#i cut my hair short and i am having Conflicting Opinions

[a-pocket-full-of-rodents]

I remember when I was a kid playing at the beach

And I'd watch my cousins and my brother fight and wrestle and chase each other all over the sand

Till my feet ached

And I'd watch them and try to figure out what exactly it was,

That I didn't have

And now it's new year's eve and I'm not so different to what it was I had used to be

That same achy, eerie feeling still clings itself to the door

Still wraps itself around the scissors inching around my hair

And now it's over and I hate it, hate it

Because I swore to myself I'd be pretty. I swore if I couldn't act normal I'd just have to make up for it somehow

And it's everything I told myself I wouldn't do

I wouldn't ever be unkind to myself, I wouldn't let myself have too much fun, and I would never ever make myself more ugly on purpose

And I'm all of those things now and it feels quite nice

To not have to exist in that same way again

I remember when I was a kid at the family parties

Rooms full of people I didn't know, all in clothes I would never wear all talking amongst themselves

I used to suffocate in that house, when the family was over

And I love them, I really do, but I will never shake that realisation of knowing I am somehow, in some way, different

And it ached like hell

[billcarden]

🕺🕺🕺

[tetsunabouquet]

(Un)popular SK Opinion: Ren&Jeanne make no sense and Men's existence is the most questionable of all

Alright, let me first get this out of the way because I'm a known Ren fangirl- no I don't hate Jeanne. I kinda used to after watching the original anime, but the manga as well as growing up and realizing she was just a brainwashed little kid who should be playing with dolls made me a defender of Jeanne and I firmly believe Marco should be in jail for what he did to her. But that still doesn't mean Jeanne and Ren started making sense, not even after Red Crimson. The only thing they share is a similar pain from their pasts, and that's not enough to make a relationship work for the long-term. Ask my parents. A relationship is build on so much more then just having a similar backstory and regrets. What do these two have in common, except for perhaps a better-then-you mindset on top of the aforementioned similar background?! We see NO build-up at all. Even in Red Crimson, all we get is as much as a two page scene of them being a couple. Yet even during that one scene between Yoh and Ren about having a family, it was implied he might already have a crush on Jeanne

HOW?! In every scene they were in during the main series, he was pretty much annoyed with her and the X-LAWS. So HOW?! And then we get to their actual relationship, which seems messy AF. Like, Jeanne and Ren got engaged before she was pregnant, but she had short hair during their wedding. Ren said she cut her hair short after she had Men. So, did she get pregnant during their engagement and is Men being babysat by the Jiang Shi during the wedding or something? Also, the 'holy maiden', giving birth to a child out of wedlock?! Are you kidding me?! Am I seriously supposed to believe that considering Marco was so strict and religious, Jeanne grew up to be like, 'A baby before getting married? Okay, no problemo.' It's not unheard of for teen moms to be allowed to get married when they are above 16, so why the fuck didn't Jeanne and Ren get married first in order to legitimize Men as their child? And then we get to their actual married life. Iron Maiden Jeanne, THAT Jeanne, who would shoulder all the sins of the world on her shoulders through regular self-torture, would travel through war conflicts to aid the people in need and would sleep in camps having barely anything, who turnt the X-LAWS into the world's largest charity organization, THAT Jeanne became a STAY AT HOME HOUSEWIFE?! EXCUSE ME?! Where the fuck did her noble mission go?! She's an ambitious martyr, yet she gave everything up that she worked so hard for to mope the floors of her home? That's character assasination if you ask me. As parents, they make zero sense either. Ren's pain and hatred of his family came from them robbing him of his childhood. Yet he's perfectly fine to send his SEVEN year old son into a dangerous tournament where nobody can be revived from the dead for the SLIM chance of them getting back Jeanne. EXCUSE ME?! This doesn't fit Ren AT ALL. The more you actually think about Ren sending his son into the Flower of Maize and how it is in stark contrast with how he wants to be different from his family's ways and his established character, the more confusing it gets. And I didn't understood why until I watched a YT video about Ren's character the other day, in which they pointed out the Shonen trope of having a rival-friend that the audience could root for in case they didn't like the main character like Goku and Vegeta. That's what Ren and Yoh are in the series, and obviously, a lot of the people reading the sequal read the main series. The more I think about it, the more I feel like Takei created Men and the Jeanne storyline to keep the Ren fans invested in the sequel. Which is why, its definitely poor lazy writing, and not even the only problem of poor writing in the sequel (I am looking at you Miss Alumi, you're way too much like some fanfic's poorly written OC).

[transenbyconfessions]

I really need help but have nobody to count on, specially not about this. It involves so much, and I'm so... Confused, I feel kinda lost.

I've identified as a trans man for years now, since I was around 15 years old. I was dating a straight cis guy at the time, so I did everything I could to be accepted by him. Identified as gender fluid, then nonbinary, then demiboy, before getting the courage to say I was a man. With some struggle, he did accept me. We broke up after five years of our relationship, because he couldn't accept the fact that I was aroace, neither my recent autism diagnosis, but that's beyond the point.

Recently, I started identifying as agender, but I still am out as a trans man. I haven't transitioned physically yet, no hormones or surgery, because I live with a transphobic father that is still the only person that doesn't know. I'm out at college and the place I work at, I go by a chosen, masculine name whenever I can, I try my best to dress accordingly, and my young 15 years old self would be in awe if they saw me now.

Still, I feel conflicted. I know this might sound silly, but recently I managed to get myself a new hyperfixation on the God of War Ragnarok game. Those who are neurodivergent know how special these fixations can can be. And it sparked a wave of new feelings in me, both after being depressed with no media to cheer me on and after years of feeling... Stuck, perhaps?

There's this character in the game called Freya. After seeing her, I've come to realize that I like women. After so many bad experiences dating women (not their fault, but the fault of being a young queer kid in a shitty environment), I kinda shut off my attraction to them. But now, while I still think of myself as aroace and the prospect of relationships make me cringe, I know that I would much rather date a woman than a man. That's beyond questioning.

But also, I have such a strong feeling of gender envy when I look at her. A feeling that I've literally never felt for anyone or anything else. I desperately want to look like her, and it made me so confused and scared, because... Does this mean I'm not tied to masculinity? I've fought so many years to be seen as a man, I've failed too much but kept going, and now I want to look like a woman.

I don't see myself as female, or feminine. I don't like it when people use she/her pronouns referring to me. My country's language doesn't have any gender neutral pronouns, just she or he, so that wouldn't be an option. Deep down, I just want to look like her, but I still want to be called he/him. Ideally, I would love to be seen as a genderless human, and to not be tied to pronouns or anything at all, really. But reality is something we can't escape, and the compromise, the "least bad" option, is to be seen as a man.

What the fuck am I? After all these years, am I just a woman in denial? I'm scared that, if I ever proceed to look more like that character, I would get misgendered a whole lot more, and would be throwing all my struggles in the trash. All those fights my younger self fought to get to where we are now, to cut our hair short, to be a man. I don't even like calling myself a man anymore. Like... What the fuck?

Sorry for the long confession, but I just really needed to have someone else's opinion on this. Even if it's just to say I'm being overdramatic.

[ourbite-moved]

a list of all NPCs in my muses life. i am heavily, unapologetically, playing with canon to fit my needs. these npcs are free for inbox questions but at the moment are not available for threads. they are made to be tools to enrich the narrative in threads. if you would like one of them mentioned, please feel free to reach out.

ERES

aella - female, cisgender. a companion before the events of the game. she is a seldarine drow and a rouge. met shortly after eres venture out of the underdark and the only drow that eres trusts wholly. whereabouts: unknown. status: alive. her hair is a lighter grey, pulled and braided away from her face. there is a scar that runs from the bottom of her right eye and down towards the lobe of her ear. she's level headed in most all situations and quick to react. despite being a seldarine drow her eyes are a rich maroon.

atlas - male, transgender. a half high elf. also a companion before the events of the game. steadfast, serious and strong. an oath of devotion paladin, he follows a path of righteousness and would hope to see the good in all beings he crosses, naively in eres opinion, given second chances. he can be quick to defend and is loyal to his party. he has short nearly shaved choppy sandy colored hair and white eyes. there is a thick tattoo line that runs over his bottom lip and down his chin. he was able to leave word at their hideout ( the makeshift camp eres can be found in ) that their company lives.

argus - nonbinary, uses he + him. companion before the events of the game. a dwarven life cleric. whereabouts: unknown. status: alive. salt pepper hair, undercut buzzed with dwarvish styles. a long bushy beard that is braded and beaded. ( one of these beads eres carries with him and can be seen messing with in camp on occasion ). a tough yet cherry individual, surprisingly so for dwarrow. argus has a unique 'you live and learn' outlook on life that eres initally thought funny and stupid. through travles eres came to rely on them more. he has multiple tattoos though the most interesting would be the runes and style that cover the back of his hands, up his arms and over the top half of his chest and neck.

casius - male, cisgender. drow, follower of bhaal. casius is blood related to eres, the two having constant conflict before eres trip out of the underdark. he has a paler tone, more ashy and hair to match. his hair is long and straight, reaching mid shoulders and is always worn slicked back. his eyes are fully black. he wears eye makeup that is smeared and runny. the marks casius bare on his face are made from cuts when he became a follower, to prove his devotion [ alongside the murders, of course. ] his ultimate goal is to become a deathstalker and convince eres to join him. as a follower of lolth, eres detests everything that casius stands for.

CORNELIUS

morven theodore jakob bevard - an eldritch knight fighter, though magic comes easy to him, he much prefers his sword. cornelius' and agathe's biological child. morven grows to resent his father for his failings in both being unable to save his mother and also as a father. later in life, when old enough, morven leaves his father to his misery. he falls into a bad crowed that ultimately causes him to become a monster. a crocodile hybrid. he has a no nonsense attitude, holds himself high and hates wizards and those with the personality like his father's. he has long black hair worn slicked back most of the time. he has tan skin and golden eyes with slit iris. he is extremely touched starved but has a lack of faith and trust in others that leaves him traveling alone.

[archies-litterbox]

You know... tonight I'm thinking about how I and much of the rest of the fandom had alot of positive feelings about Wizards, even though it had its share of imperfections, in comparison to ROTT, which had such an overwhelmingly negative response.

And I think it's because much of the criticism of Wizards was centered around what we didn't get to see, while criticism of ROTT is largely centered around what we did see (and what we shouldn't have seen).

Two of the most popular criticisms I saw of wizards when it first came out were:

1.) The story was so tightly condensed that there was alot that didn't get to be explored.

2.) Zoe didn't get to have a larger role.

And I think both of these criticisms share one uniting sentiment: we wanted more. The audience loved what we did see, and we wanted to see more of it. We wanted more of Douxie's time in the spotlight/more of Camelot explored/more of The Pink-Haired Girl And What She Means to Douxie. It's INTERESTING and WE LIKE IT.

Since the show only had ten episodes, there was alot that had to be squeezed down/removed to fit in the time allowed, but Wizards spent the time it did have giving us amazing characters, compelling dynamics, and interesting lore expansion that the audience was ENTHRALLED by, to the point where much of the criticism of the installment comes down to: the audience was so intrigued/fascinated by this content that the fact that there isn't more sucks.

Now... cut to Rise of the Titans.

With its runtime of nearly two hours, it theoretically had the chance to do more of what Wizards, as great as it was, couldn't fit in: more of Douxie in the spotlight, expansion on his other relationships (like Zoe & ADP), compelling lore expansion, and smart utilization of characters & completion of character arcs for a satisfying ending.

And... it didn't deliver.

Firstly, let's get one of the big ones out of the way: it used a good ~10 minutes (?) of its runtime, which it could have used for doing something like 1.) a scene of characters who didn't get to interact much in the trilogy 2.) showing us why douxie and nari stopped running/them running at all 3.) my personal favorite, a scene of human jim coming home to his mom - and used it to give one of its side characters with the best character development I saw in the series... one of the grossest "comic relief" subplots I've seen in a long time. I would have rather Steve not been in the movie at all (like perhaps he heard arcadia was in danger and went to make sure his step-dad was okay) than seen that.

...Moving on.

What Douxie was able to do in the movie was good: he was VERY enjoyable to watch on-screen, and his big brother/baby sister dynamic with Nari was simply too precious.

But, like Wizards... it wasn't enough.

After finally getting his chance in the spotlight in the last installment, Douxie was sidelined and kept losing the people he loved left and right for what seemed to be for the mere sake of making him suffer (Nari dying as she killed Skrael/Archie getting stuck in the Hong Kong Trollmarket) when he'd already had to grieve Merlin in Wizards. He also doesn't use his most iconic item from Wizards: his spellcaster guitar. Sometimes, honestly, it seems like all he was there to do was 1.) suffer 2.) do spells (guitarlessly) to help people out and 3.) scream "NARI!"

(But Colin's voice acting DE👏LI👏VERED! Everyone's did, really. There were honestly alot of other aspects to the movie like voicework/animation/music that were really good and it sucks to see it dragged down by all the staggering missteps in writing.)

And arguably the worst aspect of that? His sidelining wasn't even unique to him; to me, every protagonist from the subsequent series' post-trollhunters seemed to be sidelined for the sake of Jim's spotlight.

Which wouldn't have been a problem... if it was used for any other confliction/crisis than him doubting being the trollhunter without the amulet, a question that was already answered in Trollhunters.

Aside from the fact that Jim felt strangely out of character, the whole ~confliction~ he had over being an amulet-less Trollhunter was redundant and felt unnecessary (I sort of wanted Merlin's ghost to show up and thwack him and say "WHAT DID I SAY!? WHAT DID I TELL YOU!?" and dip back out). In my opinion, a better confliction to explore would have been his connection to his humanity, which he'd just gotten back, or coping with what he'd done as a beast under the order's control. But instead, it badly recycled an old aspect of his arc that was already discussed in Unbecoming.

Besides Jim being what I never thought he'd be, an irritating and honestly sort-of unlikable protagonist, other characters were greatly underutilized as well.

...Especially Nomura.

First of all, they made the ridiculous decision to send two trolls with Douxie to Brazil in the daytime, knowing trolls TURN TO STONE IN THE SUN. But THEN, just for the sake of showing how deep Nari is under control, she pulls Nomura into the sunlight and shatters her when she gets petrified. It happens out of nowhere for complete & utter shock value.

To me, it seems like they brought in Nomura for the sake of having Nomura, and then they didn't know what to do with Nomura, so they killed Nomura.

And honestly, not knowing what to do with the characters and deciding to just nerf/kill them was this movie's whole thing.

But it's okay, because we have... the COP-OUT-ENDING-O-MATIC 3000! 🥳🎉

Oh, wait, sorry... the kronosfere.

[underwhelming party favor noise]

There's really no need to repeat myself on what it did - if you watched R*TT, my condolences you know what I'm talking about, and if you've read this far along, you're probably ticked about it too.

So, because of this little ball of SHAME AND BAD THINGS combined with Jim's edge-brood OOC-ness, not only did the movie give us underwhelming/unsatisfying/devastating-and-not-in-a-good-storytelling-way plotline and giving us so much that was... bad, it took away everything that was good - everything we loved. It was the second worst thing introduced in the story (the first is the entire garbage heap that is 7 kisses = MPreg (even though akiridions are projections from CORES)), and to be completely honest I WISH skrael and bellroc broke Nari and Douxie's spell before nari could say "kronosfere will make right"

(...AND the ninth configuration thing too tbh)

So... while Wizards spent the short time it had giving us something amazing, Rise of the Titans, instead of continuing to deliver on what Wizards couldn't fit in, squandered the potential it had as a finale and used its time to give us gross subplots/frustrating once decisions/underutilization, as well as to take everything else down with it at the very end with the Green Shame Orb.

And... yeah. Technically, it's not exactly two months post-ROTT anymore, because it's like 2 am on the 22nd, but I thought about this a lot felt compelled to share.

[that-one-weeb-but-starwars]

My Love| Echo (part 6 beejesus...)

Notes: this ones short my bad, also this way shock you. I also have a strong urge to make hondo show up perhaps in the Future

Warnings: sad flashbacks, death and disease mentioned, cannablistic mentions (not eating anyone but like the word), cursing,

Reader: Male

Part: 1 | 2 | 3 | 3.5 | 4 | 5 | 6 (you're hah here)

Masterlist

That wasn't possible.

"What a shame." Maul spoke, turning himself around and walking away the Pyke leader following him.

This was wrong.

"If we came for this it better be important." Hunter spoke snatching the drive, "we leave now,"

"Me and Jacob they'll return you to your ship." The teen spoke up, "but be quick we'll need to leave with the transports."

It was a silent stealthy journey back to the ship, Echo being pushed along the way by Wrecker mostly as he was trying to process what was being told to him.

So...Y/n was dead? No that was possible- they couldn't of killed everyone.

He walked onto the ship the twins wishing them luck as they rushed back off into the darkness. He took a seat on his bunk, removing the head gear and mask, his gaze trapped within the grain of the metal.

"Tech get us out of here." Hunter demanded.

Wrecker watched Echo, his brows furrowed and in conflict.

"Hey. Kid." Wrecker spoke nudging Omega softly, "Good job out there."

"I just stuck to the plan." She smiled.

"Wanna do one more mission?" He asked playfully she nodded happily.

"Go find Lula. I think someone needs her." Wrecker spoke as Omega nodded rushing to find the Tooka doll.

Wrecker walked over to Echo, sitting across from the reg, Echo kept his gaze down.

"Hey."

"I don't, I don't understand." Echo responded, "I- I don't..."

"It's okay-" Wrecker tried to speak.

"But it isnt." Echo seethed.

The sudden jolt told them they had jumped to hyperspace. Echo rubbed over his eyes.

"What was Y/n's family doing associated with the Empire..." Echo spoke, "I...I don't..."

Wrecker frowned, Hunter watching the cockpits doorway, his brother lost and confused, let down and heart broken.

Walking into the cockpit the door closed behind him.

"You'll want to see this Hunter." Tech spoke, "Echo was right."

Hunter took a seat, "Y/n's code name is Rosyln then?"

"In a sense yes, yet It is many things." Tech informed, "It's multiple things, a name, a code name, a secret military operation."

" a what." Hunter demanded answers now.

"On this disk it says Project Rosyln was ment to help in implicating...hunger in a sense.."

"Hunger?" Hunter asked, "Hunger for what?"

"Flesh, sentinel flesh," Tech responded, "They had many failis dead on contacts, until. Rosyln."

"The dead brother of Y/n's Echo mention." Hunter spoke as Tech nodded.

"He survived it, partially, resulting in an outdated inner rim disease known as Cancer." Tech responded, "though it is not sepcified what type, he died young."

"So how does Y/n fit into it?"

"Rosyln was Y/n's younger brother by adoption law on corosaunt, and the Zabrack was not lying when he said The L/n family was ontop the imperals kill list, it was ment for them to go into hiding, to essentially metophorically and phsycially slip into the dark." Tech contuined.

"Okay so the kids?"

"Test subjects." He responded, "farm animals, future death troopers fueled by anger and loss, much more. Hunter, They weren't a family, those people they called there parents? Used them."

"Can we save any of them? Y/n? The older kids? The young ones? Anyone?" Hunter questioned.

"This here is a list of kids of Y/n's family," Tech spoke, plugging into the panel infront of him as the hologram formed, "red are dead, there eay of leaving is by there name. Jay here died of rejection of food, he starved to death. Siora drowned herself in the shower room-"

"Thats enough Tech. Who's alive." Hunter demanded.

"Y/n here is still alive, but that is all." Tech responded opening the file, "but has a number of unstablizing test ran on him, it shows here his diet was starting to change from normal foods to sential flesh, but before they could change him fully he escaped."

"How."

"Unknown."

Hunter was silent, for a moment as Tech closed the file, going through the others, "This also contains other information, such as helpful codes the imperals are now using, current inflation in imperal troopers, comn chatter and resources-"

"Don't let Echo see this." Hunter spoke.

"Hunter, I. I don't think this is a good idea." Tech told him, "You'e seen what he'll go through already to see him again. Hunter that was a sith he went up on, a Pyke leader."

"He doesn't need another thing to have a mental break down on. What happens if we find Y/n? Dead in a ditch-." Hunter argued, "if we can't fix him- we can't even help Crosshair None the less ourselves!"

"Hunter, he deserves to know." Tech defended, "let's be real here Hunter, we've nevee been there for him, we saved him from one hell to put into another, we can't help him because we don't understand him."

Hunter was silent, he knew Tech was right, "You're right." Hunter told him.

