concept of marriage and discerned it to be ludicrous. However, there was a peculiar charm found in the title "My spouse" like windchimes that crash and sway, casting their dreams into an afternoon breeze.

He reminisced how you ripped his chest open and raised his metal heart in the plane of your hands like an offering. He entrusted you.

You dismantled him with each screw and wire; rerouting and disconnecting nerve after nerve, daring not to draw a breath in fear of failure. His entire being rested upon the pull and press of your fingers and the thrust of your arms. Boothill observed beads of sweat trickling down your forehead and the tentative purses of your lips. He could recount the strands of hair that brushed against your cheek and the bitter pit of envy and spite that grew in him like a weed. The wind could stroke your cheek and the Earth could wrap you fold upon fold until you became the foundations of life itself. Nevertheless, Boothill comprehended how insatiable he was. He envied how the folds of death seemed to embrace you closer than he could ever offer you.

The vibrations of your proposal still ring in his head and run up his spine with the zeal of electricity and the parting words of tenderness. Thus, how could he ever say no?

"I'm almost done with your leg," you muse, your eyes bouncing from Boothill's reposed face and the length of his leg.

"Why'd you ask to become my spouse, ( Name )?"

You blink, the movements of your hands paused while the clock continues to cast its familiar tick-tok. "Don't call me that," you remarked indifferently, your hands promptly resuming their work.

"Then what do I call you?" drawls Boothill, his eyes fixated on the tenacious shifts of your expression.

You emit a half-amused scoff before avowing, "Don't ask questions you already know the answer to."

"Alright then," teases Boothill, "We can play it that way." He pauses, then prompts, "Why'd you ask to become my spouse, doll?"

With that simple phrase, you gingerly place your tools down and lean forward. The poignant warmth of your breath skimming over Boothill's smooth cheek. A blinding smile tugs at the corners of your lips and the placid facade carved in your face broke with brilliance like the yolk of an egg. The corners of Boothill's eyes pooled with awe.

"Because I was tired of carrying pieces of you in my pockets."

general masterlist. request page for event.

[nishloves]

the archangel; gojo satoru

yet as the sword dug into your skin, even the most modest of the creature yearned for a taste of your sugary blood.

the cold of the bare marbled floors were enough to frost your skin, the crimson petals fluttering around, the roses laid scattered on the floor, awaiting for the seraphicus arrival. the crimson fluid being almost saccharine— but all the wisers knew that the taste waver, befitting the individual's glamour.

painting the hands and face of the most the noble into red— his seraphine wings extended as the world wept while the golden tears marked his porcelain skin. the surreptitious nature of your love laid naked for all to see— for all to perceive as the mighty angel wept. cradling your body through the most sacrosanct places, through the voids to the plazas to the most sacred gardens— to eden, as he begged for your revival, for a chance for your youth. for a chance for your soul, yet when he laid unanswered and forgotten by the ones he thought to be most dear to his, he took no time to pierce his skin from the ductile weapon, it's shine blinding all as ichor riddled his skin. almost ridiculing himself.

his crystalline eyes shone with mist— the mirth of them long long as he renounced,

"i, the archangel, lay myself to bleed upon the death of my lover, of my only favorite. for her, I shall ruin the world and drown the earth, and none shall stop me. none can until I bring her back.

for my lover, i lay down my life.

for my lover, i promise to carry you to all the places you wanted to see.

for my lover, I shall renounce all the laws, and cradle her in my wings.

for my lover, i shall bleed eternally. "

this is just a trailer ig?? i have a story in mind, but I'm not sure if i'd write it, if you're curious to know let me know!

[lcvelust]

Autumn / Regulus Black

Neither of you can blame Sirius for running away.

The sound of students’ feet fluttering about was drowned out as Regulus focused on the door before him, eyes hard after abandoning the blank canvas perched atop its easel. Tossing the clean paintbrush from his hand, he watched as the brazen knob turns; brows shooting up in surprise as you peeked inside.

Just as shocked as he was, you cleared your throat rather awkwardly, while you were both evidently avoiding each other’s gaze. “Regulus.. may I come in?”

You saw the boy nod from your peripherals, looking down at his hands just as you gently closed the door behind you, the soft pattering of your feet on the carpet-clad floor loud in the spacious room. Slowly setting yourself down on the bed bench adjacent to the fireplace, you glared back at the flames, before Regulus deemed you startled by sparking up a conversation.

“..What’d you think of to be here?”

The frown on your face melted away, a contemplative look replacing it as you raked your brain for a second or two to come up with an answer, tilting your head to the side and sighing as you massaged the flesh of your neck.

“The same thing that you did.”

Regulus raised a perfectly arched brow, crossing his arms on his chest. “Sirius’ room in Grimmauld?”

You stifle a snort, “Probably.”

For the first time since you had entered, your stare drifted to his face, taking notice of the small smile that grazed his lips— a scarcely, stark contrast to the expression he bore outside of these four walls.

Meticulously analyzing his features from the usually neat tuft of black, curly hair atop his head, your eyes stopped on the slope of his nose, pausing to admire the little freckles littering the tip. You looked away, sighing.

“He’s been ignoring me. Your brother.”

“I figured that much.”

Your lips quirked up bitterly, an acidic taste enveloping your mouth at the fact. It was quiet for a while, the tenseness in the air noticeably shifting as you fiddle with the suffocating tie on your neck.

Reluctantly scrambling off of the stool, Regulus made his way over to the bed, settling on the foot of it. The untouched sheets crumpled, the mattress groaning beneath his weight. “I miss Sirius.”

He gently muttered, toying with the hem of his sleeve that ended on his forearms. Your eyes wandered, landing on the moving photograph of him and his older brother, remnants of their youth displayed on their faces as they showed off their pearly whites, albeit with a tooth or two missing. 

“I.. I’m sure he misses you too, Reg. He loved— loves you through the bone.”

You offered, meeting his gaze. Neither of you looked away, and in that moment, it had been abundantly clear that you both sought comfort within the other.

The light reflected on his pale skin, dancing across the gloss over his eyes and the sharpness of his jaw, settling on the dark circles apparent of the late nights he had spent without a shut-eye. Pondering, you abruptly stood, taking calculative steps towards where he sat.

You took a hold of his wrist, softly beckoning him to rise from his spot. He relents almost immediately, letting you drag him to where his discarded art materials lay. 

Still intertwined, you searched through Sirius’ shelves for some of his old vinyls, their covers a gallery of faded colors. You fingered along the spines, unflinching as they gathered dust, the crackling sound of each album shifting against the cardboard.

Pulling one from the box, the weight of it had left your hands satisfied as you slid it out of its sleeve. The hiss of the needle settling onto the record player filled the room, the turntable beginning to hum gently, letting the spinning disc produce a lone piano note sound through the air like a mist over the lake. 

The music had acted as a quiet pulse in the background as you led Regulus to a space that was not as crowded, carelessly shrugging your robe off of your frame before clasping your fingers with his, your other hand trailing up his shoulder. With haste, he held onto your waist, sighing as the sounds enveloped the two of you, each one tender and light, yet full of sorrow. 

Your feet moved in sync, reminiscent of the time you’d danced together during one of his parent’s elaborate balls, where you hadn’t noticed Sirius’ absence at the time. A pang shot through your chest, and you physically resisted from the pain.

Regulus guided the both of you as you slowly glided on the polished floor, twirling you under his arm as you laughed quietly. Before long, the two of you grew restless, heaving breaths just as you transitioned to swaying. You looked up at the younger boy, a tender smile plastered on your lips.

“You look so much like Sirius,” you mumbled, flickers of sadness fading away into the air like the wisps of wind as you cupped his cheek, thumb running across the expanse of it. “I don’t know if I’d ever live with that fact.”

The chuckle he let out sounded like it hurt, “Neither do I.”

You rested your head on his chest, an unbearable shadow that creeps, uninvited, into the quiet spaces of your mind badgering your heart. Its presence is sharp and insistent, like a thousand thorns pushing through your skin, each one leaving behind an echo that lingers long after the initial sting has passed. It claws at your thoughts, distorting everything into jagged edges.

“It’s quite ironic, isn’t it? Mourning the living more than we do the dead.”

Regulus felt you nod against his embrace, his limbs aching as he held you close. You were the closest he’ll ever be to his older brother once more.

He rubbed at your back, sight unfocusing as memories of the only person he has ever looked up to swarmed his vision. “Maybe it’s more painful to know that they could walk back into our lives again, but choose not to.” You sniffled, clutching at the fabric of his button down. 

“I didn’t think he’d go through with his plans. I couldn’t stop him. It was his freedom before my protection. Still, I didn’t want him to leave me, but I never did want  to disappoint my mother and father.”

You empathize with him, knowing that he felt about the situation deeper. “I understand.. I—I just didn’t think that it’d mean disappearing on me, too. No letter, no nothing. Not even a few words.” 

Regulus shifted slightly, his hand moving from your back to stroke the hair away from your face, his touch lingering. “He didn’t know how to say it,” he murmured, “he doesn’t know how to say things. The love he had for you, it was there—beneath all the anger, all the rebellion, all the walls he built around himself. It was always there, just buried too deep for him to show it in any way that made sense.” You inhaled sharply, a small, broken laugh escaping your lips as you closed your eyes. “He was a mess. He couldn’t make sense of his own feelings.”

“Every day,” he continued on, voice  barely above a whisper. “It was the same thing, over and over, until I wanted to scream at him to just tell you. Tell you how much you meant to him. But he never did. Instead, he just kept talking about how he couldn’t... how he didn’t deserve you.”

You felt the sting of his words, pressing your forehead against his chest again, unable to keep the tears from slipping down your face. The silence that followed felt heavier than the puffs of breath that escaped your throat, a thousand things unsaid, too many words that would never be spoken.

Regulus held you tighter, and your voice broke through the silence like a fragile thread once you calmed. “I know it’s not the same, and I know I’m not him, but.. I’m here. We’ll figure things out together, eventually. Especially dealing with your parents.” You chuckled, feeling your pulse pick up as you melted into his arms, the moment making an imprint in your thoughts as the beginning of a new chapter in both of your lives.

[severinageto]

“The Last Supper” ——— drabble

November, 2017

Satoru sat at the far end of a small ramen stall, the collar of his uniform covering most of his face. He didn’t have to wait long for his bowl; the robust man already knew the albino and his order. He smiled weakly, watching the steam rise and form a dense mist that, for a moment—a precious moment—seemed to blur him along with the melancholy of his current life.

Suddenly, his six eyes sharpened, as they always did when that presence drew near, warning him to be cautious. His heart, like the bowl in front of him, had small cracks along the edge.

Suguru, hesitant as always when coming to that place, arrived a few minutes late. The hectic life of a leader sometimes worked against him, preventing him from honoring his impeccable punctuality. He cursed time and the impossibility of recovering it; losing even two minutes with him simply didn’t feel right. Silently, he took a seat, saying nothing. The air, thick with familiar spice scents, spoke for them of a past once filled with laughter, and a present where tension cut as deeply as the Arctic wind.

“Do you still get it so spicy?” Satoru remarked, trying with all his strength to smile. There was a blend of nostalgia and sadness in the sky of his eyes; he knew that these small details—the sneeze, the sweat on Suguru’s brow, the burn on his lips—were among the few pieces he still had of him.

Or rather, that Suguru still allowed him to see.

“And you still like it without flavor?” Suguru replied with a half-smile that quickly faded. What was the point in pretending everything was normal, as if he wasn’t at the edge of dying by his best friend’s hand?

“Best friend.” Who the hell believed that anymore? He wasn’t his best friend. He was his companion. His confidant. His lover. His reflection. The one whose absence would strip the blue from his life. And who can live without a primary color? He, at least, couldn’t.

He sighed and, letting himself be wrapped by the man’s familiar lavender scent and the warmth of the rising steam, split his chopsticks.

“To your health, Satoru,” he murmured, pouring himself a glass of sake.

“To yours, Suguru,” Satoru replied, a knot already forming in his throat.

They ate in silence, each submerged in their own thoughts.

Thoughts of what they had been, of a painfully distant past where, sitting in that same place, wrapped in the biting winter wind, they laughed at everything, no matter how absurd it was.

Thoughts of what they were, of a present where seeing each other was slowly becoming an impossibility, against which it was pointless to fight. Just as it makes no sense to think about living without air, it also made no sense to assume they could bear the weight of life without the other’s touch.

And thoughts of what they would be, of a future where words they’d said countless times would never be enough.

Caught in their throats? No, not yet. “Suguru, I love you.”

“At least curse me a little before the end.”

But no. Not yet.

Though there was physical distance between them, their hands found each other under the counter, a reflection of that connection that neither time nor their opposing paths could erase.

“This is… pathetic, isn’t it?” Suguru whispered, his voice barely audible amidst the sound of noodles and the distant bustle of the street.

Satoru didn’t respond; he simply focused on the bowl in front of him. He felt a weight, something that choked him but that he couldn’t—didn’t want to—let out. He held his hand tightly, very tightly, even at the risk of hurting him. He’d leave, just like he had in other contexts, his mark on him. Something told him he wouldn’t have another chance to bruise that youthful skin into a violet, but beautiful, bruise. Suguru felt the pain but said nothing. He knew that once those eyes were covered, he wouldn’t have another chance to get lost in them. His plan was already in motion, and he knew he’d be gone.

“I only want to feel pain if it comes from you, Satoru,” he whispered, voice barely audible and breaking.

Satoru sighed and tightened his grip.

“This is sick,” he said, seeking the curse-user’s gaze but not releasing his hand.

“Then let me go.”

Satoru didn’t answer, but he softened his hold. Slowly, gently, he caressed the bruised hand of the one true love of his life.

“I told you I…” Suguru began.

“What for, if you know what I’ll have to do?”

Suguru sighed. He was right. Gojo Satoru’s duty was just around the corner. Perhaps it wasn’t a bad idea to let himself get carried away by his touch. Ten years ago, it was the only thing that kept him alive.

Or almost.

With stubborn and timid tears in his eyes, he returned the touch of Satoru’s long fingers. Ironically, a gesture that would hurt more than any pain he’d caused him.

Finishing his ramen, Suguru let out a long sigh, stood up, and left a few bills on the table without even looking at Satoru. Before leaving, he murmured something, almost inaudible, as if he didn’t really want the albino to hear.

“Satoru… I wish we’d never gotten here.”

“Suguru, wait…”

“I’ll see you in December.”

He walked away, and silence enveloped Satoru once more. He sat there, staring at the empty seat, wishing that space didn’t feel so eternal.

And so painfully real.

🍜🍲 fanart by https://x.com/ty824659?s=21

[ladysunbite]

[ part II of this ] "Whatever you need to know, you can ask me, Ciri," the fog caressed Orianna's skin, crawling even under the cloak. For the occasion, her dress was simple and borrowed, and the face reflected nothing, as if also borrowed, but have not adapted according to the situation yet. It sat uncomfortable against her blood and bones. By the great unseen, I loath external politics. Her game was to twist and turn haughty nobles and sly merchants, collect and feed precious artists, and placate the wishes of the capricious, but vivacious Duchess. Gather gossip, gather unspoken desires and sharp secrets. Feed the fellow predators, hide the bodies, smile the lies away and banish the truth, orchestrate small miracles and grand downfalls, but...on a scale of one fairy-tale of a duchy, whose pages and possible turns of a plot was as familiar as if they were etched across her skull. The cultured vampiress had never tried her hand anywhere outside Toussaint.

