#like if the Timeless Child thing were just left open as a 'what if?' possibility and the Doctor never finds out if it's true or not

[bsverryin]

: ̗̀➛ How genshin men proposed to you

Who?

╰┈➤ Diluc, Childe, Ayato

situation?

╰┈➤ you've been in a relationship with them for years and finally you're getting married, but how did they propose?

✎ fluff!! No possible warning..HEAD CANNONS ONLY!!! I've been thinking about some good plots while listening to "timeless" by Taylor swift this didn't come into my mind at first but then when I was making little chats that I was supposed to post for today this came suddenly 🥹 if it's not in your liking you can check out my other post <3 enjoy.. cannot assure you of perfect grammer and I'll keep it simple!!

: ̗̀➛ DILUC

At first, you thought Diluc was getting tired of you each day. He comes home late and doesn't talk to you much before, You felt like he was getting used to you that he got tired, So when he asked you out on a date the next day you thought he was gonna break up with you.

That was actually the opposite of what would happen. When you dated, he was so happy and kept clinging to you. He was so cute that you felt relieved that he's not gonna break up and he's not tired of you. When he asked you why you thought that you're gonna break up you answered him because he doesn't talk to you much before he immediately apologized for making you feel that way and it was because for a certain reason.

You both are on the way to go home but instead he told you that he booked the most expensive hotel that has the most beautiful view just so he can show his appreciation to you. You said that he didn't have to but it's just he loves you so much.

When you entered the hotel he booked, it was so fancy and golden. It felt like you were in a royalty palace, when you arrived in the room he gave you a dress to wear for dinner.

The hotel had its own restaurant on the balcony wherein you can see the other cities, you were a bit disappointed because everything was covered, the only thing that you can see was the empty restaurant and the warm lights and of course Diluc Infront of you. After eating dinner Diluc invited you to the balcony.

On the balcony, you immediately ran to the railing to see all the gleaming lights from high buildings, The stars and moon, were all so perfect.

Suddenly, you felt the lights suddenly open from behind you. When you checked what it was all about, Diluc suddenly bent down on his knee, showing a silver ring.

"From the moment I met you, I just knew it was gonna be you. Will you marry me, my love?" It was the last thing you heard before you started tearing up and kissed Diluc.

: ̗̀➛ CHILDE

You and Childe visited every nation that existed, you'll always ask him why do you both have to but he just says it's because he loves you and wants to travel with you. You'll spend two weeks in one nation, then in another then the cycle continues he said that it'll end once you both reach his hometown which was Snezhnaya.

Today, was your last day together in Snezhnaya. You met his family, you got close with his siblings! His family loved you and treated you like their own. Childe was really the perfect boy for you. You both visited all the beautiful spots in Snezhnaya. You got tired from all the travels you both did but you can't help yourself but be sad because your travels with him are gonna end really soon.

For the last day in Snezhnaya, you both decided to just have a simple night and have dinner with his family in their own home, he left you early in your hotel room for you to get ready and that he can help his family to decorate for your little party. You wore the prettiest dress you have and gave yourself a simple makeup. Night came and he came back to your hotel room to pick you up.

When you entered their home it was different from before. everything was decorated really pretty and it had a lot of yummy foods too. Childe said to enter the backyard first because his family is waiting for both of you there. You entered the backyard and the first thing you saw was the pictures of you both in a wall and all the memories you made in the places where you both travelled. You cried with happy tears and hugged him as you noticed his family was coming one by one in the backyard door. When everyone was in the room, you cried even harder when you saw the letters that his family had displayed. When the papers were displayed, you recognized it said "Will you marry me?"

You were surprised and happy as he bent down on his knee, you immediately gave him the answer which was yes!. His family were so supportive of you then he kissed you on the cheeks and finally put the most beautiful ring that you've ever seen.

: ̗̀➛ AYATO

Ayato is a big fan of art and to him you're a work of art. His busy schedule doesn't bother you at all because you loved hanging out with his sister ayaka along with yoimiya.

You didn't think that marriage would ever cross his mind because he knows how stressful it is. The happiest day for you is when you get to be alone with him and he clears his schedule for you which was today.

You're walking together the Inazuma as you lead him to the beautiful and magnificent spots around. Every second, he gives out words of affirmation that you can't think of a day where you'll unlove him. When you're with him it makes you believe in the word, forever. You want to spend the rest of your life with this man and only him.

He looked sad when you said Chinju forest is the last spot that you're gonna visit. You spent the last 6 hours with him, does he never get tired or hungry? You thought. He told you that you both should spend some more minutes and talk about your future, which made you nervous at first but then again he showers you with affirmations and even reassurance that he'll always love you no matter what and when you're about to leave the Chinju forest. The fireworks started blowing up through the sky and that moment was amazing that you wanted the time to freeze. When you thought it couldn't be more better he bent down with his one knee, was he really proposing? Is it really happening?

"I want to be there for you through thick and thin, ups and down and until our hair turns gray and I ask would you let me be that man, Y/N?"

You screamed yes as you hugged and kissed him. The timing was perfect, just the two of you alone spending time together. You couldn't ask for more. It really was the best day of your life.

[13thdoctorposts]

The fandom when Eccl*stone doesn't know shit about the show or watch it, is openly disdianful of it, has multiple accounts of being point-blank rude to fans at conventions, and downplays a possible accusation of sexual assault during filming by pre emptively claiming the woman is a bitch he wouldn't touch anyway: omg King <3333

The fandom when Jodie is open about not growing up a Whovian but having seen episodes here and there, clearly loves the show and it's themes and fans, takes representing the show seriously, talks about watching the show since filming, makes references to events she's watched and excitedly understands things like a reference to the cloister bell: fake fan, can't believe she'd disrespect real fans and the show like this, she isn't professional, [rape threats], [ignore her actively engaging with canon], [multiple people claim to 'subtly' interrogate her about canon at cons]

The fandom when G*twa refers to Doctors as being slutty and generally treats it unseriously: omg King <333

There is very clearly a bias against Jodie, and I cant see for any other reason than she's a woman. I'm not even talking about 13, or the writing, just the way people decided to treat her in comparison to the male actors.

With Jodie she's also of the age that, her core watching years for TV and movies as a kid are actually the wilderness years of Doctor Who when it wasn't on TV. She then started her career in 2006... at that age and point in her career she wasn't the core demographic that DW and RTD were going for, it's really not surprising she didn't have a lot of Doctor Who knowledge previous to getting the role.

However in the podcast with David Tennant in 2019 she says she started watching after she got the role but was feeling a little overwhelmed and was worried that she might accidentally imitate previous doctors so she asked Chibs if there was another way for her to get the information about the history and he put together a whole binder for her. And when Chibs told her about the timeless child revel she asked will this work with the canon of Doctor Who, so she clearly knew what the canon was and Chibs response was that it was his job to make it work with the canon... which it does, whether fans like it or not, he incredibly created a whole new backstory for the Doctor without changing anything we had seen on screen.

Jodie's love and care for the role and DW in general is so clear that people who want to have a go at her are clearly choosing to ignore the majority of the what she has said and instead chosen a couple things to spin and take out of context to use against her, and thats a shit thing to do.

What's even more shit is you would expect that from the right, but I've also seen people on the left who hate the show. These people happily talk a lot of smack about Jodie but since they like to yell at 13 era as not being progressive enough you would think they would at least treat Jodie with respect, but no. I guess they only care about the shows level of progressivism as a tool in condemn the show and not about their actual morals or how they actually treat people.

[luminashdawnwing]

Daily Writing Challenge May 2023 Day 1: Forgiveness / Shadowflame

“First, clear your mind,” the dragon intoned, his deep voice rumbling calmly, “You will never have control of your senses again until you can look at the possibilities before you with clear eyes.”

Luminash sat, legs crossed, overlooking the sands of the Temporal Conflux. In the distance, beyond the haze, rose the cliffside of Eon’s Fringe, where it had all begun. Where he had, through his own overconfidence, bound the threads of time all too tightly around himself. In his gaze, especially here, flickered images - foresight and afterimages both, things yet to be, those that could not be, and those that had been long ago.

In was always easier, Luminash found as he closed his eyes, blocking all from his view but the red of the sun through his eyelids, to ask for forgiveness than permission. The Timeless Isle, the expedition in Gorgrond, the depths of the Nighthold, all of them follies, all of them driven by errant curiosity. And now, Eon’s Fringe.

“Do you see them, the echoes from the timeways?” Andantenormu asked, his rasping voice burrowing deep into the magister’s chest, a rustling of scales as his shifted his wings.

Luminash nodded, “Even with my eyes closed, I know they are there. And winding between them, the Arcane, in threads. It is so...active here.”

“Mmm.” A noncommittal murmur from the dragon, “You have taken much into yourself in your short life, magister. You grip it all so firmly, so afraid are you to lose control.”

The elf drew his lips into a thin line at the chiding, “I suppose you have never felt your power slip, then, or worried what could happen if you drew upon too much?” He could not suppress the hint of irritation in his voice. How the smug superiority of the Bronze could grate...

“Calm, young one.” Level, cool, collected, and no hint of that supposed superority. Luminash felt like a scolded child whose temper was brought back in check by a kindly father. And yet, that did grate less, he thought. “We all have thought we could handle more than we could. It is why I am here to guide you in this. Not because you cannot command the power you have stumbled upon, but precisely because I know you can. Forgive yourself your errors, and step forward with a clear mind.”

Luminash took a breath. He counted. One. The dance of sand-strewn images continued unabated. Two. Behind closed eyes, had they gained new clarity? Three. Some were near, some far, yet he knew they were all still where they had begun. Four.

“Good, magister. Now, focus on those in the past, far off, and in the future, just so far. Let them go. They need not gnaw at the mind. If there comes a day to seek them out, then they will come. Know this, and...let go.”

With some effort, and in silence - how long it took, Luminash could scarcely say - he strained to push the echoes away. Then came Andantenormu again, let go. Not push, but simply...let fall away.

Exhale. One. And so they did, hazy images of dragons in flight and visages speaking in hushed whispers dissolving into motes of swirling sand, their grains catching the light and dispersing in a wind unfelt by mere creatures of flesh and blood. Two. There were only hazy images now of events that must be present, or potential presents. Three. He saw himself. Four. His heart began to pound, and his stomach knotted.

“Andantenormu, I see...” Luminash shuddered, “Something is wrong. I see...”

“What you see does no harm, child. Breathe, and all will be well. This is your next lesson. What you see need not come to pass, nor-”

Luminash’s eyes snapped open, and he stared into his own face, swirling in the sands of time. There was no hope left in those eyes, only rage, an abyss of violet flame. His hands were blackened. Something he could not identify, a charred husk, lay at his feet.

Far from the Conflux, deep beneath the earth, Luminash saw himself cloaked in shadowflame. It was him, and yet it was not. He was here, and yet he was there. He began to grow cold as the image faded away, replaced by the concerned gaze of his mentor.

Andantenormu completed his thought, the dragon’s voice an anchor, a welcome reassurance, “Nor need it.”

@daily-writing-challenge

[thirddoctor]

llywela13 replied to your post:

I agree. I’ve enjoyed the season, although tonight’s episode was weak, but I really dislike the Timeless Child story, it doesn’t suit the show or the Doctor, it’s just messing with the character’s history for the sake of it and I’m never going to agree with that

I liked last night’s ep, and I’m glad that they’re at least doing something slightly more compelling now with the plot than the lore dump in S12, but I don’t think there’s anything they can do that will ever get me to actually accept the Timeless Child thing. It waters down the character into someone I find far less interesting.

[ackerfics]

edelweiss — levi ackerman.

— levi ackerman x female reader

— warnings: spoilers for season 4 and the good old aot canon-typical violence.

— summary: you pour your unsaid thoughts to levi, only to break a promise that costs you your heart.

— word count: 4.5k

The sea holds so many promises with its sea-green hue that it spreads a chilling wave through your body like the first breath of winter’s snow. The first time you had ever set eyes on such a majestic view, there was still momentary happiness lingering as your comrades splashed each other with its blue waters. It was a symbol of hope and yet it remained a mystery that prevents all of you from knowing what was beyond this thing called the horizon. You remember how you laughed in delight when Hange presented a bizarre creature on their hands, beckoning you to move closer and focus your entire attention on the small unknown thing lying on your best friend’s palms. You remember glorying under the Sun’s ever singing rays, watching them glitter against every small jostle of water at your feet. You remember turning around to face your lover with a bright smile that might have rendered him speechless — fumbling for words when the two of you face each other.

Those moments were timeless.

Minutes spent wading in the sea was the only time you had peace.

You let out a shuddering breath as you brushed your fingers against the gold band decorating your left ring finger. This is no time to be vulnerable. You were a captain for years, for heaven’s sake, even before Levi joined the Survey Corps. The younger soldiers would feel nervous if they see your unnecessary tears. Hastily wiping them from your cheeks, you turned away from the railing separating you from the dreadful vastness of blue that placed you in such a mood and placed a tentative hand on one of the rooms housing your injured husband.

Entering the small room was more stifling than the situation happening around the continent. It would mean seeing Levi in such a state that would always accumulate unshed tears in your eyes. The bandages wrapping his figure only worsened your melancholy and with every step, you pray that he wouldn’t wake up from the cringing creak of the wood paneling of the floor. The room only had one single bed and a convenient chair on the opposite side of the lone furniture. You wasted no time in lifting the chair to place it beside Levi’s bed, seating yourself with pursed lips and clenched fists. The more time you surveyed his battered body, the more your throat burned with the urge to pour out your feelings in the small confines of the room.

With the Rumbling purging the continents beyond Paradis, this was no time to be relishing in old memories. 

Yet living in those memories you shared with Levi kept you solid.

Your life wasn’t guaranteed in this last mission. There will always be a possibility that you won’t come home with the rest of the people fighting against the Rumbling and you had to make do of the short amount of time you had with Levi. But a part of you was saying that you had to survive no matter what, to make that dream of opening a tea shop in a small village possible — to give your child the freedom and childhood you had never experienced. That little ray of sunshine that came to both you and Levi in times of hopelessness a year after taking back the lost territory of the Walls. He looked like Levi that it was so hard for you to say goodbye, even if it were only missions for weeks on an unknown land. This time, you didn’t utter a single closure to your son, regret started bubbling in the abyss of your mind and stomach.

And now, you don’t know if you could ever meet with your son again.

Taking Levi’s hand as gently as possible, you took a deep breath.

“If time really was against us, I promise I wouldn’t cry. I promise I wouldn’t wait for you because I know you’ll still be the strongest soldier I have ever known. I am a mere mortal compared to you, Levi, and I fear that this dream of ours will have its last breath.”

A bitter chuckle came out of you as your grip on his hand tightened. The memories were now more vivid than usual — the time you introduced yourself to him and his friends from the Underground, the respect that blossomed between you when he knew you will be his new squad leader, the way he looked after you as your second-in-command, you recommending him in the vacant Captain spot of the Survey Corps, and you giving him a welcoming gift in his new office. Then, the images shifted to when he finally kissed you under the canopy of stars, to when he whispered words of reassurance as your bodies erased every space between you, to when you screamed in Shiganshina that you were pregnant with his child, and to when you started carrying his discovered last name along with the birth of your first son.

“The reason these thoughts tend to cloud my head at this moment was that the memories simply flashed in my mind as I stared at the ocean that I always longed for. Memories we shared that might have been fleeting yet they carry a thousand-fold of emotions coursing through every fiber of my being. Funny how every time we went out on an expedition all those years ago, you always told me to keep safe and come back with a heart that’s still beating for you. As if I would ever stop loving you and set my sights romanticizing the Titans as Hange does. I had realized that you never once accepted that my life could abruptly end with a constant war on our hands.

“Until your tired breath from lack of sleep gradually diminishes, this time, I will be the one to protect you and fight until I will let go of my own heart to sing a song worthy of you.”

“Was that a speech of farewell just now?”

Your eyes flew from your joined hands to the dulled gray irises of the keeper of your heart. Before you know it, tears continuously flowed a stream on your cheeks, your shoulders hunched as sobs racked your body. “I don’t know what came over me, must be the tension brought by the possibility of dying when we haven’t even stopped the Rumbling from erasing the rest of humanity.”

“Hey, look at me,” Levi uttered your name so softly as if he was afraid it would sadden you even more. Placing his left hand on your cheek, he wiped the cascading tear that glistened under the mellow glow of the lantern beside his bed. “You’re not going anywhere. Not when I am still alive with limbs fully intact. Well, except for the fact that I lost two of my fingers.” From that, more tears appeared in his view, flustering him in the slightest. “The point is that I will protect you. This dream with our small family will be forever ingrained in our future. You will always have me looking out for you.”

“But I’m supposed to be the one protecting you now.”

“Are you underestimating me?”

You shook your head, covering his hand with both of yours. You placed a tender kiss that you hoped radiated the unsaid thoughts that could ruin the moment you share with him right now. You wanted him to be a part of humanity’s victory against whatever crazy plan Eren has set his mind on.

“Our little boy is waiting for us to come home,” Levi reminded you after a few minutes of silence (with your occasional sniffles here and there). “Isn’t that enough reason for us to come home alive? Imagining him losing one of us was the one thing I don’t want to happen right now. Promise me.” You love the sound of your name when he says it. Akin to the flowers that seem like they hold all the jewels at the center of their petals. “Come home with me safe and sound.”

“I’m not one to keep promises, Levi, you know that.”

“Just this once,” he pleaded. “All I wanted was to have a happy ending with you, my edelweiss.”

With new tears blossoming in your eyes like flowers in spring, you gave Levi a promise that will desperately cling as long as the two of you are alive.

And he regretted making you say those words.

The battle with the Nine Titans of the past proved to be tormenting. With forces so small, the group who allied two countries at constant war with each other fought with bated breath, all eager to get out of the situation alive like no other. As hollow as your chest became after witnessing Hange sacrifice their life to let all of you escape, you steeled yourself and momentarily forgot the emptiness you felt as you landed on top of Eren’s back. You fought back a gag of disgust when you realized that the humungous creature shared similarities with those insects you loathe. However, Armin was captured by a Titan out of nowhere and everything went to absolute shit. Maneuvering in the air was perfect for the remaining members of the Survey Corps as they assessed the onslaught and ongoing appearance of their intelligent enemies on Eren’s back but their numbers continued pouring in. Two thousand years of Titan history right in front of your eyes. Everybody, Mikasa especially, was starting to feel agitated that one of their comrades was hauled away with a good number of Titans to prevent them from saving him.

“Even if I was in perfect shape,” Levi told them while they stayed perched a good kilometers away from Death, “I would still not choose to make a charge there. So calm down. Mikasa, don’t rush. Wait until I distract them.”

You glanced at him from the corner of your eyes. “Levi, don’t overexert yourself. We don’t want to lose you.”

“The feeling’s mutual. Don’t die on me.”

The rush of adrenaline started when Pieck initiated the charge, along with the thought that she had never known Eren unlike the rest of the people behind her. You screamed for her to retreat but they were futile when the Warhammer Titan materialized behind the Shifter and pierced a weapon made of hardened Titan skin through the torso of the woman’s Cart Titan. Gritting your teeth, you followed your comrades in a route specifically to rescue the new commander of the Survey Corps. Thunderspears were released every minute, maneuvers were done in utmost accuracy, and sliced napes gradually increased as your small group evaded every death-defying moment. As you were about to set your sights on one Titan in particular as well as avoid the Colossal Titan, Connie descended when the fifty-meter mass of burning flesh threw Reiner’s inert Titan at the rest of the squad, shaking the entirety of the spine you were carefully standing on. 

“Levi!” you called out desperately when you saw him cough up blood. He was only a few meters away from you and you had to take him away from there fast. However, the sudden motion of a jumping Titan made you rethink your decision, latching your hooks at somewhere near Connie and blinding the creature’s eyes with an angered shout that might have startled it. The horrible creature tried snapping at your form but you were quick enough to evade its jaws with a hiss from your ODM gear, turning in midair to slice the Titan’s nape and rendering it lifeless. Looking down for a moment to check on your blades, you saw the lone pair sitting inside either sheath of the gear. “Fuck. My gas canisters and supply are not cooperating with the situation right now.”