Tech pulled the disk from the panel looking back at Hunter, "Hunter I know this is hard. But this is his family. And I wish for a time in my life, I was wrong."

Hunter stayed silent walking out the cockpit, and down the small hallways, Omega trying to cheer Echo up with Lula and Wrecker with a supportive smile.

"Echo."

Echo looked back, "Tech wants to uh...show you something."

Echo got up without a word walking into the cockpit.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Omega questioned looking up at Hunter.

"Sure he will!" Wrecker tried to stay postive looking back at Hunter who kept his gaze down.

"Not this time Omega." Hunter told her, as she leaned in for a hug, he patting her head as she hug his stomach.

Tech walked out the cockpit, the doors closing behind him, "Echo wishes to take first watch while we rest," Tech informed.

"Where do we go next from here?" Omega spoke looking up at Hunter.

"We'll keep working jobs for Cid, seeing what we can do." Hunter responded, "Tech when Echo is done with that disk, see if anything on there has Crosshair on it."

"I have alredy copied the disk, I will look through it more on my watch after Echo's." Tech responded.

Hunter nodded

"hey kid." Wrecker spoke up, "lets go play a game together."

Omega nodded as Wrecker picked up Omega the two walking away to her room, Hunter mentally thanking Wrecker.

"How'd he react." Hunter responded.

"He hasn't." Tech responded, "I left it plugged in. He has the option. I just don't know if he's used it."

It was true, Echo had the option, the wanting, but he sat in his chair, staring at the disk sitting in the panel.

This was it.

This was the ticket, he could know, move on, grt some type of closure either Y/n was dead or alive. Even if Y/n was dead or alive he let Y/n's biggest secret slip.

'Just...I don't like people to pity his name.' Y/n told Echo, the two standing in all black together and umbrella over head as they walked the cemetery, 'he fought hard, that's all that matters, and there's no reason you should pity someone for when you loose,'

Echo nodded at him, 'I won't tell anybody, I understand to a degree, but if you need to talk, I want to listen,'

Y/n nodded, 'Thanks again for comin along Echo, not the best way to meet my baby brother,''

'I was glad to meet him, either way,'

Echo rubbed the back of his neck, finger's scratching at his nape. Standing up and walking over his hand hovered over the disk, should he pull it out? Should he press that small white button to let every fear he's had consume him?

He pulled the disk out, this was the right choice. Whatever he needed to know. He'd learn from y/n when he'd see him. Rubbing over the disk he slid it in his belts pouch and sat in the piolts seat looking out into the blue swirls. He was doing it again.

Sitting in silence, watching nothing new pass him by. Y/n was alive, if the others believed it or not was there choice, it was there opinion, he knew what he was saying was a fact, and he didn't need no disk to tell him so.

But the question still remained, Why was Y/n involved in crime syndicates and with Sith?"

The male turned himself around shoulder hair length, strings of white in his hair; stress induced.

"It's done." Lom Pyke spoke, "The kids are out, where is the spice."

"It's on the ship don't you worry." He spoke.

"You've returned the favor after I've said you returned the favor."

"Then we've returned the favor." Lom Pyke argued.

"I did everything you asked!" Lom Pyke argued, "I've stuck my neck out for you more than you can imagine you cannablistic bitch!-"

The pyke leader was cut off, lifted into the air as he gripped at his neck, and brought forward quickly, choking on the lack of air.

"Do you know who I am?" The man questioned quietly.

"L-let-" the pyke tried to speak stratching at his neck for breath, "let me g-go!"

"Oh...you don't?" The man questioned, "I was afraid once...not to long ago, afraid as you are now..."

The sound of choking made him pause adding slight pressure, "p-please!"

"I am no longer afraid...I am..." the man thought, any more and the pyke leader would die, "Well, funny thing is, I don't even know who I am anymore...but I do know, that, you, owe me much more than you think."

The man was dropped to the floor, attempting to catch air, "Perhaps, you wish, once to see who I was, to see how I became this thing you call a cannablistic bitch!"

"Please! No-" He defended, raising his head to look up in plead, "Not again! Not that place!"

A hand was placed on his head, as the Sith lord walked in. Within a matter of seconds the Pyke fell limp, the man pushing him over as he fell and rolled down the small stells of the elevated ledge.

"You're here for a reason Maul?"

"I am indeed, that clone, you told to meet us on Zut, there were clones."

"Entertain me Maul." He spoke, walking down the small steps, the hells of his boots clicking as he made it down the steps.

"Seems you're little buddy Captain dipshit isnt the only clone that's defected. That little Ray shit of your's hacked the imperal files." Maul spoke, his tone as usual, dark, broody, annoying to the mans ears, "Clone force 99, may just be on our side."

The man snatched the datapad from him, "and they have a child with them. How wonderful."

"Status' as of current."

"Like I said that dipshit of yours sursingly has his corners covered. Ray's tracking them as we speak." Maul told.

The man looked through the photo's there he was in all his glory, sure angry but just as remembered.

"Lets hope an ex sith lord, a fucked up group of clones, a cannablistic bitch kill, and some kids can help kill your old ass wrinkly master." The man spoke Maul snatching the data pad back and making his leave.

"Oh. And one know's who you are." Maul responded standing in the door way, "Before I gave them anything, one knew Rosyln is Y/n,"

[dianapana]

SH Day 2: Fashion Statement

Modern AU, OOC

@sasuhinamonth

Bullies exist everywhere you look, in school, at work, on the street and most of all, on the internet. Countless bullies hide behind the anonymity the internet provides them in order to bring down strangers for no apparent reason. But there is always a reason, jealousy, an inferiority complex, a superiority complex, or plain and simple the bully is a pile of trash and no one should call it a human being. One of the worst things one can do when being active on social media is read the comments, because no matter how many positive comments there are, one bad comment outweighs them all. Scrolling through my Instagram I see the perfect example of this issue. Hinata is barely an acquaintance, I have not seen her since middle school almost a decade ago, she’s not active on any social media, or at least she wasn’t until today. The picture in front of me brings back all of my past thoughts of her, how pretty her face looked, how refreshing and pleasant her lower voice tone was; out of most people I was aware of at the time, she was one of the least annoying. The only thing that bothered me at times was her meek demeanour, how easy she’s fold under the pressure of bullies; and it would appear that she had not changed in that particular category.

The picture was there, I liked it, I looked through the comments, I saw all the negative ones, I saw them misgendering her due to her short hair and baggy clothes, I saw them calling her names; and then there was nothing, because the picture no longer existed. Much like in school, the bully applied pressure on her, and she caved in on herself and chose to hide.

I wish I had taken a screenshot of the picture to post myself, but that would have been an invasion of privacy. She looked older and more mature, her hair was much shorter than in middle school, almost a buzz cut. She had always worn baggy clothes, but her style developed to streetwear, all in all, the picture was, in my opinion, a work of art. But as soon as it appeared, it disappeared. I can’t explain why it bothers me this much the fact that she took it down, but it just does.

I hate all the entitled fucks that think people own them anything. Females do not own them femininity, males don’t own them masculinity and gender non-conforming people don’t own them an androgynous appearance. Gender and fashion style are different issues, they can reflect each other or not. People use clothes for various reasons, as art, as means of expression, or they use them to hide. We talked about this during one of my courses in gender studies in university and it fucked with my brain how many people, young people that are supposably ‘woke’ heard that for the first time. I was shocked how many were unaware of things that I consider common sense.

I have the urge to reach out, assure her that the shit those incompetent fucks commented is the furthest thing from fact. Maybe I also feel guilt, because I was aware she was bullied in school and never helped, my apathy always made me so sure that it had nothing to do with me. It wasn’t my issue to fix, it wasn’t my battle to fight, and this isn’t either; but I’ve also learned to understand that being quiet might not be as hurtful as actively attacking the person, but it’s damn near close enough. So, I click on her blank profile and shoot her a short message. ‘the pic looked nice. U didn’t have to delete it just cuz some ppl don’t know what style is’

It was partly to comfort her, and partly to prove to myself that I’ve become better even in the slightest. I press the lock button on my phone and the screen turns black, I put it screen down on my bed and leave the room trying to fool myself and the universe that I don’t care if she replies or not.

I return to my work desk, continuing this charade, I am actively trying to not think about it, but the more I try not to think about it, the more I think about it. There is something about a 24-year-old Hinata looking the way she does, yet listening to haters, that just doesn’t sit well with me. I’m still in deep thought about the issue when my laptop dings, letting me know I received an email. I half expect it to be Hinata, but it’s work-related and my focus turns to that for the time being. Work keeps me busy for the remaining of the day, enough to push the whole issue out of my mind for real. In a blink of an eye over 9 hours have passed.

I wasn’t able to fully finish everything I wanted, due to some issues but I have to call it a day, since I worked overtime quite a lot. I go back to my bedroom and pick up my phone ready to order some delivery for the night when I see that Hinata responded.

“That was very thoughtful of you, thank you for the kind message.”

“I agree that I shouldn’t let myself be brought down, but it’s devastating in the moment.”

“I’ll try again.”

Her last message makes me click back on her profile to see that she reposted the picture with the caption saying ‘fuck you’. A sense of pride flows into my body, and I can’t fight the urge to comment as well, ‘fuck them all’. I go back to our little chat.

“Im glad u decided to post it again.”

I’m trying to formulate a compliment that doesn’t sound weird, I don’t feel like we are close enough for me to call her beautiful or pretty without it sounding like I am flirting, stunning sounds extreme, sexy and hot feel somewhat disgusting; yet all these five adjectives describe her, because she is beautiful, pretty, stunning, hot and sexy. I’m in the midst of this internal battle when I receive a reply.

“I am too. Thank you again”

I don’t feel like I deserve thanks, so I decide not to write back ‘you are welcome’, but I still want to compliment her so I click back to look at the picture, seeing whether having the picture in front of me will help. I’m lowkey annoyed when I get a notification that I have a new message from her, I am hell bound on finding a compliment and she is hell bound on stopping me. Either way, I click on the message, but upon reading it, my annoyance dies.

“I’m actually in Konoha for the first time in forever. I was thinking…if you maybe want to meet up? I’m here for a month, let me know if and when is a good time for you 😊”

Under normal circumstances, an invitation to ‘hang out’ from any former classmate be it elementary, middle or high school would annoy me further and I’d turn it down immediately. But for some reason, the idea of meeting Hinata after so many years, seeing what she is up to, interacting with her now as adults, makes me oddly enthusiastic. I reply before I can overthink the issue.

“Sure, we can meet, I’m free every Wednesday and throughout the weekend.”

Her reply is almost instant. “That’s perfect! See you Saturday” Reading her message makes me forget what day it is, so I have to look at my phone’s calendar; Saturday is the day after tomorrow, in less than 48hs I will see Hinata. My feelings are conflicted, they lay somewhere between nervousness, which is new, and giddiness, which is even newer. In order to calm myself, I do what I always do, set a goal. By Saturday I’ll have an appropriate compliment for the picture and her, it will have more impact if I say it face-to-face anyway, yes that’s the reason I want to see her, so I can feel as if I completed this little mission of mine, no other reason…

[sassooda]

Worlds Away JJK AU / Chapter 37 - Destined for Greatness

w/c - 7,731

               Suguru has been lying in bed for hours now as his mind wanders through his past and imagines different scenarios for the future. He sighs as he tosses and turns for the thousandth time, facing away from his door while his gaze takes to his new quarters that are viewable from this angle. This is by far the cheeriest room he has ever called his own. The walls are a warm yellow, the floors of solid hardened red clay and all of the matching furniture a light wood. His eyes take to the closed curtains with long thick white drapes, ‘This is so fucking annoying…’, he mumbles knowing there’s not even a window behind it, there’s no way for there to be when you’re underground. Sitting up now with aggravation, he reaches over to the bedside table and places the bowl of water he was using the night before, back into his lap. He wants to check in on Elska’s surroundings although he knows other Titers are tasked with the enemy’s usual surveillance. Before activating his technique though, he hesitates due to anxiety, ‘What the fuck am I going to do when we take her? What the fuck will she do?’. He hears footsteps approaching his door and knows Genghis must have already finished with most of the arrangements.

               “Little one! Time to wake up!”. Genghis calls out in an eager voice. He stops and smiles when he sees that Getou is already awake and asks, “Aren’t you excited about today?”. He looks over the worrisome Suguru who’s vexation is transparent. The golden sheets drape along his body and slide from his bare skin whenever he moves under them.

               Getou grumbles and turns his head, “I don’t think what I’m feeling is excitement…”. He keeps looking at the curtains that hide lies while wondering if he’s much different. ‘Will I have to subdue her when she lashes out? Am I going to have to hurt her when she resists?’. He’s had no qualms with doing so in the past but feels an incredible amount of pressure regarding it now. ‘Could we…like each other?’.

               Genghis chuckles and ignores Suguru’s reluctant attitude while looking around the room, “This is definitely much more suitable! Did you really put in a request for a giant tub though?” He’s poking fun at his pupil but he was also puzzled by that. Genghis thinks the brighter room will serve them both well psychologically. ‘Not too shabby for being done at the last minute.’.

               Embarrassed by the question, Getou submerges deeper into his bad mood and bed before retorting, “It’s for me. I’m tall.”. He was certainly not about to admit that it was for Elska, thinking she really must love them judging by how insane Naoya acted about it when the Zenin originally designed the first room where she was held. Suguru is aware that her reaction may be hostile overall and is dreading these coming days because of it so he hopes having one may ease her nerves. He doesn’t know that tub is Naoya’s thing.

               Genghis isn’t really satisfied with that answer but continues on, “I’ve gathered the most adept offensive fighters we have to offer.” Knowing the Titer’s abilities are incredible but lack in the area of traditional combat, selecting the most capable available would be crucial. “I believe you’ll quite enjoy my plan…”. His teeth show in this smile now, he’s more than willing to share his enthusiasm.

               Suguru finally turns to his mentor, interested. “Do tell me what you’ve concocted.”.

               Genghis lights up, “So as we were discussing, we need to restrict their actions. We will make our move in a public setting but you’ll still be able to have your fun...we will have to harm innocents but I assume that’s not what troubles you.” He grins maniacally, “Mr. Satoru Gojo’s presence will be requested before the Elders here in a few and his curiosity will assure he attends.”. Genghis sighs, “I was worried Gojo might want to kill all of them but I brought in two special people to mediate our fictitious ambitions.”. He chuckles, “The silver shaman has no idea what’s in store for him.”.

               Getou smirks at the thought of Gojo having the rug pulled from beneath him, “So we’re planning on having to deal with Toji, Zenin and Choso���aside from her today?” Genghis nods to his question but a heaviness forms in Suguru’s chest when he thinks about having to kill Choso. He’s still not on board with that completely and figures he’ll try his best to protect the hybrid in the midst of confusion. ‘Not him too.”. Getou wishes to find a way to bring the hybrid back to his side.

               Genghis claps his hands, causing his yellow robes to flutter, “You better get up and get ready! I’m about to meet with our team. I believe your first sweetheart will be amongst them.”, he chuckles for the drama but honestly loathes that woman.

               “Lidia?”, Getou stiffens immediately as that did not help his motivation. “She’s fucking crazy Master Genghis, I don’t want to be anywhere near her!”. Suguru takes his head to his hands as a few memories of her dependency and inhumane behavior flood him. ‘Psychotic bitch.’. Lidia always chased after Suguru when they were younger and at some point this wore on him as before he knew it, she was claiming them to be betrothed. She was obsessed with his destiny, his calling for the clan and would worship him in the most toxic ways due to it. Her need to be the only one in Getou’s life caused her to mutilate young women amongst Suguru’s outer circle out of spite and jealousy. Their time together did not last long as it quickly became a violent pairing, ending with him crushing her ribs under his usual technique. Suguru sighs, “She’s is not going to help me obtain another woman…”. He shudders recalling how after healing, she was back to throwing herself at him as if nothing happened. ‘Fucking…crazy…’.

               Genghis hides his sneer, knowing full and well the history of the two. “On the contrary, she requested this assignment.”. He notices Suguru’s growing frustration and wishes he could explain exactly why he’s doing what he’s doing but instead says, “I’ve seen many outcomes for this and although they may have varied, I can assure you Lidia will serve a great purpose here.”. Little does Getou know, Lidia will be the proof offered to show Elska she will be cared for while in the Titer compound.

               Suguru is skeptical to believe this and shows it through his expression as he rises from the bed and says, “Women are the bane of my existence…”. He stretches in his black briefs and cracks his neck while thinking something foreboding was eating at him. ‘I’m probably going to have to expose my other techniques now.’.

               “You’re about to receive the most powerful wife in the world…and yet, you complain.”, Genghis teases as he’d probably be nervous too if the roles were reversed. He watches Suguru don a black robe, clearly showing signs of stress so he walks up to him and puts his jokes aside, “This is going to work out, little one, one way or another.”, and pulls Getou’s head down to plant a fatherly kiss to the top of it. After sharing the rare moment, he bows and leaves Suguru to his morning routine.

               Getou watches him quietly walk out of the room with conflicting emotions. Genghis is the only man he’s ever looked up to, the only other human that ever offered genuine affection. Ever since Suguru was reunited with his mentor though, something has felt off or perhaps he’s just seems more purposeful. He’s not sure if this odd feeling is because of his own unstable emotions that threatened to derail his purpose of revenge or if there’s another reason but he can’t ignore it either way. He trusts that his mentor is still worthy of his respect and recognition though and finds his returning welcomed regardless. ‘All of those years…’, he wonders where Genghis spent his time and exactly why. ‘Did they really keep him away to simply foster my hatred for Gojo?’. He knows that doesn’t really make sense.

               Genghis is turning a hall leading to stairs to take him upward. He sees two of the recruited Titers waiting for him outside of the designated meeting area at the top, smiles and nears them. The first one he shakes hands with is Sain Khun. The 32-year-old Titer was a remarkable martial artists and hunter. His rare eyes are more grey than blue and stand in contrast to his long black hair that he wears down. Sain is one of the handful of Titers that learned to channel their metaphysical natured abilities into to combative techniques but usually stays out of the political fray of the clan. ‘A fine young man.”. Before he’s able to address the handsome Titer, the second of the pairing cuts in.

               “Master Genghis, I have more questions about this woman.”. Lidia shamelessly exudes her opinion of the situation and demands attention. She receives a sharp look from the clan’s head that only fuels her suspicions. “Are we certain she’s the best pairing for Master Getou?”.

               “Miss Lidia, you look lovely today…”, Genghis takes her hand and kisses it, ignoring her inquires. He continues to smile until she speaks up again. ‘She never ceases.’.

               “Can we trust that her intentions for Master Getou are ones we can stand by?”. Lidia shakes her long curly red hair that dances down her arms. Her green eyes narrowed still, she waits for an answer. “She’s not even human. What if she uses her powers to manipulate his biology as well?”. Her foot taps impatiently against the now softer ground, ‘I’ll fucking kill that bitch if she even looks at him wrong!’.

               Genghis has already grown tired of catering to Lidia’s neediness in the short time they’ve come to know each other but understands she’s vital. “And what of your own intentions?”, he confidently questions her as he doesn’t need an answer. He already knows and is glad to see her heart hasn’t wavered from its possessive ways.

               Sain feels forced as this greet was supposed to be simple. He cares not of Lidia’s unhealthy interest for Suguru and even with his instincts crying against Genghis, feels badly for the man. He decides to enter the conversation in hopes to shut it down. “Lusting Lidia, it’s time to get on with the meeting.”, and grabs her arm, leading her through the door where the rest of the selected wait.

               Genghis takes a moment to center himself, ‘I understand your resentment little one…’. This quick exchange between them wasn’t the worst he’s suffered from the woman but he still cannot stand to be around her. He chuckles and whispers to himself, “But if she were any less obsessed, this wouldn’t work.”, and then enters the room with the rest as they lay out their plans.

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               Elska is looking around at the busy street as they occasionally bump into passing people. “My prince, are you sure it’s around here?” She’s never been to this part of the city before and is feeling anxious by the crowd. The sun is out but a chilling breeze catches them every so often. Her mind is heavy and plagued with questions but doesn’t want to dampen Naoya’s mission for the day.

               Naoya stops near the edge of the wide sidewalk and pulls out his phone, “I’m positive!”, while checking the map to make sure he could stand by those words. ‘Where is it?’. His brow creases as he studies the screen.