The place for interrogation was an old barn, surrounded by crooked trees, that autumn had already stripped naked. Their branches reached out to it, squeezing out any flickering light or errant scream. And if they would have uninvited guests, they place was in a hollow, filled with mists. The foglets would keep any unseen intervention at bay. "I need your help with it, my dear." the door loomed in front of them, a maw into the habits Orianna though she had left behind in her youth. The violence that lacked refinement, a dumb and putrid drink, that urged you to take gulp after gulp. "...but I does not mean that you have to do this, Ciri. You can go away now. The path back is clear for you." the foglets would not touch the emerald-eyed maiden while there was Orianna's ring at her finger. @fallesto

[soft-girl-musings]

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps - CHAPTER 1 (Strangers In The Night)

Noir!Jake Lockley x WOC Lounge Singer!Reader

written in collaboration with + header by @mrs-lockley

chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5

cross-posted to ao3

tags: late 1940s Noir AU, Reader is WOC coded but with no physical description besides being slightly taller than Jake while wearing heels, no use of Y/N

wc: 2,222

fic summary: Of all the gin joints in all the world, Jake Lockley walks into yours. Unfortunately for him, it's not quite the start of a beautiful friendship.

A/N: can't believe this is the product of covid-induced hcs and thots between me and @mrs-lockley, thank you so much for encouraging this buddy (also @lunar-ghoulie if i had a nickel for each time you've sent an ask/dm about a WIP and it ended up being where i put all my energy, i'd have two nickels. which isn't a lot but it's hilarious that it's happened twice).

----------

On nights like tonight, Jake Lockley regrets his choice of profession.

It’s a dreary November evening, darkening by the second as the New York streets grow damp and cold. The wise had decided not to venture out; the blindsided rush across slick pavement to whatever shelter they can find. The desperate stay on the clock and curse their luck.

He should know by now that when a client says they’ll be “just a minute,” it’s a boldfaced lie: even if they have every intention of being efficient, he’s been stranded on the curb more times than he can count.

So he keeps the meter running. He’s seen the duds his regular client has on each week; the man could afford to fork over a few extra bucks. Might even build character.

The steady rhythm of the rain had been fine at first, but after half an hour parked beneath the neon sign of The Paper Moon– hat, coat and gloves doing nothing to ward off the chill creeping into his cab– every raindrop taunts him in his isolation.

To hell with this.

He shuts off the engine, pops his collar, and braces himself before stepping out onto the street. The rain falls fast and hard, so he rushes toward the brick exterior of The Paper Moon. He’s never been inside, but the glowing crescent of the sign had piqued his interest the first time he’d dropped his client here. He may as well see what all the fuss is about.

The doorman– a tall, dapperly dressed unit with a neutral grimace– casts a wary look his way. Jake ducks into the alley beside the building. Guess it’s exclusive.

Through the rain he spots a side door with a meagerly covered stoop, upon which is hunched a smaller, yet equally well-dressed figure. The young man’s tawny complexion pops against the emerald green of his just-too-big blazer, mist gathering in the dark brown waves slicked back from his creased brow. He grips a cigarette between clenched teeth, stuttering curses around it as he strikes a flimsy matchbook to no avail.

“¿Necesitas un fuego?”

At his offer, Jake is met by startled, impossibly wide brown eyes. The shock turns to glee as his face breaks into a toothy smile.

“Sí– sí sería genial, señor.” He makes room on the stoop, his dimpled cheeks betraying his youth. Jake pulls out a lighter and deftly lights the end of his cigarette, earning another dimpled grin after a few christening puffs. “Muchísimas gracias.” 

“No hay problema.” 

He lights one of his own, the smoke mixing with the fog of his breath as he holds out his free hand. “Jake.”

“Mauricio.” His newfound companion grips his hand and shakes vigorously. 

They sit in silence for a few moments, their subtle exhalations and the slowing rain the only sounds between them.

The mood is disrupted by shouting from the other side of the door, followed by clattering and the unmistakable sound of someone falling. The door behind them flies open and a lanky, dark skinned man in a matching green blazer pokes his head outside.

“You’d better get your tail in here, Maurie. She’s in one of her moods tonight.” 

“Rats, alright,” he groans, taking one last drag of his cigarette before stamping it out with his heel. Mauricio straightens his blazer and pushes a hand through his hair. He pauses at the door and looks back at Jake. 

“Do you wanna come inside, dry off for a spell? We put on a mean show,” he swears. The kid's face isn't one Jake imagines people say “no” to very often.

“...Yeah, alright. Thanks.”

“Great! There’s a couple of tables toward the back that should still be free, you can sneak in there no problem.” Mauricio holds the door open a bit wider for Jake to step through. “If anyone gives you any trouble, just tell ‘em you’re with me.” With a wink and another winning smile, he darts off to follow the other blazer.

Jake finds his spot easily enough, taking in the atmosphere as he weaves between tables and patrons. So this is The Paper Moon.

The building’s drab exterior is deceptive: inside is a small lounge, bustling with activity and humming with life. Richly draped walls envelop the space, with ornate lamps and soft candlelight radiating from every table. The room looks as warm as it feels, a welcome relief from Jake’s prior solitude. 

He takes off his soaked coat and loosens his tie. Across the room Jake sees his client– a cold, calculating Mr. Wesley– who gives a curt nod, as if granting his permission to take a load off (for now).

He orders a drink from a slightly bewildered waiter and continues to survey the space. People of all shapes and sizes occupy tables and barstools, with the chatter of at least three languages creating a dizzying buzz around him. The crowd dies down when stage lights flash on at the far end of the room.

Out marches the band: the guy who'd clambered to the back door sits at the piano, cracking his knuckles before playing a few notes on the keys; an older man with a similar complexion props an upright bass in position, riffing along with the scattered piano melody; an impressively mustachioed fellow polishes the mouthpiece of his trumpet; Mauricio settles in behind a set of drums, waving a stick in the air when he spots Jake.

As warm as he's gotten after coming inside, the temperature seems to skyrocket as the click of heels and the shimmer of the last band member crossing the stage sends his heartbeat right into his throat. In walks– no, floats – a vision, evening gown the same color as the richly painted lips that curl into a smile as easily as breathing. Something Jake seems to have forgotten how to do.

He can’t take his eyes off you.

----------

There’s something in the air tonight.

Maybe it’s the smoke lingering on Mauricio’s jacket (you’ve told him time and time again how smoking before a show irritates you; he must have snuck a pack backstage), or maybe the weather has you out of sorts. Whatever it is, you’re one false step away from losing your cool. Which, of course, cannot happen. Not onstage.

As the band warms up, you take one last look in your compact mirror, blot your lipstick, and take a deep breath. It’s showtime.

The moment you step onstage, you turn on the charm. Nothing can touch you up here. Not when there’s music to play, a band to lead. A night to make unforgettable.

You approach the microphone and smile. “Hello again, darlings. Did you miss us while we were away?”

Applause and cheers echo back to you from the audience. There’s a distinct two-toned whistle that rises above the noise, but you don’t think anything of it.

Not until you scan the crowd and see something– someone – that doesn’t belong.

Lounging at the previously unoccupied back table is a man you’ve never seen before. Which wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t know the face and name of everyone who enters your club.

His eyes stay trained on you as you nod to the band to begin. One outlier a bad night will not make– you’ll deal with him later. For now, you let the caress of the opening notes ease the new tension in your body, and you start to sing.

With six shows a week, one would think the routine would become tedious. Quite the opposite: any night you play the same standards with the band is bound to be a good night. The chemistry between you and your boys is perfect– even on an off night like tonight, you still manage to follow each other and make the same hour of music sound brand new.

You lead one song, then another, completely in your own world. Of course, the constant cheers and occasional audience participation don’t hurt. But just when you hit your stride and forget your troubles, that whistle rings out above the noise.

The stranger's on the edge of his seat, rapt attention never leaving the stage. Seems innocent enough, but you’re still on high alert.

The set comes to a close, ending with a vibrant flourish. The band improvises a steady beat as you take a sip of water, then smile once more into the microphone.

“Oh, stop. Really…. well, alright, you can keep going,” you croon at the crowd as they cheer louder. 

You gesture to the band. “Let’s give a big round of applause to The Jays, what do you say?”

“On piano we have the dazzling Jackie Thomas,” you call out as he trills a fancy melody a little louder than the rest. “Followed by this absolute Adonis on the bass, Benny Hayes,” you add as the smooth licks of his instrument sound out a reply.

“Let’s hear it for Leo Castellón and his magnificent mustache on the trumpet,” you tease as he blasts out a tune. “And our baby bird on drums, Mauricio Farrés!” You raise your voice as the youth bangs out a closing rhythm. 

“And as always, I’m Ms. Songbird. We hope you’ll join us again soon, my doves. Goodnight!”

The band plays themselves out as you descend downstage to the front of the room. Time for the next act.

You know how to work a crowd both on and offstage; hospitality is as much a part of the gig as the music. Tonight’s a full house, but you take your time gliding past each table, front to back. Does everyone have their preferred drink? How’s the food? Was the music to their liking? All questions you ask with genuine interest, but you know the answer: everything is perfect.

"Hey, little songbird," a voice calls above the noise.

Everything except him.

You've been avoiding the back table for a while, trying to collect your thoughts before confronting him. No time like the present, I suppose.  

You turn to see the outlier standing by the table he’d commandeered, a shimmering bundle of rhinestones dangling from his hand. The glint of a grin catches the low light the same way your traitorous earring does.

You touch your ear and your face grows hot. “Where did you–”

“Fell off as you floated by the last few tables, angel.” 

Your heels tap out a warning as you approach. Toe-to-toe, with the added height of your shoes, you practically tower over him. Your brow furrows as you size him up: too forward to have something to hide, too laissez-faire to be up to any obvious trouble. All the same, you don't trust him.

You look him up and down; he does the same. "You're not very tall, are you?" More of a challenge than a question as you reach for the rhinestones in his hand.

Leaning back against the table, jewelry dangling just out of reach, his sly smile grows. "Well, miss, I tried to be."

"Right." You snatch the earring back before he says anything else. "I see you also tried to be discreet, and that didn't go so well for you, did it Chuck?"

"Actually, it's–"

“–club policy to check your coat at the door. Something our hostess would have insisted upon, meaning you– ” you emphasize as you lean in, fingertips pressed to the tabletop by his side, "–slipped in under the wire." You search his face for anything to betray his intentions. "Now how did you manage that?”

The stranger lowers himself into his seat, hands raised in surrender. "A little backstage access, courtesy of your drummer there." He nods toward the stage: you catch a glimpse of Mauricio clumsily ducking back behind the curtain. You'll scold him later.

His gaze shifts across the room. “See that fella over there– the one who looks like it'd kill him to smile? I’m just waiting to drive him home, like I do every week.” He grins again, that same look in his eyes. A look that sets you on edge. “Just a humble cab driver, miss– nothing up my sleeves.” 

“Didn't know cabbies could be so exclusive,” you say, still eyeing him. James Wesley has been a regular for a few weeks, but you've never met his driver.

“With what he tips? Doll, I'd do damn near anything he asked.” The stranger chuckles, sipping his drink.

You know what he means: the wait staff has noted a major uptick in gratuities since Mr. Wesley has started frequenting the lounge. 

“Very well,” you offer stiffly. It all checks out, but you get the feeling there's something he's not telling you. “I hope everything is to your liking.” 

You turn to leave, but he takes your hand before you can go far.

“Oh believe me, it is… Ms. Songbird. ” A wink and a smile play on his lips as he swiftly presses them to your knuckles, letting go just as fast. You storm away before giving the satisfaction of showing how flustered you are. 

“Mr. Manalo,” you beckon a waiter as he passes. He stands at attention. You gesture to the table you’d just left, not bothering to look and see if his eyes are still on you.

“Watch out for this one, will you? I get the feeling he isn’t just here for the music.”

----------

A/N: !!!! every story i write becomes my new favorite, but Noir!Jake has carved a pretty special spot in my heart this autumn. so excited to share more of him with y'all!

as always, thank you for reading :)

addtl tag list: @fandxmslxt69 @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

[leliwiththeblog]

Skincare Series ⋰˚☆

(Pt. 2) Products

Today we’re going to be talking about the different types of products and their benefits.

Having an overall knowledge of what each product does It will help you figure out what types of products you should be implementing in your routine.

What to shop for & what to avoid:

Korean skincare is going to be your best friend. Yes it’s a but more pricy but they’re some adorable option out there you just have to do your research. Your nearest cvs, target etc. should also have good skincare options.

What to avoid? Cheap dollar tree products and anything that has fragrance. This will ruin your skin so please do your research before you buy any type of product and always patch test.

Product Tip:

Always store your products in a cool dry area. Keeping your skincare cold will truly make a difference in the longevity of the product and will enhance their benefits. If you can invest in mini fridge great! if not keep them in your fridge or away from heat.

Types of products:

•Toner

•Serum

•Moisturizer

•Eye cream

•Face Mask

•Face mist

•Sunscreen

TONER: This is a water-based liquid formula that is created to hydrate, soften, smoothen, and hydrate the skin. It may even removes any last traces of dirt, grime and impurities stuck in your pores after you wash your face.

Always use an alcohol-free toner. Opt for witch hazel instead. You can apply with hands or with cotton pads.

SERUM: Serums can deeply penetrate the skin, which is why they’re great as hydrating products. They’re many different kinds of serums from dry oils to a water-based paste.

Some good serums to start with are Vitamin C serum or turmeric oil serums.

MOISTURIZER: To help keep the skin looking youthful, plump and well-hydrated use a moisturizer. This would lock all that moisture in and prevent your skin from drying out throughout the day

If you have dryer skin you’re going to need a thicker moisturizer and those with oily skin are going to need a lighter moisturizer.

EYE CREAM: Will help to improve the appearance of darkness, undereye-bags, aging, and puffiness. Some studies show that eye cream is necessary because the skin around the eyes ate thinner therefore needing more care.

To look and feel more awake use a caffeine infused eye cream. For the best results store eye cream in a cool/cold area.

FACE MASK: Not only are they hydrating and moisturizing it also tighten pores and refine skin texture. If your skin is ever feeling dry or dull put on a face mask.

Sheet mask are my absolute favorite. Other mask of a creamy consistency are the 2nd best. Always apply on a clean dry face. Theres others like under-eye masks & lip mask that work really well also.

FACE MIST: Usually packaged in a spray bottle it provides a quick hydration boost, especially if you have dry or dehydrated skin. This is the best on the go, a quick spritz and it will wet your face reactivating all your products.

Rose water or rice water make good face mist.

SUNSCREEN: As we know SPF 50+ is the most important step. Not only should you be using it all over your body but your face as well. Its important for protection your skin from the sun and avoiding permanent sun damage

You should be reapplying your sunscreen 2-3 in a day if you’re outside in the sun for prolonged periods of time. If you wear makeup opt for a spray to reapply without having to ruin your makeup.

[thelustybraavosimaid]

The wargs were the most numerous in that company, the wolf-brothers, but the boy had found the others stranger and more fascinating. Borroq looked so much like his boar that all he lacked was tusks... (Prologue, ADwD)

--

"The lad's a warg, or close enough," put in Ragwyle, the big spearwife. "His wolf took a piece o' Halfhand's leg."