Looking around, you suddenly realized with a hollow chest that everything was hopeless at this point. There was no escape as every intelligent Titan known to mankind swarmed your squad, their shadows a foreboding omen on your death.

Feeling a prickling sensation at the back of your neck, you turned around and saw that the Warhammer Titan was starting to make another one of its weapons, this time, a needle-like spear forming from the hardened material at the bottom of its foot. Shouting at the top of your lungs for your friends to flee, the message only registered to them when you pushed Mikasa, who was dangling in the middle of the trajectory with a determined face, oblivious to the weapon hurtling towards your squad’s direction.

Pain was something you always described as a chain of a chemical reaction. From all the books you read while trying to keep up with the latest idea Hange had, you always marveled at how a small prick of a needle would soon creep the sensation to your entire finger. To prevent yourself from being affected by the pain, you always likened the creeping pain to a blooming blossom in your and Hange’s favorite season. It promised something anew that would grow from the initial pain that racked your body. The dizziness was another story entirely. You never had issues with iron deficiency while growing up. You were a force to be reckoned with — battle scars lining up your legs and knees from all the running and climbing you did as a part of your childhood. These dents on your body grew in numbers as the years passed by until you were granted a position in the military regiment of flying wings and anxiety-ridden adventures. You wore these battle scars proudly like any other soldier.

Then, the promise of being alive rang across your head like a beacon.

That spear caused the entire left side of your torso to be gone.

The shouts of terror and agony from your squad fell on deaf ears as you slowly plummeted to your death. Ah, so that was why you were having flashbacks of your life from gazing at the ocean a final time. Glassy eyes stared lifelessly at the steaming sky as a single voice screamed your name nearly made you smile. You can finally let go of those long, never-ending days now. There won’t be nightmares plaguing you every other night as you finally succumbed to your last sleep. Selfish as it may, you were at peace once again.

“[Name]!”

And when you opened your eyes, a familiar face appeared to greet you and everything felt like a dream you just experienced from a drunken daze.

“Hi, I hope that wasn’t a bad dream.”

You blinked away the drowsiness that fell upon your eyelids, staring at a familiar landscape you only saw in daydreams. The clean air reminded you of the good old days, of summers left uncherished and autumn with its red leaves and yellow treats. There weren’t any Titans looming at every corner of the space and you slightly felt relieved at the thought until a single tear ran down your cheek like a chill in the winter air. 

“Don’t cry.” A slightly panicked tone that only deepened the cut you felt in your chest. “You’re safe here.”

Those words only fuelled your cries. Palms covering your mouth, you uttered the name of the person who would pull you from the inner workings of your mind and bring you back to the surface. You never knew how much you missed them until you wrapped your arms around their shoulders, pulling them in an embrace that you should’ve done before they said their farewells, face taut with determination to stop Eren.

"Hange.”

They smelled like home. Of baked bread during late-night trysts in the kitchens to make them eat after a week of slaving inside their laboratory, of hot chocolate from the marketplace, of scented shampoo from the baths you had to force them. Your grip tightened when you felt their gentle hands reciprocate the hug you showered on them.

“I can’t believe you’re here waiting for me.”

“You did well.” A call of your name snapped you from reuniting with your best friend.

“Erwin?”

A warm smile lifted the said man’s lips as he kneeled beside you and Hange, who was now trying so hard not to cry. “You fought beautifully, [Name], and I’m so glad to see your smile again.”

The overwhelming emotions made you laugh brilliantly in the vast meadow where the veterans once had their picnic. Then, an image of a man with ebony locks and loving steel eyes and a toddler with an uncanny similarity as him made you stop breathing. The tea shop you promised your husband would have. The perfect childhood your son would’ve enjoyed. “What about Caelum? Levi?”

Erwin placed a firm hand on your shoulder. There you realized your torso was still intact. “You will see them as many times as you want. Come,” he took your hand and pulled you up, “the others are waiting. It’s your time to tell your story now.”

“I bet it was interesting since I never got to see it,” Hange interjected, wrapping a nostalgic arm around your shoulders. “That blasted Eren! I will haunt him in his sleep if he survived that massacre he started!”

-

Sleep was never Levi’s friend growing up. It was a realm that he chose not to venture at certain nights, afraid of the demons lurking at every corner of his tunnel vision. There was a time that sleep was kind to him. It took the form of a beautiful sprite with gentle fingers; coaxing him, tugging affectionately on his black locks, and humming lullabies that will guarantee him a good night’s sleep after a tiring day of having responsibilities. Only there was no fairy to lull him to sleep this time around. The nightmare was always the same — it started as any other random memory stored in the kept jar inside his chest, turning the whole scenario in a crescendo until he saw the limp body of his wife dropping lifelessly, the wire of her gear snapping from the impact of a white spear. His wife had the same face as the fairy who he held every night while being in the Survey Corps. The wife who gave him the light of his life, who was sleeping soundly beside him on the bed; black hair tousled, puffy cheeks blabbering drowsy nonsense, and chubby fists clenching on the thick sheets.

Glancing at the child on the bed, Levi ran an agitated hand through his hair, tugging at the roots as hard as he could. His mind flittered to the dream he just had, shocked that no blood and corpses were waiting at the end. Levi doesn’t know if he should be grateful or spooked at the sudden change of his unconscious.

“Guess you won’t be calling me ‘Captain’ anymore, huh, Levi?”

A playful jab colored Levi’s new office. It was a new change from that stuffy bedroom he got back when he was still the second-in-command of the woman standing in the middle of his office as if it was a new wonderland fit for admiring. The room was nothing much. It was an old storage room, which ticked Levi off to many tomorrows, spending every free time polishing the wooden cabinets and bookshelves until they reflected his face. There was an adjoining door to the right of his desk, showing his new sleeping quarters — equipped with a bed, housing double the pillows he got a while back and a soft mattress that his spine was grateful for. Now, the black-haired man observed how [Name]’s face lit up when their eyes met, igniting a foreign feeling inside his stomach and chest.

“So what’s second on the agenda, Captain Levi? I deduced that cleaning is the first one and you finished that without a hitch. You should’ve told me you needed help, I can always spare a few minutes taking a break from paperwork.”

Levi snorted at how smooth the title and his name sounded with the woman’s voice. “Finding brats to place on my squad.” As he fidgeted with the stacks of papers on top of his desk, his gray gaze kept glancing at [Name], who was now sidling up on his bookshelf, occasionally commenting that they pay a visit to the marketplace downtown for some good books to add in his collection. (“Your taste is bland, Levi, spice them up, for fuck’s sake,” to which the man brushed off.) “Uh, if you don’t mind, you can help me with finding some good soldiers for my squad.”

[Eye color] irises immediately snapped to meet his, causing Levi to clear his throat to ease the nervousness that started to chill his spine. It was as if he didn’t spend the past year under her leadership, which amounted to more moments spent with just the two of them. This, however, the nervousness he felt, was uncalled for. The cause being the woman with the unbound hair, curling at the bottom from the hours she pinned it in a bun, and a resolve that rivaled that of a stoked fire shining through her eyes. Truly worthy of the title ‘Humanity’s Beacon’, being one of the few women to ever prove themselves by slaying titans and conditioning their bodies and mind to achieve such an accomplishment. Levi found himself continuously staring at [Name] with the most blatant awe his stoic face could muster. He realized something that might have crossed his mind a couple of times they were together.

[Name] [Last Name] was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

“Finding good soldiers?” [Name] hummed, oblivious at the fact that she took the black-haired man’s breath away with a glance. “I think I have some cadets in mind.” Then, she clapped her hands. “But before that, I would like to give you your welcoming present!”

“Welcoming,” Levi trailed off, “present?”

[Name] nodded, turning around to the long couch pushed against the wall. So that’s what that poor excuse of wrapping paper was for, Levi thought. Like a little kid presenting the parent their shitty drawing, [Name] placed the gift in the middle of his desk with a clang. Wait, clang? “I hope I didn’t break it,” the female captain murmured, scratching her head sheepishly. “You can open it now.”

Levi tentatively unwrapped the brown paper around the supposed gift the woman gave him. Upon seeing what was nestled inside the papers, gray eyes met the most tantalizing [eye color] as he slightly gaped in disbelief. “You bought me a,” an eager nod could be seen from the woman in his peripheral vision, “a tea set. And a new jar of tea leaves as well. [Name], I-I couldn’t accept this, this must cost a lot. You know I have plans of buying my own tea set and tea leaves once I have a solid paycheck. These are even made from the highest quality, both of these, how—?”

Laughter bubbled from [Name] as she endearingly stared at the flustered state of her friend, abruptly stopping his chatter. “You’re rambling, Levi. Don’t worry about the lost money, we will be getting our paychecks next month anyway. I don’t have anything to splurge the rest of my savings on, except for a few books and quills. Besides,” she paused to give Levi a brilliant smile that once again rendered him speechless, “I guess giving you these are worth every single penny. Congratulations on being captain, Levi.”

Clearing his throat, he looked away. “Tch, you’re the one who recommended me to Erwin, stop with the congratulations as if you don’t know the promotion.”

“Still stingy, I see. So about those cadets you wanted to recruit. Here, I recommend these people.”

A small weight knocked Levi out of his stupor, silver-gray matching his stare with worried eyes. Small hands plopped on either side of the man’s face, squishing his cheeks as the hunched smaller figure on his lap pouted with furrowed eyebrows. “Dad, did you have a nightmare?” Letting out a sigh, Levi took his son’s hands from his face and proceeded to hug him close. The little boy sensed that his father was in a sad mood because of the man’s tense shoulders so he determinedly patted Levi’s head. “There, there, Dad. It’s more than okay to forget that dream.”

“You know I wouldn’t dare forget your Mom, kid,” Levi murmured, leaning back to look at Caelum with a raised eyebrow.

“You were dreaming about Mom?”

“Yeah.”

Great, his kid inherited his insomniac tendencies. If [Name] would see him now, there would be no doubt she will initiate a late-night tea party with Caelum. The kid also inherited his love for tea (Levi lets him drink fruit teas in the meantime) which is more than fine.

Caelum ducked down, pouting while fiddling with his father’s shirt. “I miss Mom.”

A sad smile pulled on Levi’s lips. “Me, too, kid. Me, too.” He brushed his lips on Caelum’s forehead (which lead to a small whine from the toddler, saying that he’s a big boy and he doesn’t want kisses from his dad) before lying down on the bed, with his son on top of his chest. “Deal with the kisses. Let’s sleep, yeah? Are you sleepy, kid?”

The little boy yawned and rubbed his eye. “Nope.”

Levi snorted. “Well, no shit.”

“That’s a bad word. Mom wouldn’t like you saying it.” Silence enveloped the two until, “Hey, Dad, can you tell me stories about Mom?”

“Go to sleep, brat.” A pause. “She is—,” Levi sighed, “quite a handful, even when she was a captain.”

Caelum huffed. “I already know that. You always complain about it.”

“Well, did I tell you about that time she stood on top of a Titan we were planning to capture, leading it like a horse to our trap?”

The dark-haired boy shook his head adorably. “Did Mom get hurt?”

“That idiot did.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say about Mom!”

“Setting that aside, your Mom…”

Telling stories of [Name] always proved to be quite a time-consuming thing as the toddler fought against his drooping eyelids. Levi fondly stared at the only memory his wife left behind, his hand soothingly rubbed the boy’s back as their breaths turned into a rhythmic melody synced with each other. “I love you, kid. I know your mom will be proud of you. We’ll always be here for you, our edelweiss.”

-

To you, glowing with the suns,

There was no one alive to tell the tale of how the world almost came to an end, how earthquakes rumbled, how hopes were extinguished. There was no one alive to tell the story of how much I dedicate my heart to you. If I’d known it would be this way; I would have written thousands of paragraphs with the way I looked at you as if you were the sea, I would have written the ending with words that rivaled the infinite stars in the cosmos, and I would have finished it off with happiness that we (you) deserve. 

You are my prologue, my epilogue, and every chapter and page in between.

From a tired soldier who loves you until we become ancient,

Your Levi

[gisellelx]

Since tomorrow is Father’s Day (and also Edward’a birthday I think?) can you share some sappy headcannon moments about Carlisle and Edward?

Ohhhhh anon. Thank you for this. My heart, here it all is spilled out on paper. I am making NO APOLOGIES for the length of this post. You knew what you were getting into, here. And have I got a treat for you about my headcanon and this particular date: First, you must understand that because of the ole' sideblog, I have a very detailed headcanon about where Carlisle is at any given time so that there aren't continuity errors. This is actually one of the fun things about fanfic vs. profic--in profic, at least in contemporary YA, my genre, you are trying to minimize references to actual events and time lest your work not be timeless. But I have a really detailed outline of when all my characters exist; I find I can't write any other way. This is why SM is so baffling to me--it's so clear she just has like, blank gray clouds for any time any given character isn't on screen. Nah. I have backstories for days on even my minor characters. I always know where all of them are. In fic, I get to fully indulge that because no one has to figure out if the fic will still sell five or ten years from now if it makes a dated reference to the new iPhone. So I can set the characters precisely in time, and imagine how exact dates and events affect their lives right then. Carlisle and Esme have been in Wisconsin; the children are all living as individual couples in southern France. You can thank Foi Pur for the headcanon that the Cullens own a home in Toulouse. They were stationed there while Carlisle was practicing in Bergamo early in the pandemic, and the children stayed there while Carlisle followed the outbreaks and Esme refused to leave his side (even though he begged her to). They came to the U.S. last summer; they haven't lived here since they left Forks 8 years ago. The borders have been closed; they haven't seen the rest of the family since then. On June 9, 2021, France opened the borders to vaccinated Americans. As case counts have receded, Carlisle has shifted to being a more standard hospitalist, with the usual 7 days on, 7 off schedule instead of taking off to say, Mumbai, because he bought Esme their old house and she's busy with it. He's working that schedule at two hospitals though, so basically is never off-duty. As soon as France announced their change, he went to both CMOs and said he was taking time off to see his family. He had to finish working that week, and then had to work his next "on" week at the other hospital, which meant that June 19 was the earliest he could possibly travel. In other words, the actual world, and the very real constraints of the kind of work I envision Carlisle to be doing, have converged on the fact that Carlisle and Esme touched down in their private jet at Castres airport early this morning Central European Time. On Father's Day. And Edward's 120th birthday. Everybody met them. There were lots of non-liquid tears. Edward hopped on Sotheby's the moment the news dropped on June 4 and rented an estate in Saint-Tropez that is costing them a quarter of a million dollars a week but it's private and they can all be outside. They got there this morning and are throwing Edward an extravagant party this evening, and Carlisle hasn't been more than six feet from Edward for the last twelve hours. Edward's patience with this is going to tire by midday tomorrow, but for now, he's enjoying Carlisle's attention. (It's 7:30 PM in Saint-Tropez as I write this; they're in the thick of gift-giving.) In other words, these boys could not possibly be happier this particular Father's Day.

So that's the big, fun, sappy, timely hc. Here's some others:

Edward is an only child. There, I said it. Carlisle and Esme talk about having six children and will never in a million years admit, even to themselves, that they actually only have one child. But they treat Edward like he is their only child, and Carlisle thinks of him as separate from the rest. He certainly loves him more.

Edward gets very pouty if anyone but him celebrates Father's Day. Most of the others are very "whatever" about it but Carlisle and Rosalie do have a very father/daughter relationship and so she also likes to honor him on Father's Day. Because Edward is Edward, he assumes she's doing this just to annoy him and it's one more hash mark on the "Rosalie is a bitch" bingo card.

They are best friends as well as father and son. Their relationship is always both/and. It often turns on a dime--they're having a raucous, bawdy time one moment and then something triggers Edward and they are in full-on father/son comfort mode the next. Everything in their relationship happened very offhandedly. The first time Carlisle told Edward he loved him, it was by accident: he thought it while they were playing in the woods a few months after Edward's turning. Edward came to a stop so fast Carlisle almost crashed into him. Carlisle then said the words aloud for the first time.

Edward didn't return those words for nearly a year. Again, it was almost an afterthought: he was thanking Carlisle for a new phonograph and the words "I love you" just slid out. Carlisle almost spontaneously combusted.

The first time Edward called Carlisle his father, they were still living as a man and his brother-in-law. He came home excitedly, having bought tickets to the new moving picture house in town. He was telling Carlisle the story, excited that he felt confident enough to sit in a closed room with a crowd of humans, and mentioned he had bought two tickets because as he'd told the ticket seller, he thought his father would like to come. He was surprised when Carlisle started crying. Edward and Carlisle almost never fight. When they do, it is vicious. Edward is the only family to have ever seriously injured Carlisle; Carlisle has a long gash across his left collarbone and down his left scapula from the most serious attack in 1927. Edward hates it when Carlisle thinks about them. Carlisle has never broken Edward's skin, but there've been a handful of times they've had very tense conversations while Carlisle had him in a half nelson.

Nothing, and I mean nothing, can wound Carlisle more than Edward having a teenaged fit and screaming, "You're not my father!" Edward knows this, but sometimes his brain short circuits and he does it anyway. This has happened only a handful of times and each time it's taken years to repair.

Carlisle was touch-starved for so long that he is very touchy-feely with Edward. Edward is perpetually seventeen and does not like to be cuddled, hugged, or kissed. They met in a place that is nowhere near the middle where Carlisle occasionally puts his arm around Edward. Like, once or twice a year.

This changed a little bit when Renesmee became a teenager and started rebuffing Edward's physical affection. He came to Carlisle and complained about how she never wanted to be hugged anymore and Carlisle laughed so hard he choked. Edward has gotten a little better about being hugged since then. Renesmee has been very good for their relationship in lots of ways, not the least of which has been that it has helped them both view Edward as more of an adult. Anyway. I could go on for days. These details are always lurking, and they're sprinkled throughout any fic I write. Love these boys so much. They are such a fantastic duo to write. Happy Birthday, E.

Happy Father's Day, C.

[ayuuria]

Yashahime Translation: Livedoor News Interview

Please do not repost this translation without my consent! This includes screenshots of any type and amount. If you wish to share this translation, simply link to this post.

For more information regarding the use of my translations, click here.

The New Story That Continues the World of Inuyasha, Anime “Hanyō no Yashahime” Director x Producer Interview

With the Resolve to Reopen the Concluded “Inuyasha” World in Their Hearts. The Behind-the-Scenes Production of “Hanyō no Yashahime”

For 12 years from 1996-2008, “Inuyasha” (original creator: Takahashi Rumiko) which was serialized in “Weekly Shōnen Sunday” (Shogakukan) was a feudal fairy tale that depicted the heart of the battle between demons, humans, and half-demons for the Shikon Jewel.

Anime “Inuyasha” broadcasted from 2000-2004 followed “Inuyasha the Final Act” from 2009-2010, after the original work was concluded. It is a timeless masterpiece that is now loved around the world.

Continuing that world of “Inuyasha” is the new original anime, “Hanyō no Yashahime”, which began broadcast in October of 2020. Many Inuyasha fans were surprised at the shocking set up that the daughters of Sesshōmaru, a popular character in “Inuyasha”, would be the protagonists.

With everything from the production, background music, and cast performance having an Inuyasha flavor mixed in, being moved from seeing the new characters and the “Inuyasha” characters coming together on the TV screen, to the absolutely unclear mysterious developments, the hearts of fans around world have been grabbed once again.

Since broadcast began, despite having completed one cour (translator’s note: Cour = 3 months or 13 weeks/episodes), the full picture of the story still cannot be seen. We carried out an interview conversation with director Satō Teruo and producer Naka Toshikazu regarding the things of interest about the work up until now and ahead.

We Prepared a Device That Would Allow Inuyasha Fans to Enjoy (the show)

— One cour has passed since broadcast began. Are the responses reaching you?

Naka: The response is incredible. Especially on social media.

Satō: You’re right. I’m also on Twitter, so I get reactions from all over the world. I truly get a sense that it’s work that’s receiving a lot of attention.

When I look at comments on the official (Twitter) account, most of them are from overseas. Not only do I once again realize that “Inuyasha” boasts a worldwide popularity, I do my best while feeling the pressure of “Hanyō no Yashahime” being a work that inherits that world.

— Apparently the one who suggested the project was Suwa Michihiko of ytv Nextry, who was the producer for anime “Inuyasha” and “Detective Conan”. How did you two feel when you first heard about the project?