               Toji huffs, “We’ve been walking forever.” He’s abnormally agitated but also hates crowds and is pinning the fault on being dragged out into one. He looks at Elska who’s eyes happen to meet his and feels his tension release ever so slightly as the wind blows her black V-cut dress along her knees. All of them are dressed up more than usual since Naoya begged for them to eat at one of his favorite restaurants. He sees Elska eyeing him in a way that foretells she finds his black pants and squeezing button up suiting and it makes him feel like he could deal with the clothed restriction for a while longer.

               “It says we’re close!”, Naoya points to the map on his phone pridefully. It’s been a few years since he was on this side of the city and a lot has changed. He’s becoming frustrated with not knowing how much time they’ll have before Gojo returns, wanting to enjoy some normalcy. ‘I just want to treat her to nice meal!’ He turns to Elska and takes her hand, “Baby, I promise it will be worth it. I’m talking…food fit for a princess.”, when she giggles, he does too, being happy to see that she isn’t wanting to turn around. He looks to Toji now, “Want me to find you a walker?”, and snickers as the giant narrows his eyes before continuing ahead.

               Elska feels Naoya’s finger lace into hers as they resume walking, with Toji on her left. She’s trying to be cheerful today, wanting to appreciate the time she’s spending with them but her mind keeps leading her into thought. The night before, Toji stopped her from feeding and although she was aware of why and understood the risks Satoru spoke about, she tried to proceed anyway. There were a weird few minutes where she could only focus on drinking from her beloved and flailed wildly as he restrained her. ‘Why did it feel like I wanted the Titer energy too?’. She thinks to hold Toji’s hand as well in this moment but stops herself as she doesn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to the three of them. ‘He looked so concerned all while I couldn’t even stop…”. The ancestral voice advised her to feed. Her heart aches as she knows this was out of character and extremely selfish when they didn’t know how it could affect her. The one thing keeping her afloat in this matter is how Toji held her after she snapped out it, how he seemed to understand without saying that she didn’t mean to.

               Toji lets Naoya and Elska get a step ahead of him so he can keep his eyes on her. After their last outing, he’s remaining highly aware of their surroundings and is watching for anything suspicious. He sees Naoya in his dark grey slacks and black dress shirt, leaning down to talk to her as they maneuver through the groups of families and friends, keeping her close. ‘Is she really, ok?’. Toji recalls how she struggled against him the night before. Gojo tried to rush to the bed after seeing her reaction but Toji was also wanting to shield her from him. Her eyes changed, showing the dashes of his green while she clawed at his arms and flashed her fangs with a glare. Toji knew that wasn’t his Elska but didn’t want to make her apprehensive, so he hid her the best he could from Satoru until they reverted. He heard something from within while this was all occurring, a voice that he swears communicated for him to feed his master. ‘Is that even possible? What the fuck was that?’. He rubs his bicep after feeling a sharp pain run through his arm.

               Naoya leads them to a building that has loud club music playing inside, the base being noticeable from where they stand. He looks up and scrunches his face, “What the fuck is this?”. He checks his watch that bares 1:39 and is further confused by the daytime club scene. ‘I’ve failed.’. Toji can be heard groaning so he orients himself to face them both, “It was right here!!”. He takes in Elska’s kind smile as she’s clearly not going to make him feel bad for being wrong. Not knowing what to do to save their lunch adventure he stands there awkwardly to think but hears Elska say, “Well let’s enjoy a drink while we look up somewhere else nearby!”. He smiles at her ability to always find a silver lining and follows behind her up the ramp that leads inside.

               As they walk through the room on the first floor, Toji feels this intense wave wash over him. Music is drowning out most other sounds but the way the bass pulses through him allows him to feel alive. The stench of cigarettes, sweat and alcohol sting his senses while they find a seat at the bar. Once sitting, he can smell Elska’s perfume when she whips her hair behind her shoulders, exposing her neck to which causes him to stir in the stool. Naoya hands out drink menus from them all but Toji doesn’t even look at it, knowing his order already and wanting it immediately. He feels ready to pounce but is cautiously calming himself as he knows this is not the place, ‘I am NOT Gojo…’. When she crosses her legs he feels the sting in his arm again, bringing his mood back to a wavering position.

               “I’m thinking a red…’, Elska states loud enough to be heard while looking over the wine menu. Naoya smiles to her words as he announces his choice of Mojito. “That’s why you’re so sweet!”, she jokes vaguely in regards to his actual taste. She places a hand on Toji’s right knee before turning to him and feels him jump. Her voice now concerned, “Did I scare you!?”. She giggles until she sees the intensity in his eyes, wondering why he’s exuding so much right then. Her breath was held in her throat as she waited for his eyes to glow, knowing that would not be good for where they are. They never do though and she eventually resumes respiration as he places his own large hand over hers. ‘What was that?’. She now swivels her head around the large room, taking in all of the day drinkers on the dance floor and seated randomly about.

               The bartender takes their orders with a smile and begins to serve them up right there. He recommended a red for Elska that he swears was his personal favorite and proudly waited for the approving sip. When she stated its palatability, he then left to attend other customers while Toji stared him down menacingly. ‘That’s a brave man to be flirting right in front of us.’.

               Naoya sips his drink while eyeing Toji chug his whiskey on the rocks. “Slow down old man, we still have to go somewhere to eat!”, he laughs at the eyeroll he receives and notices Elska drinking pretty quickly as well. “Baby, what’s on your mind?”, he knows something is bothering her and wonders if they’re both just nervous after the last Titer attack. ‘Maybe I can convince her to dance it away!’, he thinks as he imagines himself twirling her under the disco ball. He just wants her to have a good day.

               After finshing her glass already, she sets it down and tells Naoya, “I’m fine, I promise! I just really have to pee!”. He chuckles and adjusts himself so she has more room to slide off the stool. She announces that she’ll be right back before searching the walls for signs indicating the direction she should take. A drunken man bumps into her shortly after leaving the bar and can feel Toji increase his presence so she turns around to show that she’s fine. The whole room was lively except for Toji’s motionless staring. ‘I better be fast before he loses his shit.’.

               “She shouldn’t be alone.” Toji followed her with his eyes as she turned a corner down a hall. He’s worried about her and has this familiar unyielding need to be in her vicinity. It’s almost as if he knows something is about to happen. “I’m going to wait for her, watch the drinks.”. He hears Naoya protest with grief but faces him and says, “Boy, why don’t you find us a place to eat since we’re out here because of you.”, and places a hand on Naoya’s shoulder as he goes to walk past to counter the aggression in his voice. “Order another round too will ya?”.

               Elska stands up in the stall and flushes but doesn’t leave. She’s feeling like Toji’s eyes were trying to tell her something minutes ago but she can’t figure it out. All she knows is that it was sexy. She opens the latched door to wash and dry her hands but takes in her reflection in the mirror and thinks, ‘Life is so much crazier now…’, but smiles to herself knowing she had fantastic support from everyone. The door pushes open abruptly behind her and she gasps in startlement before realizing that it was Toji himself. “TOJI! What if there are others in here?!”. She can tell by his focus though that it didn’t matter anyway.

               “Doll…” he mutters as he locks the door behind him. He sees that she was caught off guard when she asks what he was doing in there but he just walks closer until he’s inches away. “I need…”, he lifts her up so she can wrap her legs around his waist and supports her weight with his right arm. “I need you.”, he whispers while dragging the tip of his nose along her collar bone, watching her skin change pigment from his glowing eyes. Her hands are roaming through his hair and he moans to the sensation of her nails against his scalp. “Right now.”. He nearly growls as he sinks her into his groin from above.

               “Toji…”, she was right about his prior intensity but can’t find it in her heart to stop him as he begins kissing the crook of her neck. The music can be heard through the walls along with idle chatter and it all serves as a reminder for where they’re at. She thinks of her pheromones and instantly pulls herself out of their beautiful trance. She whispers, “We shouldn’t do this here, my beloved.”, and frowns as he lifts his head to meet eyes. “I can’t release them here, it’ll be a disaster…”.

               He agrees that they shouldn’t have sex and nods with a grunt but that’s not truly what brought him in lady’s room to begin with. Feeling his fangs form he shows them to her and happily takes in her reaction as she smiles and moves her hair while saying, “Oh! ok…but we have to be quick!”. He squeezes her cheek with his right hand that supporting her rear and drags his teeth across the skin of her neck. “I just need to taste you.”, he wantonly groans before biting down. She gasps to his intrusion and grips his hair as he begins to suckle. His own whimpers could be heard between his gulps, loving every drop he’s being given as he deciphers her soul and feelings. Her flavor, now that he’s not as overloaded by the information, is reminiscent of the aroma born from a field of flowers. Each time he swallows more of her blood, his overall restlessness fades while her squirming increases.

               Elska cradles his head into her while melting in the master’s ecstasy flowing through her. Her eyes are closed as she bites her lip and attempts to muffle her sounds. “My beloved…”, she whimpers to him while her fingers stroke through his hair. His hypertonicity dwindles as she feels his left hand travel up her back, resting a grip on the nape of her neck. “I love you, my beloved Toji…”, and gasps in desperation as she can sense his own, wanting to assure him of his importance. Those same fingers now dance along her clavicle as he brings them over the wounds to close them while panting into her neck. He leaves his face buried there, adorning the area with his lips slowly as he she can tell he’s gathering himself. “Do you feel better?” She caresses his temple and cheek hoping that he did, feeling terrible that she didn’t recognize or even sense his disposition sooner. When he lifts his head to look at her again, she feels the need to lock her lips to his as they both exhale in a gratified union. She moves the hair out of his eyes and kisses his forehead before he gently puts her back down, him looking refreshed with a bashful grin.

               He grabs a paper towel from the dispenser and wets it. In the mirror he can see Elska’s loving eyes watching him and the scar on the corner of his lips bends pleasantly. While wiping away any evidence, he shyly adds, “I love you too, doll.”, the words still seeming unreal. After discarding the bloodied paper towel, he takes up her hands in his own, “I’m sorry for following you in here, I just…I really needed to do that.”. He’s still uneasy by how compelling the desire was. “I felt like I wouldn’t get another chance.”. He sees the concern on her face and doesn’t want to worry her, “It was just time for me to feed doll, everything is ok.”. Her hand sails upwards to hold his cheek and leans into it. ‘I have to keep her safe.’.

               Naoya is watching the condensation accumulate on his glass and is now feeling nervous as he checks his watch again. ‘Where are they?!’, he swings around in the stool to check the room and feels an incredible wave of relief as he finds Toji and Elska making their way back to the bar. After they sit he asks, “Did you guys go to the bathroom at the dorms or what?”, but picks up on the weird laughs he receives from them. ‘He wouldn’t have tried something sly, would he?’, and squints his eyes at Toji. ‘He looks way better though.’, and decides to let it go as he’s sure even a quickie couldn’t be that quick. “Baby…”, Naoya slides his phone over in front of them as he finishes his second Mojito, “I’ve only been here once but they have beautiful seating along the water!”. He cackles, “…and it’s only about half a mile away by foot…”.

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               Gojo is quickly walking through the whited-out halls with Choso following. He speaks without looking, “Choso, when we get in there…I have to warn you, you’re not expected.”. Gojo heard Choso stop in place so he turns around to see him. “You’re with me though so it’s fine! If they say anything to you, just ignore them. I will do the talking.”, and waves for the being to hurry.

               “I…I don’t understand why I’m here with you and not everyone else…”. Choso is familiar with the Elders but can’t ignore the fact that he used to work for them where as he’s now on the opposing side. ‘Is this a good idea?’. He was expecting Gojo to sulk and whine to being called in today and is puzzled by how thrilled he seems.

               Gojo jumps up to click his heels to the side before saying, “I don’t trust these cunts and I’m almost positive this is a trap of some sort…”. He notices Choso’s eyes widen with confusion so he continues, “If they’re trying to distract me from Elska, they fail if you’re there using your technique to watch her for me!”, his smug grin appears, “This way I’ll know the moment something happens.”. He’s sure the Elders have called him away in order to create an opportunity but has a mind to flip their plans upside down with this small act of rebellion. “I can never remember where to go! This shit all looks the same…it’s creepy.”.

               Choso sighs but tries to keep up with Gojo’s quickened pace. The bright lighting overhead is blinding and causing him discomfort as he prefers darker places. He doesn’t know what to make of Gojo’s explanation but figures he’s along for the ride at this point anyways. “Do you think they’d even admit to what they’re doing?”. Choso understands the amount of secrecy the surrounds the Elder’s goals and is sure that he’s not even fully aware of their intentions.

               “Yes. I will make sure they do.”, Satoru’s words are eerie but his expression is still delighted. “These fuckers have messed with us for long enough. They’re cowards, Choso and the things they want to do to my love are unacceptable.”.  Gojo is certain that none of the others would have condoned what he’s thinking he’ll have to do which is why he said nothing before leaving. “They need to leave her alone and how can I call myself the strongest if I can’t protect her from these witless skin bags?”. Satoru at least wanted to inform Nanami of his meeting but hasn’t been able to reach the fellow shaman yet. ‘Did they get to him too?’. Gojo is certain that something happened with Shoko but was waiting to see how things played out. ‘As long as she’s fine, I know she can handle it.’, but worries about Nanami’s reaction if he’s already discovered this too.

               ‘What is he going to do?’, Choso feels like something big is about to happen, something that cannot be taken back. The unnerving pressure in his gut hints that whatever it is, it’s not good. “Itadori and the others are still on standby but isn’t it odd that they haven’t been given any missions?”. They pass more rooms before Satoru finally stops. Choso watches the silver shaman’s expression change to lethally cold one before straightening himself with resolve, and knows he should do the same. ‘I guess I have to just trust him…’, the thought not sitting comfortably at all.

               Gojo quietly speaks, “Remember, don’t mind them, they’re not worth the stress. You do not serve them any longer.”, and places a reassuring hand on the hybrids shoulder. He’s impressed when he looks over the being, seeing that his previous nervousness has been cast away and replaced by a collected ensemble. ‘I’m pretty sure I’m right about him.’, and feels poised in the dark nature that lurks beneath Choso’s kindness. Turning back to the door, Gojo kicks it open fiercely before entering. “WHAT’S UP FUCKERS?!”.

               Three people sit along one side of a long white table, seeming prepared aside from the sudden commotion. The first is a representative of the Kamo clan, a new middle-aged face Satoru has never seen draped in dark red robes. The second is a Zenin, the bought errand man known better as “Peaches” for a less known reason. Gojo knew him rather well from his childhood and all of the clan events he was forced to attend. The third, however, catches Satoru by complete surprise and angers him. The woman sitting as a representative for his own clan is none other than his mother.

               Gojo seethes with white knuckled fists, “What the fuck are you doing here?”, as old anguish resurfaces between the two. Satoru hasn’t been home in years and purposefully. He was sure if he stayed any longer, he’d annihilate his own family.

               The Kamo rep scoffs, “Yes… well hello to you too Satoru Gojo. We could ask you the same.” He points to Choso, “Isn’t that Kamo property?”. The hybrid and Gojo fail to give him the time of day, causing tension.

               Gojo never takes his eyes off of his mother while waiting in silence as Choso dutifully ignores them. His eyes darken, “I asked you a fucking question you miserable old whore.”. He feels the urge to gather a technique but calms himself with his better judgement.

               His mother speaks, “That is no way to talk to the woman who raised you!”, she laughs in a haughty way but brings her dramatics to a close, “Why else would I be here? You can’t be left to just do whatever you please…”. She tilts her nose up and displays her notion that she is untouchable.

               Peaches shifts in his chair, “You have something that needs to be returned to the Zenin’s. Master Naoya was promised her hand.”. He’s honestly terrified of Gojo but would never allow this to show. Satoru darts stormy eyes in his direction and he feels a chill race down his spine.

               “Let’s just be frank about it. You want Elska.”. Gojo voice is calm, almost lighthearted. He brings his gaze back to his mother, feeling a little better about the situation knowing he’s going to handle more business than he expected today. “Choso, please start now.”. Gojo doesn’t have to look since he can feel Choso’s energy gathering to form the window. He watches the representatives lean to figure out what the hybrid is up to and laughs out loud. “My friend here”, He scowls at the Kamo man, “is going to observe Elska while we meet.”. He winks to Peaches, “She’s with Naoya right now for your information…Toji too.”.

               Gojo’s mother bursts into hyaena laughter, threatening to rupture the unsuspecting eardrums of the others. “You think you have it all figured out, don’t you? Such a pitiful child.”. Her long white hair waves in the air as she jerks her head to see Peaches’s perplexed expression. “Don’t believe him just because he speaks it…trust me…”, and folds her arms while thinking of how many more beatings her son should have to experience when younger.

               Peaches clears his throat and tries to save face, “Surely this is some kind of joke. Master Naoya loathes your very existence Satoru.”. He’s now chuckling to himself having felt it was a test of some sort, “Are we not on better terms than that of your games?”. He’s now sure it was a lie.

               Gojo regrets that Peaches is here today but is unable to overlook the fact that the old goat is in cahoots with this situation. ‘It can’t be helped!’. He turns to Choso now for the first time since they walked into the room and is reassured that nothing bad is happening. Now facing Peaches again, “You know… Zenin and I got off on the wrong foot.” He grins, “But now we have threesomes!”, loving the shock that plasters everyone’s face. The Kamo man choked on his own saliva to the mention. Gojo looks at his mother, “Don’t be upset just because no one wants to fuck you. It can’t be helped when your cunt leaks venom.”.

               Choso sits motionlessly as he listens to the meeting unfold, completely flabbergasted by Satoru’s way of speaking. ‘What did his mother do to him to make him hate her so much?’, he hesitates to explore the options in his mind as he can only imagine. Aside from that though, Choso has never witnessed such a display of blatant disrespect to the higher ups and is completely unnerved by the silver shamans ever changing composure. ‘What is he planning to do?’, the ominous feelings he’s experiencing from this are only growing at this point.

               Peaches is red with embarrassment, “HE WOULD NEVER DO THAT!”, and allows his anger on the matter to spill over. The representative huffs relentlessly to the accusations and feels disgraced for his ears being exposed to such vile talk. When expecting to see an angry Gojo, he’s further confused by the smile that meets him instead.

               Gojo runs his finger along the table as he casually saunters in front of each of them. “If you three decide to get rowdy…I’ll have to kill you.”. He basks in the glares and especially enjoys his mother’s fear as she knew he was not playing around. Once they become settled he says to her, “You being here makes you my enemy, mommy. How long have you been involved?”. She starts to swat his question away with a scoff but everyone leaps out of their skin when Satoru yells, “HOW FUCKING LONG?!”. He increases his presence tenfold and watches the representatives writhe in distress before him.

               She says nothing.

               The Kamo rep is sweating bullets as he’s only heard the tales of horrors committed at the hand of Gojo. ‘Genghis said nothing about this hostility.”, he thinks to himself as he comprehends that he’s bitten off more than he could chew. He’s afraid to peel his eyes away from the powerful shaman making inquiring demands but also wants to flee the room. ‘This guy is even crazier in person!’.

               Gojo takes a deep breath and exhales dramatically, “Well…this is going nowhere…”, and summons energy into his hand as he aims it at the Kamo representative. The nameless man cries out in fear and studders in his breathing. Gojo notices Choso jump to his feet but the being doesn’t say anything. Only when the defeated female voice utters, “3 years.”, does he quell his attack. He thinks about that answer for a moment before acknowledging her again. ‘That’s strange.’. Looming across from her he now asks, “I’d already had my love for some time before that, why did you join them to conspire against me at that point? Don’t make me blow this poor guy’s skull open…”, he warns of his lack of patience.

               His mother sulks in her seat having her hands tied about the questioning, “I thought she was a passing infatuation at first, like all of the others but you completely neglected your responsibilities of being an heir because of that wretch.” She’s met with unforgiving eyes and wishes she was able to smack the audacity out of him but has learned the hard way about his response to abuse. “She is not yours Satoru and you jeopardize the entire balance of the clans with your actions of keeping her.”.  Out of the corner of her eye she sees Peaches nod in support and feels reaffirmed by it.

               Gojo slips a wild laugh and slaps the table, “She is mine though. I voyaged worlds away to find her. I went to incredible lengths to bring her back…”, he sighs while resting his hands on his hips. “You do know, mom, these Titers that have you in their pocket…they were going to use her to assassinate me.”. The atmosphere of the room deteriorates at the mention of the Titer clan. Its obvious that they were left unaware to Gojo having knowledge of the group’s silent partner.

               His mother jumps from her seat and screams, “AND THEY SHOULD HAVE SUCCEEDED!”. All of the hatred she’s ever felt for her son sears the air around them, her chest feeling lighter for the honesty but heavier for the fear. “You were destined for greatness but even with your gifts, something is wrong with you! How you ever came out of me? I will never know…”. She feels she must stand her ground or else the structure they’ve served their entire lives will crumble. “You’re evil. You always have been.”.