The Weeper's red rheumy eyes gave Jon another look. "Aye? Well, he has a wolfish cast to him, now as I look close.[...]" (Jon I, ASoS)

--

He had known what Snow was the moment he saw that great white direwolf stalking silent at his side. One skinchanger can always sense another. (Prologue, ADwD)

--

Amongst the riders came one man afoot, with some big beast trotting at his heels. A boar, Jon saw. A monstrous boar. Twice the size of Ghost, the creature was covered with coarse black hair, with tusks as long as a man's arm. Jon had never seen a boar so huge or ugly. The man beside him was no beauty either; hulking, black-browed, he had a flat nose, heavy jowls dark with stubble, small black close-set eyes.

"Borroq." Tormund turned his head and spat.

"A skinchanger." It was not a question. Somehow he knew.

...

The skinchanger stopped ten yards away. His monster pawed at the mud, snuffling. A light powdering of snow covered the boar's humped black back. He gave a snort and lowered his head, and for half a heartbeat Jon thought he was about to charge. To either side of him, his men lowered their spears.

"Brother," Borroq said. (Jon XII, ADwD)

-----------

In the dark, the direwolf's red eyes looked black. He nuzzled at Jon's neck, silent as ever, his breath a hot mist. The wildlings called Jon Snow a warg, but if so he was a poor one. He did not know how to put on a wolf skin, the way Orell had with his eagle before he'd died. (Jon III, ADwD)

--

The gift was strong in Snow, but the youth was untaught, still fighting his nature when he should have gloried in it. (Prologue, ADwD)

--

Marsh hesitated. "Lord Snow, I am not one to bear tales, but there has been talk that you are becoming too…too friendly with Lord Stannis. Some even suggest that you are…a…"

A rebel and a turncloak, aye, and a bastard and a warg as well. Janos Slynt might be gone, but his lies lingered. (Jon III, ADwD)

--

"Wolves and women wed for life," Haggon often said. "You take one, that's a marriage. The wolf is part of you from that day on, and you're part of him. Both of you will change."

--

Perched above the window, the Old Bear's raven peered down at him with shrewd black eyes. My last friend, Jon thought ruefully. And I had best outlive you, or you'll eat my face as well. Ghost did not count. Ghost was closer than a friend. Ghost was part of him. (Jon III, ADwD)

--

Jon smelled Tom Barleycorn before he saw him. Or was it Ghost who smelled him? Of late, Jon Snow sometimes felt as if he and the direwolf were one, even awake. The great white wolf appeared first, shaking off the snow. A few moments later Tom was there.

...

Ghost nuzzled up against his shoulder, and Jon draped an arm around him. He could smell Horse's unwashed breeches, the sweet scent Satin combed into his beard, the rank sharp smell of fear, the giant's overpowering musk. He could hear the beating of his own heart. When he looked across the grove at the woman with her child, the two greybeards, the Hornfoot man with his maimed feet, all he saw was men. (Jon VII, ADwD)

[mxtxfanatic]

Also really love how much Lan Wangji and the things associated with him are always given a spotlight of purity and tranquility in the midst of chaos. Mo Manor is having a fierce corpse dog fight with terrifying growls and evil winds blowing everywhere?

The three Mo’s retreated one by one before Wei Wuxian’s eyes. Just as he was about to blow the whistle pressed beneath his tongue, the sound of humming strings sailed down from the highest heavens. The two notes were plucked with effortless grace, ethereal, clear, bearing the chill winds which swept through pine forests on deep, autumnal nights. The dark creatures battling in the courtyard turn rigid upon hearing the sound. In an instant, the faces of the Gusu Lan youths turned luminous, as though they had all been reborn.

—Chapt. 5: Feral IV, fanyiyi

Rich man and his nephew threatening the lives of fellow cultivators with their disregard for etiquette and human life?

With someone behind him to protect and support him, Jin Ling swung his sword all the more viciously. Wei Wuxian’s fingers probed the entrance of the spirit-locking pouch. But just as he was about to take action, a flash of blue sword-light swept past him like lightning, clashing with Jin Ling’s blade, shattering the weapon’s golden rays in an instant. ... The young man’s whole body was draped in white silk that shined like moonlight. On his back he bore a seven-stringed guqin, which was uncommonly narrow and made of a soft, raven-feather black wood. A white, cloud-patterned ribbon was tied around his forehead, and his skin was fair and unblemished. Like polished jade, he was both extremely beautiful and extremely refined. His eyes were very light, as if made of colored glaze, making his gaze appear cold and detached. His expression was tinged with frost and snow, and was solemn but not quite stiff. Though he saw Wei Wuxian’s ridiculous appearance, not a single reaction rippled across his placid face. Not a single speck of dust soiled his appearance, nor was a single hair or thread out of place, nor did a single point in his countenance breech etiquette.

—Chapt. 7: Pride II, fanyiyi

The civilian world is full of mess and drama?

Surrounded by a picturesque arrangement of gardens, pavilions and rivers, the residence’s black roofs and white walls were shrouded in mist year-round, a paradise floating atop a sea of cloud. The first glimmers of dawn shined through the early morning fog, perfectly complementing the place’s name—the “Cloud Recesses.” The mountains were silent, and the people were silent, their hearts and minds like still water.

—Chapt. 10: Elegance I, fanyiyi

[debbiecolon]

My second tarnished oc, Rem. He usually wears the nightmaiden twin crown, but I wanted to draw his face unobstructed. His lore is super meaty and I'm quite happy with it!

Rem is a descendant of the Nox, people of the Eternal Cities. He was raised in Sellia, well versed in Night sorceries and taught melee combat by his 'sisters', Nightmaidens who warden over the town. His days are spent rigorously training his body and mind, honing himself into a warrior capable of subduing the most formidable of foes. Easily identified by both his silvery skin and hair, Rem appears more Silver Tear than anything, yet his golden eyes speak of his heritage, which he is incredibly proud of. And it is perhaps because of his heritage that Rem holds very little love for the Two Fingers and the Golden Order.

Rem had been fortunate enough to meet General Radahn in his youth, and had been privy to the demigod studying gravity sorceries. He grows to admire the flame haired demigod and leaves the Sellian territories for the first time when he offers his services to the General, as both sorcerer and swordsman. He stood among the Red Mane soldiers in battle, dressed in the silks of the Nox, looking elegant as a dancer yet fighting with all the ferocity of a beast. His end is met like many others in the Caelid wilds: witness to the scarlet flower bloom, particles of rot saturating the sky, clogging the beauty of the stars.

He wakes after centuries, called back from a peaceful void to return to the Lands Between. His memories are muddled, mostly lost, but through adventuring he remembers himself, for better or worse. He remembers that wretched flower, and he seeks a power strong enough to oppose it.

Rem is an extremely quiet and emotionally guarded tarnished who borders on selectively mute, speaking little more than he has to. He makes very few connections but is not unwilling to cooperate with his fellows, seeing such actions as a great way to garner much needed knowledge. He gauges everything like a threat but closely safeguards those who win his trust and affection, albeit from the shadows.

Beneath his guarded exterior is a deep longing to return to a home no longer there. Caelid is a fetid wasteland and nightmarish shadow of what it once was, and it is the only time that he openly expresses deep pain upon seeing the remains of a land he once loved so dearly. It hurts more than he can bear to know that Radahn lives as Caelid does--as a shell of his former self. He does not hesitate to participate in the Festival, seeing it as a final act of kindness for his beloved General. It is a hard fought battle, but Rem leaves with Radahn's blades as his trophy, swearing to wield the colossal weapons in battle.

Though Rem was raised in a town of sorcery and has proficiency with night magics, his greatest strength comes from physical prowess. He wields all manner of great swords and colossal blades, overwhelming his foes with sheer strength and relentlessness. He embodies duality, using stealth, life sapping mist and poison to turn the tide of what could have been a heavily skewed battle. He does not see underhanded tactics as something to frown upon. After all, combat (and life) does not play fair. Aside from sorceries, Rem has studied incantations on a surface level, enough to know hos to cast a poisonous mist or mend his injuries.

Rem's loyalty to the red haired demigod is akin to a love that is all consuming. It was a love that felt unrequited, but his unwavering belief and devotion to honing himself into the perfect weapon caught the interest of the towering Radahn. They seemed an unconventional pair, but they both bonded quite easily through combat and a shared love of animals. Leonard, Radahn's steed, received many a rowa berry and nose pats from Rem.

He felt as though he lost Radahn twice over. Once, against the one-armed valkyrie and her scarlet rot, and a second time at his own hand. Though it was a mercy, to grant his beloved demigod a warrior's end, a part of him died again with the General. The loss is an ever present ache that leads to the nihilistic belief that nothing in the Lands is worth salvaging.

The pain of loss and his keen awareness of the loss of many others drives Rem down the path of becoming the Lord of the Frenzied Flame. He does so, not to spare Melina from a fiery end, but to bring an end to it all, to be the Lord of the lost and the broken. To put to rest all that distinguishes and divides, hoping that perhaps the flames will consume him too.

[trancylovecraft]

(KNY) YANDERE PLATONIC! KOKUSHIBO x SISTER READER: You, Shibou. I, Kokoro (CHAPTER THREE)

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AO3 link

CHAPTER THREE: "Achilles, Achilles, Achilles, jump now. You are absent of cause or excuse. So self-indulgent and self-referential, No audience could ever want you"

Aomori is called one of the snowiest places in the world, Often having a twenty two foot snowfall every year.

Snow can represent a lot of things such as youth or innocence but more often than not symbolises death, Snow being often considered an omen of such in some cultures.

Winds rushed and hit against the girls face like the aftermath of a levelled dam, Pieces of snow slamming into her face as she travelled through the blizzard. Tree's hit against each other in the wind, Fighting and bashing into the other within the forest.

Another nightmare, Just like the one last night. [F/N] sighed through her shaky jaw, Letting cold mist blow out into the hailing gale.

Forward, Place. It felt like the thick layer of snow she trudged in was trying to pull her down and swallow her whole, Clinging onto her foot as she put it down once again.

[F/N] wondered how far she'd get this time, How far she would get until her knees gave up on her and signal her end. Maybe she'd find an exit this time, A way to stop the dream entirely.

As she placed another foot however, Her knees buckled making her topple over into the snow.

She hit the white with a thud, Imbedding and enveloping her entire body into the cold freezing slush.

[F/N] cried out. No matter how many times she hit the ground it never got any less painful, It never stopped the frostbite sinking into her skin and reaching her organs.

She now laid in the snow unmoving, She knew it was useless to try and escape, The snow wouldn't let her go no matter how much she might of tried.

[F/N] closed her eyes, Waiting for the darkness to fade in fro-

"GET OUT!"

[F/N] flinched, A voice ringing throughout the clearing she was in. But that was impossible, The dreams never strayed from their pa-

"GET OUT, [F/N]! YOU NEED TO RUN!"

She opened her eyes, So wide that they were almost bulging out of their sockets.

With great effort she lifted her head, Pointing it in the direction of the voice. From beyond the treeline, Shrouded by the snow's mist, Was a dark figure.

"WE CAN'T STAY HERE, WE NEED TO RUN" It screamed, It's voice shrill and hoarse like it hadn't drunken in years. [F/N] tried to squint her eyes and get a better look, Heart racing at the new development.

"DON'T LET HIM CATCH US, [F/N]. DON'T LET HIM FIND US!" The figure hollered once more and suddenly the mist cleared away, Blowing off with the wind. [F/N] focused her eyes once more, Finally getting a good look at the figure.

[F/N] felt her heartbeat stutter and stop.

It was her.

A copy of [F/N] stood within the treeline. She stood in a fighting stance like she was preparing for impact, Hair and haori whipping around in the blizzard. Her face was wild and panicked.. She was terrified.

She was an exact replica, It was her in every physical way.. Except two.

The first was the markings on her face. Ones similar to the ones she'd see on her mask decorated the pained expression on her like a porcelain doll.

In the middle of her chest was a large stab wound, Blood still hot trickling out of it and oozing down to stain her kimono. [F/N] couldn't take her eyes off of it, Like a hypnotists watch swinging back and forth she felt like she was in a trance.

"WE CAN'T LET HIM CATCH US, HE'S NOT THE SAME. WE NEED TO RUN OR ELSE WE'LL NEVER GET AWAY, PLEASE [F/N] LISTEN TO US!" Her copy cried, Sobbing and breaking down now like a young child.

"W-Who.. Who is he..?" [F/N] tried to ask but it only came out as a strained whisper.

However that question was already answered by the shadow looming over her. [F/N] snapped her head up and came into view with the man in the purple kimono, Tall figure hanging over her.

She could see his face now. His face, His damn face..

[F/N] opened her mouth and screamed.

Six golden eyes pierced her, Six sharp bloodshot pupils honing in on her fallen form, All looking down at her like she was a piece of meat to consume. [F/N] tried to get away, She tried moving out from under the snow but it was useless.

His mouth was open to reveal a row of sharp teeth lain out like a collection of knives, Vampiric canines ready to lunge and gnaw into her arm as his own reached out to her, Trying to grasp whatever he could of her.

[F/N] screamed out for help as he tugged on her arm, Digging his two canines into her forearm. Blood burst out from the wound, Splattering all over her arm and his face as he bit into her muscle.

She cried hard, Red was everywhere as she felt him tug his head back. A sick ripping sound ech-

"[F/N]-SAMA!"

[F/N] shot up from her futon with a yelp, Waking up with a cold sweat dripping down her face. She was breathing like she ran a marathon and needed to grip the frame of the futon to steady her shaking.

"..[F/N]-sama? Are you alright?" [F/N] looked up to the doorway to see one of the handmaidens shuffling around awkwardly, Seemingly concerned.

[F/N] inhaled and exhaled, Trying to recollect her breath and thoughts as she tried to find a response amongst her scattered brain.

"..Another nightmare.. I apologise if I woke you up with any noise.." [F/N] said, Wiping off the excess sweat.

The handmaiden stopped, Then slowly nodded.

"I see.. You didn't disturb anyone if that's any consolation. I came because I we have a few more visitors to the shrine and I thought it would be of importance to alert you.." The girl who [F/N] recognised as Seijun, An older handmaiden, explained to her.

[F/N] sighed.

"Yes.. Alright. Go on." She said, Dusting off the stray hairs on her.

"Okay.. Well first of all two more slayers have decided to reside here for the time being along with Kamado Tanjiro and Nezuko, Himejima Gyomei and his tsuguko's. Their names are Hashibira Inosuke and Agatsuma Zenitsu, Both of Tsuchinoto ranking." Seijun explained, A cordial tone in her voice.

"..Really? More slayers..?" [F/N] groaned lightly

Seijun tilted her head lightly to which [F/N] noticed

"No. No..! Don't get me wrong, It's fine if they want to stay here I've just not been in the mood lately to deal with that sort of stuff right now.. Cause of, You know..?" [F/N] said, Adding the question at the end to gauge if she was aware of her other identity.

Seijun nodded.

"Yes, Your 'retirement'." She confirmed [F/N]'s suspicion. "I can bring you some tea to soothe your nightmare if that would please you, [F/N]-sama" Seijun offered.

[F/N] hummed.

"..That would be great, Thank you Seijun. But I would prefer if you could bring it to the desk in the library, I'll be heading there soon." [F/N] said, Swinging her legs over the side of her futon to get up.

Seijun nodded.

"I can do that, Do you need anything else from me?" She asked.

"No, I'm fine for now. Thank you, Seijun, You're dismissed.." [F/N] said, Smiling gently.

Seijun smiled back and bowed lowly before leaving the room, Closing the door behind her lightly with a click.

Then once again [F/N] was left alone to her own company, The silence so loud it felt like it was draining the life out of her.

She sighed before pushing herself up off the bed, Rubbing whatever sleep she had left in her eyes she made her way over to the shoji windows and pulled them open to let in the days light.