Naka: “We’re going to do a story that’s been neatly concluded once before again!? How!?” is what I felt at the beginning.

From the moment I first heard about it, I was still floating around what kind of story it would be. “I might make it a story about Sesshōmaru’s daughter.” was as far as I had gotten. I thought “If I’m not mistaken, if we make it like that, then there might be something to do”.

Satō: There were talks of “wanting to do it” for 2-3 years and Rumiko-sensei, Suwa-san, and the “Inuyasha” staff had mulled over the idea.

It’s just that not only was the story of “Inuyasha” itself was very neatly concluded, after “Since Then” (the special edition (chapter) depicting the after story) we had Rumiko-sensei tell us “There’s nothing left to do in “Inuyasha””.

There was a rather heavy responsibility in touching that and as an Inuyasha fan myself, it made me really think about “In order to create a new story out of a work that was neatly concluded, what sort of form does it need to take?”

I think Inuyasha fans would watch, so I felt that I wanted to release something that everyone would agree to as much as possible without breaking their (idea of) “Inuyasha”.

— In terms of the target audience for “Hanyō no Yashahime”, do you consider Inuyasha fans the main target? Or do you focus on the new audience that does not know “Inuyasha”?

Naka: For us, we want people to like the new characters so in that sense, we keep in mind the new people.

It’s just that a lot of time has passed since “Inuyasha” was broadcasted and I think among the people who watched “Inuyasha” back in the day are people who have become parents. I think watching it as two generations, parent and child (Mom and Dad who liked “Inuyasha” and the children who are touching it as a new work), is the most ideal.

Satō: The voice actresses who voice the three princesses (Towa, Setsuna, and Moroha), are from a generation that watched “Inuyasha” right when they were kids. They chit-chat while recording every week (laughs).

It would be great if the new target group could go back and watch “Inuyasha” because of “Hanyō no Yashahime” and think “There are demons that appeared in “Hanyō no Yashahime” too”. On the reverse side, I would like those who watched “Inuyasha” to enjoy “Hanyō no Yashahime” from the point of view of “It’s the demon from that time”.

For that reason, we inlayed different devices and components into the story.

Naka: We periodically put in devises that would make people who like Rumiko-sensei’s other works smile a little bit. Like the hoodlums who appeared in episode 2 or the monkey gag in episode 9.

— In other words, while still keeping in mind those who don’t know “Inuyasha”, you are of course creating a work that Inuyasha fans can enjoy as well.

Satō: Making sure we don’t destroy the image of “Inuyasha” characters is at the forefront of our minds, especially when we bring them out into the “Hanyō no Yashahime” world. This is so that people watching don’t think “That’s not the kind of character they were”.

Of course, when we bring them out, we always have Rumiko-sensei review the scenario. She’ll tell us “It should be fine if it’s like this” and apply that to the scenario which is how we’ve been doing it.

Naka: We’re careful so that when “Inuyasha” characters take the mound, they don’t eat into the spotlight of the new characters while also not losing their “status”.

— Among the fans, the way the broadcasting order of “Hanyō no Yashahime” to “Great Detective Conan” is similar to “Inuyasha” to “Conan” became a popular topic of conversation. Was that formation something Yomiuri TV-san was particular about?

Satō: The order is the same as when it was broadcasted during the golden hour of 19:00-20:00 (7-8pm on the 12-hour clock). We’re grateful that they’re nostalgic about it.

Naka: I don’t know if they were particular about it or not, but it was decided from the start that it would be broadcasted during that timeframe (before “Conan”). It’s possible that it just turned out that way, but from the production side, it felt “just like before” in the end.

Satō: It’s like (Yamaguchi) Kappei-san (role of Inuyasha and also Edogawa Conan/Phantom Theif Kid in “Great Detective Conan”) has 2 consecutive appearances (laughs).

Naka: Not only is the connection between the timeframe the same, but also when we heard that SixTONES would be doing the opening for the October cour, we thought the flow looked the same as “Inuyasha” since it would be a group from Jonny & Associates that would be singing (Editor’s note: In the past, V6 and Tackey & Tsubasa were in charge of the theme song for “Inuyasha”).

In the end, we’re also curious as to how the structure is the same as during “Inuyasha”.

A Character Cannot Come to Life Without Working Out the Fundamental Aspects

— Next, we will ask how story the of “Hanyō no Yashahime” was created. We just heard from Naka-san that “When I first heard about it “I might make it a story about Sesshōmaru’s daughter.” was how far I had gotten”, but were there any different ideas regarding the direction after that?

[Characters bios written following the question but I’m skipping it]

Naka: We proceeded with that intention as is.

It’s just that even if it’s a daughter, we couldn’t quite settle whether the daughter would be twins or an only child. We couldn’t decide until right on the line of “If we don’t decide what sort personality the character will have at this stage, we may have to relook things including the broadcast timing” (laughs).

Satō: We pretty much decided after directly talking to Rumiko-sensei.

— What did Rumiko-sensei tell you?

Naka: Regarding the character persona, she pointed out things such as “With only the setting, you don’t know why they speak that way” and “Why they dress like this doesn’t feel right to me”.

Especially with Towa, it took a long time for Rumiko-sensei to understand and agree to the part where “She dresses like a boy because she’s this kind of persona”. That’s where we struggled the most.

Satō: For Rumiko-sensei, apparently, she understood Setsuna and Moroha straight down like “So this is the kind of child she is”.

However, only with Towa did she say, “If you don’t clearly boil down and solidify how she will grow and what sort of foundation she’ll have, the story development will become blurred wouldn’t it”.

With that point, it was a lot of work deciding Towa’s character.

Naka: Not just the settings, but we had Sumisawa Katsuyuki-san (in charge of series composition for “Inuyasha” and now this work as well)  vigorously write the scripts for episodes 1 and 2 and show Rumiko-sensei “With this story flow, Towa will respond like this” and “We’ll use this language”.

With that, we put things in order in a “But, we probably don’t need this kind of language after all, right?” kind of way.

— It was explained in the story that Towa dresses like a boy because “It’s easier to fight in”, but is that one of the settings that was solidified like that?

Naka: Yes. The result of coming up with different reasons and many ideas was that we ended up settling on a conversely simple reason.

Satō: Rumiko-sensei casually said “Isn’t “it’s easier to fight in” good enough?” (laughs). We were turning up a lot of different rationalizations. (translator’s note: Not confident on this sentence) For example, “As a girl, there was something she didn’t like”.

But it also became “I don’t think that’s true” …… It made us realize it was fine to have something simple and straightforward.

— So Rumiko-sensei was involved with the character persona starting from the foundation.

Satō: I learned a lot from speaking with Rumiko-sensei as I was creating the characters. Rumiko-sensei’s way of thinking is very logical and upfront. For example, “Because (she’s) this kind of child, (she) behaves like this” or “(She) Won’t say something like this”.

That’s why, people who view the work will see their foundation. In my head, I knew “If you don’t work out the fundamental aspects, the character won’t come to life” but I came to realize that once again.

In the anime, there were many people who put out ideas starting with Sumisawa-san, but I thought it must be a lot of work for Rumiko-sensei to create a manga while consulting with the editors.

We’re Mindful of the Composition that “Towa Sets the Story in Motion”

— With the characters solidified, did you receive any orders from Sumisawa-san as you planned the story?

Naka: With “Hanyō no Yashahime”, it started with Sumisawa-san first writing the scenario that would become the first manuscript.

In that regard, we discussed with him things such as “Keeping in mind of the development ahead, please pay attention to this part” or “Please put this device in”.

More precisely, there was a lot of discussion about Moroha’s position at the beginning. There was the fact that Moroha was the easiest character to move, but we wanted him to keep in mind as much as possible that she (Moroha) should show her concern for Towa and Setsuna in a way that ensures they’re at the forefront.

Satō: To the writer, Moroha is like a “Mini Inuyasha”. Hence there was a tendency to naturally center the story around her.

However, Sesshōmaru’s daughters, Towa and Setsuna, are the protagonists this time so we wanted (the writer) to keep that in mind.

Because Moroha is easy to understand with her character and Setsuna is a female version of Sesshōmaru, when their vectors become conspicuous, Towa appears overshadowed no matter what. “The protagonist getting overshadowed by those around them troupe.” is something that happens in original works.

That’s why we’re conscious of the composition of bringing Towa into the center and using her to move the story whenever possible. That’s the part we especially placed importance on when putting together the story.

— Next, please tell us the appeals of the three protagonists. Starting from Towa please.

Naka: Regarding Towa, she inherited Sesshōmaru’s silver hair, has a boyish outfit, and has an outward appearance that would make girls think she’s attractive.

However, her values are surprisingly modern, and she has a naiveness about her which Setsuna calls out within the story. I don’t think there have been many characters who have been balanced like this thus far.

Although, at the current phase, there’s a point that what the goal behind her actions is might still be a little weak.

Satō: Just as Naka-san said, Towa has a half-hearted kindness and naiveté; how that will change as she travels with Setsuna and Moroha. Please look forward to that growth as you watch the story.

I think there are people who get impatient seeing Towa’s current indecisiveness (laughs).

What will that kind of protagonist experience and how will her feelings change from that. It will make me happy if people think “Towa’s changed; she’s matured” at the end.

Naka: I think having lots of room for growth is what gives her that protagonist feel. Conversely, Setsuna is a relatively standard character. However, on the one hand, she does have a kind side.

Satō: She does show a little affection after all (laughs)

Earlier I said “a female version of Sesshōmaru” so I think her nonchalant kindness is the same as his. The vector of her character direction is easy to understand which is her appeal.

— It seems Setsuna coldly pushes Towa away, but also shows concern for her. Despite saying, “The curse of the Dream Butterfly doesn’t need to be broken”, she goes along with Towa’s search for the Dream Butterfly.

Satō: Just as the line “I can’t readily accept that” in episode 3 said, Setsuna cannot accept Towa as her sister.

However, I believe she understands Towa’s virtues as an individual. We would like everyone to pay attention to how Setsuna draws the line of “I can understand Towa’s good qualities, but I can’t acknowledge her as an older sister” and the point at which that line is crossed.

Will the day ever come where Setsuna will address Towa as “Towa nee-chan” ……

— It feels as though the distance between them is getting shorter, like when she almost went along with Towa’s high-five in episode 11.

Satō: Little by little. Within that, we would like for you to please look forward to how their feelings intersect when the time comes.

Naka: In that episode, it looks as though she gets along with Towa, but when Towa tried to lay her head on her lap, she didn’t allow it. I was watching with great interest like “So that’s where she draws the line” (laughs).

— Next, Moroha.

Naka: Moroha is pretty much just what you see (laughs)

Satō: She’s a hybrid of Inuyasha and Kagome. If her theatrical elocution is like Inuyasha’s, then her actions are understandable like Kagome’s.

In that sense, I think she’s a character that viewers can easily connect with. There’s also the fact that currently, all the gag lines are relatively being placed on Moroha (laughs).

Naka: In earlier episodes, her level of participation was high but lately she’s been in charge of punch lines (laughs). For example, when they didn’t take her to the battle in episode 10 or when she got caught up in Setsuna’s attack in episode 11.

Earlier, we discussed how “We were careful not center too much around Moroha” but it put us at a disadvantage as a result and I feel a little bad (laughs). However, Moroha will be taking charge in episode 16 next week (1/23/21) so please look forward to that.

Satō: Not only will Moroha play a very active role, but it is also an important episode that depicts the environment that she grew up in. Why she has to collect bounties and what kind of relationship she has with Jyūbee will be touched upon. If you watch that, I think you’ll come to understand her actions up until now like “So that’s why she was doing things like that”.

From a composition standpoint, episode 15 revealed Towa and Setsuna’s past, episode 16 will reveal Moroha’s backbone, and furthermore, the story of Setsuna’s childhood will come hereafter. If you watch that far, the full story of this will work will become clear for the most part.

The first cour was a period of planting seeds, but now going forward, the composition is set up so that the fruit of the tree will ripen and fall, so please continue to look forward to it.

The Casting of Miroku Was Entrusted to the Sound Director for “Inuyasha”

— Next, please tell us about the casting. On what points did you decide the cast group?

Satō: It was fundamentally decided through auditions. If we don’t progress the script to some extent, sound director Nagura Yasushi-san can’t determine the direction of the roles, so when the script amount had accumulated, we gathered up people who could picture the characters and carried out the auditions from there.

It was right about the time when the COVID crisis was escalating, so we worried if we could really start broadcasting in October.

Naka: The balance between the three was the deciding factor. After we narrowed it down from a number candidates, we took a “If this person did this character, then the balance would probably become like this” kind of view and decided from there.

Satō: There’s going to be a lot of dialogue between the three of them not matter what, so in order to avoid having similar voice tones and similar ways of speaking, we created the characters based on that assumption.

Towa’s thought process and actions are modern and Moroha acts on her emotions. Conversely, Setsuna is always calm and collected like Sesshōmaru and makes decisions after observing the entirety of the situation. Then she’ll look for the best solution and take action.

Because each of the characters has that kind of nature, we ordered Nagura-san to look for a balance that enables you to easily tell the three of them apart when they’re conversing.

– Did you not look at it from a standpoint that the voices should or should not sound similar to those of the parent generation like Sesshōmaru, Inuyasha, or Kagome?

Naka: That is a point that we were not at all concerned about. We proceeded with a viewpoint that the person should match the outward appearance, the actions within the story, and the nature of the character.

When balancing the three of them, balancing the twins seemed difficult, so from there we decided on Moroha first as her position takes a step back. We decided on Towa and Setsuna at the end after looking at the balance between them and considering Moroha for a second time.

— What were the key points in selecting the cast outside the three girls?

Naka: We left it up to Nagura-san. There were times when he asked for our review and opinions.

For example, there was an idea for Riku (CV: Fukuyama Jun) to have a more feminine voice. But when we spoke to director Satō, he said “A masculine image”, so we went with that direction.

— The Miroku that Yasumura Makoto-san, who replaced the late Tsujitani Kōji-san, played was a hot topic but did Nagura-san decide on that casting as well?

Satō: Regarding Yasumura-san, we asked Tsuruoka Yota, who was the sound director for “Inuyasha”, to decide. We thought that fit more under the category of “Inuyasha” rather than “Hanyō no Yashahime”.

Of course, I’m sure the viewers knew (the voice) was going to change, but we received a lot of feedback saying “It’s Miroku-sama!” and “It doesn’t feel out of place at all!” when episode 1 was broadcasted.

I was in Tsujitani-san’s care many times as a sound director prior to him playing Miroku. I was still a newbie producer back then but even when I met him after that at the “Inuyasha” set, he spoke to me like “Hello~”

I was producing while my heart was pounding hard. During testing, when I was panicking because I couldn’t match up the lip-syncing, he reached out to me like “We’ll do the syncing so it’s fine”. The figure of him reaching out to me so nicely is strong in my memory.

It was such a shame that he died so young. However, this time Yasumura-san, who was also his junior at the same agency, is working hard as his successor, and I think he was casted well.

Naka: Director Satō, you said “The air around Yasumura-san is completely different now compared to when I worked with him in other works”.

Satō: In episode 1, it seems he was really nervous having to record with the cast of “Inuyasha” who are high level seniors.

He was relaxed to some extent in episode 13 which was Miroku’s episode. He said to me “I’m sorry about before when I was extremely nervous” (laughs).

Creating Scenes in A Way That’s Distinct from the Popular (Methods)

— In order to make viewers feel that this is a work that inherits the world of “Inuyasha”, do you do any devising on the production side?

Satō: I would say scene creation. We don’t really get onboard with the popular trends. We split the cuts and show things the way they did in “Inuyasha” in order to smoothly give it that “Inuyasha” feel. I think it’s distinct from what’s popular nowadays.

This might be weird way of saying it, but it’s like we’re using an old-fashioned way of creating. By purposely doing things in a “Works from about 10 years ago felt like this” sort of way, it brings out that “Inuyasha” feel.

For other parts, Sumisawa-san directs the theatrical elocution and we have the same sound team from “Inuyasha” working, so no particular explanation is needed. In that aspect, they’re making it a lot easier for me (laughs).

For me, “Inuyasha” was the first work I did as a freelance producer. Not only was it a work that taught me the fundamentals of producing, but I also learned (how to make) storyboards from “Inuyasha”. In that sense, it’s a very memorable work.

— At the beginning, you said you “Put in devices that connect to “Inuyasha””, but between episode 9-12, demons that appeared in “Inuyasha” were continuously making appearances and it became a topic of discussion.

Naka: That section was the “devoured by Mōryōmaru” series. We had to speed through things in “Inuyasha the Final Act”, so I brought out those demons thinking “If we could just use the demons that we couldn’t properly show back then, even just a little”.

Satō: After fall for Meiōjū, we only had the scene of Mōryōmaru taking the armored shell (laughs)

Naka: We explain that “The demon that appeared this time is actually in “Inuyasha”” on the official Twitter account. It would be wonderful if there are people who take an interest in “Inuyasha” after watching “Hanyō no Yashahime”.

Satō: I think there’s also a wonderful world laid out in that work, so we would certainly love for you to watch “Inuyasha” while enjoying “Hanyō no Yashahime”.

Picking Out Noteworthy Episodes and Explaining Them!

— From here, we will have you look back on episodes that have already aired. We have picked out a number of impressionable episodes, so please tell us some secret (behind the) production stories, memorable recordings, and scenes that left a lasting impression on you.

Episode 1: Inuyasha Since Then

Satō: It was like a “class reunion” (laughs). Although, we couldn’t have everyone record together due to the COVID crisis.

We had everyone take turns recording but they were all was greeting each other like “Oh my god~!” as they passed by one another. Likewise, it was a teamwork that went without saying.

Jaken (played by Chō-san) was adlibbing a lot and that situation made me really think “This is “Inuyasha””.

The first episode was mainly “Inuyasha” basically, but at the very beginning and end, we had the story connect to episode 7 of “Hanyō no Yashahime”. In that sense, the episode was pretty much full “Inuyasha”.

Naka: While we had director Satō do the storyboard and production, I saw the storyboard and felt “Ah, it’s “Inuyasha”. It will be okay”. Like feeling relieved (laughs)

Satō: When 10 years goes by, the producers from back then aren’t around anymore. The people I worked with are now at the director level. Explaining something like the rules of “Inuyasha” from square one to the new people is a hassle, so I was like “I’ll do this myself” (laughs).

The surprising thing is, we had the same group of people from 20 year ago with chief animation director Hishinuma Yoshihito (in charge of character design in “Inuyasha”. In this work, he oversees animation character design) and the animators from back then. It felt as though “Ah, nothing’s changed”.

I remember working while saying “Back then, I never thought we would do something like this 20 years later”.

Episode 2: The Three Princesses

Satō: You could say this episode was episode 1 for “Hanyō no Yashahime”.

Due to the COVID crisis, we couldn’t have the three princesses record together and it made me realize how important it was for everyone to record together. Even though it’s a conversation, when you have one person record first and the other person responding while listening (the recording), it changes the mood and rhythm.

Nagura-san tried to match up schedules so that the three princesses could record together as much as possible, but in the end, we couldn’t record with everyone. In a sense, episode 2 was very memorable to me in that it left the impression of “So we’re going to have to record like this from now on”.

I think all the works that started airing in the fall were in the same situation, not just “Hanyō no Yashahime”. Since we were recording in chunks, it became necessary to pay even more attention than before to ensure that we didn’t forget to record anything.

I’m grateful to everyone involved that we somehow managed to air every week, despite these difficult times.

Naka: The first demon that appears in episode 2, is a point where we kept “Inuyasha” in mind as we pulled Mistress Three Eyes from Mistress Centipede.

I think it was an episode where we appealed that “We’re aware of the “Rumik World”” by putting in the hoodlums mentioned earlier and Towa’s gag face.

Even though the original “Inuyasha” leaned a little more to the serious side, I think Rumiko-sensei’s taste of allowing a little bit of leeway while not shaking off just that (aspect) is there.

This time as well, including the broadcast time, there were views from inside stating that they didn’t want to make (the episode) too serious. However, director Satō had already added that kind of relaxedness even before that was directly said. He splendidly created that balance that wasn’t too serious.