               Choso is still watching Naoya, Toji and Elska but can’t help but be distracted by the darkness exuding Gojo. ‘What is going on here?’, he doesn’t understand how this is official business and even finds himself feeling defensive over Satoru. ‘That woman is appalling.’, he thinks as he considers Gojo’s upbringing and decides there’s more to the man than he ever considered. He looks back to the window after surmising that none of the representatives would attack. Choso becomes rattled when the window shows Toji drinking from Elska in a cramped bathroom, ‘I can’t believe the lighting permits this, it must be dim.’, He temporarily becomes fixated with Toji’s fangs anchored into her as she quietly moans. He’s not seen anyone but her feed before. ‘So, his bite feels good to her as well?’. He brushes his lap as if to tell it, “Knock it off”, but his attention is soon stolen by Peaches’s mention of Elska.

               “If you don’t return Elska Oda then this will be seen as an act of aggression Satoru, please…don’t do thi-…” Peaches can no longer speak as Gojo grips hit throat and is thrown into a fit of fright.

               “I kind of liked you…I was use to you at least…but if you ask me that one more time, I will break your fucking neck.” Gojo feels his face twitch as he squeezes the old man’s beard into his throat, “You guys are fucking with me today and I don’t appreciate it.”. Never letting go, he turns to his mother but also glances at the petrified Kamo rep, “I do not give a single flying fuck about the clans, I couldn’t care less of your archaic ways and I am never going to surrender my Elska.”. As Peaches reaches a critical point of needing air, Gojo clamps his fingers deeper, “I left my love’s side today to be here because of your guys’ little fucking Titer friends. That is what we will discuss.”.

               Gojo’s mother rushes to pull her son’s hand away but right as she’s reaching out, Satoru releases Peaches. She watches the old man heave and choke uncontrollably and shoots hateful eyes. “How dare you lay a hand on him? Do you fear nothing?”, she thinks to threaten with her husband but knows that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree so it’s likely useless.

               Satoru smirks while studying Peaches inability to regain his breath, “I crushed his trachea a bit, he’s going to need medical attention soon.”. He watches the Kamo man stand up in disbelief and warns, “My mother is right about one thing, I do not fear you or your influence.”, and smiles approvingly as the man takes his seat again hesitantly.

               “You psychotic little freak!”, his mother cries out in disgust, “We need to get him to a doctor!”. She feels herself fill with anxiety as she was not expecting him to go this far. “Let us take him!”.

               Satoru hisses quietly, “If you guys weren’t so dead set in dicking me around then this wouldn’t have happened. No one leaves until I get some answers.”. He strolls around the table, loving how terrified the Kamo representative became when he was close. He yanks up the suffocating Peaches and throws him back into his chair, “Have some fucking dignity…I thought better of you.”. When Peaches makes eye contact, he can see the dread wash over the man, knowing their dynamic has changed forever.

               The Kamo man speaks up sheepishly, “Wh…What is it that you want to know?”. He’s all for handing over the required information as he clearly cares about his life more than the others. Satoru’s expression softens as the other two representatives hang their mouths open, not expecting him to fold so easily. Gojo states, “Everything.”, which causes the rep to tense up as he doesn’t know where to begin. He hastily blurts out, “Suguru Getou inherited ancient techniques as well. The Titers are planning on taking the girl for themselves to ensure their supremacy.” He inhales sharply, “The head of their clan met his end by the hands of your company, they want to repay by being rid of you as you are their final target. You’re still too strong because of your infinity, so the girl’s fate was determined the moment you were born.”.

               “You… weak imbecile…”, Gojo’s mother retaliates to the sensitive information by pushing Peaches backwards causing him to fall to the ground and thrash violently. Without so much as a second thought, she gathers energy into her hand and expels it at the Kamo man’s mouth. The representative dons his own matching blood as his brain matter exits the back of his head, decorating the white surroundings behind him. Only a cavernous jagged hole remains where the words escaped him only seconds prior. His body slumps over the table as he leaks his remaining essence into a pool that shortly forms a dripping pattern to the white tiled floor.  

               Choso defensively stands as the black tattoo on his faces begins to wave. “Satoru…”, is all he says while watching Gojo’s mother now strain to lift the blue tinted and gasping Peaches back upright his seat. ‘His mother is just as rash…’. Choso waits for a few moments longer but is eager to gauge Gojo when their eyes finally meet. ‘Why does he look so satisfied?’, he questions himself as he’s met with that smug smile. The Zenin man’s eyes look like they may pop out of his head but Choso can still make out the man’s reaction to his own presence. He hears Gojo say, “Everything is alright Choso, don’t worry. Just watch them.”, but the being is unable to simply sit with ease at this time. ‘How is this alright?’.

               “And you wonder where I get it from?”, Gojo is irritated that the only man that was willing to talk is now dead but he’s also able to take the information to heart because of how his mother reacted. ‘So all of this really is because of me…’, he thinks of Elska with a heavy heart knowing all that she’s been through, even before he got his hands on her was his fault. ‘My love…I will make this right.’.

               Gojo’s mother now sits back down, wondering if she went too far and gave away their hand. Peaches struggles to speak next to her but she can make out that he’s trying to question the fidelity of the Kamo’s last words. She sighs, “Look Peaches, I like you but I’m siding with Genghis.”. Peaches gurgles himself into a purple hue as he still cannot breathe or talk properly. She understands that Peaches was completely ignorant to the Titer’s planned betrayal to the Zenins and calm says, “They’re not wanting to eliminate other clans, they’re just going to help guide us to this proposed peace, don’t worry so much.”.

               Peaches can only think of Master Naoya who he feels is in grave danger after hearing this information. ‘I…he has to know…Master Na…he needs to be made aware!’. He thinks to grab his phone but he wouldn’t be able to relay the information, nor is he fast enough to text it. Peaches chokes in his stress and can tell his body is slowly shutting down after being deprived oxygen and feels completely hopeless about his predicament. When his heavy eyes meet Gojo’s he freezes in apprehension while listening intently.

               Satoru sighs dramatically with growing anticipation, “Now…where were we?”.

Next Chapter (38) >>

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Tagging : @angelofthorr ❤️

[human-enthusiast]

Absurd Person #1 - Monkey D. Luffy (kid)

 Let’s start with not only the main protagonist of One Piece but also the first character to give Luffy any sort of injury...

...his dumb, seven-year-old self...

*Disclaimer: I don’t own this image - screenshot from Episode of East Blue

The last time I wrote this, I forgot to hit save and my browser just reloaded the page and lost everything. After that I just went “I’m done” and rage quit Tumblr for the night (which I normally don’t do). That’s how my Sundays usually go😒🥴

Now Onward!

Basic Classifications

Real World Ethnicity/Nationality: Brazilian

Class: farm / country / lower class

Culture (the one he grew up around): Dawn Island - Sea-side village

Fishing community

Farming / Ranching community

Hard work ethic

Small and close community members; relatively friendly; little to non-existent conflict

Selective mix of being open towards strangers (especially with merchant vessels for better trading opportunities) and weariness towards those they expect to be harmful (likes Pirates; I’d imagine the people of Windmill Village were understandably unnerved with the Red-Haired Pirates first showing up).

Core values (personal to Luffy): pride, physical strength, adventures on and outside his home village,

Relation to authority: neutral - shifting slightly towards negative (no clear basis of opinion; can only go off on Luffy’s fascination with pirates as the main viewpoint)

(The added information feels a little scatter-shot but figured I give it a try based on little information from the manga panels and how it lines up with real-world similarities. Most information is based on logical speculation and could change with new information in later chapters.)

I know that the Romance Dawn arc consists of the chapters up until he meets Coby and Alvida (I think...), but the depiction of Luffy’s character in the first chapter seems different from when he is seventeen and setting out to sea. So, I’ll treat kid Luffy as a separate character for the first analysis.

First Impressions and Introduction

Now, I am an anime watcher, first and foremost, so my first impression of this character stems from the Anime. My introduction towards this ball of chaos was when he popped out of a barrel, that he put himself into after realizing that a whirlpool suddenly appeared (how he missed it? - It’s Luffy), and then inexplicably took a nap in. That was the absurd reason I was able to stick with One Piece in the first few arcs (until Baratie became one of the major reasons I stuck with it - I’ll explain why when we get there).

And since the first chapter was used for episode four in the anime, I was already somewhat familiar with how the story started and who Luffy was as a kid. However, reading the first chapter felt....different than what I would’ve expected. And because the anime cut out a few details from the chapter, there definitely are some things to take from kid Luffy at that point.

So my first impression was, as follows:

The kid is unhinged...That explains some things...

Complete wild child of a backwater village from Day 1. 

LIKE-- The anime episode DID NOT explain how he got that scar and the guy didn’t bring it up ever. To be fair, that wasn’t a big focus because the anime didn’t make it a focus. Reading that part though did more for his character and a little of his upbringing, through speculation, making it a rather slow-building but also fascinating introduction into this series.

Just a bit of an add-on, but if the manga introduced Luffy in the same level of neutrality as what the Anime did, It may not have fully made it clear if Luffy was going to be the main protagonist. Then again, it’s a shounen manga, maybe it was rather obvious to everyone else. Regardless, his introduction served to 

(1) Make his entrance memorable

(2) Establish his character that could either compare or set him apart from his teen self.

(3) Act as a sort of precursor towards the introduction of Luffy’s world and upbringing (which isn’t completely established until the last few arcs of Pre-Time Skip)

Personality

The best way I could describe Luffy at this point is a stereotypical kid...

Energetic, short-tempered, adventure-seeking, easily impressed, and ignorant...

That last description is actually something I brought up in a separate post about the “Fluid themes” of One Piece. Because I found that a small but overarching part in many (almost all) themes and world issues that One Piece reflects has some level of unawareness or apathy. Jimbe put it best during the Fishman Island Flashback when they found Koala (paraphrasing)

“They are afraid of us because they don’t know us.”

Know us referring to acknowledging them as people on the same level as humans.

Because of that and plenty of other instances from the East Blue, it can be a potential center for many characters who go up against or wish to explore the world and find that they are a frog in a well.

And that’s what kid Luffy represents. A rather aggressive frog in a well that wants out.

Granted, he is a seven-year-old, whose schooling has a closer equivalent to the 16th and 17th centuries of our world, living in what appears to be a farming community, so I’d imagine his education only focuses on at least the basic levels of reading/writing, mathematics, etc. A small, unexciting farming village probably has more concerns over their melon crops rather than what the world has going on. Adding in Luffy, you get a kid who dreams about being a pirate and adventuring outside the isolated village, making him avidly interested in a world he has no experience with. Or in a world he thinks is all fun and games.

That’s pretty standard for any child that has a mild and peaceful life. No doubt Shanks and his crew would tell him stories about their adventures. Not as a sort of attempt to make him a pirate, but because he was easily entertained by it, building up this expectation with stereotypical pirate personas. And whether he has his “destructive” tendencies before they became a fixture in Windmill Village, they definitely seemed to amp it up enough for Luffy to try and prove he was “man enough” to be a pirate at seven years old.

Then when you add in this idealistic expectation with the selfishness of a young child, it creates an opportunity to learn. Because, as any kid may go through, will find that their fantasy of the world won’t be what they expected, and will often react negatively. Luffy’s expectation of Shanks is that he is the strongest man worthy enough to be a pirate.

Now, Luffy’s view of a “real man” stems a lot from this stereotype of men solving their problems through fighting only. Which also embodies this rather damaging philosophy of never running away or backing down from a fight (which I refer to as stupid bravery - something that comes up in a certain other character).

The amazing thing about all the combined aspects of this kid is the ability to create a learning lesson for Luffy. Which can become a motivational factor in his pursuit as a pirate.

His easily impressed nature makes it known both when the Red-Haired Pirates talk positively about piracy adventures and when Shanks leaves the village. The difference between the moments can be showcased by the difference in determination and will to make an effort to achieve his dream. As he declared he wants to be King of The Pirates, he sets himself to work at it, rather than try and go with others.

How He Shapes the Story / World Around Them

I don’t know if anybody else made a similar connection (I wanna say someone DID but I can’t remember where) but in combination with Luffy’s general enthusiasm growing up hearing wild stories, his narrative reminds me so much of Don Quixote De La Mancha.

It’s been a while since I last read that story-- and by read I mean translate some paragraphs from Spanish to English during my Spanish I class in freshman year of high school. Nonetheless, I thoroughly enjoyed the story. Part I entails an old man who, after indulging himself with various stories of knights and valor, decides he wants to partake in his own adventures. Under various delusions and misadventures, his story becomes a rather well-known one.

Don Quixote was called the first “modern book”. That was something my Spanish teacher mentioned regarding its acknowledgment by the world and always stuck with me. It was one of the first stories of the early medieval period to focus on a regular man. Other stories before this tended to be about legends, gods, demigods-- individuals who often were referred to as legends because they were born into high status (often above humans). Either through original texts (often for religious purposes) and then through varying interpretations (such as the Arthurian Legends), these tales were a part of the status quo.

Kid Luffy is a person that reflects so much of the Don Quixote story (And not just because his village has windmills-- the most iconic scene about the knight’s story). He is that simple, normal boy that longs for his own adventures when there seemingly is already a well-talked-about story about someone who achieved infamy. In place of that is a man named Gold Roger whose execution we see in the manga’s opening. At this point, we don’t have much understanding about how it impacts the world as of yet, we just know it is setting up for something significant to the story.

Luffy becomes that “regular” person from a small-town with big expectations for a grand adventure.

That perspective can slowly build into the story by starting in a simple setting with a character going through one of the first dynamic changes in his life. Luffy’s experience with Shanks’s sacrifice sets a course in his own adventure. A story that trails into a rather bonkers adventure at the end of chapter 1.

His development is what shaped his world. It’s the way he learns when as it stems from the consequences of his actions. Especially ones where the smaller ones turn out to be very costly, making it a hard lesson that ingrains into the young kid. His actions created by his old ideologies sparked an intense reaction in the people around him. Especially Shanks, who felt he was worth losing an arm towards.

How The WORLD Shapes HIM

So, for the sake of the fact that kid Luffy’s “World” in Chapter 1 mostly consists of Windmill Village, I’m adding in Shank’s and his crew’s influence to extend and further give credence to his influence. Because, as of this point, Shanks represents a glimpse into the life of a pirate that Luffy strives for.

With Luffy being in a quiet environment all seven years of life, there is growth through basic schooling and healthy child development (theoretically since Makino seems to be the most likely one acting as his guardian), instead of doing things outside that norm. Now Shanks is the odd factor that creates new development into Luffy’s dreams and future ambitions. 

The crew’s stories, charisma, and connection towards the kid actively (and probably unintentionally) created a positive expectation if he chose to pursue his dream. While that sounds inspiring, there were also negative aspects. Such as driving his ignorance and impatient nature to seek it out too early in his life.

Shanks then became a mediator. Luffy often has mixed feelings with Shanks as the man begets a level of encouragement while verbally making fun of Luffy for being a kid constantly. Despite that, it doesn’t completely deter Luffy’s ambitions. All it does is slowly drop his high expectations in Shanks after the first bar incident. This is again done by his childish outlook of physical strength and bravery equating to his ideal of a real man.

With Higama, Luffy learns about real-world dangers, and how bravery won’t always be enough to win battles. The same can be said for physical strength but at that moment it doesn’t apply to Luffy. 

Shanks’ and the crew’s involvement helped Luffy’s views change. His expectations are fulfilled, which in turn reveal that he was wrong about them.

Finally, seeing Shanks’ sacrifice unfold drove Luffy into a pang of newfound guilt. By then, he was able to change one part of his world views from a childish fantasy into the beginnings of a mature way of thinking. 

He gains some level of patience. Along with a set goal to work with. Attributes which are identifiable with Luffy in the chapters last few panels.

Patience = Luffy took time to train and learn to set sail at age seventeen.

Set goal = Be King of the Pirates

Add-Ons

When I say that kid Luffy, after Shanks’ sacrifice, gained a level of patience, it is meant as a deduction during that chapter. By no means am I insinuating that it became a permanent trait for his character. Because as of chapter 1, all of Luffy’s personality has yet to be revealed.

And this will apply to other posts for various characters. They may behave in ways during or in response to a particular event but it doesn’t necessarily equate to that becoming a whole personality trait. Calling Luffy patient, with having full acknowledgment of his personality during the bulk of One Piece, is completely off. But, there can and will be moments where Luffy will act patient when he deems it necessary.

This is a little hard to articulate but I hope it makes enough sense.

🏴‍☠️🐒

After-Notes

Here’s my first attempt at this analysis. It felt scattered even after editing everything. Breaking down characters sounds easy (and most times it is) but articulating and connecting things takes a lot of work.

Here's to hoping it gets easier with the next character. And maybe shorter paragraphs.

Up Next: Shanks (East Blue)

[daily-dose-of-imagines]

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ Matchup ♥

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Naruto, One Piece, and Free Match-Up Request

May I request another match-up but for Free, One Piece, and Naruto this time? :) Here’s all my info once more!

Name: Corethra (or Corey for short)

Age: 25

Gender: Female

Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual

Occupation: Hand Packer at an ice cream factory. I work 12 hours (5:30pm to 6am) on a rotating schedule.

Birthplace: Memphis, TN, USA. I was raised in the neighborhood called Frayser which is the most impoverished area in Memphis and has a high crime rate as expected.

Zodiac Sign: Pisces (born March 2) My full birth chart can be found here

Enneagram: 5w6

Chinese Zodiac: Year Of The Pig

MBTI Type: INFJ

Alignment: Lawful Neutral

Hogwarts House: Slytherin

Love Language: Acts Of Service

Race/Ethnicity: African-American

Height: 4'11 (Call me short and I’ll kick your butt!)

Body Type/Shape: Average but well developed figure at best. I weigh about 158 lbs and am pretty insecure about my body. I also have really bad scars on my left arm from being bitten by a dog.

Hair Color/Style: Black and naturally curly but I keep it flat-ironed so it’s straight. It’s long and goes down to just below my shoulder blades. There are times when I will have braids put in of various lengths.

Glasses or No?: Yes I wear glasses

Eye Color: Brown

Dress Style: I usually dress up in a casual way, just throwing on whatever looks good at the time but I will sometimes put in the effort when the time calls for it or when I’m in a good mood. I have an affinity for the punk, emo, and goth styles and I rarely wear feminine clothes but I will wear something risky every once in a while.

Hobbies/Interests: Video games, reading, writing, anime, internet surfing, listening to music, politics (sometimes), watching movies/TV shows, basically being an overall nerd. I’m usually either on my laptop or one of my many video game consoles if I’m not on my phone or reading one of my books.

Dislikes: Ignorance, stupidity, restriction, manipulation/gas-lighting, bullying, humanity, not being understood, corruption/injustice, close-mindedness

Personality: At first glance, I seem quiet and keep to myself, only speaking when I need to or when I’m spoken to. I’m an anti-social introvert to the fullest and don’t care much for small talk or going out. I prefer to have deeper conversations. When I get comfortable enough in whatever environment I’m in, I start to open up bit by bit. I’m a tomboy and pretty rough-minded as well as stubborn. I’m very sassy, have a smart, sarcastic, and witty mouth if not humorous and outrageous at times, can be borderline rude and mean, and I’m more sensitive than I care to be. I can literally cry at someone’s suffering especially if it’s someone I’m close to or even a total stranger. I’m very empathetic and my heart is bigger than what most people would expect. Most people describe me as quiet, intelligent, creative, dorky, a smartass, and really sweet. I love a good laugh and have an open sense of humor to boot.

Many of my friends say that I’m very sweet and kind which I usually am if I’m in a good mood as well as affectionate as hell. Hugs and pet names galore with me! However only my friends and family see that side of me. My language is often unfiltered, harsh, foul, and blunt which shocks people because they think I’m a pure angel. I say what I want when I want and no one tells me otherwise. If they do, they can expect a mouthful from me. I’m an escapist and very imaginative, can be a bit scatterbrained at times, and I’m methodical and detailed to the point of perfectionism. I’m usually a walking contradiction in terms of personality in so many ways to the point where the real me is almost impossible to decipher. To make matters more complicated, I’m not very good at expressing myself verbally and prefer to let my actions do the talking. I also express myself better through written form.