"Hm..?" [F/N] hummed. While the light had came in she had realised that it wasn't morning at all, It was in fact late evening when the sun was setting over the faraway mountaintops. Casting a dark shadow in the opposite direction.

[F/N] groaned as she felt the light breeze hit her face from the way in, She had only gotten at most two hours of sleep. It was going to be a nightmare on its own to go back to sleep.

The nightmare. [F/N] shivered both from the thought and the cold hitting her skin, Another reminder of what happened. The meaning of her vision evaded her, For months it had continued on and on without change. So why now did it deviate? Especially in the way it did.

"GET OUT, [F/N]! YOU NEED TO RUN!"

Her doubles words echoed around in her skull like a disturbed bat in a cavern. The wild inhuman look in her eyes appeared every time [F/N] shut her own, A haunting apparition. But what disturbed her the most was the man- No, It was a demon.

It had to be. [F/N] couldn't mistake those eyes for a second, All six of them jabbing into her while his maws ripped into her flesh, Tearing away the bloody meat from her bones and digging in like a pouncing lion to a zebras hind.

Her fingers twitched, Itching to get away from the imaginary threat.

She shut the window doors a little quicker than she should of, Trying to focus on her breathing to pacify her racing heart. It was fine, It was just a dream, Yet it felt so real.. It was just a dream right?

Even if it was just a dream, This wasn't something she could ignore. Something inside her resonated, Something screaming at her not to let this go, Telling her to run.

[F/N] decided she'd go down and pray at the Haiden later, After she had finished what she meant to do and consult Inari on what this meant.

Another throb came from within her chest once she took another breath in, Great. The pain in her chest hadn't subsided. Remembering the position of the sun and estimating the mountain height, Maika must not be back. It takes a lot of time to descend the mountain and get to the village, Especially in winter.

[F/N] coughed out another block in her chest with an ache, Yet decided to suffer through.

She moved quickly over to the closet and got ready. Slipping off her nightwear into puddle in the ground she hastily fastened over the obi on her kimono and tying it into a neat bow at the back, Her dragon blue haori hanging off her shoulders completing the outfit.

[F/N] finished it off by slipping on her blocked okobo sandals, Of which added a good few extra inches to her height.

She checked her form in the mirror, Running over every careful choice in outfit before deciding it was presentable enough.

With that she went over to the door and swung it open, Moving out down into the hallway.

Her sandals clacked against the wooden floorboards echoing out down the passage, As she moved she nodded and greeted several Kakushi, Quick hello's and how are yous as she went by. Small talk.

As the sun slowly set the Kakushi got more and more frequent.

Activity in the base starting to resurrect from the night before as she made her way through winding hallways, Passing tapestry after tapestry and doing the exact same over and over again.

Nearly at the library she turned a corner once more, Head turned away as she said hello before her body slammed into another.

Stumbling back like a new-born fawn she tried to catch her balance, The surprise of the connection dazing her.

"Ah! Apologies, I wasn't watching where I.." [F/N] trailed off, Finally looking up at the person she bumped into with a wide eyed stare.

"Ngh.. You were going, I know" The boy in front of her finished. He was young, Only around fourteen years old and an inch smaller than [F/N] herself.

"I.. Uhm.." [F/N] stuttered looking down at him. His unruly fluffy hair that was tied into small braid, His wide owl-looking eyes and face full of freckles. [F/N] recognised him, The one person she dreaded the most to run into.

She felt her chest throb, But not from her ailment.

"Ne.. Do you have anything to say or.. are you just gonna stand there..?" He drawled slightly, A slightly bothered yet innocent tone in his voice. [F/N]'s eyes darted all over him, examining every point of him before she realised his slayer uniform's top button was slightly undone.

"I.. You're top button is undone, Here let me.." [F/N] exclaimed, Reaching for his top collar before he backed away on an instinct.

"Ngh.. Please, Do not touch me. The feeling of most things disturb me greatly.." He said rather bluntly, Making small noises in between sentances. [F/N] bowed rather quickly in response.

"A-Apologies! I'll keep that in mind if we ever meet again.." [F/N] chuckled, Trying and failing to hide the awkwardness tinting her voice. The boy in front of her didn't particularly care though, Only staring back at her.

"..Ne, I am rather sure we will.. You are the head shrine-maiden and I expect my master will be wanting to greet you soon.." He spoke in a monotone lilt.

"Your master.. Right, Himejima-san. You are one of his Tsuguko.. Your memory is rather good.." [F/N] sighed.

"Yes, It is. Thank you." He replied.

The two stood in silence, Staring back into one and other. [F/N] watching the boy carefully, Like he was a explosive she was about to defuse while he looked back at her without a single care in the world.

"Ne.. Bye then.." He broke the silence before moving around her, Trailing off down the hallway.

"Wait, Hold on!" [F/N] exclaimed, Turning around to him.

He stopped in his tracks and lazily gazed back at her, Tilting a brow.

"Do.. you know my name?" [F/N] asked through a thick tone of hesitation in her voice. Though she was frowning her eyes glinted with a shine, Like she was expecting something great just out of her grasp.

He blinked, Only once.

"No. I was never informed."

[F/N] felt the light in her eyes extinguish, The burning embers of hope being put out by his single flow of words.

"Ah.. I.. I see.." She mumbled "..My name is [F/N].. If it means anything." She added on once more, Bowing down in respect.

He only gazed back at her and nodded curtly.

"Ngh.. I'll remember it.. Since its respectful.. I'll give you mine in return.. My name is Shizuko Himejima" Shizuko respectfully replied, lowering his head once more to her own.

And with that, He was off. [F/N] didn't try to stop him again, Only watched as he walked off down the now empty hallway. [F/N] pleaded to herself, Begging that he'd turn back and say something.

But he didn't look back, And soon enough he was gone.

☆♡☆

Snow danced lightly in the wind like swaying ribbons in gentle breeze. Maika slowly walked through the light layer of snow covering the ground as she searched for a market stall, A Kakushi trailing a few feet behind her.

The village was a few miles away from the shrine, Not too far yet enough distance as to keep it private from the residents who resided here.

Maika tugged her thick fashioned haori over her uniform a little tighter, The cold kept away by the warmth it brought her. She wondered how long it had been since she had left the shrine and descended the mountain.

She needed to get back soon, It was just about night-time and she didn't want to stay out long in case of a demon attack. Not to mention getting the medicine for [F/N]. Even if she was a new shrine-maiden it felt as if she needed to make up for her cowering out on being a slayer.

Getting the medicine for her boss was the least she could do to help out, If only a little bit anyways.

"It seems like they're selling herbs over there, Heihachiro-san." The Kakushi called out from behind her, Casually pointing out a rather crowded stall from within the street.

Maika gasped

"Ah! G-Great eye!" She exclaimed. Despite her chattering jaw, The soft smile gracing her face never left as she finally found what she was looking for.

"It looks rather crowded though.. Maybe we can find another stall the other way?" The Kakushi suggested, Eyeing the crowd hesitantly. Maika shook her head dismissively

"No, No! We're already here.. Come on, Lets go!" Maika didn't wait for a response as she was already off, Leaving the Kakushi back behind her.

"Wait up!" The Kakushi called out. Running after her as she finally reached the back of the small crowd, Where she tried to go on her tip toes to peer over the crowd.

Maika hummed, Trying to find a way through the crowd without disturbing anyone.

The Kakushi finally caught up to her and unlike Maika, Didn't particularly care about the crowd as he started pushing through them, Maika's arm in tow.

"Ah! S-Sorry.. Apologies! Uhm.." Maika stuttered, Trying to apologise to the disturbed crowd for her peer's ignorance as she was pulled along by the arm towards the front.

"Excuse me, Sorry. But we need these herbs here, Do you have them? It's for the shrine a little bit up north so please understand the importance." The Kakushi stated, Letting go of Maika's forearm and slamming his hands on the market desk.

"I-If you could sell us them, That is.." Maika added on.

The old merchant looked back at him, A little annoyed from the intrusion but when the shrine was mentioned his face had brightened.

"Ah right, That old 'Okami' shrine.. Heard you lot exported a lot from here.." The merchant said, Lazily rubbing his chin in thought.

"Yes, We do. Now can you please sell us what we need?" The Kakushi's exasperated breaths shown in the winter air, Quickly pointing at a heap of turmeric impatient to get back to the warmth of the shrine.

The merchant chuckled lightly.

"I suppose I could.. But it would cost you more" He said.

"What?!" The kakushi exclaimed.

"Yep, You type's tend to have a little extra cash on ya' and seeing as you just interrupted my business you wouldn't mind paying a lil' more for it?" The merchant said, Gesturing around to the crowd surrounding the two.

"No way! The price here says 1702 yen for a few clovers turmeric and that's what I'm gonna pay." The Kakushi argued, Pulling out a good few notes of roughly 1702 yen and holding out for the merchant to take.

Instead, He shook his head.

"Going to need at least 3800 yen for it." He said adamantly, Folding his arms over his chest.

"3800?! You've gotta be kidding me..!" The Kakushi exclaimed. But Maika couldn't hear the rest of the argument as she slowly backed away from the crowd, All viewing the ongoing spat like a dog on dog fight.

Maika stumbled out of the crowd, She didn't want to be apart of this. Maybe she should of listened to the Kakushi when he said to go to another stall, The seller here seemed rather.. Unpleasant.

By now the late evening had turned into an early night, Stars already starting to show themselves over the valley the village sat in.

She backed up further into her heavy haori, Asking why she ever decided to work in such an unbearably cold environment.

The argument by the seller stand had started to ironically heat up, Making the majority of the crowd sigh and give up trying to get anything and just go home to enjoy their slipping state of consciousness.

As several people walked past her out into the rest of the village she breathed in, Trying to puff up her chest and build the confidence to step into end the fight.

Maika put her foot forward but the snow she had been expecting to hit never came, Instead it was the feeling of a cold palm wrapping around her wrist and yanking her back.

"AH-" Her yell was quickly silenced by another hand slamming over her mouth.

"If you wanna keep your pathetic little life then you're going to shut the hell up, You hear?" Her assailant hissed lowly into her ear from behind, His voice boyish and full of sadistic joy as his inhuman strength held Maika in place.

She flailed around in the mans arms letting out muffled cries as she felt his claws digging into her skin. His presence was unmistakable.

This was a demon, She was being held hostage by a demon.

She wailed at the realisation. Tears already started to fall down from her eyes, Especially once the demon trailed a talon along her bottom eyelid, Lightly digging in as she squealed about.

"That includes struggling, Hold still!" He laughed akin to a young hyena, High pitched laughs lacing every crack in his voice like he was one too.

Maika instantly stilled in his hold at the drop of his command, Her breathing becoming ragged as if all the oxygen in the world was taken away from her. Who was he? If he was a demon why didn't he already bite into her and tear her limbs apart like his nature would suggest?

"Now here is how this is gonna go.. You're with that Kakushi over there right?" He questioned. Feeling the eyes burn into the back of her head she nodded feverishly in hopes of pleasing him.

"Good! Then you must be with the slayers then…" His sentence was cut off by another burst of manic laughter, Making Maika yelp "This is great..! Only I could've got such a good catch.." He chittered to himself.

Maika felt her heart stop, He was fishing for information. Her breathing picked up, Was he going to torture her? Kill her? She couldn't be here, She couldn't believe it. There was no way.

Yet the feeling of claws circling her neck said otherwise.

"P-Please.." She whispered out through his hand, Voice pleading, Begging to be let go. She watched the Kakushi from the alleyway. It seemed like he had gotten the turmeric and had realised her absence, Calling out her name and looking around.

"Don't make a sound" He threatened.

No.. Maika's stare burned into the Kakushi, To peer into the alleyway, Begging to Inari for him to notice her state and get help.

But he never looked her way, Lightly stumbling in another direction.

She felt her hope shatter into a thousand pieces, He couldn't see her, Not from the alleyway. Maika knew that even if she complied with the demon- No. This monster's demands then he wouldn't let her go, She'd make for a quick meal.

Maika would be forgotten. What had she even done in life? Only finally pass final selection just to cower out and reserve herself to a shrine, If she died here, Nothing would change. Would anyone even mourn?

His claws pressed further into her neck, He'd kill her. He'd kill her no matter what she said.

Maika took a deep breath in. If that was the case, Then she knew that she had to at least try, To try and live another day.

She suddenly unsheathed her Kaiken from her hakama trousers.

Kaigaku didn't even have time to react as it punctured his neck.

"Ack!" He choked out, A spray of blood erupting from his neck as the maiden slipped from his grasp in the split moment he let go.

"OVER HERE!" Maika screamed out as she dashed into the wide open street. The kakushi turned around to see her running frantically towards him.

"Gr.. Ah!" Kaigaku hissed as he grabbed the Kaiken, Yanking it out of his neck.

"Demon attack, There's a demon! We've gotta go, NOW!" Maika yelled at the Kakushi, Who stood their wide eyed. Grabbing him by the wrist they both started running down the rocky pathway.

"You bitch!" Kaigaku yelled after her, Stepping out into the moonlight of the pathway and watching them go.

Maika kept running through the empty streets, The Kakushi quickly in tow. She didn't know how powerful this demon was as she didn't get a good look at it, She wouldn't get one now, She couldn't bare to look back at it.

"We need to hurry, Get back to the shrine and alert a slay-"

In a flash of black lightning Maika tumbled down to the floor, The snow barely cushioning her fall as she yelled out in pain, A skin-deep sword slash cutting open the back of her kosobe.

"Heihachiro-san!" The Kakushi called out, Stopping only a few metres away as he looked out at the scene.

Kaigaku stood over her, His sword drawn as he pressed a foot down into the peak of her back. His face was contorted into a scowl as he glared at the girl, Quite literally an ant under his shoe.

"You little bitch..!" He growled. Maika was winded, The breath completely taken away from her as she turned around to finally look at her assailant.

Her eyes widened, He was only a boy.. Could of only been in his teenage years yet the black whites of his eyes said he was a demon.

But what really disturbed her was two things entirely, The first was his slayer uniform. He use to be a slayer, One of them.. He use to be one of them.

But his eyes were the most terrifying.. Lightning blue irises with the kanji 'Upper Six' ingrained deep into them, Making Maika's heart feel like it was choking up her throat.

This was Uppermoon six.

"Ballsy move there.. But did you really think that pathetic little blade could stop me? Come on! Wound's all gone now anyways, See?"

Kaigaku said. Gesturing up at his neck to find that the puncture had already disappeared, Not even a speck of blood remaining.

"P-Please.. Just let us g- AH!" Maika was cut off by a sharp kick to her side, Making her scream out in pain.

"Shut up!" Kaigaku hissed, Leaning down to her level he showed off his row of sharp, tigerish teeth. Sadism near radiated from him in that moment when he lowered his clawed hands to her eye.

But then he jumped back in order to avoid the swinging nichirin blade, Neigh slicing at his neck.

The Kakushi stood in front of Maika in a defensive stance. He was terrified, Maika could tell as his knees almost buckled under him from the shaking. Yet he still held up his sword to the upper rank anyways.

Kaigaku finally took notice of him, Seemingly too invested in getting back at the maiden who put a hole through his neck before even realising he was there at all.

"Ah, The Kakushi! There you are.." Kaigaku exclaimed.

"Heihachiro-san.. Run.. Get out of here, I'll handle this!" The Kakushi proclaimed, Yet his voice was as shaky as the hold on his sword. He wouldn't take his eyes off of the demon in front of him while motioning for her to go.

"B-But you.." Maika stuttered.