Episode 7: The Apple Meeting

Satō: Riku, who appears in episode 7, is a character we aimed to have revitalize the story by plopping in a new character just when the story was about to get stuck in a rut. Rumiko-sensei also uses this technique; for example, Kōga and Mugen no Byakuya in “Inuyasha”.

I spoke with Sumisawa-san at the beginning, expressing my desire to introduce a new character to revitalize the story before viewers could start thinking “We’re going to just keep watching this journey?” as they watch the three princesses progress on their journey. He’s a keyman who stirs up the story.

Plus, the three Yashahimes are girls, so there was also the idea of having a romantic component like with Inuyasha, Kagome, and Kikyō. Although he ended up having the feel of a pick-up artist as a result of trying to add that component in (laughs).

Naka: Episode 7 is an episode that connects to episode 1. We intended to put in the device of connecting episode 1 to another episode when we organized it, but after watching episode 7 I thought “It connected pretty well”.

I think it was nicely organized as it turned into a spoiler episode where you found out why Towa was there and what Setsuna and Moroha were doing while Yotsume was telling the old tale.

Satō: Going forward, Riku will gradually involve himself with Towa, and we wanted to show why that is over a number of episodes.

I think you’ll understand to some extent in episode 15, but he’s a character that you don’t know which side he swings to (friend or foe?), so he’s a character to look forward to in that sense.

Episode 13: The Delicious Feudal Monk

Satō: It was a parent child episode with Miroku and Hisui (CV: Urao Takehiro) that we added with the desire to develop Hisui. He is the son of Miroku and Sango (CV: Kuwashima Houko) and I think everyone was wondering what Miroku was currently doing, so we thought it would be nice to introduce what Miroku was up to here and depict the parent-child relationship.

Naka: It’s an episode where Hisui finally plays an active role. It was a feeling of sorry to have completely kept you waiting in the first cour. I am glad we were able to give him an active role to some extent. Moroha ended up going somewhere else though (laughs)

Finally, Setsuna stole the show at the end when her true power was released. I think it brings out Miroku and other “Inuyasha” characters in a good manner while still having highlights for “Hanyō no Yashahime”.

Episode 14: The Mastermind Who Burned the Forest

Satō: This is the episode where the truth behind the fire that attacked young Towa and Setsuna is revealed. It’s a real binding episode you could say, and I think it’s a story that could be put in a modern setting.

Also, from this story, the distance between Towa and Setsuna that we talked about earlier will somewhat destroy a line, I think. There’s Towa who shows her anger towards Homura, the one who tore them (the twins) apart, and Setsuna who has some thoughts from seeing that.

If you can feel that, I think how you view episode 15 will change.

Naka: I thought Towa’s comparison to a smartphone at the beginning was a little off as she doesn’t understand the concept of jealousy (laughs).

Also, something that I thought was strange after rewatching episode 14 was how the gardener and the cook were fine with working in such a dangerous place (laughs). I thought it was amazing even though they’re just regular humans.

Demons and humans unexpectedly coexist in this world. In a sense, you could say it’s very open-minded for a demon. Demons were depicted in all sorts of places in “Inuyasha” too, so it was an episode that made me realize once again that it’s this kind of world.

Episode 15: Lunar Eclipse, The Sorrowful Parting of Fate

Satō: Why did Towa and Setsuna have to grow up separated (from their parents) when they were young? This is the episode that answers that and depicts the continuation of the brief flashback in episode 8.

Why Sesshōmaru and Kirinmaru confronted Inuyasha and Kagome becomes clear. With this, I think you can start to understand Sesshōmaru’s actions.

Naka: This episode was a little different. To begin with, we thought that patrons would be happy to see Inuyasha and the others at the end of the first cour, so we organized it so that the past would be discussed at this timing.

It’s just that it felt completely independent from the main story and Riku just suddenly narrates it, so I’m sure viewers were surprised. Riku was in there as like the navigator.

The three Yashahimes don’t particularly know this, and this episode was purely for the viewers. It would be great if everyone looks forward to what’s to come while keeping this in mind.

— Thank you very much. Lastly, please give a message to our readers who are looking forward to what’s coming up ahead.

Naka: Cour 1 has just ended and we have entered cour 2, so from here on you will learn the things that you wanted to know. Please see for yourself how Towa, Setsuna, and Moroha will grow as you look forward to the mysteries being unraveled.

Satō: After episode 15, “what each character must do” will continuously become clear, and it will become a story that pursues that. On top of that, it would make me really happy if you could enjoy watching what will happen to the three (girls).

[fiveisnumber1]

A Mother’s Love - A Timeless Side Piece

A/N: Happy Mother’s Day! Here’s a little side piece featuring our favorite mom, Grace! ❤️

_________________________________

Grace stared at the picture that the shaggy man had handed to her outside the Southlife Hotel. It unsettled her. Was this her Reggie or was that man who handed it to her truly just delusional? She didn’t know. She wanted to believe that this was all a misunderstanding but something ate at her. Was she putting you at risk by being with him? All these close calls and times where you could’ve gotten hurt synced up with the knowledge of the president coming to Dallas. You had never been in any danger before and in the span of a week your life had been threatened multiple times. Grace needed to know that this was all just coincidence. 

Taking a car to the D.S. Umbrella Manufacturing Co. building she snuck inside with the spare key Reginald had given her. Entering his office, she looked around through the papers and desk drawers but found nothing. Maybe she was letting this all go to her head. But then out of the corner of her eye she saw a light coming from...behind the bookcase? Curious, she walked over and started to pull the bookcase trying to access what was behind it. The case moved with ease and opened like it was a door. When it was wide enough Grace peeked her head in and her eyes went wide. There was a secret room back here. Carefully she stepped inside and slowly looked around. There were tons of blueprints and notes hung up on bulletin boards all around the room. What was this stuff?

 As she approached the table in the center of the room Grace noticed a thick file folder laying on top of it. Opening the folder, She found a flurry of images all relating to the president before finding a printout of a map showing the route the motorcade was supposed to take tomorrow. Her heart raced and her voice wavered as she said,

“Oh, my God.” She continued to look at the map in shock until she heard a voice ask, “What are you doing in here?”

Her head shot up and looked over towards the entrance. There stood Reginald looking on with a blank expression, his hands in his pockets and he quietly waited for a response.  “Not sure what I could say that would overwrite the obvious.” Grace responds nervously

Reginald nods his head and leans against the frame of the entrance. His eyes still on Grace as he follows up, “Fair enough. New question, then. Why are you doing it?”

IF she was going to get an answers it was going to have to be now. 

“Are you involved in somethin' nefarious?” Grace asks

Reginald stands up straight again as he slowly starts to walk over to Grace. “Quite often. Did you have something more specific in mind?” He questions back

Grace backed up a little bit to put some space between her and Reginald. She felt crazy in this moment, like she was torn in two. This was her Reggie, he would never hurt anyone but these pictures she found made her feel otherwise. Not knowing how to explain herself Grace rambles, “That- that shaggy man at the consulate, the one who chased after us with the boy.”

“Calls himself Diego.” Reginald states

“Yes, that's the one. He...he thinks that you want to harm the president.” “I see. You take the word of lunatics these days?” Reginald inquires

Grace felt backed into a corner. She needed to lighten things because she didn’t know what she could trust at this point. If she could just get some positive reassurance, that’s all she’d need. “Not over yours, but these...these photographs, they're all about the president's visit tomorrow, aren't they?” Grace questioned “You know there are aspects of my work I cannot discuss. You've always respected that line.” Reginald comments “I don't need to know the details, Reggie. I just need to know that you're not involved in what I'm afraid you might be.” Grace states

Reginald takes a step forward and asks, “What are you really afraid of, my dear?”

Grace wasn’t born yesterday. She knew what he was implying. He was implying that she was afraid of him, and in a small way she was. Grace started to realize all the things she didn’t know. All the secret meetings behind closed doors and the late nights in his office. She barely knew anything but the surface of who this man was. Grace looked at him with sadness and confusion in her eyes, “There's so much about you I don't understand.” “I could say the same about you.” Reginald replies with a smirk

Grace can feel herself shake as she takes a step towards him. Her heart felt like it was being torn in two given all that had happened in these very few moments. She still loved him but loving him felt much harder with ever roundabout dismissive answer he gave her. Practically begging him for a straight answer. Grace says, “I want to share my life with you, Reggie, but I need to know you're a good man. I need to know you would never hurt the president.” “As I said, there are elements in my life that I can't discuss with you. Someday, I hope to share it all with you. Until then, I'm asking you to trust me.”

Tears built in her eyes. This wasn’t going to work. She wanted to know that no harm would be done to an innocent person and he could not give her that answer. He gave her no answer at all. If he could not guarantee the safety of the president how could he ever guarantee the safety of you. “I can't wait that long. I'm sorry.” Grace states as she starts to walk away

“Grace. Wait.” Reginald calls out

Grace stops in place and turns on her heels to face him. Before he can say anymore she answers,

“No Reggie. If you can’t tell me that you’re not going to harm the president with your work how do I know one day your work won’t cause us harm?”

“I would never let that happen.” Reginald states firmly

“How can I believe that when you won’t tell me what’s going on? It’s not even my safety that I’m worried about. It’s the safety of my daughter. She has been put in harms way enough and I refuse to have her come close to harm ever again.” Grace exclaims

“She’ll be safe if we all stay together. Please just calm down.”

Calm down? She couldn’t calm down if the safety of her child was on the line. A child who Reginald took in and help to raise. Yes, you were an adult the whole time but the three of you made a family. Grace though Reginald had seen you as his daughter but he couldn’t even give a straight answer about protecting you. 

“Reggie, It is my duty as a mother to protect my child and if you’re involved in something that can end up hurting her then I don’t want any part in it.” Grace angrily retorts

Reginald looked at her, taken aback. He had never seen her so angry before. Actually, he had never seen her angry at all. Grace silently looked at him before attempting to turn away. Trying to keep her there, Reginald blurts,

“There’s things about her that she’s not telling you, Grace.”

Grace turned back again and narrowed her eyes at him. Her tone sharper as she remarked,

“Well, everyone has secrets Reggie. You would know that.”

“She needs to be around me, someone who can handle her.” Reginald harshly explains

Grace couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He was talking about you as if you were a pet to be trained or like some kind of lab rat. You were a person not some kind of object to be used. Disgust coursed through her veins.

“Handle her? My daughter is not some animal Reggie!” Grace yelled “She doesn’t need to be handled she needs to be loved and protected from the dangers of this world.”

“Grace, please just listen to me, (Y/N) is more than just your daughter!” Reginald exclaims

“You’re right! She’s my world!” Grace yelled back “Y’know, I always wondered why she was so abrasive and sarcastic with you and now I see why. She saw your true colors when I couldn’t.”

“You cannot just take her away from me!” Reginald shouts

“I can and I will.” Grace firmly replies “Now, I’m going back to the house to take my things and my daughter as far away from you as possible.” 

Finally turning around, Grace storms out of the room and out of the building towards her car.

“Grace!” Reginald called behind her

There was no response. She had left and it became clear in that moment to Reggie that a mother’s love would always trump that of a lover’s trust.

[hualianff]

To Fall, To Ascend (Is Human)

Haunted Past – Sophism, Isabella LeVan

XL was God’s favorite Angel who helped pioneer the new era where Angels were tasked with watching over humanity. No, XL never despised the humans, nor hated them for taking up all of God’s attention. If anything, XL followed in God’s footsteps, cherishing humans as creatures that deserved everything life had in store for them.

But if XL could wish for one thing, it would be to love as freely as humans are allowed—encouraged–to do. Angels were created out of God’s will, and God had not permitted his children to maintain close relationships of any sort. This meant the nature of Angel-to-Angel romantic relationships was entirely unexplored.

Up until XL had crossed paths with a messenger Angel who had just ascended from Earth.

They didn’t have names like humans gave themselves. XL could only refer to himself as “I” or “me,” and to others as “they” and “them.” God was seen as “Father,” and that one messenger Angel came to be known as “He” and “Him.”

Or simply: “The One.”

They talked more than what was appropriate for Angels who merely worked in the same area, but XL enjoyed those conversations just as much as the work XL did.

Perhaps even more.

When ample time was free of work, XL would invite Him to his own home, which was grand in scale because XL was God’s favorite child, after all. In exchange for a place to stay, He would tell stories of the mortal realm, where humans mingled in their insignificant manner, none the wiser to the influence of the entities above and their creator.

XL listened with eager fascination, and the messenger Angel’s eyes seemed to shine brighter than the rays that graced heaven’s skies.

Like a moth to a flame, XL was drawn in.

God noticed, of course. God had eyes everywhere, especially on his special children. When questioned about the time spent with the same, particular messenger Angel, XL brushed the concern away, reasserting his devotion to his one and only heavenly Father, and left it at that.

The next time XL saw The One, they’re both in the mortal realm, walking amongst humans as if that’s where they were meant to be all along. In that moment, XL felt something akin to a spark within his chest.

Time is relative depending on how you choose to spend it. What must have been one century seemed merely like the ebb and flow of the wind, traveling with no predetermined destination.

Limitless, but not timeless.

And on the day marking the hundredth year of their first encounter, XL—along with the others who followed his example of internalizing selfish desires and thus, abandoning their dedication towards humans—was cast out of heaven. No warning, no pre-amble, no chance to atone for his sins.

XL fell into the dark abyss while the open wounds on his back bled, and bled, and bled, all the way down to the depths of Hell.

If only he could have said goodbye to Him.

When XL fell from grace, the beginning of a seven-day-long thunderstorm took place. The skies were dark and gloomy, not a hint of sun peeking through, and the rain showers never ceased their downpour. Out of the four of the seven days, XL’s messenger Angel was in the mortal realm doing business. When that Angel ascended to the heavens to find God’s favorite had been thrown out of heaven, the messenger Angel rampaged like nothing anyone had seen before. Anguished screams pierced the air, and for the briefest second, the absolution of peace in the heavenly realm became uncertain.

To the human eye and ear, a couple of flashes of lightning and booming thunder was all it appeared to be; the messenger Angel challenged God directly in combat, enraged that His beloved had been unjustly rejected from the place he belonged in the most. No more than three thunder strikes later, the pouring rain eased up, and a mysterious glow lingered in the sky. It flickered briefly before burning out to oblivion.

Once again, God showed no mercy.

The fallen Angels, without their heavenly essence, became a different class of creatures by default. The demons were born just like every other creation, characterized by an innate evil that came with opposing God’s word in heaven. Angels who once completed their orders without a second thought, now monsters who felt the same emotions as humans and had the power to corrupt in the deadliest ways possible.

In the beginning, there were those who loved and those who hated, but they were all killers in the end.

The fallen angels became the original demons lurking in the realm of Hell, responsible for punishing humans who had sinned in the same ways they had. Souls that survived their punishment sentence were then converted into demons themselves to increase Hell’s numbers. These created secondary demons, turned by the original line of ex-Angels. And with this process, the realm of Hell began to grow.

Nothing compared to the beauty, structure, and peace up in the Heavenly realm. XL would know because he contributed to a major part of its establishment. During the first several decades in Hell, XL did not let his emotions consume him. Deep down, he knew that he had done the best that he could. His values would not change simply because he was no longer God’s favorite child.

XL loved humans, so much so that though he had learned of their fickle ways, he still yearned for their simpler life.

Most of all, the one thing that tethered XL to his sanity the most was His Angel. His beloved. They had been together for one hundred years, and XL wished he had one hundred more. But that was the greed inside him speaking.

Truthfully, XL didn’t know if he would see his messenger Angel again. It had been XL’s fault that he led Him down the path of temptation. If not rejected from heaven, would He really want to follow XL down to Hell’s ruins?

Could love somehow prevail to allow XL and His Angel to reunite?

One century passed, and XL scavenged as a lowly demon with very little power. Another century went by, and still, there was no sign of XL’s beloved. XL had patiently waited all this time, but he was not the same creature he was when first falling from heaven.

At the turn of the second century after his fall from grace, XL’s core began to rot. To wither. To warp. Slowly but surely, the corruption overtook his soul. For even the model Angel that he once was, XL could not repress the evilness inside. All the love XL once embodied turned into pure hatred and vengeance.

The time had come for Hell to have its first official ruler.

XL began collecting souls at a terrifying rate, torturing them in hopes of converting them into his subservient demons. Over the process of the next century, XL amassed over millions of disciples, and began conquering the territories of Hell.

326 years after his banishment, XL now bears the title the King of Hell. Other names he is known as including the Great Demon Lord, Satan, and Lucifer. Just like the pitiful God that he had once served, XL rules with a bloody-fist, no mercy or compassion left in his permanently damaged soul.

***

XL wakes up with a choked gasp, curling into a small ball as his lungs wrack with the need for oxygen. He heavily coughs into his pillow, body shuddering in pain, sweating profusely from...whatever nightmare he had been having.

It’s the same one, the third time this week.

When XL’s breathing finally evens out, he shifts onto his back, eyes boring up at the pitch-black ceiling. Blinking his eyes shut and squeezing them shut, XL tries to remember what he had dreamt of.

There were no stark images or familiar faces that stood out; just the deafening, monstrous shrieks of tortured figures, the unbearable heat of the–was it the sun? And the iron scent of blood in the air. The sensations had been vivid...almost too real.

Thinking about the nightmare proved to be too exerting when the throbbing in XL’s head increased ten-fold. Reaching over to his nightstand where a cup of water and a bottle of pills sat, XL robotically swallowed a few melatonin capsules with a huge gulp. He then settles back under the covers, in the comfort—and safety—of his own room.

Moving out of his and SQX’s apartment had been a tough decision. Perhaps the sudden change of environment sent XL’s body into a temporary shock, in need of time to adjust.

But it had been a necessary decision. Especially after XL was miraculously hired by a corporate business in desperate need of a custodian, with a more-than-decent pay, the desire to move into his own space was a no-brainer.

Now, if only XL could get a good night’s rest. He already needs his caffeine fixes throughout the day to properly function. When XL begins his new job next week, he’ll need all the energy he can get.

《II》

[moonlights-inkwell]

Oh, Can’t You Hear The Scratching?

Jaskier x Reader

Word Count: 4747

Summary: A serious injury leads to you being forced to leave your travelling days behind you and try to reintergrate yourself into a life you left behind. But it seems something from travelling has decided not to leave you

A/N: So. Um. This was meant to be some post Mountain smut, but turned into some semi-angst and is probably gonna turn into a series (and kinda (?) a companion piece to my Oxenfurt Series) where Jaskier and the Reader just sorta embrace some domestic bliss. So yeah. Title taken from That Unwanted Animal.

The first chill of Autumn is enough to wake you from a dead slumber. The cold nips at the tip of your nose, leaving it almost painful and chaffed, and you curse internally at the windows of your small home, which lately has done little to keep out either rain or cold. Pushing yourself up from the warmth of your fur-lined bed, you sit up and wince when the chill hits your chest, causing you to heave out a sigh as if you had been punched, blinking bleary-eyed before turning to gaze out of your window. It’s still dark, but no longer pitch. The sky is the colour of the violets that grow along the path that leads to your cottage but paling slowly, no sight of sun or moon, cloud or stars. Soon the horizon will be warmed by the orange glow of the sun, but right now you find yourself in this blissful timelessness, caught between dusk and dawn, sleep and awake. Moments like this feel rare, special, and you dedicate them to memory, to remind yourself of the mundane beauty of the world when you feel lonely and upset. These moments are wonderful, and your lips turn up in a tired smile. 

Sleep is trying desperately to overtake you once more, begging you sweetly to rest as long as humanly possible- after hard nights working in the tavern, you deserve rest and respite, but you fight against it. Swinging your legs out of bed and standing up, you groan in annoyance.  

“Melitele’s tits.” You curse, slurring with sleep. Padding barefoot to the window, you lean against the wall and rub your eyes, toying with the thin fabric that hangs to the side of the windows. It’s much too early in the day, and much too early for you to be feeling this way. This feeling only normally comes with Winter but reminds you all too much of the day you met Jaskier. It was as if fate had insisted you to be ready for him. Your heart sinks at the thought of him.  