I have many pet peeves and I get annoyed easily in general. I’m also slowly embracing misanthropy and nihilism but I can be pretty idealistic so it balances out. I’m practically zero tolerance when it comes to bullshit. I hate confrontation and conflict but I’m starting to work on it so I can be less passive-aggressive and more assertive. I also wish to stand up for myself more often than I should so people won’t think that I’m weak and an easy target. I’m pretty cynical which is to be expected and usually expect the worst from people. When someone angers me, I will either just withdraw altogether and completely cut them off (slam the door basically) or get in their face and go off before doing the former. I’m the “hold my anger in and release it all at once” type but I hope to change that one day and stop letting things fester before they get out of hand. I can be quite petty and even cold as well and if someone wrongs me, they will have to make the first move to mend fences. I refuse to apologize if I’m not in the wrong and I will not accept gaslighting/guilt tripping. I also refuse to change for others and will admit to having quite a lot of pride but that’s mostly due to me not wanting to be hurt and manipulated, mistreated, or used.

I have issues with trust and a wild imagination to boot. I usually trust my instincts and can see right through bullshit. I don’t like taking risks and I have to know all the details when I do something so I don’t mess up and look like an idiot. I am indeed a perfectionist and introverted to a fault which often prevents me from trying new things and going outside my comfort zone. I haven’t been in a relationship yet and am still a virgin due to my issues with trust and not wanting to be hurt or humiliated as well as being quite picky/perfectionistic with the people I allow in my life. I have high standards for both people and myself although I’m pretty laid-back and my dislike of conflict allows me to also take a lot of shit from people too before I eventually say “fuck it” and slam the door or go off on them. I don’t think very highly of myself and can sometimes fall into a period of self-hatred and self-pity.

Many people praise me for my intelligence which is fitting since I’m an intellectual. My ideals and beliefs are rather odd to say the least (I’m a classical liberal/independent and despise most ideologies/ideas. This includes religion, feminism, social justice, traditionalism, statism, big government, nationalism, socialism/communism, etc.) and I feel misunderstood because of it (mostly because of the black community ostracizing me). I am indeed a rebel, open-minded, and a free thinker. No one tells me how to think or feel or else they face my wrath. I highly value power over myself and I think it’s the most important thing that a person needs in order to survive. I am definitely an outcast at heart and I often distance myself from others and don’t like talking about my feelings or beliefs because I think most people lack the ability/capacity to understand me. Before I give my opinion on something, I like to do as much research as possible as well as look at things from all perspectives before coming to my own conclusion. I don’t mind discussing things but I prefer logic over emotion when doing so which makes it damn near impossible these days for me to have an real conversation without insults and threats being thrown (usually towards me). Chances are I’m gonna find something wrong with damn near anything someone believes in or says and I’m not afraid to call it out when I see it. Once I do open up and express how I feel, the gates of passion will open up and never close. I also have high morals and values and stick to my guns no matter what which can make me pretty stubborn at times.

I’m currently battling depression and often experience many symptoms of it including suicidal thoughts and depression spells. I also suffer from iron-deficiency anemia as well as irregular, prolonged periods. These things are pretty annoying for me to deal with whenever they flare up. 

Overall, I’m pretty crazy and a handful to deal with. Good luck matching me up with someone :P

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Hello @sacredwarrior88 and thank you so much for requesting with us! I am so sorry that this came out so late, but I do hope you enjoy this!

>Admin 𝕋

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

𝐼 𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽…

Ace! I feel that you and ace would be such a great couple! He is open minded and kind to others whereas you are the same way! You are passionate like he is, caring like he is, loyal to the bone like he is! He would see you and see your personality and just instantly fall in love you and your personality! Like, I can’t even imagine how much he will want you on his crew, so they he can keep on you and protect you at all times-- though he will soon figure out that you don’t need help, you can take care yourself--which he will find extremely attractive, no doubt about that! 

He will love that fact that you are independent, because he really values individualism and independency, he sees it as a great traits to have. But he will also love the fact that you are sensitive, and can sometimes get into your own  head. He understands that, knows it all too well, so he will try with all his might to try and make sure that you are happy and always smiling! But he will love how fierce you can be to other people, never bowing down to their expectations! 

All in all, I feel like Ace would be a great man for you in the one piece universe! He would be attentive to you, would love your attitude and personality, and would absolutely adore how loyal and strong you are! make sure to love him thoroughly!

Ah, Sai! He is much like Ace, just a little less emotional, which is fine! I feel like you and Sai would make a couple for a couple reasons! He would love how mature you are, and how logical you can be, and-- like ace-- he loves the fact that you are extremely loyal to your friends! That is a true factor in the way he will see you, and it is for the better! He will se how strong you are, emotionally and will be envious and at the same time fascinated! I Feel like Sai will look at you with wide eyes, his breath caught in his throat, his heart beating wildly in his ribcage because he will love you that much! All the things you are interested he will want to hear with enthusiasm, everything you love he will want to learn and hear from you, to get to know you better!

Another thing is that if you were to go to him with your insecurities and how you are battling depression, he will try to understand, and once he does he will try to everything and anything to make sure you feel better! You need a massage? He’s on it! You need cuddles? oh yeah he will give you some! You need chocolate or sweets or anything of the like? He’ll run to the store, and be back 5 minutes tops! 

All in all, I feel like the cool, mature Sai, with a heart of pure gold will be such a good match for you! He will make sure that you uncomfortable with him, he will never want to make you unhappy, and he will definitely do anything i his power to make sure that you will keep on loving him as much as you can!

Rei! Now, with Rei, I wanted to go a more cute route. I feel that Rei would be equal parts and scared and in love with you! He sees how strong you are against people that oppose, he sees how strong you are for your friends, and how you have such a different personality to everybody else around him, and he will immediately fall in with you. Like instantly! To him, you’d be like a beautiful butterfly blooming right in front of him, and he will want to have you all tot himself! Of course, he won’t force you, but he will definitely watch you at a distance longingly!

He is very much an introvert and your calm but strong aura would definitely help with his anxiety! I just see him melting next you, into your lap or shoulder whenever you are around him because he is so comfortable around you. He doesn’t do this with just anybody so it would be a real honor! And when it it comes to your insecurities, he would want to make sure that you know he loves you the way are, and if you were to want to change something about yourself, then he will support you all the way, as long as you are happy! He will just love that you are such a freethinker and so openminded about things, so unlike him!

All in all, I feel like Rei would love you and (somewhat) idolize because you have all these traits that he would love to have. This perfectionist will understand how it feels to be such a perfectionist and will want to help you with that too! He will love to the moon and back(stroke)!

[conaionaru]

Honor and Blood (Ivar the Boneless)

Knockin' on Valhalla's door

Synopsis: Ivar leaves for England and new problems arise in Kattegat

Warnings:  smut (in the beginning), oral sex, adult themes, fighting, angst, prophecy, believed? character death

Tags:

@xbellaxcarolinax @lol-haha-joke @youbloodymadgenius @thereareendlessopportunities @heavenly1927 @astridbaby @shannygoatgruff @queenbeeta @chynagirl13 @didiintheblog

I don’t own the gifs. Also, thank you for your support. I really appreciate it. If you want to be tagged please write me<3

P.S. I think I am getting better at this smut thing. Maybe all the hours of “research” paid off 😂

Aros was asleep, and Vanya was brushing her hair after taking her bath. It was well past her usual bedtime, but Ivar wasn't home yet, and she wanted to talk before he left. If it was the last night she might spend with her him, then it should be special.

That's why she bathed with lavender scented oils from a merchant and brushed her hair till it shone like flames. Her skin felt tingly, and her nightgown felt featherlight. "I thought you would be asleep." Ivar's rough voice said from behind her, startling her from her thoughts.

She turned around in their bed and crawled towards the edge of the bed on all fours.  "Can't sleep in an empty bed. I will have to find a solution when you leave. Otherwise, I will fall over dead when you come back."

Ivar chuckled at her words and pulled himself up on the bed, Vanya sitting down on her heels, watching him getting comfortable on top of the furs.

"Aros managed to crawl a bit today. Only one foot, but he is getting better. Maybe he will crawl to you at the docks when you come back." She told him, settling herself against him right side while he put his arms around her and drew her in closer. The couple laid side by side, Vanya's fingers ghosting over Ivar's collarbone, enjoying the shivers it produced.

Ivar looked at her foxish grin and smirked down at her. Vanya's head turned to the side in curiosity at what he would do next, she opened her mouth to ask him, but Ivar put his finger against her plump lips. "I like the smell; it's new."

"Lavender and Cedarwood. Hoenir actually helped me pick it up. He was very picky, so I happy that you like it."

"I like it very much." He whispered against her lips before kissing her. At first, it started slow, but passion and need consumed them, and things got heated. Vanya threw her right leg over Ivar's lap and climbed on top of him, burrowing her hands in his hair and softly pulling on the dark strands.

Ivar's calloused hands gripped her sides, one palm sliding up her white nightgown over her pale thighs. With breathy gasps, Vanya untied his tunic, tugging on it to take it off. Being the loving husband Ivar was, he took it off without teasing her, going right back to kissing her while her hands explored his chest and abs. Not liking the lack of nakedness from Vanya, Ivar pulled off her clothes as well, admiring the view he grew to love.

Since Aros's birth, her breast had gotten bigger, and she gained some stretch marks on her belly. But she still looked like Freyja to him, now she was even more beautiful, even with her marks and the scar left behind by the arrow in her shoulder. Vanya was breathtaking no matter what, and to him, she would be a goddess before, during, and after her pregnancy as well.

Her pink lips trailed down his jaw and neck, kissing, biting, and sucking softly, torn between leaving marks or not. Ivar had no such inner turmoil as he nipped at her collarbone to make her stop her teasing. Vanya threw her head back and ground her hips against his crotch to throw him off rhythm.

She bit his ear and pushed against his shoulders to make him lie down. When his back hit the furs beneath them, she raked her nails down his torso to his breaches to untie them. Ivar's hand stopped her, causing her to look at him in worry, thinking his legs must be bothering him. Ivar only shook his head and carefully flipped them around so Vanya would be under him. "I want to try something first."

The ginger watched him confused as he trailed kissed down her neck to her chest. After some teasing and a goodbye kiss to the space between her breasts, he moved on to her crotch. Vanya gasped at the strange sensation that he caused her with his tongue, throwing her head back and clenching the furs between her fingers.

Ivar continued his sweet ministrations, caressing her tights with his hands. After a year of marriage, he wanted to try what he saw Hvitserk try on Margrethe. Judging by the sounds and wiggling, he was doing a good job. Maybe the slave was good for something, at least, even if it was just putting ideas in Ivar's head.

So when Vanya moaned out loud and softly shook against his lips, he thanked the gods for letting him accidentally stumble upon his brother and the thrall in the woods. He slithered up the length of her body and kissed her, surprised by how much she was responding after she just came. Vanya pawed against the laces of his pants and pouted at him in her adorable way; with a victorious smirk, Ivar did as asked and took his breeches off.

He positioned himself over her to ensure he wouldn't squish her or hurt and entered her in a single thrust. Both paused to catch their breaths before he carried on, kissed her lips between thrusts. Knowing he liked it, Vanya nipped on his earlobe and tugged on his short hair, wishing he would grow it out a bit for a better grip.

It was astonishing to her, how much their lovemaking changed from the first time of awkwardness and duty. Over time they got more experienced and adventurous, learning what they loved to do and what not. And Ivar's new trick certainly will be repeated next time.

Ivar's movements sped up, and Vanya's breath grew shorter, signaling that they were both near. Locking gazes and lips, they reached their end together. Ivar rested his forehead against Vanya's, breathing in her intoxicating scent. Both were drunk on euphoria, kissing one last time before Ivar pulled out of her and laid down on his usual spot on the right.

With a happy sigh, Vanya pressed her front against his arm, drawing the furs over them to keep them warm. Ivar looked at her with vulnerable eyes, cupping her cheek in his hand and dragging his thumb over her swollen lips. "Could you wear something red tomorrow to see me off? So I can remember you that way for when we are apart."

Vanya smiled at the innocent question and nodded. She leaned against his palm and kissed the tip of his thumbs. "Anything else, Hjertet mitt (My heart)?"

"Just let me lie here, beside you. And touch you." The two turned on their side, Vanya spooning Ivar from behind, holding him close to her heart. She brushed her fingers through his hair and hummed the lullaby she always sang to Aros. And so they fell into a peaceful slumber, enjoying their last night together until he returned.

Vanya is sitting on her bed with Brynja, talking about the cute boy the older redhead was interested in. "He is tall and has eyes as green as the forest. And hair so blond it is like snow. You should have seen him, Vanya; he looked so good standing there in the river!"

Vanya laughed at the squeal the servant let out, looking down at her latest piece of work. The red dress Ivar wanted to see her in today. The door to her opened, and a thrall barged in. "The Queen wishes to speak to you."

With a confused look, Vanya put the dress down and followed the thrall towards the Queen's bedroom. Her mother in law sat on her bed, looking distressed. "Did you know he is leaving?"

"I thought he told you." Vanya tried only to be cut off by Aslaug.

"That is not what I asked you." She lifted her gaze from her lap to look at the girl she saw as her own daughter. "What I am curious about is if he told you he is leaving."

The young Princess sighed and sat down next to Aslaug, taking the woman's thin hand in hers. "He told me the day he was asked. We talked about it, and I encouraged him to go. He wants to prove his worth to Ragnar and everyone else. I am not happy about it, but I agreed he can go."

Aslaug shook her head and clenched Vanya's hand tightly. "Did he tell you what I saw?"

The frown on her face was answer enough. So against her son's wishes, she told Vanya of her vision. When she was done, Vanya stormed off, barged into her room to find Ivar on the bed, changing Aros's swaddling clothes. The Ragnarsson had no problem doing the dirty work of raising a child, and Vanya and Aslaug were very proud of that. But the pride didn't matter now.

Ivar looked up at her, but his smile fell when he saw her angry expression. "Why are you angry? Did Sigurd say something to you again?"

"No." Vanya scoffed and lifted the freshly changed babe into her arms, lying into his crib so he wouldn't be in the way. "But your mother did."

"Ah." The look on his face was conflicted, watching her stiff back as she stood by the crib. "I wanted to tell you myself later."

She turned to him, her eyes furious and hands in fists. "That's all you got to say for yourself? That you wanted to tell me? What would that change? I told you that I am only letting you go if you swear you'll return. And now that you know you will die, you still want to go!"

"I told you. I need to prove-"

"Yes, prove to your father you are a real man. But who cares what he thinks? He abandoned his family! He left you for dead, Ivar. What do you have to prove, then that he is a terrible person?"

Ivar shook his head and reached out for her, but Vanya stood her ground. So he sighed and dropped his hand in his lap. "What if you were in my place? What if you could prove to your parents that you were more than a womb? Wouldn't you do everything to do it?"

Vanya laughed, trying to keep her tears at bay. "If it required me to die, I wouldn't do it. All the people that matter, whose opinion matters, they are here. If you have to prove something to someone, then let it be Sigurd or Bjorn. Don't sail to England, Ivar."

"He left me to die. That's why I have to show him I am more than a cripple or a burden. Mother might be wrong."

"What if she isn't?"

"Then, that's a risk I have to take. I don't want to hurt you or Aros, but I have to do this."

Vanya crawled into bed with Ivar, putting the soiled swaddling clothes safely away. She kissed his forehead and lips smiling down at him with tear stains down her cheeks. "Promise me we will meet again. Be it in Kattegat or the afterlife. That we will find a way to be together forever."

"I will visit you in Freyja's hall every day, Min elskede (My beloved)." Vanya smiled at his declaration of love and kissed him before he left to gather his order from the blacksmith. If watching him leave now hurt, how much would it hurt when he left for real?

The grass under her skirt was still damp from the morning dew, and the air was heavy. Hoenir sat a distance away from her, sharpening his axe as Aros slept on his lap wrapped in furs. The sun was already up, and so were the people, including her husband, but Vanya was far too engrossed in her task to worry about anyone seeing her.

Vanya's red locks framed around her, hiding her face as she lit two candles. "All-mother. Goddess Frigg, I beg of you. Please don't take my husband away from me. I will do whatever you wish of me. You have protected me, and I ask you to do the same for Ivar. Goddess of marriage and motherhood, I beg of you." Tears gathered in her eyes as her hands clenched into fists at her side, the nails drawing blood.

"Please, keep Ivar alive." She sobbed pathetically, her head collapsing against the rock the candles were on. Her chest felt heavy, like someone was sitting on it and choking her at the same time. What Aslaug told her this morning tore at her insides, messing with her head, and made her weak once again.

After all the hard work it took her to become braver and stronger, it took one conversation to make her go mad with grief. She allowed Ivar to go, encouraged him to go on a journey with his father. And now, just before he is to leave, the gods spoke to Aslaug. He will drown, the Queen saw it, and he still wants to go.

Ivar knew what the news would do to his mother and wife. But he insisted on going and made peace with death, not caring who he is leaving behind. How selfish of him, but Vanya can be selfish too. So she prayed to Frigg, begging her to save him from the peril that awaited him.

"I pray to you all the other gods. Please protect my husband. I beg for Ran to spare him, for Hlín's protection and Odin's favor. But I pray for your mercy All-mother. "

Vanya propped her chin against the stone and looked at the flickering candles before her. "I know it is too much to ask for from you. But I will accept any help I can get even if you surely hate me now. I pray to you also. I am losing hope and don't know who to turn to. Please..." The tears hit the cold surface of the stone while her voice shook, sobs cutting her off as she tried to compose herself. "Please, God. Protect Ivar."

After all this time of devotion to the Norse gods, Vanya hit her lowest point. Kneeling on the grass in the middle of the day on a hill, praying to every god she knew. Oh, how the Aesir must hate you now, how fast the Princess turned her back on them when they asked for Ivar's life. She just hopes they will forgive her and take pity on her misery.

"We should go; you have to get ready before they depart," Hoenir called from behind her. Vanya sniffled and blew the candles out, sending out a silent prayer before leaving to redress. Let the gods be merciful, her old and new ones.

Watching the crew load their boats as Ragnar stood over them looking on edge was a painful sight. Aros whined in her arms too, reaching for the headpiece she wore on her forehead, curtesy of Aslaug. She did as Ivar asked her to do last night and wore a red dress, looking as perfect as possible to burn her likeness into his mind.

Aslaug's and her's arms were linked together in support, both anxious to see Ivar go. Ragnar's weird look towards something behind them warned them that Ivar is here. But when Vanya turned her head to look at her husband, instead of seeing him crawling on the ground, he was walking.

It looked like a lot of work, but with the aid of crutches, Ivar could stand upright somehow, even if he dragged his feet behind. She smiled proudly at him, overjoyed to see him able to do something he wanted to do his whole life. He truly was brilliant.

They watched Ivar walk onto the docks, struggling to lift his legs over the step, but he managed it in the end. Not like Vanya doubted him for a second. Aros whined once again, this time reaching for Ivar, who noticed the sound and looked towards them, freezing in his track. "You wore it."

"Of course. I promised, didn't I?" She grinned at him, tears threatening to spill from the corners of her eyes, but she stood there bravely. She spilled enough tears today; now, it was time to be brave and make it easier on him. "I prayed for your safe return, Hjertet mitt (My heart)."

Ivar looked at her surprised, after the time he caught her praying to the Christian god a long time ago, he expected her to take longer to adjust to the pagan ways. Considering she was against blood sacrifices, but apparently, he was wrong. "And to which god did you pray? The Æsir and Vanir or the Christian God?"

"Both." Her shameless admission shocked everyone around her, especially those who knew of Ivar's hate for anything christian. "Just to be sure you would be well protected and return. I warned you I would hunt you down to the gates of Valhalla if I have to."

Ivar smiled at her and said his goodbyes to her and Aros. After a few steps, his crutch got stuck between the floorboard, and he fell to the ground. Ubbe run to help him, but Aslaug stopped him, believing Ivar could do it himself. And he did. He ditched his new means of transportation and crawled to the boat where Ragnar awaited him.

"Hurry up. We've got a tide to catch." Watching Ivar leave felt like hell, or what Vanya was taught hell looked like. But she still swelled with another emotion; the pain and pride went hand in hand, till the boats were too small to follow with the naked eye.

That's also when Vanya returned to their hut to bathe Aros and put him to bed. Brynja filled a little tub with lukewarm water and left the Princess to herself. Vanya laid her babe into the water, carefully washing him as she hummed his lullaby to keep him calm.

The necklace of Jörmungandr that Ivar made for her dangled above his head, distracting him. He reached towards it and cooed adorably, making her smile. She remembered the story Ivar told her once.