"Just go!" The Kakushi said, Finally taking a quick glance at her. His stare was the finality.

Maika only nodded as she scrambled to get up from the frozen pavement, The wound on her back starting to bleed only a little as she quickly caught her balance, All before taking off in a mad dash towards the start of the mountain pathway.

"Oh no you don't! You're not getting away from me!" Kaigaku yelled after her. Swiftly drawing his sword once more but was stopped by the Kakushi, Who took another slice at him down the middle. Once more Kaigaku dodged, An easy task for him.

"My duty as a demon slayer, I won't let you get to her.. E-Even if it costs me my life" The Kakushi said, The dawning realisation of his imminent death finally coming upon him as tears started to dust his eyes.

Kaigaku grinned, Wide and toothy.

"You said it, Not me!" He laughed, Charging at the man with his unsheathed nichirin.

He didn't even realise that his arm was lobbed off until his body hit the ground, A wide spray of blood coating the pavement like paint.

The Kakushi screamed, A loud primal noise erupting from the deepest chords in his throat as he watched his tendons and ligaments be torn from its sockets. Blood still spurting out from the wound as he cried out into the night.

He writhed around on the ground, Screaming out in pain as he kicked and flailed about. Kaigaku laughed at the sight, As he slowly approached the man once more.

"Not so high and mighty, Are you? You thought you could protect that pathetic girl and.." Kaigaku paused.

The girl.

He quickly snapped his head up, Looking back and forth to try and find where she had ran off to, Yet it was no use, She was nowhere to be found.

Kaigaku let the realisation hit him before yelling out in rage.

Completely ignoring the maimed Kakushi on the ground in favour of breaking a group of barrels, Letting the pieces break and shatter into a thousand pieces on the floor.

"Damnit.. DAMNIT!" He cursed, Stomping the last of the pieces of wood under his sandals with several hefty thuds as he gripped his hair, Almost ripping it out from his scalp.

His breathing was heavier than his anger in that moment, His body rapidly trying to calm himself down. How could he let an insignificant, Cowardly little shrine-maiden get away? It was unfathomable. How could the cat let the mouse slip through its paws?

He needed to chase after her, She couldn't get away! It would be a disgrace to him, An absolute embarrassment.

He was brought back to reality by another groan of pain from the Kakushi, Who was trying to crawl away with what arm he had left. Kaigaku felt his heartbeat start to steady, The rapid pace mellowing down into a slow thump.

It didn't matter, He got what he came for. The Kakushi would of had more information than some nobody anyways, There was no reason to chase after her. After all, The Kakushi had the information to lead him to wherever she went. Two birds with a single limb.

☆♡☆

The sound of lead scribbling away at paper seemed to fill the room, Such a miniscule sound yet it felt so loud within the confines of the library.

[F/N] groaned. Putting down her quill and grabbing the paper she scrunched it up in her hands and tossed it aside with all the other ones.

She placed her face inside her palms and started to massage her temple. The irritation inside her started to build like bacteria multiplying with the illness of it peaking into frustration.

The library was rather empty. The walls and rows of books stretching to the ceilings were only walked past once or twice, Either by the odd handmaiden or [F/N] herself, Going on a walk to try and calm her nerves.

She tried once more, Picking up the warm cup of sake-infused tea Seijun made and taking another quick sip. [F/N] felt the warm liquid go down her throat, The tea doing nothing to soothe herself but instead remind her of the state of her chest as she lightly coughed.

Setting the tea down [F/N] chided herself for feeling like this. She didn't know why she felt the way she did. Was it the nightmare? Was it the chest pains? Or could it be Shizuko.. The sudden meeting still fresh in her mind, Clear as day.

Maybe it was all of them. A combined effort of built up inconveniences that left such a sour aftertaste in her mouth, Tea doing nothing to wash it down.

[F/N] looked down at the desk she was writing at. The library was large, Probably the biggest room other than the haiden in the entire shrine. While it mostly consisted of tall ceilings and open shelves for people to pick out a book, [F/N] sat in a little nook tucked away at the very back of the library home to only a desk and a candlestick to illuminate her writing.

It was something she had been meaning to do for a few weeks now, A single piece of paper she had been meaning to write yet had put off like a chore. Even when she started to write down the first few letters the meaning would muffle, Causing her to get annoyed and scrunch the paper up and throw into the ever-growing pile.

[F/N] pulled out another blank sheet and placed it out in front of her. She sighed, Trying to gather her thoughts of what to say.

She needed to get this just right. She couldn't be too emotional but she couldn't exactly be too uptight either, There was a sweet spot she was hoping to hit, A perfect balance for her to write with.

This was stupid, She thought. Why was she even doing this in the first place? Maybe it would be better if she just didn't write anything at all. It would be easier for her anyways, But if she left things unspoken then how could there be any closure?

No. She needed to do this. Maybe not for her or not actually for the closure but there was an explanation that needed to be said, Something she at least owed to her. Ironically she didn't think she could live with herself if she didn't say something.

Picking up her quill once more she lowered it towards the paper. She knew she needed to say something, But what? There was so much yet so little at the same time, Where would she start? How would she say it?

Thoughts rushed in her mind and circled around her head like storm clouds. Everything from earlier still striking with them inside her. Shizuko.. How would he feel about this? Would he be disappointed in her?

If he actually knew, That is.

[F/N] paused the movement of her quill.

She shouldn't be thinking about him, Not after all this time. He doesn't even remember who she is.

[F/N] placed the tip of the ink dipped quill onto the paper and began to write once more. No thought went into the strokes and the lows of the quill, Just mindless word spill as it danced in her hands.

It was the culmination of the past few hours, Days, Months to years. Everything she had been wanting to say overflowed on that single sheet, Every word thoughtless yet held such weight to it as it finally got spoken.

The quill circled, The final period written down.

[F/N] picked up the piece of paper lightly, Bringing it up to the candle to read over her writing. Her eyes softly examined every word, Every letter and paragraph was carefully read over.

She set the paper down.

It was good, Good as it will ever get.

[F/N] took the piece of paper and a tea-stained envelope. Folding it up delicately she placed the paper inside of the envelope, Licking it and folding it with care she took the candle holder from the side of the desk.

She grabbed the candle and tilted it slightly, Letting the wax drip onto the core of the envelope.

Once she was satisfied she pushed it down with a little fox stamper, Creating the wax seal and completing the letter.

She tucked it away in an embedded pocket of her haori, Neatly settling it inside. She had finished. A sudden hit of serenity washed over her, A calm peacefulness finally filled the oxygen around her, A kind of feeling that was few and far between.

Picking up her half-drunken cup of tea she placed it up to her lips, Intending to finish it as reward for her work.

She let her mind drift off as she tasted the sugar and sake mix together on her tongue, A bittersweet taste ruminating as it went down her throat and fill her stomach with a comforting warmth. However it didn't last long as a sudden coughing fit interrupted her, Making her spit out the tea in her mouth.

She coughed harder, Placing her head into the inside of her forearm she set down her tea. The pain in her chest had kicked up without warning, Making the tea in her throat go out the other way.

She grabbed a tea towel and wiped her mouth with it, Finally getting the last of the residue out of her throat. The annoyance finally rising up inside her once more.

It reminded her, Where was Maika? Looking at the little pocket watch sat on her desk it had been two hours since she had woken up, Making it exactly five hours she had been out. While the mountain was hard to traverse it surely wouldn't take this long, Would it?

It was winter, Maybe the markets had a low stock and she had to search longer for a stall actually selling herbs. Maybe it was a little snowier than usual and they had to be a little more careful.

[F/N]'s brow quirked. Even though there was a myriad of reasons why she could be taking longer than usual, She still couldn't shake off the bad feeling underlying it all. A feeling that made her feel like she was drowning..

She finished off her tea, Sipping down the last of it and setting it down.

As it didn't before, It couldn't calm her nerves.

She could only hope that Maika was alright.

☆♡☆

Run. Just keep running. That's what Maika told herself as she rushed throughout the snow like a madwoman, Desperate and begging to reach her destination.

Her lungs burned from exhaustion yet she kept on going. The slash made at her back had cut open her kosobe leaving her vulnerable to the elements, The cold seeping inside of every pore on her body and soaking up every little bit of the frostbite.

The wound itself wasn't as skin-deep as she thought since she could feel the droplets of blood coming up and running down her back She supposed she was lucky however, If it was any deeper she doubted she'd of been able to make it this far.

Traversing through the forest was something she did often, Just not in the winter. In the summer it was a common activity for the handmaidens to run around and pick the local produce: Nuts, Berries, Flowers. They did it so much that the layout of the entire forest was ingrained deep into Maika's memory.

Though she couldn't deny the difficulty in the winter. The frost had made it slippery, Making it a task in of itself not to trip over and bash her head in on a rock. The light fog concealed her vision too, Only a good few metres in front of her being perceived at all.

She pleaded to Inari, Begging that the Kakushi she had left behind would be alright. That he would somehow survive, Be in one piece at the very least. But she knew in the back of her mind, By the number in that demons eye she knew what would become of him.

Maika kept going, Stumbling only a little as the mountains terrain got a little rockier, Just a little steeper as she kept going. The fog got a little thicker as she went along too, Eventually to the point where it was neigh impossible to see.

By the time she knew she was lost her legs felt numb, Cold to the touch.

But she kept going anyways, Determined in her goal.

☆♡☆

The dark hallway of the inn was only illuminated by the dim embers of the candles lining it in holsters.

Heavy thumps of both footsteps and the dragging of the Kakushi's body was the only noise in earshot, The rest as silent as a killer.

The Kakushi was barely conscious, His vision a messy blur as he felt so much lighter than before. His mind was in pieces too, Barely registering objects he bumped into and the tiny light from the candles seemed blinding to him, Making him writhe around.

Kaigaku had a firm hold on the mans neck, Claws itching to wring it but refrained from the sheer opportunity he held in his hands. A crudely made bandage stopping the bleeding going any further.

Kaigaku stopped in his tracks once he reached the end of the hallway, Standing face to face with a door not unlike any other they had passed. Just a simple, Mahogany wood door.

But Kaigaku took in a deep breath, Interrupted by nervous jitters. He looked himself up and down adjusting both his uniform and his hair just before reaching a clawed hand out and lightly knocking.

Knock

Knock

Knock

…

"Come in."

The voice called out from behind the door. Kaigaku took one more breath in before turning the knob and pushing the door open.

It revealed a wide open bedroom, An expensive one that the inn owner would only rent out to high-paying customers. Though it would be impossible now as her mangled corpse lay on the table, Limbs spread out like a religious painting.

"M-Master!" Kaigaku called out. His previous arrogant and cocky demeanour now washed away into a nervous and skittish behaviour as he cowered in the doorframe, Looking back at the other man. A complete switch in a single second.

Kokushibo sat at the table on his knees. The corners of his lips smudged with red as he held the inn owners leg in his hands, A large chunk already gorged out from the bone and down the gullet of her killer.

"What do you want, Tsuguko?" Kokushibo asked. His deep voice as stoic as ever, Even while holding the severed arm of his meal it never wavered in the slightest.

"I-I apologise for interrupting you sir but-!" Kaigaku didn't finish, Just hung up the maimed body of the Kakushi like meat on a hook. Grinning with nervous joy, Pleased at his catch.

Kokushibo stared dead eyed at the incapacitated body of the Kakushi, Watching him loll his head to the side and squirm around in his Tsuguko's iron grip.

Kaigaku looked back at his master, His grin however pleased it was still shook at points. Feeling his heart throb in his chest he could only wait.

Finally, Kokushibo put down the severed leg of the inn owner to be absorbed later. He got up from the tatami mat and dusted off his kimono, All six of his eyes never leaving the body for a second.

Kaigaku watched him walk over to them both. The Kakushi, Despite his head and his body in pieces was somehow acutely aware of the shift in the air, Seemingly going still in Kaigaku's grasp as Kokushibo now stood only about a foot away from him.

His hand reached out, The Kakushi barely recognising the clawed hand examining his uniform. Tugging and feeling the consistency of the fabric.

He hummed. A deep gravelly kind of reverberation came from his throat, Reminiscent of what an animal would make while cornered.

"A Kakushi.. This is good work… I congratulate you on your efforts, Tsuguko.." Kokushibo said, The tension finally broken Kaigaku deflated. Shoulders slumping as he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, All in favour of smiling like a madman at the praise.

The Kakushi groaned at the sudden speech as he lightly tugged his head up, Only to come face to face with six blurry golden eyes staring him down.

"Ggh-!" The Kakushi yelped, Only to be cut off by a sputter of coughs and gags like something was lodged inbetween his throat, Which was now squeezed tightly in between a single palm.

Kaigaku let go of the Kakushi and let Kokushibo handle it now, Watching as he was raised to reach his masters own towering height. The Kakushi quickly blinked his eyes as he continued to cough, The fuzz in his vision clearing away.

Kokushibo's terrifying visage was now on full display to the man so unfortunate to gaze upon it. Six eyes, Six golden bloodshot eyes pierced and stung at his skin like a thousand wasps as he widened his own.

Uppermoon one.

This was Uppermoon one.

The Kakushi couldn't look away from the kanji in his eyes, Like a horrible wreck he was faced with he couldn't bare to take his eyes off him for a single second. Even as he felt the demons talons dig into the skin of his neck he never felt a single bit of it.

"And you found him doing..?" Kokushibo queried, Drawling out every little syllable.

"B-Buying stuff from a merchant." Kaigaku responded.

"And in his uniform.. Interesting." Kokushibo mumbled under his breath, Seemingly lost in thought.

Suddenly his claws jagged in a little deeper to the Kakushi's neck, Making him groan out in pain as he felt blood start to trickle down the demon's fingers.

"He is conscious… You can hear what I am saying, Yes?" Kokushibo asked.

The Kakushi nodded slightly. The undertone of the demons voice contained a low threat, A small warning. A warning for what he might do to him if he didn't answer him back with what he wanted.

Kokushibo brought the man down.

"Good.. Then you will be able to answer as well.." Kokushibo said. Kokushibo suddenly reached to the side of his waist and gripped his sword hilt. The Kakushi finally pried his eyes away from the demons only to see the sharp of a flesh forged blade, Pointed straight at his jugular.

The Kakushi cried out as he started to flail around in Kokushibo's grasp, Desperate to get away from the blade.

"Now.. I understand that you slayers are not very.. Compliant with us." Kokushibo started.

He pressed the tip of his sword just a little further into his neck.

"So to act as a bit of encouragement.. I highly suggest that you start talking.. Otherwise it wont just be an arm you'll lose.."

☆♡☆

"Thank you again.. [F/N]-san. There are no words I could say to appreciate your generosity and kindness.."

The room sat high on the second floor of the shrine, One of the bigger ones housed within the walls. It had tall ceilings and a wide open floor plan, The only furniture was a simple large tatami mat and hanging tapestries depicting Shinto lore.

It gave the room a long kind of look. The tapestries were overlain like paint on a portrait making the room seem wider than it really was, Not a bad look. Just mildly clustered.

Gyomei sat along one side of the room, The one with the door. Behind him sat a menagerie of different people, All of them slayers.

Some of them [F/N] recognised. Genya sat beside Gyomei, Sitting appropriately on his knees and intently listening in to the conversation. The other she recognised was Tanjiro, Who sat a little behind the Hashira with another girl she didn't quite recognise.

There were a few others too that she didn't know of. A boy with a boar head struggled to stay still on the tatami mat while another boy with canary coloured hair held his head low, Not looking up at all.