You left the Witcher and your Bard behind in the spring. It wasn’t an easy choice, or even really a choice that you made, but it was the only one that was given to you. It came as a result of fighting a Wyvern. You hate Wyverns, always have and always will, but the fight against this one had cemented that in your mind, seeing as it sunk its claws into the left side of your face, and nearly blinded you. You didn’t even really know what damage it had caused until you sunk, faint, to your knees and Jaskier screeched in horror at the sight of you. I'm not that ugly, am I? You thought to yourself and chuckled slightly before falling unconscious.  

You woke in a healer’s tent, barely able to comprehend spoken language as the medic told Geralt you were lucky to be alive, never mind retaining the vision in both eyes.  Something in the back of your mind told you that you should be in pain, excruciating pain, but you can’t feel a thing. Your face would likely keep the marks of the beast forever though, he told the Witcher, voice as emotionless as possible. The hand holding your own tightens its grip. Jaskier. You smiled and cracked open the uninjured eye, but the smile faded at the sight of his red, tearstained face. He looked like he had been sobbing, and he probably had. He fretted about you when you got splinters, so the idea that you could have died was too much for him. He glanced down at you, and upon seeing your open eyes cupped your face gently and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. It’s like no kiss he’d given before, it’s full of something you haven’t felt from him, sadness. Regret. It feels like goodbye. When he pulls back his lips and chin are stained with your blood.  

“I’ll find you in winter.” He muttered and your eyes narrowed in confusion. Tears overtook him once more, and he dragged you into his lap to sob onto your bloodied blouse- he'd never been squeamish about blood before, but in that moment, it was as if he was trying to get as much of your blood on him as possible, to mar and mark himself with proof that he was yours. Your fingers threaded through his hair, but whatever the Healer had given you meant that you couldn’t feel the softness of the chestnut locks, smell the musk and lavender scent that you know permeates from him over the coppery blood. It's hollow. You can’t feel him at all and would have taken the agonising pain of the wound if it meant that you could feel the touch of his skin on yours.

“Till winter.”

It was goodbye. At least for the time being.

Geralt took you home on Roach the next day, and insisted you remain. Retune yourself back to the life in your village, rather than a life that will kill you at any and every turn. He said it so firmly you couldn’t force out an argument, and so you’ve remained since that day; remaining in the old home you resided in just outside of the village, returning to your job in the tavern, and trying in vain to pretend that you aren’t in pain, not spending your days missing your bard, counting down until the seasons change and Geralt will return to Kaer Morhen and you can feel a dandelion on your skin once more.  

Absent-mindedly, you drag the tips of your fingers over the fading scar over your eye, it’s no longer garishly red and surrounded by mottled green, yellow and blueing bruised skin, instead almost white, with a strange shining quality about it. You don’t hate it, but you hate what it represents. Weakness. You found scars wonderful as a child, proof of how adventures had marked you, even on the road with Geralt it had been something of note, proof of how no monster had felled you yet. This one has felled you, left you more than just marked. It’s a conversation starter with patrons at the pub though, it sees you regaling people with your tales of traveling with a Witcher, and sees the pockets of your pinny grow heavy with coin as the nights draw to days, but the song starts up and you feel your throat begin to swell closed, lips suddenly wordless and eyes swelling with tears. Toss a Coin to Your Witcher is capable of reducing you to tears, your Dandelion would be proud were it under different circumstances. You miss him like a lost limb. After so long around him, always touching, always grinning, always talking, the absence makes you uncomfortable, especially at night.

Jaskier had always been there at night, oh what the luxury of your travelling partner being your lover had been during nights on the road. The sound of him singing in the darkness, illuminated only by the firelight and framed by the canopy of the trees, as if on a stage and performing for an audience of only you, how it felt when he dragged you, often kicking and squealing in laughter, towards your shared bedroll. While you are glad of a permanent bed, you miss sleeping beside him. It feels childish to admit that you find it hard to sleep without him, even if you are only admitting to yourself, but it is difficult without him; you miss the feeling of his arms around your waist, head between your shoulders and breath fanning against your skin, lulling you to sleep. Not only that, but you miss the sweetness that comes before sleep, tiredly resting on his chest and listening to him talk- usually utter nonsense you care little for, but enamoured by his passion and way of speaking- or singing, ringed fingers burying themselves in your hair while your fingers thread through the Shag Rug of chest hair.  

The shadow that passes by the window doesn’t catch your eye, distracted too much by memory, and you turn tiredly back toward bed but stop. Bed will do nothing but remind you of the chill behind you, lack of arms about your waist and head resting in the hollow between your shoulder blades. That won’t do. Instead, you find yourself padding to the small room that keeps the hearth, lip trapped between gnawing teeth as you begin a search for a means to light the fire and warm yourself a serving of last night’s stew but stop. Scratching. Scratching. Something is scratching at the front door. That’s not normal. All your life there has never been scratching at the door, even in spite of its close proximity to the woods no creature normally drags their claws along the wood, save for once, when a wolf had found itself lost and confused, but even that had been a pup. Just Imagining things, you try in vain to convince yourself, hand falling onto the matches and drawing a sigh of relief from you. It takes a second or so for your hands to stop shaking, but when the scratching dies you manage to strike a match and start a fire beneath the hanging pot of stew. Warmth, at long last, and light too.  

You sit on the floor to warm yourself in front of the hearth, humming softly along with the phantom of a song you hear in your dreams. It’s not one you know too well, you don’t even know if the song has lyrics, but it's one of Jaskier's and that means it’s your favourite. Tears that threaten to fall blur your vision and in the glowing flames you almost swear you can see him, sat across from you.  

It’s familiar, hauntingly so. You can all but feel the hard stone beneath your feet turn to prickly, drying grass, your sleep shirt turning to almost threadbare chemise and trousers. You can even feel the bruising ribs from an especially rough incident with a werewolf that saw the Witcher walking to a nearby village for food to help you feel better. The flames in front of you ripple and roar, causing the wood to pop and crackle, and with each noise you jump slightly and flinch in pain. Jaskier sits across from you, staring at you intensely and strumming at his lute. He’s beautiful in the light of the fire, lashes dark and his eyes focused, taking in every flinch and jostle.

“Try not to move so, Little Miss. You'll only hurt yourself. Well. Hurt yourself more.” He's trying to sound unaffected, but the intensity of his gaze betrays him. You worried him; a skill you’ve been honing in your time with Geralt and him, and you know how he worries. He's more of a mother-hen than a fighter in the first place, flapping about and acting as if you’re some delicate flower in polite society rather than someone who enjoys being combative, but combined with your human fragility? He frets. Overwhelmingly so. His eyes, the colour of the sea after a storm, moves from your eyes to where he knows your injury to be and then back to your eyes once more. You can’t quite meet his eyes, distracting yourself by looking over the intricate ivory embroidery that decorates his doublet.

You hate worrying him. He’s been so kind to you, always so giving: making sure you have enough stew to eat, warm enough when autumn comes about, threatening any man who looks at you with anything less than respect. He knows how you revel in fighting, but each and every injury you get sees the bard fretting even more so than normal. Though you can't meet his gaze you can feel his eyes on you, and hear the soft melody he's plucking, which makes you shift on the spot, letting out a pained moan as you do. Focused on the searing pain in your ribs, you don’t quite hear the bard gasp out your name and rush to your side, only knowing he's even there when you feel a warm palm rest on your thigh and turn to see him on his knees in front of you.  

“Fucking hell, Little Miss, are you alright? Do you need something? Shit... I- I can try and fetch Geralt, he won’t be too far-" The brunet rambles, eyes wide and grip on your thigh tightening, which serves to make your breath hitch- but not from the pain. Jaskier is always touching you, you’re quite certain he was not given sufficient human contact as a child, but never has he touched somewhere as... intimate as your thigh. The heat of his hand seeps through your trousers, and goes straight to your core and face- cheeks bright pink. He's still rambling, you realise, and reach out gently to cup his cheek, silencing him immediately. Stubble you can’t see on his boyish face prickles your palm, and you meet his eyes once more, noticing how wide the pitch of his eyes had grown.  

“I’m fine, Dandelion. Truly. Just moved too fast... bruises, and such.” You laugh weakly, tilting your head. “It will pass. Just need to distract myself.”  

He laughs with you, hand squeezing the meat of your thigh and so close you can feel his breath fanning against your skin.

“I can distract you if you like?” He offers, voice lower than normal. You smile in return and nod, expecting a song or joke but what you get instead is his lips pressed against yours. Warm, wind chapped, perfect-

A log pops and you come from your memory, blinking and sniffing as the smell of the soup makes you smile. It’s not much, but it’s enough. Before you can reach up for a spoon to mix it, you hear it again. The scratching. It's back, and worrying. You miss Geralt, not for the first time that night, missing how his acute hearing would be able to tell you if it was an animal or human- specifically if it was a wolf as you suspected. Scratching, scratching and scratching. It worries you, but not enough for you to become fearful; instead making you smirk, eyes narrowing into dangerous slits and shifting towards the sword you've kept beside the door. Less than a second later you dart toward the door, and grip the cold hilt of the blade in one hand, body pressed against the wall beside the door. The scratching stops when you move which only makes you hold your breath, eyes slipping shut as you try to relax once more. Calm doesn’t come, and instead you heave out a sigh and call out,  

“...Hello? Kacsper? Is that you?” It wouldn’t be the first time your employer had come by in the night to ensure a young woman alone would be safe at night, which you thought to be immensely invasive but, in this moment, you cannot stop yourself from hoping it was him.  

“...Dear Heart?” A voice you didn’t expect at all replies, weak and choked. Jaskier. Only Jaskier has ever called you anything like Dear Heart, the only person to ever even think to call you by pet names, but not in that voice. Pained, like he was injured. Something logical in the back of your mind tries to remind you of Dopplers or any number of creatures that can change their voices, but the sound of your lover’s voice is enough to see you throw caution to the wind. You drop the blade to rip the door open, completely unfazed by the ear-splitting clatter of steel on wood. The door is open before you realise how forcefully you pull and there, shivering in the autumnal cold, is your bard.  

It’s hard to tell in the minimal light of your cooking fire, but he looks a mess. Chestnut hair splayed across his forehead in wet clumps, from rain or sweat you have no idea, deep red doublet and trousers stained with something that could be either mud or blood, and eyes sunken and darkened from a lack of sleep and something else. A sort of... hunger, longing that you know, but not in this intensity- he would look at you like this before kissing you, or bedding you, like you were ephemeral and easily gone without his touch. His frame lurches, holding to the door frame for stability.  

“Jask?” You whisper, and it’s enough for him to surge forward and crash his mouth to yours. The look in his eyes mirrors how he kisses you, hungry and rough, cracked lips moving against your own in such a way that you almost fear the blood you can taste is your own, but it’s definitely not. You feel like you ought push him away, chide him for coming so late and frightening you, but instead your arms wind around his neck to pull him closer still, lips moving gently against his, trying to slow the kiss. It’s been so long, too long, without his lips on yours, months without his touch when you would seldom live an hour without his touch. He takes the hint and the kiss instead turns sweet though still desperate, his hands resting on your hips even after you pull back and stare up at him like he’s a phantom or dream. “Jaskier, what are you doing here?”  

“...I missed you.” He says simply, voice cracking and breaking your heart at just how sad he sounds. “I. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to intrude, Little Miss. I should-"  

“Shut the door, Buttercup.” You interrupt him, hands sliding from his throat to hold his cheek. “And sit down. You look dead on your feet. Where's Ger?”  

Jaskier flinches at the mention of the white-haired man but does turn to close your front door. As soon as it’s closed, keeping the cold somewhat at bay, his arms are around you once more and face buried into your hair, drawing a contented sigh from you while your own arms work their way around his back. It’s been far too long. He feels like he always has, soft but with a firm layer of muscle just beneath, not obvious by looking at him, but there none the less. Hugs have always felt restrictive, like being caged but his have always felt like safety. It’s the same now, just more tight, and you cannot tell if he knows how tightly he’s holding you. Honestly, you can’t bring yourself to care. He could leave a Jaskier shaped bruise on your flesh so long as he robs you of the Jaskier shaped hole in your heart. He doesn’t smell as usual though, lavender and musk replaced with sweat and sulphur, telling you just how long it must have been since last he bathed.  

Deft fingers wind into the wispy hair at your nape at the same time that lips press to the crown of your head, followed by a deep inhale, you aren’t the only one to have missed the simple things like this. So much is hidden away in touch and smell, especially when not too long ago the two of you spent near every moment joined at the hip.  

“You smell like posies.” He mumbles into your hair, and you smile weakly at the observation.  

“You smell like death, Darling.” You reply before you really consider how mean the words are, though you hope your voice is playful. “I'll draw you a bath-"  

“No, no, no. Don’t... don't move, Muse. Let me... Let me cherish this moment. Reunions are supposed to be a happy time.” He doesn’t sound happy; he sounds as if he's choking back tears. “Gods, how I’ve missed you, Dear Heart.”  

“I missed you too, Buttercup. Like a lost limb.” It should seem a melodramatic turn of phrase, but it truly isn’t. It was like losing half of yourself to be away from him. Having him wrapped around you now is the closest to normal you’ve felt since leaving his side. “...Why are you here though, Love? Oughtn't you be with Ger-"  

“Don’t say his name.” The usually sweet voice of your bard comes out venomous, and his grip only tightens, “I’m not travelling with the prick.”  

The Prick. That’s new. So many of Jaskier’s songs are about the Witcher, but now he's the prick. You can’t help but blink in confusion, head tilting to look at your man but he instead swoops his head down to kiss you gently. He's trying to distract you, of that you're certain, but you decide it best to indulge him, kissing him sweetly and pulling back before he can deepen it.  

“...Stew.”  

It’s his turn to look confused, head tilted to one side to stare at you while you pull away.  

“Stew?”  

“Do you want some?” Gesturing blindly to the pot behind you, you begrudgingly break free of his hold on you. “You look hungry. Stew, a bath and then bed. I think it would do you the world of good.”  

“When did you become a domestic goddess, Little Miss?” He asks incredulously, lips turning up in a smile. He’s taunting you, but you don’t care as long as he stays smiling. “My Little Miss would sooner skin a deer with her teeth than cook.”  

“You can thank my mother for that. Old habits die hard, even if they are ones to make me a perfect wife.”  

“You’re a perfect wife already.” He says with a degree of finality in his statement, sitting by the fire. He makes it sound like you are his wife, and the thought brings a blush to your cheeks. “Are you going to join me?”  

“I need to get bowls for the stew.”  

“I mean in the bath.” He shoots a wink in your direction that you suppose is meant to be flirty, but on this defeated looking Jaskier it comes across more pathetic than anything else. Had you been asked an hour before, you would have moved heaven and hell for a chance to be in your miniscule bath with the Bard, using bathing as a preamble to ride him until your brain and legs turn to jelly and there's more water out of the bath than in it, but this Jaskier needs a gentle hand, and a helping hand to remove the layer of grime and melancholy that is covering his entire being. “You... You don’t have to. I. I'm being presumptuous, aren’t I?”  

“How?” You ask weakly, descending to your knees at the bard's side. “It's hardly the first time you've asked to see me unclothed.”

“It’s been months. You probably have a new lover. I mean, look at you, how could you not?” He asks, gesturing to your body as if it was supposed to mean something to you. “You look like a gift from on high, and I... I left you here. To grow soft, and gentle and domestic.” His hand rests on your thigh but there’s nothing romantic in the touch, just longing. Like, despite his hand on your bard flesh, you're in fact a thousand miles away or he's lamenting to the spectre of a lost love. “Someone else has snapped you up, and I’ve lost you, and come here, and you’re too polite to say no.”  

“We both know I would never be made to do anything I don’t want.” You smile, and lean in to press a chaste kiss to his lips. He chuckles softly, and watches you as you ladle some stew into a bowl and hand it to him. “And I don’t. Have anyone else.”  

“You said a man's name when I was at the door.”  

“My employer. He’s... odd. Constantly sniffing about.” You reassure him, watching him spoon up some of the both and sip it before sighing, from the taste or reassured that you love him still. “If I didn’t want you, I’d have stabbed you.”  

“You. You waited.” It’s a statement, and you nod simply in agreement.  

“You said you'd come in winter.” His eyes focus on you once more, drinking you in like it is both the first and last time he shall see you.

“You look like you did the night we first met.” He says conversationally, and you smile, remembering how he had winked at you mid song. It feels a hundred years ago, though you know it couldn’t be more than six years ago. “I thought you were the most sublime creature on the planet. There’s not an ounce of feral in you, just... beauty and softness, with something wild behind the eyes.” He says soft like it’s a thing to be admired, not disparaged. His eyes, stormy blue and sad look about your childhood home with nostalgia for a time that you don’t know. “You look like a life worth living, Dear Heart.”  

“...A life worth living?”

“Yes. This. This you, all gentle and half asleep, looking at me like you love me. A little home and a fire, Darling Love telling me to eat and bathe and sleep. Domestic. A life worth living.”  

“I do love you Jaskier.” You interrupt, letting the words fall off your tongue like they’re the easiest thing in the world to say. They feel that way.  

“You shouldn’t. I left you here.” The words come out hollow, and you take his hand from your thigh to your lips and kiss it. You can all but see the knotted weaves and threads of his mind, and hope the kiss will soothe them, even a little. His hand tugs free for a moment to ghost his fingers along the scar on your face, making you shiver.

“I was hurt.”  

“I should have stayed. Should have stayed by your side.”  

“You’re here now, Julian. That’s enough.” It shouldn’t be, but it is. He's here, not exactly as you’d like him to be, but having him beside you is more than enough. The comforting presence of warmth beside you is more than enough to wipe away the months of absence.

He sighs your name like a prayer, “I love you.”  

“As you should.” You tease, and he places the bowl beside him to take your hands in his, prompting you to give up all pretence of propriety to instead climb onto his lap, intertwined fingers bridging the gap between your bodies. “You’re upset.”  

“At the sight of the love of my life looking like a perfect little wife in an empty home.” Obtuse Jaskier might just be your least favourite form of the Bard, him trying to mask feelings he wears so openly, like he thinks you a fool. You’re unwilling to pry, though, so bite your tongue. “I’m half convinced I died on that mountain, and you’re just what my mind has created as a dying thought.”  

“Shush.” You coo, lips chastely brushing against his. “You're as alive as I am, keep the melancholies out of it. If I look like some... darling bride then be quiet, seeing as that would make you a very foolish husband to spend your night bemoaning your fears and not kissing me.”  

He chuckles at that, a small triumph, but enough to fill your heart to bursting point.  

“I’d be a fool for leaving you here alone.” He starts but a sharp noise of annoyance cuts him off.  

“Stay forever to make up for it, then.” You retort, “Sleep next to me until I can’t remember a single morning without you.”  

He blinks at that, enrapturing you in how the black of his eyes swells until you cannot see any of the blue.  

“You want me to stay?”  

“For always.”  

He grins, almost wide enough to distract from the tears that well in his eyes and you lean in to kiss him once more, his hands settling on your hips to pull you closer still. You've missed this, the stupidity that fills your head when his lips are on yours, tongue gently trailing along the seam of your mouth, never invasive, just inquisitive.  

“You truly do need a bath though.” You grumble against his mouth, Jaskier pulls back in mock indignation.

“I know you don’t actually mean that and just want to undress me.”  

“Oh, shut up, Dandelion.”  

His hands turn from cradling to tickling, sending you into reams of laughter that he echoes. All, for just a moment, feels right in the world, now that he's with you again.  

[foreverandaday-1]

Tenderly They Turned To Dust All That I Adored

Inspired by @julielilac s post/gif on the doctor and the master. The first 14 lines of a dialogue are hers, with a few minor changes.

I kind of went on a tangent, and turned this into a weirdly tense hurt/comfort fic, but oh well. Also inspired by my Renamed fic on AO3, under foreverandaday_1

‘Doctor,’ came a voice from the shadowed corner.

‘We meet at last,’ said the woman, equally as wary, yet with a predatory sharpness to her eyes. She wanted answers, and she would get them.

‘I’d like to say I’m glad to see you, but I’m not,’ he said, a slight teasing note, something comfortable but still wary.

‘Shame. I was actually hoping for a welcome for a welcome kiss,’ she returned, voice relaxed slightly.

‘Oh really?’ was his reply, full of put-on amusement to mask the confusion at her unusual playfulness. Yet playfulness wasn’t right, unless describing the way a lion played with its soon-to-be-dead food.