"In the depths of the ocean, a giant serpent named Jörmungandr is biding his time. The child of the god Loki and Angroboda is so large; he can wrap his body around Midgard and hold the end of his tail in his mouth. His mouth, which is lined with venom-dripping teeth, is large enough to swallow a god or giant whole—Odin, fearful of the serpent banished into the waters of the world."

Aros watched her talk, his eyes wide watching the dangling object above him. If he understood her or just liked the shiny metal, Vanya wasn't sure. "Now he circles the world for eternity; every time he resurfaces, he is angrier. But he can't escape the oceans till his time comes. When the world is ending, Jörmungandr will take a stand against Thor once more. He will escape the sea, drowning everything in his path, and his breath will poison the sky."

She pulled him out of the tub and wrapped him into a cloth to dry him off. Sitting on her and Ivar's bed, she looked down at her son's sleepy eyes. "But Thor will finally triumph over the beast, smashing him with his hammer, only to die afterward. Both winning and losing at the same time in the end. But for now, he is still in the sea, waiting, fuming at his punishment."

Vanya laid down on her side, her son laying on Ivar's half of the bed. She smiled at his peaceful expression and closed her own eyes, unaware of the horrors Ivar faced out on the sea ruled by the serpent she just spoke of.

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 31

Read on AO3. Part 30 here. Part 32 here.

Summary: The time has come to do what you promised for the Resistance. If only it hadn't taken you so long to get here.

Words: 3700

Warnings: feelings kinda

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: I know it's not Friday, but I've been so full of anxiety about this chapter that I just had to get it out!! I'm sorry. I can promise you that next week will absolutely be up on Friday, because I have a feeling it's going to take me all week and maybe more.

I want to say--I really loved the debates/discussion in the comments? I feel so fucking flattered and excited people are having differing opinions on the characters? I love that there's so much conflict evident from the responses? That makes me feel so happy!

I am so truly lucky to have folks like you in my life, I can't say enough how grateful I am how I don't ever take any of it for granted, even if I can't respond to every comment. I love y'all so much, and thank you, please stay safe and healthy. <3

Across the hall, the Knight Templar stood at attention, blank visor of his mask trained on you, as it had been for the past forty-seven and a half minutes. The wooden walls to the Council Chambers loomed to the sky, oak canopies split with skylights, the morning sun cutting stark prisms into the hardwood floors. The only break in the dust-mote silence was the rumble of privileged discussion vibrating through your back.

Given the presence of Kylo Ren, you’d somehow expected to avoid the sting of exclusion. But even the influence of the Lead Commander was not enough to justify the attendance of a woman--and especially a Handmaid--during a Council meeting. Yet, you supposed you were thankful. The near two-week’s worth of blizzard-conditions between you and your Commander had frozen any willingness to play advisor to an arctic relic. Part of you felt confident that if you’d refused, he would’ve let you off the hook, but another part wasn’t willing to see how far you could push your absence of legal rights.

Shuffling, muffled voices rising--and the doors to the Chambers opened, a menagerie of black suits filtering into the hall. You studied your shoes, the arrival of so many power-wielding men binding your ribcage, curling your toes. Even with the Templar on guard, in the swarm of Commanders, your safety dangled by unraveling thread; you could feel their eyes wandering over you like steer wandered the plains--lazy and lingering and gluttonous.

Reluctant relief trickled through you when you caught Kylo’s boots in your periphery, his footsteps scattering their stares, scaring their own feet into the halls. Another person crossed around him.

“It was a little tense in there, wouldn’t you say?”

You recognized this man’s voice--he was the silver-haired one from the party.

“I anticipated discomfort.”

The man laughed. “Oh, well, of course you did, Ren! You’ve always been very ahead of the game, that way.” He stepped closer, inviting confidence--now his voice was a murmur. “Now, I’m not saying this, as you know. But I’ve heard others… express their concerns.”

“Concerns.”

“That Gilead’s roles were created for a reason.”

Kylo spoke flatly--he didn’t care if you heard him. “Roles exist to serve specific purposes, Enric. Should a purpose arise, then it follows that a role is created to serve it.”

“The only problem is…” Enric’s voice was mollifying, as if he were telling Kylo something he didn’t already know. “We don’t create roles. God creates them. He decided your purpose just as He decided hers.” There was a pause. You saw your Commander’s foot shift. “Other Council members--not me, of course--aren’t taking as kindly to your philosophy as I am.”

“My philosophy.”

“What you’ve done with your Handmaid. And continue to do, too. Some of them are… not very happy. They consider it…” He cleared his throat, a patronizing acknowledgement of your presence. “Inappropriate.”

Your face burned. Perhaps two weeks ago, you might have agreed. But since you’d kicked Kylo out of your room, he hadn’t so much as laid a finger on you or shared a word greater than a single syllable. His presence was now accompanied by a heavy vow of paralyzing silence--a recognition that the other existed, but only as living memory. This should have brought relief, should have forced your attachment to him to wilt like an unwatered fern, decaying in the graveyard of one thousand other hopes you’d tied to the space he occupied in your mind.

Instead, it had festered, a viney weed, writhing through your veins, its roots puncturing your heart when it dared to beat in his shadow. It was only in his deliberate absence that you could feel the pain of your reality, like he’d been opium, numbing you to the knowledge of anything but him. You ached for him more now than you ever had--you’d tried to sleep, chest cracked open, a torrent of loneliness emptying into the night--and knew that it was for this very reason that you needed to deny him.

After all, when you returned home, you’d be meeting with Rey on your walk. And you’d be handing over the switchblade to the Resistance.

“The Eyes are welcome to an investigation,” Kylo replied. “There are no reading materials or writing implements available. Her suggestions will be provided during a once-weekly meeting which my Wife will attend.”

You swallowed. You hoped you’d be free before that happened.

Enric sighed. “But the dress. Dragging her along with your soldiers.” He paused, humming in thought. “To be honest, even I think she gets special attention.”

Kylo’s tone betrayed an inch of irritation. “And even a dog is provided with a reward for its obedience,” he said. “She is in uniform today and before the Council now to provide proof of my intention.”

“Well, I’m sure the Council will begin to understand. You know how difficult it is for these types to tolerate change. The Cambridge Press decided to capitalize a single letter in First John earlier this year and they lost it.” Enric stepped away, and then doubled back with a pause. “As long as you’re not forgetting her true purpose.”

“No,” Kylo replied. “A Ceremony is scheduled for two days from now.”

Your breath shorted. If the Resistance was wrong about the value of your knife, in two nights you’d lie in Johana’s lap, and Kylo Ren would fuck you as if you didn’t exist. The thought made you dizzy, made your stomach churn.

“There you go,” he said. “As long as you’re doing everything you’re supposed to, you’ll be fine. The Eyes might be snooping around your house, but all you need to do is be prudent.” A laugh. “That shouldn’t be a problem for you, though.”

“No.” Kylo couldn’t have sounded more unimpressed if he had tried.

An expectant silence fell between the two men, and Enric coughed to clear the awkwardness. “In a couple weeks, then.”

“Yes.”

With that, he walked off, footsteps echoing from the wooden halls as he left you, your Commander, and the Knight as the only souls outside of the Council Chambers. A soft exhale escaped Kylo’s nose, and he stepped forward--the weight of his gaze was on you, but you refused to meet it.

“Go,” he said. You assumed he was speaking to the Knight, who moved without another word--what was it like being a warrior turned glorified babysitter? “Come.”

You stood, keeping your eyes to the ground while you followed his lead through the vacant, sunlit corridors of City Hall. This end of the building was decidedly older than the front--it creaked with exhaustion as you navigated its floors, as if it, too, had grown tired of the constant political discourse within its walls. Kylo Ren turned into a staircase, descending with the same pace as his stride--you struggled to keep up with him at this rate, unable to stop yourself from admiring when he reached the bottom and turned the corner into the basement hall.

Since the night at the hotel, he’d abandoned his previous attire of suits, ties and white shirts--he now wore black almost entirely, from his dress shirt to his trousers, which more often than not ended up stuffed into knee-high leather boots. He’d also taken to wearing the coat you’d seen during the Salvaging, its tapered cut somehow making his frame even larger, more imposing than it had been before. The coat in particular was a strange choice during the summer--but you knew why he wore it, keeping others uncertain about what it might or might not conceal.

In the basement, the air grew thin and cold, the halls illuminated now only by dim fluorescent lamps. Kylo stopped at a large wooden door, fishing a key from his pocket and popping the lock. He pushed inside, holding it open for you as you followed him in--he released it, and with a pneumatic whine, it slammed behind you. You squeaked, leaping back, swallowed now in darkness.

You heard the click of the lock--then Kylo’s footsteps on concrete as he crossed the room. A ceiling lamp flickered on, revealing what you could only describe as a records room. Shelves lined the walls, floor to ceiling, manila folder files stuffed into them like recycled news. Your lungs stilled looking at them--there were hundreds, thousands of these folders, all labeled with four-digit numbers. Swallowing, you thought of the tattoo at your ankle--1104--and heat rushed your skin.

These were files on Handmaids.

Dread dug into you, head on a swivel as you soaked in the enormity of the identities contained within these piles of paper. Uncountable bodies of women reduced to nothing but a combination of integers in a locked room in the basement of City Hall. Your heart thumped against your sternum. This was not something you were supposed to see.

Kylo meandered along the shelves, searching the tabs, his brow furrowed in focus. You crossed your arms, ignoring the quickening leap of your pulse, thoughts racing. Why had he brought you here? He was supposed to be proving to the Council that your relationship wasn’t inappropriate--and here you were, alone with your Commander in a room almost certainly forbidden to the large majority of Gilead.

“Five-seven-two-four.”

His long fingers plucked the folder from where it was wedged at the bottom shelf and he rose to his full height--the sight still stole your air. Stone-faced, Kylo flopped open the file, cradling it in the crook of his elbow as he flipped to the first page.

“Five-seven-two-four.” He stepped toward you--an involuntary shiver raced up your spine--and tilted it into your line of sight. “Tera Jackson.”

You blinked, looking between him and the text, inching closer to read. It was the facesheet of a dossier on Tera Jackson: birthdate, hometown, education level, allergies, Biblical violation (affair with a married man). You skimmed the document, confused as to why he’d risked both of your skins just to show you a piece of paper. Then you spotted the bottom of the page, three spaces designated to list Commander assignments. The first and only name: Armitage Hux.

“Ofarmitage,” you breathed, and gaped at Kylo. “Her name was Tera Jackson.”

He said nothing, but pushed the front page from its packet, holding it out to you. Hesitating to grab it, you gazed into his eyes. They were tired and sincere.

This was his way of apologizing. Your heart stuttered, skipped, a suffocated warmth welling in your belly. That he’d thought to do it at all was enough to fracture your resistance, but the fact that he’d done something so forbidden to demonstrate concrete proof of her identity, that he wasn’t fabricating a document to placate you, that it was his own admission that she had been a person, and she had been real--you choked on it, cheeks smothered in flames.

“Commander…” The urge to say his name lingered on your tongue; you reached for the paper--and paused. You couldn’t continue to detour down a pointless road. It would only make the inevitable more painful. You dropped your hand. “I can’t have something like this.”

“Then I’ll keep it.”

“Well.” You bit your lip, averting your gaze. “I… I don’t want it.”

“You do.” His voice was soft. “Her file will be cycled through at the end of the month. Take it.”

Frowning, you glanced between him and the paper. To deny it out of pride would be to deny Tera the chance to be remembered in tangibility--something every Handmaid, every person deserved, regardless of what they’d done to survive. You admitted that part of it was proving to yourself that you deserved it, too.

But you couldn’t take the whole page. Jaw tight, you took it from his hand, creased a line around the section with her name and birthdate and tore it free. You stuffed it into your sleeve, avoiding his eyes as you returned the rest.

Silence hung, cave crystals dripping remnants of stifled need onto your skin, small glittering droplets of iridescent understanding that stained you with shimmering agony. You ached to thank him, to tumble, broken, into his arms, to gaze intohis eyes and see yourself there, found and whole. But under Gilead, you could never have him in the ways he’d had you. And you could never be grateful to the devil for his grace.

Kylo Ren returned the folder to its shelf and stood, snuffing a sigh. “Store it in your room before your walk.”

All you did was nod.

The walk to the building and drive home was spent without words. Only twice did you sneak a glance at Kylo during the ride--the first was when he rolled the edge of the wheel against his large palm, face drawn in focus as he downshifted into a tight turn. The second was when he pulled into the driveway, the muscle under his eye fluttering and brow falling for split seconds, an acknowledgement that here was where you parted ways.

You swallowed, peeking at his hand still rested on the gearshift, then stared at your own, imagining the strength of his grip enveloping you, grounding you to something other than misery. The gentle grumble of the cooling engine died in the air.

Would a true devil place his own power at risk for the benefit of another? Perhaps it just seemed unfair that the only man who had ever made you feel sacred was the same man who’d desecrated you, too.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, and before he could think to respond, you opened the door and escaped into the house.

As you returned to your room, your hands trembled with the impending reality of your decision. A few days after Tera’s death, you’d received a message in the market from Rey and arranged for this meeting. There’d been no earlier time available--which was fine, you imagined that as one of the main women in the movement, her undercover operations were in high demand--and now that the day had arrived, you were floundering with anxiety. Certainly, some of it was the fear that you’d be implicated, too, though the Resistance seemed confident they could protect you from that.

Most of it was that despite your resolution, guilt sat like mercury in your belly, heavy and viscous. Kylo Ren deserved this--he deserved retribution, deserved whatever condemnation his future might hold.

But still you craved, as you might forever, a reality where the only condemnation he would receive was to your bed, where the rays of his future would merge with yours, coalesce in a brilliant spectrum of light, ultraviolet and perpetual. In true reality, those rays crashed ephemeral for jagged, resplendent moments--only to streak alone through the sky, parallel for eternity.

In your room, you stowed the slip of paper with Tera’s name and birthdate between the tiny crevice in your dresser where wood joined wood. In that same drawer under your spare undergarments was the switchblade, in the space you’d placed it over three weeks ago. Kylo had never come for it or sought its return. You supposed he considered it yours. Swallowing the wad of betrayal in your throat, you grabbed the knife and stuffed it up your sleeve.

After adjusting your boots and wings, you skipped down the steps and headed toward the kitchen to grab your shopping bag. When you crossed the threshold, you were met with Johana, tending to the little garden she kept above the sink. She spun at the sound of your feet, her blue eyes glowing against the stark cobalt of her dress, and she regarded you in silence, as she had for the past two weeks. You knew she was no idiot--she must have known you and the Commander were no longer speaking, but it had done nothing to thaw the frost between you this time.

“Just coming to get my bag, ” you muttered, stepping past her and toward the pantry.

“Did you--” She paused, lips tight over her teeth. “There’s an addition. To what we need today.”

You cleared your throat, forcing a smile in an attempt to be congenial. “Oh. Um. Well… I sure hope it’s not butter.”

She raised a brow. “Butter?”

“Yeah...” Your cheeks blazed with embarrassment. Why had you expected her to remember that? “I just. Forgot it. One time…”

“Ah.” Johana scanned you, releasing a sigh through her nose. “I’m sure whatever I said at that time was only half-warranted.” Her cheeks went pink, and she glanced at the wall. “Not that it matters.”

Her awkwardness was making your heart race. “Um. Yeah.” You chewed your lip. “So… the addition…”

She blinked. “Oh. Right.” Shaking her head, she stood on the tips of her toes, opening the cabinet above the stove. “I noticed we’re out of vegetable oil. Emma forgot to dictate it. So. Vegetable oil.”

“Right.” You nodded. “I’ll get it.”

“Good.” Johana considered you again, gaze traveling from your feet to your eyes, then breaking away. “Anyway.” She shifted, returning to the sink. “I suppose I’ll see you for the Ceremony in a couple nights.”

Another wave of nausea washed over you. You hoped she wouldn’t. “Yep. I… I guess so.”

“I know you might not...” She paused, and shrugged a shoulder, pruning a leaf from one of her herbs. “It’s what God wants. It’s nothing personal.”

You swallowed. “I know, Ms. Johana.”

If you remained on this subject any longer, you absolutely would throw up. Johana glanced over her shoulder, meeting your eyes--almost pitying. You bowed your head, ears hot, striding toward the front door.

“Wait--”

Johana grabbed your arm--her eyes widened, and she froze, face screwed in confusion as she squeezed you. Terror crashed through your spine. You both stood there, paralyzed, each now keenly aware of her accidental discovery of the blade inside of your sleeve. Throat closing, you didn’t dare to breathe, instead forcing your gaze from where her hand clutched you to meet her eyes.

“What is that.” Her nails pinched your forearm as she jerked you forward, surprising strength in her little body. “What is that--”

You wrenched back as she tried to dig into your dress, flailing as you tossed her off. Exhaling, you stepped away, holding your hands up in submission as she gazed at you in horror.

“Hold on!” you said. “Hold on. I’ll…” You had no other option. “I’ll show you.”

With two fingers, you slipped into your sleeve and revealed the knife, rotating it like a showpiece in a museum. Her jaw tightened, brow drawn low.

“Why do you have a switchblade?”

Your chin trembled. “For protection.”

“Protection. Sure.” She snorted, holding out her palm. “You’re not killing anyone in this house. Hand it over.”

Shaking your head, you took a step back. “No.”

Her face scrunched in anger, and she swatted for it. “Give it--”

“No!” You shielded it with your palms, raising it above your head. “I--I can’t!”

She huffed in dismissal, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean you can’t?”

Your fingers quaked, the weapon wobbling in your grip. “It’s…” You weren’t sure of what you were about to say. But you couldn’t think of a single lie that she would believe. “We staged the coup. The Commander and I. This is the one of the only things that… that proves it.”

Johana blinked, drew her hand back as she gazed at you, thoughts loud behind her eyes. Her lips parted in disbelief. “You’re working with the Resistance.”

“Yes.” You swallowed your fear. “I am.”

Breath rattled in her chest, and she stared. “You’re turning him in.”

“I am.”

Her face fell into a scowl. “Well. How--how could you?” She fumbled for the words, like they stung her tongue. “He’s… He isn’t... the most kind man, perhaps, or the most Godly--”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s not Godly at all.”

“But he still deserves respect.”

“Respect? For what?”

“For being your Commander.”

You threw your hands into the air, exasperated. “Why are you defending him?” you exclaimed, stepping closer. “You deserve more than this! More than how he treats you!” As you spoke, you weren’t sure who in the room those words were actually meant for. “Help me bring him down. Work with me. We don’t have to live like this.” A pause, voice falling to a murmur, and your hand fell to your side. “We can be free.”

Johana paused, as if she had never considered the possibility, and stepped back, gaze falling. For long, motionless moments, she stared at the blade gripped in your loose fist, the fire in her pupils guttering to cold, empty desperation. A slow breath escaped her nose, her throat knocking as she swallowed. Another breath, and tears glossed her eyes--she blinked them away, pinning her lips together.

“I…”

She shivered, looking at you. For a flicker, you saw her--the woman who existed, wholived before you, before Kylo Ren, before Gilead--treading deadly water, gasping for respite. Johana’s focus drifted over your dress, then wandered to hers. Like a match, fury flashed her face, and in a swift snake movement, she snatched the blade from your hand.

“--will never betray Gilead.”

You squealed, grabbing for it, but she darted underneath you, skittering toward the hall, popping the blade free and thrusting it toward you. Her face was tight with bitter rage.

“I don’t care what happened with him. You’ve only known him for a few months,” she hissed. “I’ve been married to him for three years.” Her hand was shaking, her voice cracking like plaster. “You have no idea what I’ve endured. And I’ll be damned if you screw it up for me.”

“Johana,” you pleaded, “wait--”

“Don’t force my hand,” she said, jabbing the air. “If you even breathe another word about some Resistance nonsense, I’ll have you taken by the Eyes. I don’t care what the Commander says.” She glanced over you one final time and pushed the blade back, shoving it in her pocket before turning to leave. “And remember the vegetable oil.”

You stood, empty-handed, listening to her footsteps disappear down the hall, mind a miasma. There’d be no escape from this, now, not from this house, not from that man, not from the hovering humiliation of the Ceremony in two nights. She’d taken your only lifeline to freedom. And you somehow doubted that another one might appear.

[fanfictionaries]

Oh So Many Years: Ch. 4 - I’m Alive

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary:

The tournament has been announced! Hermione expresses some conflicted feelings, and Fred and George make a harrowing discovery.