And then there was Shizuko, Who sat to the other side of Gyomei. His wide eyed stare was ever there, Examining the entire room top to bottom to commit it to memory.

[F/N] tried her hardest not to look at him for too long.

"It's alright. We here have opened up our shrine to you slayers for a reason, You are completely free to come and go as you like.. As long as you stay respectful to the integrity of this place, That is." [F/N] said, Her soft tone matching her smile as she thanked the Hashira.

[F/N] sat at the opposite end of the room facing the group of slayers, Seijun sat beside her. She had tried to avoid Gyomei all throughout the day yet she supposed that it was bound to happen eventually. Gyomei, As much as she rather disliked him, Was always a cordial and respectful man. So it basically threaded in fate that he would want to thank her.

Gyomei rattled his beads

"Thank you.. [F/N]-san. However I must apologise for my college, Fujimori.. I've been searching for him around the shrine but I am unable to locate his whereabouts. So I would like to thank you on his behalf and apologise for his disrespect.." Gyomei said, Bowing his head lightly.

[F/N] felt herself let out a tiny relieved sigh, Despite his impeccable senses he was completely unaware of her little Jekyll and Hyde charade. She lightly thanked Inari under her breath.

"Ah, It's fine.. I honestly don't mind, It's not a necessity to thank us for our hospitality but I do appreciate the effort. I'm sure Fujimori is thankful" [F/N] said, Bowing her head straight back to him.

"Even so.. It would of been more respectful to your shrine if he did offer thanks." Gyomei replied, Silently crying over the disrespect from Fujimori, Assumedly at least. It was always hard to tell.

"No, No. Really, It's nothing that I- Ack!" [F/N] keeled over, A sudden coughing fit burst out from within her throat.

Seijun quickly got up from her position behind [F/N] and to her side.

"[F/N]-sama.." Seijun said, Lightly patting the centre of her back as [F/N]'s sputters died down into low wheezes. Gyomei was already across the room in a second, Now kneeling down in front of the two.

"[F/N]-san.. Are you alright?" Gyomei asked.

"Y-Yes.. I'm fine. My chest is just a bit painful right now.." [F/N] said however strained her voice was.

"How long has it lasted?" Seijun asked, Using her hands to examine the low of her back to the peak of her neck for any damage.

"Since a few hours ago.. We were out of anything to use as a remedy so I sent a shrine-maiden down to the village to buy some more.. But.. She hasn't come back yet." [F/N] replied. She warily lifted her head towards the clock.

"About five hours and thirty two minutes ago to be exact.." [F/N] said.

"That is.. Not normal.." Gyomei replied.

"Correct, She should of been back by now.. I would've gone to check on her but with both my duties and my chest pain I'm not fit to." [F/N] explained.

It was true, The speck of worry she had felt before only grew into bigger and bigger every time she was reminded of her pain. Maika should of been back by now. She was a shrine-maiden and had most likely committed the mountain's layout to memory, It was a given. But with the winter it could of been made tricky.

What if she had dismissed [F/N]'s orders of wearing warmer clothes? What if she didn't find a Kakushi to help escort her? [F/N] bit her tongue, She didn't want to know what could've happened to her.

While they were never that close, The shrine-maidens here were one thing of three that she cared for dearly. She didn't want them to die, Not any one of them.

"If you desire, I will go and search for the shrine-maiden." Gyomei offered, His ever-sombre voice breaking [F/N] out of her thoughts.

She smiled lightly.

"If you could, That would be amazing, Himejima-san." [F/N] nodded. It was good, Gyomei despite his blindness was rather extraordinary at tracking down people, But more often than not it was demon's.

Gyomei nodded.

"H-Hey!"

A voice called out from the group of slayers. [F/N] peered over Gyomei's shoulder to see the younger canary haired kid. He was rather short and wore a nervous expression that never seemed to fade, Something that [F/N] noted.

"If you're gonna go down the mountain.. I'd like to come along, No offense but this place is pretty creepy.." The boy said. He was eyeing a specific tapestry depicting several creatures with rather ugly expressions. He shivered like a wet cat while looking at it.

An irrational coward to an unbelievable degree, Something [F/N] also picked up about him. The tapestries were everywhere around the shrine and if he was uneasy by one of the smaller ones then [F/N] could only imagine what happened when he saw the others.

"Not for me! These demons don't scare me in the slightest!" The boar headed kid beside him suddenly yelled and jumped up onto the soles of his feet.

"I could take any of them on easily, Especially that one! It's no match for Inosuke, God of the mountains!" Inosuke yelled once more, Pointing towards some unknown point in the tapestries.

"It's just a banner! It's not real, Inosuke!" Tanjiro called out to him.

"Heh?! Of course they're real! Why else would they be made into hides?" Inosuke retorted, Which seemed to start a full on argument across the room as the other kids joined in.

[F/N] watched over them and groaned, Pinching her temples.

"Listen, Himejima-san. Thank you so much for doing this, Just get the slayers who want to come along with you and try to find her." [F/N] spoke, Returning the conversation to the two adults as the argument went on in the background.

"Alright.. Do you have any description of what this maiden looks like?" Gyomei asked.

[F/N] hummed.

"Her name is Heihachiro, Maika. She's pretty small, around 5'3.. Erm.. Blonde hair and dark eyes. She's assumedly wearing the shrine-maiden uniform.. With ribbons in her hair too." [F/N] said, Trying to give as much details as possible.

"Understood. I'll try to recover her as soon as possible." Gyomei got up from his kneeling position and bowed in front of her. [F/N] returned the gesture, A genuine display of gratitude.

"Thank you. Stay safe, Okay?"

☆♡☆

Splatters of red crimson painted the corner the Kakushi's body was slumped in. His limbs numb, So numb. It felt as if they weren't even there anymore, Like that they were torn from the sockets and were laying on his lap on display.

But that wasn't true, Was it? What time was it, He didn't know. Where was he, As well? It was so dark where he was that couldn't even see a foot in front of him, Only feeling it severed from his ankle.

He was so tired, As if the weight of the entire world was collapsing on top of him, Unable to carry it no longer. He couldn't even feel the tears in his skin, Thousands of them adorning his skin like papercuts bleeding him dry.

The tilt of his head, The feeling of a flesh forged blade titling his head up to meet the face of his assailant.

He wanted it to end, His life. He couldn't go on anymore, He didn't care. The pain was too much for him to bare that he just wished the curtains could close and never open up again. Everything hurt so much, Everything.

"Now.. Are you ready to tell us..?" His assailant asked. The shine of his eyes like lighthouses in a storm-ridden night, Looking down at the broken wreck of a man in front of him.

The Kakushi opened his mouth, Saliva mixing with iron he finally spoke out in a raspy whisper.

"F-Fine.."

☆♡☆

Candles lit up. Small embers growing from the wax as they met with the other creating a dim yet comforting light in the haiden.

Baskets of weaved straw bustled around the entire hall. All of them were filled with some sort of offering: Flowers, Fruit, Bottles of Sake and rice grains. All in favour of pleasing the deity enshrined here.

[F/N] walked slowly along the long drawn carpet. Moving past the lit candles, Hanging tapestries and woven baskets as she finally reached the altar.

It was the heart of the haiden, The pandemonium of the entire shrine.

The offerings grew heavier here with candles sprinkled in between the cracks, Ever burning bright in the dark shadows of the hall.

She dusted off her kimono and settled herself down in front of the altar, Making sure to get comfortable on her knees as she knelt before the wooden haiden. She took in a deep breath, Ready to speak The nightmares, The thing she had came to ask about. [F/N] had prayed to Inari before about them, Mostly praying for them to stop during ceremonies or on her own personal time.

They never did stop however. [F/N] often wondered if Inari was listening at all, If her prayers really were getting heard.

Or maybe it was because her nightmares were meant to happen. It wasn't exactly unheard of people getting prophetic visions through their dreams, It was actually a rather common story among demon slayers.

Insight of a past life, Views into future events. It was all rumours spread around the metaphorical water-cooler, Tales of visions spread through dreams. While [F/N] was rather sceptical of these claims she knew how the kami were said to work, She supposed it wasn't out of the realm of possibility.

And now as she knelt at the altar she had supposed that maybe they were true after all.

But still, The newest dream still fresh in her mind ate away at her bit by bit. If they were visions, They were rather subtle before. Maybe not even serving a higher purpose but remembering the primal scream of the voice and the raw look of terror in her double's eyes made her stifle her breath.

She couldn't make sense of it, Not in the slightest.

Letting out the deep breath she was holding she clasped her hands up into prayer. Closing her eyes she prepared to ask.

"Ō-Inari.. Please, Hear my call."

☆♡☆

The crunching of snow came out from under his sandals, Heavy thumps making their way through the endless gale as he ascended upwards.

Kokushibo marched forward, The cold being nothing but an annoyance coming in from around him. His eyes narrowed as he felt something else crawl up his spine, A reminiscent emotion. One he hadn't felt in centuries as Kaigaku followed him close behind.

The Kakushi had finally given up information to the two, All in exchange for his torment to finally end. Kokushibo thought it was pathetic, Such a weak little human he was. Both in strength and in mind.

He had spoke of a Kakushi base, The place where the majority of slayer operations originated from. It was good information, One of the best leads any of them had had in years.

"T-The Kakushi said that it was somewhere up here?" Kaigaku asked.

The chilling temperatures didn't bother him either as he stood strong with his sword drawn. He had hoped to hell and back that the Kakushi didn't give them false information, If so then it would be impossible to interrogate him once more.

Kokushibo just kept moving, Not acknowledging his Tsuguko's attempts of conversation as he kept going.

That feeling, That feeling once more crawled up the dip of his back. He couldn't recognise it despite how oh so familiar it felt. His eyes finally targeted on an object through the mist, A dark shape settled within the cold mist.

Kokushibo squinted his eyes to try and get a better look at it.

Kaigaku gulped as he started to fiddle with his thumbs, The worry of misinformation starting to come up once more.

"What if.. What if he gave us wrong info? What if-" Kaigaku stopped mid-sentence as he saw Kokushibo pause.

His steady stride through the snow had halted all of sudden. If Kaigaku didn't know better then he could of sworn he saw a jolt go through him, Like a static shock making him still in place.

"M-Master..?" Kaigaku muttered as he moved around to Kokushibo's side to get a better look at him.

All three sets of Kokushibo's eyes were wide open, Stretched to their very limits. His mouth was left slack open. A complete visage of what could only be described as shocked horror as he stared forward.

In front of him, Was a stone lantern.

There was absolutely nothing special about this lantern in particular. Just a wide stone block with a small carved roof on top of it. It was not unlike any kind of lantern he's seen before yet it finally clicked in his mind once he saw it.

It was a shrine lantern.

No.. Not just a shrine lantern..

It was the shrine lanterns used in his sister's shrine.

The air shifted around him in this realisation. As if he had suddenly became of the entire atmosphere, Every tree and every rock he was now acutely aware of as he glared down at this lantern.

It wasn't just the lantern.. It was everywhere, He recognised it now. This was where his sister's shrine is…

"M-Master…?" Kaigaku whispered, Reaching out for his masters shoulder.

As soon as it was connected, Kaigaku's arm was lobbed off from his shoulder making him yelp out in surprise as he backed away.

"Do not touch me.." He hissed, Finally coming back to his senses. Kaigaku nodded quickly as he stumbled a few steps further away from the man.

"We are here.. Go.. Go find another entrance to attack from.. It will be harder to defend from two sides.." Kokushibo commanded, His voice was firm. Borderline irritated as he watched Kaigaku quickly rush away in another direction, Quick to follow his orders.

He paid no more attention to him however as he took a few strides forward and kneeled down in front of the lantern.

It was lit. A small spark of ember had been lit between the barks of wood placed in it. The little flame was fighting against the blizzard to stay alive, And it held on. It had been recently lit.

Kokushibo felt anger rise up inside him like a boiling pot. He traced the stone of the lantern with his hands. This was [F/N]'s shrine, No doubt.. And if what the Kakushi had given the right information then.. They were using her shrine as the Kakushi base..

The boiling pot overflowed, The stone he was tracing with his hand was now crushed within his grasp and crumbled down like it was absolutely nothing to him. Even after the crushed particles of stone fell down into the slush below he wasn't done, As he swiftly levelled the rest of it with a single sway of his hand.

For all these centuries he couldn't bare to go back to her shrine, The lost memories of her life played out every time he even dared to think about it. It felt like a fist squeezing out the bloody juices from inside his heart, It was painful, He could never go back, Never..

At least not to the real thing anyways.

But that feeling inside him, The one that felt like his heart was about to burst was now replaced with absolute, Concentrated rage. In the time that he had left and abandoned [F/N]'s shrine the slayers had infested it like mice and claimed it as their own.

His teeth clenched. Canines and molars grinding against one and other as he cursed out the slayers under his breath.

It was just like that night. That awful night, One of the worst days of his life as he remembered the feeling of holding her frozen over corpse in his arms. The warmth left her body, Never to return.

Her dried tears.. The stab wound through her back.. She was covered head to toe in her own blood. She had tried to find help, She was fighting to survive in her last moments and he was too late to be there for her.

The memories of that night went through him. He had thought of them before, He had never stopped. Every waking moment he would be called back to that one stupid little night yet now as he knelt in the exact same place she had perished it felt so, so much worse.

But within the flurry of emotions he felt it was anger that came on top. The slayers had desecrated her shrine, His sisters shrine. They had turned it into a base without any respect given to her while he was gone.

It was unacceptable, It was truly down to the very last bone in his body a disgrace. The only remnant left of her and they ruined it.

Getting up from his kneeling position he rested a firm hand on his sword. The tears starting to speckle his eyes were quickly shook off.

He wasn't going to let them get away with it. They'd pay, Not for him but for his late-sisters sake.

How would she feel about this? About her precious shrine turned into nothing but business operations for the group that slew her? She'd be horrified, Disgusted too. He imagined it in his head, Her reaction to the news of what happened played out so clear it was if she was standing in front of him.

She'd cry as she listened to the tale of what happened to it, She'd hug him in search of comfort and he'd try his best to provide it. He imagined it happening..

All as if she was still alive.

"Don't worry, [F/N].. Michi-Nii will deal with this.."

☆♡☆

"I don't understand, Inari.. I don't know what it means.."

[F/N] sat rambling off to the shrine. She had done the proper incantations and rituals to perform her prayers, Now all that was left was to consult them. See if they answer and if they do, She'd finally get her closure.

"The snow.. The man and those words. I don't understand it, Inari. Please, If you want to give me a message I beg of you, Be more direct with me.." [F/N] pleaded, Her hands still were clasped in that same prayer position just a little more desperately this time.

"For months I've been given these dreams, Either by you or by something else that's wrong with me. I know you are listening, That I do not doubt.." [F/N] continued as she lowered her head, Now bowing down to the altar.

"I just want to know.. What do they mean?" She said, A finality in her voice as she went silent. Waiting on eagerly for a response. It was quiet, Deafeningly so. Nothing made a single sound, No echoes travelled around the honden like they usually would.

[F/N] felt her hands clench up, Her body tense as she waiting for something. Anything.

Suddenly the candles flickered, The flames stuttering on and off.

[F/N] sensed it and raised her head, Watching as they moved about in a swaying motion.

"W-What th-"

BOOM!

An explosion of noise erupted from behind her like a dam being broken down by a raging tsunami. A rapid gush of wind and cold air hit her like the strormsurge as she yelped out in surprise.

She fell over, Holding onto one of the wooden pillars for support so she wouldn't be knocked over once more. The entire shrine's structure seemed to shake at the force of some unknown cause.