‘I was joking,’ her tone was back to serious.

‘Right. So why are you here then?’

‘I’m looking for answers and you are well aware of this. Who or what the timeless child is, and why you destroyed our home,’ she raised her eyebrows, as if offended by his question, it was obvious what she wanted.

He huffed out a laugh, looking amused. She didn’t notice his slight twinge when moving his ribs.

‘Also, what happened to your hair?’ curiosity was evident in her voice, and she was trying not to compliment him. Luckily she was distracted by the hopefully-soon-to-be-given answers.

‘There were difficulties in escaping from the Kasaavin Dimension.’

‘And yet you were able to escape?’

He huffed, ‘no thanks to you.’

‘You were expecting me to help? Why would I put you somewhere, that took effort and time, just to bring you back out again? A little counterproductive don’t you think?’

‘As if I’d want help from you.’

She smirked, ‘so no help with your injury?’

‘What injury?’ he played off.

‘You’re ribs, I saw you wince.’

‘I’m perfectly capable, thanks.’

‘Manners? Take off your shirt Kos.’

‘Trying to undress me?’

She sighed, crossing her arms.

‘I’m fine.’ 

She raised her eyebrows.

‘Ok, ok, maybe I could collapse within an hour, but it’s not that bad.’

‘Shirt. Off.’

‘Fine. you’re ever so bossy, love. I can’t say it’s just in this regeneration either.’

She ignored his comments, and, thankfully, only slightly affected by the pet name. ‘That looks painful. No wonder you were wincing,’ she moved closer, ‘go lay on the table.’

He rolled his eyes before doing as she said, flinching slightly as he bent his torso. She prodded at the bruised skin of his chest. There was a slightly green glow coming from the deep purple bruised across his lower right ribs. She tried not to enjoy inflicting pain, but sometimes it was nice to have revenge, even if that reinstated her hypocrisy. 

‘So,’ he said after a few minutes, ‘you going to do anything?’

‘I want an explanation of what the hell happened to you later.’

‘Of course, love.’

Well there’s an easier way and a harder way.’

‘For me or for you?’

‘Easy for me, painful for you. Easy for you, stupid for me.,’ she tilted her head, thinking. His mental barriers were just out of reach. Even though it was a bad idea to get closer again, she wanted to. The last time before the Paris thing had been centuries ago, and sometimes her mind felt empty. Lonely without another presence.

‘Well I vote the least painful way.’

‘For me or for you?’ her voice was looser and calmer, she was relaxed in his presence. It probably wasn’t the best idea but it was as if they were young again, without the millennia of pain and fire separating the strands of time.

He smirked at that, looking like he wanted to laugh. She walked towards his head with a contemplative expression, before voicing her thoughts.

‘There’s a quick way, and it’s not like I don’t have any left. Who knows how many I actually have.’

He grimaced, ‘about that…’

‘What?’

‘You have an infinite amount.’

‘I’m going to ignore the fact that you shouldn’t know that, and jump straight to what the hell?’

‘That's not for today's conversation, because I also happen to have none.’

‘You have, but… If you die, you’ll be dead?’

‘That is how death works, love.’

She rolled her eyes, ‘I mean, permanently, no resurrection or trick or stupidly thought out yet genius plan to surprise me again?’

‘No, dead as in gone forever.’

‘But you can’t,’ she said thickly, almost crying for the first time, she realised, with this particular face.

He looked shocked that she was actually voicing some feeling for once.

‘Koschei,’ she said, looking in his eyes, voice carrying the musical lilt of Galifreyan, ‘you can’t die, not now.’ Not ever.

He smiled at the language, one that they hadn’t spoken for a long time. It was a genuine smile, not seen for as equally as long of a time.

‘You said you had an idea, Theta,’ he said softly, comforting with a press of his consciousness against hers.

‘I,’ she sniffed, ‘ when River… you know who she is right?’

He nodded, ‘one of three humans I can tolerate, yes.’

‘Because River had… weird genes… when she broke her wrist, I used regeneration energy to heal it. I wasn’t able to regenerate for a few hours after, or heal as fast, but it worked.’

‘Awfully sentimental of you.’

‘She was important, and had pretended to be fine for my benefit.’ she paused, before looking up at him. ‘How come you don’t mind that I married her?’

‘While I may hate your pets because they don’t deserve your attention, she was different. She was important to you, and not a pet of yours. I could actually get on with her, and have an intelligent conversation.’

She smiled, happy that two people that shaped her life could have gotten along.

‘Now love, enough of the emotion, we should get to your plan.’

‘I can use my, apparently limitless, regeneration energy to heal you. It might have to be a full one, to properly work, but I don’t think you’ll change,’ she sounded happier, a slight touch of sarcasm evident in her voice.

‘Won’t that mean you can’t regenerate for a while? Or that you’ll regenerate with me?’

‘Possibly. But, again with River, when she revived me, she didn’t change.’

‘What?’

‘She may have killed me after regenerating before giving up all of hers to bring me back to life.’

‘Ignoring the fact that she of all people managed to actually kill you for the first time in all of history…’

‘It’s probably why Daleks seem terrified of her,’ she cut in.

‘... yes, but you need a mental and physical connection.’

‘Yep, full open contact between consciousnesses, and a close physical contact, with as many inner surfaces close.’

‘You and River, properly married?’

‘Yeah, Bonded and everything. It was partly in a separate timeline that no longer exists and also never existed.’

‘Okay, but, love, mouth to mouth?’

‘I wasn’t entirely joking when I mentioned a welcome kiss earlier.’

‘I didn’t think so.’

They stayed close together, and she stood by his form laying on the table, hands clasped in each others. They reached out their minds, before he sat up, wincing. Both closed their eyes, physical sight wasn’t needed. 

They leaned together, hand-to-hand, forehead-to-forehead, hearts-to-hearts.

‘Contact.’

Contact.

They both whispered it quietly, and spoke loudly in their minds. Volume didn’t matter as much as intent did. Intent to re-bond completely after a lifetime of mental separation. It took both eons, and no time at all.

It was an explosion of thought and feeling. A sensation unlike any other, yet reminiscent of coming home. A sense of welcoming in a place long forgotten yet forever remembered. A contradiction and cycle, of my thought is yours, your thought is mine. Memories were absorbed, and information shared.

She tugged on the always-there well of energy, as if waking it up. It swirled within her, before spreading out to her limbs, gathering at her fingertips. 

His hands glowed the same pale gold, as the tangible glow drew up his arms. They pushed closer still, tilting their necks to have better access.

Her lips pressed to his. His lips pressed to hers.

The energy pushed through completely, moving around them both. A swirl of pale gold and a feeling of life hanging in the air.

The glow collected around his injury, the bruised fading, sickly green hue leached away. Small scars knitted seamlessly, and any more bruises disappeared. His ribs shifted slightly, returning to their original position.

After a few seconds, minutes, hours, she stepped back. Not just one, but continually walking back to the door.

‘It’s not the time to ask,’ she smiled with an air of bittersweetness. ‘We’ll find each other when we’re ready.’

[extremelyblackandwhite]

timeless - prelude

PAIRING: medieval!james “bucky” barnes x reader

WARNINGS: sexual content (18+)

A/N: hello! sorry for my inactivity later with tags and fanfics, i recently moved out of my home into a new one and it took quite a while to set everything up but finally everything is a bit calmer. i hope you enjoy this new work, i’m extremely proud of it xx

NEXT CHAPTER

Time. 

Time is an odd concept. The dictionary describes time as the indefinite continued progress of existence and events that occur in an apparently irreversible succession from the past, through the present, into the future. Yet, would it be fair to describe time in such technical words when the movement itself is so ... controversial. For some, time runs fast, like a drop falling from a leaf onto the river, its consequences reverberating in several rings. For others, the ticking of the clock seems like a painful reminder that every single second lasts forever. However, for some, time is just paused almost as if they’re living in their own life repetition and therefore time has lost all meaning and no definition would apply to it. Time after all is of the earth, it’s not a human concept, it’s not something humanity discovered and coined as their own as they would wish. It is merely a thing of innocence of the Earth seen in the blooming flowers and the falling leaves, the growing of flora and the birthing of fauna. Yet, for some time is seen on their faces, the wrinkles and lines that accentuate their skins, scars that never faded, ages rising and the loss of opportunities. For those, if it were possible to freeze time, to reverse it or extend it, they would do it in a blink of an eye and so is the pure innocence of longing defiled. 

Lady Y/N of Arendelle had no particular affinity towards time. In all honesty, she barely thought about it yet for some reason the forces of nature had bestowed, unbeknownst to her, with the particular gift of giving people time. Why had it been given to her out of all people was a mystery. She was an ordinary girl born in the last second of the last day of the year when the snow covered the ground white, mostly surrounded in mystery. While her mother, Lady Catherine Bouvaire was one who made her way into the most prestigious circles of society in Arendelle from peasant to the Queen’s lady in waiting, Lady Y/N seemed to be locked away from society in their little cottage. “The outside world is cruel, too cruel for someone like you” is what she would constantly say to Y/N. However, no matter how harshly you try to grip onto time it eventually caught up to her. As the Queen’s eldest daughter caught the attention of the future King of Genoa, quickly enough was this locked environment broken. The Queen of Arendelle believed her daughter should take someone trustworthy, someone to remind her of home and no better person fitted that description than the naively protected daughter of her lady in waiting.

Catherine had protested, arguing that her daughter was much to innocent to join the court of such a prolific kingdom. However, she was merely a lady and what the Queen wants goes. Nevertheless, Catherine would not let her precious daughter go, no, she needed more time and if that meant moving with her to another kingdom, then she would gladly do so. And so, Y/N was thrown inside a carriage with princess Odette which took both women away from what they had known for ages. 

They rode the road for a full month, enduring the harsh rains of mid September until, on a late afternoon, the carriage came to a halt in front of the place she would have to call home from now on. The castle grounds were protected by a great wall, tall enough you’d have to strain your eye muscles to find its end, tall enough to look like another prison to keep Y/N. Her mother, whose home arrangements were different to hers, had warned her to be careful with Genoa’s court, not to trust any of the men that paraded the parties. “They are never going to marry you, all they want is a break from their contracted marriages and would use her and leave” is what she said before being separated into a different carriage and Y/N believed her. She remembered the stories her mother had told her, women thrown into the street, into reckless lives and poverty. No, Y/N was there for Odette and no other motive. Yet, she couldn’t deny it was exciting to be somewhere else, to see other things and other people. 

The castle itself was old and small dust seemed to be falling from the walls, exposing the building’s foundation that used to look like a second world wonder, she thought. The windows, however, were crystal clear and glistening in the dark cloudy afternoon which was already setting on the opposite side of the building, casting a great shadow. 

Her shoes touched the perfectly cropped grass and she was ushered into the palace and straight into her living quarters. It was huge, bigger than her old home and while the outside of the palace looked rather somber, the inside was ostentatious, decorated in dark burgundies, whites and shades of gold enough to make anyone gasp at first sight. Y/N felt like she was dreaming wide awake as she explored every nook of her new bedroom, observing the art, the books and the instruments placed for her own enjoyment. 

She couldn’t help but throw herself into the comfortable bed, a small child like giggle escaping her rose painted lips. Yet, she had little to no time to enjoy her new bedroom as the Queen and King of Genoa wanted to welcome the Princess of Arendelle and her entourage with a banquet and Y/N couldn’t be any more excited. With a white ivory dress loosely falling from her shoulders, she joined her princess who was looking at the wall as if it held away the biggest monsters ever created.

     - You’ll be fine. - Y/N spoke out, placing a hand on top of her shoulder. - Prince William absolutely loves you, you have nothing to worry about. 

    - It’s not Prince William, it’s his parents. 

     - I’ve heard they’re fair rulers. 

     - Yes but we come from a small kingdom what if they decide it’s an alliance they don’t want? - Y/N merely gave her a soft smile, almost like a promise that she would be fine. The big white and gold engraved doors were opened to a crowd of a thousand faces all in awe of the beautiful foreign princess. Y/N, on the other hand, was in awe of the sheer beauty and light of the room. It was so much different from the walls of the little cottage her mother kept her in, it was light, breezy, bashed in oranges and yellows coming from the flickering flames of various white candles held by the chandeliers and walls. It was almost like a scene straight out a painting and suddenly the crowd of a thousand faces seemed to melt as she was on cloud 9. The scents were of wild fruits and sweetness which possibly came from the beautifully decorated decadent desserts standing on the long table.

She was much too distracted with the sheer delicateness of the world outside her cottage walls to even notice she had been sat quite far from the only person she knew. Instead, she was sat by some of the other court ladies, her dress majorly overshadowed by the precious stones sewn onto the silks and velvet of the Queen’s ladies. Nevertheless, she found something else to be fascinated by, that being the golden cutlery meticulously placed by the sides of the porcelain engraved plates. In that moment, despite her mind telling her it would be bad to be glad about it, she felt like being away from her mother was a blessing. 

This dazed dream was broken as she felt a gaze burn on her figure, almost as if she was being watched. Gently and slowly, she raised her eyes from the plate, the atmosphere of the dinner being of joy and hope for the new soon to be rulers too lost for someone to notice her, at least she thought so but was wrong as standing a bit left from her front was a very well dressed man, in shades of burgundy and black with a gold heavy medal weighting from his breast pocket looking at her. He looked almost curious, lines creasing on his forehead as his ocean eyes were glued that left her feeling almost naked to his sight. 

    - Are you alright? - one of the ladies sat next to her, the one in a ruffled lavender dress asked, noticing how quickly Y/N had resorted to looking back to her food, barely touched. 

    - Who’s that man? - she slightly moved her head in his direction.

    - That’s Grand Duke Barnes of Addia. He’s one of the King’s advisors, people say he killed his wife.

    - Not too loud, Eliza. - another lady dressed in baby pink scolded.

    - That’s surely just gossip. - Y/N commented. 

    - Gossip or not, everyone in Addia could hear screaming during the Great Fire. Yet again, royals can get away with anything and everything. 

Y/N nodded, looking back to her plate but not before looking up to the grand Duke one last time. It wasn’t exactly shocking news to her what men of court could do. Her mother had told her they were either adulterers, power hungry or untrustworthy men, however, she thought there would be some sort of justice. The dinner continued to go smoothly with Odette spending more and more time sharing romantic looks with her husband to be. Soon enough, she was on the dance floor with him, laughing and telling each other sweet nothings that made anyone and everyone watching smile.

Y/N wasn’t immune to that smile either, standing a bit further removed from the dance floor with her hands on top of her dress fabric. The sweet lullabies played by the orchestra had her head moving slowly from side to side until an overflow of the scent of freshly picked roses made itself quite pronounceable. She looked around looking from here the scent could be coming from as all the flowers scattered around the room were that of Genoa’s flag, lilies. No roses.

     - How come you’re not dancing, milady?

     - Oh, I’m not one for dan ... - she stopped mid sentence as she rustled through the fabric of her dress to notice who was speaking to her. There he was again, making her take a step back out of fright of what she had heard from Eliza at the dinning table. 

He looked somewhat surrounded in an air of mysteriousness costumed by the formal clothing such as his perfectly tailored burgundy jacket whose colour matching the ribbon keeping his long hair away from his face in a low ponytail. There was no denying he was a handsome man but Y/N couldn’t help but keep her guard up. There was always some underlying truth to rumours. 

     - I’m afraid I’ve never learned how to dance, Grand Duke. 

     - Please do join me in the floors, milady. 

     - No, my lord you really don’t understand, I can’t dance ... at all. I would embarrass my princess. 

    - I’m a good lead. - he extended his gloved hand towards her. She guessed he couldn’t harm her while surrounded by several people including guards. - Please, milady, do me the honour of accompanying me. 

She looked at his black matte glove covered his hand which was extended towards her chest and then back to his face and the guards stood in front of every single exit. “You’ll be fine” a voice said inside of her and shakingly she placed her delicate and polished hand on top of the leather, shivering once she felt its texture. Before Y/N could change her mind, he had already led her slightly off centre in the dance grounds, a free hand gently setting itself on her waist. 

The young girl could feel her heart beat against her thoracic cage as the violins and flutes led the dance along with him. It was an odd feeling, it felt peaceful and yet she was rather scared to dance with the man rumoured to have murdered his wife. The Grand Duke seemed to notice her unwillingness as the lines of his forehead and eyes creased even more and his grip on her softened. 

   - You shouldn’t believe in everything you hear. - he whispered against her ear, causing goosebumps to rise on her arms. Her eyes gazed his, lips slightly parted as she wondered if he had heard Eliza back at the dinner table, something she would’ve questioned him about had it not been for the ceasing music. As the music came to an end, he took a step back, bowing to her before disappearing between the crowds leaving her in the middle of the dance floor as another song begun. 

   - There you are. - a familiar voice broke through her haze of confusion. - I think we should retire for tonight. What do you think?

  - I think it’s a great idea.

In all honesty, Y/N was glad Odette wanted to retire from the ball and return to her chambers but it wasn’t without peaking curiosity that she left the room, eyes lingering on the crowds looking yet failing to find the Grand Duke. The orange and yellow lights dimmed as the doors were closed behind the two women and with a sigh, she followed Odette to her chambers, starting the routine taught to her back in Arendelle to get the princess ready for bed. Once she was settled in her silk bedding, Y/N left the room to reach hers, a small golden candelabra held by her hands as she made her way through the halls. 

The walls are hollow inside and it is as if they are whispering at her when the wind howls inside them and the rain hits the foot long glass windows, the image strengthened by the portraits of the several monarchs of Genoa. She climbed the staircase slowly, each step creaking at the slighest weight her feet put on the old wood and then creaking some more when the weight on it is loosened and disappear. Slowly but surely, with her heart beating like a drum, the lady in waiting reached the top of the stairs. Suddenly, her heart beat seemed to intensify its beating in her ears for no reason and, once she held her dainty fingers against them, they are hot to the touch and the saying of the Arendelle people echoed like a curse in her brain: “If your ears are red and warm, it means someone must be talking about you”. She shuddered at the thought, specially considering she stood alone atop the stairs.

Once she was back inside the safety of her chambers, she closed the door behind her and enter the soft cold and unknown bed quickly, throwing her clothes to the side, stretching her legs under the covers and pulling the white sheets up to her chest. Her eyes flutter slowly, staring up at the ceiling and the small chandelier hanging from it and, suddenly, she drifts off to sleep lulled by the falling rain: she felt airy, as if her limbs are being held up in the air and she fluttered her eyes open to the dream land that awaited her.

And at the end of the bed is the Grand Duke. He is naked and he crawls to the bed, hands slowly sliding down her sides as he towers over her and, she too, is naked. She sweated and stared at the man’s face and at the medallion hanging from his neck that rocks back and forth as he moves closer and pulls her knees up and apart.

He’s hard and slick with cum already and she’s not entirely not sure what took over her good morality, but she pulled her legs apart willingly and let him move closer and closer to her and her aching heat.

tag list: @lookiamtrying @kmuir1 @anxiousdreamersworld @tinymalscoffee​

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

Life Without Reverend Moon by Jen Kiaba – October 22, 2012

Thirty-thousand feet seems like a good altitude at which to question one's life. “I am already in motion,” I tell myself. It's a kind of progress. Shortly after my twentieth birthday I was in progress, between JFK and Heathrow, en route to Oslo.

After takeoff the girl sitting next to me smiled kindly, asking where I was headed. I told her:

“To Norway. To visit my husband.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a stack of glossy women's magazines, offering me several. They promised hot sex tips, orgasm-inducing positions, and advice on how to find a man to orgasm with. She pointed to a few with a wink. “Maybe you can find something nice in there for your husband.”

Today, almost a decade later, to use the word husband feels wrong; I avoid it. But at the time it was what he said I should call him. “I am your husband!” he would say. The word sounded foreign in my ears; "husband" was supposed to be a word attached to “honoring” and “cherishing,” and whatever else heartfelt marriage vows should entail. But I had not been given the choice to say those vows.

My parents were married, along with two thousand other couples, in Reverend Sun Myung Moon's Unification Church at Madison Square Garden on July 1, 1982. I was the first of five children, and we were all raised as members of the Unification Church's Second Generation, who were thought to be born sinless and of God's Lineage, through the Blessing marriage ceremony officiated by Rev. Moon. Theologically this meant that Rev. Moon, as the purported Messiah, had created a heavenly lineage through his personal perfection, relationship with God, and marriage with (the much-younger) Hak Ja Han, in 1960.