Warnings: Swearing, Death, Smut/18+ NSFW

Author’s Note: I will now be updating this story every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)! Please feel free to like, comment, and reblog! xoxo

Masterlist

<< Chapter 3

If I should break My silent streak Will knives come out To cut my cheek?

  Hermione couldn’t help the swell of pride in her chest at Fred’s acknowledgement of being bested. Truly, it wasn’t a thing to be proud of. There was no joy in winning a game amongst idiots. What was the muggle phrase again? Play stupid games, win stupid prizes? Either way, the last thing she ever expected to fill her with smug glee was Frederick Weasley’s approval. No. She shook her head. It wasn’t his approval that made her feel this way. It was the glorious relief of getting the prat to shut up once again, that’s what it was. But if that were true, then why was her mind drifting back to last night’s conversation and the gentle banter the two shared? She felt it then too. The glowing sense of satisfaction that he not only approved of her mental prowess when it came to the art of repartee, but that he also found amusement in it.

Unable to ponder on the thought for long, she turned her attention to Dumbledore as he announced for the year’s sorting to begin. Hermione watched as the group of frightened first years filed into the Great Hall; their eyes wide with wonder. She remembered her first moment seeing the magnificence of Hogwarts. No amount of reading had prepared her for all that the school had to offer. The sorting went by quickly, Hermione clapping and cheering politely when one of the new students joined their table. Some students, especially the Gryffindor students, got quite into the sorting, seeing it as some competition. Hermione was all for house pride, but she really didn’t see it necessary to boo when a child was placed in Slytherin or laugh when placed in Hufflepuff. Glaring over at Ron, Harry, and the Weasley twins, Hermione wished they would conduct themselves with a bit more civility. Honestly, the school could do with more house unity in her opinion. Still, they acquired quite a fair number of new Gryffindors, including the Collin Creevey’s little brother who was already gawking at Harry like he was some kind of god.

Hermione snorted. She imagined they wouldn’t feel that way if they ever had to help him with his Astronomy homework.

Once the sorting ceremony was over, Dumbledore stood up again, his midnight blue robes sparkling with silver stars. Hermione always secretly wondered where he got his robes. They were the most ornate and intricate pieces she’d ever observed in the wizarding world. Surely, they didn’t sell them anywhere in Diagon Alley. At least, she never saw anything quite like them in Madame Malkin’s shop. Perhaps Twilfitt and Tatting’s. She watched as their headmaster adjusted his half-moon spectacles and cleared his throat.

“Good evening and welcome back to another fantastic year at Hogwarts. I would like to begin with a few announcements. First, as many of you know, the forest on the grounds is strictly prohibited to all students. Second, the wizarding village of Hogsmeade is also off limits to students below their third year or for those without permi—” Dumbledore was cut off by a loud crack of thunder and the groan of the large Great Hall doors opening. All heads turned towards the entrance, confused by the sudden interruption. What they found was a short and stalky man standing haggardly as the heavy wooden door closed behind him. A sense of unease washed across Hermione as she watched him enter the hall slowly. His long, patched robes hung heavy on him, dripping water onto the floor as he limped towards the head table. He leaned heavily on a thick, wooden staff and grunted with every step. Wet, tangled grey hair hung in his face – a face marred with thick and grotesque scars. But it wasn’t the grueling number of scars that unsettled her. It was his eyes. One eye was small, dark, and beady, while the other was a striking blue that never seemed to stop moving. It swiveled around in all directions, never focusing on one spot for long as he kept his pace towards the headmaster. As he approached, Dumbledore smiled unfazed. They shook hands briefly across the table in a familiar manner before the mysterious wizard limped to take a seat at the spot usually reserved for the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

“What good timing my old friend, I was just about to introduce you!” Dumbledore exclaimed delightfully. “This year, the Defense Against the Dark Arts position will be filled by a very dear friend of mine, Alastor Moody. Alastor?” Dumbledore motioned to the scraggly man. Moody stood and gave a curt nod to the mass of students. A spatter of confused, yet polite applause greeted him. Hermione stared at the man speculatively. She had read about Alastor Moody. Some called him Mad-Eye Moody, which observing him now, she could see why the nickname was appointed. A famous auror and dark wizard catcher, he was renowned for his part in catching most of the known Death Eaters currently in Azkaban. However, over the past few years he had become known for his increasing paranoia. If the rumors were true, Hermione wondered if he was truly qualified to be teaching young children.

“Right! Lastly, I have the unfortunate duty of informing you that our annual Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not be taking place this year,” announced Dumbledore. His announcement was met with numerous cries of outrage from the tables of students. Some of which were most loudly emanating from Oliver Wood down the table. Hermione frowned sadly in his direction before looking to Harry and Ron who seemed equally as devastated but more entirely confused. While Hermione was disappointed for them, she couldn’t help but feel a small jolt of glee. At least she wouldn’t have to spend hours in the cold watching Harry try to kill himself on a broom.

“This is due to a very special opportunity—” Dumbledore went on “—Over the coming months, our school has the honor hosting an event that hasn’t taken place in over a century. It is my pleasure to announce that Hogwarts will be home to the Triwizard Tournament!”

“You’re joking!” Fred Weasley exclaimed, his voice ringing loud through the hall. Hermione turned to glare at him for his incredibly rude outburst, but ultimately rolled her eyes when the entirety of the hall began to laugh, including Dumbledore himself.

“No, Mr. Weasley, I am not joking,” the headmaster stated before continuing to inform them all on the history of the Triwizard Tournament. Hermione of course, knew all about the tournament. There was a whole section in Hogwarts, a History dedicated to the event. While the competition was a great opportunity for selected students to show off their magical abilities, it was also quite dangerous. In fact, the whole reason the tournament hadn’t taken place in centuries was because of the overt amount of deaths it resulted in. She warried a glance at Harry across the table. This was exactly the kind of thing he would find himself mixed up in.

“I’m going for it!” she heard Fred whisper down the table. Rolling her eyes, she doubted he had half the knowledge and strength it took to win something as monumental as the Triwizard Tournament. As Dumbledore went on, the hall became restless. Student voices, excitedly discussing the tournament and all it had to offer, soon rose in volume that Hermione deemed quite inappropriate.

“Now, now, I know all of you are understandably eager to participate and win the Triwizard Cup for Hogwarts—” lamented Dumbledore “—however, as one of the compromises made in order to bring the tournament back, myself, the heads of the participating schools, and the Ministry of Magic have all agreed to place an age restriction on this year’s event. Only students seventeen and older will be allowed to enter their names for the Triwizard Tournament. This, is something that we feel is necessary as the tasks will be incredibly difficult and will require the education and experience of older witches and wizards, to complete.”

Hermione gave a great sigh of relief at this revelation. Thank Merlin. That fact alone meant everyone she knew at Hogwarts personally was safe. Even Fred and George weren’t seventeen yet. However, looking around at the disappointed and even angry faces at her table, showed that only she was happy about the rule change. She didn’t let their disappointment ruin her mood though. Instead she listened contentedly, until next thing she knew, her was done and dinner was served.

Dinner went by uneventfully, conversation filled laments of summer trips, general gossip, and theorizing about the upcoming tournament. Hermione was thoroughly stuffed by the time the tables were magically cleared and their group departed back to Gryffindor Common room. Hermione trailed behind Harry and Ron as they walked with the twins through the halls, thinking about her classes the next day when George’s voice broke her concentration.

“You know, Freddie, I reckon we could find a way to get past whatever Dumbledore will use to enforce the age restriction,” George said enthusiastically.

“How do you suppose they’ll pick to decide who gets in or not?” Harry asked. Hermione thought that was quite a good question. In her reading, it was never explicitly stated how the competitors were chosen. It simply stated that they were.

“No idea, but it’ll be them that we have to fool—” stated Fred, his chest puffing in confidence “—I think a few drops of aging potion should do the trick.”

“But Dumbledore knows you aren’t old enough,” Ron piped up as they made their way back to the Gryffindor common room.

“Yes, but whoever is deciding doesn’t. It seems to me that they’ll just choose whoever is best from each school. Dumbledore is just trying to stop us from getting our names in is all,” George replied to his younger brother.

“And you two aren’t the least bit concerned that people have died in this competition before?” Hermione inquired, feeling irritation bubbling up below her calm façade.

“Not a bit,” the pair responded with cheeky grins.

Fred and George’s response irked Hermione quite terribly. Were they really that immune to the idea of potential imminent death? Fred definitely wasn’t – no matter what he said. She knew that for certain just from her memories of the Quidditch World Cup. He had been just as afraid as her, she saw it on his face. That fact alone gave her comfort when she continued to endure the agonizing nightmares revolving around that night. Rubbing at her eyes, she cursed at just how bloody tired she was. When she nodded off in the Weasley kitchen that night sitting across from Fred, it had been the first peaceful sleep she’d had in weeks. Unfortunately, the peace did not last long, for as soon as her head hit the pillow in Ginny’s room the nightmares were back again. However, the comforting thought that she had not been the only person scared and panicked that night reassured her that she was not overreacting. Even though everyone had all but forgotten the events of the Quidditch World Cup. Hermione wanted to forget as well.

“Well if Fred and George figure out a way to enter their names, I want in,” said Ron as they sat in the common room. Upon entering the tower, Fred and George made swift exits to their room, most likely to start on their idiotic aging potion idea. It wasn’t going to work, Hermione knew that, but she doubted anything she said to them would get through their thick skulls.

“You most definitely will not Ronald Weasley!” Hermione scolded the freckle-faced boy sitting across from her in front of the fire. He rolled his eyes at her, ignoring her objection.

“Oh, come on Hermione. Everyone knows the age limit is insulting. Us three have faced loads of dark magic already. Especially Harry! You don’t think he’s capable of winning a silly little competition? Tell her Harry!” Ron looked over at Harry for support, but all the bespectacled boy could manage was a conflicted expression before Hermione responded.

“I think Harry has faced enough life-threatening situations for a lifetime, thank you very much. I’d rather you two lose the opportunity of fame and fortune, than risk your necks again. To do so would just be stupid. No one can evade death forever!” Hermione rose from her seat and stormed out, leaving the two boys to gawk at her retreating form.

Hermione huffed and puffed about her room, slamming books down and pulling on her sleep clothes more aggressively than usual. The other girls in the room continued their babble, paying her no mind as they were too engulfed in whatever the latest gossip was to care about her bad mood. She crawled into bed and drew the curtains closed, blocking out all the light from her roommates Pavarti, Lavender, and Fey. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to sleep – to block out all the frustrations of the day and to most importantly not have nightmares. Truth be told, she shouldn’t be so upset at Ron. It was all trivial. In the end, the twins would never figure out how to enter their names into the tournament and thus neither would Ron nor Harry. This might end up being a perfectly normal year after all. There was no magical item with the ability to keep one alive forever taking up residence in the castle; there couldn’t possibly be a second mysterious chamber hidden under the school housing a deadly snake; and there wasn’t an escaped Azkaban prisoner seemingly attempting to murder her best friend – that she knew of. No, this year they would be the spectators. They would watch as three experienced and skilled students, they were not close to, risk their lives in the tournament. Maybe a Ravenclaw or a Slytherin would compete for Hogwarts. Whoever it was, it wouldn’t be them and they would watch from the stands, getting a thrill from the entertainment. Then they would return to the common room, talking about who they thought would win. They would study hard and pass their classes. They would end the year happy and safe, and looking forward to the next year.

Everyone would be safe, happy, and together.

    No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be there. It had to! Fred tore through his trunk again, this time physically removing the items one by one and throwing them onto the dormitory floor around him. However, much to his dismay, he reached the bottom empty handed. Standing abruptly, he rushed over to George’s trunk and began to do the same. He was halfway through its contents when his brother came in, followed closely by Lee Jordan and Kenneth Towler.

“Oi, Freddie, mind telling me why you’re scrounging through my personal things?” George asked, staring down at his brother with a curious gaze.

“It’s gone,” Fred answered gravely, continuing to tear through George’s trunk.

“What’s gone?” asked Lee, hopping over the growing pile of things on the floor and landing clumsily on his bed.

“I swear I just saw it the other day and now it’s gone Georgie!” exclaimed Fred in a panic, sitting back on his heels when he, once again, reached the baren bottom of the trunk.

Towler sighed, walking through the mess, and placing his school bag down next to his neatly made bed. Airily he pulled out a few textbooks and laid down before remarking, “I always knew one of you would lose it. Personally, I always thought it would be George.”

George cast an unamused expression in Towler’s direction before crouching down next to his obviously distressed twin. “Get ahold of yourself mate—” George shook him roughly “—just tell me what’s going on.”

“The money!” yelled Fred, breaking away from George’s hold and moving to his wardrobe. “It’s gone! I’ve looked everywhere for it and it’s gone. Last I checked it was in our money pouch and now it’s not there.”

“Wait. You don’t mean the money we won, do you?” George asked, rushing to Fred’s side, and grabbing him by the arm. He pulled him roughly, forcing Fred to cease his search and face his twin. Fred swelled with irritation. He didn’t have time for this. He needed to find the missing galleons. Fred didn’t need to respond for George to know that it was, in fact, the money they won from their bet at the world cup. George’s eyes widened in disbelief and then, he too began to tare wildly through his wardrobe, all the while chanting a desperate mumble of “No, it’s impossible.”

“Two hundred galleons do not just up and walk away Freddie!” cried George, abandoning his wrecked wardrobe, and lying flat on his belly to look under their beds.

“Where on earth did you two get two hundred galleons?!” asked Lee incredulously. He sat up in his bed, showing a larger interest at the mention of money the two had seemed to misplace.

Fred sighed, sinking to the floor, and leaning against the open door of his wardrobe. Closing his eyes tightly, he banged the back of his head against the wood as he tried to think.

“We won it,” answered George, now pulling back the covers on his bed.

Fred smirked sadistically, knowing it was a lost cause. He already checked there.

“Won it?” asked Lee again, clearly both confused and impressed.

“Yeah, we bet our dads friend all our money and a bloody fake wand that Krum would catch the snitch, but Ireland would win—” Fred rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms in frustration “—he was pretty surprised when we were right, but he paid us. We’ve had the money locked up in my trunk ever since. We were going to use it to upstart our business.”

‘Were’, was the important part of that sentence, thought Fred. Now without the money, he had no clue how they would fund their business after school. They could get jobs he supposed. He and George could work in a shop and save up until they had enough. It wasn’t the worst scenario, but merlin, it wasn’t what they imagined.

“Well I didn’t touch it,” said Lee, holing his hands up to signify his innocence.

“You couldn’t have taken it even if you wanted to,” said Fred. “I put so many wards on my trunk, you’d think I was trying to keep Dumbledore himself out.”

“It has to be here somewhere Freddie. Are you sure you didn’t take the money pouch out for something and then, I don’t know, leave it somewhere?”

Fred looked at his brother in irritation before snapping, “Actually now that you mention it, just the other day I was sitting on my bed and I thought ‘Gee, you know what would be an excellent idea? Taking two hundred galleons for a bloody walk.’ Of course, I didn’t take it out for anything! What do you take me for, Georgie?”

“I’m sorry, you’re right. That was a stupid question. I just don’t understand what could have happened to it.”

“This friend of your dads, he wouldn’t happen to be Ludo Bagman, would he?” asked Towler from his bed, nose currently buried in his transfiguration textbook.

Fred and George froze, so still they could have easily been mistaken for victims of a well-placed body bind curse. They looked at their second roommate with suspicion.

“Why?” the two questioned in unison, staring hard at the sandy-haired boy.

“My dad says he’s a real bilker. He’s always making bets and never paying up – still owes my dad two galleons and seven sickles from a game of cards almost a year ago,” said Towler, looking back at his book with a bored expression.

Fred took a moment to process his words. Kenneth Towler was many things: swotty, boring, killjoy to name a few, but he wasn’t a liar. So that meant if he said Ludo Bagman was a renowned cheat, then it was probably true. Still though, he had paid them the money. Almost immediately even. If he was constantly broke, then where did he come up with the galleons to pay them off? Unless…

George seemed to have the same thought he did because it was his turn to sink to the floor in abject horror.

“Leprechaun gold,” they said in distraught realization.

It was the only possible explanation, thought Fred. While possessing the exact same features as a wizarding galleon, leprechaun gold had one little thing about it that made it unique – it vanished after twenty-four hours. Fred cursed under his breath, standing, and beginning to place his things back into his trunk.

“Of course that slimy git would try to con us out of our well-deserved money. We should have known!” exclaimed George, throwing his hands in the air.

“Maybe it was a mistake,” Lee offered kindly.

Fred and George snorted, “That’s likely.”

“Well it never hurts to make sure,” said Lee, taking off his shoes and kicking their things out of the way as he shuffled to his wardrobe to pull out his sleep clothes.

“He’s got a point Georgie,” said Fred, pausing his cleaning to grab parchment, a quill, and his ink bottle from the ground.

Dear Mr. Bagman,

Fred and George Weasley here! We’re sure you remember us from the world cup. We were the two incredibly dashing twins that won all that money off you.

Speaking of the money, it seems there was a slight mistake and you paid us in leprechaun money instead of real money.

We’re sure it was just an innocent error on your part and therefore would hold no ill-will against you as long as you respond to this letter with the amount in full.

Sincerely,

Fred and George Weasley

Founders of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes

Fred penned the letter as George stood over his shoulder reading aloud and making suggestions. When they were satisfied with the tone and contents of their letter, Fred folded it neatly and placed it inside an envelope, addressing it to Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports at the Ministry of Magic.

“Do you suppose we have enough time to make it to the owlery before curfew?” Fred asked, kicking the rest of his things out of the way, and pulling on his shoes.

Kenneth Towler snorted rudely from his bed, “When have you two ever cared about curfew?”

“He makes a fair point Freddie. Come on, let’s go then.”

“Oi! Aren’t you two going to clean up your mess?” Lee shouted at them as they made their way to the door.

The twins yelled a shifty “Maybe” over their shoulders as they exited the dormitory and made their way down the stairs to the common room.

Fred held tightly to the letter, hoping against all hope that it was all just a big misunderstanding. Perhaps Ludo had been a bilker in the past, but recently changed his ways. Perhaps he had every intention of paying them in full. Perhaps he’d be embarrassed upon opening the letter and realizing his mistake. Perhaps George would sprout a tail overnight and he would shit out a pig.

Still, it was worth a try. Not only were they short the two hundred galleons Ludo owed them, but they were also down the 37 galleons, 15 sickles, and three knuts they originally gave him for the bet. It was all the money they had to their name. They needed that money. Fred rubbed a hand through his hair and gripped it tightly at the roots behind his left ear. He honestly didn’t know how it would all turn out, but one thing became apparently clear as they reached the owlery.

If Ludo Bagman didn’t give them the money he owed them, then it was more important than ever that they get their names into the Goblet of Fire and have their chance at the prize money.

Chapter 5 >>

Taglist:

@theworldisugly-22

[baoshan-sanren]

Part 18

to the fucking NieLan arranged marriage AU I can’t stop thinking about - I’m really temped to name this “How To Communicate With Your Husband: A Narrative in Many Parts by Lan XiChen and Nie MingJue”

pt.1 here | pt.2 here | pt.3 here | pt.4 here | pt.5 here | pt.6 here | pt.7 here | pt.8 here | pt.9 here | pt.10 here | pt.11 here | pt.12 here | pt.13 here | pt.14 here | pt.15 here | pt.16 here | pt.17 here

XiChen knows he is being selfish.

The battle is over. The Nightless City has fallen. A constant string of messages are circulating around Wen RuoHan’s palace, attempting to reach Nie MingJue, the man who had led all the sects and clans into battle, who had been the figurehead, the rallying cry, the mastermind responsible for the demise of the Wen Sect. They will want him to take Wen RuoHan’s place as His Excellency; XiChen knows this without having to be told, without having seen any of the messages. Every moment Nie MingJue is not out there, with the Sect Leaders, is a moment Jin GuangShan will use to his advantage.

A new wave of flames engulfs his back, and he hisses through his teeth, feeling tears gather in his eyes. The flow of spiritual energy MingJue is passing through their clasped hands does not lessen, but his fingers tighten, as if offering comfort.

There are far more convenient places in the palace they could have gone, but Wen Qing had steered them to a small set of chambers in the south wing, a place that had belonged to Wen RuoHan’s personal healer. It would seem that the man had abandoned his post in a hurry; none of his tools or medicines were disturbed, and even his coat still lay tossed over the worktable chair. Wen Qing had named him a hopeless coward, but a capable and well-organized coward nonetheless. Barking orders at her brother, she had rifled through the cabinets and chests with single-minded focus, gathering medicine and herbs, and muttering angrily under her breath.    