As the wind finally settled and she could lift her head. From outside the honden she could hear yelling and screaming of several groups of people, Panicked frenzied noises muffled by the shaken walls.

But what really caught her attention was the noise of the Kasugai crows coming out from their aviary on the third floor. It sounded like they were coming out in flocks, Croaking and screaming one single phrase over and over again.

"EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY! ATTACK! ATTACK! THE KAKUSHI BASE IS UNDER ATTACK! CALLING FOR ALL NEARBY SLAYERS!"

Next Chapter

[illuminatedquill]

Sabine Wren & Ezra Bridger

Family's End - and Beginning (Part One)

Story Summary: What if the events of Ahsoka had happened differently? What if Sabine had made darker choices in her quest to find Ezra? What if the Ezra she found waiting on Peridea was no longer the heroic young Jedi from her youth? The return of Ezra Bridger to the known galaxy should have been a cause for celebration. But, instead, it heralded war . . .

*Art done by my fantastic friend, Scragon!

Seatos - The Fall

The scarlet blade of her adversary whipped in the space where her head had been mere seconds before; Sabine ducked into a low side-ways roll, her combat reflexes serving her well in this life-or-death duel.

She came back to her feet and ignited her lightsaber in a guard stance. The emerald blade sprang into existence with a satisfying snap-hiss.

Shin Hati, the dark-side mercenary, eyed her with grim amusement. The tree her blade had struck, instead of Sabine's head, began to tip over having been cut clean through. The crimson line of cauterized wood hissed and sparked as the top began to slip off the trunk, before falling completely over with a deafening thunk.

The red forest around them rustled and whispered with echoes from the fallen tree - and then fell silent. Sabine felt her skin break out in goosebumps at the eerie silence enveloping them like a funeral shroud.

Shin stared at her malevolently. The young woman's eyes were devoid of humanity; it only reflected the scarlet of her blade.

"You are amusing," Shin said. "So much fun to play with you."

Sabine tightened her grip on the lightsaber hilt. She stepped cautiously to her right, her eyes never leaving the mercenary. Sweat dripped down her brow; her breathing was tight and controlled.

Control your fear, she thought. I need to get through this.

For Ezra.

Her friend's face, as she remembered it, flashed through her mind; a bright, earnest face with piercing blue eyes that looked as though they could pierce through durasteel. She had always found those eyes to be magnetic, almost arresting in their gaze. When she was younger, Sabine quietly admitted to herself - and no one else - that she liked Ezra looking at her.

His face, his smell, his voice, his laugh and the quiet, easy confidence he gained as he grew in his Force powers and Jedi training - all of it surged through her mind like raw voltage, giving her surety and courage.

The fear dissipated like mist in the early morning dawn. Sabine stared at her adversary and said, "I'd appreciate it if we could speed this up. It's getting a little boring for me."

Shin seemed disappointed by that statement. "You're not enjoying this?"

"No, not really. You don't exactly meet my preference of dance partner."

The mercenary cocked her head. "You prefer Bridger?"

"Keep his name out of your mouth," snapped Sabine.

An evil grin slowly spread over Shin's face. "You'll be seeing him soon enough," she whispered.

And then she struck forward with a Force-enhanced dash. Sabine met her scarlet blade with her own emerald one, emitting a battle cry. The two blades erupted into hissing, sparks flying from where the plasma connected.

"I'll be sure to send him to you after I kill you," snarled Shin. "You can be reunited in whatever existence comes after this."

Sabine gritted her teeth, pushing with all her might against Shin's blade. "You talk too much," she replied tersely and forced the mercenary back with a shove.

Shin slid back a few inches only but it gave Sabine an opening. She slashed forward, her lightsaber a green-white blur against Shin's blade.

Shin parried her strikes, eyes narrowing with murderous intent - and then widening in surprise.

Too late, Sabine thought smugly.

Always be aware of your surroundings, Ahsoka had taught her.

The fallen tree trunk that Shin had slashed now lay directly behind her. Sabine pressed her attack -

Shin tripped with a cry over the trunk. She sprawled onto her backside, scrambling to get clear -

Sabine leapt up, the tip of her emerald blade pointed down towards Shin's chest -

Shin raised a hand at the last second.

Sabine froze in mid-air, gripped by an invisible force.

"Damn it!" she yelled. The point of her lightsaber was mere inches away from the mercenary's sternum. It might as well have been a hundred miles away, for all the good it did her.

Panting, hand still raised, Shin acknowledged her. "Not bad, Wren. Almost had me."

Sabine fought with all her strength but she could not escape the Force-grip the mercenary had on her.

Shin sneered at her. "Almost being the operative word there."

With casual contempt, she flung Sabine backwards. Sabine hit a tree, hard; the Mandalorian armor absorbed most of the blow, but it still left her winded when she collapsed onto the leaf-strewn ground below.

Get up. Get up!

Sabine had barely gotten her legs back underneath her when she was lifted yet again in another Force-grip. Shin was walking towards her, malicious glee lighting up her dead eyes.

Sabine waited until the mercenary was within range . . .

Shin stopped a foot away from her. Close enough, Sabine thought.

She twitched her right forearm, pointing it towards Shin - and then squeezed her hand into a fist, activating the flamethrower mechanism within the vambrace.

A gout of bright, orange flame erupted with a howl at Shin. She screamed and dove to the side.

And, more importantly, lost her concentration for the Force-grip.

Sabine was ready; the moment she felt the grip dissolve, she dropped into a low roll and came back to her feet with the lightsaber ready.

Shin, with a snarl, threw off her burning cloak and glared at Sabine.

"So many tricks," she hissed. "But they cannot hide the truth."

Sabine leapt at her, her emerald blade a blur in the furious strikes she aimed at Shin. The mercenary danced around them, parrying it away with a sickening grin, constantly moving.

They fought to a standstill in the middle of a familiar clearing - Shin was maneuvering them somewhere -

No. Maneuvering her.

The mercenary laughed and gave Sabine a vicious Force-shove.

The fallen tree trunk. Shin was using the same tactic on her.

And she had fallen for it. With a scream of rage, Sabine fell over the tree trunk, like Shin had mere minutes ago.

She tried to roll over onto her side, fighting to get the wind back in her -

Shin stood over her, a grim monotone colored ghost against the red backdrop of the forest. With a cackle, her boot came down on Sabine's neck, pinning her to the ground.

Sabine struck out with her lightsaber, hoping it would drive the mercenary off her -

Shin swatted her strike aside with contemptuous ease. Her boot dug deep into Sabine's neck, choking off her air.

The mercenary leaned down, eyes wide with sadistic glee. "You have no power here, Wren. That is the truth your tricks cannot hide."

Weakly, vision fading from the lack of air, Sabine tried to strike at Shin again. This time, the mercenary grabbed her hand.

"This lightsaber belonged to Bridger, didn't it?" asked Shin. "He gave it to you."

Ezra . . .

You know I can always count on you.

She was fading.

F a d i n g . . .

"A Jedi's life is their lightsaber," continued Shin, oblivious to Sabine's pain. "It is a gift, rarely given."

The mercenary glanced down at Sabine and gave her a wicked sneer.

"What a waste. His faith in you was misplaced."

With a grunt, Shin drew on the Force for extra strength and brutally crushed Sabine's hand, her lightsaber still in it.

Sabine screamed as she watched the metallic cylinder warp and dent in her grip - before the emerald blade whimpered out of existence.

Laughing, Shin stepped off Sabine's neck. She watched Sabine's hand fall limp, the crushed lightsaber hilt still sparking feebly in her grip.

"No," whispered Sabine. Ezra's lightsaber. His last gift to her.

You know I can always count on you.

Something dark and poisonous began to bloom inside Sabine's chest.

She heard Shin's lightsaber activate with a sinister snap-hiss.

Sabine didn't care. She just stared at the broken lightsaber in her hand.

You know I can always count on you.

The thing inside her chest began to roar and shake. Beating at the inside of her sternum, howling to be freed.

A scarlet blade appeared over her face. She could feel the heat radiating from Shin's blade.

"Time to die," Shin declared. "I'll send your beloved Bridger to see you soon, I promise."

Ezra.

Something

inside

Sabine

snapped.

There was a howling in her head, as she reached deep within - deeper than she'd ever delved before - reaching inside that dark, swirling abyss she'd kept at bay all these years -

Touching some raw power that had lain dormant. Waiting for her to break through with the strength forged from rage, from despair, from grief -

Sabine touched the Force.

And it leapt to obey her.

She snarled and twisted her other hand in a vicious motion.

Shin's arm snapped with an audible crack in the quiet forest. Screaming, in shock, the mercenary dropped her lightsaber.

Sabine quietly got to her feet and picked it up. She looked at Shin's lightsaber and then back at her own ruined one.

She clipped her own lightsaber back onto her belt and then activated Shin's.

Falling to her knees with the pain, the mercenary stared at Sabine with some new emotion in her eyes.

Is that fear? Sabine thought.

The idea made her feel a little sick - but she also recognized the private thrill of satisfaction underneath it, running like a cool stream of water underneath the heat of battle.

Shin was helpless before her, staring at the scarlet blade in Sabine's hand.

Sabine stepped in front of her. The glow from Shin's blade threw the mercenary's face into sickly light in the dim forest; she shied away from the deadly hum and heat emanating from the lightsaber.

"What are you going to do now?" asked the mercenary. Her voice, thread through with pain, was still surprisingly steady. "Are you going to kill me?"

Sabine considered her words, cocking her head.

Shin smirked. "You can't do it. You don't have the - "

Sabine made a single, swift slash.

Shin's body fell to the ground. Something rolled away from it, softly thumping against the forest ground.

Sabine felt sick inside, staring at the mercenary's headless corpse.

"Like I said before," she said coldly. "You talk too much."

Fear, anger, violence - a warning through the Force.

Sabine mentally shook herself, focusing on the new sensations. Somewhere, up ahead, an intense battle was taking place.

Ahsoka. Baylan Skoll.

Her master needed her. She closed down Shin's lightsaber, grabbed the map, and dashed through the forest, drawing on the Force for extra speed.

And tried not to think about the body she had left behind.

She arrived just in time to see Ahsoka being backed up against a stone pillar by Baylan's brutal attacks.

Heart hammering away inside, Sabine yelled for her master. "Ahsoka!"

Ahsoka spared a glance at her and yelled back, "Sabine! We take him together!"

Sabine didn't need to be told twice; igniting Shin's lightsaber, she leapt into the fray.

Baylan immediately noticed Sabine's new weapon. "No - it can't be. Shin - "

"Won't be joining us," Sabine replied coldly. "She lost her head in the fight."

The distraction worked. Ahsoka slipped out of Baylan's attack and slashed away with her pure-white blade. The former Jedi was put off his guard and forced to give way in order to defend against Ahsoka's attacks.

Sabine waited for a moment when the battle gave her an opportunity -

There. An opening. She dipped her blade low and slashed at Baylan's lower leg; a hole in his defense opened up by Ahsoka's strikes.

The mercenary pivoted with a grunt, parrying away Sabine's blade -

Forcing his flank to be wide open for Ahsoka. She took the opportunity to dash forward and grabbed for Baylan's wrist.

He cried out in frustration as the Jedi Knight twisted it in a classic disarming move. The big man was forced to his knees and dropped his lightsaber.

Sabine scooted forward and kicked it off to the side. Ahsoka, not taking any chances, kept Baylan's arm twisted and locked in position. He couldn't move without causing enormous pain.

"Surrender. You are beaten," she said.

Baylan growled, "Never."

"Suit yourself," Ahsoka replied. Clenching her teeth, she Force-shoved him into the nearest stone pillar, knocking him unconscious.

And the battle was over. Sabine let out a breath she didn't even realize she was holding and deactivated her - no, not hers, Shin's - lightsaber.

"Nice work," she said.

Ahsoka looked at her, frowning. "What happened to your lightsaber?"

Sabine gestured at the broken weapon clipped on her belt. "It broke, unfortunately. Shin's fault."

She looked at her master, a smirk forming on her face. "I paid her back for it, though."

Ahsoka's frown deepened even more. Sabine felt a gradually rising sense of annoyance from her master's disapproval.

"Did you really kill Shin?"

"Yes," snapped Sabine. "She didn't leave me a choice."

With a grimace, Sabine pulled out the map. "It doesn't matter. Look, we have the map. Ahsoka, we can find Ezra now. We can bring him home."

Something beeped on Baylan's arm, drawing their attention away. Ahsoka walked over, examined the source.

"What is it?" asked Sabine.

Ahsoka cursed. "An alarm. We must have tripped it during the battle. They'll be sending reinforcements."

"Well, let's high-tail it out of here, then. They can't do anything without the map, right?"

Ahsoka just looked at here. "And then what, Sabine?"

Sabine blinked at her in confusion. "And then we figure out a way to get to Ezra. What else?"

"They'll never stop chasing after the map, Sabine. Wherever we go, there will be a fight," Ahsoka pointed out. "Innocents might get caught in the cross-fire."

Sabine felt her stomach sinking at what Ahsoka was suggesting.

"You're not serious," she said. "We're not doing this. We have the map, Ahsoka!"

"The enemy will never stop! We discussed this. The map has to be destroyed, we have no more time."

Sabine gritted her teeth. "I'm not leaving Ezra out there to die alone, far away from home! I've come too far to stop now."

She stepped forward, pleading. "Please. Please, let's just re-consider this and think of another way."

Ahsoka's gaze softened into sadness. She shook her head. "I'm truly sorry, Sabine. I know how much Ezra means to you. But we cannot risk the return of Thrawn."

The wind howled through the desolate stone structure. A storm was approaching. The beeping emanating from Baylan's vambrace began to intensify in speed and volume.

Ahsoka held out her hand. "Give me the map, Sabine."

I know I can always count on you.

Gripping the map tightly to her chest, Sabine shook her head and took a step back.

Ahsoka sighed - and then reached out with the Force. The map snapped from Sabine's grasp into Ahsoka's.

No, thought Sabine. It can't end like this.

The howling inside her chest began to grow once more . . .

Ahsoka placed the map onto the stone pedestal.

No.

The Jedi Knight ignited her lightsaber. Raised it up -

I know I can always count on you.

"No!" screamed Sabine. The scarlet blade erupted in her hand and she brought it slashing at Ahsoka's face.

Ahsoka pivoted to block her attack. Eyes wide with shock, she shouted over the buzzing of their locked blades, "What are you doing!"

"I have to save him," said Sabine desperately. "I need to save Ezra!"

"Sabine!" yelled Ahsoka. "The whole galaxy is at stake! Don't let your feelings for Ezra cloud your judgment!"

The whole galaxy.

Numerous, countless, faceless beings. All living peaceful lives; free of war, free of terror, free of the cruelty that was all too common-place under the Empire's reign.

And none of them were Ezra Bridger.

The galaxy had long asked for the unquestionable math from her and others: one life, balanced against trillions more.

But no more.

Sabine decided to choose the one life; the only one that mattered to her now. This time, she would ignore the math and do so gladly.

She reached down into the deep, dark, red burning core that existed at the center of her being - and drew deeply on the Force.

Ahsoka sensed her intent, her face lighting up in shock at her Padawan.

"Sabine," she whispered. "You can use the Force?"

Sabine replied with a scream, full of rage, and Force-shoved her master away.

Ahsoka deftly pivoted to the side, dodging it fully. The Jedi Knight pulled out her second lightsaber, ignited it, her face full of regret - and determination.

"I'm sorry, Sabine," she said. "But this must be done. With or without you."