Growing up, I always had the expectation that Rev. Moon would choose my spouse. In the Unification Church, one didn't date. Flirtatious interactions with the opposite sex were severely frowned upon, all activities were separated by gender, and we referred to one another as brother and sister in order to emphasize platonic relations. Sex before marriage was absolutely out of the question. The Church had a word for that: falling. To fall was the greatest sin that could be committed, and it could not be undone. To fall was to enter the realm of Satan, to be cut off from God and to wound His already-suffering heart.

Perhaps childhood's greatest tragedy is what we learn to normalize. In my upbringing, to question what we were taught was to invite Satan and the evil Spirit World into your mind; to fend off evil, one must quiet the questions and dive further into the readings and teachings of Rev. Moon. Some of the most effective brainwashing was what we had been taught to perpetuate upon ourselves.

At 19 I found myself on a terrifying personal precipice. I was seriously considering leaving the Unification Church, but with no means of supporting myself and no safety net outside of the insular church community, the notion was enough to bring me to panicked tears. Yet I didn't know if I believed Rev. Moon, his world, or his supposed messianic mission. As a reflex, I was ashamed and hated myself for feeling that way.

When word of an administrative opening in the US Second Generation Department reached my family, I was intrigued. What better way was there to understand what this movement was all about than by working for one of the central organizations? So, before making a decision to abandon the culture of my childhood, I climbed into the belly of the beast looking for truth. That’s where I lost my way.

When the Christmas holidays rolled around, I took my miniscule stipend and boarded an Amtrak train home to ponder the nothingness I had found but had not yet accepted. When I arrived home, there was news: after five years of having parents match their children, Rev. Moon was stepping up again, and was going to conduct a matching ceremony for the Second Generation.

My parents sat me down in the bedroom, listing all of the reasons why I should go. Though it was left unspoken, we all knew that at almost 20 years old, my eligibility expiration date was staring me hard in the face. My mother finished with, “If Jesus came to you and said that he had found your perfect spouse, what would you say to him?” She paused for effect. “Now, how much more is Father?”

How could I say no? To refuse was to deny the remotest possibility that this man might be who he said that he was. I simply had not gotten there in my journey. Besides, I told myself, it was just a matching. My match and I would have time to get to know each other before deciding to get married.

My biggest mistake was to assume that I would be allowed to exercise free will.

My mother dropped me off at East Garden, one of the Moon family's mansion-compounds in Tarrytown, NY, and I entered into the ballroom of the estate with approximately 10 other nervous young people. For the next several hours, one of the Korean leaders proceeded to lecture us on our unworthiness. That’s when I found out that by the time we left, we were all going to be Blessed to someone.

The panic blossomed. I had to leave and began approaching anyone, even strangers, to ask to borrow their cellphones. Repeated calls home, begging my parents to come pick me up, were answered in the negative.

By the end of the day, the ballroom was packed to capacity. Young people from all over the United States, Asia, and Europe had answered Rev. Moon's call. Late in the evening, Rev. Moon came out to address us through his interpreter. Though I had never heard them from his mouth before, I desperately wanted to hear words of wisdom — or something that rang true — from the man who held my future in his hands.

One phrase stuck out to me in the monotony: “Do you want me to match you tonight?” A thunderous “Yes” answered Rev. Moon's question, and we were lined up into rows, divided down the middle, and categorized.

I should have left, I tell myself. I should have simply snuck out of the sweltering ballroom, slipped out of the mansion, and found my way through security to get outside of the compound. Even if I had had to follow the train tracks from Tarrytown back home, I should have left. But with no money, no means of communication, and no idea if I would have a home to go back to if I left, I was frozen in place. Besides, I had been trained to obey.

Suddenly Rev. Moon began pointing. A girl, then a boy would stand up, acknowledge each other, bow to Rev. Moon, and then be ushered out to be “processed” by administrators. My breathing was shallow; I tried to quiet my mind and draw upon the things I had been taught.

Absolute faith. Absolute Love. Absolute Obedience.

When Rev. Moon's finger pointed to me, time stopped. I looked deep into the eyes of the man who had bidden me to rise with his gesture and saw nothing. I was gazing into the eyes of the man who was determining my future, and I had expected to see some sort of timelessness, or to feel as though his eyes were digging into my soul. But he was looking through me, as though his finger had arbitrarily found its way to me in a game of love roulette. I felt suspended over an infinite emptiness.

Then time sped up, his finger jabbed in another direction, then another and another. Three other people stood up, and I had no idea which of the other two men I had been assigned to. One I had met at a summer camp several years ago, but he was looking at someone else. The other man gestured to me and I found myself eye-level with a shrunken and pilled sweatshirt emblazoned with the word “Norway.”

In an instant, I was no longer suspended. A kind of darkness engulfed my mind, the words “game over” ringing in my ears. Afterward, everyone was abuzz with excitement; I desperately looked around to try and find someone whose face mirrored the same panic I was trying to fight. A gesture from above caught my attention. “Norway” was trying to introduce himself to me.

Finally I looked up at the man that Rev. Moon had chosen for me. "Tall" was the only word that came to mind. Over the noise, he tried asking me questions; what they were and how I answered, I forget. Those next hours were a strange blur — alternating between sadness and terror. At one point I borrowed someone's cellphone and called home. It was 2 a.m. and my mother's sleepy voice answered. “I'm matched,” I said without emotion. “To a Norwegian. His name is Chris.” Then I hung up.

We were woken up the next morning at 5 a.m. for morning service. I had lain awake all night, clutching my stomach, trying to keep nausea at bay. Chris found me and approached me with a bagel — the first meal I remember receiving in 24 hours. The smell of food made me ill and I politely refused. Despite his best efforts to chat with me and have the “getting to know you” small-talk, I could barely muster words.

Every so often I would sneak away to borrow another cellphone, calling home in tears. But if my parents had refused to budge before, they certainly weren't going to now that they had a son-in-law waiting in the wings.

The day after Christmas, at the back of that crowded ballroom, I was wearing a wedding dress that didn't fit, standing next to a tall stranger, and repeating vows in a language I didn't understand. After the Blessing ceremony, we had official photos taken. As the photographer told us to say “cheese,” I realized that I couldn't remember how to smile.

I still have that photo. I look like a confused child playing a bizarre game of dress-up; I'm gazing into the camera with a lost expression. Chris is looking away, dressed in an equally ill-fitting tuxedo. The picture would have been funny if it weren't so sad.

That was how I found myself several months later at 30,000 feet, bound for Norway. To fight the mounting dread of the impending arrival, I immersed myself in the magazines that my neighbor had kindly lent me. It was the first time I had ever picked up any material that encouraged an expression of sexuality, and I felt a delicious bit of rebellion wash over me.

As I pored over the pages, I could feel certain gears shifting as pieces of me unlocked and unwound inside. The women in these pages catapulted me into an exhilarating daydream in which my choices were my own. That daydream left an intense hunger within me.

As a 20-year-old virgin, I wanted to know what it would be like to sleep with a man because you wanted to, or because you loved him, not because you were pressured by your parents and his parents to “start family life.” The idea of sex with Chris made my skin crawl, and I had no idea if I would face pressure from him or his parents when my plane touched down.

Rev. Moon died on September 3, 2012, at the age of 92. His daughter, In Jin Moon, stepped down from her role as leader of the American church a few days later, after having given birth to a child from a three-year affair with a married man. While the church has not been a part of my life for many years now, I've watched these recent events and their fallout with interest.

At first, this news of Rev. Moon's daughter didn't bother me. Then the leadership began trying to explain away her actions and affair, saying that she "chose love when she had a chance.” How many of us were given the allowance to "choose love when we had the chance"? That was something we were explicitly denied; instead were taught to feel ashamed for our feelings unless they were chosen for us, and then sanctioned by someone with power over us.

Sometimes I wonder where my life would be if I had sat next to someone else on the plane, who offered to let me borrow a copy of The Economist instead. The girl next to me on the plane offered a small form of salvation; in a kind gesture she offered me a glimpse into a world that I had had no idea existed. It was a world in which I did not need to be ashamed of my body and my sexuality. My desires for love were not evil. It was a world that encouraged me to discover who I was, not a world in which I had to break my inner-self down to fit a preconceived notion of goodness and of womanhood. Most important, it was a world that let me take ownership of my future, my free will, my reproduction, and my heart. It was a world that I finally knew I needed to escape to.

And I did. It didn't happen overnight. It didn't happen while I was in Norway. It took me almost two years of fighting with Chris, fighting with his parents and my own, before a church divorce was granted. The decision to "break the Blessing" was an agonizing one that took me turning myself inside-out, trying to reform into the kind of person who could love and accept Chris. But finally, I walked away — free but with a proverbial Scarlet "A" branded into my chest, as far as other church members were concerned. Today I am proud of it. It is my battle scar from a fight I am proud to have survived, because I fought my way into this new world.

Jen Kiaba is a photographer living in New York's Hudson Valley. Her work explores dreams, memory, fantasy, and the realms where all three blend. This is her first personal essay. She and her sister also have a blog about their experiences within the Unification Church.

___________________________________

The Purity Knife: Sex, Death and Human Trafficking in the Unification Church

http://summerofcheesecake.blogspot.com/

https://www.jenkiaba.com/portfolio

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Jen Kiaba on the Ares Meyer podcast

Conceptual Self Portrait Artist
Join me in conversation with Artist Jen Kiaba as we talk Poetry, Self Portraits and Child Marriage.

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/conceptual-self-portrait-artist/id1549515902?i=1000507915214

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Why Didn’t You Just Leave?

Jen Kiaba
: Hello and welcome to my least favorite question in the entire world. It’s one I’ve heard more times than I care to count, and sadly I think that’s something many cult survivors can relate to. In the past that question used to make me clam up and spiral into shame, or mumble, “It’s not that simple.” But in those days I didn’t fully understand the coercive control mechanism that were used to keep me, and so many others, trapped.

Read more:
 https://jenkiaba.medium.com/lessons-on-leaving-why-didnt-you-just-leave-789953c4689a

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We Are All Vulnerable

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‘Falling Out’ Elgen Strait podcast  April 6, 2021

13. Fuel For Nightmares: Jen Kiaba – Part 1

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/13-fuel-for-nightmares-jen-kiaba-part-1/id1550448436?i=1000516011584

• Jen’s website: jenkiaba.com • Introducing a new segment “Autotune the Moon.” • “Bad Moon Rising” by John Gorenfeld – Recommended by Jen.


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‘Falling Out’ Elgen Strait podcast  April 13, 2021

14. Scorpion House: Jen Kiaba – Part 2

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/14-scorpion-house-jen-kiaba-part-2/id1550448436?i=1000516958607

Recommended reading from Jen: "Pure: Inside the Evangelical Movement That Shamed a Generation of Young Women and How I Broke Free" by Linda Kay Klein

[embarrassingresultofmyfreetime]

2020 Masterlist

Here’s a list of all the fics I’ve posted this year! (Listed by category, then chronologically:)

Link to my ao3 where you can read all of these: embarrassingresultofmyfreetime

~

Currents wips:

And They Were Quarantine Mates

An old disease has resurfaced on Earth- one which most humans recover from but is permanently lethal to Time Lords.

Because of this, the Doctor stays on Earth to make sure her humans make it through okay.

And because of the Doctor, the Master- against his better judgement- also chooses to stay.

Reluctant to leave the safety of the Doctor's Tardis, the Doctor and the Master find plenty of ways to pass the time but it can be difficult to enjoy each other's company with so many things left unsaid.

Good thing they have plenty of time in isolation to work it out.

Word Count: Currently 88,172

-

Spyfall: Battle For Humanity

This is a little number I like to call: Roleswap AU with Dhawan!Doctor and Whittaker!Master

It's sort of a rewrite of Spyfall p2 but it's better.

Word Count: Currently 5,688 (will be about 12k when finished)

~~~

-

Main fics (completed):

Please Tell Me Why Do We Worry

Summary: After learning about the final loss of Gallifrey, the Doctor takes some time to grieve and finds herself with surprisingly mixed feelings about the whole ordeal.

To her surprise, a knock at her Tardis door soon reveals the Master not only alive, but in uncontrollable mental agony as he reveals that the Doctor's suffering has been amplifying his own emotions via their telepathic bond.

Note: (After so many kind and positive comments on this fic, I finally gained the confidence to start posting more! A huge thank you to so many people it means so, so much to me!)

Word Count: 5,068

-

Second Chances

When Graham finds a teleportation cube offering an all-expenses-paid vacation, he, Ryan, and Yaz take up the offer and give the seemingly-distant Doctor some time to herself.

After the events of Skyfall 1&2, the trust between the trio and a certain timelord is shaken. However, when their vacation quickly becomes a nightmare, it's up to the Doctor to bring about peace on an upsettingly familiar planet.

Note: (A rewrite/fix it of S11 episode Orphan 55)

Word Count: 7,130

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All’s Fair In Love And War

Having escaped alive and alone, the Master dwells on his failure and uncertainty at what to do next.

Purely by accident, he runs into a version of the Doctor he's never met before and she gives him a much needed perspective on their relationship.

Word Count: 4,653

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Truth and Reconciliation

“I... I destroyed a lot of things, but not this... trove of secrets. This is what started it all.”

Missing Scene where the Master goes to Gallifrey and discovers the truth of the timeless child for the first time + alternate ending to The Timeless Children episode

Word Count: 7,563

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The Doctor Finally Gets Some Rest

(Ch2 update Missy pov)

The Doctor promised to guard Missy for 1000 years, but Missy doesn't mind returning the favor.

Word Count: 5,671

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I Wouldn’t Wish It On My Best Enemy

"Just deserts appeared to finally be served for the Doctor. All her running had come to an end, all the lives she's taken or caused had finally been assigned a numerical value, and all the morals she had once believed in seemed to crumble to dust right before her eyes.

A life sentence.

She had JUST BEEN TOLD she would never die, and the first thing the universe does is give her a life sentence.

What kind of cruel joke is that?"

Basically: The Doctor reflects on herself while in prison, the Master rescues the Doctor and actually helps her, and idk read the tags

Word Count: 4,629

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Brand New Reality

In an alternate timeline: The Master is killed in the Time War but the Doctor finds a way to salvage his oldest friend's mind by binding it to his Tardis and building him an android vessel as a way to interact with the physical world.

The Doctor also manages to save the Time Lords from their war- but he is still a renegade in their eyes. As punishment, the High Council uses the Doctor- and by extension the Master- as their personal diplomats/field agents.

The Master isn't too happy about being trapped on the Doctor's Tardis, the Doctor is fed up with being the equivalent of a dog on a leash to the Time Lords, so in a moment of anger and also pure luck- they break out from their world and end up on a parallel one with a very different version of their universe and very different versions of themselves.

(Shalka!Universe Doctor and Master meet their modern counterparts- the Thirteenth Doctor and Dhawan!Master)

Word Count: 10,148

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The Imposter(s) Among Us

The Doctor has been searching the universe for the Master, but it's only when she takes a break to help a damaged space vessel that she runs directly into him!

The Doctor has a hundred and one things to ask him, but there's no time for any of that now. The ship is barely functional and if the mysterious murderer doesn't get to the Doctor first, then the trigger-happy crewmates might throw her out the airlock before the killer gets a chance.

Word Count: 12,655

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My Dear, Doctor…

The Doctor investigates an anomaly to find that her previous self has stood up their oldest friend for the umpteenth time.

Confused as to why the Doctor can't recall ever receiving Missy's invitation in the first place, the Doctor goes searching for answers and ends up finding far more letters than just one…

Word Count: 6,657

~~~

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Series:

And They Were Happy Au Parts 1-4:

Part 1: Dinner and a Show

All his lives, the Master had always believed that he and the Doctor could hold on for about the same amount of time. He always imagined that when they reached their last lives, they would both give all this up and spend their retirement years bickering and raising bees or whatever. The Master didn't particularly like bees, but he had always imagined that the Doctor did and as long as they were together, that was enough to satisfy him.

What he had discovered in the Matrix had proved his ideal endgame impossible.

The revelation that the Doctor was The Timeless Child meant that the Doctor would always live on. They would always evolve and survive no matter what happened. The Doctor would always race to people in need; and now, they would never have any reason to stop.

(AU where the reason the Master wanted the Doctor to kill them both in The Timeless Child is bc he's on his last life)

Word Count: 5,120

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Part 2: Dinner and a Show One-Offs

"The Doctor did her best to space out her visits with O. For every couple adventures she had with her 'fam', she would stop by his home once or so. Sometimes she let months slip by, because she knew that the longer she waited, the less of O's limited time she used up.

She felt guilty to calculate it, but if O was already in his mid-thirties and he lived a full human life...

Suffice it to say, she wanted it to last for as long as possible. She had never had a situation as stable nor as safe as she now had with O. After everything they had both been through to get to this point, she refused to jeopardize a single moment.

For all the pain the Master had caused her, O was well worth the wait."

(By popular demand, a continuation of 'Dinner and a Show')

Word Count: 10,926

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Part 3: Unjustifiable

O- having no recollection of his actions as 'The Master'- returns to being Earth's Horizon Watcher.

O is proud of his work and he cherishes the Doctor's frequent visits, but it's becoming increasingly apparent that she's been keeping more secrets about his past than he had theorized.

To make matters worse, the arrival of an advanced species of aliens on his doorstep brings with it a whole new plethora of problems. Something terrifying resurfaces when O hears they're searching for a Tardis and things go terribly wrong.

Word Count: 23,870

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Part 4: Found Family

The Master finally gets around to seeing the universe in a more peaceful way and runs into a young woman looking for her father.

Word Count: 3,663 (Will possibly be updated at a later date, but complete for now)

~~~

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Oneshots Inspired by others (specific inspiration in the beginning notes of each):

All Alone In The Dark

While heading back to Earth, the Doctor hears someone calling for her help.

She tracks it back to the Master- injured yet alive- and finds him trapped in his own head, reliving his last confrontation with The Time Lord Council before the destruction of Gallifrey.

Word Count: 1,926

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You Again

The 10th Doctor and Missy each escape their last canon appearances believing that the other is dead for good.

So imagine their surprise when they run into each other at a party in the 1920's.

Word Count: 6,943

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Sick Day

The Master has everything set up for his latest evil scheme but when he tracks down the Doctor, he realizes his best enemy is in no condition to fight. So the Master does what any good nemesis does and takes care of him.

Desperate Times, Desperate Measures

Word Count: 2,807

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Prompt: "Right now, I don't know if I want to kiss you or shove you off a bridge!" "Can I pick?"

The Master’s Tardis had traced the call seven minutes in advance to this exact time and location. He pushed open his Tardis door to find himself in front of some no name bar with graffiti scrawled on the side, situated in front of an empty ravine. He was on Earth, and there was probably a similarly ramshackled city around him, but he didn’t so much as spare it a glance.

The Master’s steps were determined, his jaw clenched, and his hands shaking despite his signature device in hand.

He had been on the other side of the universe, licking his wounds like any old villain would when disappointed by their latest nemesis showdown. It all made his blood boil to have caved so soon. To come back and HELP the Doctor.

The Doctor still had O’s number and her call was scheduled to be made in exactly seven minutes. A hysterical, agonizing call that begged the Master to intervene. He wasn’t sure what was worse, hearing the Doctor in so much despair, or the disappointment that hearing her in such agony somehow didn’t lessen his own.

Word Count: 2,410

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The Beginning and The End

Prompt: First Doctor, Dhawan!Master, Gallifrey, and the dialogue: "I know my words mean close to nothing for you. But I do, in fact, love you very much."

Basically Theta (Academy Era Doctor) accidentally runs into the Master on a burning Gallifrey

Word Count: 4,499

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Kisses Like That

The Doctor's never understood why humans enjoy kissing so much- but a certain, somewhat familiar woman piques his interest.

(Missy goes back in time to give 10 a lil kiss)

Word Count: 1,885

Spyvember 2020

Collection of short fics I did inspired by Spyvember prompts (from Tumblr)

Word Count: 15,506 (6 separate chapters)

~~~

Thank you to everyone who has inspired me, commented on my work, read any of my writing, and overall has just supported me in any way this year!! Thank you for keeping me motivated and helping me improve as a writer!