The salve she had produced burns with the fire of a thousand suns, and XiChen does not understand how the cure can hurt more than the act of being whipped dozens of times. But he clenches his teeth and endures the pain, clinging to MingJue’s hand.

Six Nie cultivators stand guard outside the chambers, and no one is allowed to pass by them. XiChen cannot guess how many people, Sect Leaders and messengers alike, have been turned away so far. At one point, they could all clearly hear angry shouting outside the door, and although the voices had been unfamiliar, XiChen had felt his stomach twist with guilt.

“You should be out there,” he had said softly, without looking at MingJue.

“I am already where I should be,” MingJue had responded firmly, and no more was said on the subject.

XiChen knows he is being selfish, and childish, and that his uncle would be aghast, but he does not want Nie MingJue to leave his side ever again. He does not care about the battle. The first group of Nie cultivators who had found them in Wen RuoHan’s receiving hall had been accompanied by a dozen men from the Jiang Sect. They had brought with them the only news Lan XiChen had cared to hear, that his brother is alive and well, and that the remaining Wen had surrendered. He does not care about politics, or celebrations, or the choosing of the next Chief Cultivator. For the first time in his life, he wants only two things, and he wants them for himself alone. He wants his husband to remain by his side, and he wants to go home, to QingHe Nie.

His left shoulder lights on fire, and a small sound of pain escapes him, despite tightly gritted teeth.

“I am almost through,” Wen Qing says.

Her voice is firm, but kind. XiChen wants to reassure her that he can bear the pain, but is afraid to open his mouth, least more sounds escape. MingJue’s thumb brushes gently over his wrist, and XiChen looks up, just for a moment, just so he can give him a reassuring smile. It is a poor one, he knows, his face tight with pain, his teeth clenched, but MingJue does not seem to mind.

They are sitting across each other on the narrow cot that had been the healer’s bed, their knees brushing. It seems dreamlike, this physical proximity, when even in their marriage bed, the space between them had been infinitely wider. The pain is almost a welcome distraction. He aches for it, the sheer intimacy of breathing each other’s air, his body insisting that he should sway in closer. At the same time, he is conscious of the dirt and grime on his skin, the blood in his hair and under his nails. He cannot understand how MingJue can stand to touch him, when XiChen can barely stand to touch himself.

His torn robes are pooled around his waist, and he is achingly aware that this is the first time he has been partially undressed in front of the man he had married, and that he has never felt less desirable in his life, not even on his miserable wedding night. The fact that he must live the rest of his life with the scars Wen RuoHan had inflicted is too unbearable to think about. XiChen knows that MingJue cares for him a great deal; the man had made his affection abundantly clear. But he also understands that the depth of his affection may not necessarily translate into physical attraction. If Nie MingJue did not find him desirable before, how likely is he to do so now?

“I am done,” Wen Qing says, and he almost sobs in relief.

“Do not move yet,” she says sternly when he attempts to roll his shoulders, “I cannot cover the wounds. The medicine needs air to work.”

“How long?” MingJue asks.

“Long enough that I can look over your wounds. Strip.”

“I am fine.”

“You are not fine.”

“I am barely injured. There are plenty of others who may need you more.”

“Master Lan,” she says tightly, “would you care to weigh in with your opinion?”

XiChen thinks he likes her very much.

He looks up at MingJue, trying on another smile, and this one comes a little easier than the last.

“Let her look, at least,” he says softly, “It will ease my worries.”

For a moment, MingJue looks betrayed, but comically so, and XiChen ducks his head again, not wanting to laugh at him.

He ducks his head even further when MingJue shifts away. Suddenly, he is exquisitely alert to every tiny sound that his ears can pick up; the belt unwrapping, the layers of robes brushing against one another, the material sliding down MingJue’s back. Although his gaze is lowered, they are still sitting so close that XiChen can see each layer being deposited on the cot in front of him, the blood-spattered coat, the outer robe, the soft gray inner robe that lands on top of the others, as softly as a cloud drifting down.

He raises his eyes slightly, following the pile of material to the curve of the spine, a hint of a hip bone under the cloth, the stretch of powerful muscles above it, and his breath stutters loudly at the sight. Embarrassment floods him immediately, and he squeezes his eyes shut, his face growing hot. He nearly flinches away when MingJue’s hand seeks his out again.

“XiChen?” MingJue says, a thin thread of worry in his voice.

XiChen feels a hysterical laugh building in his throat, and swallows it down.

“Just-- pain. Do not worry.”

Wen Qing snorts somewhere on the other side of MingJue, and XiChen thinks he would like to die of shame now.  

“None of these need stitching,” she says, “turn. I want to see the cut on your back.”

There is a short silence, during which XiChen tries to focus on something else. Anything else. Anything that is not his half-dressed husband sitting within touching distance. It would be so easy to just reach out, and--

XiChen is fairly certain that MingJue will refuse the position of Chief Cultivator when it is offered to him. He is also fairly certain that Jin GuangShan is ready for MingJue’s refusal, and that he has already set strategies in place to make himself the next best option. Jin GuangShan would only make a decent Chief Cultivator when compared to a ruthless tyrant; he cannot be allowed to take the place Wen RuoHan had vacated, not unless they mean to fight another war in their lifetimes. XiChen should be out there, speaking to the Sect Leaders, trying to steer them to a more appropriate choice. He should--  

“It is already healing.”

“I said I was fine.”

She lets out another distinctly unladylike snort, “You can get dressed. I will check on my brother.”

XiChen had noticed Wen Ning tuck himself away in one of the side chambers, as if afraid that he will be in the way once Wen Qing no longer has need of him. However, it is equally as likely that he may not be comfortable in XiChen’s presence. He had stood witness at Wen RuoHan’s shoulder when XiChen was whipped, visibly distressed, but utterly silent. XiChen sincerely hopes that Wen Ning does not feel guilty for anything that had occurred.

“XiChen.”

Forgetting his resolve not to look up, XiChen does just that, and feels his mouth dry.

MingJue had shrugged back into his inner robes, but they are loosely tied, and they conceal nothing. Not the breadth of his shoulders, the ridge of his collar bones, the solid muscle of his chest. But it is the small pouch MingJue holds out that causes XiChen’s heart to jump painfully in his chest, and erases everything else from his mind.

Even as he is reaching out to take it, he can see that the knots in the handkerchief are not his own.

“I did not touch it,” MingJue says, as if reading his mind, “I did not know if I had the right.”

The knots fall apart easily in XiChen’s hands, and he feels too many things at once, all of them conflicting, and all of them full of indescribable hurt. That night, he had been so certain that he was moving towards his death; he had mourned all the words that had gone unsaid between them, the time that had been wasted in questions and doubts, the future that they could have built together. Everything he could not say was tightly knotted under the blooming magnolia tree, all the restraint released, given to the one person he had expected to understand.  

“You are my husband,” he says, hating that his voice sounds weak and unsteady, “You have always had the right.”

Had he truly carried it all this time, on his person, near his skin, and never once held it in his hands?

“XiChen,” MingJue says softly, his tone infinitely patient, “do not dance words with me, you know I am not capable of doing the same. My rights and your desires could be worlds apart. You did not give me permission to touch it, so I did not.”

Flustered, XiChen looks up, to find MingJue watching him with the same forbearance so obvious in his tone, as if willing to wait as long as XiChen needed him to, as if nothing else mattered. The hurt he had felt bleeds away in a rush, and he gathers up the ribbon before his cowardice can prevent it, pressing it in MingJue’s palm.  

“I did not send it to my husband for safekeeping,” he says, his heart beating wildly in his throat, “It has always been yours to touch. Not because you have the right, but because I wish it.“

It is devastating, the bewilderment of MingJue’s expression, as if XiChen had come out with something utterly preposterous, rather than an admission of affection. He will blame himself for this later, perhaps not too cruelly, but enough to reconsider all the ways in which he expresses himself. But at this moment, he is too impatient for such thoughts. He squeezes MingJue’s hand, feeling a sharp, daring intensity he would have never thought himself capable of before.

“I would ask my husband to put it back where it belongs. If he is willing.”

MingJue exhales heavily, but does not hesitate. The urgency with which he scrambles up to comply would be humorous at any other time. But there is nothing playful about the reverence with which MingJue handles the task, the gentleness with which he gathers up XiChen’s hair and slides the ribbon over his forehead. XiChen feels his touch from the nape of his neck to the bottom of his spine, a sweetness underneath all the ravaged flesh.

MingJue’s hand lingers near his temple for a moment, and he clears his throat, “Did I do it right?”

XiChen does not bother to check.

“Mhm. Now, you should kiss me.”

He does not mean to say it out loud, but the words are out, hovering in the air between them. For a few breaths MingJue’s stillness is excruciating, and XiChen wonders if has asked for too much, too soon.

His next breath is stolen by MingJue, and the next, and the one after. It is chaste, each press of the lips against his own, but XiChen feels intoxicated by it, the roughness of the upper lip scraping against his own, the hot breath against his mouth. His heart feels too large for his chest, every beat thrumming loudly in his ears. He follows MingJue’s mouth blindly when it moves away, catching the soft bottom lip between his own, tasting it with his tongue. The noise MingJue makes is utterly indecent, and XiChen’s body floods with heat in response.

He wants to hear it again; he wants to be the cause of every indecent noise his husband can make, every stutter of his breath, every flush across his skin. MingJue’s hand wraps around his jaw, the calluses scraping over sensitive skin, and his tongue licks across XiChen’s own, slick and hot. He swallows the soft whimper XiChen makes, equally as indecent as his own, and shifts closer, both hands now cupping his face, tilting his head, licking into his mouth with urgency that XiChen can feel in the pit of his stomach, a burning ache that borders on pain.

The sound of the throat clearing startles him so badly, that he jerks away as if scalded. MingJue grabs his arm not a moment too soon, otherwise XiChen might have propelled himself off the cot and onto the floor.

Wen Qing has the good grace to look contrite instead of amused. This is probably a smart thing, as MingJue now looks murderous.

A soft knock echoes against the door, and Wen Qing motions toward the sound, “That has been happening. For a little while now.”

The heat across XiChen’s skin is now solely the result of embarrassment. He thinks he had been very close to crawling into MingJue’s lap, and finding his way underneath the thin layer of the inner robe that is still precariously clinging to MingJue’s shoulders. All while Wen Qing and Wen Ning were a few steps away, perhaps unable to see them, but certainly able to hear. He wants to crawl under the cot and never come out. He wants to pull MingJue with him, and continue what they started until the restlessness under his skin is sated.  

MingJue gets to his feet, pulling the outer robe over his shoulders, and Wen Qing takes it as a sign that she can answer the door.

Nie ZhongHui steps in and bows quickly, his clothes still streaked with blood, a clumsy make-shift bandage wrapped around his upper arm. XiChen can practically see Wen Qing’s fingers twitch at the sight.

“What is it?” MingJue says, worry obvious in his voice.

“Sect Leader Jiang’s son is injured. The two healers Jiang Sect had brought with them claim that nothing can be done.”

“Wei WuXian?” XiChen asks, and Nie ZhongHui shakes his head.

“Jiang WanYin. Madam Yu-- is asking for assistance. She would be-- grateful if Sect Leader Nie would allow the Nie Sect healer to examine her son.”

XiChen is fairly certain that Madam Yu neither asked for assistance, nor offered gratitude, but he supposes she was right to send Nie ZhongHui, as he is more diplomatic than most.

“That must be me,” Wen Qing says, her voice deceptively bright, and MingJue grunts in response.

“I suppose we must face the music sooner or later. Give us a few moments, Nie ZhongHui. Arrange an escort in the meantime. Twenty should be sufficient.”

Nie ZhongHui leaves, and Wen Qing immediately begins gathering up her supplies, face determined, as if preparing for another battle.

XiChen stands up, pulling his torn robes back around his shoulders, “I will come as well.”

He expects MingJue to argue. To insist that he stay, and rest, and not aggravate his injuries. And for a moment, it does seem as if MingJue wants to object, each reason why XiChen should not further place himself in harm’s way easy to read in his eyes.

But he does not say any of them. Instead, he takes his outer robe off again, and lays it carefully over XiChen’s shoulders.

[lil-creatorwritings]

Napoleon Birthday Prompt 2020 Day 4: Secret

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire Pairing: Napoleon Bonaparte x Isabella Leatton (OC) Word Count: 1,799 words Prompt: [ dance ] / [ “I’m not going to step on you this time, you’ll see.” ] Warning: None, I guess? It is more of hurt/comfort though. A/N: Part of @kissmetwicekissmedeadly 's Napoleon Birthday Prompts 2020. Check the original post here! So, this fic was suppose to be done... 500 words ago. Or 700. I'm not sure. But the point is, my muse has gone off into a tangent again and so here we are. This wasn't suppose to be a hurt/comfort, but it had ended up that way. I was not prepared to hurt my dear Isabella like this, but the muse wants what she wants, and I cater to her whimsical ideas. I am but just a vehicle for her literary visions. Anyway, enough about that nonsense and let's get into the fic, shall we?

---

It was eerily quiet. Napoleon closed the door, yawning as he made his way through the foyer. He'd woken up late today as usual, but to his surprise, it wasn't a pair of soft lips that greeted him awake. It was a gloved hand and Sebastian didn't say anything more than a greeting and that pancakes were freshly made and ready to eat downstairs.

She wasn't there in the dining room when he arrived. The others who were there didn't know where she was either, saying that they hadn't seen her this morning either. Isabella had been acting strange these past few days, avoiding him whenever he tries to spend time with her. There was always some sort of excuse that took up most of her hours, only seeing her again at dinner and before they settle down for bed. And even then she would fall asleep relatively fast, murmuring about how tired she was before drifting off on his chest.

Not only that, but it also seemed that she was hanging out with a few of the residents a bit more. Once, he spotted her speaking to Arthur with a hushed tone, cutting their conversation short as he got closer to them. There was also a time when she entered the music room, her presence making the piano keys stop in their tracks and resume only when she left. Neither of those bothered him at first, not until last night when she mentioned about her sore ankles.

Normally, he was not one to push. He knew that people would open up about it in their own time if they chose to do so. The only thing he can do in the meantime is to give support and wait until they're ready. But this was different.

What could she be working so hard for? More importantly, why is she keeping it a secret from him?

Since no one knew where she was, he started his search in the mansion. A quick sweep through the second floor revealed that she wasn't there--she would leave the door slightly open to signal where she was if someone needed to locate her. The garret was empty and so was the training hall and the thermae. By the time he finished combing through the gardens, Isaac was waiting for him by the gate to head into town together for their little school.

When they returned, the lobby was just as empty as they left Since dinner was still a few hours away, Napoleon decided to head to his room to lie down for a bit. The sound of voices from the game room didn't interest him until he heard her laughing, her words muffled from the thickness of the door.

He didn't bother to knock. What he found was rather unusual, given its occupants. Arthur was seated on the sofa with his legs crossed, a seemingly innocent bystander of the scene unfolding in the middle of the room. Isabella was in Leonardo's arms, her hand clasped in one of his and the other resting on his shoulder. The taller man's free arm was around her waist a little too snugly to his liking, an exasperated look present on his face.

Comte, who was standing close to the two, looked at him with a curious look. "Is something wrong, Napoleon?"

Resting a hand on his hip, he did his best to school his features and sound casual. "No, but I need to talk to Isabella about something if you don't mind."

"Hm, I suppose it is time for her to take a break. We can always continue later if you want." The painter reached to ruffle her hair slightly, chuckling when she pouted and ducked to get away from him.

"Geez, Leonardo! Did you have to mess up my hair like that?" She walked over to him, smoothing down her hair as she approached. "What did you nee-oh!"

Napoleon took her by the wrist and pulled her out of the room, leaving the three men behind to exchange glances. He didn't stop until they entered his room, bringing her into his arms as soon as the door was shut. She let out a surprised yelp, tilting her head over the strangeness of his actions. "Napoleon? What is it?"

Nuzzling in her neck, he took a deep breath of her scent and sighed. "I haven't seen you for days."

"That's not true. I wake you up and see you at night during dinner. We even head for bed together."

"I meant that we hadn't spent that much time with each other."

"I guess so. There's quite a bit of work to be done around the mansion."

"That's not it. I mean... it feels like you're avoiding me."

"Avoiding you? Why would I do that?"

He looked up at her, thinking the same question. "That's what I want to know. Because even when I try to catch you at a free time, you're suddenly headed somewhere else or talking to someone else about something. And the next time I saw you, you were with the other residents and having fun with them. Without me."

"It's not like we were doing anything wei--" Isabella paused, observing him before she tilted her head. "Wait. Were you... jealous?"

Ah. So that would explain the heat swirling in his chest earlier. "Don't change the subject. This isn't about me."

"I'm not trying to."

"So why are you avoiding me but acting the same with the others?"

"I'm not avoiding you nor am I favoring spending time with others over you. And that's the truth." Her eyebrows knit together as her mouth pressed into a thin line, her voice taut with restraint.

Napoleon guided her to sit on the bed, kneeling in front of her. He recognized that look on her face--it was that look she gets when she's trying to shut off her emotions. Taking a deep breath, he clasped her hands in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. "You know you can tell me anything, right? I know that something's troubling you." When she didn't budge, he continued. "I don't mind how long we have to stay here until you're ready. But I'm always here for you."

A quiet moment passed before she sighed, her shoulders dropping from their uptight position. She cast her gaze down on their joined hands resting on her lap, fingers idly fiddling with his. "You remember that party we were invited to a couple of days ago. The one where we danced and had almost bumped into another couple on the floor."

He nodded. It was a thank you from a nobleman that he rescued a week ago. The man was a jeweler on the way to deliver a client's commission when he was coerced into an alleyway to be robbed. He had noticed just in time to disarm the thief of his knife and took him to the nearest police station. Before he left, the man had promised to reward him with something and received a letter of invitation to the party the next day.

"When you went to talk to the nobleman, I heard a couple of women talking about how clumsy I was. It wouldn't have bothered me as much until... they started saying how it made you look awful. How they would've made for a better dance partner. How I... wasn't fit for someone like you." She swallowed, her voice faltering into a soft tone as she tightened her grip on his hands. "I told myself I'd learn how to dance properly so that... I can prove them wrong..."

Napoleon knew that there had always been a conflict in the back of her mind, something in the vein of 'being a good enough match for him', or rather, who he had been when he was still human. It was never said out loud, but there was no need--it was moments like this that spoke out for what she truly felt. She's the one who's most aware of her flaws, always trying to cover it up one way or another and fix it on her own. That sort of independence was something he admired but also detested, especially when it led her to this.

Moving up beside her, he guided her head to his chest and caressed her hair. "Isabella," he started, feeling her weight as she leaned into him, hands gripping on his shirt. "it doesn't matter what other people think or say. The only thing I care about is you and I'll always love you for who you are."

She trembled in his embrace, overcome with the meaning of his words. To whose standards is she not right for him, he will never know, because the sole opinion that mattered to him was his own. He loves her entire being, faults included, and she loves him with unadulterated affection. That was the only truth they needed.

It took her a while to look up at him, hazel eyes misty with unshed tears as she nodded. "Thank you."

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he waited for her to compose herself before asking. "So, you were asking them to teach you how to dance?"

"Yes, Napoleon, I was." Isabella let out a tired laugh, taking a deep breath before nuzzling in his neck. "I've been asking them in my spare time."

"But Leonardo doesn't know how to dance."

"The one teaching me is Comte. He insisted that I practice with Leonardo earlier to test how much I've improved."

"And Arthur?"

"He saw it by accident once and was just there to gawk and poke fun at us."

So that's what it all was. He felt a bit silly to be so worked up about it. "Why didn't you ask me to help you?"

"I would have, but I wanted to surprise you. I was going to show you that I wouldn't step on your feet next time." She wrapped her arms around him, lifting her head to look up at him. "Were you jealous though?"

He pouted just a bit. "No."

"Really? I could have sworn you were when you barged in the room like that earlier."

"That was just your imagination."

"Oh, I see. And you searching for me throughout the whole mansion earlier was just Vincent's imagination?"

"Yes." Napoleon smiled, relieved to notice the ache in his chest has disappeared. She shook her head at him, chuckling softly as she rested her head on his chest. Leaning backward, he collapsed down on the mattress with her on top of him.

"I know they're expecting me soon, but can we stay like this a little longer?"

"Of course." He kissed the top of her head, his hand already running up and down her back. "As long as you need."