Sabine narrowed her eyes, raising her lightsaber to a guard stance. But she knew it was no use; despite her having access to the Force now, Ahsoka was years and years ahead of her in experience.

It would be a short fight.

I'm sorry, Ezra, she thought miserably. I tried.

And then Baylan appeared behind Ahsoka.

Sabine cried out a warning, purely on reflex. Ahsoka turned -

It was too late. With a grunt, Baylan seized her by the throat and threw her at a stone pillar. It shook with from the sheer force of Ahsoka hitting it, dust sloshing off in a sudden cloud.

"No!" screamed Sabine. Her anger at Ahsoka had evaporated, turning into terror as Baylan began to press his attack. She ran at him, slashing away with her lightsaber -

Baylan, without looking at her, waved his hand in a dismissive motion. Sabine felt herself forced backwards, stumbling onto the ground in a sprawl.

Fully focused on Ahsoka, he raised his other hand in a tight fist. Ahsoka rose into the air, her hands scrabbling at her throat.

Baylan said regretfully, "Such a pity. I didn't want to kill you, Ahsoka Tano."

His expression hardened. "But I'd like to even the score with your apprentice. So I'm afraid this is farewell."

And with a mighty yell, he sent her flying over the cliff edge.

Sabine could only watch in horror as she saw her master disappear. Somehow, despite her mind frozen in shock, she found herself scrambling to the stone pedestal to grab the map.

Baylan turned around to look at her. Sabine ignited her lightsaber and held it over the map.

He chuckled. "It's too late for that, Sabine Wren."

"Stay away!" she shouted. "I'll destroy it!"

His chuckle turned into a full throated laugh. "No, you won't. You would have done so already, as your former master asked."

He was right. She knew he was right.

She aimed the lightsaber's scarlet blade at Baylan, desperation seeping through her voice. "I'll kill you if you don't stay back!"

He cocked his head at her statement. "Like you killed your master?"

Sabine froze. "No. No, that was you! You threw Ahsoka over the edge."

"But you struck at her. Giving me the opening I needed. Quite the team we make." Baylan took a step closer.

"We are not a team. We will never be a team!"

The mercenary took another step forward. His face was weathered, but not unkind. "Such loyalty you display towards Ezra Bridger. I know how deeply you care for him."

Another step closer . . .

He held out his hand. "You don't have to give me the map, Sabine. Come with me, instead. We can find your friend, Ezra, together."

Ezra.

I know I can always count on you.

Another step closer. He was almost directly in front of her now, mere feet away. "You've already come so far. You've betrayed your master. You've betrayed the principals you once staked your life on."

"What's one more step, Sabine? What is Ezra Bridger's life worth to you?"

A whole galaxy at stake.

He took another step forward. Inches away, his hand was from hers.

She knew, deep down, that she had already made the calculations on that math.

Sabine closed her eyes, took a deep, shuddering breath - and reached out to take Baylan's hand.

When she opened her eyes back up, she saw Baylan smiling.

"Well chosen," he said approvingly.

And then Baylan said something that chilled her to the bone.

"Welcome to your first steps into a wider universe," he said. "My new apprentice."

(To be continued)

[pacifymebby]

Blackberries / Aberama Gold

Warnings: age gap relationship, also I don't know what Im doing with this one.

The bracken shivered as you moved through it, feet crunching through the undergrowth, the bramble snagging your shirt, caring not for the faint beaded scratches they left on your irritated skin.

The mist was beginning to disperse but it was thick enough still that it left fine glistening sheen on your lips and cheeks, water vapour catching your eyelashes as you crossed the heathlands.

"You're too early m'pretty, the brambles are bare as the day y'were born," Aberama had said to you that morning when you'd stopped to stare longingly out the window of a bedsit in shit stinking Birmingham. You were pining for the forest, for the autumn season you could feel just around the corner and when Aberama had held your cheeks between his two hands and looked down at you, he'd seen how desperate you were to be out of the city. How much you wanted to be back among the trees and the fields foraging for the seasons bounty.

"Another week sweet girl that's all you've to wait..." He'd said stroking your soft skin with his thumbs as he pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, "just another week..." but he'd seen that far away sorrow in your eyes, he had recognised that yearning which lingered despite the comforts he tried to offer you - it was his yearning too - yearning to feel the earth beneath your body, to lie down with your head resting against good, natural ground. So when you hovered there in his lap, your cheek held by his hand, your skin blessed by his fingers, he couldn't deny you a day amid the bramble, the bracken and the trees.

He had been right, the brambles were still bare, the summer had been warmer than usual and the berries which you were sure had been out this time last year, were all still hidden away. The few you found were green.

"They're too young," said Aberama standing over you, his hand on your shoulder as you crouched down looking into the bushes, your palm hovering beneath the berries you knew not to bother picking. "Just like you.." he was smiling when he said it, an old joke played over to lure you back to him, but instead of a smile his words only drew a frown from you.

"Too young for what Mr Gold?" You asked standing up, turning to face him with folded stubborn arms, a girlish frown he couldn't help but adore. He brought his fingers to your cheek so that you had to concentrate to ignore the way his caress warmed you, shivered you at the same time. All the little sparks his skin on your skin ignited in you.

"Me," he said with a fond smile, "you're still but a girl y/n m'dear and look at me, this is the autumn of my life," he said gesturing around at the reddish scene, the browning leaves, the orange hue of the heath and the forest you'd walked through to get to the brambles. "Shouldn't be me traipsing through the heaths with ye, should be Bonnie..."

Your frown etched deeper as you held his gaze. It was true you were much younger than him, as young as Bonnie and though some may have been inclined to gossip about that, you never really paid it much thought. You'd never been interested in his son like that, you'd only ever had eyes for one of the Gold men.

"I'm eighteen now, I'm not a girl."

And in truth you hadn't felt like a child for a long time.

Your mother had died when you were very young, leaving only you, your father and a baby brother. You'd spent your childhood playing mother and lost your youth entirely when your father had been killed working for the Peaky Blinders. Your fathers best friend, Aberama had felt it his duty to take you in, to care for you and offer you a sanctuary in a world that hadn't been so kind to you. It hadn't only been duty at play however and the longer you'd spent in his company the harder he had found it to ignore the way you made him feel.

You were the prettiest girl he'd seen since Bonnie's mother, a good, sweet and earthy girl. A kind heart, a nurturing soul. Just enough wilderness behind your eyes, just enough shadow to promise an autumnal, plum like sweetness when bitten into. His temptation however wasn't drawn out by your naivety or your youth, his temptation was drawn out by the way you looked at him. With longing, with dependence, with love. With a desire he was almost certain must have been misplaced. And yet every day you kissed him, every day you threw your arms around his waist, buried your face in his chest and clung to him the way a girl only does when she is in love. Every day you asked him the same question.

Aberama sighed, that stubborn frown was something he'd always been impressed by until he'd wound up on its receiving end. A place he was finding himself more and more often.

"A week over eighteen," he reminded you, "your birthday was only a week ago m'darlin,"

"Eighteen is eighteen, a week over or month over what difference does it make?" You asked feeling your temper tugging at your patience. Knowing that some of this frustration which was threatening little pin prick tears to your eyes, was only caused by your having been wrong about the blackberries, your having been kept away from the wild for too long.

You held yourself tight in your arms, looking up at Aberama with blind determination, but he was right. He was much older than you, that meant he was much wiser to human nature, meant he could read you much better than you realised.

So he smiled softly and shook his head.

"The difference m'pretty is that in a couple of months time you might meet someone much younger than me, a good lad that'll be around for you much longer than I will... and when you do you'll wish you'd waited insteada tying yourself to a tired old man..."

If you'd been a little older you might have seen the sense in what he said, but as it was you just shook your head. You didn't want to think about the future, you wanted to think about now. The present and the man who'd been there for you, the man who cared about you, who had shown you such gentleness, such tenderness. The man you were sure in your heart, was the only man for you. Old or not.

"You're not tired." You said looking up at him, a small smirk tugging at your lips, "you're not tired and you're not old and even if ten or a hundred pretty young lads come marchin into camp one day ready to sweep me off me feet, they never will!" You said back a little too quickly, a little too sharply. He'd upset you but he couldn't help the soft chuckle which escaped him as he listened to your rather bold proclamation.

"Oh won't they?" He asked.

"No," you said stepping into his embrace when he opened his arms and told you to come to him.

"Not a single one of them?" He was teasing you now, it was cruel of him to tease you like that when your cheeks were flushed with your frustration and your scorn. You hated that he thought he could tell you what you did and didn't or would and wouldn't want. You'd been making your own decisions for most of your life and you were certain he couldn't possibly know your heart better than you.

"No," you said, "not a single one of them," you said determined not to cry, determined not to shed a single tear because if you did you'd only confirm the older man's concerns. That you were still a girl, still too young. You weren't.

Aberama looked down at you, brought one of his hands up to hold your cheek. Looked down at your big watery eyes and smiled slight and soft. When he brushed his thumb over your cheek bone he caught a salty tear but for your sake he pretended not to feel the damp stain of sorrow. He could read you like a book, he could see how much you wanted him, how desperate you were to win this argument which had been going on all week.

He'd made a stupid promise to you you see. On your eighteenth birthday having made you wait for so long, (a matter of months which had felt like forever to you) he'd kissed you. He'd taken your face between his palms and held your gaze, his nose had knocked against your nose as your eyes had closed and he'd taken a moment to breath in your dewy musk. His lips had met yours and he'd felt you change beneath his touch, he'd felt you relax into his embrace, melt beneath him suddenly pliable and full of need for him. You'd looked so bright when he'd pulled away, your eyes so full of contentment.

Now that silly promise he had made to you had been to marry you. You'd told him you never wanted to leave his side, told him you wanted to stay like that with him forever - held by him, his forehead resting against yours, his lips brushing over yours - and he'd obliged. He'd said "I'll marry you then sweet girl, then we'll never be parted..."

You'd lit up, glowing with happiness as you'd gazed back up at him full of awe but the moment the words had left his lips been gripped by a fierce doubt. Once which had clouded over and left him a little gloomy ever since.

You were only eighteen, you were still so young. Perhaps you only loved him like this now because he'd taken your fathers place when you'd needed someone to show you care. Perhaps you were confused.

But you hadn't looked confused then and you didn't look confused now.

You looked certain and just then you looked mired with sorrow.

"Why would you tell me you would if you felt like this?" Your voice suddenly shook and despite your lips beneath his thumb, despite his hold still warming you, he felt suddenly as though you'd slipped. As though he'd dropped you and was watching you tumble away.

"Trust me m'girl the way I feel about you will never change..." he began but suddenly you were certain he was going to let you down. Suddenly you felt the peace ripped from your chest by a sinking disappointment. He was letting you down for the first time and it hurt too much. You didn't want to look at him. Didn't want to feel his hands on your cheeks, didn't want his sorry eyes looking down into your sorry eyes.

So you tore away from him, running without looking back. The bracken snapped beneath your boots, the brambles caught and tugged on your skirts but you ignored everything that reached out to you or tried to call you back. You couldn't stand waiting around for your heart to be broken by the only man you had left in the world to trust.

"Y/N!" You heard his voice carry after you across the heathland, heard him too tearing through the wild grass and the brambles, but you didn't look back.

You were crying now and you felt like a child so you had to keep running. Couldn't let him catch up to you and see you for what you were. Couldn't confirm all of those doubts he'd been harbouring. Even if it wouldn't make a difference.

You knew now that he'd never really meant those wonderful things he'd said to you on the night of your birthday. That he'd never really wanted or intended for your affections towards each other to grow beyond a timid kiss by the fire when everyone else had gone to bed.

You ran until your tears were too thick, until you couldn't see the floor beneath your feet or the ground ahead of you for the rivers streaming fron your eyes. You stumbled to a stop beneath a hawthorn tree and tugged your sleeve down over your fist impatiently. You weren't gentle when you tried to dry your eyes and as you stood there beneath the shade in that hazy afternoon, you realised that you'd not been running as fast as you would have liked.

He was out of breath when he reached you, too much out of breath to speak. When he stopped he bent over, hands flat to his thighs, looking up at you as he tried to calm his heavy breathing, tried to catch his breath at all.

You turned away you couldn't bare to let him see you like that with red rimmed eyes and a childish scorn staining your face, but he'd already seen the damage he'd done. He already knew how you were hurting.

"Y/N m'girl forgive me, I didn't mean for you to..."

"You don't love me Aber, just say it!" You snapped shocking yourself with the anger in your voice, your cheeks flushing red when he shot back just as quickly, his voice raised, his eyes full of a fleeting frustration.

"I won't!" He cried back, his voice loud enough to disturb the birds in the trees, to ricochet back to him and stun him. Leave him feel guilty when he saw your flushed cheeks begin to pale, those stubborn earthy eyes flicker with uncertainty. "I won't," he said softer, much softer. He'd never raised his voice at you before and he was already making vows never to raise his voice to you again.

You'd flinched when he'd shouted and you were watching him warily now, a little like a fox weighing up the risk of approaching a tender man's offering.

"I won't," he said gently as he stood up straight and approached cautiously, as though he'd recognised a delicate creature not a girl.

He took your hand in his, looking down into your eyes, watching the sorry curve of your lips. You were wounded, he'd hurt you. He couldn't stand himself for that. Perhaps you loved him as dearly as he did you after all. Perhaps he'd been stupid before. Perhaps after all his fretting it was he who was naive and not you.

He took your hand in his and laced his fingers between yours bought them up to his lips and kissed then one by one. All the while his eyes remained locked with yours, trying to read your mind. Trying to read the tremble of your bottom lip.

"I won't say that," he said again as he held your palm to his lips and whispered into the heart of your hand.

You looked up at him with wide wounded eyes, hesitant to fall for him again, to fall for this. These gently tender gestures, the way he held you so carefully and yet so certainly all at once.

"You don't want me..." you whispered, trying to tear your disappointed gaze from his but when you looked away he took your cheek in his palm and brought your gaze back up to his. The movement so subtle, so gentle. You could feel your breath meeting his hand and warming your cheek. You could hear your heart the way you hear the sea in a conch held to your ear.

"That isn't true," he said softly, "that isn't true," he spoke again softer still into your ear, placing a kiss to your hairline, his hand still cupping your cheek. Your eyes fluttered shut. You heard your heart beating in your ear the way the wind shivers through the trees.

"Then keep your promise," you said, your voice shallow but certain, shaking but stubborn. You were determined you wouldn't back down.

"Wait a..." he started but you cut him off, no, tried to tear yourself away again but he caught your hand and held tight, tugged you back towards him, this look in his eyes reeling you back in.

"After the fair, one week m'pretty, that's all I ask..."

"Why?" You frowned, his thumb tracing slowly over the plump ridge of your pout. How could he look down at you like that, with such tender care in his eyes, and deny you the one thing you would ask of him.

"So that you can see everything I can't offer and decide to turn it down yourself..." he said, "you're young y/n, you've your whole life ahead of you and most of mines already behind me... you've lost enough of your youth and I won't take the last of it without letting you make the choice for yourself..."

"I already know what I want.." you tried once more, looking up at him desperately, wishing he could believe you, knowing that he wouldn't. Not unless you gave in now and tried your best to be patient.

"It's only one week m'pretty that's all you've to wait... then I'll keep my promise, if it's still what you want."

You kissed his thumb where it brushed over your lips, your eyes shadowed with determination, an unforgiving darkness glowering back at him, a darkness which glowed with love all the same.

"It will be."

A/N I feel like this could have a part two? If you'd like a part two let me know?

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