My best wishes to you in the new year! <3

[drowning-in-dennor]

Lay Your Sleeping Head, My Love

It is a terrible thing to be in love with someone who you will outlive. [Recommended listening: A reading of W.H. Auden’s Lay Your Sleeping Head, My Love or, for those who like music more, a musical cover by Madeline Peyroux.]

  Henrik is so young.

  Perhaps not to some, as they may consider fifty to be plenty old enough. Fifty years, after all, is five whole decades, one half of a century. People tend to think that that is quite a long time.

  But Norway has lived for a thousand years, watched millions upon millions of humans be born and be snatched away from life, either by the hands of others or by the silent killers that are age and illness. Fifty years is a drop in the ocean to him.

  Despite his age, Henrik’s beauty is timeless. It is hard to believe that he, too, is not a nation. His wild mane of golden hair is like the Netherlands’, his piercing blue eyes those of Sweden, his seemingly boundless energy resembling America’s. He seems better suited to be the personification of the Kingdom of Denmark than the current one. The day Norway saw him in Copenhagen, resplendent and radiant in the Royal Theatre, he nearly thought that Denmark himself had a makeover.

  But not now. His untamed hair is splayed across the pillow, tickling Norway’s arm whenever he shifts. His sapphire eyes are glazed over with fever. He has never been so weak.

  He is beautiful anyways.

  Whatever illness is plaguing Henrik has no cure. It will snatch him away soon, stop his heart when he should’ve had twenty, thirty more years. Norway will lose him forever.

  The two of them are curled up in Norway’s bedroom, in a tiny cottage far, far away from the city. He has taken each and every one of his lovers here at least once. On this bed, love has been made before, but today it will be lost. Henrik is clinging on to his arm, trembling with cold despite the heavy quilt over him. From the floor-to-ceiling window on the other side of the room, all is black. The only light comes from a candle, its wick holding a flame as flickering as Henrik’s life.

  They have laid like this before, lazy and love-drunk in each other’s arms. This might be the last time they share a bed. 

  Henrik coughs. His chest spasms. Norway holds him closer and rubs his back soothingly, lips pressed tight to the crown of his head as he shakes. “Easy now,” he murmurs, “take deep breaths.”

  His breath is rattling. Henrik curls into the warmth of his chest. “Water,” he rasps. His loud, robust voice has been reduced to this.

  Norway hands him a glass and holds him steady as he sips from it. “Do you need anything else?”

  “No.” He smiles feebly. Even when weak, he is utterly charming. “Just need you.”

  He settles back in bed, his head resting on Norway’s arm. His eyes flutter closed. His breathing slows. Norway’s mind is left to wander again.

  He has never had a human die beside him - at least, not one of his lovers. They left him far before it was their time, always choosing another mortal partner over one that stayed eerily, eternally young. Henrik is the only one who was loyal - or would “foolish” be a better word? - enough to stay for thirty whole years.

  Some people may speak when they see this middle-aged man holding hands with one who looks not a day over twenty. But the words mortals say are nothing compared to the nations’ silent scrutiny. He isn’t like France, with the lovers he wears through half a decade at a time, but they stare all the same. I’m sorry, England’s eyes say. What a pity, Finland’s sigh. They all know how a relationship with a human will end.

  That is still nothing compared to the heavy, defeated acknowledgement that weighs down on Henrik when he is sad. No, no glare from the nations could hurt Norway as much as seeing Henrik reflect on the fact that yes, after he is gone from this world, not a century will pass before Norway will have forgotten him and found someone else. He is not special.

  And perhaps that will be the case one day, though he can never be sure; not even a nation like him can see the future. But now, all he can focus on is Henrik, trembling beside him. 

  Henrik’s eyes flutter open again. That beautiful blue gaze is dulling. Perhaps he will not last the night. But his grin is very much filled with life. Norway brushes his hair away from his clammy forehead, asking “how do you feel?”

  “Tired. But I’m always tired now.”

  “Does anything hurt?”

  He shakes his head slightly, exhaling with a puff. Even the tiniest movements exhaust him now. “Nothing. I want a kiss, though.”

  Norway obliges him, pressing his lips to Henrik’s and pretending they are just having another night together despite the air of illness and near-death that constantly lingers now. Outside the window, the sun is just beginning to rise. Day will come soon. Henrik nuzzles his neck. “Wish this could last forever,” he mumbles.

  “Hmm?”

  “Just you and me. In bed together. Forever and ever.” He has to stop to catch his breath. The fingers that have been clinging to Norway’s nightshirt since last evening grow weak. 

  For him, it may well be eternal. He kisses Henrik again, square on the lips. To Hell if he catches whatever disease his lover has; he can survive it. His mortality means nothing.

  Birds are calling. Henrik groans in his half-sleeping state. 

  While the night slips away, Norway takes hold of his hand, running his fingers over the thin skin of his hand that is just starting to wrinkle. If only he were not dying.

  The only way to save Henrik from the inevitable grasp of death is to rid him of his humanity entirely. A couple decades ago, during the Second World War, Norway heard tales of England refusing to let a boy he thought his son depart from him, and in a fit of desperation christened him the Principality of Sealand so that he would live.

  He could do that, make Henrik the personification of Narvik, maybe, or Ålesund, or another small place so he could live forever without the stress of the rest of the personified world. But would Henrik want that?

  Sealand, or Peter as he calls himself, hated England after being immortalised, after being doomed to be a child forever. He cursed England for making it so that he’d never grow up, never know how it’d feel to be an adult. What if Henrik hated him the same way?

  They have never once talked about that possibility. Now that Henrik is barely clinging on to life, it might be a good time to. Norway runs his fingers through his hair, waiting for the next time he is coherent.

  Once again, his eyes flutter open. The light in them is almost extinguished. 

  “Does anything hurt?” Norway asks again.

  “No.”

  He sighs. “I wish I could magically cure you.”

  “It’s all right.” Henrik’s hand grows limper, fingers barely brushing his nightshirt. “Even if I - if I die, I’ll be happy.”

  “I could change you.” He can hear the desperation in his own voice. “I could let you personify a village, a small town, something like that. You could stay alive.”

  “No,” Henrik whispers.

  “Why not?”

  “Y-You deserve better.” He coughs, curling up in a ball. “Better... than me.”

  Tears, hot and shameful, blur Norway’s vision for a brief moment. “I’ll never find anyone better than you.”

  The smile that Henrik gives him is feeble, fleeting. It is so unlike his smiles from when he was healthy, grins radiant enough to light up the night sky. “You will.”

  He lets the tears fall. “But - “

  “You make me happy.” His other hand, clutched in Norway’s, twitches. He gently traces his hand with his thumb. “I won’t be happy if - “ he coughs again - “if I change.”

  He finally lets himself cry, hot tears rolling down his cheeks. Henrik’s weak hand stretches out to catch some of his teardrops. “Don’t cry,” he pleads. “Not... not over me.”

  The slowly-brightening sky is almost blinding to him. He wipes his eyes, feeling a cold, hollow emptiness take over him. How idiotic he must look, crying when he is the powerful, undying one.

  Henrik closes his eyes again. Norway forces himself to calm down. If only he were Belarus - harsh, hostile Belarus who despises humankind and refuses to befriend any, let alone love one. If he were like her, he would never have subjected himself to this sorrow over and over again.

  He rests a hand on Henrik’s chest. His heart is beating sluggishly, so weak that Norway can hardly hear it. In a few hours, it will stop altogether.

  How could he have taken those thirty years for granted? How could he have called his greatest love a fool, teased him for his many whims, when every second they spent should’ve been treasured? Are human lovers like this, too, in which they never care for the times they spend with their partners until it is all over? Or are they the logical ones here? Maybe they live every loving moment to the fullest.

  As Henrik lies quivering beside him, Norway thinks of lovers from the times before - Hans and Harald, Oscar and Alfred, Gilbert and Gordon. How easy their love was, in comparison to his! How easy it is to be a man who can only love other men, compared to an immortal cursed to love a human. Better die together than to outlive one’s many loves. Yes, humans with their mayfly years have it easy.

  “Nor?” Henrik is awake again, despite having closed his eyes no more than fifteen minutes ago.

  “Yes, dear?”

  “You should sleep.”

  “No, no.” Norway bends down to press a kiss to his cheek, breathing in his scent beneath the stench of illness. “I have to take care of you.”

  He shifts slightly, laying his head in the crook of his elbow. His fingers entwine with Norway’s. “You have work.” Henrik gasps, choking on his own breath. Once he can breathe again, he continues, “so you need rest. And I want to cuddle you.” He tries to wink.

  He has never been able to deny Henrik anything for long. He slides so that he’s lying down next to his lover and bundles him to his chest. It has always been the other way around, with Henrik squeezing him tight with steady arms. But he will have to be the strong one tonight.

  What did Henrik ever see in him? He does not have Italy’s charisma nor China’s beauty, nor Switzerland’s riches. He is a wisp of a man, awkward at best. He never thought he would attract humans.

  But he did. And the latest one, about to be stolen away like all the others, is in his arms. Norway kisses his forehead, hums a song they both know and love. Henrik laughs, a pained wheezing sound that sounds like he’s choking. He might be. 

  The sun is about to breach the horizon. Henrik’s heart, pumping laboriously against his arm, will not last much longer. His breaths have grown shallower, too. He will die before the day comes. 

  Fighting back tears, he kisses him again. The blanket settles warm and heavy over them. The mattress is soft. Aflame with fever, Henrik is almost too warm in his embrace. His head is buried in Norway’s shoulder; their fingers are still laced together. “Good morning and goodnight, Nor,” he mumbles.

  For Henrik’s sake, he forces himself to smile. “Good morning and goodnight, Henrik.”

  “I love you.”

  I adore you, Norway wants to say. I worship you, I would die for you, I would do anything to see you in good health once more. I live for you and you only. I love you even if I will forget you one day.

  But pretty words are worthless now. He kisses Henrik a third time, right on his chapped lips, and whispers, “I love you too.”

  He closes his eyes, afraid to open them again, for he knows what he will see.

  When Norway awakens, it is noon. The sun is high in the sky, blessing all the world with its golden light. 

  Henrik is still snuggled into his shoulder. The fingers lacing his are cold.

  Norway sits up, slowly easing Henrik down onto the pillows. He brushes his blond locks aside to take a look at him. 

  Henrik’s eyes are closed. He is smiling softly. He looks so young.

[draconivn]

C.03 | Imperfectly Perfect

SUMMARY: Masamune always held to his beliefs to be the ideal leader. His goal in allying with Nobunaga was to learn how to govern his people better, all the sacrifices he would have to obtain just to make sure he could create a world where people wouldn’t go hungry. Then one day, he meets a woman, and she unknowingly turns his world upside down. MASTERPOST: LINK

Masamune found it odd. 

He was certain he had seen her many times in the market whenever he was running errands or out to peruse. But it seemed like ever since their meeting, he had seen her almost everywhere he went the two days after their meeting, like she had everywhere and nowhere to be. 

The way she walks is with grace and elegance, a soft expression on her face that shone despite the constant crowd moving left and right just several paces away from her. Whenever he would try to get close, she would be gone like the wind, as if the colours of her clothes camouflaged into her surroundings. She doesn’t seem to spend much time at the markets, but today, he seems to reach her by the bridge where she’s sitting on the grass, staring out with a pad of paper in her lap and an inkstone at her side.

He watches the cute expressions that flit across her face, the way she would just stop mid-way through the page, frown with an adorable crease of her brow then switch to a brand new sheet of paper. She would immerse herself in her writing, like she found a new burst of inspiration with the idea she recently developed, and she would go until the inspiration left her blank and staring at the paper again.

If he was a painter, he’d be able to capture this moment, the sun shining down on her and the rustle of the tree planted next to the bench while she falls deep in thought over her writings. For a moment, she looks so carefree, timeless, left vulnerable for her to worry about absolutely nothing but her thoughts. 

It made him smile, made him feel at peace just watching her like there was nothing wrong with the world.

That he wasn’t a warlord, but a man standing there, chasing the infatuation that tingles inside his chest. It was as if he didn’t have paperwork to do, since some of the correspondences were sent from Oshu to his manor in Azuchi, to ensure that his fief was being managed well in his absence, and all of his responsibilities forgotten. 

Her appearance could bring butterflies to his stomach, but he didn’t want to ruin the perfect picture of her by approaching her and saying hi.

She was cute, and even beautiful in the right light. Her words had attempted to push him off despite it making him want to know more about this interesting woman. No person would just come to Azuchi to browse around and just write. Maybe she had some business here?

Kojuro would’ve shaken his head yet again that his lord was taken by such a beauty, though the previous ones had been nothing more than little flings between the sheets, and whatever reputation she knew of the One-Eyed Dragon was more than likely to be true. Kojuro had been a dear friend to Masamune since Masamune was a child, though he kept Masamune grounded almost as much as Ieyasu had to, insisting that the new apple of his eye didn’t seem to take to his lord.

Masamune wanted to test that theory.

Not wanting to disturb her, he approaches quietly with a smile, careful to not disturb her from her thoughts.

The rustling of his feet on the grass seems to be louder than the indistinct chatter of the crowd in the distance, making her blink and look to the source of the sound. “Lord Masamune,” she greets him with a rise to her feet to bow, but her actions are halted when he takes a seat next to her.

“It’s not good to get lost in the clouds. Someone could just sneak up on you and take you away before you know it.”

She chuckles sheepishly. “I’ve been told I shouldn’t be writing out in the open, but it seems like a bad habit.”

“If you keep daydreaming, the brush might run out of ink before your brain runs out of ideas,” he points out, gesturing to the drying inkstone. “What are you writing about?”

“My brush…?” Her gaze flickers from his face and down to her brush, eyes widening slightly in realization. “A-Ah, right.” Carefully, she tucks the brush away, making note that she’ll have to clean them well when she gets home. “What am I writing? I’m writing whatever’s on my mind. The things I see, anything that inspires me.” She looks at him with a shake of her head, “It’s nothing at the moment, but hopefully it’s enough to spark something. But far from special.”

“I’m sure it’s not too bad.” He leans over, a curious look in his face and he cranes his head to be able to see what she’s written, but she hides it away from him to tuck it in under her pile of supplies. “Oh?” 

She offers him an apologetic look. “It’s not good to take other people’s belongings. Besides, when could the work of a commoner like me ever interest you?”

“You’re not a commoner.”

“Huh?”

He bends one leg, propping his arm on his knee as he looks at her. “You don’t seem like one. You’re a little carefree for someone who cares about how you address me, so I would’ve thought you were, but you don’t have the behaviour of one. The way you walk, the way you hold yourself and the way you pretend to be so unguarded when you’re not.”

She arches a brow. “If that’s the case, then how do I look like in doing all of those things?”

He can’t help himself while sitting there. Just sitting there, talking to her, it brings out the words out of his mouth rather than his lips within kissing distance of his prey. He can’t help but be curious about this woman. Even in plain attire, she looks so elegant, a cute expression when she gets lost in the clouds and yet, she walks so quietly like… “Like a kunoichi.”

A moment of silence sits between them as she looks floored by his answer, her lips dropping open with surprise etched across her features. They start to contort bit by bit and then… she laughs. 

Her laugh is so cute, it makes him stare at her for the stupid assumption he’s made of her, but it also makes her look all the more adorable. Her lips curve into a smile warmer than the sun that it stuns him speechless.

She has a beautiful smile, he thinks, mouth open in surprise that he nearly forgets why she’s laughing in the first place.

It takes a moment for her to stop, shaking her head. “I-I’m sorry, but that’s the first time I’ve ever been called that!” She grins, turning her gaze out to the water flowing under the bridge. “A kunoichi, huh? You know… that sounds kind of cool.” She looks at him with mischief dancing in her eyes. “What would you do if I was one? Should you even be next to me, Lord Masamune?” She playfully holds the case of brushes up to him as an imitation of a weapon, her actions completely unguarded.

“If you were, maybe I should hire you, and I could have you all to myself. Maybe then you would be able to tell me your name?”

“With all due respect, Lord Masamune, I don’t think I’d be worth attaining. Maybe you should aim a little higher?”

"I think I'm aiming pretty well enough," he said, taking a hold of her wrist to hold the brushes away before he leaned in. Rather than meeting a pair of soft lips, two thin objects press to his lips, blocking him from attaining the kiss. When he opens his eyes to look, it’s the handles of her brushes pressed to his lips and he pulls back, confused.

“My name is Misaki.” She smiles at him, pulling back to place some space between them and look down at her work. 

His surprised expression drops into a chuckle and a smile. “That wasn’t too difficult to tell me, was it?”

“Consider it a reward for making me smile,” she teases, poking at his cheek with the back of one of the brushes. Curiosity dances in her eyes, a hidden playfulness that tempted his own, but the reveal of her name does not seem to budge on the barrier she’s placed up. An invisible wall set between them, blocking the Oshu lord's advances more solidly than it did the day they met. Part of him questioned why he still did this, when she had already made her answer known: no. Her carefree nature and obtrusive walls made him want to know what secrets she was hiding, the thought that she was an enemy that had come to spy on them, pushed to the back of his mind. 

Was that his intention of seeing someone who stood out so much? 

There’s silence as he watches her, waiting for some sort of reaction, but it’s the drape of her long hair that covers her face and he reaches forward so he can tuck it behind her ear.

“Misaki.” A voice calls to the female, halting Masamune’s hand mid-air from touching her. "There you are."

Misaki doesn’t spare a single glance at Masamune, flustered as she gathers her things quickly and rises to her feet.

Just where Masamune had stood when he was watching her were two men, dressed with a samurai sword at their side. One appeared to be focused on Misaki, while the other followed behind, just as an underling would. The one who spoke let his gaze drift from Misaki to Masamune, bowing in greeting to Masamune. "Lord Masamune, my apologies for interrupting. I was searching for my sister and it seems she was here all along."

His cerulean eye surveys their exchange as Misaki joins them, though the emblem that the two men wear seem familiar and his brow arches in curiosity. He’s seen the crest a few times, but it takes a moment for him to recognize it. "You're one of Kagerou’s men, aren't you?" The war council had only been a few days ago, information that the Kagerou clan had come for an alliance agreement still fresh in his mind. But considering he hadn’t seen their commander in any meetings yet, it was possible that an agreement had yet to be settled, so Misaki’s stay was likely to be however long they would be staying. Looks like height runs in the family.

Misaki stops to look between the both of them, then back to the man who called her.

“Yes, my apologies for my rudeness. My name is Takashi Kagemori, and this is my page, Yuuma Asahi." Takashi glances over to Misaki, a hand coming up to rest on her head affectionately with a smile and she looks away. “When the maids said they didn’t know where you went, you had me worried, Misaki. ”

“I’m sorry. I will tell the maids next time where I’m going.” Still hugging her belongings to her chest, she bows to Masamune. "Have a good day, Lord Masamune."

“Wait.” His voice calls out to them, just as she turns to leave. There’s a moment that he has to think and get the words out before Takashi and Misaki look at him weirdly for his odd pause. “It can get boring to be inside all the time. Allow me to accompany her sometime, and I’ll tour you around Azuchi. Who knows when she’ll be back again? I’d like to make sure she has a good time.”

Takashi looked from him to Misaki, his lips pursing in thought. “I’m sure you’re probably very busy, my lord. I couldn’t possibly ask of you to take care of Misaki.”

When she sees his cerulean eye meet her own emeralds, she can only bow in apology. “I appreciate the offer, Lord Masamune, but I will have to politely decline.” She turns to leave once more with Takashi following, Yuuma bowing in an apologetic manner before they disappear into the crowd.

Masamune watches as they retreat, though he looks down when he realizes something’s fluttering under his sandal. The words are written large enough for him to read, picking it up to read it over. A haiku?

Standing mountain clouds Firm, unmovable, unchanged It beckons me home.

He looks around for anything that could’ve inspired it, the sight of the mountains nowhere in sight for the time being. She must’ve written it before. It’s not bad, but it could use some work. He had something to try and offer for the next time they would meet. And since she’s with Kagerou’s men, he’s certain he would be seeing her again.

Is he worried that her brother is one of Kagerou’s men? 

He thinks nothing of it for the time being.